Luka had been unable to sleep, unable to quiet his mind for long enough to drop into unconsciousness. Once he finally managed, once he was finally asleep, he became trapped in a dream. It was a cruel replay of past events, ones that he had tried for a long time to forget. Dreams weren’t memories, but wild magic was like a bloodhound for anxiety and was only too happy giving the brain a nudge. It was ten years earlier and he was younger. They all were. The younger version of Hadley had been fixed in his mind until today, the version where his hair was longer and his face slightly fuller, where his skin was tanned and his build suggested muscles rather than just lankiness. Now this younger version of Hadley was just slightly off, almost imperceptibly affected by the changes he had seen in the present. Abel and Lena would, of course, always remain the same in his mind.

The four of them stood on Academy grounds, placed in a loose circle in the courtyard. The vibrant colors of the crest shone from the ground between them, almost blinding. Everyone were yelling, as Hadley and Lena had tried to convince Luka to leave, to flee, while Abel was slowly coming around to his side. Fragments of the conversation played in his head, the plan being set in motion, and everything subsequently happening so fast.

Time blurred, the dream shifted. He was somewhere else, in the courtyard behind the hospital. This was where the Soul Eater had been born, and they were leading it back here to die. The energy was stronger here, more tangible, and Luka hoped it would enable him to scatter it more easily.

"Abel is down!"

Luka heard Hadley's voice distantly at the back of his mind. He didn't react, too focused on the task at hand. They were so close. He wasn't going to let anything distract him now.

"Lavrin." Hadley was coming closer, his voice clearer. "We need you now, or Abel is going to die."

Hadley had entered his field of vision, but only when Luka felt him grab his arm, did his concentration snap. He pulled his arm out of the grip and went back to work.

"Lavrin!"

"We have to finish this," Luka insisted. "We're so close."

Luka woke up with a start, with Hadley's words echoing in his head. Images of blood, of death and monsters had haunted him every day since it happened, but the words had faded. Now they had returned, along with Hadley Thomas. Their meeting had triggered something in him, making his memories more vivid. He would have to be careful about nightmares. It was better to avoid sleep, than to let the wild magic haunt him, but that could only ever be a temporary solution. He threw his covers aside and got up to pace around the room. Restless energy was buzzing under his skin and his hands trembled with it. He shook them in a useless attempt to dispel it. When that failed to make any difference, he walked down the stairs and put a pot of coffee on. While waiting for it to brew, he focused on his magic, letting it rise to the surface of his skin.

The nature of magic was to grow as the person grew. It would usually become noticeable around the age of thirteen, to those who knew what they were looking for, but much like puberty, it was individual from person to person. Though, as much as it afforded ambitious mages the chance to familiarize themselves with their magic, it wasn't actually useful at this point. Every mage had that time bomb moment that made Strays so dangerous. Only, most mages were prepared for it, and could take precautions. It was essentially an activation of powers, the moment when they spilled over the edge, and became powerful enough to interact with the magic around them. Once the time bomb moment had burned out the magic of a young mage, it was time to teach them control.

Luka hadn't quite followed the usual path.

Of course he had still been dependent on that moment, on his magic spilling over, but he had grown up at the Kovalevsky Academy in Moscow. He had been nine, when his parents died, and the Academy had essentially raised him and his sister. He had sat in on theory classes before he even fully understood what any of it meant. He had been shown simple things designed to grow his powers even as he barely had any. He developed a habit of making small cuts in his arms to practice his healing. Luka's main guardian had been an Agent and a mentor, whose students had been an ever-changing background presence in Luka's closest approximation of a home at the time. Later on, far too close to his magic manifesting and his subsequent departure to America, he had gotten close with one of these students. He had taught Luka spells, and had taught him that he didn't need to bleed to test his control. Luka discovered that he could manipulate his own nerves, and he knew that it would only be taught to him as a way of dulling them, saving someone from pain. He didn't mean to dull his nerves, though. He meant to flare them. It wasn't quite the same as healing, and it did work a slightly different skill set, but it was good enough for Luka to measure his own progress and increase his powers. Over the years, he had adopted it as a sort of means of meditation.

He closed his eyes, as the red glow of his magic formed swirls around his arms. When he used it like this, his magic felt like fire, burning him up from within. He clenched his teeth, and spread the pain further through his body. He was used to this exercise, used to biting back the screams, but it was supposed to be about restraint. This was pure frustration, and maybe he was burning too hot, too fast. He let out a strangled cry, and let go of the magic. He took deep breaths, allowing his body and mind to slow along with his breathing. He breathed slowly until his skin stopped prickling, and he expected to find a calmer, quieter version of himself on the other side. He frowned at the restless energy still pulsing under his skin, his thoughts still running in circles in his head. The exercise was supposed to clear his head, and it usually did. This time, it was only making him more frustrated. He reached for a knife on the counter beside him, but hesitated with the blade hovering over his skin.

