Reunion (TAG)

[Ophelia Courtney]

Any time she touched someone with powers, she got a burst of information. Everything they could do, every little aspect of their abilities, and their limitations and weaknesses. Most importantly, she was given the knowledge of how to improve them. It almost felt like magic.

This night didn't feel magic. It was happening again. She knew it was a bad idea. She watched him snap his fingers, almost in slow motion. Watched the sparks jump from the snap to his fingertips, then catch into small flames. She could feel first the excitement, then the horror as the flames caught and began to spread up his arms. There was screaming. Was it his? Hers? She tried to stop it. Stop the enhancement. Or just to run. The flames were all around him now. All around them.

Screaming. It was both of them, she decided. A harmony of agony and tragedy. Her wrist ignited with searing pain as his hand wrapped around it. She was moving, flying through the air, until she stopped suddenly. The ground. It was cold and hard.

She turned to look at the now towering inferno. The screaming wasn't a harmony anymore. It was just his. His agony echoed in her ears even after it stopped. 

Her wrist still burned.

"FLICK NO!"

Ophelia shot up in bed in a cold sweat, holding her scarred right wrist. 

Scars were funny things. They'd go for days, months, even years without so much as a tickle, then suddenly ache for no apparent reason. Ophelia tossed the covers back and walked to the kitchen. She needed a stiff drink, and to run some cold water over this aching scar. 

She liked this place. She was happy that she was able to keep her real name squeaky clean, away from the dirty work that funded this penthouse. It funded a lot fancier pajamas than the baggy T-shirt and shorts she was wearing now, but this was comfortable. This was her home, her real home, and she was going to be relaxed in it.

She poured herself a tumblr of scotch and turned on the faucet, drinking the liquor with her left hand while running her right wrist under the soothing, cold water. These nightmares cropped up every now and again. Getting sloshed usually helped them go away. She hated them. She didn't need reminded that he was dead because of her.

She froze at a knock at the door. It was late, wasn't it? Or was it the middle of the day? She wasn't sure, she kept the apartment pretty blacked out when she wanted to sleep and her hours were anything but consistent.

She moved toward the door, reaching for a nearby drawer in an endtable as she put her eye to the peephole. "Who's there? What do you want? I didn't order anything and I don't like solicitors."

Francis "Flick" Courtney

[Francis "Flick" Courtney]

Flick stood with wobbly knees on the bus, having gotten up to allow an elderly man sit in the spot he had previously claimed. The man stared at him with an inquisitive look, as if he knew if he so much as heaved a sigh in Flick's direction he would topple over effortlessly. He'd managed to trace his sister to Astaria. He'd avoided calling home to his mom about that finding. He knew it would break her heart knowing her daughter had been so close all of these years and currently he was on the bus ride that would take him straight to her doorstep. 

Glancing nervously into his reflection staring back at him apprehensively on the bus, he played with his hair. At first, he had gelled it back, doing his best to look nice, but in his sweating anxiety it had become a little wild. His gloved hand death gripped a bouquet of flowers, a favorite of Ophelia's. Had that favorite changed? He gulped at the thought, hoping her tastes hadn't drastically changed over the years.

It still didn't feel real to him. Would it ever? For so long he had nearly convinced himself she was dead. Glancing down, Flick noticed the old man still eyeing him suspiciously. He no doubt probably seemed an interesting character with his facial expressions changing back and forth from an intense variety of anxiety, excitement, and fear. Clearing his throat, he offered up the old man a sheepish grin, "How do I look..?" he asked with a nervous chuckle.

"Like shit," the old man pointedly grumbled, huffing as he crossed his arms to rest on his rotund belly. Flick merely nodded in response with his mouth set in a firm line, giving himself a quick glance once more in his reflection. He did his best to fix his hair as the bus stopped where he needed to get off and went about his way.

Stepping onto the curb, his eyes grew in shock at the building before him. They sure didn't have anything like this back home. Fishing into his pocket, Flick opened up a crumpled piece of paper that had been hidden there. His cursive handwriting read the address in front of him, erasing his doubts that he was in the wrong place. He intentionally didn't look more into Ophelia, other than where she lived. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to know any finer details before going in. Taking out his flip phone, he sent a short text to Willow, letting her know that he had made it to his sister's not so humble abode. With a sigh and a snap shut of his phone, he walked into building.

The trip from the front door of the building to the front door that supposedly belonged to his sister was all too short. He stood in front of her door for a moment, rehearsing lines and different ways of saying 'surprise! It's your brother! I thought you were dead! How's it going?'

