Calliope hadn't come that night.

Jasmine had waited for her. Waited almost thirty minutes beyond the allotted delivery time thinking maybe—just maybe—something was holding her up, or she was running behind, or—Hell, maybe she'd got distracted by something. But her nail-biting and anxious pacing yielded nothing.

She had locked the door, now, and had paced her floor for another thirty or so minutes. The first thing that went through her head was she wasn't going to get her medications for that week. Then immediately an overwhelming throw of guilt as the thought came to her mind, 'But Calliope...'

Suddenly, a much deeper worry panged in her chest. She froze where she was on the floor, palms of her feet digging into the wood like she might become buoyant and float away. She bawled her fist and pressed it to her lips, lightly rapping her pointer's knuckle there. Then she gave a harsh sigh from her nose, making a decision. She turned on her heel, grabbed an old white hoodie that she'd tossed on her bed upstairs, jammed her arms in it, and left in nothing but it over a t-shirt and shorts.

. . . .

The wind was starting to bite her thighs, now.

It was supposed to snow tonight. At least, that's what she'd heard; her boss at the grocery store had told her when she'd finished work that day she wasn't expecting her to come in tomorrow. Which was unfortunate, because she needed a good day's payment. But she'd be alright. It wasn't the first time she had to hold out on work due to the weather. At least it wasn't a Sunday.

Jasmine had peered down city streets and alleys and all manner of stupid, fruitless attempts to find her missing courier. But all were for not.

It was all just dead ends and losses and each one broke a new crack into her confidence.

Then, perhaps against her better judgment, she decided to pay in a visit with The Underground. She plodded through the chilled streets with purpose, and maybe less caution then she should have given. Yet she couldn't be bothered to give a single shit. She had a mission and goddamnit, like she would let herself fail.

The walk took her about twenty minutes from where she had stopped her impulsive searching. She rounded a corner, brushing a stray bang out of her eyes as she peered down another alleyway in one of the more eastbound Developments.

But then her blood ran cold, freezing her core more than the air tearing at her exposed inches of flesh could ever.

There was a drain cover that Jasmine knew led to that unused sewer tunnel ending in the main office. But now, instead of being left and seemingly abandoned, it was surrounded by bright, yellow police tape. A pair of Peace Officers with fully-automatic rifles idly guarded the marked space, pacing aimlessly, but with surveying eyes.

Jasmine clapped a hand over her lips to stop a gasp, body shuddering, wanting to scream or say or do something. But, instead of saying or doing something, she turned, and she marched away, driving her fingernails deep into her palms.

She found a promising alley wall where she finally slumped down, curling in on herself and screaming into her thighs.

Not again...

You did it again.

She's dead now. Just like Harper.

Why didn't you do something?

You could have protected her.

This is why you shouldn't make connections.

You're better off as someone's toy.

Remember?

Good things don't happen.

Not here.

And not to people like you.

W h y d i d y o u l e t y o u r s e l f h o p e a g a i n ?

"Well hi there, pretty thing."

Jasmine's head snapped up from where her eyes had been burrowed into her bare knees. She glowered at the figure of a bulky man hulking over her, a beanie on and a puffer and a t-shirt and jeans. His face was pimpled and scraggly. He clearly wasn't trying to keep up appearances.

And he had the most vile smirk on his face.

A look Jasmine was worryingly familiar with.

She held a hand close to her chest for her gun, should she need it.

"I'm really not in the mood," she sneered. But it came out more shuddery. She hadn't noticed until now the hot tears burning down her cheeks and stinging her eyes.

"Mood for what?" the man snickered. It was then Jasmine felt another pair of eyes on her.

Jasmine narrowed her eyes. Then dove her hands into her chest.

But, there was nothing there...

She wasn't wearing her holster. She had left home without thinking to put it on: in such a hurry to save a dead woman, she hadn't even prepared to do so.

The man raised a brow and smirked. Jasmine flicked her gaze briefly to see another, more gangly one approaching from her other side.

"I-if..." she started. Then she cleared her throat, tentatively stood, and harshly wiped the tears off her cheeks. She spoke stiffly. "If you're looking for sex, you'll have to pay me..."

The thinnest snirked. And the larger let out a breathy chuckle. Then he lurched forward. Jasmine tried to dart out of the way, but she wasn't fast enough to avoid him snatching her wrist, and pulling her in close.

"Now, hey there, hot stuff: we don't pay for that sort of thing." The other, she felt press up behind her. And she could feel him on her back. She let out a sort of yowl, elbowing back the man behind her with some success, before twisting her wrist out of the other man's grasp. She turned to run, but was stopped by the scrawny man's attempt to snatch her by her hoodie. He hooked his claws into the garment, and Jasmine gagged. Jasmine grabbed his wrist behind her, and tugged, forcing him to stumble. But, when his much stronger friend joined in on holding her, she had a much harder time fighting back.

She was pulled back, and felt large fingers lightly wrapping around her throat, another hand moving towards the plushness of her stomach, upward to the zipper of her hoodie.

"Oh, yes, I love it when they fight," the man growled. Jasmine felt suddenly very ill.

