[Collab post between YoshiSkittlez, Gonzo, and Mach2]

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Deon found Vander's apartment block with no trouble, and after a few directions here and there, they were practically right outside her door. Deon kicked his bike stand up, letting it lean on the stick and dismounted the bike, though this time he turned and leant his free hand to help Vander down. She was getting worse every second, and it wasn't something that skipped his attention.

Once she was off of his bike, he glanced towards her house, a small pang of familiarity pushed at his memories, having once lived in a place like this, but the iron walls he had spent a year building around himself forced those thoughts away just as soon as they came.

"You live here alone?" He asked, still holding the small wooden crate of Lucid under his arm, which was now soaked in his own blood.

She nodded, making her way slowly and sorely towards the still-caved-in door of her apartment. "Yeah. Rent was covered until the end of last week, but there's something in the contract about having to wait two weeks before eviction," she muttered, trying and failing to remember the exact part of the apartment deal that covered eviction. 

Vander turned to face Deon once more, leaning back against the door frame. "You dropped me off. Now open the box. [i]Please[/i] open the box," she requested again, all but begging by this point. 

Deon followed her to the entry-way, just making an "Uh-huh" noise when she talked about eviction. Not like it would matter, she was going to be dead in a month anyway. When she stopped to turn and face him at the doorway, he couldn't help but to look past her to the door that had been kicked in and now lay on the floor behind her. He raised an eyebrow, feeling the unproperly healed scar pull at his skin a bit but then rested his eyes back on her. He shrugged and set the box down on the ground between the two of them.

"You're gonna be dead before you can use this all right?" He asked.

He then stomped his boot down onto the crate, immediately rewarded by a series of cracking and splintering sounds. He stomped down again, this time the wood splitting clean open as well as breaking a good handful of the syringes inside, the Lucid now freely dripping onto the other syringes in the box.

"Not like you're gonna need all of them." He said with a shrug.

Vander had stopped listening. The second the box cracked open, she had knelt down to the ground beside the small crate. Partially to grab a syringe, and partially because her legs were threatening to refuse to hold her up for another second. It was more Lucid than she'd seen in her life. Even with the amount that lay in shattered shards of glass, it would last her as long as she needed it to. 
She reached into the mess of crushed glass and splintered wood, selecting an intact hypodermic and frantically pulling the sleeve of her jacket up. The skin at the inside of her elbow was scarred, cut and butchered from previous attempts to inject herself with tremoring hands. No longer aware of Deon's presence, she held the syringe against her skin. The tip of the hypodermic tapped against her elbow a few times before slipping from her shaking fingers. Vander swore under her breath, reaching to pick it up again. 

Deon hissed, seeing her roll up her sleeve and moved to swipe at her before realizing that she had already dropped the syringe on her own count.

"Are you fucking crazy?" He seethed. He quickly glanced around them, making sure no cops or anyone of the like was around. He grabbed the shattered box and the syringe she had dropped and pushed past her and into her house, finding her kitchen and set it on the table before going back to her, still holding the syringe in his hand, though this time he was on the inside of her house, and she was outside. "Get in here before someone sees you, dammit."

Grabbing onto the doorframe for aid, she stood up again and crossed into her mess of an apartment. "I'm sorry, I can't think," she apologized.

 The words were distracted, her stare clearly fixated on the syringe of Lucid that Deon held. She took another clumsy step further into her apartment, and held her hand out for him to give the needle back to her. 

Deon rolled his eyes and pocketed the syringe before taking a step closer to her and used both of his arms to pick her up, carrying her away from the open door and into the kitchen where there was at least a wall covering the entrance of her house. Only when they were completely out of sight from the entry-way did he set her down gently back onto the ground.

"Sit." He said taking the syringe back out of his pocket.

Vander was too tired, too irate, too desperate for a hit of Lucid, to even make a noise of protest as she was carried through her own home. She sank slowly into one of two old chairs, using the table for support. As soon as Deon took the syringe from his pocket once more, her attention was focused entirely on it. Again, she held out a shaking hand. 

"Can you give me the syringe now?" she asked, her exhausted voice tinged with annoyance. 

Deon sat down in the opposite chair and scooted it closer to her, shaking his head at her. "You obviously can't do it, so I'm doing it for you." He said gruffly and grabbed her wrist with his hand, pulling her arm out and extended it into his lap. He then moved his hand up her arm to around the thin bicep, holding her arm in place while he used his other hand to guide the needle towards its mark. The vein was easy enough to find since she was already so thin, and with a somewhat slow push, the liquid was released into her bloodstream at a steady speed until the syringe was completely empty. He pulled the needle out and got up from the chair, tossing the empty syringe into the box of other syringes. "Don't you dare move. I'm going to go fix your damn door." He said before leaving the kitchen entirely.

She closed her eyes, feeling the familiar sting of the needle piercing her skin. Only at the sound of the syringe clattering against its companions in the box did she open her eyes once more. "Thank you," Vander told him. It could have been thanks for either the door or for the shot of Lucid...but the heavy sincerity hinted that it was the latter. 