Clearing his throat, Flick adjusted his collar before knocking gingerly on the door. It was a bit wimpy, strictly due to his nerves and Flick could only hope she heard it. He wasn't sure honestly that he would have the strength to knock again, currently frozen in fear. What if she had a partner and kids in this place? It surely seemed big enough. He always thought he'd make a good uncle, but now it seemed like too much at once. Maybe he should have listened to his mother's suggestion and messaged her on social media if she had any, but Flick never quite understood how any of that worked. As much as his body was screaming at him to run, entirely in flight mode, he planted his feet firmly in protest.

Flick did his best to dress to impress for his sister, or so his version of dressing nice went anyways. He wore his nice pair of dark brown cowboy boots, the least dirty pair of jeans he owned, a red and navy flannel with one of their father's favorite black cowboy hats that had been passed down to him after his passing.

Flick flinched at the sound of a woman's voice accompanied with some rustling of a drawer or two, likely Ophelia's. The voice did not open the door to greet him. Flick shuffled back and forth from his spot, doing his upmost best to not sound terrified as shit though no doubt failing, "Order..? Umm.. I-" he paused, closing his eyes and sucking in a jagged breath in attempts to collect himself, "I'm no solicitor, ma'am," he chuckled nervously. His gloved hand clutched at the bouquet as if it would give him support, it's wrap crinkling under his tightening grip, "My name is Franc-.. Flick Courtney.." he paused for a moment before continuing, his voice a bit stronger this time, "I-I'm looking for my sister, Ophelia," he took a step closer to the door, peering into the peephole as if it would help him at all to see who he was talking to, "Is Ophelia Courtney in?" He took out the slip of paper from his pocket once more with his free hand, the paper shaking, "I was told she lived here, I'm terribly sorry to bother you, ma'am, but is she in?" Flick sighed, embarrassed. He was not the most outgoing guy, but it was not often he was a bumbling nervous wreck. He chastised himself mentally, already feeling as if he was making a rough impression to whomever he was conversing with on the other side of the door.

Ophelia Courtney

[Ophelia Courtney]

Ophelia’s breath caught in her throat momentarily when the man outside her apartment claimed to be Flick. He was dead. She watched it happen. It was impossible.

But those flowers…. Lilacs. She hadn’t told anyone her favorite flower was lilac for…. She couldn’t remember when.

But it couldn’t be Flick…. Could it?

No. No it had to be a trick. Someone had just done some damn good research. Right?

She realized she’d been standing there having this mental battle for a good few awkward seconds. She had to act.

“Come in! Come in. You’re at the right place.” She set her drink down and used the free hand to unlock, unbolt, unchain, and open the door, letting this man in.

As soon as he was in, she shut the door again and her scarred right hand came out from behind her back, and she leveled the sidearm in it at the back of this man’s head, the click of it cocking echoing through the room.

“Hands on your head, turn around slowly, and then you’re going to tell me what asshole thought it would be funny to have someone pretend to be my brother when he’s been dead for over twenty years.”

Ophelia hated that she couldn’t quite hide the quiver in her voice.

Francis "Flick" Courtney

[Francis "Flick" Courtney]

Flick waited for what felt like an eternity before he received a response. He jolted at the opening of the door and looked on with wide eyes. The woman in front of him could be Ophelia, but honestly, he wasn't entirely sure. It'd been so long and brown hair and brown eyes weren't exactly a rare commodity. So he regarded her warmly, nodding his head politely at her invitation to come inside. His heart bubbled with excitement. Sure, Flick was still nervous as shit, but excitement was starting to creep into his bones, putting a little pep in his step. As he walked in he took in his surroundings. She had certainly upgraded from the family farm that was for sure. Feelings of inadequacy started to bubble up but didn't have time to boil over as he heard a gun cock behind him.

Any nerves that had been starting to dissipate came rushing back up. Not in a position to be ornery, he threw up his hands, signaling he meant no harm, the flowers crashing to the ground. Flick frowned at the sight, but did not have much time to dwell on what a waste of money it was as there were certainly more pressing matters. Like the gun behind his head which could very well provide a swift exit.

Flick obediently followed her orders and slowly turned to look at her. Her words however, left the man dumbfounded. The Ophelia he knew surely wouldn't be threatening to shoot a man. However, her words did confirm it was indeed his sister that he was looking at.

Clearing his throat and momentarily closing his brown eyes, he opened them after a few moments passed and spoke slowly, "Oph.. I.. I'm not sure what you're talking about," he searched his mind frantically for anything he could say that would make her believe. Or at least believe him enough to lower the damn weapon.

