Smooth Operator.

13. No Idea

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
NO IDEA

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AS BLACK CAT STEPPED DOWN THE CENTRE AISLE, SHE TOOK NOTICE OF ITS DESOLATENESS. Barely any passengers remained in the seats, lessening as she made her way from First Class.

With each step, Estela felt herself growing tired. She had no idea what was waiting for her at the end of the line, and no idea who else was still on the train.

Frame deflating as she let out a sigh, she brought the back of her hand up to wipe at her brow, the area on her forehead still tender and aching.

The door before her zipped open as she pressed down on the pressure plate with her booted foot, opening out into the purgatory that separated the first carriage in first-class and the other, cheaper carriages.

She made her way to the lit-up vanity mirror against the wall, staring at her busted reflection. Her hair was the most disheveled she'd seen it in ages; her makeup had been mostly rubbed or sweated off, the blemishes on her skin seeing the light; the bruise on her temple was growing darker, and a circle on her forehead began to grow pink and aggressive — God knows where that had come from.

Although, in the mirror, Estela caught sight of a reflection that wasn't hers.

Behind her, the restroom door stay slid open, revealing the facilities inside, and two figures sat.

One lay on the ground, blood smeared around their body, whilst the other sat beside them, staring down dejectedly. someone had died.

Estela turned around, dark eyebrows furrowed, eyes sad.

"Tangerine?" She asked, voice barely above a whisper.

The seated man didn't reply for a moment, his icy eyes trained on the body before him.

After a beat passed, he just managed to tear his gaze away from the body, meeting Estela's solemn eye line instead.

He didn't speak, only his bottom lip quivered.

Chest heavy, Estela carefully approached the rumpled man in blue, crouching to her knees beside him.

For the first time, her eyes landed on the man Tangerine had been mourning: his brother, Lemon.

His jean jacket sprawled open to reveal bright blood splatters adorning his torso like a gruesome bib. Blood seemed to smear along the corners of his mouth, and his finger tips.

"Some fucking son of a bitch killed Lemon..." Tangerine seethed through gritted teeth, turning back to his brother.

Black Cat was speechless, unable to figure out what to do or say. She couldn't fix this; she couldn't bring Lemon back to life, or cure Tangerine of his grief.

"We'll find who did this, okay?" Estela replied softly, hands fidgeting in her lap.

"We fucking will, alright."

When Estela looked up at Tangerine's face now, his eyes were blazing, overflowing with overwhelming fury.

His eyes screwed shut and his head hung dejectedly. He brought his bloody hands up to his face, and he emitted a shaky sigh.

"He was fucking right," Tangerine murmured, voice hoarse and wavering. "There was fuckin' Diesel and it wasn't the fucking glasses guy."

The man went quiet, and Estela examined his unruly appearance; the blood littered all over his body, the scratches and gashes in his skin, the way his brown hair hung in curls over his hidden eyes.

She leaned forward, encapsulating Tangerine in an embrace as his frame continued to wrack and shake. Her arms grew tighter around him as he sniffled beneath her, his head positioned against her chest.

Never had she been able to picture a man like Tangerine in this state. Normally he presented himself as put-together; heartless, even. But grief inhabited itself within different people in different ways. And with Tangerine in her arms, Estela came to realise the amount of true love he had in his heart for his brother.

Tangerine removed his hands from his eyes, and moved them to Estela's waist.

They felt unnatural there, not a sensation the woman was used to. But as they moved further up her back, it filled her with warmth, and the two melted into each other, a sanctuary to let out their emotions.

His fingers pressed into the fabric of her blazer, pushing her closer into him, squeezing her frame with his muscular arms, the close contact beginning to soothe him.

A few long beats passed, and Tangerine slowly pulled away from the embrace.

He sat back against the restroom wall, bringing his hands back up to his eyes, wiping lightly.

"Will you be okay?" Estela asked hesitantly, looking over at Tangerine in soft concern.

Tangerine stared back over at Lemon's unconscious, no, dead frame. His hands reached under the collar of his battered white shirt, revealing a gold necklace, which he pulled over his head. A moment passed, his eyes distant, before he crawled forward and placed it over Lemon's head.

"I'll survive," he replied grimly, his hand lingering on Lemon's chest, some of the blood from his shirt transferring to Tangerine's palm.