The coffee maker shuttered to a stop, and he snapped out of it. The knife cluttered to the kitchen counter, and he busied himself with finding a cup. Then he also pulled out a glass, and dug into a cabinet for a bottle of vodka. He poured coffee first, then alcohol, and drank one shot, and another, as his coffee cooled. His fingers drifted back to the knife. It was desperate, something he hadn't done in ages, but all he wanted was a moment of peace from his own thoughts. It was bad enough that he had to walk back into that place, watching the crest beam up at him, as if it meant anything.

He picked up the knife, and lined the blade up slightly off-center on his forearm. He tilted it into his flesh, watching the blood well up beside it, and cut slowly down his arm. He was careful to miss his main artery, since he wasn't looking to bleed to death. He put the knife down, watching for a moment as the blood flowed from the wound and dropped to the floor. He healed it up, closed his eyes, breathed. His mind didn't still, his thoughts didn't settle. All he wanted was to see a black void behind his eyelids and all he could see was Abel dying. All he could think was that he could have saved him, but chose not to.

One life for hundreds.

That had been the price of being a hero.

"Chert vozmi," he muttered, and went out in search of a distraction.

He hadn't meant to go out tonight, he really hadn't. Not when he had just signed a contract to work with the Academy. He would have done it out of spite, or because he didn't care, but the case was serious and he hadn't thought distractions would be appropriate. But now he found himself on the streets and he could already breathe a little easier. It was late, or perhaps early, and the city was quiet as he walked though the streets. Most responsible people would be asleep, recharging for the next day. A few cars drove past him, most of them taxis. In the distance he heard the bass of a party. He passed an alley where someone was tagging an already crowded wall. He focused his attention on the quiet pulse of night life in the city, and let his feet guide him to wherever he needed to be.

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There was a number of things he might look for, different tags on the walls signaling a need for a Healer, for help or for favors. It kept them safe from Agents, but it wasn't a perfect system. A lot of Rogues died before a Healer could get to them. With enough money, Healers could be hired on retainer, but even then, Healers weren't commonplace. Rogue Healers even less so. Luka had worked on retainer for a while, back when he had just gone rogue and needed the money, but had gotten out as soon as he could. He wanted to help, but he had lost control of his own life, of his time, and had at one point gone nearly a week without sleeping.

In addition to the tags, he looked for signs of wild magic manifesting into something dangerous, which had it's own unique signature. After all these years, Luka could feel it in his bones, smell it on the wind. It was like an electric charge in the air, the faint scent of ozone. Tonight, there was nothing. He passed some tags asking for favors, but favors could be anything, from something simple, like help with a spell or information, to things far more complicated and dangerous. The tags included symbols that said something about what the favor entailed, as well as degree of difficulty. Luka steered clear of favor jobs, even on normal days. He didn't trade in favors, as they were rarely worth the reward.

He eventually came to a stop in front of an apartment complex. It was built in a townhouse style, like wood-paneled boxes stacked on top of each other and painted in shades of bland beige. He had walked the silent streets, without paying attention to where he was going. Of all places, he found himself here. He considered turning around and going back home. He had an overwhelming need to turn around and go back home. Instead, he found the right name on the intercom, and pressed the button. The apartments were as dark as the streets, and when nothing happened, he pressed the button again. Finally a light appeared on the top floor, obscured through curtains.

"What?" Sputtered the weary voice of Hadley Thomas through the intercom.

"It's me," Luka said. "Let me in."

There was a moment of hesitation before the door unlocked, and Luka entered with a similar hesitation and started up the stairs. When he arrived on the top landing, the door was already opened and Hadley stood before him in a t-shirt and pajama pants.

He waved him inside, and closed the door firmly behind him before speaking. "I really fucking hope this is important," he growled.

Luka had known where Hadley lived, but he had never been inside. He had expected to find something closer to the Hadley he remembered here, but the place was spartan. It opened into the kitchen and living room, and he could see the down the hallway that led to the additional rooms, but all the doors were closed. The furniture was fine, but pragmatic. Maybe he kept personal items in his office or his bedroom, but then again, maybe not.

"Sorry," Luka said, not sincerely. "Were you sleeping?"

"Not well," Hadley said. He sat down on the armrest of his couch and pulled his hands through his hair, which only served to ruffle it further. He seemed calmer here, more comfortable and more genuine, perhaps because home made him feel safe. Although part of Luka still itched to touch him, to see if it was more than that. He hadn't forgotten about the minor panic attack he had that morning, and he couldn't quite believe it was still the events of ten years ago that affected him, but then again, maybe he could.

