Healing

✖ More Than A Roadblock

Joey stands over the body, steadfast. The engine coming to life behind her is neutral input, neither motivation nor discouragement. The tormented expression burned into Joey’s features melts away, her mind no longer stuck between confrontation and flight. A faraway look crept into her face to replace the distress, a momentary, extraneous serenity - as if she could have merely been contemplating the evening twilight. The fear in her heart morphed into something else, at least temporarily – a breed of unflexing resolve. It seemed the best, perhaps the only way, to keep a lid on the terror wrought by her own actions.

While the engine roaring to life held little consequence on Joey’s action, the sudden silence that enveloped the field had an equal and opposite reaction. The time of day was practically imprinted in her blood. And though she did not feel the pressure of the werecat seated at the back of her eyes, she still felt compelled to complete the task at hand. To put some distance between this turning moment in her life and whatever future existed beyond this. Beyond this night. Beyond this field. Beyond the sickening scent of stale blood tainting the air and burning itself into memory.

Notions of right and wrong had slipped away by this point, draining to irrelevance. When the world was crumbling around you, Joey supposed, it was best to set yourself on a few simple tasks. Something to distract. Something occupy the brain from dwelling and delving into dangerous territory. The dangerous territory of the particular way that long, chunky strings of coagulated blood stretched between the body and the grass when Joey attempted to move it. She couldn’t get a good grip. It was all the blood. Her hands were now greasy with it. The weight slipped from her grasp and fell to the earth with a heavy thud. Joey chewed with dour discipline as she squatted and readjusted, leveling herself with the consequences of her lapse in control.

Joey moved the body past Veronica into the still open door of the vehicle, and threw it into the front cab; a long stride backwards put some much needed distance between the blonde and the bodies. A lone leg hung out at an abnormal angle and the conviction to complete the task somehow was not enough to stimulate Joey to touch the body yet again, not when her own feet did not feel entirely moored to the earth anymore. The effort it had taken to perform the simple task had seemed to drain what should be an endless supply of power.

Veronica isn’t certain she’ll ever be able to close her eyes again without seeing the evisceration of the officers. There will be moments where she will see the ghost of Joey as she is now--naked and stained with blood, bullet wounds healed away but the clotted blood still marking their momentary existence. In this moment, the brunette feels squeezed too tight, pressed on all sides by the weight of trauma, shock, and disbelief. There’s no telling what this means for them both and as she watches Joey determinedly lift the body and deposit it in the front of the squad car, Veronica fears most of all for her girlfriend. No matter what support she offers, she can’t dare conceive what this has done to Joey.

The moment her observant gaze notes the slack that slips between the blonde’s shoulder blades, Veronica drives herself to move and take over where her other half cannot continue.

The small pulse of healing blue that spirals through her own veins is a selfish necessity that the doctor refuses to acknowledge at the moment. The only reason she doesn’t reach out and provide some to Joey being a resistant fear of the recoil and rejection she may face for her effort. But that tendril warms through Veronica’s muscles and blankets her tatter thoughts, allowing her the absence of tension needed to pick up the gasoline tank and pour it over the bodies, splashing the seats as she does, and letting it drip over the windshield in some farce of cleansing.

Unable to prevent herself from inhaling the stench of petrol, Veronica feels it burn beyond her senses. A smell she won’t be able to shake when it hits her in random moments from this point forward. The woman is thankful that she’d always had a habit of keeping a lighter on hand for her friends and their penchant for chain smoking. She draws out the cheap thing and then snatches up a few dead leaves scattered in the field as the twilight fully falls through the sky. The light catches the decayed plant matter and Veronica drops it into the car before stepping back swiftly as the gasoline and the air ignite with a flash and a light bang.

Healer snatches the hand of the werecat far enough to remain safe but easily feeling the heat radiating off the building flames. “Lets get out of here,” she says softly into the quickly chilling night creeping in.

✖ More Than A Roadblock

Veronica’s words said the very thing that Joey longed to hear. And her presence was even more reassuring than the words spoken to her; the very fact that she hadn’t left settled Joey’s soul. But, an ungrippable essence, unseen but deeply felt, dumping out of Veronica’s body like a pheromone. It was a live-wire smell, a power transformer exploding in a rainstorm. And though Joey could not attach hard meaning to it, there was vaporous, untraceable emotions that rose from it, that buried them deep within herself. They escaped in the form of sound. First inaudible, stretching on for a few moments. Then growing and morphing into a long, continuous cry; the sound that a mother wolf makes when its pups are discovered dead. It comes from low in the diaphragm, air escaping, ejecting from her lungs until the plural space empties and burns, burns like the dark ink smothering her soul. Joey doesn’t realizing she is making a sound until her body demands oxygen, and she pulls in a breath. Pulls in the distraught clench on her heart.

Then Joey bursts into action, anxious to finish this, “Let’s get this step over with?” These words are pleading, much like her earlier ones. Except this time, there is also a question, a place for Veronica to offer her assistance. And while Joey knows, deep inside a voice tells her with assurance, that it is not okay, that it had changed everything, she will honor Veronica’s decision to stay with her. Because Joey needs Veronica as much as she needs the air that she breathes, more even.

Joey squats at the body’s side, fearful that if she were to move the body, it might split at the seams. “Can we drive the sedan over here instead?” Her voice husks the question, but it is the action that sets it apart from moments ago, her green eyes peer upwards at Veronica, questioning, searching, and unafraid of the answer.

Veronica stands in the wake of Joey’s cry. Allows it to wash over her, penetration through her. Her own pain identifies with parts of the sound that comes from deep inside the blonde but also acknowledges that there’s more in the auditory release of her trauma that Veronica can never begin to understand. But she doesn’t dismiss the cry, refuses to speak through it. Instead the healer keeps her arms around Joey and lets the moment sit with them.

When Joey breathes in after the shout she cast to the swiftly darkening horizon, Veronica waits. Each action the blonde puts forth can’t be anticipated right now, only heeded.

With a nod, the brunette lets her arms slip from the embrace, fingers passing over skin in a light caress that promises support. She might be parting from her now for the sake of what must be done but she won’t ever go far. Veronica looks down at the man still and losing warmth with the cold of the night seeping in. “Yeah we can do that. Get it over with.”

Safe. That’s what they both need. To feel safe. But Veronica begins to wonder if safe will find them. As her feet crunch in the dirt toward the dark sedan, she considers Joey’s words again. I did this alone. I liked it. She can’t know what she would feel had their roles been reversed but she knows she would have done whatever it took to get free, to get to Joey. And that’s what her girlfriend did.

Slipping into the driver’s seat of the sedan, the healer lets out a sigh to see the keys settled in the ignition. She would have done it but she’s relieved she doesn’t have to dig for them on one of the officer’s persons. The engine turns over with a purr and Veronica rests her hands on the steering wheel but doesn’t move to put the car in drive immediately. Cars, death. She’s reminded for a moment of what happened to Celeste. The one she couldn’t save. And a sinking realisation strikes the woman.

She would have gladly taken the lives of the two paramedics who came and refused Celeste service if it had meant bringing her girlfriend back. At seventeen, she’d even debated going after the drunkards responsible for the horror she was haunted by.

There are times when taking a life feels better than refraining.

With that thought echoing in her skull, Veronica shifts the car into drive and guides it slowly over to where the second body lies. Throwing it into park but leaving the engine running as she climbs out, the door hanging open.

