Nala and Tina had not hung out in FOR. EVER. At least, that was what Nala had texted Attina earlier today. And it was true.
True and Attina’s fault completely. For two weeks, her phone had been completely turned off. The only contact she’d had with the outside world had been her sisters and Daddy and Benjamin. And one late night surprise from Mr. Rob Gardener.
It had been almost two months, though, and Attina had begun coming out of her shell more and more. It was a slow process. It took lots of coaxing from her sisters (and Percy, bless him.) But she was becoming a normal human being again. Or, well, mermaid being.
Which meant--margarita nights with Nala.
She had requested that it be just them. Attina wasn’t ready for the whole crew to come around, though she did miss them. Tiegan had brought her over a dish of food and even Oliver had brought her a baked ziti. Everyone was acting like someone had died.
The only thing that had died was Attina’s pride.
She was armed with a whole bottle of tequila and margarita mix. Also, ice cream. And bread. Because the store had just baked a few fresh loafs of French bread when she’d been in the store and it had smelled absolutely delicious. She had to knock with her foot when she reached Nala’s apartment and when the door opened, she smiled wide.
“Hey! I would’ve just come in but--” she lifted her full hands. “Let me put these down, and I’ll give you a proper hug!”
Attina squeezed past Nala and scurried down the hall toward the kitchen, plopping the bags on the counter and whirling around towards her friend, practically skipping into her arms.
“It has been way too long!” Attina exclaimed as she squeezed her.
In which Copper and Rajah conduct an interview with a very important person to the investigation.
@nala-calame
Further Reading:
The Investigation Begins -- Copper and Taka
Liars and Loopholes -- Taka and Rodmilla
[Dated June 28th]
COPPER:
It had been a long three weeks since the investigation into InterPride had started. Rajah and himself were taking most of the interviews, at least here in Swynlake. The London department was handling the London office. Still, there was 194 employees top down, from the janitors to the board members, and all of them had to be interviewed.
They’d gotten through most of the bottom-feeders. Those were pretty in and out. It was only as they climbed the ladder that things were beginning to get tangled. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on Taka, many of them comparing him to his brother (and not particularly favorably in many cases). Some of them seemed frightened, but most of them just seemed--disheartened or unsurprised by the investigation.
Next on the list was Nala Calame, who had been talked about with much favor by her coworkers. Rajah and Copper both liked her too, but they also both knew that appearances could be deceiving and that they needed to set aside their personal feelings on the matter.
When she appeared in the doorway, Copper still smiled and gestured towards the chair that had been set out for her.
“Good morning, Miss Calame. We apologize for keeping you from work, hopefully this will not take long. Did you sign the nondisclosure agreement that the secretary had for you?”
The document had detailed that anything discussed here could not be discussed with anyone, especially those within the investigation. To do so could be considered an obstruction of justice and handled accordingly.
NALA AND RAJ:
When Nala got the notice from the police that it was her turn to be questioned, she got the same feeling in her gut she got whenever she was around Taka at all. It made her feel a little sick, a little on edge-- like something she couldn’t put her finger on. For years, she’d tried to ignore than feeling if only because Simba loved his uncle so much. He’s so weird, Nala used to say, wrinkling her nose up. Sometimes Simba acted offended and other times he just laughed it off like Nala was joking, like of course Taka was weird, but weird in a good, friendly way-- the way that clowns could be weird.
But Nala couldn’t get rid of that creepy feeling. Over the past year that she’d returned to Swynlake, the feelings had doubled-over with guilt because Taka had been nothing but kind to her. She’d been put in an excellent position in the company. She had time to do her passion project with the Lyons Foundation. He let her hire her own interns, let her work so many hours from home after she’d shattered her knee-- he’d been nothing but a kind and fair boss to her.
Still the feeling persisted. It was wrong, Nala had been telling herself for months now. She tried to weed it out. But it crept back in always, the guilt screaming on its heel.
Now? Now--
Nala felt guilty for not listening to her gut. Now everything was suddenly suspicious to her: every smile Taka had given her, every project and favor and nicety. What if he’d been trying to hide something all along and she’d fallen for it? What if she had implicated herself in something and not realized it?
What if she was overreacting right now?
All these thoughts boiled away inside her as she arrived at the police station, led back at once to a room. She smiled at Copper and Rajah as she entered, giving a polite nod and offering to shake their hands.
“Yes, yes I did. Thank you,” she said to Copper. Then she sat down, crossing her legs at once, trying to get nestled in the chair. “I... I’ll do my best to answer any questions you have.
And Nala would-- she just didn’t know if she could.
COPPER:
Copper chewed on his lip a little, glancing at Rajah as Nala settled into the chair. She was one of the first people from higher up that they were interviewing. Though, not the first person who had been around the Lyons family for so long. (In some cases, generations, even.) They hadn’t interviewed Sarabi or Simba, who besides Taka were the last remaining Lyons--at least as far as they had been able to uncover.
Nala was just about the closest thing, according to everyone else. And, she was so sweet, both Rajah and Copper thought so. The likelihood of her having anything to do with this was slim. It made him feel awful about it, it made him feel tired.
He took a few steps to the side, turning on the camera recorder in the corner.
“Thank you, that’s appreciated. And, this interview will be recorded for the records, and anything said on tape can be used in court. You may, however, ask us to stop at any time, though, you must know a note will be made that you said things off record.”
Sighing, he walked back over towards the table and sat down in one of the chairs across from Nala, lacing his fingers together and placing them on the table top.
“Now, for the easy part, just the simple things, like how long you’ve been working for InterPride, what you do for them, your relationship to Taka Lyons, your relationship with the Lyons family. Anything that you think could be of importance and we will go from there.”
NALA:
The easy part?
Nala didn’t find those questions so easy. It was funny-- if she and Copp had been out for coffee or tea and he’d asked her those things, Nala would tackle the question with a splitting smile, the words bubbling to her lips without pause. And it’s not like Nala didn’t want to talk about these things now; she simply didn’t know where to start. She wanted to be concise, clear, helpful, but she wasn’t certain that she should be telling Copper the same things she would tell a friend. Or perhaps that was exactly what she was supposed to do.
Nala just didn’t want to leave anything out. Justice, to Nala, was extremely important. It was perhaps one of the most important things in the world. Her stomach was already queasy with the thought she could have obstructed justice without meaning to.
But Nala just nodded, hiding her insecurity as best as she could. That was all she had to do: do her best.
“Well-- I’ve been working at InterPride as the Associate CFO for InterPride’s Corporate Social Responsibility branch for over a year now. I think it's been about...a year and five months,” she said. “I began in January 2016. My primary responsibilities are to oversee InterPride’s initiatives to give back to the community and support projects in line with InterPride’s mission and vision to provide safe workplaces for people regardless of their Magick or Mundus status. A lot of my job involves-- overseeing contracts for expansions, making sure they meet environmental regulations and don’t contribute to gentrification of at-risk communities, balancing our CSR budget and allocating funds...planning local fundraisers sometimes,” she added, thinking about last year’s fundraiser for fairy home preservation. Though she’d come in quite late on that one, mostly handling the execution, not the planning itself.
