Gₒₒd ₒₗd₋Fₐₛₕᵢₒₙₑd ₗₒᵥₑᵣ Bₒy ~ Dᵢᵣₖ Gₑₙₜₗy

Salutations From The Other Side

[~ No it hasn't been 6 months since I updated this last shut up~]

Sicillian Presque had done a lot of running in her time. She'd ran from fires, shootouts, explosions, sadistic government agencies, the list goes on. But nothing quite compared to how fast and hard she ran from the fact that she'd just killed Dirk Gently.

She was slowly being consumed by it, and it was getting harder and harder for her to breath as the insurmountable flee continued. It left her broken, the lack of oxygen in her lungs causing a trip that sent her spiralling to the floor. The brunette could hear voices behind her. Friends, or she supposed ex-friends now, for who would trust her after what she did? What the green-eyed American didn't expect was it to be Helios who reached her side as she sprawled on the ground, and Helios who insisted she get back up and keep going.

"You want to run? I'll help you." That's what she thought he said at least, her memory of the aftermath was nothing more than hazy, a conflict of horror and upset that she dared not approach in the hours after that filtered into silence.

The two weren't running anymore. Arsonist and Assistant had exhausted that route, leaving them long gone from Blackwing, somewhere totally new. The woman wished she could have explained how Helios had procured a car, and how she'd allegedly just begun driving and hadn't stopped, but she couldn't. It was like a sick form of amnesia, rendering her unable to recall anything over the last three days, other than the catastrophic event, her mistake that had ruined it all.

She had no idea why the young boy was still with her. Neither did he. But the ginger fourteen-year-old felt truly sorry for Sicillian, he did. He'd lost people too, knew the sting and the guilt and cold slap of reality. He'd grown rather attached to how she'd taken him under her wing. Something or someone needed to keep Sicillian Presque grounded in the fallout that would follow. He might as well step up to the task.

She was still driving in silence, only just becoming aware of her reactions and slamming on the breaks, heart racing.

"Where the hell are we?" Her voice was croaky, seventy-two hours of disuse leaving it raspy and her throat throbbing.

"Somewhere between Oregon and Washington." Helios replied. His voice wasn't clear and unbroken either, but it didn't burn, he'd kept himself occupied by muttering assurances to the woman. She was more than double his age, but it didn't mean he couldn't try and help. And on Sicillian's side, there was some maternal instinct keeping them stuck together, that or the fact they were now bonded by their part in Dirk's murder.

It had been Helios's powers that had killed the Brit, but she'd never blame the Arsonist. It was all her.

"Why are we going in the direction of Washington?" Sicillian frowned, knowing Washington meant Seattle, and Seattle meant painful memories.

"You just started driving. I didn't think to question it." He shrugged slowly.

"Fuck." The American woman raked a hand through her now awfully greasy hair. "I don't remember any of that."

"You were pretty out of it," Helios explained delicately, "I was worried you'd spun out on me." This lead to a pause. Sicillian knew she was incredibly close to spinning out. It was probably happening as they spoke. How on Earth was she supposed to stay calm and grounded considering what had happened?

She killed Dirk. She was a murderer. A murderer who killed the man she loved above all else.

Tears pricked at her eyes, stinging the corners. The burn that issued from them lead her to wholly believe she'd been crying the entire time the two had been running. It hurt to cry, but not nearly enough as it hurt to think.