“Lets do this.”

✖ More Than A Roadblock

The words conjure an ache in Joey, and she longs to step away, strike up some distance to put between her and Veronica’s reach. She does the opposite. Joey’s body leans into the touch at her fist, sagged and deflated, defeated. There is never a question of whether or not her girlfriend would hold her upright, or even catch her if she collapsed. “I know, I know you want to help,” Joey says softly, sounding more like herself with these words than any previous. “But, I did…” a knot forms in Joey’s throat and tears flood her vision. She tears her head upward, jaw jutting to the sky and sea-green eyes disappearing behind eyelids. A lone tear carves its way down her face, drawing a path through dried blood and mixing, melding, until it disappears into her hairline. A small voice, whimpered makes an admission, “I did this alone.”

Joey takes a deep, shaky, teeth-chattering breath and looks back down to the man; a shudder reverberates down her form, now seemingly caving in on itself. “I did this… I wanted to…” Eyes harden with the admission. “It wasn’t even that he was going to rape me…” the sentence is said with numbness, with fact. And it hangs in the air with weight. Joey’s steely eyes flash down to the pants that are still at Cohen’s ankles, a testament to the reality of what almost happened, of what had happened. A visage of memories rise to the surface, of moments of stolen agency replaced only with nauseating violation. Joey hadn’t felt the fear then, but she feels it now with a shocking intimacy: the feel of a man pressing into her that could never be erased, the hot, sticky tongue that forever burned a trail down the length of her face, the hollow crack of her ankle stealing away any hope of a human fueled solution.

“It wasn’t that he was going to kill me,” Joey continues to speak, her voice colored with almost tangible memories as she stood, reliving, her weight was supported not by her own legs, but by the woman at her side.

“He threatened you,” the words came out in a rush and Joey quickly met Veronica’s gaze with her own, preying to find forgiveness, some type of twisted redemption. Joey couldn’t bring herself to meet her girlfriend’s gaze long enough to find what she needed; she again, ripped their eyes apart and met the man’s empty ones.

“He threatened you and I just got so angry,” the word left her mouth in a rush, teeth slamming together, grinding, “I wanted to do this, I could’ve ran, but I didn’t… I wanted to kill him, to shred him to pieces,” a long pause spreads out that admission and the next, “and I liked it.” Joey’s eyes close again, slowly, and she waits for the support to disappear, for pitfalls of feet moving away, for the sound of a motor starting. And Joey finds inside herself that she wouldn’t blame Veronica if she left.

Everything will catch up to them. They’ve been running, fighting, scraping to make sense of each shifting change thrown at them. From the moment Veronica climbed into her car outside the pub in Danby, she knew things would be irrevocably different, altered beyond anything she could envision. And the shifting ground still moves beneath them, beneath her.

Joey’s sag in toward her feels like a moment of fresh air. Veronica breathes just a little easier as she readily supports her girlfriend’s weight at her side. One arm wrapping across her shoulders without hesitation. If her sleeve comes away bloody for it, she doesn’t give a damn. It’s just another day in her life.

And the healer listens to what Joey has to say. She truly listens with eyes that watch over the blonde’s movements. The slip of the tear down her face that she reaches up to wipe away. Instinct. Joey Masters will always be her instinct. That truth lives in every molecule of her being. Veronica can’t say exactly when it took root there but she doesn’t question it. Not now. Likely won’t ever.

Except--Veronica feels Joey’s last words like a shard of ice penetrating her chest, pressing a chill into her veins. I liked it. The brunette doesn’t know what to do with that, how to process it into a reasonable response. How to digest the reality that her girlfriend felt pleasure in ending the life of a man. So she grips Joey’s shoulders tighter, bringing her other arm up to hug her in close, an awkward side embrace.

“That’s okay.” The words are spoken against blood-stained skin but Veronica doesn’t pull away. It’s not. It’s not okay. How can it be?

“It doesn’t change anything.”

But it does. Everything. It changes everything.

How can she remain standing, be able to support Joey, when she’s not even certain where this will lead them anymore? It’s the blind guiding the blind and they’re both liable to get hurt.

Veronica takes in a breath. The fresh air is gone. But she’ll keep moving forward because she can’t deal with the alternative. Joey is priority. That hasn’t changed. Not yet. “I may not be able to help you process, but I will help you get rid of the evidence. The rest--we’ll take that one step at a time.”

✖ More Than A Roadblock

“Can you–” Joey begins hesitantly, pain flashing in the irises of her eyes, “Can you get it?” She simply watched for a moment, as the burden on her soul multiplied, growing and growing with the passage of time. Joey knew, with a cool consideration, what she was doing; she saw, and more acutely, felt the aching distance between her and Veronica grow. And yet, she had no idea how to stop herself, how to reverse the path that she set herself down. Joey was cognizant of her own ruin, brought to fruition by her hand. And she had no idea how she could possibly cope with that.

So, with an air of finality, Joey turned away, defeated. She took a few steps and grasped the leg of the man and pulled back towards the sedan. Her mind attempted to focus anywhere but the coolness of his skin and the way it seemed to invade and conquer her own warmth, the way it wormed its way up her arm, sending daggers into her chest. She questioned whether or not she purposefully, maliciously set events on an extinction vector. Did she know, the moment that she saw that car begin to follow them, that she would have to kill them? Did she know, the moment that the words slipped out of her mouth to Veronica, to leave her behind, what life she would take? No, no. Joey physically shakes the thought from her head, unaware of the action.

You did what anyone would do, Joey rationalized, knowing exactly how hard she had tried, under such desperate circumstances, to make the right choices. How was she to know it would turn out so horribly wrong?

Joey breathed heavily and focused on the task at hand, and not how her rationalizations were not worth a penny in the face of the enjoyment, in the face of the revel. This thought was sly and insistent, and had every intention of remaining long past the point where the evidence of her feast, her indulgence, was nothing more than ash to be swept away with the salty storm she could smell, far in the distance.

The body was finally pulled beside the sedan, and Joey did not hesitate in lowering herself to lift it (it was now an it, not a man) the final few feet to the upholstery. There were long, gashes in the seat, where her rear claws chewed up fabric and foam. Joey tore her gaze away from them, her jaw clamping shut with the painful crack of teeth. She wasn’t finished. There was another body.

Only the determination to rid of the bodies on her own drained away and pooled at her feet as she came upon the body of the man who assaulted her, the body of the man who she tore to pieces. Red sheets of muscle was shredded, shredded and echoing into Joey’s memories, flashes of color infused with the sound of desperate screaming, of hands that clawed and begged for mercy at the back of her neck like whispers of a ghost. They came in disjointed moments, white-hot, searing, and tangible. Joey stood looking at the dead man, but unseeing. Her hands were at balls at her sides and the only evidence that she was alive was the weak sway of her form and short, choppy breaths that were expelled from flaring nostrils.

The inquiry puts Veronica’s uncertainty to rest, giving her direction, action; motion needed to keep the rest of the dark inky doubts at bay. Her muscles move her, legs stretching and contracting until she stands at the trunk of the little red car. Her key pops the door open, fingers reaching in and wrapping around the handle of the gas can. Red, red, red. When Veronica looks up from the car’s boot, she sees how the colour strikes a motif across the scene. Red smeared across Joey’s pale skin, shading her blonde hair a garish shade.

