Ace was unable to hide a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he followed Mickey D to the doorway of a lavishly decorated lounge. The room was covered in patterned textiles and plush pillows. A mock fireplace wisped its silent flames toward the ceiling and provided most of the light in the dimly lit room. Mahogany tables were set beside oversized chairs–currently occupied by a handful of robed women.

“Go,” the boss waved his hand.

The women understood and obeyed. They each got up and covered themselves with the edges of their satin robes as they departed through the door Ace had just walked through. 

He locked eyes with Rose moments before she, too, disappeared.

The door was closed behind her.

Ace blinked away his perplexed expression and turned back to Mickey. “I knew it,” his eyes narrowed. “Rose does work for you.”

“She does,” the man came to a stop near a cabinet beside one of the end tables. “I needed someone to scout out the players for me.” He retrieved a bottle of wine from the cabinet and tilted it toward him. “I told her to find the one with the most promise and keep an eye on him.”

Ace puffed a laugh through his nose. “I’m honored, I think.”

“You should be.” The man then pulled two wine glasses from the cabinet. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

“Thanks, but I don’t drink,” Ace held up a hand.

“Ah,” he paused and instead poured the wine into one of the glasses. “Now, I hear you came from Tal E, and that they recently joined the Federation?”

“Sir, I’m going to be honest with you,” his lips twisted into a smirk. “While I am from Tal E, they are not part of the Federation.”

“I see,” Mickey offered somewhat flatly before he drew the lifted glass to his lips.

The younger man casually slipped his hands into his pockets. “I figured that’s what Bernard was alerting you of one of the times he pulled you aside.”

Mickey hummed and took another swallow. “You’re very observant.”

“As a gambler, I need to be.”

“Indeed. Your skills have impressed even me.” Mickey gestured to a pair of velvet-backed chairs nearby, and the two sat down. “Not just any player would risk going all-in on the first round… and all you had were three sevens.”

“I figured I’d do something rash and unexpected so I could see how you reacted.”

“Is that so,” his beady eyes looked up from his glass. “Did I meet your expectations?”

“Considering you did the same thing with two aces,” he grinned, “I’d say so.”

Mickey tipped his glass toward him. “I would assume you have been playing since a young age.”

“Yes, sir.” Ace watched the man take another sip of wine. “That was how I made my living for quite a few years growing up in Fortanya. And I assume you’ve had many years of experience, yourself.”

“I merely dabble.” He waved his other hand.

“I don’t think someone who dabbles would host the most prestigious gambling tournament in this sector, sir.”

Mickey broke into a hearty chuckle that bounced his entire rotund frame. “Ah,” he breathed after a moment, “but how does one who lives on an uncontacted planet attend such a gambling tournament?”

“Well, the trouble is, someone did make contact with Tal E,” he paused as he watched Mickey’s movements slow, “just long enough to abduct me.”

“Abduct?” Mickey’s eyes were still focused on his glass.

“I was taken from my home and brought to the planet Barea, where I was genetically altered to be an Aravasti–and therefore the Barean’s enemy. I managed to escape with a Barean who befriended me, but our ship went down halfway back to Tal E and Starfleet picked us up.”

While Ace spoke, a stillness fell upon the older man. “I had wondered, with your hair, if you were Aravasti.”

“I’m surprised you’ve heard of them.”

“Just that only one remained,” Mickey finally glanced up.

“There was only one left before me, but they took her genetic material and gave it to me and ninety-nine others. I ended up being the only one to survive… so that makes two of us.”

The man’s attention drifted away again, only to perk up when Ace waved his hand.

At once, the blue-white glimmer of his power glinted in his eyes, glowed down his neck above the collar of his shirt, and peeked through his fingerless gloves. With one finger pointed upward, he removed the wine from Mickey’s glass. 

Mickey’s small eyes grew wide as he watched the rounded drops of liquid float before him.

“I got the ability to control water,” Ace found a smile, “but wine’s close enough.”

Mickey D’s mouth gaped as the wine returned to his glass. “Truly remarkable,” he muttered.

“And because I have these powers–since I have been altered–the Federation decided I was too different to be returned home.”

Mickey D’s eyes narrowed. “No–no, that is ridiculous. Why would they say that?”

He shrugged. “It was something about having to break the Prime Directive if they brought me back.”

“Ah!” The man grunted an exclamation. “To hell with the Prime Directive–to hell with the Federation!” He waved his wine glass as he continued, “I can get you back to Tal E.”