Flick stared at the hand of hers that held the gun, the wrist all scarred up. He knew instantly what it was, his eyes slowly moving towards his hand concealed under the glove. Sadness flooded his eyes. The guilt that always ate up at him rising into his throat. Almost immediately, he lost the fear of the gun. Surely it would be justice if she shot him now. Some form of penance could be found, and he selfishly found comfort in that.

Choking on his words, he shook his head, "I'm sorry, Oph," his hands moved of their own volition, lowering themselves from their original position on his head, the left one taking off the glove and exposing the right one. He kept it hidden, for it was so burnt that a portion of bone was exposed and much of the hand was charred. Normally, amputation would likely be needed, but likely due to his fire abilities, it did not effect him the way it would a normal human. He looked from his hand to her wrist with a solemn expression.

"It was all my fault, Oph," he swallowed hard, "That night in the barn, it was all my fault," He wasn't a man that believed in God, but every night since that night up until now, he got down on his knees and howled for forgiveness. It should be joyous that she was still alive, but it only intensified the guilt. She had been alone and without her parents for all those years and it was his fault. What had that been like?

"I'm sorry, Oph, I'm sorry.." Would she shoot him? Would she not? Flick's eyes shut softly, and he decided he was ok with either outcome.

Ophelia Courtney

[Ophelia Courtney]

The gun pointed at Flick stopped being steady as he turned around. It wasn't possible. The last time she'd seen him, he was sixteen, but there was no doubt that this man is what the sixteen year old would have--did grow into.

He called her "Oph." Nobody but Flick called her that. Not even their parents. Tears started welling up in her eyes. "W-who... who sent..."

She tried to keep her composure, but deep down she knew it was a losing battle. There was just too much evidence. Her wrist ached too much for it to not be him. Especially when he took off the glove.

"I... I watched you die. You died because of me." she squeaked out. She reached forward with her left hand, reaching for the Flick's damaged hand. She had to be sure. This was impossible. It couldn't be him.

Her eyes widened as her fingertips grazed the scarred flesh of his hand and her mind was filled with insight into his powers. The gun fell to the ground from her limp fingers as she darted forward and wrapped both arms around him, sobbing.

"This is impossible. I watched you die. I watched the barn collapse. You died because of me, you died saving me but now you're here and you're not dead but I watched you die and oh God please don't let this be another dream!"

She pressed her face into his neck, pressing a kiss there. She still fit in his brotherly embrace. There was no way this couldn't be Flick.

She squeezed tight, not wanting to let go, afraid that he'd vanish in a wisp of smoke and ash if she did.

Francis "Flick" Courtney

[Francis "Flick" Courtney]

Flick remained with his eyes closed for a long time, but he could almost tangibly feel the tense emotions hanging between them in the air. It was thick, and it threatened to swallow him whole. His mind imagined this unfamiliar looking woman going through the motions, the sheer disbelief likely filling her eyes. The shock pulling her lips apart. Of course, he could be wrong, but he saw this image so clearly in his mind's eye. Even when she was choking back tears, his eyes adamantly continued to stay glued shut. Looking at her was just so painful.

Flick's eyes opened clearly when she had barely managed to squeak out how she had watched him die. His eyes drifted to her reaching hand and reluctantly allowed her to touch his disfigured hand. He visibly flinched, hard, but did not pull away, leaning into that all too familiar feeling of her tapping into his powers, ever so lightly. It had been a long time, but Flick was certain he would not forget the feeling of Ophelia's power. Nose turned up in disgust, he only regretted that his sister had touched his hand. He found it repulsive, and a harrowing reminder.

He didn't have to look into her eyes to know that touch, that insight that he was truly a walking inferno, was the direct confirmation she needed on his identity. No, Flick could feel it. The gun clattered noisily to the ground, and he was unsure of how he felt in that moment as that noise echoed and rattled around in his ear. Was there a sense of.. disappointment that she hadn't gunned him down here in her entryway mercilessly? Perhaps he had been yearning for it more than he had thought. Such thoughts were rapidly washed clean from his mind when Ophelia had flung herself into his arms however.

Quickly, Flick slipped his scorched hand into its glove and returned the embrace. He felt weak and feeble in her arms in that moment, yet he held steadfast and held tightly, rubbing her back comfortingly. She seemed shaky herself, and he needed to hold strong for his sister. He owed her that. He had a hunch that the Ophelia in front of him did not often get the chance to be vulnerable as she did in her youth. Something told him the life she lived afterwards had not allowed her to be. He did not know what to say. He'd spent years thinking her gone, or fooling himself at least. He'd spent nights on his knees, crying to a grave for a sister that had ended up being alive this whole time and had him confessing his sins to an empty grave with no listener. Yet here was Ophelia mirroring his own confessions in her words.