The doctor remains cool and collected but beneath the mask, Veronica writhes with the wrongness of everything she lays eyes on. But she doesn’t blame Joey. They were forced into this. Her girlfriend isn’t at fault. Can’t be. Because the choice was taken from her the moment they pulled her out of the car, when they determined a spike in temperature was grounds for assault. For death. There’s no doubt in Veronica’s mind that had Joey not acted, she wouldn’t be alive now and it would be her girlfriend’s body she drives up to see lying motionless in the hazy dusk light.

The healer steps away from the car and walks toward Joey where she stands, swaying but unmoving as she looms over the second body.

Veronica comprehends the facts. Joey killed two people. Tore into them in her catamount form. She also knows they aimed to do the very same. Not because she was a threat but because they feared what they couldn’t control. They were wrong. They were vicious. And she remains sure of that one thing, holds onto that because she can tell plainly from the set of Joey’s shoulders, the clenching of her fists, that her view of what happened doesn’t hold the same faith.

“Joey.” The slosh of the gas inside the red can sounds as the healer sets it down and reaches out to touch the blonde’s tightly curled fist, just a brush of fingers against knuckles. Veronica’s gaze rakes over her girlfriend, desperate to find a way to reach her. Her body is here but her mind is anywhere but. Why can’t she be capable of more? Yet again, the brunette feels as if her powers are useless, incapable of doing something worthwhile. “Please. I want to help. We can do this--together.”

✖ More Than A Roadblock

The sun is quickly setting and it leaves a strange, foreign feeling within Joey. Some resonance that she cannot quite place. Half the sky was smothered with clouds and the other half was plentiful with stars that only she could see in remaining light of the day. Joey knows that the werecat is sated and sleeping, and that this full moon will not bring another transformation once it winks above the horizon.

The second question was not meant to be answered, and Veronica’s attempts to answer it, to provide a salve for Joey’s pain, is wasted. Veronica’s presence itself has always been water to Joey; a necessary. It washed out her insides, taking away all impurities and pollutants, purifying and replenishing her. And Joey had no reservations that Veronica could do the very same thing with this toxic moment, this darkening that she felt inside of herself. Only, Joey couldn’t accept it. She didn’t deserve it. Like water, Veronica would be dirtied in the process and that alone was unfathomable.

“We burn them…” Joey repeats the decision, the course of action, her eyes remaining locked onto Veronica’s. A few moments pass as they both mentally attempt to sort out the path from Point A to Point B, with Point B being them both leaving this horrific massacre behind them. Veronica is the first to move, a hand reaching out for the dead man.

“Don’t!” Joey shouts, a barked order tromping determinedly out her throat. She had never spoken to Veronica in the tone before. She had never spoken to anyone in the tone before. It was manic, desperate, a knife-sharp edge to it, fixed and plotted. An awful silence settles in the field, mirrored heavily in Joey’s chest. Her heart was beating hard enough to shudder every bone in her body and adrenaline-rich, icy sweat was dumping from every pore. A vague revulsion mixed with an odd sense of disquiet grew inside Joey, at herself, yes, but also at the image of Veronica touching the bodies, of Veronica tainting herself.

The next phrase is softer, an urging, a begging, “I can do it.”

The plan makes sense. It will buy them time and keep a great deal of the evidence from ever seeing the light of the next morning. As Joey repeats the plan, Veronica nods, assuming it’s her agreeing to every part of the plan and she moves to take up the man that lies between them.

Don’t. The healer’s hand jumps back from its forward progress as if physically clawed by the snap that slams from Joey with as much force as a bullet jumping from the muzzle of a gun. In that second, Veronica’s clinical facade slips, her gaze sparking with the emotional pain of being pushed away. Of feeling helpless. She wants to do her part, to shoulder the burden. If only to relieve some of the weight off Joey. They shouldn’t have had to come to this and now that they have, they should be in it together.

The pain vanishes, as if it never existed, when Veronica straights out and considers Joey. Doctor Shea holds her spine straight as she nods and takes a pointed step back from the bodies. All the while, her heart sinks.

“We need an accelerant,” Veronica offers into the resounding silence. “We don’t have much further to go before we hit Ripton so we can use the rest of what we have in the gas can in the trunk.”

Her gaze moves from Joey to the Mitsubishi, indecision passing over her face. Her fingers tangle together as she debates whether she will be shouted at again if she goes for the gas can of her own volition. In the back of Veronica’s mind, she knows it’s not personal. That it has more to do with what took place than with herself, but the pervading sense that she’s losing her hold on Joey, even as the blonde stands alive before her takes hold between the shadows of Veronica’s ribs, constricting her chest. And the last thing she wants to do is move in a direction that will only serve to push Joey further away. So the doctor stands in her indecision. She came up with the plan but it’s up to the blonde to guide this.

✖ More Than A Roadblock

In between waves of still-warm, not-quite-fluid that ejects itself from Joey’s stomach, she can feel the familiar tendrils of Veronica’s healing power reach out and trace every cell in her body. The power seeks to heal not only the physical damage done, but the emotional as well. Her stomach stops twisting, clenching painfully after a few long moments. The sudden, near painful emptiness in her gut was a welcome feeling, one that brought clarity and calm. Joey still felt the deep calamity within her soul, but it was manageable, able to be brushed away and dealt with at a more convenient time. A time when she was not naked save for the paint of blood and dirt over the carcasses of two men.

“I’m sorry,” Joey whispers, her words whole and solid, “I’m okay… I’m okay… I just need…” The werecat rises to her feet with no concern for her state of undress. She needs to put some distance between herself and the body. And for some reason, between herself and Veronica. Joey knows that she would never do anything to harm the woman she loves, but there is a small fragment now living in her chest, a shard of distrust. Sharp and jagged.

Veronica’s healing powers were rapid, and while they pushed the two bullets free from her flesh, blood still wept down her right bicep and oblique. Joey wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, uncaring how much more blood she smeared on her face, only for the comfort the action brought. Two darkened green eyes survey the damage wrought by her own teeth and claws, and air is held prisoner in her lungs for a brief moment before it is released in a rush, a brittle glass-snap edged laugh. “What do we do now?” Joey asks loudly, followed by a whispered question, slipping unbidden from her mouth as her hands reach upward to pull harshly through sticky strands of once-blonde hair, “What did I do?”

And with the question, Joey meets Veronica’s blue-bright eyes for the first time, seeing innocence reflected in them that no longer exists within herself.

Veronica takes in a deep breath that she hadn’t been able to accomplish minutes before. The touch of metal staining the air doesn’t affect her. The imaginary doctor’s lab coat keeps her safe from the shock that would otherwise threaten to pull her under right along with the emotions flickering in Joey’s face right this second.

“You did what you had to,” Veronica answers just as softly as she pushes to her feet.

Her gaze notes the slow leak of blood still coming from the wounds that did not entirely close over once the bullets fell free. The healer’s hands ache to finish what was started but the look in Joey’s gaze cautions her away from pushing the blonde to accept anything further. There’s no time to argue over that when two bodies still lie on the ground, feeding the earth, saturating the ground with what’s left of their essence.

Sharp blue eyes turn a critical gaze over the two men. They no doubt had radioed in who they had in their possession. If they’re found, it will fall on Joey and they want to avoid that as long as possible. Veronica first considers throwing both bodies into the back of her own car, driving them away from this spot and tossing them further and far from their current location. But that would leave a trail. Their blood would stain the Eclipse and the second someone went to search her vehicle, they’d both be incriminated in the officers’ deaths.