Ace’s expression twisted. “What?”

“I can call in a favor–I have many pilots.”

“No, hold on–”

“I can get you back home!” He stressed, stiffly setting down his glass on the table beside him and sloshing its contents.

“No, listen!” Ace held up a hand when he realized Mickey was growing flustered, “I have a new home now! Remember when we talked about how situations change? That home can change?”

Mickey D’s entire form appeared to droop. “But, Mr. Gallagher…”

“I’ve spent too long processing my losses,” Ace’s expression was pained, “I don’t want to go through that again.”

Silence blanketed the tension between them.

“And, your new home,” Mickey said after a moment, his eyes on the floor, “is with Starfleet, is it not?”

“It is.” Ace watched Mickey carefully. “And I bet that’s what Bernard told you, too.”

“He cross-referenced your real name, once I learned it,” the boss admitted. “Michael Gallagher is an Aravasti ensign with Starfleet assigned to the USS-Enterprise.”

Ace felt a pang of anxiousness in his chest. “You’ve learned a lot more about me than I expected.”

“As a man of my profession, I have to.” He looked up glumly, “And I believe I know enough, now, to admit to a terrible deed.”

This statement did little to relieve Ace’s anxiety.

“Three years ago, a group from Barea approached me with a job. They wanted to pick up a hundred random people from a handful of planets–didn’t care who, didn’t matter from where.”

The shock of realization had already struck Ace like a lightning bolt. “No,” he spat.

“I hired five of my own pilots and one Barean transporter and sent them off to a couple nearby systems to get the job done. I did get a little curious, but all the Bareans told me was they needed a disposable population.” He winced. “Who would have thought I’d then meet the only one who survived…”

Ace released a shaky breath.

“Mr. Gallagher,” Mickey D slowly opened his arms wide, “I am the reason you are here–the reason you were taken from your home. The reason you cannot go back.”

Ace lost eye contact. His strength felt as if it had been sapped as he struggled to stay upright. “Why?” He hissed to the ground.

“It was a job.” Mickey’s words were simple. “I got paid to do it. I got paid to do a lot of jobs over the years. And in these last few months, I have only found more reasons to despise what I have done.”

Ace glanced up, noticing a change in Mickey’s voice.

“I know you didn’t come here just to play poker. No,” he scowled at the ground, “you had a very different reason to attend. And why not? As a gambler, an Aravasti, and a member of Starfleet, why not get sent to my tournament to take me down?” He gestured to the wine cabinet a few feet away. “I made the bans so weapons could not be smuggled in, but with your power, all you need is the wine in my cabinet to drown me in my chair. Considering I was a part of how you got that power… I find it… dreadfully ironic.”

Ace looked at his hands, gloved except for his fingertips. He could summon his power just as he had earlier–not as a trick, but as judgement.

Mickey D held a trembling hand toward Ace, at once appearing small and almost frail. “Mr. Gallagher… Michael… You have done what I have always feared would happen… you have given my victims a face.” He let his hand drop as his body slumped forward. “I do not fault you for what you must do. All I can do… is beg for your forgiveness.”

A pang again pulsed through Ace’s chest and settled in his stomach. His lips were parted, and his teeth were clenched behind them. He closed his eyes and gripped his fingers into fists.

“I forgive you.”

Mickey D’s deflated form began to uncurl. “What did you say?” The words were scarcely audible.

“I forgive you,” he repeated. “I may still be bitter about what’s happened to me… but I will not allow that to make me act on vengeance. Besides,” he bit his lip, “you’ve said enough for me to figure out you’ve already been given a death sentence.”

Mickey’s eyes had dropped to the floor long before Ace had finished speaking, and on his final words, they squinted shut. With a half-smile, he shook his head, and huffed out a breath. “You are something else, Mr. Gallagher,” he muttered before glancing up. “Seven weeks ago I was diagnosed with a terminal illness. I assume it is the final payment for the jobs I have done.”

Ace again faltered between emotions as Mickey D wrung his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry.”

“I formed this tournament to give away my fortunes–every contestant walked away with a portion of my estate; even the man who came at the last moment, but I had no seats left for him to play.”

Ace’s brows knitted together. “I knew he wasn’t being kicked out… even then, that didn’t seem like something you’d do–despite Rose trying to tell me otherwise.”

“Rose was supposed to test you and your perception of me,” Mickey D’s lips tugged into a faded grin.

“I suppose I passed?” Ace cocked an eyebrow.