Flick continued to attempt to soothe her with the firm, yet gentle hand on her back, "I'm here," he confirmed softly, "I am alive. It's not a dream, I'm not going anywhere," He allowed some time to pass, briefly repeating this statement in an perhaps feeble attempt to reassure her.

Clearing his throat, Flick choked out, "I'm sorry it took me so long, Oph, I'm so sorry," Shame gripped at his throat, choking him. He, and the rest of his family, had failed her so miserably. 

Ophelia Courtney

[Ophelia Courtney]

Ophelia just clung to him, sobbing, for maybe twenty or thirty minutes. She just held him. Convincing herself he was real, pressing sisterly kisses into his neck.

Eventually, her emotions calmed down, and she let go of Flick and composed herself. Well, mostly.

“Why—“ she swallowed the lump in her throat that tried to come back up after talking, “why now? Why did you come find me now? After… When… I just assumed mom and dad didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

She picked up the handgun, expertly checked it, unchambered the round, switched the safety back on and slipped it back into the drawer. Her powers didn’t give her much in the way of protection, so she had become very skilled with several others.

She picked up the bottle of booze again. “Do you want some? Are— are you staying in Astaria very long?”

There was a hint of desperation to her voice that she just couldn’t really hide. Whether this was a dream or a miracle, she didn’t want to lose him again, and she couldn’t leave Astaria. Not with her business the way it was.

Francis "Flick" Courtney

[Francis "Flick" Courtney]

Flick held his sister with trembling hands, each of her sobs that cut through the air paining his own heart. Part of him ached to sob with her, to let it all out and purge himself of his emotions. Yet Flick would not allow himself the release, holding firm the idea that for the rest of his days he would need to hold on to this pain, for the sinner within shall not be allowed to lose the chains that bound him. Flick could not forgive himself, and so he reveled in the pain, petting her back in a soothing manner, holding in his own cries.

It felt like an eternity that the brother and sister stood there like that. Eventually, Ophelia spoke, the sadness in her voice tinging her words, "We did look.." he protested softly. It was not to make himself look better, but for his parents that tried earnestly in search of their daughter. Flick bit his lip, looking at his sister with a crumbling resolve. He had told himself he was not going to tell her that their father passed away, for he figured she was likely already overwhelmed enough as it were, but he did not want such a choice to come back and haunt him later on.

"We looked for a long time.. but um.. Pa.." Flick paused. He'd had over 10 years to mourn the passing of his father. It was their father that should be standing her, holding his arms out for his little girl. Not Flick. Struggling with feeling the imposter, he shook his head free of the thought and continued on, "He's been gone for over 10 years, Oph.." He looked her in the eyes, stumbling for the right words to say, "It was just too much for him and Ma just struggled to go on after he was gone, the search got hard.. It was a cold case after that long and.. I couldn't leave her like that.." Gulping, he added, "Ma wants to see you before she.." his eyelids fluttered shut for a moment, picturing his mother bedridden at the farm, staring absently out the window like she normally did, thinking of days long past, "..passes. It's close, Oph, she ain't got long." It was as he was telling her this news that she put away the gun with a deft hand. Flick quirked a brow in interest as he watched, but he did not quite care to ask how his baby sister knew how to handle one quite like that. He had a feeling he wouldn't like the answer.

Ophelia offered him booze, but Flick raised his covered hand in a stop gesture, politely shaking his head no. He'd seen his father attempt to numb the pain with alcohol, and Flick himself had gone down a slippery slope of it himself and for 8 years now has refused to drink.

"Well.. the farm is in good hands for now, but I was hoping I could get you to come back for a spell.." he said, trying his best to sound cheerful and turn the conversation around. Though it was likely a failed attempt. Finding your brother you haven't seen for years and on top of that finding out your dad has been dead for over a decade sure is surreal. Flick had noted the desperation in her voice and sighed, fishing out his flip phone from his pocket. Quickly, with the sound of the keypad clacking under his thumb, he sent a quick message off to Willow, letting her know he may just have to extend his stay further.

"Ma would really like to see you though if you got the time, Oph,"

Ophelia Courtney

[Ophelia Courtney]

Of course they looked for her. It made sense. It also made sense why they didn't find her. She hadn't wanted to be found. She didn't believe she deserved it. She thought Flick was dead but now... here...

She drained her glass and poured herself another when Flick refused the drink. No shame to Flick, but she was going to need all the scotch she could handle to deal with this. At least at first. There were so many conflicting emotions right now. Flick was here! He was alive!