Veronica turns to the sedan. It’s the only other vehicle there. And it would be better if they could get rid of the car in the same way they’ll get rid of the bodies.

When the brunette speaks, there’s no sign of anxiety. Her tone remains level, like any doctor would as they deliver a diagnosis and the necessary treatment. “We’re going to burn them. We just need to get them in the car and set it all up in flames.”

Blue eyes return to rest in a sea of green, suffused with a calm that she wishes she could provide to the storm swirling behind Joey’s overbright irises. They only stand feet from each other but Veronica feels as if they stand on either sides of a gaping chasm, miles dividing them and the doctor wants nothing more than to fold her girlfriend in her arms and make the pain go away.

✖ More Than A Roadblock

Now human once again, Joey felt anything but. Her skin was alive, tingling with the remnants of her indulgence. Indulgence. That is exactly how it felt. There had not been a spare moment that Joey could not recall in her memories, forever seared there for her to conjure and relive in Technicolor vision. It felt so good to fill the empty space inside of herself… but, it was like dumping dirt down a bottomless hole: you could throw shovelful after shovelful, yet it made the slightest difference. Joey yearned to return to that moment, to a dimension where she was not interrupted by gunfire. The man, Cohen, Joey had to remind herself, presented himself lovingly to her, glistening and over plumped, too perfect, a leering meal, freakishly sexual and hypersensualized. He was a porterhouse as thick as a dictionary, bone shimmering from fat-marbled meat charred by pecan wood and glazed in herbed butter, dripping, smoothly oiled…

Joey, doubled over on her hands and knees, catching up to the direction that her mind so easily went and dry heaved once. It produced nothing, as if her body defied her wishes and longed to keep the nourishment offered. Fingers were traced by a deepening pool of blood as the man beneath her was drained into the earth, as if the earth, too, was as greedy and starved as she was. Joey blinked stinging tears out of her eyes, attempting to banish the astringent and unmistakable aroma of death that clung not only to her skin, but also her soul.

Somewhere, in a distance crevice of her mind, Joey registered the sound of a second vehicle nearby and knew it to be Veronica’s; knew it to be safe and familiar. But, she herself was not safe and familiar. Her jaw remained tight to hold back the mounting queasiness, molars pressed so taut that gums ached. Veronica ran to her, her fingers brushing through hair dyed with the death of two men, but still, Joey found it difficult to tear her gaze away from the dead man below her. And even more so, to meet Veronica’s searching eyes.

“I—” Joey whimpered, the word wretched painfully from her mouth. And with that single word, came the breaking of a dam, tears intermingled with blood fell from the crest of her chin with release. Her body heaved first with heavy, rapid breath, hyperventilation; her body trembling with the weight of her actions. The normally confidence young woman was infused with a frail vulnerability.

A flash of memory, so powerful Joey could the feel of slippery, striated layers of muscle that spread beneath her mouth, and the moment they had almost audibly sighed at the ability to do so. And the man’s eyes at that moment: wide – wider than should ever be possible – and miserably bright and aware, bulging with pure shock and horror, with knowledge. There is no warning, no flash of nausea, no gathering of saliva, before Joey’s stomach vacates itself, in desecration over the man she had murdered. There is no bitter, caustic overtones of stomach acid, there is only blood and whole pieces of intestines and organ, broken only by the sounds of a harsh sobbing.

Veronica’s mind races faster than her car got her there but the one thing that remains constant is the need to get Joey safe. To heal her wounds and get them as far away from this as possible. In the back of her mind, swirling with the thoughts of what occurred here before she arrived, she knows Joey killed them. The innards that lay abandoned in the gaping hole of the one man’s gut couldn’t have been done by human hands but powerful jaws. That evidence corroborated by the items exiting Joey’s system.

The healer doesn’t care. Can’t care. Her girlfriend is the priority. It won’t take long for the men’s superiors to question their radio silence and send others to check on them. They have to be gone.

There’s no time for remorse. Only action. So Veronica acts.

“Get it all out.” When the brunette’s hand moves to run along Joey’s back, it no longer shakes, outlined with a blue haze that slips beneath the blonde’s shirt. Veronica knows without question that she will be able to heal the injuries but also the raw things swarming through Joey’s stomach. No human can contain that even if their creature half would be satisfied with it in that form. “We’re going to be okay. You’ll be okay.”

Clinical, detached. Veronica forces herself into the doctor box, shrugging on the identity necessary to keep them both afloat. To allow herself the presence of mind to do what needs to be done. Joey held her together, gave her comfort in a time where her mind wanted to self-destruct, and she will do everything she can to provide the same in return. So the doctor remains calm as she presses her healing energy into Joey’s body, gaze steady as she watches the cut across Joey’s brow shrink and disappear, the swelling of her cheek returning to normal.

The blood drips from the blonde’s chin and Veronica lets it. She isn’t fazed. Whether it’s her’s or someone else’s, she doesn’t question it. Blood enters and it leaves. Hemoglobin and white blood cells.

“We’re going to get through this.” Veronica continues to murmur softly as her hand rubs circles into her girlfriend’s back, her other hand reaching out to draw Joey’s hair away from her face so that it doesn’t get caught in her regurgitation. And then she hears the clink of bullets landing on gravel. She doesn’t attempt to stop the sigh that escapes past her lips. “Joey, look at me. See me. I’m here.”

✖ More Than A Roadblock

Joey pounced into the air as a lion, a creature of pure momentum, pure chaos: one-hundred and ten pounds of fast-twitch muscle fiber packed into a long, lithe frame. Two heavy paws come down on a leg of the man attempting to squirm to his feet, successfully preventing him from doing so. The bone ruptured with a satisfying pop. His skin split open as if it had been aching to do that very thing; a shard of bone protruded from the joint, shimmering sweetly under the setting sun. His mouth opened next into a piercing scream, one that the werecat ignored as she stared down a wide nose at him.

Before the lion could act any further, something exploded in her side – a pressure, an annoyance, more than anything else. Her head whipped to discover the source but only found a human pointing a gun at her. Somewhere in her head, instincts told her he was the greater threat of the two, but the logic did not register, it did not overcome the rage which far surpassed everything else in its path. Lips skinning from her teeth, a feral growl rose in her throat and tore free. It was enough of a warning to cause her attacker to fumble with his weapon.

Sun-glossed eyes returned to the prey beneath her paw, pupils nothing more than blown fuses. There were no longer any memories of this man an attacker, only as her prey, her meal. A giddy charge lined her bones and electrified her marrow as massive canines sunk into the gut of a man who could only fruitlessly attempt to find purchase on the loose flesh of her neck. A powerful jaw rocked lightly so the pressure intensified, slackened, intensified again; shrieks of agony coincided with the motion. Joey relished in that thrilling tension for as long as she could, until the screaming stopped, until the man’s eyes were a filmy-grey, like pewter.

Until the pressure in her side returned with a vengeance, registering now as pain. Joey released her bite, staring down at the deflated body of the man. His head hung limply upon its neck. Torn open, she could spy hints of spine gleaming through a mess of organs before blood began pooling, coagulating now that there was no living heart to infuse oxygen into it.