“More than that, Mr. Gallagher,” the man shook his head. “I see so much of myself in you, you know–except that you are a far better person to live out your life in kindness despite what has happened to you. If only… if only I had some way to make amends for my part in it.”

Ace pressed his lips together. “Come with me.”

His eyes grew cold. “That is a death sentence if I ever heard it.”

“No, listen,” Ace reached out and grasped Mickey’s knee. “Come with me back to the Enterprise. Let me help you tell your story. I will vouch for your repentance.”

“That is not how the Federation works–and you should know,” he pointed at him, “since they are forbidding you from returning home!”

“But you would be allowed to take the Federation beyond the rumors and the fear and show them the side of you you’ve shown me! You would be allowed to stand up and accept what you’ve done, but offer up the rest of your life as a changed man!” Ace leaned in closer, “You would be allowed to give yourself a face.”

The wheels were turning behind Mickey’s unfocused eyes. His lips were tugged in a frown. His breaths were slow and deep. His rotund frame was unmoving.

At last, his hand went to his lapel.

“Bernard, signal the Galileo,” Mickey D spoke into a small communication device clipped inside his pinstripe suit.  “Allow it access to the back landing pad.”

“...Sir?” Bernard’s voice returned.

“Mr. Gallagher and I are leaving. You know what you need to do.”

“...Yes… yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Bernard.”

Mickey D removed the device and dropped it into his half-empty wine glass. He then stood–albeit with some difficulty–turned, and walked toward a door at the back of the room, waving at Ace to follow behind. 

Ace was so stunned, Mickey had gone halfway across the room before he realized what was happening. He got up quickly and hurried to catch up with him as he opened the door into the night outside.

A rushing of wind blew into the room as the lights surrounding the back landing pad were obscured by a Federation shuttlecraft with its Starfleet insignias painted over.

“Come, Mr. Gallagher,” Mickey D turned to the young man behind him. “I will allow you to lead the way from here.”

---
Scene Notes

• Anybody's theories pan out with Mickey D's role in Ace's abduction?
• Ace has been though a whole lot (no matter what universe he's in) but he's got a good moral center despite it all. I'm proud of him.

Nellie first woke up too early due to the time difference and the fact that she had passed out far too early not to. She crept into the kitchen, ate a slice of bread, and left two on the floor near the not-dog who was sleeping on the couch. She crawled back into bed after that, and woke much too late the next time.

Nathalie was gone and left a note on the counter with presumably some breakfast. Nellie found a broken plate alone with the soggy, illegible paper. She sighed at the creature ripping stuffing from the couch.

“It makes much more sense to skip school today and get you sorted out, doesn’t it,” she asked him. “I’m late as is, so it makes perfect sense to just take a full absence, right?” She and the animal regarded each other before the latter began to resume his destruction. “Good. Glad it makes sense to the both of us.”

She scrounged up something to eat, threw the broken plate away, and dressed for the day. She got the not-dog to follow her out to one of the out buildings using the rest of the bread, shutting him inside.

“I’ll find you something better to eat for later.” She tapped the door softly. “Be a good boy. Take a nap.”

Nellie set out after pulling up her destination on her phone. The reception was spotty at best and she did not want to risk attempting to remember if she needed to stay south or west or what have you.

The Moore County Library was a much smaller building than she anticipated. It was a single story off-white brick building with tiny, slant windows around the roofline. It was scarcely larger than a warehouse. The open floor plan inside was bright and welcoming, but did not leave much room for books. The books Nellie saw at a glance were all for toddlers and elementary aged children.

She approached the desk. “Um, excuse me?” She smiled as the library peered up at her. “Do you have any non-fiction books on cryptids?”

“Cryptids? Like bigfoot?”

“I suppose so, but… not bigfoot,” Nellie said. “I was hoping for ones that looked like wolves or dogs.” She recoiled under the librarian’s perplexed stare. “Or, what about local folktales and stuff?”

“I can search the database, but my guess would be that we don’t carry anything like that,” the librarian said. “We focus more on storytime and book club. Have you tried the internet?”

There was a great urge to point out how someone her age would go to the internet first, but Nellie held her tongue. She took a breath.

“I think the internet guy is coming today,” she said.

“Oh, so, you’re new here,” the librarian said. “Figured you were born somewhere else with that accent.”

“Florida,” Nellie said. Her smile dipped. “I moved here from Florida. I might’ve been born somewhere else….” She recovered her smile with force. “Do you have computers?”

“You would need a library card,” the librarian explained. “I can get you the forms. I just need one of your parents to show their ID.”

