They're playing draughts, Phoenix losing badly, when Aaron's pager beeps. They look down at it and curse.
“Emergency call, kid. There's a mission going wrong, they need a medic. And I'm on call.”
Aaron doesn't move though. That's wrong. They always, always help.
“Why are you, um, you're waiting. What's wrong?”
“Kai's on that mission. And if I go too, you– the guards–”
Phoenix shivers. But they know what they have to do. If they did, when they die, they won't be dead for long. Kai, Santhiya, everyone, they will. They never thought they'd choose this but when it comes down to it, there's no choice at all.
“Go.”
Aaron blinks, then shakes their head.
“No, I can't– Kai's there and– Aisling can go instead, it's her team, it's–”
“You have healing powers,” whispers Phoenix firmly. “Aisling, um, she doesn't. They’re in big trouble. You should go. What if they, um, die?”
“But you–”
Phoenix forces their voice not to wobble, to stay firm, as confident as they'd like to be. “I won't die. I'll, um, I'll be fine. Go.”
Aaron hugs them briefly. “You're the bravest person I know, kid. Do whatever you need to keep yourself alive, okay? I won't be mad. I can't say I like your decision, but it's yours. And I'll bring the others back alive, I promise.”
Phoenix nods, throat tight. They can't promise anything in return. They desperately wish they could. They wish there was time for at least a proper hug, but there isn't. Not with lives at stake.
“I need to pick up my kit and change. I'll be right back.”
While Aaron's changing, Phoenix does too, into their least favourite outfit. It'll probably come back this time, but. Just in case.
Aaron knocks and walks back in, swallowing when they see them. “Right. You still have that. Yeah. We'll– we'll take you down there on my way out. I've asked Aisling to come with us to explain the situation, because I have to run. But I don't think she's allowed in the prison with you.” Phoenix nods. The whole situation suddenly feels far too real and they can't speak. “Christ, kid, I'm sorry.”
Phoenix reaches out a hand and then stops, because no, no, that's not something they're allowed to do, is it? Aaron takes it and squeezes tight.
“Once more into the breach.”
The quote sounds wrong, but Phoenix isn't going to argue the point. Together they walk out of the flat and towards the prison, Phoenix concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, legs like jelly. They've never entered the prison under their own steam before. They're not sure they can. But they have to, for everyone's sake.
Aisling catches them at a run halfway down the stairs and nods at Phoenix, joining their silent parade. It feels like a funeral, a vigil for someone who's already dead, and Phoenix suddenly, absurdly, wants to laugh, break the tension, cry, like they're not walking to their death (deaths?). They've never felt like this before. What's wrong with them?
The ground floor. The last patch of sunlight. They close their eyes, drinking it in. They don't know how long it'll be before they see it again.
It feels like they're walking into their own grave. Except worse. This will be far worse than death.
Will they know that they've snitched? Oh god. Oh god. They can't stop shaking, hot and cold and sweating all over, barely able to stand. Their head's all awhirl. But they continue. They can. They must.
They slip their trainers off and hand them to Aisling. She smiles, though it doesn't meet her eyes. But they can't give them to Aaron, not today.
“I'll look after them for you,” she says, voice full of the warmth they've come to know. Phoenix tries to hold onto it, let it fill them along with Aaron's, bottle it up inside to keep them going for however long this takes.
They don't know if it can last without shattering.
Aaron squeezes their hand. “Ready?”
They nod.
Together, the three of them descend into the dark.
It's a couple of minutes before their eyes adjust enough to see the dank concrete, the floor-to-ceiling metal gates, the guard posts. The lighting’s softer here than in the prison itself, hidden behind corners and corridors and metal, less fluorescent, the strongest light currently coming from the sunlight filtering its way down the stairs. Dimmed overhead lighting picks up on the two guards keeping the prison under lock and key, the brightness enough to keep Phoenix lit too. And when the guards look up at Phoenix with a frown, they feel like they're under a bright spotlight. Aisling's hand comes up to grip their shoulder with a light squeeze, Aaron squeezes their hand one last time before letting go. It doesn't really help, none of it, not down here, but they appreciate the attempt.
Aaron has come as far as he needs to, as far as he can. He needs to go and save lives. But still he hesitates briefly, looking back. Phoenix tries to urge him on with their eyes. Go. Just go.
With a grimace, he vanishes up the stairs.