The sound of a gunshot echoed for a second time as the machine went off. The bullet whizzed past the lion, the owner’s hands shaking far too much for any real accuracy. Joey roared at him, her fur painted in his partner’s blood; the sound carrying for miles. Blood came to a crest at the bottom of her chin as a quivering string of saliva spooled out her ajar mouth, hung, and snapped. The second bullet found a home in her right upper arm, not quite the bull’s-eye, but the target, nevertheless. The pain it brought pushed the anger away and Joey stumbled, cognizant thought coming to the forefront for a mere moment before instinct pushed through and she ran at full speed towards the enemy.

With the speed of the lion and the short distance between the two, no more gunshots went off before Joey reached her mark. The man went down, but his fight was not gone. The butt of the gun came up with fury, striking with accuracy that wasn’t found earlier. The first hit split the area above her right eye, the second her right cheekbone, and the man was dead by before the third. Joey did not relish in this man’s death as she had the other.

Joey’s jaw was still clamped on the man’s throat when the transformation back into a human began, pushing through rapidly as exhaustion and pain and shock seized her mind and body.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale--

A crack sounds, rippling between tree branches, a cacaphony that takes root in Veronica’s cranium and bounced between synapses. She was remembering to breathe until explosive disruption derails her mind and suddenly she doesn’t. Breathing is a luxury her body has no currency for. Gunfire means danger, blood, death. The doctor’s nerves snap, fingers jumping off the roof of her car as they tremble for the door handle. There are no reminders to inhale and exhale, breath coming in shallow bursts as her vision is filled with all the ways a gunshot could have ripped through Joey. Splatters of blood tossed to the air like a flurry of red rain.

The second call of a gun vibrates through the air as Veronica slams her door shut. The key slams into the ignition and her foot sinks into the gas pedal in reverse, loose gravel pinging underneath tires as she yanks the steering wheel to do her bidding.

Veronica drops of pretense of waiting. Fear throws her body into action, driven by the need to make sure Joey is safe, alive, safe. The images flashing into being behind wide anxious ocean blue eyes taunt and torment her as she pushes her poor car to go as fast as it can down the road she just traveled not an hour before. Breath pushes in and out, nearly gasping as the woman’s gaze jumps sharp from side to side in search of a place the dark sedan would have taken. Close, close enough for her to hear those bullets discharged from chamber; close enough for her to get there before she loses someone she can’t be without.

This might be a war they never wished for but Veronica won’t allow herself to be relegated to the sidelines. Not when she has lost so many things, people, and won’t stand to lose another. Her own mutant ability needs to be enough. Will be enough to keep Joey alive. Even if she has to run two officers down in her car.

It’s a red paint job. The blood won’t matter.

Veronica’s vision tunnels, intention set on one thing to the absence of all else and she sees it, the press of tires diverting onto a side road made of dead leaves, damp mud, and loosely packed gravel. With a yank, her car veers off into the woods framing the path. She follows, drives, pushes herself to believe that she’ll find Joey okay because to believe otherwise would mean she would snap, break, and the pieces will be too shattered to glue back together.

When the car comes to a halt behind the sedan, the brunette throws herself from the vehicle as her gaze absorbs what lies before her. She’s on autopilot; her mind accepts the facts without letting it sink in. The officer, eviscerated on the ground, blood still slowly soaking into the earth. A blonde head hovering above the other officer she’s half on top of. And a harsh exhale leaves Veronica’s chest as she stumbles to the other woman’s side and sinks to the ground. The chill of the East Coast in January begins to creep in as the sun hangs low on the horizon but the healer doesn’t feel it; her lingering anxiety keeps her warm.

“Joey, Joey.” Fingers reach out, tremor there but not caring, as she gently brushes at blonde strands she had nearly believed she wouldn’t touch again. “Fuck, you’re alive.” Veronica’s gaze jumps over her; a gash above her eye, swelling already taking shape on her cheekbone, and blood coming from other wounds. Gun wounds. “Shit, you’re bleeding. But--But alive. Come on--I’ll fix this.”

✖ More Than A Roadblock

Joey lungs were tight, and it was hard to draw a full breath, throat constricting with excess anger. She concentrated on her own breath, inhaling slowly and steadily, then exhaling again through pursed lips; she did whatever she could do to avoid focusing on the sound of a belt unhitching. Pain flooded into Joey’s head and she felt the change in pressure, deep within her eardrums, as the physical transformation caught up with the internal one.

“Oh fuck,” Cohen yelped, the malicious flint of his eyes shifting into fear, and perhaps some modicum of amazement. He stumbled backwards, away from Joey, away from the car, his trousers around his knees, pooling with each movement, further down, until they reached his ankles, effectively sending him sprawling backwards into the dirt.

Shackleford spun around to face the scene, gun still cradled in his arms, still unsure of what he is seeing. He lets out a low, mocking chuckle, “What, Cohen? Letting some girl kick you into the dirt? Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

The razzing gave Joey a moment to pull her legs into the rear of the vehicle, where she found the leverage needed to snap the handcuffs at the chain that jointed her wrists. A shiver rolled up her legs and through her gut, which clenched painfully as existing injuries strained to rapidly heal in order to rapidly alter into the beast that could get her out of this situation, out of her execution. Shadows on the seat, cast by the setting sun, coalesced to attain more mass, more permanence.

“No, Shacks, she has a fucking tail!” Cohen yelled, struggling to pull himself up from the ground. But, it was too late. He looked up, down the bridge of his nose to face a lion standing, growing, from the rear of his vehicle. Its form was almost too large to fit, a creature of coiled muscle and quick rage. It sent a shiver of pure terror down his spine.

Joey had one final thought before she pounced, one quote that resonated in the space still left in her brain for cognizant, human, logical thought: It is a fact that cannot be denied: the wickedness of others becomes our own wickedness because it kindles something evil in our own hearts.

And then all logic vacated as the werecat took over, filled with rage at the helplessness imposed upon it; helplessness that was now replaced with hunger for the penny-bright taste of blood.

Sitting in the car, Veronica hears Joey’s voice resounding in her head. Deep breaths. Calming breaths. So she does that. Inhale--one, two, three, four. Exhale--one, two, three, four. And again.

Then again.

The doctor continues to do so until she feels the trembling slow. Her thoughts settling, if only a little. They don’t jangle around inside her skull, dragging images and fearful ideas to the forefront. She gives a mantra to herself to repeat in her mind: Joey will be okay. Joey is okay. Joey is coming.

It helps. If only by a margin.

Veronica lets out a sigh before taking the door handle and yanking. She needs some air, needs to be ready to run to Joey if she appears in worse shape and needing assistance walking the rest of the way to the car. They don’t need to create a scene at this gas station. It may very well draw attention from people they do not want to be noticed by. That thought keeps Veronica from going into the gas station store, even though she craves a cup of coffee. She can survive without it. She can survive without a host of things but Joey Masters is not and would never be one of those things. She’s wormed beneath the healer’s skin as deeply as her own mutant ability. imprinted to her bones and inseparable from the marrow. Joey’s essence weaves between the oxygen in her lungs, pushing the carbon dioxide out of her system.

With fingers pressed against the hood of her car, Veronica lets her eyes fall closed. Joey was slammed against her vehicle right here not even an hour ago. Violently mistreated. Forced out of the car because of an anomaly of her supernatural identity. This is a war they never agreed to enter into.