But Pa... Pa was not. She hung her head, feeling the regret of not being able to be there for his passing, but also... it had been years since she'd seen him. Really, she... she didn't know the man he was when he died. She just knew who he was when she was with him, almost twenty years ago. But now Ma... she could see Ma before..

"I... I can't leave the city long but..."

Her mind raced. She couldn't leave, not for long, anyway. That would leave a vacuum, she had to make appearances. Her position in the underworld was only as strong as the respect she commanded, and if she wasn't there to command it, people started to make power grabs. Plus, her unique niche was her powers, she needed to be there to grant those.

"I could come for a day or two. To see ma. But then... I have to come back. I have business I can't leave for very long. I'm in pharmaceuticals, and the company really can't operate long without me organizing things."

She moved over to the couch, sitting down and patting the cushion beside her. She wanted to just... reassure herself. Convince herself her big brother was really real. Was really here. Because if he was, she wasn't about to let him go again.

She didn't like that he wasn't going to stay, even though she knew that was probably going to be his answer. But she knew how it would go. She'd seen it happen with other people, heard the stories. You move away, aren't as close to each other physically. You try to keep up, phone, facetime, snapchat, whatever the kids are doing these days, but eventually, things change. You grow older and apart. And then you don't talk anymore.

Ophelia would be damned if she lost her brother like that after just getting him back after twenty years. She had to figure something out. Come up with a plan. It had to start with him spending some time with her, here, in Astaria, and she'd figure it out from there.

"Maybe... maybe after I come see Ma, you can spend some time here with me? I can show you the big city, all of its... razzle-dazzle. We can catch up. Unless you have a family or something you need to get back to. You said the farm was in good hands, are they the hands of a partner?"

A spouse or partner of any sort would fuck up the entire plan, as bare-bones as it was. As much as she hoped Flick was happy with someone, she desperately wanted him to be with her. To be her brother again, and she was going to do everything she possibly could to make that happen.

Francis "Flick" Courtney

[Francis "Flick" Courtney]

Flick did his best to look away and to conceal the uncomfortableness that he could feel etch onto his features when Ophelia quickly drank the contents of her glass. He still viewed her as a little girl, and it was an image he needed to alter. Every time he looked at her all he saw was the really young girl from when he'd last known her. His own long history with alcohol only added to the oddness of seeing his sister drink, and a sense of overprotective worry took hold. Reminding himself over and over again in his head that she had long since been an adult, he did his best to mask the expression he could feel fighting its way to the surface. He hoped he managed.

Flick sat in silence as he watched his sister process the news, frowning  when her head hung low at the news of their father. He wanted to reach out and offer her a consoling touch or embrace, but held himself back. There was so much lost time with his sister, and while he wanted to jump right back in, he didn't wish to overwhelm her. He knew how weird the news had been for himself when they had finally located her.

"Oh, I understand," he said, following her to the couch, "Ma just wants to see you before.. well.. y'know," he said, not wanting to say it. The thought of working the farm alone once their mother passed was a lonely feeling. He wasn't ready for it. Not one bit. "Even if it is only for a short time," he added, wanting to reassure her that it wasn't any problem. They were really just happy to know she had been alive and found finally. Their mother absolutely ecstatic. Flick sat with his hands in his lap, fiddling with the glove on his hand and only looked his sister when she spoke again.

"Yeah, I could do that," he smiled softly, nodding his head gently. A blush crept to his cheeks at the mention of a partner and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking much like a young teenager being teased over their love life. No, he'd been painfully single for a long time and how he felt about Willow still was hard to pin down. Not that it mattered much since she'd moved on anyhow. 

"No," he laughed airily, "Just an ex, who definitely won't mind if I am gone for a time," he sighed before joking, "She'd probably thank you actually. Think she's a little tired of seeing my sorry hide all the time," Although it had meant to be a joke, he found himself donning a frown. He missed Willow, though he wasn't sure if it was in a platonic sense or a romantic sense. Perhaps both.

Shaking his head of the thought, he gave his sister a good natured smile, "Ain't no problems with me sticking around here for a spell," his eyes trailed to a nearby window, so used to seeing farm land and not buildings, "I'd like to see a day in the life of you. Now that you're a city slicker 'n' all." He gave her a playful nudge with his own shoulder, "You even still know how to ride a horse a milk a cow? Or has the city changed you, Oph?" he asked it with mere good intentions, but only if he knew what all his sister had really been through and how she really had change in her families absence, would he have refrained from making such a statement.

"Pharmaceuticals, huh? Always knew you were smart," he beamed with pride, reaching over to rustle her hair as he used to before he could even think twice. 

Ophelia Courtney