She waited impatiently for the drug to take its effect. From the site of the injection, feeling slowly started to spread through her arm and up her shoulder. She could feel the cloth of her jacket's lining against her skin. Almost ritualistically, she closed her eyes for several seconds. Opening them, her kitchen seemed slightly more [i]real[/i]. Vander repeated it, closing her eyes for a brief moment and them opening them again, several times. Each time, she was able to see the world with slightly more focus. Colours jumped out just a little more vibrantly. 

But most importantly, the pain was fading away. The awful, nauseating, cramping in her stomach was leaving. She flexed her hands, rolled her shoulders, her slender muscles no longer protesting against the motion. She let herself take a slow, deep, breath of relief, and turned to look at the box on her counter. It was reassuring for Vander to know that she wasn't going to die of a withdrawal. 

Deon didn't come back for a good twenty minutes, but when he did, he came back into the kitchen and went straight to the sink to wash his bloody arm. Vander might as well have not even been there the way he went on, almost ignoring her even. Once his arm was clean from blood, he made a fist and began pulling out what small shards of glass that he could, but most of them were embedded too deep. He finally turned to her.

"You got any tweezers?"

Vander nodded, standing up. She was steady on her feet now, walking quickly to the apartment's bathroom. It was a tiny space, barely big enough for the toilet, sink, and shower. Pulling open a drawer under the sink, she dug through an assortment of junk before finding the tweezers. 

Thinking more clearly now, she turned the sink's tap on as hot as it would go, running the tweezers under the weak stream of water. Stray droplets burned at her fingertips as she washed the tweezers. She didn't care. It meant she could feel something. 

A minute later, she returned to the kitchen and looked at Deon. She'd been unable to register the damage he'd done to his arm when they'd first arrived at the apartment. But now that she could see and think once more, she frowned in concern. "You should get stitches or something for that," Vander told him. 

Deon gestured towards the scar on his head, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the warped skin that his body had created in attempt to heal itself.

"Never got stitches for this. I think I'll be fine."

She nodded towards the chair where she had previously been sitting. "I can help you get the glass out if you sit down."

He raised an eyebrow, tempted to dig his pinky into his ear and clean it out just to make sure he had heard her right. She wanted to [i]help[/i] him? 

"What do you want in return?" He asked skeptically.

"You fixed my door. We're even," Vander said with a shrug.

She sat down in the opposite chair, nodding again for Deon to sit. He hesitated, but eventually did so, sticking his hand out for her. Vander held the tweezers, her hands now impressively steady, and slowly pulled out a tiny shard of blood-stained glass. She let it drop onto the table, intending to clean the mess up later. Her gaze was focused, and the tiny pile of glass shards slowly grew. 

As she worked, Deon's mind was lost in thought. He needed to get back to that warehouse before the cops started poking around. Those filty bastards would help themselves to what his guys had worked hard for, and he'd be out of supplies. If anyone knew who might have a personal vendetta against his boys, it would be his manager. He'd get in a call to him later though.

She set the tweezers down after a few minutes, gently lifting Deon's hand by the wrist and turning it over to look at it. "I think I got most of it...anything left in there will be too small to get with tweezers," she said, setting his hand back down. "But your body will force the glass out when the skin starts to heal." 

Deon retracted his hand back to him and made a fist, watching a small amount of blood and puss drip out from the areas where the glass had been. He got up from the table without even so much as a 'thank you' and went back to the sink, washing his hand once again of the mess and then washed out her sink.

Vander stood again, pushing her chair back from the table and leaving the room once again. "Give me one second," she said as she left. 

She retreated once more to the washroom, sifting through the drawers for an old First Aid kit she knew existed somewhere. It was disconcerting...offering help to the man who had, on two occasions now, practically forced her into sex. But at the same time, he had made sure she hadn't ended up collapsing down a back-alley somewhere in D-10, an unused hypodermic on the ground beside her. He'd brought her home and fixed her door. That had to count for something. 

Finally retrieving the small box of gauze and bandages, Vander returned to the kitchen. "Hold out your hand again," she instructed Deon, opening the box and pulling out a package of gauze. "You're still bleeding."

Deon shot her a look, his cold eyes going from her to the gauze she held in her hand. Feeling his eyes roll slightly, he stuck out his hand for her and made a point to look somewhere else...anywhere else but her. Quite frankly...this was just embarassing. "I don't need you bleeding all over my kitchen," Vander told him as she pressed the gauze against his hand. She pulled a strip of white cloth from the box, and started wrapping it around his palm. "I do, sometimes, eat in here." 

His solumn face broke into a bit of a grin at her mentioning getting blood all over her kitchen. He quickly looked around and saw that he had yet to get his blood anywhere aside from her kitchen sink.

"Does that mean you're asking me to stay?" He teased.

It was only as she mentioned eating that she realized the ache in her stomach still hadn't entirely subsided. But it wasn't a nauseated feeling...it was hunger. As she wrapped Deon's hand, she tried to think back to what she had eaten recently. Two bites of toast. Alcohol the night before. And nothing the day before that. She tied the cloth off in a secure knot, perhaps a bit tighter than was necessary, and narrowed her eyes at his teasing comment. 