A supernatural holocaust drumming into being under the cover of night and false pretenses. And Veronica’s helpless to save Joey, to do anything but sit with her fear and remember how to breathe.

✖ More Than A Roadblock

It started with the hair on the back of her neck raising and escalated from there. Joey felt her body ready itself for the transition, and the attack; the proximity of the looming full moon, hidden only by the fast fading sunlight, allowed for a smooth and painless preparation. It was a direct contrast to the roughness of the gravel road the vehicle now traversed, and she slowed her change accordingly, attempting to time it right, to slow it just as the sedan slowed. To a stop. And while the motor was cut, severing power to the engine of the vehicle, Joey remained primed, ready to accelerate the cells of her body into transformation at a moment’s notice.

Both front doors slammed shut behind the soldiers who vacated their seats. Joey watched, listening as they met in front of the car, and spoke. Their words were terse, some sort of well-practiced code that she could not decipher given the allotted time and exposure. The ringing in Joey’s ears grew louder and louder, soon overtaking their hushed conversation. Her chest heaved with the weight of keeping the anxiety under control, as well as the beast inside of her.

And by the time they finished their conversation, Joey was physically vibrating with the amount of effort restraint took. Cohen had a twisted grin when he spun to face the car, his flinty eyes shrouded in a darkness that Joey did not recognize. With swift strides closed the distance between Shackleford and the door to the rear containment and he opened the door. Joey lashed out with a wild kick, snarling as she did so. Unfortunately, the move was anticipated and her foot was grabbed roughly and twisted by two strong, unforgiving hands. The snap of bone was unmistakable – the pain near numbed by the moon, the fear, and the anger coursing through Joey’s veins.

“Now, now, play nice, freak,” Cohen sneered, his upper lip curling into an edged chuckle as he pulled at the limb he had and tore her out of the backseat on to the cold, wet ground. “Oh look, Shacks, the bitch is shaking and we haven’t even begun playing.”

Joey turned her head, flared nostrils sending particles of soil off her face and back to the earth. It was going to be hard, and painful to change with her arms restrained and her ankle, now, broken. Shackleford did not reply in word, only in laughter as he stood a few feet away, his assault rifle ready for any interruptions. His eyes quickly moved from the both of them to scan their surroundings, clearly focused on a threat from the outside, when it should be her he should be worried about.

A steady rumble grew in Joey’s chest, nearly audible, as she focused on the one thing that would keep her steady, keep her sane. Veronica. She needed to get to the woman she loved before sunset. Before the full moon rose. One singular thought flashed through her mind: She would not allow Veronica to drive alone, in the dark, harrowed by Joey’s fate and her own personal demons.

Cohen picked her up by her bound arms and shoved her against the side of his own car, only this time, with more force. Joey let out a low grunt as she was forced to put weight on a useless leg. The air was knocked from her lungs, expelled in painful exhale, as the solider pressed his weight into her, her arms now pinned between their bodies. Steely green eyes slammed shut as hot, invasive breath moved over her ear as Cohen spoke, “This is the part where I have my way with your ass and no one comes to your rescue. Then maybe Shacks and I will see if we can catch up to that cunt that left you behind and Shacks can have some fun too.”

Joey let out a scream, cut short when Cohen grabbed her by her hair and slammed her face into the metal, but not before licking the length of her face, from temple to chin. He barked out a loud laugh, as if amused by her fear. Only it was not fear that caused the scream. It was pain. Joey was not accustomed to transition while bound, while smothered between a car and a person. She needed room, room to writhe and expand in the blissful horror of the transformation. The pain that normally would have sent her to her knees caused her to buck against her assailant; he seemed spurned on by Joey’s fight, thinking it was an attempt to be freed. Only just as it was not fear that was the source of her scream, it was not freedom from him that she was focused on. It was freedom from her skin.

“We got a fighter!” Cohen called out with glee, his voice echoing out into the abandoned field. He ripped the back of her shirt, unknowingly helping her along. A rough, intrusive hand ran down her spine, which was currently elongating. Her internal organs were rushing, altering, and the awkward position left Joey breathless in agony as each vertebra pushed against her skin, soon to be covered in a tawny coat. Cohen pulled her to the side, pushing her to her knees, half of her body bent into the backseat once again. The position that seemed to work better for her assailant to gain leverage to reach her pants, also seemed to also be the position that allowed Joey the leeway to finish what the full moon started.

The blue becomes Veronica’s being. A peaceful numbness that allows her fingers to loosen their grip on the steering wheel. Permitting her to be lulled into a false sense of security with the winding road before her and the purr of the little Eclipse’s engine. Her gaze sweeps the horizon for signs of any approaching gas stations. Her thoughts calmly whispering how she will find Joey back in her arms once she waits out the time it takes for her to make her way free. The healing power that sweeps around her bones, soft warmth and light to drown out the dark fears; it stops her from fearing what it must take for her girlfriend to break from her captors.

To give vision to that fear would be Veronica’s undoing.

Healer and doctor, the brunette lives by a code to protect and tend to the wounded. Save the lives she can and soothe the pains they suffer beneath. That oath cries to be heeded by saving Joey from the paws of the military officers that no doubt believed nothing of Veronica’s claim that the blonde was only fighting a flu. They will not let the werecat go.

Five miles down the two lane road, Veronica spots a gas station come into view. The sight makes her heart sing with the promise it signifies. Its position stands far enough from the checkpoint that it wouldn’t be questionable for her to be stopping there but near enough that the distance couldn’t be difficult for Joey to make in short time.

The moment that Veronica pulls off and hauls her car into a parking space, throwing the vehicle in park and cutting the engine, her hands begin to shake as they separate from the wheel. The peace of her own mutant being slips back to its center as she allows the panic to inch in on her pscyhe. It wouldn’t do to waste her ability on her own state. Not when there’s no telling what condition Joey may be in when she arrives.

If she arrives.

Veronica doesn’t give herself permission to cry, yet the tears pool to the rim of her lower lashes as she presses one hand over her mouth to stifle the sounds she no doubt would make if permitted. Her mind attempts to find an answer to how they could have been ripped faster than she could process from the life they had been creating together. How they’re now separated, battling for their lives each day. The shifting climate of their world makes it hard to stand and Veronica can’t be certain she’ll keep on her feet if Joey doesn’t make it back to her. Too many monsters live in the shadows, and they aren’t the vampires or werewolves. Humans are the worst monsters in existence, fooling everyone into believing they’re desperate lambs.

“Please,” she breathes into the silence of her car. “Please.”

What exactly she pleads for, Veronica doesn’t know. But her blue eyes, swimming with tears she can’t shed, continue to scan the tree line that lines the gas station property.

“I can’t lose you.”

✖ More Than A Roadblock

Joey watches from the backseat of the car, through barred windows, the disappearing silhouette of her girlfriend’s car. There is a moment where Joey wallows, stews in the situation; she allows herself a moment to feel hopeless. The joints of her shoulders burn, an ache already settling in after the manhandling; her chin is bleeding, dripping unfortunately onto her pants. The only pair of pants that she currently owned now that her hometown had been blown up and her bag just drove away with the rest of her belongings. Along with Veronica.

The moment only lasts as long as it takes for Veronica’s car to disappear, and for the two military personnel to situate themselves in the front of her jail. And then all the self-pity vanished as it was replaced with determination to meet her girlfriend at that gas station before sunset. And based upon the placement of the sun, Joey did not have very much time.

