'Loving can heal, loving can mend your soul

And it's the only thing that I know, know

I swear it will get easier

Remember that with every piece of ya

Hmm, and it's the only thing we take with us when we die'

Yet it wasn't their usual bickering, where in between their attacks, I could hear the fondness they were slowly getting for each other. Here, there was only a loud thud and a sharp edge in Blade's voice that I could recognize among the infinite of all his contrasts. It was the tone that cut through my chest, tearing it open for my heart to jump in two directions; it was his killer tone. 

Following the bangs through my ribcage, I rushed out of the kitchen, abandoning completely the dishes on the stove. If the way people cooked was the way they loved, I, ran like I loved: blindly, desperately, and instinctively, and I could feel all the love I had for Blade and Spencer pumping through my veins as I crossed the hallway in less than a second.

I, better than anyone else, knew how much could happen in a split second, a spark, a trigger, and the memories of the last time they'd tried to kill each other were flashing before my eyes as I burst through the living room door.

"Blade! Spencer!" My call echoed as gut-wrenching as that dreadful night, and my heart was as torn when I caught sight of the two figures face to face.

Yet tonight, I didn't see any dangerous weapon. Spencer wasn't even touching Blade, while the latter was cornering him against the wall and holding him by the collar, but as soon as Blade crossed my aghast eyes, he looked stricken by a flash of clarity, releasing Spencer.

When he stepped back, the memories from that night dissipated fully, along with the chills in my veins.

However, one thing remained: the sharp tensions in the air, and they were grazing my voice as I croaked, "What's happening?"

"Nothing," Blade replied instantly, again one of his 'nothings' that was holding too much, and I would have laughed if the atmosphere hadn't been too heavy to even breathe.

The papers he grabbed from the pile on the coffee table weren't 'nothing', at least, not yet, as he threw them in the fireplace. The 'no!' gasped by Spencer as the flames engulfed the pieces of paper wasn't 'nothing', and what was consuming behind the icy expanse of crystalline wasn't 'nothing' as Blade's eyes darted from the fire to Spencer and finally me, and he dashed out of the room.

"Blade! Wait–" The slam of the back door shot me like a bullet through my chest, and I was left gasping before I could even move, my wide, lost eyes snapping toward Spencer, who thankfully, could read the questions through my mind and my paling expression.

"I don't know," he breathed, as knocked as I was.

It was the Blade's effect: sharp, stabbing out of nowhere, and leaving you stunned.

"I was relaxing like you asked, reading Grandpa Al's binder. His last investigation was heavy and really interesting. It was about a prostitution and drug traffic, it–" He stopped, probably hearing the impatient thuds of my heart and realizing it wasn't the time to discuss Grandpa's talents. "Blade walked in and snapped when he saw one of the file about a woman."

Grandpa's last investigation had been in Carrion, where Blade had grown up before going into foster care. It didn't take me long to connect the dots with the word 'drug', and they led my feet to the fireplace before Spencer even announced,

"I think it was... Maggie Sayer..."

"His mom," I finished, my hand reaching for the last piece of paper that the flames had spared: a photo, and even if the corners were now black and eroded, I recognized the clear eyes in the middle, easily picturing their crystalline color on the black and white print as they pinned my heart.

It was Blade's mom. It was the woman from my memory, or dream – it felt almost surreal, yet I had no doubt I'd already seen her bony features and pale skin.

"Did you know his mom is a prostitute?" Spencer stepped beside me, observing carefully the photo in my shaky hands.

"Was, and no, I didn't. It's a sensitive subject for him..." I brushed the wavy edges of the picture, the heat under my fingertips being a contrast with the chuckles and the glares Blade was trying to shield himself with every time his past was mentioned.

There was so much I didn't know beyond. But I'd already glimpsed enough, enough for my heart to jump and pull me out of my frozen daze as I imagined the lonely little boy, the dangerous killer, the strong man, my evil genie... my Blade, alone in the cold of the night.

"I have to go see him." I slid the photo into my apron pocket as my eyes lifted towards Spencer, checking the best I could through the blurriness for any drop of blood. "You're okay?"

"I'm fine," he quickly reassured me with a nod that meant so much more.

He understood, and in that instant, their usual rivalry vanished. Although they couldn't be more different, and their childhoods were nothing alike, they had one thing in common. They'd both been two kids who had lost their mom and a part of their heart too soon, and they'd tried to heal it the best they could, but those wounds never fully healed, and sometimes, a simple poke could tear it open again.