"Stay if you want. I'm not feeding you, though...I don't even know what I've got here," she answered, walking past him to open a cupboard. Peering inside, she saw nothing but a stale box of cereal. 

Deon took his hand back from her for a second time and examined the workmanship of the bandage, two raised eyebrows indicating that he was somewhat impressed with what she had done.

"How about I feed us both then? You like pizza?" He asked, turning his attention back to her.

She closed the cupboard, looking at Deon uncertainly. After a few seconds, she replied with a reluctant, "Sure," unable to suppress a stab of guilt. Hadn't James and Mason attempted to do the exact same thing earlier that same day? And she had returned them by attempting to walk out of the restaurant only minutes after their food had arrived. 

Deon pulled out his headset he had stuffed into his pocket earlier and popped it into his ear, dialing one of his favorite pizza joints and put in an order for four different pizzas with cheesy breadsticks, a couple litres of different soda and a tub of cookie dough. Remembering the address from when she had given it to him earlier, he gave the delivery man the same address and his credits information before hanging up and stuffing the headset back into his pocket.

Vander raised an eyebrow at the massive order. "You'd better be planning on eating most of that," she told him, trying to envision how the food would even fit on her tiny table. 

Speaking of the table...she grabbed a dirty cloth from beside the sink, running it under the tap. For all she'd chastised Deon about getting blood on things, the kitchen was a mess regardless, matching the rest of her apartment. She moved to the table, picking up the bloodied glass shards in the cloth and wiping it to a state of relative cleanliness. Rather than bothering to rinse out glass and blood from the cloth, Vander threw the entire mess into a mostly-empty trash can in the corner. She had other cloths. 

Sitting back down at the table, she looked awkwardly at Deon. Small-talk wasn't something she'd had to fall back on in a while, but she had once been good at carrying on a conversation. And she refused to pass the time waiting for the pizza by sitting in silence. After a second, her gaze settled again on the scar intersecting his eyebrow and forehead. "How'd you get that?" she asked, tracing the same spot on her own eyebrow. "The scar that healed just fine without stitches?"

His eyes shot up at her, she didn't need to gesture on her own forehead to know what she was talking about. If at all possible, his eyes grew darker but he was no longer looking at her, rather, a spot on the now clean table seeming to stare off into his own thoughts. He was silent for a while, hearing his heartbeat race, pulsing even into his ears as he felt his fists clench tightly before he caught himself and let out a sigh and looked back to her.

"Your dead in a month right?" He asked, awaiting confirmation.

She frowned, but nodded a yes. "If that."

"And you're not coming back?" He had to be sure.

"That's usually how it works," she replied, slightly bitter. She held up her hands, signalling that she would back off. "If it's a touchy subject, you don't have to share."

His eyes looked back to the spot on the table, seeming to be thinking hard on something before he got up from the chair. "You got a couch? Its...kind of a long story so you should probably get comfortable."

She mirrored his action, standing from her own chair and heading towards the main area of her apartment. "My couch hardly qualifies as comfortable. But yeah."

It was tiny, functioning as both living room and bedroom, her unmade bed occupying the corner. There was indeed a couch, pressed up against the opposite wall. It was second-hand, maybe even third or fourth-hand, and the fabric was torn in numerous places. She walked over to it, sitting at the edge and leaving plenty of room for Deon. 

He followed Vander into the tiny room and found himself looking around the room with a slight...adoration, but with it came a pain that pressed down so hard on his heart, he was sure it was about to be crushed into tiny pieces. He tiredly ran his hand over his face and took a seat on the couch next to her, still looking around the room, picturing his own little pathetic excuse of a room he had shared with his little sister for eight years. At the time he was ready to get his own damn room, but now...those were the fondest memories he held. He had almost forgotten he still had those memories, he hadn't reached them in quite some time.

"About a year ago," He started. "I had just started to work at The Spit as a cage fighter. I didn't really know what I was doing then so I lost quite a lot and wasn't bringing in a whole lot of money. A man approached me, wanted to be my agent. Said I had a fight coming up that I was sure to lose but he had...a way for me to win, so I took it; I needed the money. My family needed the money..." He paused and turned to look at her for a moment before continuing.

Vander listened silently, her jaw clenched. So far, she could empathize. Deon fought for the same reason she had gotten into the drug business.

"After that fight I became what you know as The Crusher, and I haven't lost a fight since. Well...not in the ring anyway...

See, the guy I fought that night figured out that I had rigged the match somehow, and he came looking for me once he got out of the hospital. The thing was, he found me, and neither of us were in The Spit, and I wasn't ready for him..."

She raised an eyebrow, trying to predict the outcome of the story. "So...what? You got beat? Some guy came after you and you actually [i]lost[/i] a fight?" her voice was once again laced with the slightest edge of bitterness. Was he really so proudly arrogant that he wouldn't admit to losing unless he knew she was going to die before she could tell anyone else? 

There was no smirk, no scoff, nothing. He just stared at her blankly, almost as if he were looking through her.

"If that were all I lost that night-" He said softly. "Then maybe this wouldn't be so hard to say." He swallowed hard, and continued on, but now looking away from her.