"Lavrin, it's 3:30 in the morning. What do you want?"

He snapped out of his Healer brain, stopped trying to diagnose him from afar, and instead wished he had something to say. Something to explain that the reasons he was here weren't all weakness and no logic.

"I don't know," he answered honestly.

"Fine," Hadley said, and gestured across from him. "Let's do this now."

Luka sat down in the chair he had indicated, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Hadley clearly hadn't been paying attention to him when he let him in, because now his eyes widened.

"Whose blood is that?" he asked, suspicion blending with concern in his voice.

"Oh," Luka said, glancing at the blood that had seeped into his sleeve and spattered on the front of his shirt. "Mine."

He tilted his arm in, to stop Hadley from looking too closely at the scar running down his arm. He had healed it too quickly and too recklessly, and the scar wasn't likely to ever fade.

"Goddammit, Lavrin," he muttered.

"I didn't come here for you to judge me," Luka said.

"Then you should have changed your shirt," Hadley commented.

"So, what exactly is it you think we're doing?"

"What do you want? What do you need to make this work?"

Luka hesitated. He specifically had not been allowed conditions — the opportunity to save innocents was expected to be incentive enough, and really, it should have been — but then he realized what Hadley expected. He thought he had come here, in the middle of the night, to bully him. To threaten him into giving him something he was in no position to give.

He took a moment to consider, if there was anything that could make this situation better. He thought of Quinn, some guarantee he could give him, that this wouldn't change anything. But it would, it was always going to. Even before Luka's nightmares returned. He realized there really was nothing he wanted, and that it wasn't why he was here. He watched his hands, rather than watching Hadley, but he could still feel his eyes on him. Flecks of blood clung to his fingernails, coloring the edges a dull red.

"You have to find someone else."

Hadley shook his head. "No. You don't get to do that."

"You were there, too. So was Lena."

"I'm not you, Lavrin, and even if I knew where Lena is... She isn't either."

Luka rose from the chair. He needed to move, and paced the length of the living room. "I'm not the only one who can do this."

"Maybe not, but you're the only one I trust."

Luka stopped. "You don't trust me. Not anymore."

Hadley got up, too, but he didn't move any closer to Luka. "I trust you with this. I know you can do this. I don't know why you're fighting it so hard."

Because he thought he was fine, and he didn't like to discover that he wasn't. Because Quinn would have begged him not to accept, if it hadn't been for the dying students.

"Fine," he said. "But the only way this is going to work is if we stay away from each other."

"Agreed," Hadley said. "Too bad that's not an option."

"Why?"

"I already told you the Council isn't on board with this. You're my responsibility, and I can't hand you over to someone else. The Council won't allow it."

"Of course," Luka muttered.

"Don't start," Hadley begged.

"What? You're going to tell me that they don't know exactly what they're doing? Do you think they want this to work? Do you think they want to be saved by a Rogue?"

"I think they want students to not die. I think the fact that they accepted it, however reluctantly, means they're desperate."

Luka shook his head. Hadley didn't get it, but then, he never had. The Council did everything deliberately, and Luka wasn't meant to succeed in this. That way, the Council could finally prove that they had been right about him all along, a ten year grudge that both parties had been holding on to, but had only damaged one reputation — and it wasn’t Luka’s.

Only, if he did succeed, the Council would be prepared for that too, and he feared that it would challenge his freedom at the end of this.

"I honestly don't think they knew it would be this much of a problem. I'm not sure I did," Hadley added, but Luka said nothing. He was sure they knew. They had taken part in creating this conflict ten years ago, when they had asked each of them to fold, and only one person did. Nothing had happened to suggest a mend in their relationship, nothing except Hadley presenting Luka as a solution to their problem. Which was weak, at best.

"It doesn't matter," Luka finally said. "Just stay out of my way as much as possible."

He didn’t know what he had hoped to find in Hadley Thomas. That he had changed? That they both had?

Back on the street, he felt no better than when he arrived. The trip had been a complete waste, not to mention a mistake, and only added to his frustration. He paused to hit the wood-paneled wall, just to hear the crack of bones breaking, and waited for the pain. He flexed his hand as well as he could, and something was definitely broken. He left it to its sharp pain, dulling more with every beat of his heart, and dug into his pocket for his phone, as he walked away from the building.

He scrolled through his contacts, finding Quinn, but his hand hovered over the call button.

He wanted to call him.

He needed Quinn to talk him down.

He needed to be reminded that he had a life outside all of this.

If he was being completely honest with himself, that was the step he should have taken in the first place, before coming here. In the end, he put the phone back in his pocket without making the call.