“InterPride also lobbies Parliament and sponsors bills that support pro-Magick efforts. Sometimes I help with those efforts but my counterpart in the London office typically does that,” said Nala. “I-- also, as my own personal side project have been preparing to start the Lyons Foundation with Sarabi Lyons.”
She wracked her brain but that pretty much covered the first part of his question. Nala took another breath.
“As for my relationship with the family and with Taka...well...they raised me,” said Nala, smiling a little more. “My father was a biology teacher before he came to work at InterPride himself, in the environmental regulations department. I grew up with the Lyons. My mother and Sarabi are best friends,” explained Nala. “I...went to school with Simba, I went to university with him-- we-- we were supposed to get married actually,” she snorted. She wouldn’t have mentioned it but she was scared of including too little. “It was a sort of outdated custom, my father is a very traditional Muslim man but-- he understood when we both mutually decided to break the engagement. Um, following...Mufasa’s death, I… I went back to London and was working at a nonprofit devoted to creating new technologies to ensure clean water in developing countries...but I came back when Taka offered me this job.”
She adjusted in her chair.
“I-- didn’t know why he did but he told me he was worried about Simba and so he was moving the offices back to Swynlake to be closer to him. Simba has had a lot of trouble dealing with his father’s death so…of course I wanted to help and be there for him. Taka gave me this really amazing job, just a few years out of uni, and he’s supported the projects I’ve wanted to take on and gave me an intern. I’ve been rather happy, professionally speaking,” said Nala. And now she hesitated again.
It was that strange cognitive dissonance between her head and her heart. Her head told her that she owed Taka for everything he’d done for herself, Simba-- even Sarabi to some extent, taking over InterPride in the first place. But her heart had never liked him. Her heart found him a bit creepy, whereas Simba just found him “weird” in a “haha” way.
“Of all the Lyons though-- Taka and I have never been close,” she started slower. “I...didn’t like that...he sort of came between Simba and Mufasa’s relationship in uni and a bit in college too. Simba would always run off to his apartment,” she said, rolling her eyes a bit. “I dunno if-- that’s probably irrelevant. And I am grateful for everything he’s done for me. I’m glad that I get to work at InterPride again and live here in Swynlake and be here for the Lyons. I owe them so much.”
COPPER:
All the information about her job at InterPride matched up with the information that they had on file, which Copper flicked idly through as he listened to her spiel. All the dates matched, all the titles, and responsibilities. They didn’t care about that. They didn’t think that there would be anything wrong with it, anything suspicious.
What they wanted was information on Taka, not Mr. Lyons, CEO of InterPride. So far, they hadn’t interviewed anyone who knew Taka on any sort of personal level. He didn’t go out and get drinks with his employees. He very rarely visited their offices. They saw him in meetings and occasionally stalking the halls, but to many, he was a mysterious overseer. A stark contrast to Mufasa, most reported, who had treated his employees like family. That was what they were interested in. Knowing who Taka was, building a more personal profile of the man—it would help their case.
The whole thing about the marriage was definitely…interesting, but Copper dismissed its importance, what would it have to do with Taka, anyways?
It only got interesting after Mufasa’s death, the way Nala told it. Copper sat up a little straighter, as his gut simultaneously dropped downwards.
Copper had several follow up questions, they jumped easily to his lips. Perhaps it was because he was already suspicious of Taka, maybe that was why the threads were easier to draw between Nala’s words. They all led back to one thing: Mufasa. It wouldn’t be that shocking of a story, had to be, actually, one of the oldest of mankind: brother kills brother for his power. The Fey’s Gold—now, that was the piece that wasn’t clicking. Which was frustrating, because that’s what they had evidence on. Mufasa’s death? For all intents and purposes, it really did look like an accident, and any evidence would’ve been washed away long, long ago.
“Thank you, Nala. Just a few follow up questions to that, if you will. Firstly, you said Simba has been having a lot of trouble with Mufasa’s death? Would you say it is—more than a normal level of grief? And, do you know what might be causing it, if it is? Don’t worry, he’s not going to get in trouble. We’re just trying to get a full picture.”
Copper shifted a little in his seat. It was funny, because the thing that Nala said was probably irrelevant had sparked Copper’s interest the most.
“As for Simba’s relationship with Taka, would you care to elaborate a little more on that? In your opinion, how did Taka come between Mufasa and Simba? Did Simba not have a good relationship with Mufasa? Did Taka not have a good relationship with Mufasa?”
NALA:
Nala didn’t expect these follow-up questions.
Her eyebrows shot up, then furrowed just as quickly as they came. Questions about Simba-- which made her heart turn to steel in her chest, even though the guilt was cold as ice in the rest of her veins. Questions about Mufasa’s death, about Simba’s relationship to Taka, about his relationship to Mufasa-- about Taka and Mufasa. Nala doubted any of this was relevant to the investigation. How could it be? It was all old news by now, years and years old. It wore heavy on her heart to think about and she didn’t want to go trudging toward that old pain; unearthing it would make it burn.
But then again, what did Nala really know about what this investigation was and why it was coming to light now? She didn’t know. And so now she worried-- worried for Simba, who was finally finding some peace after all these years, and Sarabi too. Her desire for justice butted heads with her desire to protect these people, who were the dearest to her heart.
“That’s all a bit-- complicated,” she said after a half-second, and this wasn’t a lie. It was complicated. Nala hadn’t thought about the whole mess that was Simba-and-Mufasa-and-the-future-of-InterPride for a long time, but it’d been a heartache then too. “Simba loved his father more than-- more than anything. He wanted to please Mufasa and make him proud but his father didn’t always… listen, I suppose, the way that Simba wanted him to.”
Nala herself had never really understood Simba’s feelings there. She thought it was an honor to serve InterPride. And because she didn’t understand…
“...and I suppose Taka did listen, more than...more than Mufasa sometimes. Simba’s always been very fond of his uncle too so whenever he got upset or didn’t like what Mufasa told him, he just-- called up Taka or ran away to Taka’s apartment. I can’t, erm, tell you a lot about Taka and Mufasa really. I only know what I heard from Simba and my own dad, who--well, Taka became COO and lots of people in the London offices thought it was a bit undeserved. Nepotism and all. But Mufasa always saw the best in people.” She nodded, her heart panging, as she remembered-- seeing Mufasa’s smile clearly in her head.
She missed that smile and the way she felt--strong and self-assured-- when he turned it her way.
“As for… Mufasa’s death and Simba’s… grief, I mean, he was...he was there,” she said much softer. She looked down at the table for a brief second before she met Copp’s eyes again. “During the car crash. He was in the car. I think it’s been harder for him… because of that and surviving when his father didn’t.”
COPPER:
This wasn’t surprising either, not really. At least, not the part about a kid under pressure butting heads with his father. That was--normal.
What intrigued him was the accident and Taka’s relationship with Simba. Obviously it wasn’t something that Simba discussed with Nala, which meant something. And they wouldn’t get the full story until they sat down with the prodigal son, himself. He had this feeling in his gut that Nala didn’t know anything, at least, nothing as to what Taka had been up to. She could just be a good actress, but he’d been taught how to look for a liar, and Nala did not seem like a liar to him. Which meant, outside of speculation, she wasn’t really any use to them.