“Josephine Masters,” the brutish man, with looks to match personality speaks to her, “Seems like your parents are dead and you have no home to return to. What. A. Shame.” The officer speaking, whose nametag reads Cohen never takes his eyes away from hers, which stare back defiantly.

The car pulls away from the roadblock and the second officer, Shackleford, lifts a radio to his mouth. “Sir, we have apprehended the subject. She is agitated and very combative. What are our orders?”

Cohen begins to speak again as soon as the radio is unkeyed, “No one will miss you if we have our way with your ass and then end you.”

“You have orders to terminate if there is proof of supernatural status.”

“Affirmative, sir.”

“That foxy bitch probably won’t even care,” Cohen sneers as he takes a hidden side road away from the interstate. It is not until Veronica is mentioned that the anger inside Joey flares back to life, hair raising on the back of her neck as she prepares for what will happen once they stop.

Driving away from the roadblock into the scenic drive of an east coast land on the brink of spring feels like the worst thing Veronica could ever do. The inside of her Mitsubishi feels cold and empty without the endless energy of Joey’s werecat self filling up the space. White knuckles grip the steering wheel and the doctor barely sees the trees that frame the road. Her gaze remains steadfast but blind to anything but the next gas station. Her mind wants to churn up visions of what they will likely do to the blonde, what will become of her. Veronica can’t think that way though. It will only serve to flood her with emotions she can do nothing with.

“Fuck!” A palm strikes at the side of the wheel. When Veronica glances up into the rearview mirror, the checkpoint has been drowned out by trees and sparse shrubs clinging to their leaves despite the chill. There’s no way to know where the car with Joey locked inside went or when she’ll see her girlfriend again.

The healer reminds herself to stick to the plan. A speed sign tells her she can kick up the mph just a few notches and Veronica does so. She’ll make it to the next gas station and wait patiently. Joey will be fine. Everything will be okay.

God, J. Just get back to me in one piece, please. I can’t do all this alone.

With a deep breath, Veronica touches that healing center of her identity and stirs it to life. A small ebb of her own healing energy swirls outward to touch her heart, her mind, and soothe her tense muscles into relaxing. Just enough to take her edge off and let her think clearly but remain alert and capable of driving. Veronica’s not certain she can make it through this without a bit of her own medicine.

✖ More Than A Roadblock

Joey attempts to focus on Veronica’s words, the calm manner in which her girlfriend addresses the situation. She knows she should face this the same way but the anger is hard to dismiss once it has begun to solidify, lighting up each cell in her body. “I am not fighting—” she begins to speak, attempting to defuse the situation, only to be met with her face slammed into the roof of Veronica’s car and a barked order to remain silent. The force is enough to bruise even her skin, and Joey knows that Veronica knows this. That knowledge alone causes the blonde’s stomach to twist and sour. While Veronica is calm now, Joey does not want to test that patience.

It is strange to hear V use her father’s rank, but Joey quickly understands what the end goal is. Her other arm is twisted harshly, and her body is checked against the side of the car again. This time, a rumble does sound. But, Joey does not think that the officer hears it over the commotion that Veronica is making as she speaks to her. “I’ll try not to, no promises though,” Joey chuckles, attempting to sound confident enough, but her voice comes out strained as the handcuffs are tightened to the point of pain. “Tell your mother that I’m sorry to miss dinner. Hopefully this will all be sorted out by sunset, I will—” Joey speaks over her shoulder as she is guided away from the car and towards the black-windowed sedan; the second officer hands Veronica her ID back.

Again, Joey’s words are cut short as a foot meets the back of her knee and sends her to the ground with no way of catching herself. “I said, shut up!” Joey hears as her chin makes contact with the pavement and her teeth clack together painfully. Green eyes clutch shut and she breathes through the pain and the only thing running through her head is the hope that Veronica drives away without issue.

Joey is yanked up by her bound wrists and practically dragged the four feet to the vehicle to be thrown into the back of the car, but not without some polite words from her newest friend, “Enjoy the ride, mutant, because it will be your last for a long time.”

Joey’s words try to infuse some normalcy into an otherwise inappropriate and outlandish situation they are both in, but it doesn’t help. Veronica feels her body tremble with the effort to keep herself from jumping out of the car and doing something--anything--to stop the officer from abusing her girlfriend. It’s apparent how little this man thinks of the rank drop of Veronica’s father. Or he’s simply overconfident in his authority.

Through the rear-view mirror, the brunette watches as the officer kicks Joey’s knee out from under her. Cerulean irises fill to the brim with ire and shared pain. This shouldn’t be happening. None of it. They should be back in Danby, saying their goodbyes to friends before heading back to the quaint little town of Faulkner.

Two officers wave her through, gesturing with more urgency as Veronica remains motionless in her car. The woman isn’t often given to impulse, yet right now she yearns to gun it forward only to veer back into the checkpoint and run the dark sedan into the ground. But that wouldn’t solve anything. If anything, it would bring Joey more harm so Veronica can only trust that Joey can handle herself and follow the instructions offered just before they were torn asunder.

“The bastards don’t know what they’ve gotten themselves into,” she mutters with the anger and resentment burning beneath her skin. Her foot levels onto the gas pedal and she coasts forward, passing on without further incident while Joey vanished into the back seat of the sedan and Veronica lost sight of them the more distance yawned between them. The fuel station and then they’ll return to each other. The healer has to have faith in that.

buron

After Dusk (v)

#misc:album

✖ More Than A Roadblock

The firm squeeze of her thigh occurs at the same moment that Joey presses the brakes, causing their vehicle to come to a halt at the checkpoint. The both of them know that this is not a simple, traditional sobriety checkpoint in the middle of the day; and only a small sliver of hope exists inside Joey that this may be exactly that and nothing more. And the moment that the man in the uniform speaks that hope disappears. No matter how much Veronica attempts to placate the situation with niceties, Joey can feel the threat coming from these men.

“Ma’am, do not speak unless spoken to,” the officer on Veronica’s side barks. And all at once, Joey feels as if she is at the crest of a transformation. She is back in high school when she had no control over the beast inside of her and all she can fathom doing is throwing herself across the seat and burying her teeth in the man’s throat. Joey’s fingers tighten in her lap, nearly snapping her ID.

The man on her side, now impatient with the lack of her attention, slams his fist into the metal of Veronica’s car. Joey nearly snarls at him when she turns to face him. “Identification, please.” The please was added only for formality, it was not a request. Joey handed over the piece of plastic, her body so rigid it feels as if it may snap. Once her identification is handed over, the man steps away from the car to call over his radio, out of what should be normal hearing range for the two women. Joey hears both ends of the conversation and knows immediately that her name had been flagged for caution, whereas, somehow, Veronica’s had escaped any scrutiny despite her job choice. But, Veronica would be considered guilty by association… unless Joey figured out a way to make a distraction.

Joey looked over to Veronica, hoping to portray to her girlfriend the trouble that was about to begin.

“Ms. Masters, can you step out of the vehicle?” Joey complied, but not before whispering a ‘stay calm’ to Veronica. Once she was out of the car, her body was immediately pressed into the side of the car, arm craned behind her back. The wind was knocked out of her despite the fact that she saw it coming. Joey didn’t fight it but a low growl was uncontrollable, vibrating low in her chest. A device was placed on her hand forcefully and it beeped rapidly, as if something were wrong. “Temp is abnormally elevated,” the solider barks to the other one, who only politely asks to see Veronica’s hand.