Whether it was in a deadly rage or paralyzing fear, I believed the numbing pain was the same, and Spencer didn't stop me, letting the same fingers that had so many times holden his after a nightmare wrap around the handle. However, he still slowed me down, seizing my other hand.

"Your coat! You wouldn't want to catch a cold."

Right, the mess I was hadn't thought about this detail in my rush, and I grabbed Blade's jacket too. He must have been freezing wherever he was, and my thoughts were already flying to all the places he could have taken refuge in the woods around. Yet the rest of my body was still held back by Spencer's tight grasp on my wrist. It wasn't to the point of being painful, but still meaningful enough, and I was about to tug my hand away when I caught the flickers of his gaze between the door, the coffee table, and me.

There was something else, and after all the times I'd run away before he could speak what was on his chest, he wasn't willing to risk letting me go again.

"Yes?" I encouraged him, feeling it was important from the heavy sigh that grazed my forehead, and he hesitated one more second, like weighing his words, to finally pull out a paper from behind his back.

"It isn't the only familiar face I saw in the binder."

Once again, a picture was worth a thousand words. Once again, I was met with two familiar eyes on the worn-out paper, and the sensations they stirred in my insides left me no doubt. A freezing shiver down my guts, this time...

The man's features weren't Douglas's, but they were awfully familiar and much older.

"The mayor Thornton?" It wasn't even a question, though a thousand others were spinning in my head.

Had he been involved in this traffic? Was he still? How much? Was he the man threatening Blade's mom in my dream or memory? Was it a proof that he was crooked? Could it help our case?

It was impossible to focus on all of those when my heart was already trying to take off and find Blade, but the twinkle of hope in Spencer's gaze as he faintly nodded was all the answer I needed. I hadn't seen that light in months, and it re-sparked the mess I was as I rushed out of the door, my heart soaring faster, lighter, and stronger.

I still hadn't put my coat on, but Spencer let me go, and the goosebumps pearling on my skin weren't because of the cold air as my steps halted for an instant at the bottom of the wooden deck to look up.

"Thank you," I whispered to the first glimmer of light that was appearing in the infinite of darkness above, and I knew he heard me from wherever he was. He was still watching over us.

He'd guided us to this house, to his secret box, to his binder, and he was still guiding me, as, like every time I gazed at the sky, I caught the silver lining when my blurry eyes came back down on earth.

Well, today, it was just a spark of orangey, but I quickly made out the dark silhouette in the shadows.

Blade was on the far end of the backyard, just where the woods were taking over, and I realized it was exactly the corner where Grandpa used to place the target for our shooting lessons as I approached him slowly. I was right on the ten feet line from the first times I'd learned how to shoot when he noticed me, and his head lifted. Though it was in my heart that I felt the impact as his gaze landed on mine.

"Blade..."

None of us was moving, not for a step, nor for the heave of a chest, and even in the distance, even in the dark, his eyes had never appeared so clear. I could glimpse the depths of the crystalline expanse beyond the tempest: the obscure crevasses, the dangerous flows, and all these fragile and treasured parts of him.

I fought to postpone the moment I would blink because I knew the lightest ripple would sweep it away, and it did. He quickly shook his head, focusing on the cigarette in his hand, which he threw on the ground and stubbed out – an almost-full cigarette, his last cigarette.

I didn't know what to make out of it, like I wasn't sure what to think of the way his shoulders tensed and his chest relaxed with each careful step I took closer to him. He didn't seem to know himself, as he kept glancing between me and the squashed cigarette, and with the shadows of the trees around, he reminded me of Meteorite the night we'd rescued him: lost, wounded, and... scared when I held out my hand.

His eyes were fixed there as if he hadn't already witnessed my fingers grazing more dangerous things before, but I quickly understood as he spoke up,

"Sorry for losing my shit. I know Spencer's books say stress isn't good for the baby."

It was beyond my hand that his tempestuous gaze was set; it was my belly he was scared to approach. It was the baby he was terrified to hurt, and yet, it was higher that I felt the squeeze when he took a step away.

After all this time, he was still convinced that he couldn't take care of another life, and I wished he could have seen what I saw, beyond the dangerous killer. I wished he could have felt all the care and love he was already giving to this baby and me because I felt it, even just at this instant as he was tugging on his hair and furrowing his eyebrows like searching for a way to turn back time or just calm the tempest inside.

I could have tried a million words to prove it to him, but none of us was good with words, and my hand was already reaching out the second his dropped from his hair. After all, that was what I did every time I had a wish: intertwining his talented fingers with mine, and the magic happened as I put our hands on my belly, his dangerous killer hand stuck between my small palm and the baby bump.