Just let it happen.

It's all you're good for, anyway.

Her zipper was pulled down, exposing her tee. Her body warned her of the missing layer, but she paid it little mind. She didn't fight back.

His hand rocketed up her shirt with disgusting unsubtly and volition, and wrapped around her breast..

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She yelled again, though she didn't know why. Was she hoping someone would come and save her? Unlikely. She would probably just make the problem worse for herself. She shouldn't have even been out here to begin with.

She clawed at the man's wrist with her hand as the thinner closed in in front of her. He grabbed her cheeks, and tried pulling her mouth into his lips. She tried and succeeded in keeping her mouth away. But he was persistent.

A hand grabbed her ass and she whimpered again, sobbing into the dark.

She squeezed her eyes shut as her head was harshly yanked forward and tugged.

But then she found herself pulled back by the man behind her. She heard him gag and struggle, and his hands eventually came off of her. He barked a yell, and she had half a mind to look at him and see why.

The thinnest backed off now, too, looking behind Jasmine with some marked horror. He quickly began fiddling with his waist, lithe fingers wrapping around the stock of the handgun there.

Jasmine elected to seize this opportunity.

Once he'd pulled the weapon, she elbowed him in the gut before he could manage to do anything with it. He stumbled back and she snatched the wrist of his gunning hand. She pulled him in and gave a hook to his nose, the crack resonating off the walls of the buildings around them. She heard the gun clatter to the floor from his hand, and then she shoved him backward onto the ground. She snatched the weapon from the ground with a single, deft movement, before unloading three random rounds into his body.

He stopped moving shortly thereafter.

She turned behind her toward the other man, who was dancing around the alley and clawing at his back, pulling the shirt and hair of a scrawny individual who was now digging at his eyes. He slammed his back into a wall once—twice—and the perpetrator became dazed, their grip weakening. Then he grabbed them by the collar of their shirt, and threw them over his head.

They bounced off the cold concrete, rolling on the ground until they were beside Jasmine's feet, stumbling onto all fours and shaking the daze out of their head.

Jasmine gave her a dumbstricken gawk.

"Calliope!?"

Calliope coughed, sat up, and smirked, sheepishly, in a way that made Jasmine both want to kiss her right then and there and punch her right in her pretty little nose. Instead, she just rolled her eyes and scoffed.

Calli scrambled to her feet and cracked her neck, pulling her pistol from her waistband.

Both girls pointed their guns at the man across from them, staring him down. He scoffed.

"What. You gonna kill me too?" He glowered. "You're lucky your little attack-dyke showed up when you needed it..."

Jasmine gave a snort.

"You don't get to speak to her that way."

The man looked like he was about to move and say some other skeevy statement, but a volley of bullets through his lungs proved effective in shutting him up.

He fell on the ground in a heap, the ground beneath him dying red.

Jasmine let the gun she held clatter on the floor. Calli holstered her own in her hip. Then they stood there for a bit, refusing to make eye contact. Jasmine saw a snowflake in her periphery, her eyes following its descent to the floor.

"... You were out here looking for me. Weren't you?" Calliope spoke quietly. Jasmine still stared ahead, glaring.

"I was."

"... Sorry about that."

Jasmine sighed, and dared to let her eyes flicker to Calli. The tan woman's eyes remained steadily trained on her toes, whatever expression she wore obscured by raven hair. And she felt herself melt.

She wrapped her arms around the scrawny woman and pulled her in close, burrowing into her neck as she held on like a vice.

"... You scared the shit out of me, you know," she shakily breathed against her skin, "I was worried sick. I had no idea what might've happened to you..."

Calli's arms didn't return her embrace.

Eventually, she rasped a pathetic, "Sorry..." Jasmine sighed out her nose, pulling back to try for eye contact. Again, Calliope refused to meet her.

"You don't..." Another sigh. That wasn't right: Calli had worried her out of her mind. She deserved an apology. Even if it was more pitiful than she maybe would have hoped. "... What happened to The Underground? I—I went there looking for you, and there were cops, and they had everything all tapes off... Did—"

Calliope's hands wrapped around her own in a way that wasn't at all affectionate. And she removed them from her body.

"... You could have gotten yourself killed..." Calli sneered, still hiding behind her hair.

Jasmine tsked. "Well, I didn't..."

Snow had started coming with more fury, now. It wasn't awful yet, but it was a steady fall.

Jasmine swallowed. "Do you have a place to stay?"

When Calliope didn't respond, she tentatively took her hand, linking there fingers together. Calli didn't protest, but she didn't hurry to help, either.

"Come home with me, please..."

Calliope was silent. Her only form of response was a single, quick nod. Then, Jasmine sighed out her nose, and pulled her courier through the cold, all the way back to her apartment.

. . . .

There was a glass of water in front of her. Calliope hadn't laid a finger on it. Jasmine had her own, and she was curled on the couch beside the tinner woman, holding the glass in her hands and staring down at the liquid within like she hoped it would tell her something.

"... Do you wanna talk about it?"

