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The idea of meddling with the past was proposterous. To obsess over it was ridiculous. But, Nikita did not hesitate to take Father Winter’s cold, translucent hand. “Take me back, charlatan.” The bedroom around him faded as his entire body faded like smoke. As he pinched the skin between his fingers, he was surprised to feel pain. The hound at his feet did the same. [break][break]

When he awoke, it was too an unfamiliar feeling: warmth. For a moment, he kept his eyes closed. Something fibrous lay draped across his face—ghost-like and weighty. Fingers trailed across the comforter as he contemplated his surroundings. As he breathed deeply, he caught a familiar scent: mango shampoo. The aches in his back were gone. The familiar feeling of hair around his nape was absent and, when he lifted his hand, he found evidence of stubble. What an accurate representation.[break][break]

Finally, his eyes opened. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. In this light—her chestnut hair splayed around her like a halo—she looked almost angelic. Those red eyes are closed in a peaceful slumber. A rather ironic thought for a man who mocked the very idea of gods. “Robin…” The name is a prayer and a summon—the only word he currently knows.[break][break]

His pillow soon runs wet with salt. “I’m sorry.” But she does not chastise him or blame him. Instead, she murmurs something unintelligible before rolling back into his chest.[break][break]

With shaking lips, he presses lips against the woman’s forehead.

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“You sure you don’t want to join me?” Her voice is like brushed velvet. The sight of her chest—propped up by a sports bra—makes parts of himself he thought dead stir. But, for some reason, Nikita refuses. This is already too much. And these hands do not deserve her. The man she laid beside wasn’t Nikita Sokolog. He was a revenant, an undead beast who subsisted on vengeance. [break][break]

“Your loss~!” Robin’s voice called out from the bathroom. The instant the door closed, a black shadow leaped onto the bed. A Houndoom’s head shoved its way beneath his hand. This velvety texture exudes warmth. It is not the texture his old, calloused hands are used to—sick bed rags and cold bones. In those eyes, he can see it: Winters knows. “I do not trust him.” With eyebrows and eyes to express with, the fire hound’s question is obvious: do you trust anyone?[break][break]


Tired blue eyes slide toward the bathroom. You. And, her.[break][break]


The day felt unreal. Robin woke up an hour or two after he did. He could hear his eldest children clambering around the kitchen as they got ready for school. As his wife moved to take them, Nikita swooped in like some bedraggled raven. “I’ll—I’ll take them.” After a moment of bewilderment, the brunette lets the keys go. Knowing what came the next morning—just after he arrived at the airport—it seemed almost parodical. A bunch of people going about their day not knowing that they’d die tomorrow.[break][break]


How ignorant and naive he’d been.[break][break]


When he drops his daughter and son off, there’s a brief moment of affection. Worn lips press gently against their forehead. “Uh, pops, you all right?” His son asks with a raised brow. “You look like your dog just died.” The heavy backpack hangs off his shoulder like a sweater in spring. Those eyes stare back in disbelief. Behind him, his sister is trying her best to look disinterested.
[break][break]

Hm. He can act. If this is to work, he must do things right. When he laughs, the sound makes both of them shudder. It’s wrong. “Just peachy.” His fingers—not yet skeletal or stained by illicit substances—tap against the steering wheel. “I will see you when you get home.”[break][break]

But, first, Nikita had a few stops to make. He needed proof that this world and his were the same. Which meant buying a newspaper and then, well, he'd need another gun. One that couldn't be traced.

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Robin had left by the time he arrived home. According to the paperwork, he was on the way to the airport. Someone would punch the ticket, but it would not be him. [break][break]


He’d relived this night a thousand times. His memory allowed him to recall every detail. He knew how many towels had been laid out on the table. Where his youngest had been sleeping. The way the sick boy snored when he was congested. But these things were neglected in favor of staring out the window. [break][break]


As to the important stuff? Nikita knew it all (almost).[break][break]


The what…[break][break]

…The when…[break][break]


…..Where the explosion started…[break][break]


……..The how……..[break][break]


…the why.....[break][break]


But, until now, he did not know the who. Then, he saw the man—dressed like a postal worker—climb into his basement. He was certain the house was empty. Which was a foolish thought to have. One that only ended when a Houndoom wrapped its claws around his throat. But it was the cold nuzzle of a gun that made him stiffen.
[break][break]

“You are going to tell me everything.” And, he did.[break][break]

He died anyway.