The most fragile in all of this wasn't the one most would have expected as he sucked in a shallow breath, and I smiled at the softness of his rough fingers.

"A little stress is nothing after running away from the cops." I pressed his palm closer, so the warmth could melt away any remaining shake in his hand, and he could feel the precious life beating under. Well, it was still too soon for the baby to move, but I was sure the flutters of my heart were echoing until there when his thumb started drawing leisurely patterns above my belly button.

"Don't worry, she's a little badass."

"She?"

My eyes shot up to meet his cocked eyebrow and that devious smile slowly stretching. I had managed to bring back my evil genie, though had I really said...

"Do you think it'll be a girl?"

"I don't know..." I looked down at our hands over my stomach, trying to imagine this little being in a few months, but the strong beats of my heart only told me one thing. "I'll love her or him no matter what. The important is that this little badass is healthy and happy... with us." My fingers tightened above his as if it could help this wish comes true, and as he hummed, the crease between his eyebrows still as deep, but this time, accompanied by the indent on his right cheek, I believed it could.

"I like the idea of a mini Shooting star, though," he added, his other hand joining like making sure to engulf the baby in all his care, warmth, tattoos, and blood – blood?!

"You're bleeding?!" I gasped in front of the small yet unmistakable red stain on the usually bare forefinger of his right hand, and if the baby was strong and used to stress, I couldn't say the same of my heart and its fragile rhythm as I tried to understand from where it came from.

"Oh yeah, that... It's nothing, just a cut from the papers." He shrugged, sucking on the tip of his finger to make the blood disappear and reassure me, though I still checked his other hand and the rest of his body, pulling him to the wooden bench a few feet away to look carefully – well, the best I could in the dimness.

It surely would have been easier to go back inside, yet for the invisible wounds, there was no better place than here, on the bench he'd built with a few pieces of wood, under the dancing branches that sheltered us like the shadows of his secret place. It resembled a lot the night he'd led me there, actually: his bloody hand, the ghosts from his past possessing him, the fragile yet heavy silence between us, and the questions hanging in-between until they would fall out of my lips.

"Papers and pen are the most powerful weapons..." I offered him a small smile, trying to come to the point smoothly this time, though from his lifted eyebrow and his low chuckle that almost echoed like a 'yes, inspector?', it was obvious he wasn't fooled.

He even looked resigned to face a lengthy 'interrogation' as he grabbed the coat still hanging by my elbow and wrapped it around my shoulders, the shivers engulfing me with it making me realize how cold the air was. I'd been so focused on the rage consuming him that I hadn't felt it, and still, I didn't mind the clouds of fog coming out of my lips as he pulled the collar of my coat closer and I met his ardent eyes.

"You didn't tell me your mom was a... prostitute?" I asked softly, a part of me still expecting him to storm off when he leaned away, but he just grabbed his jacket, spreading it over my knees, and in the middle, he covered my belly with his large hand again.

You could say I was warm on all sides, while he had just one of Grandpa's old sweaters and a few strands of his hair were still wet from his shower – unless it was just sweat and held-out steam – yet I didn't get to protest that he needed his jacket when he replied,

"It's not the thing you brag about, just like the jail record."

"You know I would never judge you for this." I let out a sigh, my frown as I held his gaze, the opposite of his unaffected smirk, though I knew better, and that was why I weighed each of my soft words. "Neither would Spencer... even if you don't always get along..."

"Yeah, I know I overreacted. I just didn't expect to see that pic." He averted his eyes away, glaring at the other side of the backyard as if he could see the target that used to be here, or maybe it was just memories flashing before his eyes.

Yet in all of this, his hand stayed on my stomach, and it was already progress; each absent-minded tickle of his finger was progress, and I savored the meaningful gestures, as much as the confessions falling from the twisted line of his lips.

"Guess I'm used to keeping things to myself 'cause the less people know, the less they have against you in the business."

His legendary contrasts and sharp techniques that made him the best gangster... He might have talked a lot, but he only let out what he decided, piercing through people with confidence or violence while always protecting himself. That was why when someone found out something he didn't want to, voluntarily or not, he perceived it as an attack, and this photo had been a strike too close to his heart.