"He caught me when I was leaving my house, but he didn't make himself known until I was a few blocks from my place. He waited until I took a turn in my usual midnight walk to the liquor store that led me straight through a back alley before he jumped me. I was so caught off guard, I didn't even have a chance to fight back. The next thing I knew, I was on my back, screaming out for anyone to hear me as I watched him take out a knife, and plunged it into my skull.

"Lets see how thick'a'head you really got." He said, and slid the knife down." Deon gestured with his hand the motion of the scar, starting from the back of his head all the way down to his eyebrow.

"He only got about halfway before I blacked out. At least thats when I think I blacked out, the details are kind of fuzzy after that. But when I woke up, drenched in the pouring rain and my own blood, I forced myself to my feet. I knew that if this guy was patient enough to stalk me for days to figure out my routine, then he must of known where I lived. It was sheer will that got me home that night, but I wish I would have just died in the street...I wish he would have just stabbed my heart and ended it all right then and there..." Deon choked on his words and closed his eyes for a moment, taking a second to just breathe.

Vander stayed silent, instantly regretting her previous assumption. Deon's words bore the weight of a story that had been suppressed for too long. Something that had been reflected on, reminisced about, but never ever spoken aloud. It was bigger than losing a fight and bearing the scar. She watched him, patiently allowing him the chance to regain his composure before he continued on. 

"They were dead when I got home. Both of them. My mom, splayed out naked on the living room floor with the top part of her head completely removed with a knife. And then...and then I found my eight-year-old sister in her room, under the covers of her bed that were drenched in her blood. I counted. She had seventy-six different stab wounds on her body, all driven in through her as she hid underneath her blankets from him..."
He kept his eyes closed, afraid that if he were to open them again that tears would start to fall, and the indication of his shaky voice throughout the last bit was a dead-on sign that he was getting ready to do just that.

Thankfully...the doorbell rang, the pizza had arrived.

------------------------------

An hour.

That was how long James had slept before he was jolted awake by his own brain. As soon as his eyes opened, any indication of tiredness was gone. He felt awake, more awake than he had probaly ever felt in his entire lifetime. Something kept tugging at him to get up out of bed, an when he did, something kept tugging at him to walk to the pile of clothes that he had taken off right before going to bed. After stopping in front of them, he stared at them for a good couple of minutes before picking them up and putting them on. Again, something tugged at him to reach into his pocket, and so he did. He felt around and stopped when his index finger brushed against a small, hard object.

Once he pulled the small, green object out, the memories from only hours before came rushing back. His headache started up again, and something kept telling him to pop it in his mouth. [i]What's the worst thing that could happen, James?[/i] He took the candy and popped it into his mouth. It dissolved in seconds.

The next thing James knew, he was at his computer. Something kept telling him to find Vander. He needed to speak to her, but he didnt know where she lived. Somewhere in District 16, that was all he knew. His eyes moved back and forth across the screen at light speed. In a matter of seconds, he was able to hack into the unhackable firewalls of the Ancora government, and moments later, he was surfing the Ancora registery for Vander.

He took only a mere half a second, if that, on each name, but that was all it took. In ten seconds, he was able to name about twenty people or so by their full name, give their correct address, and date of birth. It only took about a minute, and then he stopped. There was Vander. It had her Address, as well.

[i]District 16. Apartment Block B-121.[/i] He didnt even need a pen or paper to remember the address. Moments later, he had sent the trace somewhere else, to some unlucky person, in order to cover his trail, and pulled up a map. He looked up the directions to find out how to get to the apartment, and again memorized those in a second. Minutes later, he was out the door.

****

The place wasnt what anyone would call luxurious, but it was home to someone, so James couldnt really judge. All that mattered was that Vander lived in that appartment, and he needed to see if she was okay or not. He marched right up to the door and rang the doorbell once, twice, three times. He mentally cursed himself right after. 

He should have brought flowers.

Grateful for the distraction, Deon got up from the couch and found his way through the small house to the door that he felt like he had just fixed. On the short walk to the door, he had managed to compose himself once again. No sense looking like he was just crying to the pizza guy. He opened the door, and felt his jaw drop slightly.

"James Jamison...huh...I think you're in the wrong district rich-boy."

Vander stayed seated on the couch, also grateful for the timing of the doorbell. She stared at her hands, trying to digest everything Deon had said. Trying to envision the things he had been forced to see. She had no siblings, and her mother was long-gone...but her mind instantly went to her father, living elsewhere in District 16, with no idea where his daughter was. Imagining anything like what had happened to Deon's family happening to him was...painful, even to think about. 

She was distracted by the sound of Deon's voice, saying James's name. Her gaze snapped up, looking wide-eyed at the door. At any other moment, she might have been glad to see him. But not now. Not with Deon in her apartment. 

[i]So I was just in the neighborhood and figured I would stop by and see how you were doing.. No. That doesnt sound right. The fuck would you be doing in here, besides looking for her you idiot?[/i] 

James turned around, away from the door. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he just needed to go home. There had to be some reason why she had left in such a rush. Maybe she hadn't fed an animal or something.

"James Jamison...huh...I think you're in the wrong district rich-boy."