Her face was beginning to ache from the amount of force it was taking to maintain her friendly disposition. She thanked the librarian stiffly and wandered outside.

Lynchburg was starkly different from Sunrise, Florida. Sunrise was busy with traffic, crowded with stores of all kinds, and there was food from everywhere (Middle Eastern, South American, Indian, just off the top of her head from those near her old condo). Lynchburg, Tennessee was–apparently–known for Jack Daniel’s whiskey. Many of the small buildings–most one story–had old ads featuring the whiskey painted on their bricks. There was a walking trail of sorts related somehow nearby. The town was not without a certain charm with the style reminiscent of the Old West, and the stores all being local and unique to themselves.

Nellie felt her hollow stomach and headed for the coffee shop.

The inside was cramped with exposed brick walls and wooden beams overhead. There were two separate counters, one for coffees and hot foods and another for ice cream. Most of the seating at the long, glossy tables was taken up by retirees nursing dark coffees and eating biscuits smothering in chunky, white sausage gravy.

“Hi, welcome in!”

Nellie smiled at the older woman behind the counter, approaching with her eyes up on the menu. As hungry as she was, subs, paninis, and calzones all seem unappetizing. The ten dollar minimum price was not doing much to sway her either.

The cinnamon rolls were just under half the price, though the sight of the inch thick caked on frosting that was melting at the edges in a watery ooze had her questioning if she would be able to make the hike back home without vomiting. Her hunger won out, and she carried her cinnamon roll–complete with a plastic fork stuck in the top–away from the counter. She surveyed the tables for a spot to sit.

“This seat is open,” called an elderly woman with her hair dyed into a bleached blonde. “We’re finishing up.”

Nellie dropped into the offered seat beside–presumably–the woman’s husband. She gave them a big smile. “Thanks.” She poked at her cinnamon roll at a loss on how to start it. “It’s cold today, isn’t it?”

“Sure is! February will be terrible with us getting snow now.”

Nellie tried to be discreet as she started scraping off the chunk of frosting. “February is worse?”

“Usually,” the woman said. She took a sip to finish off  her coffee. “January and February are clear cut winter. March can be bitter, but we don’t usually get the snow.”

The old man tilted his head at her. “Where are you from?”

“Florida.”

The pair exchanged an ‘ah’ with the smallest hint of envy.

“Beautiful place,” the old man said. “We try visiting every winter just to get a break from the cold. Didn’t get the chance this year. Price of everything is too high.”

“I was thinking ‘this girl can’t be from California, too nice’ and now it makes sense,” the old woman added. “Such nice people down in Florida.”

Nellie forced out a polite smile, and took a nibble of her cinnamon roll to avoid needing to comment. She never thought of people from one area or another as being nicer or more unpleasant. It was too simple. There were people in Florida that had been nasty to her, and those that had been kind. She never met anyone from California that she knew of, but also did not have a habit of asking people where they came from. She only asked if it was a foreign exchange student, or if they had an accent like her mom’s.

Her demeanor turned glum at the thought of Nathalie. She would not be able to avoid asking her if they were related forever. She would need to confront her about her entire life being a lie.

“Are you all right, miss?”

Nellie smiled for the couple again. “Yes, just tired. …I heard odd noises last night. Growls, and such, but not like any I’ve heard before.”

“Could be a bigfoot,” the old man mused, rubbing his wrinkled chin.

“Oh you!” His wife reached across the table and playfully whacked his arm. “Don’t pay him any mind.”

“I have noticed a lot of bigfoot silhouettes and statues decorating the area,” Nellie said, largely focusing on the man. “Does this area have bigfoot stories? In Florida, we had skunk-bear, which is like a stinker bigfoot.” She leaned forward with a grimace, and whispered in a whisper elderly people in an eatery could hear, “I swear I smelt it before.”

The old man lit up. It was the exact reaction Nellie had hoped for.

“You a believer in bigfoot, young lady?”

“I’m not sure,” Nellie said, poking her ever hardening cinnamon roll. “Like I said, I think I smelled a skunk-bear, but what if it wasn’t that? But then, when I was hiking in the Everglades once, I saw odd tracks, like a panther but the feet didn’t line up like it had four legs. It looked more like six. Wampus cats look like panthers and have six legs… but surely….”

She trailed away to allow the old man’s excitement to grow. She picked a bit of cinnamon roll off the mass, giving a small shrug of indifference and unsureness to better sell her apprehension on believing in cryptids. It took a lot of willpower not to smile at the sparkle in the old man’s eye.