"But we're not in the business here, we're family." Contrary to him, my heart wasn't guarded, neither did my lips, and I realized too late what had slipped out as his fingers started on my belly. "I mean we–"

'Dorothea... you should really be more careful about the words you choose...' I clamped my mouth shut because the strong words my heart was echoing surely weren't the most 'careful', and they seemed to already be loud enough in my eyes as he turned to me and swallowed with difficulty.

"That's the thing. You both had perfect, caring families, I just had a whore for mother." His harsh words were such a contrast with his touch, his fingertips grazing the worn-out wool of my sweater like a dream he could never reach: a family, a happy ending, this innocent life...

'For people like him...'

I was already feeling him pull away slowly, yet I wasn't the fastest shooter for nothing, and my fingers were quick to react, keeping his hand close, and I surely should have been careful about what would fire out of my lips, but the bangs of my heart were too strong.

"No family is perfect. Spencer lost half of his with his mom because they blamed his dad for the accident, and I'm a constant disappointment to my family..." I shrugged, too focused on him and his crystalline eyes so close to even hear the cracks of my voice. "You have no reason to be ashamed. It's a job like any other. She was alone, and she probably didn't have any other choice to provide for you and herself, a house, food–"

"And the dope, mostly." His chuckle was sharp enough to cut off any of my arguments, though I didn't take it personally. It was at the 'dope' that the sourness was directed, and at the memories, he was glaring.

"If it hadn't been for Pete giving me grub, I'd probably have starved to death most of the time, and he's often had to negotiate with the landlords when they wanted to throw us out. She didn't care about anything else than her daily dose." His chuckle before may have been sour, yet it had been nothing like the low echo of this single word, and he surely noticed my flinch as he tried to loosen the clench of his jaw with a sigh.

"I know you believe in the good of everyone, but it's the harsh truth. She did that job because no other boss wanted a junkie, and she didn't want to do anything else. She chose that."

Did she? My gaze and my heart trailed down to my apron's pocket, where buried under the leather, her photo was still laying. I didn't dare to pull it out at this instant, but the image of her clear and powerless gaze was haunting me.

The woman I'd seen was begging for money for her son, the quavers in her voice sounding genuine. Yet it was only a blurry memory from a clueless kid, maybe even just a distorted nightmare. I knew nothing about this woman, her battles and her reasons, and as strong as the instincts were in my guts, they couldn't be any match for the lonely memories and the wounds Blade had in his heart.

However, I realized something else could when I lifted my head to find him gazing at the sky, a few stars peeking out through the maze of branches above us.

"Well, you do have a family." I paused for an instant, letting a small smile stretch my lips as he slowly blinked, probably wondering if I was crazy and deaf and he would have to repeat himself, and still from sideway, I watched carefully for his reaction when I added, "Pete and Meteorite are your family."

It was indeed priceless as he slowly turned to me, a flash of light crossing his wide eyes, a lot like a shooting star, and even his dimple popped for an instant as he stared at me as if I'd just given him the answer to a mystery of the universe, and also as if I was crazy.

I knew I was as I repeated in an intent whisper, "We are your family."

This time, I didn't try to take back my words, nor wait and watch them land on his features. No, I carried them to him, well, to that indent on his right cheek. It was my way of telling him he wasn't alone anymore, that I was there to take care of his wounds outside and inside, that we were there for him.

A small, imperfect family, nothing extraordinary. Yet as my lips softly grazed his cheek, it seemed to be all he'd ever needed, and the breath he let out was extraordinarily vulnerable. The smile slowly stretching his lips and deepening the indent under my mouth was extraordinarily pure, and the shine appearing in his eyes as they flickered between my belly and my gaze made the crystalline extraordinarily transparent.

I could glimpse the lonely boy's dream and the dangerous man's hope, and no ripple, no trace of storm brewing.

If I had known just a few words and a kiss on the cheek could calm his tempest, I would have done it sooner. But maybe it was this instant that made it so powerful, all the care and love that had grown since the first time I'd kissed his cheek to seep through his sharp armor.

I could feel these magical sparks in the air around and under my lips as I realized they were still tickling his skin with every skipping thud of my heart.

I'd been so magnetized by his reaction that I hadn't moved back, staying in a fragile balance, where my center of gravity was barely held by the faint caresses of his fingers and wavering with the uneven breaths, which each time moved his lips of a micrometer. But when his gaze drifted to my parted lips, the erratic beats hammering through my ribcage were threatening to disrupt this balance.

His breathing deepened. More sparks itched the swell of my lips. His fingers stopped their mindless patterns in my stomach, his gaze slowly darkening, and the corners of his nose scrunched up...

"It smells burning?"