In his self chastizement, he didnt hear the door open. But the voice that he recognized to be The Crusher's made him stop. [i]No no no no no....[/i] He turned around slowly and locked eyes on the man he had fought the night before. He was silent, and didn't return the greeting. Instead, he just stared at the man in amazement. 

"What... What are you doing here?"

A small smirk curled at Deon's lip as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Tired of playing second best Jamie? Face it, she's not into you like she is to me. Actually...it would be more appropriate if I said that [i]I[/i] was [i]into her.[/i]"

Deon's comment was met with a swift jab to his jaw, followed by another straight to his chest. James' eyes were on fire with anger. How dare that lowlife peice of shit call himself better than him. 

James smirked and jumped back quickly, just in case Deon was ready to throw a punch at him.

"You want to dance, then let's dance, ass hole!"

Vander was standing the second the first punch was thrown. She crossed the living room, but kept her distance, scared to get too close. If a fight was to break out in her apartment, there was little she could do to intervene. If she tried to break it up, a wayward punch from either of them would be more than enough to drop her, and possibly do serious damage. 

Deon's head swung to the side as James clipped his jaw. He put his hand to the now sore spot and rubbed at his chin a bit before craning his neck left and right, rewarded by two cracks in his neck.

"Alright, but keep daddy-dearest out of it this time aye?" He mocked and threw his first punch to James' gut in an upper-cut.

It was as if time slowed down when Deon sent his fist sailing through the air. James stared at it a mere tenth of a second and could tell where it was heading, and just how to counter it. With lighting speed that even surprised James a little, he moved to the side enough so that Deon's arm went in front of his. When the opportunity arose for a counter, he took it.

The man grabbed Deon's forearm and pulled him forward just a bit to disorient him, then sent two quick jabs to the jaw, jumping back again to stay out of the fighter's way. 
"Oh come on, now," James taunted with a smirk, "don't tell me that you only know how to fight in the ring. Too bad your little groupies aren't here to see this. They'd probably have something else to laugh at, other than your small dick!"

The two quick jabs to the jaw sent Deon's head spinning a bit, and watching James bouncing around avoiding him like a little bunny-rabbit made him grit and bare his teeth angrily. He was completely clean of any intoxiation of any kind right now, and the drug introduced to him by his agent he always took before his ring fights had cleared out of his system long ago, it had been nearly a year since he had fought without it. He rotated his right shoulder, trying to get the blood flowing better. That had to be his problem right? He didn't rely [i]that[/i] much on the drug Rage did he?

"Why don't you ask Vander about my small dick? Cuz I'm pretty sure I practically tore her open again a few hours ago." He smirked and closed the distance between them, once again throwing his punch but this time aiming for the prick's face.

He could tell as soon as the fist started flying that it was a face shot. He managed to keep himself calm and composed, no doubt thanks to It. Again taking only a tenth of a second to calculate where the fist was going to go, he smiled and let the fist come closer, closer...

Then he moved, ducking down just slightly so that the fist missed him, and sent a series of jabs from his stomach, all the way to Deon's neck. But instead of punching in his Adam's Apple, he hit it with an open palm hard enough to disorient him and send him backwards just a couple of steps, just enough to allow a kick straight into the lowlife's family jewels.

"Guess you wont be doing much with those for a while, eh?" James asked with an innocent smile. "Want me to get you some ice?"

Vander took her opportunity to intervene. The second Deon staggered back and James's foot went for his crotch, she figured it would drop him. Wordlessly, she walked over to James and grabbed his arm tightly, leading him towards her tiny kitchen. "What are you doing here?" she asked once they were out of the living room.

In her hurry to separate Deon and James, she had forgotten entirely about the broken crate of Lucid that still rested on her kitchen counter. Her gaze fell on it now, and her stomach sank in a panic. She moved to stand in front of it, blocking it from James's view though it was probably already too late. "I'm sorry...this looks really bad, but it's honestly not what you think," she told him nervously. 

As expected, Deon fell to his knees, both hands shooting to his crotch, as if that would numb the pain. It didn't. He watched with tears in his eyes as Vander practically pulled James inside, his pained expression turning into a scowl.

As James was led into the kitchen, the smug smile never lef his face. Once inside, James took a seat on one of the small chairs. It didnt feel right. He looked down and saw that he was an eighth of a millimeter off from being centered in the seat, so he took the next ten seconds moving side to side until he was centered.

Once situated, he looked up to see the broken crate of Lucid. His mind went into overdrive. Everything became clear as day. The tapping, the quick leave back to District 16, it was all because of Lucid. James shook his head as Vander tried to explain and lifted up a hand to stop her. 

"Save it. Just tell me one thing. How much longer?"

She hesitated to answer. Telling Deon how much longer she had was one thing. She barely cared what he thought about her. But telling James...she found it immensely more difficult. For several moments, the words wouldn't come. Finally, she shrugged, looking to the ground. "I don't know," she replied honestly, her voice quiet. "A month. Probably...probably less..."

Deon made his way back into the kitchen, one hand trying to adjust himself still from the damage James had done while the other rested at his hip where he kept his gun. His finger itched for it...itched to put a bullet through James' brain right then and there. Maybe somehow that would ease his pain...