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One would think these arrests would lead to peace. His wife lived to see her daughter graduate from high school. The eldest son’s military enrollment was a badge of pride for Robin. The youngest grew quickly and was in daycare before long. Life was happy and cases plentiful.
[break][break]

Even Detective Winters, his fur graying at its tips, soon settled in. He returned to sleeping by the fire or laying in his mistress’s lap as she read. Many nights, he lay at Nikita’s feet as the man flipped through case files. But the heat in his chest could not quite thaw his friend’s heart.
[break][break]


And, yet, Nikita felt caged. Like a tiger locked in a circus act. Or the last canary in a coal mine. His family soon forgot the close call. To them, it’d never be real. They’d never understand. Their hands would likely never be so stainedHe paced his office at night, his loafers wearing a path in the antique wood. There was no peace in this charade.
[break][break]


Not when he was forced to play along. He hung the garlands and helped craft the yearly ornaments. When he slept with Robin, something always echoed at the back of his mind. A reminder of how she felt when he picked her up that night. Or, at least, what he could find of her. A hand cold and bloody, discoverable only from the glint of its wedding ring.
[break][break]


“Are you okay?” Robin’s voice echoed through his office. He turned to face her and smiled. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced in the flickering of his screen. “I’m fine. Go to bed.” With a little pout, the brunette disappears. A sign that this charade was beginning to crack. But he couldn’t play this game anymore.


Not when all of it could be taken away in an instant. Next week there’d be another attack. A future Rocket leader was graduating from high school this instant. And people, damned stupid people, just waltzed around in ignorance. At any moment it could be torn away again. [break][break]



Unless….[break][break]

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An invitation to Galar came. For a moment, the detective considered its contents. The case would be interesting—a locked door mystery that ended with the absconding of the crowned jewels. It was the kind of thing he drooled over once upon a time. He did not even better sending a refusal. [break][break]


He’d be gone too long. [break][break]


When Nikita killed the first man, he was a teenager at a gas station. The future terrorist had never even heard of Rocket. The biggest crime he’d committed was pocketing gum at a dollar store. But, after that garrote slid tight, he’d never get the chance to do more. Detective Winters burnt his corpse to ashes. [break][break]


The second—a scientist a few months from graduating—had already been fined for her cruelty to Pokemon. Through her work, a gas would emerge that felled an entire battalion. She was a bright-eyed kid, eager to make her mark on the world. A nick from a syringe at a happenstance encounter put an end to that. [break][break]


With a bit of maneuvering, he framed another criminal for the first crime. While the man was not a murderer, he certainly did not deserve to walk around the world with his family. There were worse things you could do than kill. [break][break]


There had to be. [break][break]


Compared to those two, the third was easy. The thug had already joined Rocket’s ranks. There were at least 13 kills under his belt. Before long, a recruiter would come by and offer a Faustian deal. A few gym leaders would fall to the bastard and his Drapion. This time, a sniper rifle did the trick. As it kicked back against his shoulder, he was filled with a sense of nostalgia. This would be much easier with Anne.
[break][break]

It wasn’t until he’d hit his 25th target that he messed up. He gave the rat a chance to raise his gun. The bullet punched through his shoulder and sent him staggering. “Winters!” Though the Houndoom finished the job, the damage had been done. After cleaning up the mess, he staggered up the stairs. With nowhere else to go, he staggered to his hotel room.
[break][break]

Robin was waiting there. “Nikita!” He collapsed into her arms as he smiled. Delirious from blood loss, he couldn’t help but confess, “That is who I am.” He stares down at his hands. “But I’m not…yours.” Her crimson eyes lock with his for a moment. Tears swim in her eyes as she brushes his tears away. “I know.” His eyes slide to the gun in his hand and then back up.
[break][break]

Can she see it? The ichor that goats his arm and threatens to choke him? The repeated echo—the damnable beat—of that explosion on the tapes? For a moment, Nikita looks like a child. Someone desperate for approval. [break][break]“I know.” She does not seem to hate him. “I forgive you.” His hand squeezes hers. He blacks out then. Though, if he had stayed, he’d noticed Robin’s care as she helped him to the bed. Without hesitation she supports him. [break][break]

All this investigating and somehow he’d missed that. Smartest man in the world his arse. She was far too good for him—always had been. “Tch.”[break][break]


But, when her husband’s possession ends, there are no more late nights. They do not discuss it again. Nor do they mention it when Detective Winters's sullen mood returns to normal.[break][break]


When he awakes, his bed is warm again. But, when he turns, it’s his grandson’s eyes he sees. “I had a nightmare, Grandpa.” His voice trembles in the darkness. “Can I sleep with you?”


Nikita does not respond. He just opens his arms and allows the boy to burrow into them. They are both stained in their ways.