It kept coming back to the accident, Taka assuming the role of CEO. Had second in command not been enough for him? Had Simba somehow been involved? (That thought was very brief, and unlikely, considering Simba appeared to have no interest in running InterPride, though he was still benefiting off its profit.)
Copper nodded his head at her, rubbing a hand over his beard. He was weighing his options now. Leave things as they are, or press a little further, try to dig into Taka’s mysterious past (of which there was very little papertrail outside of his school reports--all which were rather excellent academically.) But, if he dug further, he ran the risk of Nala putting pieces together that they didn’t want people putting together yet. Namely, that this was more than just a simple embezzlement case. But--maybe she could give them information without knowing that was what she was doing.
“Do you think it was deserved, then? Taka becoming COO? Taking over as CEO?” he prodded, trying to find the edge of her loyalty. “I know you said he’s given you free rein over your--Lyons Foundation project. Has he allotted similar freedoms to other branches of the business? You’re Associate CFO, so, in your opinion are funds being allocated in the company’s best interest?”
NALA:
She raised her eyebrows at Copper. She was beginning to wonder what he was really after.
She supposed it didn’t matter. Nala was not a liar, as best as she could be, that is. She did lie sometimes, but this was all anonymous and honestly...she didn’t feel a loyalty to Taka the way she felt to Simba and Sarabi and Mufasa. She should. She knew she should. But everytime she saw Taka in that chair at the long conference table, looking over the rest of them, king of the proverbial jungle, she thought to herself-- It should be Simba.
“Honestly-- no, I don’t think it’s deserved. Taka was more or less estranged from the Lyons for a period. His parents and him, I knew they had a difficult relationship-- it was only Mufasa who wanted Taka involved. But-- like I said, I think Mufasa saw the best in people. And if he trusted Taka, then-- well, he was right for the job,” said Nala though her gut told her otherwise. “And CEO, I mean, Simba was in no state, so it was either the board nominated someone who wasn’t a Lyons or promoted from within or Taka, as the last eligible Lyons, took over. It wasn’t an ideal situation.”
In fact, as she said it, it felt too convenient. But maybe that was just Copper, planting seeds of doubt in her head. (But no, no-- something about it wasn’t right. Nala felt a little sick.)
“Erm, as for my job well-- I, I proposed the Lyons Foundation with Sarabi Lyons. I’m not sure other employees have taken that initiative. My other projects have all been in the work for years and years though-- developing communities takes a long time-- really, I...I think all my projects come from Mufasa’s years…”
And she trailed off.
Because even she thought that was suspicious now.
She looked directly at Copper, knowing that he could feel the shift in her mood too. She didn’t bother to hide it. So Nala sat up straighter. “Yes, Taka has not afforded me any new projects since I started.”
“No new projects?” echoed Sheriff Patel. “Do you know if your London counterpart is handing that?”
Nala shook her head “Not from what I’m aware of. Like I said, she’s basically a lobbyist. Her duties are a lot different than mine.”
COPPER:
It wasn’t an ideal situation.
Except it was, for one person.
Copper looked at Rajah when he spoke and he was glad to know that his partner was on the same page as himself. That this was highly suspect. If it was Copper’s place to say (and it could be, if he wanted it to be), he’d ask if Nala found any of this suspicious, but he had a feeling she was already on her way there, and at the moment, he didn’t want to encourage anymore putting it together on her own.
He had a feeling she was the type to take justice into her own hands. Maybe that was because the first time he’d met her, her best friend (whom this investigation involved) had tried to beat a man senseless. Albeit the bastard had deserved it, but, birds of a feather. Which meant Nala could get herself into trouble if she started poking around. Copper felt the urge to curb any sort of suspicion for the moment.
And, he was going with his gut on this one: Nala didn’t know anything. She’d basically confirmed what they already knew: that Taka was not well-loved among the InterPride Incorporation, that he was estranged for most of his adult life from his family, and most importantly; that the funds were not being allocated properly. But, she wasn’t involved in crunching the numbers. They would know more when they got the analysis back from the financiers they’d sent the last five years’ worth of profit to.
“I know this seems abrupt, but I think that is all we need from you at this time. Thank you, Nala. Your testimony has been helpful and we will probably be getting in touch with you in the future to discuss a few of the things we went over today in more detail. I’d like to remind you that what transpired today cannot be discussed with anyone, InterPride employee or otherwise. Now, if you have any questions, feel free.”
He gestured invitingly, leaning back in his seat a little.
NALA:
And just like that, it was over just as it started.
That’s how it felt to Nala, who briefly frowned. She had just felt like she was beginning to understand the point of all this. Copper’s questions had nudged at doors that had remained closed for years now and Nala wanted to push. She wanted to be on the other side of the table, if she were even more honest. Because what else had they found out? What picture were they putting together with all their pieces?
Part of Nala wanted to open her mouth and tell Copp everything-everything-- all about Simba’s accident in detail, at least, what she knew. That wasn’t it really strange that Mufasa, even slightly drunk himself, would get in a car with a wasted Simba? Wasn’t it strange that Simba would insist on driving in the first place? That Nala hadn’t even seen Simba after he’d been taken aside...by Taka. He’d disappeared after that.
And then, when he did turn up, Mufasa was dead, his arm was broken, and everything had changed.
The only problem was, if Nala did open her big mouth about all this, what if Simba got in more trouble? She couldn’t get Simba in trouble. He didn’t deserve it (even if he thought he did) and Kiara didn’t deserve it. Berlioz didn’t deserve it. So Nala kept her mouth shut about these details, knowing deep down that they were her puzzle pieces only.
She just needed to figure out how to fill in the rest of the gaps.
So Nala just shook her head and smiled small at Copper and Rajah. “No, nothing springs to mind right now. But-- I’ll let you know if it does or if I think of anything,” she said. Or if I discover something else.
Nala stood up then, still smiling politely. “Thanks so much Sheriff Russell, Deputy Patel.”
Further Reading:
The Investigation Begins – Copper and Taka
Liars and Loopholes – Taka and Rodmilla
A Helpful Interrogation – Copper and Nala
Truth is in the Eye of the Beholder -- Simba and Taka
[Dated July 15th]
[tw for talk of death/murder/detailed description of injuries/thoughts of suicide]
NALA:
Nala needed to get a private audience with one Dr. Joshua Sweet. This posed a real big problem for Nala because of the following reasons:
1. She had finished her PT a couple of weeks ago and so she was not in the hospital nearly as much-- really,, she wasn’t at the hospital at all. She didn’t have any outstanding bills or reasons to come back, besides a few nurses who had become her friends.
2. Despite literally living three floors down from her apartment, Sweet kept odd hours and was never at home from what she could tell. In fact, he was always at the hospital, the very same hospital Nala didn’t have much of a reason to go to anymore.
3. She did have his number, but she didn’t think he was going to take her calls because--
4. Sweet hated her.
Ah, that last one really was the biggest complication of them all. The last time she’d seen the doctor had been a … mess. Before that, an even bigger mess, as she and Sweet rowed in the halls like two kids arguing on a playground. She’d felt awful just minutes after she’d walked away from that fight, had wanted to go apologize, but her stupid pride wasn’t going to let her. So no doubt, since Mr. Crowley’s death and everything that followed it, Sweet did not like Nala Calame and probably wasn’t going to help her break the law.