“Young lady, do not be so quick to ignore imagination. Kids these days, no imagination!”

The old woman reluctantly nodded. “That is true.” She set her mouth in a firm line. “But you shouldn’t encourage–.”

“Wampus cat!” The old man clapped his hands–startling Nellie and the others at the sudden loudness of it. “No one talks about those, and there were so many stories! They’re widespread in this country, just as sure as those mountain lions they get mistaken for are. Just as sure as bigfoot!”

“I had a bigfoot print in my backyard,” called another retiree who was ordering at the counter. “No doubt about it. We got one that crosses through the yard once or twice a year.”

“I remember stories of them six-legged cats as a girl,” an elderly woman said as she picked up her coffee.

A wide, excited smile spread across Nellie’s face and wrinkled her freckled nose. This was better than she hoped. She nestled on her hard seat in a vain attempt to make it more comfortable.

“I’d love to hear some of these local stories,” she said eagerly, genuinely.

---

The winter sun was so low by the time that Nellie got back to her house that it did not penetrate the trees. The clearing where the house stood was as dark as if night had settled, and no lights shone from the windows. That was a positive–Nathalie was not home yet–and a negative–it was harder to navigate the stoney area to the front door. The not-dog howling and carrying on from where he was locked up did not help the overall vibe of the area, but Nellie ignored him and burst into the house, slapping at the wall for the lightswitch.

She frantically dug through a moving box in the kitchen, rummaging until she found the loose pens and half-used notepads at the bottom that had been on the fridge in Florida to keep track of grocery lists. She jotted down a list; Cumberland dragon, raven mocker, smoke wolf, wampus cat, white screamer, werewolf (Woodbury/Dickson). She left off bigfoot and the Bell Witch, not only because she was confident her not-dog was not one–she was certain he was a smoke wolf now–but because they were well known enough she could easily look into them at her leisure. She ended her list with griffin/gryphon(?). 

That one definitely needed looking into. She knew enough to know those were not native to Tennessee, and old Mrs. Throneberry sounded both uncertain that was what she saw–having done her own research after the sighting–and confident she had seen something of the sort last Wednesday.

Nellie dug the communal laptop out of a box in the living room. After waiting for the ancient thing to turn on with a dreadful hum, she hovered over the internet icon, frowning.

The bar at the bottom showed no internet connection, so Nathalie had not set the new Wi-Fi up on the laptop yet. She clicked it to see if she could connect it herself–the password would be the same as always if Nathalie at least had the chance to change it from the preset one.

There was no available network.

“Did the internet guy not show up,” Nellie mused out loud.

She set the laptop on a stack of boxes, and gave into the howls. There were boneless pork chops in the crisper that were likely meant to be tonight’s dinner, but Nellie was not in the mood for one of Nathalie’s hard, overcooked bricks. No amount of applesauce helped. She tore off the plastic, scrunching her freckled nose as she touched the slimy meat.

The smoke wolf quieted with his howls replaced by loud sniffing at the door.

“Sorry for the wait, boy,” Nellie called through the door. “Hopefully, three pork chops will be enough for the night.”

She carefully edged the door open. The sniffing grew louder as the smoke wolf jammed his nose through the crack, prying the door to get his muzzle through, and then his head. Nellie handed him a pork chop, quickly pulling her hand away to avoid her fingers being snapped off.

“You’ll need to learn to take it gentle,” she said in mild scolding. “Back up, please. I can’t let you out in this cold, and Mom would have a fit if I brought you back in.”

She tossed the second chop over the smoke wolf’s head, and was able to slip inside the out building. She instantly regretted shutting the door, cutting off any meager light seeping from the house windows. She could not see the styrofoam tray in her hands, nor the smoke wolf. All she could hear was his snapping jaws, small growls, and the tearing of meat. Then, it was silent.

“I–,” she cleared the squeak in her throat, “--I’ve only got one left….”

There was a faint, red glow from the smoke wolf’s eyes among the blackness. He was watching her, and was inching nearer, completely silent. The absurd image of a pair of red eyes floating among a wisp of black smoke crossed her mind, causing her to snicker softly. She startled as the tray in her hands was bumped, the eyes blinking out and blinking back some feet away with a low growl.

“You startled me first,” Nellie said. She cringed at the raw pork texture as she grabbed the last piece, throwing it towards the glowing eyes. She paused with her hand on the door. “Wish I could let you back out, really, but with the cold and all, I don’t think it wise.” She gave a shiver as she cracked open the door. “Think I’ll find you some blankets. I want to be certain you don’t get too chilly out here.”