Instead, he walked to the counter and hoisted himself up onto it, letting his legs dangle above the floor.

"Not even your rich ass can do anything to stop it."

James snapped his head over to Deon and he flipped him the middle finger. 

"Hey, fuck ball, shut up before I smash your head on the counter, then make you clean up the mess, after."

Softening his gaze a little, he turned back to Vander. He stood slowly and made his way to the counter to where the empty crate of Lucid was. He reached in and took up one of the syringes. He looked to Vander, then to Deon, then threw down the syringe. It crashed against the ground, shattering into pieces of glass and metal, the liquid drug splattering across the tiled floor.

Vander stepped forward quickly, looking panicked. "Don't do that!" she ordered James desperately, stepping in between him and the crate of Lucid. "I [i]need[/i] those..."

"Yeah dude, what's your problem?" Deon asked with a bit of a smirk, the tone in his voice indicating that he didn't really care. It was just fun to put James in a situation that could potentially turn Vander against him. And if he kept it up, it would turn into just that. He hopped off of the counter and went to Vander, putting a hand on her tiny shoulder. "You want me to stash them somewhere where [i]he[/i] can't get to them?" He asked, his cold eyes darting in James' direction, his lip curled into a smile. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Vander shrugged her shoulder violently, pushing Deon's hand off with her own. "Don't touch me," she said viciously. Despite the highly personal story he had shared only minutes earlier, she was not in the mood for his antics right now.

James' hand curled into a fist as Deon spoke. He took a step forward, but stopped when Vander shrugged off Deon's shoulder. That was a good sign. His eyes darted down slightly, and noticed a small bulge at Deon's waist. 

"Vander, if you are going to trust someone to hide something from you, at least trust someone who can actually hide his gun."

Deon's hand shot to his hip, pulling the gun from the holster and pointed the barrel directly at James.

"Fuck you man, what makes you think I was trying to hide it?" He hissed, his thumb moving to cock the loaded gun.

James closed the gap in between both him and Deon, and stepped forwards so that the barrel of the gun was against his forehead. Maybe it was It, or maybe it was just plain stupidity, but James knew in the back of his mind that if he timed things right, he would be able to dodge the bullet.

"Go ahead, you fuck ball. Pull the trigger if you think you're so god damned tough. Just know that if you dont kill me, I'll have you needing a wheelchair to get around instead of that stupid bike you have out front."

Vander's eyes went wide as she saw the gun, frozen for a moment before she could move again. Her jaw clenched angrily, and she moved quickly to try to occupy the space between the two of them, facing Deon. "You're not shooting anyone, this is [i]my[/i] apartment," she hissed, placing a hand on each of their chests and trying to push the two apart. 

Deon snarled, but lowered the gun and put it back in it's holster on his hip.

"You're not worth a bullet anyway." Deon muttered to James quietly.

With an exhale of relief, Vander dropped her hands. She looked from James to Deon, and narrowed her eyes at the latter. "Don't you dare take that out again until you leave."
The last thing she needed was a dead body in her apartment. It was risky enough that she was forced to harbour a full crate of Lucid, she didn't need any more reason for the cops to come knocking. And if it was James that ended up dead, she would be unable to handle the guilt. Not to mention, she would be unable to force Deon out of her apartment on her own. 

Deon looked to Vander, his eyes softening slightly. It was as if some prior connection had been made with her, with his own story having been laid out for her in a vulnerable moment, he had just hoped she might understand, and maybe...and maybe even be able to relate to his anger.

There was a soft rap at the door, and Deon's attention turned back to James, his eyes hardening once more.

"That would be the pizza guy. Believe it or not, Vander and I were actually going to have a lovely, quiet dinner together before you brought your smug ass over here. So say what it is you came to say, and then leave us be." He said before pushing past James, running his shoulder into him harshly and went to go answer the door.

Once Deon had left the room, James looked at Vander and sighed. A quiet dinner. Then what? Shooting up together? Sleeping together? The thought made his stomach churn. He checked his watch, it had only been an hour, if that, so that gave him plenty of time to probably kick Deon's ass once more for good measure before he left.

"I had just come by to check up on you. To see how you were doing since you left," he mumbled. "But I can see that you were doing just fine. Didn't know you and him were a thing. Anyways, now that I know that you're okay, I'll be on my way." 
James extended his hand. "It was nice meeting you. Really, it was."

She stared at his hand, glanced back over her shoulder to make sure that Deon was still preoccupied with the door in the other room. She spoke quickly, keeping her voice low, and trying to say as much as she could before he got back.

"We're not a [i]thing[/i]," she started, saying the word with extreme distaste. "I got back to my apartment this morning, and the door was busted down. Someone broke in, and my Lucid was gone."

She shook her head, gaze falling once more to the ground. "You saw how bad I was at the restaurant...I was worse when I got here. I thought Deon had taken them, so I went back to The Spit..."