Oh yeah. Breaking the law. Should that go under number five?
Nala had to figure out a way around all these stupid complications, including her own pride, because there was no other way that she was going to get access to Simba’s medical records and get to the bottom of all the… strange, suspicious clues emerging surrounding Taka Lyons. Even going to Simba himself wouldn’t work; she knew Simba too well, and he would defend Taka to the death until he saw hard evidence that said otherwise. Not to mention speaking a word of the accident would turn him cold and hard before she got that far. So Sweet was the key, the only key that Nala had short of hiring a secret agent or donning a ski mask herself. She wasn’t there--yet.
So instead, Nala opted to… stalk Sweet. Lesser of two evils?
She contacted one of her better nurse friends, arranging a coffee date to “catch up.” Then, she slipped into conversation how much she wanted to apologize to Sweet. Make it up to him-- if only she knew when he was off his next shift. Then, when she had the hours in hand, Nala did what any normal, totally sane, not-desperate person did: she waited outside his apartment.
And when he came plodding up the stairs and saw her down the hall, Nala pushed off the wall and smiled at him.
“Er-- hullo! Do you, uh, have a second?”
SWEET:
Sweet had been at the hospital for thirteen hours. He was exhausted, which was so normal for him he barely felt the tired, even though it lay heavy in his feet and in the center of his shoulder blades. That was where exhaustion was carried, but he felt it there so consistently, it was practically natural at this point. The shift had been decent. He’d been in surgery for five of the hours, an appendectomy, easy but at least it let him cut. And, besides, these days he wasn’t feeling as eager anyway, what with what had happened to Mr. Crowley.
Yeah, he was trying not to think about that. Though, apparently fate had other ideas.
As he climbed the stairs to his apartment floor and opened the door from the stairway, he felt like he’d run straight into a wall. That’s what determination felt like—what stubbornness felt like. It physically ground him to a halt. It was that, more than the surprise at seeing Nala camped outside his doorway, that had him pausing with his handle on the door, as if he was considering turning around and just walking away.
He wasn’t considering that, he was trying to tear down that blockade mentally so he could step across the threshold. It took him a few moments, maybe a handful of them, before he was able to break through and cross the hall towards her. He was too tired, and more tired still from that mental exercise, to greet her with a smile.
“Nala,” he said as he got close enough to speak to her without raising his voice and disturbing the neighbors. He went about putting his key in the lock without pause, knowing that resistance was futile. She was going to say her piece whether he liked it or not. He didn’t mind, for the record, he’d never begrudge hearing someone out.
He was just tired. He needed a tea and he needed to take off his shoes, in which his feet pounded.
“Come in, I was going to put the kettle on, and you can tell me what you need to tell me.” He was too tired to bother with covering up the fact that he knew she wanted something, and that she’d stop at nothing to get it. Worse case scenario he just had to lie (it was not much of a lie) and tell her it was written all over her face.
Turning the handle, he opened the door, walking in first but holding it for her, toeing off his shoes right there in the hallway as she scurried in. He closed it and motioned for her to take a seat at the island as he went about preparing the kettle for tea.
NALA:
Sweet didn’t smile at her. Nala hadn’t expected him to. Still, he approached her with his drawn expression, his eyes heavy from a long day, she was sure, in the operating room or flitting through the hallways checking on his patients. She second-guessed her own strategy for a second. Maybe the hospital would have been the better place after all, maybe he would feel more open to talking, more willing to listen….
But even before the whole...Crowley debacle, she’d remembered the looks that he’d give her, spotting her in a patient’s room. They were half-amused, half-disapproving; Nala hadn’t taken them all that seriously at first. She didn’t see how her little visits could be such a problem. Wouldn’t it lift a patient’s spirits, make them stronger, more optimistic for surgery, to know they had people cheering them on?
But that was before Mr. Crowley. Now she knew. She had felt her own heart split, even though she’d not known the man for that long. Even now, thinking about Crowley in passing brought back a little of the pain, and the guilt, and everything else Nala had learned in her brief stays in the hospital.
Which was why she’d thought, hey, go to his home, don’t disturb him at work, show that she was keeping her nosy nose where it belonged-- uh, to an extent (ince of course, Nala wanted very badly to nose around the files that only Sweet could get access to). But was that the right choice? Was this mission doomed from the start?
Nala often felt hopeless tasks like that though-- she always tried anyway. So Nala took a deep breath and scurried into his apartment, glimpsing at the flag when she passed it. She already felt like an intruder, though maybe that was still her own guilt following on heel.
“Er, thanks. Promise it won’t take too long,” she said as she wandered toward his counter. She didn’t know if she should sit down, so she lingered there instead. She also didn’t know if she should apologize first or just leave it unsaid (what if he thought the apology wasn’t genuine considering she was about to ask a favour of him?)
Sweet bustled into the kitchen, Nala still standing there awkwardly. She bit down on the inside of her cheek. “Did you, er, have a good-- shift?”
Was small talk worse? Probably.
SWEET:
Contrary to what Nala thought, Sweet was not mad at her. Not in so many words. Annoyed? Yes. But, the whole issue of Crowley was a sensitive one for him. He hadn’t lost many patients in his time at Swynlake General, so of course, they always hit him hard. There was this—magic—surrounding Swynlake, where, for all the mayhem that was caused, hardly any life was lost, not really. People here died of old age, they died of disease, or their own stupidity, or random accidents, but the magic? Freak storms and lucid dreams and time travel? They didn’t. Not really.
Which meant, that when people died of disease—or surgeries they didn’t necessarily need…yeah, Sweet was going to take it hard. Of course, he knew that if he rewound time, he wouldn’t do anything differently. He hated sitting around and watching people die, withering away and letting their bodies eat at them until there was nothing left. Crowley had a fight in him, he was brave, up until the very end and Sweet—he believed that Crowley wouldn’t have regretted it either. Maybe he wouldn’t have done it, if he had a chance to do it again, but Sweet didn’t think his, hopefully at rest, spirit regretted the decision.
Maybe Sweet just thought that to comfort himself.
And, hey, Nala had enough loathing and sadness about the whole situation for the both of them. She looked at him like he was the Grim Reaper, and it wasn’t that far off from the truth. For handful of lives he saved, one slipped through the cracks.
That was just the way of it.
Now, he went about the motions of making tea, those blisters, now a month or so old, scabbing off little by little as Nala’s frazzled nerves picked away at them.
Glancing over his shoulder at her question, he sighed before turning back to pulling the stash of tea bags from the cabinet. “Sit down,” he told her, not harshly, “I’m not going to bite.”
When the water had been placed on the stove, Sweet brought the bowl of tea bags over to the island and slid it over to her. “Work was fine, tiring. Didn’t kill anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.” He raised his eyebrows at her a little, quirking his mouth in what could almost be a smile. Gallows humor. A specialty of doctors.
NALA:
If it was a joke, it was not funny. It was the opposite of funny.
She didn’t flinch, but she wanted to. Her heart pulsed in her chest, like it was an animal under the headlights. Is that what Sweet thought Nala thought of him? That he was a murderer?