There was more than just the winter that made her hesitate to let the smoke wolf go. Mr. Knott told her that when he had seen smoke wolves some odd forty years ago, they had been in a pack out in the Appalachians of West Virginia. They likely had a territory range like any animal would, but no pack for a pack animal was trouble.

Nellie smiled as she pulled spare bedsheets from a box in Nathalie’s room. The smoke wolf did not hurt her when they were in the dark, where it had the clear advantage unlike in the house or during the day in the woods. He had followed her of his own accord. Being a social animal–assuming smoke wolves shared behavior with normal wolves–he was probably looking for a friend.

“I need to learn more about wolves,” Nellie murmured. She fought the sheets into a large wad. “I swore the internet was coming today. How annoying! Oh! He’s probably thirsty after all that pork.” She considered the fullness of her arms. “Another trip then.”

She returned to the outbuilding with more confidence, wedging her way through the door and closing it with her foot. She spoke to the smoke wolf calmly as she attempted to lay out the blankets in a neat pile in the darkness; telling him of the old folks she spoke with and the awfulness of the slab of icing on the cinnamon roll. For his part, he stayed quiet and kept a good foot away judging on where his eyes were. He was either crouching or lying down. Nellie chose to believe he was lying down.

Finding a suitable water bowl was more of a challenge. The only bowls unpacked thus far were for cereal, and they did not seem near large enough. Nellie started digging though one of the opened boxes in the kitchen when she heard the gravel crunching outside. She glanced up to catch the familiar headlights of Nathalie’s Crown Victoria before returning to her digging, her shoulders now stiffened.

Nathalie came barging in through the front door with a cold gust of wind at her back. Her pale skin was red, and the shining anger in her blue eyes indicating her complexion was not just from the cold.

She threw her keys at the couch with no key hook yet unpacked.“Perenelle!”

Nellie kept her focus on searching the box despite now seeing it was full of random cookery utensils and no bowls. Hot tears prickled in the corners of her eyes.

“Are you not going to say anything to me,” Nathalie asked. “You well know I’m only this cross with you because I know you’ve skipped school.” Nathalie jumped at the long, horrible howl that sounded from the outbuilding. She put her hand over her heart, taking a breath. “And that thing–!”

“Smoke wolf,” Nellie muttered.

The correction caused Nathalie to go crimson. She hissed out a long breath. “Do you know what I've been doing while you were skipping school to play with that creature? I’ve just been down to your school, for hours, trying to convince them you are not hiding a pregnancy from me!” She threw her hands in the air. “Of course they think I’m being daft. They want to call the State. The State, Perenelle Herle! We’ve not been here a week and they want to step in!”

The tears broke, hot and angry. Nellie stormed from the kitchen, ignoring Nathalie’s shout to stop. She threw herself into her room but was stopped from slamming the door by Nathalie wedging herself in the way with a sharp yelp.

“Oh no, you will not lock yourself in and hide like last night,” Nathalie said. “I let that go, trying to be understanding of this all being new, but causing such scandal to your teachers is much too far.”

Nathalie was shifting from fury to bedraggled. Her pale hair was already a mess from being tied up in a bun all day, but had loosened during her show of anger. The flush had left her face and left her sallow; her eyes now straining to keep her own tears in.

“Nellie… if you were so upset over the move, I wish you’d just have told me rather than all this. If the State gets involved….”

Nellie dragged her wrists under her eyes to cut the angry tears. There was a tremor in Nathalie’s tone that was foreign and uncharacteristic. She guiltily rubbed her arm and looked at the floor.

“I didn’t mean for that dumb teacher to think I was pregnant…. Sorry.” She bit her lip to stop the smirk forming. “Bit of a reach, isn’t it? Idiot.”

“Perenelle, this is serious,” Nathalie said. She rubbed her forehead. “Why on earth ask all those questions if not to give her that impression?”

“I…,” Nellie trailed off. Her chest hurt. Her eyes began to well again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Nathalie’s face clouded. Her forehead wrinkled with worry, and she took hold of Nellie’s shoulders, squeezing them hard and bending to eye-level. “Did something happen? Did you hear of something happening?”

“No!” She broke away and pushed around Nathalie back into the rest of the house. “I just… just need to get water out to that poor smoke wolf. I’m thinking of calling him Ash….”