The guards glance at each other. “What's Firebird doing here? There's nothing scheduled.”
“Both of their supervisors are on a mission,” says Aisling, a firm hand on Phoenix’s shoulder, grounding them. “By the terms of their parole, they have to come back here until Aaron or Kai are back and free to supervise them.”
Phoenix flinches, gaze fixed on the concrete. Don't look up. Don't look up. You don't look at the guards.
“Alright. Sign here.” Aisling squeezes their shoulder once more and takes the clipboard, scribbling on it. “We'll take them from here. Tell one of their supervisors to come down when they get back. We'll look after them for as long as you need.” Then, in Phoenix’s ear, “Your guard said your supervisors cared for you, but they can't even be bothered to tell us about the situation themselves. I see you still mean very little to anyone.”
“Right,” replies Aisling, and Phoenix wonders if they're the only one who can detect the note of uncertainty in her voice. Her footsteps fade away, and the guard takes their upper arm in a tight, bruising grip. His stride is brisk. Phoenix struggles to keep up.
He wasn’t Jason Scott anymore. The resemblance was there, in part. But it was the accumulation of so many small alterations and not just the common knowledge that the Red Ranger was dead.
Red had his own mannerisms, his own microexpressions, even his own voice, which was nothing like Jason’s strong, confident, authoritative one. He could be spiteful and mean, aggressive, profane, emotionally labile…or he might be seductive and flirtatious, cooing whispers of all the sinful acts he was so skilled at.
He adored his master, the powerful Lord Drakkon, would sacrifice his own life for the tyrant if necessary. To be so coveted by such a man, one could have his pick of any of his aristocracy, was a high honor. Red lived to please his master in whatever manner it required.
For Red, Jason wasn’t a memory. He didn’t even know what a ‘Jason’ was. Events before the palace didn’t exist and his mind wouldn’t allow him to wonder why. There existed a glaring blind spot that obscured his humanity, his life before, his true identity…all locked away and guarded by the one who watches, the one with the pointed ears and russet brush.
The danger was seeing Red and recognizing Jason, who they would expect to react in a particular way only to find themselves fighting the teeth.
Red was not a surface level change. He wasn’t the result of an obedience spell or serum.
He was the result of a psyche fragmented, only the shards had minds of their own.
A simple word with a much more powerful meaning than one would care to look into in depth. To break or to cause something to break into small, sharp fragments. That's it, it was that simple, just an average word with a simple meaning unless you looked into the darkness of the world a little closer and with much more scrutiny.
Hearts can splinter as easily as wood, if not easier. And sometimes all it takes is the wrong word said to the wrong person at the wrong time.
"Our paths won't cross again after this, good bye, Lumine."
Everything she'd fought for was gone. Everything she'd tried her hardest to protect was ripped away from her when Lumine heard those harsh words from her twin. A cold empty voice and a heartbreaking truth she never wanted to confront. She couldn't save her brother no matter how she tried. No matter how much she fought, no matter how far she stretched to reach Aether, they were on two different paths now and that wasn't even the hardest part.
All she could do now was accept his decision and walk away before she fell apart in front of him, in front of everyone, in front of the world.
There was no safety net, there was no glue to piece her back together. Her brother was now her enemy and all she could do was walk away and let herself splinter, pieces of her soul shattering one by one as she went back to the path she'd chosen from the start, the light, one single piece of herself at a time.
"It was all a mistake, I'm sorry." Lynette's hands shook as once again she writhed in her bed, cold sweat running down her body. She had left the circus, she and her siblings had left that life behind. Father had saved them, Father had protected them from everything that she could. However there was one thing she couldn't save them from.
Lynette woke the next morning to tears on her cheeks and her brothers loudly pounding at her door. "Are you okay?" Lyney had called to her through the door. She'd never told her siblings why she'd wake up crying sometimes, she couldn't let them know she had nightmares still. She would lock it all away in her mind, she would ignore her trauma and keep moving through her life, she would hold herself together for their sake and she wouldn't allow herself even a margin for error.
She'd always had to be perfect before, she'd always had to be a proper lady or face the consequences. Consequences that now made her shudder with disgust when she thought of them. She could have apologized until her face turned blue. But it was never good enough, she was never good enough. And every last mistake she made was panic inducing because she never knew if it would mean it was her last or if she'd live to be able to correct it.