Guilt clawed at her, making her stomach twist. She raised her gaze again, forcing herself to look James in the eye. "I didn't want to have anything to do with him anymore. But I...you can't go through two day-long withdrawals in a row, James, that's asking to die. I could hardly even stand up anymore by the time he got me that crate. I couldn't even hold a needle of Lucid. He's only here because I would have dropped dead in an alleyway somewhere if he didn't drive me home."

She kept her eyes focused on his, praying that he would understand. 

James stared at Vander for a long time, letting the silence, save the conversation between the pizza guy and the lowlife, fall between them. Thanks to It, he was able to tell that she was, in fact, telling the truth. James lowered his hand and sighed once.
"Fine. I believe you. But, as long as he stays, I stay, so hopefully you bought enough food to share."

She nodded, looking grateful. Now that James was here, and especially after the fight he'd had with Deon minutes prior, she didn't want him to leave. She didn't want to have to face another conversation with only Deon. "There's plenty of food. I don't eat a lot," she answered. 

"Not for him." Deon said coming back into the kitchen, the buffet of food being balanced carefully in his hands, the pizza's stacked with the cheesy bread on top and the cookie dough on top of that. He had even somehow managed to grip onto both litres of soda with his one hand. "I bought this for a starving, yet still very beautiful woman..." He said and shot James an arrogant smile. "Not for unexpected guests."

Deon looked at the table where the box of Lucid still was, there would be no room at all for the food, so he just continued on walking to the combined livingroom/bedroom that he and Vander were in before and laid it out in front of the couch and took up his seat where he had been before and began to eat.

Vander frowned, reluctantly following Deon out into the living room. "This is more food than I'd eat in a week," she muttered, sitting down hesitantly at the opposite end of the couch. "And he's a guest in [i]my[/i] place, not yours..."

Nevertheless, she was hungry, and unable to remember the last time she'd eaten anything substantial. She grabbed a piece of cheese bread and took a bite. With Lucid running through her veins, she could taste every subtle nuance of the flavour. The taste didn't nauseate her. Food actually tasted good for the first time in a while. 

"You could stand a few left-overs. I saw that spider eyeing that box of stale cereal you had." Deon teased.

James walked in with Vander and walked to the pizza box, staring Deon as he took a couple of slices. Folding them both over, he took a bite and smiled. Just like Lucid, It gave James the ablilty to taste each element of the pizza seperately. 

He finished the slices of pizza in seconds, then proceeded to sit on one of the arms of the couch. 

"Hey Fuck ball, you did good. Haven't had this good of a pizza in a while."

Deon's eyes narrowed, watching James help himself to the pizza, but made no move to stop him. Instead, he kept his eyes on him the whole time, and then followed him with them to the arm of the couch.

"So what, you expecting a kiss now? Fuck off."

James just looked up at Deon with a small smirk, he reached down and picked up a breadstick and took a bite. 

"Nah, I'm not looking for a kiss. But you can sure as Hell suck my dick."

"Why don't you just bend over like a bitch and just take it?"

"Oh, so you are gay. Things make so much sense now. Well, I appreciate the offer, but I will have to decline."

"Why don't you go ask daddy-dearest how many women he's knocked up? The number might shock you."

"Well, we all know that he wouldn't have wasted his time with your trailer trash mom."

Vander gave a frustrated sigh, swallowing her mouthful of cheese bread. "You two sound like twelve-year olds," she told them, slightly angry. "Cut it out." 

She took another bite of cheese bread, looking away, and doubting her words would have any affect on the situation. As long as they kept it away from fists, she could tolerate the bickering. 

With a movement so fast that it was only a blur to the two of them, Deon had vaulted himself off of the couch, over Vander and knocked James off of the arm chair and onto the floor, pinning him down and smashed his fist into his face.

"Insult my mother one more time, I dare you." Deon growled, drawing his fist back for another punch.

Deon moved so quickly, it was impossible for his brain to register the lumbering figure coming at him, nor was he able to dodge the fist to his face. However, when Deon's fist went up again, he took the opportunity. His knee went for Deon's jewels again, and his fist went for his face. The fist was just a distraction, he was able to calculate just where Deon's body was going to be as soon as the fist connected with his face, and when Deon moved back, James reached for the waist and pulled out the gun, pushing it flush against Deon's stomach.

"Get up. Now."

Deon's knees reacted quickly, able to cover his balls from the blow this time but wasn't able to stop the punch to the face. He blinked, but that was the only indication that he had even been punched at. He showed no pain on his face, only the anger that pushed the veins in his neck to the surface. Though once he felt the cold metal pressed to his gut, he just laughed.

"You can go to Hell." He said and spit a glob of blood onto James' face before rolling off of his pinned position and onto the floor on his back, much like how a dog would when it wanted its belly rubbed. "Do it. You'd be doing me a favor."

 Vander was on her feet in an instant, though not quickly enough to stop the brief altercation between James and Deon. She scowled, growing more and more pissed at both of them by the second. Without hesitation, she reached out, slender fingers wrapping around the barrel of the gun, her palm covering the opening. "Give me this. Now," she ordered James angrily. 
 
James looked at Vander with slight disbelief and rolled his eyes. He wiped his face of the blood and then let go of the gun, but not before slamming his heel so hard into Deon's ribs, cracking could be heard. 