“You are not keeping–Do not switch the topic,” Nathalie said, following Nellie as she went back to find a mixing bowl.

Nellie refused to answer as Nathalie pelted her with the same question said different ways. She finally extracted a large Pyrex and began filling it.

“You are not giving him my good mixing bowl!”

“He needs something,” Nellie protested. “Just for tonight. I’ll go out–.”

“You will go to school and explain how you lied,” Nathalie said firmly. “I’ll call animal control–.”

“Ash isn’t just some animal, Mom!” She glared. “Or….”

“He can’t stay here, Nellie,” Nathalie said, exasperated. “Have you noticed we still have no internet service? The poor man called my phone terrified. Heard that thing–.”

“His name is Ash!”

“--carrying on and refused to wait for me.” Nathalie scoffed. “All the good that would do, honestly.”

“He’s still scared,” Nellie protested. “He’ll settle down. He’s young, probably, and lost, maybe.”

She carried the Pyrex towards the door, trying hard not to slosh it. A bucket would be better as a long term solution, and filling it with the hose would be more efficient. Except that it was currently winter and they did not have a hose. 

She spilt water down her pants as Nathalie threw herself in front of the door.

“I told you that you are not using my good mixing bowl,” she said. “Go put it away and sit. We aren’t finished.”

Nellie narrowed her eyes. “I would rather not talk about how you aren’t my mother, but if you insist.”

All the color drained from Nathalie’s face.

Nellie gave a cry–that shock the final confirmation–and pushed outside. She was grabbed, yanked away, and in the process the Pyrex shattered on the front steps. She did not turn to see Nathalie’s expression, or the broken bowl, and ran straight for the howling outbuilding.

---

It was the loud but trying to be quiet murmuring from the living room that caused Nellie to wake up. It was still dark and cold, suggesting it was much too early and not simply winter hours. Her phone read 1:21 AM. She sat up and watched a fluffy blanket fall to the floor.

She had stayed out with Ash until all the lights had gone off, then snuck back inside and collapsed on her bed. Nathalie must have covered her. That blanket had still been in a box.

Nellie wrapped it around her shoulders and snuck to her door. She pressed her ear to the edge, easing it open a crack. The warmth of a light out in the living room seeped in along with Nathalie’s tired, strained voice.

“--can’t hear well, sorry, Winny. Reception is dreadful out here. Internet was supposed to come–no matter.” There was a pause. “No, no, I can text you a summary after. I just… just really needed to hear your voice. As much as I can hear it.” She sighed heavily. “Honestly, Win, I don’t understand how there is no cell service. But, I’m calling about–. Hello? Winston? Winston. Can you hear me?” Nathalie stifled a sob. “Winston, please, be able to hear me. Nellie found out. I-I don’t know what to do.”

Nellie jumped, wincing at the creak in the floor, but whatever had Nathalie shoot to her feet so suddenly covered the sound.

“Winny? Oh, good, is this better? Did you hear what I said about Nellie? You did!” Nathalie’s floorboards creaked as she swayed. “What do I do? Rhys didn’t–. Winny? Hello? Winston, can you hear–? Sod it!”

The couch groaned as Nathalie threw herself onto it, resolved to text the conversation instead.

Nellie carefully crept backwards to her bed, slithering down into it. She felt oddly hollow. Nathalie had confirmed again, with words this time, that she had been lying to her. It was how Nathalie waited until she was asleep to make that phone call that churned her stomach.

Uncle Winston was a jovial man with a dark sense of humor. He was several years older than Nathalie, and her confidant before any big decision. Nellie had been on most of the Zoom calls between him and Nathalie as she decided to move them out of Florida. Nellie liked talking to Uncle Winston, liked the few visits even more–despite his grown kids being complete snobs. There was a whole new betrayal to know he hid this from her, and helped Nathalie lie.

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

I have no idea what I'm calling this, so first chapter was That Thing w/Perenelle, and this is P.Track.2 which is how it's labeled in my docs, lol. The coffee shop is real. I didn't get a chance to visit, so I don't know if the clientle is elderly or hipster, but like all the small towns around here, they tend to be elderly so I went with that. It made for a better way for Nellie to get some info. The old people really do complain often about Californians (or anyone not originally from TN/the south, honestly) but they aren't always mean about it, so I figured with Nellie being polite and curious, they'd be more willing to talk. (Often times here, "natives" don't talk to anyone minus casual small talk pleasentries. They never give up info on the area, it was a big pain the first time we lived here trying to navigate where things were and stuff--IN was the same way, weirdly enough.)