She knew that their last meeting had been-- confusing and high-stress and her emotions had been frayed and she’d not been entirely herself. She’d said things she didn’t mean to say, things that she regretted even as they flew out of her mouth. There had been no taking them back. Now felt like the wrong time to take them back as well, so here they were, Sweet thinking that Nala thought he was a monster, and Nala thinking (no, now she was convinced) that Sweet hated her.
It was so uncomfortable, Nala wanted to wiggle out of her own skin. She hated people hating her. She also hated that Sweet thought she-- that she was capable of thinking--
“Of course not,” she said after that tense second. She dropped into the seat, her eyes darting away from Sweet’s toward the tea bags. She plucked one from the small bowl but didn’t put it in the hot water right away. No, she fiddled, feeling too many things at once right now. It was unusual for Nala not to know where she stood, not to know the right way to say something. She listened to her gut, but her gut was twisted.
Nala bit at her own lip then dropped the tea bag in the water, another second having floated by. She took a deeper breath and looked up at Sweet. And then she pushed away the rest, all that sordid history, all the things she wish she could say but couldn’t, not right now. She pushed away her guilt and her shame and her apology. She didn’t want it to be soiled by the rest of what she had to do here, tonight.
Nala was able to do all this because it was for Simba. That’s what she told herself. It was for Simba, Sarabi, InterPride-- it was for Mufasa, perhaps most of all. And she felt that now he was with her, and it helped her stay focused.
“I have a very big favour to ask,” she started. “And it’s a long story too. But I trust you and I think you can help me and my-- my family.” That’s what they were to her. Simba, Sarabi, Mufasa. Family. She’d do anything for them. “InterPride is trying to keep it quiet but you might have heard rumours by now that there’s an investigation. It’s on Taka Lyons, our CEO. Apparently there are funds missing, and the police has a reason to suspect criminal activity and all this has made me realize that--” she stopped, bit down on her own lip. It sounded insane even to Nala’s ears, but her heart was beating soundly.
“Three years ago, Mufasa was in an accident with his son. With everything going on, I have reason to believe that it wasn’t an accident. And the only way I’m going to know, for sure, is if you help me look at his and Simba’s hospital files.”
SWEET:
Oops.
Sweet’s joke had obviously missed its mark. He really had just been teasing. It was one of the only ways to deal with the kinds of things that he had to deal with on a day to day basis. His grandfather had raised him to believe that death was a natural part of life—which was hard to remember when it was you who ripped the pancreas out of a man and let him bleed to death on your table. It didn’t feel very natural then. Sweet counteracted the guilt the only way people like him knew how—to laugh about it.
But, he should’ve realized that it would upset Nala. He’d forgotten for a moment that she wasn’t as hardened as the nurses and doctors at work. He had only seen her, really, in the framework of the hospital. All of his memories of her were from there—except the one where she’d sat across from him on that very stool. His wires had gotten a little crossed, and he felt bad, but he just took deep breaths as Nala’s emotions scatted apart like dropped marbles across a hardwood floor. She gathered them up, one by one until it was solid again, just one emotion in her chest.
Determination. And—a warmth, brighter than Sweet had ever felt coming from her, but it was the unmistakable warmth of love.
He smiled at her and his head tilted. “Of course not,” he agreed softly. And, he didn’t think that, not really. Of course she’d been shocked and angry. She didn’t understand. To her, he’d seemed reckless, and in the moment, it had hurt, the mistake too raw still. But, well, Sweet was a man who learned from his mistakes, and Mr. Crowley would unfortunately be added to that list.
Pushing thoughts of Crowley aside, he watched Nala intently ready to listen intently to what she had to say.
And, boy, was it something.
He had heard the rumors. There was no better place in town to get rumors than the hospital. And InterPride was huge, the biggest business in town, employing near two hundred people, if not more. There were nurses and doctors with family and friends who worked there. Rumors had been plentiful. And many had surrounded Taka Lyons. He’d never met the CEO himself, but he had heard things. Things that were hard to reconcile with Simba, who he’d always been fond of, who always was so genuine.
And, he’d heard about Mufasa’s accident. When he’d come to Swynlake, it was just a month after, and he’d been greeted by a hospital of mourning. Everything had felt muted and quiet, as if Mufasa had been a personal friend to every worker. Sweet felt his spirit sometimes still, when people spoke of him. There were not many with a presence that could evoke something like that in people.
To hear that he had possibly been murdered, well, though it was not Sweet’s place to feel it, the grief yawned wide anyways.
“Alright,” he said as soon as she had finished. He didn’t need to be told twice. He trusted Nala. And Sweet was, obviously, not above twisting the rules for the greater good. He was a doctor and a Magick, wasn’t he? Illegal on all accounts. What was one more illegal thing? And, if it proved a murder, well, it would only do good. And, if it proved that the car accident was just that—an accident, at least it would put Nala’s mind at rest. To him, there was no other option.
“You’ll have to meet me on my next shift, which isn’t for another two days. Three PM is when I should get off. Have the nurse on duty at the desk page me. Is there anything else that I should know? That you need?”
NALA:
Nala really didn’t have any arguments prepared past Please. That was it, just one word. She knew that it was the right thing to do but she didn’t expect Sweet to understand. In fact, she expected Sweet to find her paranoid and crazy and honestly, she could be those things.
And she’d tried so hard to convince herself out of this. Ever since Copper had questioned her, she wrestled with her own instincts, the same ones that always screamed at her about Taka. She went through the same song and dance that she’d been going through for years. Look at everything he’s done for you and Sarabi and Simba. Look at how he stepped up. Look at the memorial he helped create. Look at all the projects he’s given you. Look look look.
And then her heart would snap back: But where was he before Mufasa died?
In the end, that was the kicker. For all of Nala’s life, Taka had been the colloquial thorn in the Lyons’ side, only Mufasa taking pity on him. Nala believed in second chances and she did think people could change, but it all felt too convenient. If she was wrong? The worst that happened was-- well, nothing. She was embarrassed, she wasted Sweet’s time, she apologized, she went back to beating herself up for what would just be her own prejudices.
But if she was right?
It was worth the gamble. It could mean giving Simba his life back and saving InterPride and avenging Mufasa all in one swoop. So yes, if Nala had to, she’d say please, and she’d find a way to put all of that into words.
Good thing she didn’t have to. Because it took one beat, and then Sweet agreed. Nala lit up, the surprise dancing across her face, though it quickly melted into joy.
“Really? I-- I mean-- thank you, thank you so much,” she nearly gushed, barely holding herself back. “I don’t think so, I-- is there anything you need from me?”
SWEET:
Sweet didn’t need to feel the joy to see it on her face and know he’d done the right thing--but he felt it anyway, like a firework in his chest, and it made him smile back at her and he knew he wouldn’t hesitate to do this for her. It was for the greater good anyways--this wasn’t selfishly motivated on her part. She was trying to help her friends--her family.
“Discretion,” he told her simply. “As I’m sure you know, I am breaking several rules in order to accomplish this for you. I will text you when I am ready for you, so keep your phone near.”
With that, they finished their tea and Sweet showed Nala out, promising her that as soon as he got the chance, he was going to text her. They parted ways and Sweet showered and fell rather quickly asleep, no anxiety plaguing his thoughts as he drifted off. He’d been caught doing worse things before, after all, hadn’t he?