"That's for last night, by the way."

Deon wheezed out a laugh, followed by a slight coughing attack as his hands shot to his ribcage where he felt the damage. At least three of his ribs had been cracked, the all-too-familair shooting pain that now went through him forced his forehead to start and sweat.

"Is this how you treat all your brothers?" He asked, wheezing again as he moved to try and sit up.

Vander took the gun, retreating to the bed in the corner of the room and lifting the mattress up. She stuffed the gun underneath. If either of them felt the need to go for the weapon, they wouldn't be able to get at it quickly.

 The word 'brothers' caught her attention, and she turned to look at Deon. "The hell are you on about?" she asked, clearly getting sick of the two fighting. 

"Yeah, what the fuck are you talking about? I only have one. What, did the kick to your balls rattle the tiny pea brain you have down there?"

Deon just smiled, trying to push himself up into a sitting position but when more bone-cracking noises came from his ribs, he just rested his head on the edge of the bottom of the couch. "One...ngnnn....full brother." Deon said, pushing through the pain. "Go ask your father about my mother, Riley Saunders, see what kind of reaction you get."

"I am not asking my father about anyone. Especially not your deadbeat mom. I have one brother, and that's it."

Deon laughed. "She told me...the night before she was murdered." He paused to breathe heavily, still clutching harshly to his side. "We were about to move up into a better District with all the money I was making. She was worried that some things might come up, so she made me promise not to go anywhere near dear ol Mr. Jamison...it would ruin his reputation see? And she didn't want that. In the end...I think she actually loved him more than she did me." He shook his head. "Not that I could blame her. I was the product of a bastard father."

Another fist struck Deon across the jaw. Then another, then another. 

"Dont you talk about my father that way! You dont know him! He is a good man!"

"Stop it!" Vander yelled at James.

She grabbed his arm mid-punch, both of her hands wrapping around his forearm and trying to hold him off of Deon. 

Deon took one hit after another, blood starting to pour from his nose, eyebrow and lip.
"[i]OUR[/i] father." Deon corrected him. "He's a slimy bag of shit, knocked up my mother and got scared. Left her to do things on her own, cut ties with her so she couldn't find him. Face it James. Our father is a coward."

"You have no father, you son of a bitch. You're a bastard. I swear to God, if Vander wasn't here, I would have killed you a long time ago."

"I [i]am[/i] here," Vander said, still holding James's arm tightly, worried he would start punching again at a moment's notice. "Listen, both of you. If you don't quit trying to beat the shit out of each other, I'm going to sit you on opposite sides of the room and make you talk it out."

"I'm not the one in denial." Deon said quietly, again attempting to try and sit up but now with the combined pain in his side and the blood pouring into his eye, there was no way he could do it on his own.

James shook his arm free from Vander's grip and reached it out for Deon to grab onto. 
"Here. Grab on and get up. Or I can keep beating you, if you would like."

Vander stood, backing off from the two of them and retreating a few steps. She watched James and Deon warily, ready to intervene again if they should start fighting. 

Deon swatted at James' arm with is free hand, unable to really see much of anything right now before he grabbed James' hand. "Had to make sure I knew what it was you wanted me to grab." He jested and let James help him pull himself to his feet. There were a few more bone-crunching noises as Deon got up, and so he succumbed to sitting back down on the couch, using the sleeve of his green t-shirt to wipe the mass amount of blood from his face.

Cringing visibly at the sound of Deon's ribs crunching, Vander retreated once more to the kitchen, intending to grab a cloth for him to properly wipe away the blood. There was little she could do for broken ribs, though.

She frowned as she pulled a cloth from a drawer and ran it under the tap. How many times had she mediated drug trades over the past few years? Never before had she had a deal turn bad. And yet now, she couldn't even keep two men in her apartment from beating each other to a pulp. 

She returned to the living room, offering Deon the damp cloth, and giving James a look of wary disapproval. 

Deon took the cloth and started patting at his slowly bruising eye, rubbing the blood from his split eyebrow and shot James the same kind of look Vander had, mixed in with a look that said [i]you're not wanted here[/i].

James rubbed his hand over his slowly bruising knuckles. He could feel the headache coming, which meant that the drug was starting to wear off. He needed to go before he got lost in District 16. James turned to Vander and gave her a small nod. 
"I think I should be going. Thank you for the food. It was nice seeing you again, Vander." And with that, James turned and walked out of the living room and out the front door, now on his way hastily to District 1.

Deon scoffed. "Fuckin pussy." He mumbled, watching James go.

Vander sat back down, sighing as James left. She muttered a quiet goodbye as he left. Once again, she was left alone with Deon in her apartment. And this time, she had no idea what to say. Wordlessly, she picked up her unfinished cheese bread and took a bite. 

-------------------------------

James entered his apartment and walked in slowly. His head was throbbing. He looked around and found that his brother was still asleep. That was good, he didn't need to know. He made his way slowly to his room and shut the door behind him.

After pressing a couple of buttons on the holo-communicator, and waiting a minute, his father appeared before him, a big smile on his face. James didn't look as pleased.

"Hey there son! How are you to-"

"Tell me about Riley Saunders."