Slowly filling out Nathalie's side. I couldn't think of anything more British than Winston, so had to call him that. Their parents also have much more traditional names, and some woman connected to Winston is Margret (Margo). I don't know if it's his wife or daughter, leaning more towards wife since he'd probably just have named his daughter Margo straight up. I'm thinking him and Nathalie are roughly 5-7 years apart. I wanted to have Nathalie on Zoom with him so there was more conversation, but then remember there was no internet and most of the middle of this state is dead zone.

Despite some initial difficulty with a secretive Betazoid, Ace managed to beat out the other players at his table–including the elusive Rose. He had a pretty good idea there was much more to Rose than she let on, but he was unable to speak to her before she left the room. After chatting up the dealer and Mickey D himself, he was called to join the notorious figure’s table for the final round.

The man of the hour gestured to the seat beside him. “Please–Mr. Gallagher–sit here.”

“Don’t mind if I do, Mr. D.” Once in his seat, he nudged Mickey in the side. “Now you do realize I’m going to have to win so I can learn your name.”

Mickey again broke into a hearty laugh that shook his entire frame. “Is that so!”

The dealer cleared his throat as the others at the table looked on in varying states of shock.

“Ah–my apologies, Bernard,” Mickey waved his hand with an air of annoyance.

“Bernard,” Ace eyed the man at the head of the table, “you’re a dealer too?”

“The only one I trust at my table,” Mickey gestured to him. “And I trust all of you will play fairly?”

The others nodded or gave quiet agreement to his words.

“Then,” the man in the pinstripe suit opened his hands, “let us play.”

Bernard adeptly shuffled the cards and dealt them speedily. The chips had already been placed at each stool, and with Mickey at the dealer’s right, he would be last to place his bets.

“I am looking forward to seeing how you play, Mr. Gallagher,” Mickey said somewhat under his breath as the players picked up their cards.

“Same to you, Mr. D,” Ace replied.

When the betting round began, the blond-haired man at the far end was quick to raise the ante with the first bet, the gray-haired woman beside him raised it further, and the Benzite man beside her simply called the bet. Ace allowed himself to ponder his choices now that the threat of a Betazoid reading his thoughts was removed, and with high hopes, he raised the bet another 20. Mickey D called his bet.

During the drawing round, the man and the woman did not draw new cards, but the Benzite meticulously set down three of his five cards one at a time. His facial structure and breathing apparatus made it difficult for Ace to read his expression, but he was able to hear the speed at which the man was breathing. It quickened after he drew new cards, and Ace assumed he was going to be up against three good hands. 

Ace looked again at his hand; a pair of sevens and a scattering of other cards. Three of the cards were spades, and he could risk giving up one of his sevens for a chance at a flush. If the new cards were not spades, however, he’d be risking a hand of no value whatsoever.

“Rash and unexpected,” he muttered under his breath.

Ace set down two cards and lifted two new ones. Both were sevens, giving him three of a kind. Not the worst, but not the best against what could be sizable hands–if they weren’t bluffing. He could only hope for luck as Mickey D finished the drawing round by taking one new card.

As expected, the first two human players were quick to raise the bets. The Benzite also raised it, albeit incrementally, and Ace, chewing his lip, decided to make the biggest bluff he could.

“All in.” He slid forward his chips.

The collective shock at the table was only felt, as every player maintained a straight face. The only other cue Ace heard was the changes in the breathing of the Benzite beside him.

To his surprise, Mickey did the same.

“All in,” the man looked steadily at him.

The other three players glanced at their hands, and all three folded.

“Showdown,” Bernard held out his hands.

Ace turned his cards over, revealing his three of a kind. Mickey D had only a pair of aces.

“Three pair; Mr. Gallagher is the winner,” Bernard announced, much to the visible surprise of the other players who had collected far better hands before bowing out on pretense.

A grin spread across Mickey’s round face. “Indeed he is. I will declare this tournament ended with my exit from the game. But rest assured,” he added quickly when the remaining players' expressions intensified, “you will all receive prizes at the door. Bernard, if you please,” he gestured to his assistant.

“Yes, sir,” he said simply before collecting the three and leading them away.

“You, however,” Mickey D laid a hand on Ace’s shoulder, “I would like you to come with me.”

“Sir,” Ace’s brows did not hide his own curiosity.

He squeezed Ace’s shoulder and smiled. “There is much I would like to discuss with you.”

---
Scene Notes

• Rash and unexpected, huh?