It was another three weeks before Sweet got the opportunity he’d been looking for. It would’ve been sooner, but Swynlake had other plans in the form of a nasty snow storm that had the Hospital running on backup generators for 72 hours. Not to mention the influx of patients with frostbite, hypothermia, and pneumonia that trickled in throughout the rest of the week. There was also a slew of bone breakage from people slipping on the ice, not in the proper attire for the weather. They had been short-staffed and stretched thin.
But, eventually he texted her: Meet me outside of the morgue. Ask for instructions from the woman at the desk. Tell her you are coming to identify the body of Joseph Order.
Then, he leaned against the wall near the bathrooms at the opposite end of the hallway from the morgue, a pair of intern scrubs tucked under his arm, and waited.
NALA:
When Nala got the text from Sweet, a shiver had run up her spine, like another snowfall had hit the air and blasted through her lungs. It was a good kind of shiver though, not one of fear. No, Nala was excited.
She probably shouldn’t be excited.
She realized that, as she quickly rescheduled a meeting and cleared her afternoon for this jaunt into the bowels of the hospital. She was 26 years old and should have long ago outgrown her sneaking-around days. But it felt like primary, secondary-- even uni again. Like no time had passed at all from Simba calling her up on the phone with some kinda plan or another. Sure, usually their escapades were sorta silly, weren’t they? Sneaking into a party or spying on Mufasa. They’d never really done anything as illegal as what Nala was supposed to do.
She wanted to tell Simba so badly.
But she resisted. She knew that if she did that, Simba would be furious at the thought of Nala poking that nose of hers where it didn’t belong, and against his beloved uncle too. No, Nala had to get undeniable proof first so he couldn’t deny it and so he’d see exactly why Nala had to go with her stubborn gut. And it was with that mission in mind that Nala left work early, made a pitstop at her apartment to change clothes (couldn’t go on a covert mission in heels) and showed up at the hospital with her marching orders from Sweet.
“Oh, hey Nala!” chirped one of the nurses who was just coming around the bend. Nala smiled back and waved, but was glad that the nurse scurried on to wherever it was she was doing. She didn’t want any distractions and she didn’t want to be asked why she was here (she’d come briefly a few days ago just for a check-up following the snowstorm, but was cleared within a few hours; besides that, she and the hospital had become strangers again).
She started scurrying too, beelining her way to the counter. When she got there, she found the woman that Sweet had mentioned. It was showtime. Nala’s heart beat fast, but steady and strong. She wasn’t nervous; it was just that--that thrill. Maybe she wasn’t meant to outgrow it after all.
When she approached, she kept her face drawn, serious. “Er-- scuse me? Do you know where I’m supposed to go? I’m.. er, supposed to identify the body of Joseph Order.”
The woman nodded. “I’ll send someone to take you down.”
Nala didn’t have to wait long. Soon she was on her way, winding through the hallways to a part of the hospital she had never seen. She had to keep her eyes from lighting up when she saw Sweet waiting for her.
SWEET:
Sweet felt his heart tick up slightly at the sight of Nala, feeling her excitement in his chest. Typical. He really wasn’t surprised, which was why it was easy for him to keep his expression neutral as he pushed off the wall, keeping his arms crossed (the pair of scrubs tucked under his arm, hidden beneath his lab coat.) He smiled just slightly, a contained kind of smile, a smile of condolences.
“Oh! Hey, Dr. Sweet, what are you doing down here?” chirped Patrick, the nurse who had been guiding Nala.
“The grief counselor is not here yet, so, I’m going to be stay with--” he checked the clipboard in his freehand-- “Mrs. Order.”
“Right, I’ll leave you in good hands, then,” the nurse said, smiling at Nala and touching her elbow gently. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Sweet watched as the nurse walked away, before pulling the scrubs out from beneath his coat. “There’s a supply closet over there--you should change into these.” He tilted his head in the direction of the closet. “I’ll stand guard.”
And then, a little smile did twitch on his lips. When she disappeared, he leaned up casually against the wall again, though, no one came by. The morgue was dead--ha. People only came down here when they needed to. Otherwise, they avoided it.
The door opened and Sweet turned to Nala, smiling again and snorting a little at her in the scrubs. “Suits you,” he teased for a moment before sobering. “Alright, here’s the plan: the man in there is Manuel. Almost everyone calls him Manny. He’s a friendly bugger, so you shouldn’t have a problem getting him talking. These are the papers for Joseph Order. Say you’re just delivering them down from the OR for Dr. Tibbs. It’s a simple job--why we make the interns do it.” He raised his eyebrows. “Strike up a conversation and keep him talking.”
“I’ll come in a minute or so behind you and head for the paper files. They’re in a backroom. I looked up the records on the computer--but there wasn’t anything. Though, I remember back in December when Simba came in for his appendicitis, there had been a report from the accident. It said--there were drugs in his system, but the detailed toxicology report hadn’t been completed. I’m hoping the original paper files have the correct information because it shouldn’t be like that. No nurse leaves that blanket, and our toxicology printouts have exact measurements.”
He shook his head a little, brow furrowing, disturbed at the level of possible deceit and corruption within the hospital.
“You should leave before me, just wait outside. If anyone asks what you’re doing just tell them you’re waiting for me. They’ll believe you. Got it?”
NALA:
Nala listened diligently to her instructions, nodding a few times-- almost bouncing on her toes. She knew not to do that, she didn’t want Sweet to think she wasn’t taking this seriously. She definitely was. To Nala, this might be the single most important thing she ever did, even if it was a glorified game of pretend. If it meant she was right, then a pair of these scrubs were going to go a very long way.
So she took those scrubs and ducked into the other room, wiggling out of her clothes and into her new disguise as quickly as she could. It was funny-- once a long, long time ago, when Nala was jsut a little girl, she’d thought about being a doctor. She’d had plenty of big dreams like that, every single one of them involving saving the world (at least, Nala liked to think so). She didn’t remember when those dreams had stopped, at what age, exactly, her daddy sat her down and told her of the great things InterPride could do, and how lucky she was to be a part of it.
Part of it. Nala had never been separate. Which was why this mission was her business, why she had a right to be down here, why she would not fail. So she rolled up her scrubs once (they were a smidge too long on her) and then slipped out of the room again, glancing toward the door. Her gaze snapped back to Sweet, more instructions tumbling out of his lips. She absorbed it all. Manuel-- Manny. Distract, schmooze, keep him talking, while Sweet found Simba and Mufasa’s files. It was a straightforward enough mission, as far as Nala was concerned. And she was good at her part, good at talking to people. Hopefully this Manny wouldn’t suspect a thing.
“Got it,” she said. “Good luck, Sweet-- not that you’ll need it, ‘m sure.” And then with a smile, she snatched the papers from his hand and sauntered her way to the door, shoulders back, chin lifted, confident confident confident.
She opened the door and Manuel looked up right away at her. Nala put on her sunny smile. “Hey Manny,” she said to him. “ ‘M just coming to deliver some papers.”
“Oh yeah-- is this Order?”
“Yeah. Tibbs sent them from the OR,” Nala recited her line perfectly. But she meandered a little, turning her head side to side like she was taking a tour of the place. “Y’know, this is my first time actually down in the morgue. It’s not as-- creepy as I thought it would be.”