The moment the officer snaps, Veronica lets her mouth fall shut. Her body quivers with a sense of fear that until now she had been able to stave off. Stealing over her, the brunette steals a glance at Joey, only to see the intensity in the other woman’s gaze.

She’s preparing for the worst and Veronica needs to as well.

Bright blue eyes turn to the officer at her window. Her ID is passed over without question but the frown on her face conveys how baffled and confused she is by the proceedings. When Joey’s asked to step out of the car, Veronica’s head turns sharply to see what’s going on from her side. A flinch goes through her seeing how roughly her girlfriend is being handled and her own fists curl in her lap. Wishing that she had something in her power that could stop all of this. To keep Joey safe.

“I’m sorry officer,” Veronica insists as she’s asked to hold out her own hand. She does so as she continues to speak. “I don’t understand what’s going on? Of course her temperature is higher than normal. She’s been coming down with the flu. I should know--I’m a doctor. We’re on a roadtrip headed for my family’s home in Maine. I can give you the number of my father, Sergeant Major Shea, if that helps at all. I really just don’t understand why my friend’s flu is such an issue.”

The expression of frustration and confusion remains painted on Veronica’s face. If her parents taught her anything, it was how to manipulate a conversation. While the officer had initially snorted at the suggestion of a flu and began to tell her to keep her mouth shut, the mention of her father and his rank within the Marines catches him off guard.

“We’ll be the judge of your friend’s temperature. I suggest you get behind the wheel and keep driving to your fancy house before we decide to take you in too.” The officer holds his ground and Veronica feels herself deflate inside. Even still, she forces herself to keep playing the part she’d begun.

Sliding over the center console and into the driver’s seat, Veronica huffs as she looks out the window right at Joey. “I’ll be back for you. I hope you don’t get their whole squad sick.” Then her gaze narrows on the rough handed officer and she adds with a hint of venom, “If I don’t hear she’s clear and free to go by the end of today, I’m calling my father. You shouldn’t treat people like this.”

Holding her hand out toward the passenger’s window, Veronica waits for the other officer to hand back her ID. It pains her to act like a snobby bitch but hopefully it does some good to shake their confidence or at least keep them from doing harm to Joey while she’s in their custody.

✖ More Than A Roadblock

There is no relief when Veronica wakes, no easing of the tension seated behind Joey’s eyeballs, as there normally is. The roadblock is coming up quickly and the vehicle behind them shows no sign of allowing any deviation in their course. Joey can identify the growing sensation in her chest as an irrational anger, borne out of frustration and rooted in helplessness.

There is nothing they can do.

“The car behind us has been tailing us for just short of two hours, they slow when we slow, speed when we speed, detour when we detour. I don’t think we have many options here.” After almost two hours of attempting to determine if the dark vehicle behind them was in fact following them, Joey feels as if she should have more of a plan. But, no matter what they do, they look suspicious. The only option is to drive straight into the checkpoint and hope for the best. The best that Joey knew would never occur. “You should hide my bag, just push it under the seat with your feet… and, uh,” she pauses, attempting to keep the bulk of her attention on the danger they are driving into, “… use our old paperwork. We don’t want to draw any attention to our new identities.”

Joey expels a deep breath as they begin to slow; and it is only then that she realizes there is so much left to say, “If we get separated for any reason, meet up a mile past the nearest fuel station, but only until sunset… after sunset, head for the house. And know that I love you.” Joey breaks her view from the checkpoint only a few hundred feet ahead of them to look at Veronica.

A sinking dread works its way into Veronica as her gaze jumps from the slow moving vehicles, the military personnel that begin to pan into view with each shift forward, back to where the dark tinted windshield of the persons behind them tails close at their heels. Veronica listens to Joey’s hastily gathered idea of what to do. Her shoes shove the bag beneath the seat immediately after she fishes out both of their original IDs. All the while, the woman’s heart hammers in her chest, every trace of groggy sleep forced out of her pores as she feels crowded in by the nervous energy.

“Okay.” Veronica nods at the suggested course of action should they be separated. Yet she can’t stop herself from snatching a hand out to grip Joey’s leg, giving it a squeeze. This is not a moment for tears. V has none to spare at the moment. All she cares about is that they will get through this, one way or another, and be in a safer place in the end. “I love you, Joey. We’ll get through this. This probably has nothing to do with what we saw back in Danby. Totally unrelated.”

It’s a flimsy vote of confidence. There’s nothing to suggest it could be one thing or another and as the feet diminish and they are the next to be halted, Veronica feels every muscle in her body wound tight. There’s an officer standing on either side of the vehicle and Veronica rolls down her own automatic window at the signal from the man on her side. There’s a rifle slung over the man’s back. These aren’t just police officials. All she knows is they aren’t marine, like her father.

The doctor passes over her ID, turning to hand Joey her own and keeping her gaze divided between the man outside her window and the happenings between Joey and her own officer. “This is a strange hour for a checkpoint,” Veronica offers casually. “Are we supposed to be on alert for some escaped convict, sir?”

✖ More Than A Roadblock

Joey was stiff, her muscles sore and her body on edge. The full moon was looming over the horizon and the beast within her was roaring, running rampart, angry and vengeful. They had managed to make good, uneventful time across the country. It was two days later and they were finally in Vermont. They had agreed that hotels were not an option, too much of a risk, and instead they opted to sleep off the road, in the car. Joey couldn’t sleep, she was far too wired. More than usual. And for good reason.

White knuckles gripped the steering wheel, a direct contrast to the softly snoring body in the passenger’s seat. Veronica was resting, and resting well. And Joey loathed to disturb that rest, but the vehicle that had been tailing them for the last eighty miles was finally making a move. If the roadblock ahead was anything to go by. Green eyes were alert, searching for a way out of this situation without a fight. A loud growl sounds in her chest, rumbling.

“V, babe,” Joey signs, working calmness into her voice, reaching over to grasp her girlfriend’s hand. “You need to wake up.”

The driving and the sleeping in the car wear on Veronica. When she does get moments of shut eye, all she dreams of is waking up in a large comfortable bed with Joey’s cute sleepy green eyes peeking back at her. Where they are content and argue over who bought milk last instead of running for their lives and falsifying identities in order to evade those that want Joey--and herself--dead.

There were nights when Veronica could barely sleep, feeling the anxiety and restlessness rolling of of Joey beside her in waves. Her impulse was to use her ability to encourage her werecat girlfriend to feel more rested but it felt like a violation of her autonomy to do so. So Veronica refrained. Instead, after a few more shaky moments behind the wheel, she agreed to let Joey do more of the driving.

At the first sound of Joey’s voice, Veronica thinks it’s part of her dream. But then she feels the other woman’s touch and it immediately conveys the tension riding beneath the blonde’s skin. The healer blinks rapidly as she shifts up in the passenger’s seat, scanning around then as she questions, “What?”

But then her gaze lands on the roadblock ahead. Easily mistaken for a sobriety checkpoint, if not for the obvious time of day. “Shit.” Blue eyes turn to stare into green ones, wide with the realisation that this likely won’t bode well for them. Namely for Joey. Veronica’s brain still catches up after her sleep and she presses, “What should we do?”