Calliope didn't look to the other woman. She trained her eyes on her lap.

"Talk about what?"

Jasmine set her untouched water on the coffee table beside Calli's. "I think you can figure it out..." Her tone wasn't uncharitable. But there was a lilt of impatience mixed within.

Calliope's eyes stayed down. Then she felt a soft palm touch her shoulder. She flinched, her body tensing at the touch. But Jasmine's small hand tenderly glided across her taught skin to the back of her neck, down between her blades, then retreating back to her shoulder again to run down the slight bulge of her bicep to her forearm, and coming to gently worm their fingers together.

Calliope only let her because she was barely processing the touch. She seemed slightly soother, but she really wasn't. And then she yanked her fingers away from Jasmine's, abruptly shooting up.

Calli had come with a satchel. Jasmine had taken it from her, tentatively hanging it in the end of the stairs banister.

Calliope marched right over there and pulled the satchel off, shuffling inside of it. She pulled out a small box.

"What's—"

Calliope shot toward her quickly, cutting her words off, and shoved the box into her hands. Jasmine stared down at it, baffled.

She looked at the label.

Her medication.

"Oh..."

Calliope weaved around her. Jasmine shook off her daze, flicking to the other woman, and tracing her swift movement with her eyes. She watched her carry the satchel to the kitchen, tossing it on the counter island. From it, she tugged two manila folders, slapping them on the counter beside her bag.

Jasmine stood as well and followed her, only to see her pulling open drawer after drawer, not closing one of them, shuffling around through their contents.

Like she was looking for something.

"I need a lighter. Or a match, or something."

Jasmine was confounded again. "You—Calliope, I–"

"Lighter, Jazz."

Jasmine's mouth moved aimlessly a few lose tries in attempts to say something, before it decided on, "I—I haven't smoked in a couple years, Calliope, I don't—"

Calliope scoffed, slammed her newest open cabinet shut, and proceeded back to the folders, snatching them up and tapping them against her hand as she sucked on her lip.

"Calliope, what the Hell is going on!? Why do you need a lighter? What are those!?" Jasmine pointed to the folders. "Are you gonna burn paperwork in my kitchen, now!?"

Calliope's tapping halted in a flash. Her grip grew so heavy on the folders in her hands, she nearly crumpled them. Jasmine softened.

"Calliope. What's going on?" she spelled.

"...I need a lighter, Jasmine."

Jasmine groaned, loudly, moving back to the couch and slumping down there, burying her face in her palms.

Calliope took pause, for a moment. And she looked at the woman, rubbing her temples and digging her nails into her forehead.

She set the crumpled up files back down there, on the counter. Her feet started moving in slow, heavy steps toward the stocky woman there in the living area fretting herself. But then Jasmine spoke. And time stopped.

"Where's your brother, Calliope?"

Calliope said nothing. She just stood there, still, fists clenched and eyes trained on the ground as a horrifying glint of imagery flashed in her eyes. And she suddenly found it very hard to breath.

She took in some shuddering air, digging her nails into her bicep and squeezing.

Then a muffled sob. And then something much louder, and harsher. She wilted right there, sinking to the floor and burrowing her fingers into her hair, pulling at the follicles. She pulled so hard, she plucked out some hairs, the searing pain in her scalp diluted by her emotions.

She screamed at nothing. Loud and shrill and incoherent and broken. Like she hoped someone would hear her. The suffering digging into her chest; the anger topping her head.

She could feel the ghosts of hands on her. She could almost hear the hushes, and the attempts at ease. The soft melody of Jasmine's words trying to soothe her sorrow. Bring her heart back for just a moment. Temporary salvation from her own desires for self-destruction. And Calli let herself fall into her.

She rawed her throat with pain. And, when she'd finally ran out of air and her vocal chords were too shredded to make another sound, she fell limp in Jasmine's arms.

Jasmine squeezed the frail woman. Something she—typically—so quintessentially was not. But she surely was now. She'd been broken, completely and totally and Jasmine found an astute sinking in seeing her light so heavily diminished

She pressed a kiss to the crown of her greasy hair. The woman reeked, truly: sweat, sewer water, and filth. She smelt like literal hot garbage, but far be it for Jasmine to care about that. Not now, anyway.

She heaved the scrawny woman up in her arms with a huff. She wasn't easy to carry; while she was lean, she was muscular, too. Jasmine wasn't particularly strong, but she kept in shape enough, and lifting crates at the grocer with some supplementation of her performances kept her fit enough to make heaving her limp courier at least feasible.

With some great exasperation, Calli was finally laid in Jasmine's bed. Jasmine hesitated, but took it upon herself to undress the woman; her clothes were stained and rank, after all, and not fit to sleep in. If it was up to her, she'd be washed, too. But she'd like for her to be awake for that, at least.

She laid the naked woman down, and stripped herself as well. Then she crawled in beside her. And she pulled her close. She was pleased to feel some minor response, as her courier nuzzled into her, and grumbled. She pressed a kiss to her forehead, and kept her close. Soon, her eyes finally began to grow heavier, until she fell into a light rest...