Manny snorted at that. “Good to hear. You’ll be down here a lot more ‘fore you know it. A good place to come practice if you have the time-- you are one of the surgical interns, yeah? Tibbs, you said?”
Nala nodded. This reminded her of uni improv class-- she’d not been so shabby, though she was always at her best opposite Simba. “Yeah, he’s brilliant. Already learning a lot.”
Manny chuckled. “Bet you can’t wait to get cutting, eh?”
Nala had no idea what that meant. Cutting what? Into people? That’s probably what he meant if Nala was a surgical intern. “Oh yeah, you bet!” She said anyway, that grin of hers bigger than ever, though now her gears were spinning. She needed to turn the topic away from her. She could only bullshit for so long and she hadn’t even heard Sweet come in yet. Had he come in, and she’d just-- not noticed?
SWEET:
Sweet waited for Nala to bounce off and he did his best not to panic. He could potentially lose his job over this, but he trusted Nala to keep it together. It wouldn’t take him long, the files would be right next to each other--he just had to snatch them.
When the door shut behind her, he paced up and down the hall once before opening the door right as Manny asked Nala about cutting. Jesus. Maybe this was a terrible idea. But, he wasn’t too worried, Manny’s heart was beating a little fast as Nala turned her smile on him and Sweet knew it’d be fine.
“Hey Manny!” Sweet said with a bright smile and a wave. “Dr. Calame.” He nodded at Nala, knowing it’d be more suspicious not to acknowledge her. Manny might not be up on all the gossip, but everyone knew Sweet and Tibbs were connected at the hip.
“Oh! Hullo, Dr. Sweet. What can I do ya for?”
“Not much, just gotta grab a file. One of the nurses put it into the computer wrong when they imputed it a while back.” He shook his head with a playful roll of his eyes.
“Ah, you know where they are.”
“Thanks, Manny.” He nodded to the mortician before slipping away into the storage room.
He heard Manny lean in as he left, asking in a whisper: “What’s it like working with that guy?”
Sweet smirked. He was sure Nala would have an interesting answer to that.
The file cabinets were lined up in a row and Sweet found 2013 quickly and easily, pulling it open quietly. Lyons, Lyons, Lyons.
There they were. Sitting there innocently in their manila folders. Sweet plucked them out quick and easy. It was so easy. It made him incredibly sad. If what Nala said was true. If what Sweet found in these files were true, then the information had been just sitting here, all this time. Collecting dust. So easily accessible. But, he didn’t dwell. After a minute or two, he stood up and exited the back room, making sure the files under his arm had the names facing towards his body. Nala was no longer in front of Manny.
“See ya, Manny!”
“Til next time, doctor!” Manny replied with a wave.
He let out a breath as he went back out into the hall. Nala was waiting against a wall. As he walked passed her, he nodded his head slightly, so that she’d follow him into the supply closet. Soon as they entered and the door closed, Sweet flipped open Simba’s file. Quickly his eyes scanned over the file.
“Jesus,” Sweet whispered to himself with a shake of his head before closing the file and shoving it in Nala’s hands. He opened Mufasa’s next, his stomach sinking the entire time.
Cause of death: blunt force trauma, crushed windpipe.
Medical examiner’s notes: Patient deceased on arrival to the hospital. Windpipe injury in cohesive with other car accident-related injuries. Otherwise injuries were rather mild--concussion, broken leg, several gashes, internal bruising, but no bleeding.
Sweet looked up, his face drawn and serious. “Nala, I think you were right.” He didn’t hand her Mufasa’s file. She didn’t need to know those details. “Simba had a dangerously high dose of rohypnol in his system, along with alcohol. He could’ve died just from the combination if the car accident hadn’t had him rushed to the hospital. Does Simba have a history of drug use?”
NALA:
Sweet swooped in just at that moment, turning Nala’s head with the sound of his voice. She flashed him a polite smile, one that she had often given her teachers, which made sense if Nala was playing Dr. Calame (she felt all wiggly and giddy at the sound of it-- man, how she wished she could tell Simba all about this) and Sweet was one of her many teachers. It only lasted a second anyway. He came, he exchanged a few words, and then off into the files he went. Her heart thudded faster and she nearly didn’t turn to look at Manny when he spoke to her again. There was a beat.
But she wrenched her eyes away and smiled again, leaning closer to the man like she was about to impart some grade-A gold gossip on their mutual friend, Dr. Sweet.
“Oh, Sweet’s great, real friendly. Can talk a mile a minute I’m sure you’ve noticed. I’ve had to develop a different shorthand when I go on rounds with him.”
Manny laughed at that and leaned in himself. “I hear him and Tibbs-- that’s your supervisor right? They’re pretty close.”
Ooooo, now that was interesting gossip, especially because Nala knew Tibbs from her PT. Her eyebrows raised. “Well, they are real chummy,” she said, going along with the gossip. “You don’t think they…?”
Manny smirked and gave her a look that read: You know what I mean. He tapped the side of his nose. “Keep a look out.”
Nala nodded. “I-- certainly will. Thanks Manny. I should probably get goin’ or Tibbs will miss me. See you around!” And with a cheerful wave, she scurried out the door, letting out a breath on the other side. She had no idea if she had given Sweet enough time or if she should have stayed any longer but what’s done was done. She crossed her arms over her chest and keep her eyes on the tile. As long as no one came by…
The door swung open behind her.
Nala turned at once and saw Sweet with the files. His eyes were already on one of them, and she could tell, just by looking at him, that whatever was in those files was not good. Her heart plummeted straight into her stomach and she was scared to ask. She’d come this far and now, here it was, the truth at her fingertips. But Nala opened her mouth and no sound came out.
Sweet didn’t make her ask though.
Sweet looked up at her, the answer in his dark, soft eyes, and Nala felt parts of her crumple that she hadn’t felt in-- years. Since that night, when she got the call about the accident and she’d arrived in this very hospital in tears.
She was right.
Nala ripped open the file. She scanned it just the way that Sweet did, though most of it she could not understand. Rohypnol though, she knew. She knew because in her uni days she’d been an ambassador for the feminist group on campus and she’d led many seminars on date rape and similar crimes. And so her blood turned to ice and she couldn’t believe it. Though she could. Though everything was finally perfectly aligned inside of her for the first time in three years-- her head, her heart, her gut.
Her eyes darted back up to Sweet. “Nothing, just-- alcohol and a bit of weed here and there. Rohypnol, that’s-- that’s roofies, yes? Someone put it in his drink? He couldn’t have… been driving, could he? With that in his system?”
SWEET:
Sweet could feel Nala’s pain in her own chest. Shock was like a drain, like a plug had been pulled and all the sudden your emotions were swirling down through you. From your brain to your heart to your gut, all the way down to your toes sometimes. Sometimes the water was so hot it burned, but this time, it was cold as ice. It made Sweet shiver. Underneath that water, it took him a second to get his brain back in working order.
He should’ve prepared better. He should’ve delivered this news more gently. But, there was no way to do so. Sweet had told people that their loved ones were dead before. It was always that same feeling--that draining of all emotion until you were empty and cold.