I jumped out of my trance, first wondering if he could smell the fire sparking in my veins, but then, I noticed it too, the charred scent reaching me with the breeze from somewhere behind, in the cabin...

"The kitchen!" This time, I leaped literally, rushing back inside the house with no more explanation. Though as Blade followed close behind, the smell stronger with each stride we took was probably obvious.

When we entered the living room, we could even see a faint mist blurring the atmosphere, easily letting us guess what was awaiting us in the kitchen: a thick smoke and... Spencer's 'I told you' look.

I'd burned the kitchen. Well, I would have if Spencer hadn't come up just in time. But the scrambled eggs were definitely seared from what I could glimpse through the smoke, and the more the thick clouds dissipated with Spencer's waves of his dish towel and the fresh breeze coming from the open window, the more I lost my breath at the extent of the disaster.

'Burned' was a euphemism for the crumbs of coal remaining in the pan. Spencer's towel was full of soot marks and even wet stains, and that made my gaze trail to the second part of the meal–disaster: the soft boiled-eggs, which must have been rock hard-boiled by now, and the scalding water dripping until the floor. Who even set a fire and a flood at the same time? Except...

"I'm a mess..." I didn't even dare to look at the table I'd prepared, already focusing on the useless fiddling of my fingers. "I'm sorry."

"It's not completely your fault. You got distracted..." Spencer walked in front of me, searching for my eyes while carefully hiding the crime scene with his body.

It seemed he was doing that a lot these days, but even if he managed to pull a small smile on my lips, it didn't erase the sour – or more exactly, burned – taste in my throat.

"It's not an excuse. In that book, they say you should plan and manage for every meal, even with distractions." I pointed feebly behind him, where I'd left the guidebook that must have been burned or soaked.

Actually, it was both, as Blade stepped there, lifting the book with a grimace and trying to decipher what was left of the writing.

"The good housewife's guidebook?" Before even getting a confirmation from any of us, he threw it in the trash can, making me gasp once again at the gesture, but also at Spencer who didn't protest.

He, who loved books so much, was even nodding. "DD, if we judged love by the meals you make, we wouldn't be here. You have so many other talents."

"Yeah, who wants a 'good housewife' when we can have a hot mess," Blade added, and while Spencer was sheltering me from the disaster, he was throwing it at me with his innuendos, as blatant as the mischievous grin stretching his lips. "Too soon?"

"That's not funny!" I narrowed my eyes at his cheeky expression the best I could when a giggle was tickling my lips, and it slipped out when his dimple deepened.

Between both of them, the thickest and darkest clouds dissipated so easily, and as Spencer closed the window again, and Blade put the frying pan in the trash can – yes, the frying pan was messed beyond repair – it already felt as if nothing had happened. No burned dish... no overcooked eggs... no smoke... no charred smell... no reason to struggle with breathing.. no reason to run... which took me back to...

"Don't worry, we can find something else to eat..."

My wide eyes landed on those devious lips, even before the trail of my thoughts, and I found my heart once more hanging on them, although not for the same reason. Blade wouldn't say it, would he? Not here, not now, when we'd just avoided two deadly disasters.

Yet the bad intention was already sparkling in his eyes as he slowly licked his lips, and I could almost hear it... cherry–

"Bread, it's still here." He pointed to the basket on the table, grabbing a piece of bread and bringing it to his smile, which looked anything but innocent as I let out the breath I'd been holding.

He'd caught where my mind had been wandering like the devil he was, and he knew I was thinking about the cherry he'd almost tasted on my lips minutes before – almost, but he hadn't.

Nothing had happened. There was nothing to talk about, and yet, my heart stopped again when Spencer's gaze met mine with a dark seriousness.

"I can arrange something quickly with the hard-boiled eggs, and then, we need to have a talk."

Dun... Dun... Dun... What does Spencer want to talk about? 👀

We'll know next week 😉 and in the meantime, leave your suppositions in the comments! 👀

Also, tell me all your thoughts on this chapter! The discoveries in the binder, Blade's mom who was the woman from Dorothy's dream in chapter 24 (some of you already guessed it 😉), Blade's confessions, and also... the precious moment between Dorothy and him 🤩 

Little Blade has a family now! And will the baby be a girl? 👀🤔

If you liked this chapter, don't forget to vote ⭐

PS: Did you like what I did with the Good housewife's guidebook? 😏🔥😈 Sexist beliefs belong to the trash! And we prefer hot messes here!

So keep shining, my little Shooting stars 🌠😘💕✨