His hand came up and he put it on Nala’s shoulder, squeezed it. Touched her face gently for a moment. He wasn’t supposed to do that. It was too intimate. But Nala had been a patient of his, he knew her better than some stranger in a waiting room. Not to mention, this was murder. Sweet had not dealt with those very often in his career. Such a thing shook even him. The idea of a human taking another human’s life so intentionally. Attempting to take someone else’s life? And no guilt at all, so it seemed.
“No, Nala, he wasn’t driving the car.” Sweet could say that with certainty, because there--right at the top of Mufasa’s file, it said:
Reason for admittance: Automobile accident -- driver.
NALA:
Nala had known the answer to the question that she asked, but she needed someone else to say it. She needed to hear her own thoughts said out loud so it wasn’t… crazy anymore. Simba was not driving the car. Simba was not driving the car.
All these years, he’d thought, and she’d thought, and Sarabi had thought. All these years, they’d all been in so much pain-- no one moreso than Simba. She’d watched him nearly kill himself. She felt every drunk word he ever used to lash out at her again, all at once, each one as sharp as a knife. And the worst thing was they’d all been pointless. Her tears had been pointless, the times she had begged him-- the three years he had disappeared without a word-- his family’s anger at him. Her anger at him. Pointless. Misplaced. She and Simba’s relationship had been shattered and crookedly rebuilt for… nothing. Taka had been to blame.
She should have known. How many times did she suspect Taka? How many times had she buried that doubt and beat herself up for it? It had taken her four years and all those days of pain to listen to her instincts.
Her hand shook as it held the file. Nala wanted to be sick all over it. When Sweet touched her shoulder, she flinched like she’d been struck, looking up at him. Sweet was still calm, solid, like a lighthouse shining through the storm. She blinked again at his hand on her cheek. It lasted hardly more than a second, but it moved through her like a wave. She wanted to burst into tears.
Nala sucked in a breath instead, turning her cheek and her face away from Sweet so she would not crumble. She could not now. What did she need to do-- ?
“I-- I have to, to tell Simba,” she said, with her voice shaking. “I-- need these. Can I take these? I can bring them back, I’ll bring them back.”
SWEET:
He knew that Nala was going to ask that and he frowned slightly. He didn’t think it was a good idea for her or Simba to read Mufasa’s autopsy report. That was the kind of thing you could never unsee. And when it was someone you loved, those facts, written so plainly, by someone who hadn’t even known the man. It was going to hurt.
But, he knew that she wanted them for evidence. Sweet didn’t know the specifics. If her taking them from the hospital would invalidate them as evidence, which was why he hesitated. At the end of the day, though, if it was what Simba needed--if it was what would make the poor boy see the truth. Sweet couldn’t begrudge that. He knew he couldn’t. All he could do was try to warn against the kind of trauma this could cause.
Reluctantly, he handed the file over to her.
“Don’t read it, if you can avoid it. Don’t let Simba read it, if you can avoid it,” he advised solemnly and took a deep breath. “And be careful, Nala. Make sure someone stays with Simba. Make sure someone stays with you. If you need anything, call me.”
Since his conversation with Nala, Gaston had...honestly hit a bit of a wall. It was weird to think about what he had been doing as...mistakes. Up until this point he had always seen the world so clearly his way. Belle was the woman of his dreams, everyone else was insignificant in comparison. And he was the best, naturally. That he was great wasn’t brought into question.
What was, however, was whether or not it was really worth it to keep pursuing what he was pursuing. How many years would he waste away going after someone who just didn’t want to be with him. Not only that, but pursuing that when he could actually get someone who did want all those things, who would likely make him a good little wife. So he had done some terrible things. The weird thing was that he was starting to feel a little bit bad about it.
In particular, he felt sort of bad for the lies he had sold Lady. Sure, she was a boring little thing, but she was nice enough. She hadn’t done anything to offend him or any of that. She had just been sweet. And he wanted to corrupt her. He had wanted to from the moment he saw her. And now he had to try to be nice or some shit. How the fuck did he do that?
Well, he took off to find Nala as fast as he could, as if the devil himself was chasing him. And did he casually pick the lock instead of knock like a regular person? Sure, but he needed answers. And she would be the one to give it to him. After some scanning around, he figured she had to be in her bedroom and made his way over, glancing down at her. Okay, he had no patience for softness. Not now. “HEY! Rise and shine sunshine! I need your help.”
Dash had told him that Nala wanted to speak with him. He’d been grinning from ear to ear when he told him this, shining with excitement, which, Simba was pretty sure meant one thing--
They were getting new orders.
Simba’s heart sank and he started towards Nala’s quarters with trepidation after making sure that Dash was stationed outside the doors of the Bonfamille’s wing. He walked slowly, hands tucked inside of his robs, so no one would see how his fingers were tangling together. His face was expressionless and as he walked he did his best to mediate those feelings away, all the nerves, all the reluctance. He knew it was not like him.
He was eager for battle, eager to be in the thick of the fighting. It was on the battle field that Simba found the most glory as Jedi. He did not delight in death, even the killing of droids, but he was a commander at heart. He was well-suited to it, which meant he could theorize where this new assignment would end him up. On the front-lines as the battles wore down. There was no room for mistakes, which meant experience soldiers.
Which meant no more guard duty.
Almost any Jedi would jump at this chance. He knew that. So, as he stood outside of Nala’s door, he took a breath and put a smile on his face before knocking and opening the door with a hiss.
“Nala?” he called into what looked like an empty room. He stepped inside, the door whooshing shut behind him. “Nala!” he called again--he refused to call her Master, except in public of course, but she was still just--Nala to him. Always would be.
Simba had called Nala up to his office for a very, very, verrrrrrryyyyy important reason. Like super important.
“Mr. Lyons, Ms. Calame is here to see you.” Janet’s voice crackled onto the intercom.
“Simba, Janet, how many times?”
“Once again, it seems, sir,” Janet teased into the intercom.
Simba rolled his eyes. “Fine, send her in.”
Simba made quick work of spinning back around in his chair so he was facing the large windows that looked out over Main Street--his back to the double doors. When he heard it open, he waited a few seconds, before spinning around, his fingers interlaced, elbows on the arms of his chair.
“Welcome to my lair,” Simba said, dropping his voice low, and then letting out what could only be described as a practiced villain laugh, tossing his head back and everything.
Imagine his surprise when the day before Mr. Crowley’s surgery was scheduled, he was told by the man himself that he did not want to go through with it. Now, all week, Crowley had been badgering Sweet, antsy and wanting to get the surgery over with.
Now, all of the sudden, he’d changed his mind?
The old man had been stubborn about why he’d changed his mind, saying shit about how he just “wanted to live the rest of his life in peace.” He hadn’t given up. No one gave up that quickly unless they were presented with new information.
When he’d asked the nurses on rotation all they’d said was that Nala had been the only one to visit him the past two days.
Sweet didn’t need to hear anymore. He’d gone down to the physical therapy wing and sweet-talked the nurse working at the time to give him the patient schedule. He knew Nala always stopped in to see Crowley either before or after and so he’d foregone his desk, staking out at the nurse’s station until Nala showed up. Right on time.
Quickly leaving his seat, Sweet intercepted Nala before she could get to the door, crossing his arms over his chest, he started down at her--a hard scowl on his features.
“Sorry, Nala, Mr. Crowley isn’t seeing guests today,” he lied, swiftly and easily, not an ounce of regret to it.
