xx. headfirst for halos

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They were so close to a breakthrough. So close to finally tracking down the cult and getting much wanted and needed answers, and vengeance. Rhys had been pouring over the information and leads they had all day diligently, and Ezra thought it only fair they celebrate a little in a not-so distracting way. Between the two of them, they'd killed the last six pack in the fridge. Which is how he found himself on a quick jaunt down the street to the local market to pick up beer, and perhaps a few snacks while he was out. Picking his way down the street quietly, Ezra dragged on his cigarette, glancing up at the darkening sky contemplatively at points. Feeling guilty had become almost a given for him. It twisted around his heart, braided with the affection and longing he held for Rhys. Thankfully, he had plenty of distractions to keep it at bay, but even so- in the times he was left to his own devices it writhed and gnashed it's teeth at him, spitting withering accusations every chance it got. Dipping into the market, he picked up the brews, stopping to grab some take-away meals at the little food stall for the two of them before setting off again. As he walked, he whistled to himself, letting the bag hang off his bony wrist as he paused to light another cigarette. A block into the trip back to the flat, he got the sensation of being watched. Ezra stopped in his tracks, standing still, ears straining to listen carefully. The instant after he stopped, he heard a pair of steps behind him pause as well, the sound delayed. Inhaling through his nose sharply, he whirled around, eyes falling on a pair of masked assailants and his gaze narrowed. He moved first, stretching his arm forward and manifesting a shock wave of force directly towards the two of them, Distantly he heard a screech of tires, but was caught up watching the two that'd been tailing him fall backwards onto the sidewalk. Stalking forward, he snatched the collar of one man's shirt, lip curled back in a snarl. "What in the bleeding hell do you want?" Firm hands gripped his shoulders, dragging him backwards and throwing him off balance before he could get the answer. In the struggle, his bag fell to the ground, the bottles shattering and scattering broken glass against the sidewalk. He lashed out, clawing at the arm that held him in a headlock, cutting off his air supply slowly. The harder he fought, the less he had to work with. Somewhere along the line, he lost a shoe, his socked foot dragging against the pavement as he thrashed, realizing he was being pulled into a vehicle. Reaching out to catch the lip of the van door, he missed, swiping at nothing but air. Exhausted and choked for air, he passed out, going limp just as the door shut and the engine gunned. -- There was no clear way to tell exactly how much time had passed since he'd gone unconscious. The only thing he knew, was, the minute Alistair stepped into the cell, Ezra was going to spit in his face. Though, knowing him, he'd probably cower just outside the door, out of the range of his powers. Earlier he'd overheard a couple cultists eagerly expecting his father to visit, now that they had Ezra here, that is. They'd evidently wised up a fair bit, from what he could observe in the hours he wasn't trying to find some way to escape, or get the hand and ankle cuffs off. They knew about the shoe factory incident, though, that was expected. He wasn't sure where he was, but apparently it was closer to Astaria's port, not that the info did him any good. Down the hall he heard a commotion, and the distinct click of dress shoes against the concrete floor. The corridor had gone silent, aside from the tapping and a few indistinct murmurs. The heavy, metal door of his cell swung open quietly, and behind it was simultaneously his worst enemy and nightmare all rolled into one. "My, you've grown quite a bit, Ezra. If only your mum could see you."

. . . I can't begin to let you know just what I'm feeling . . . Séance @rhysand

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Every passing minute after Ezra left the apartment, a pressure built in Rhysand. The first fifteen, he shrugged it off, realizing how irrational he was being. The second fifteen he was too distracted to work. The next teen, he looked up at the door every ten seconds, plucking at his phone, talking himself out of using it. Five minutes past that, Rhys called Ezra. The twelfth time it went straight to voicemail, Rhysand was already shrugging on his jacket. All the rational reasons for Ezra's absence ran through his head in an endless train while he all but jogged down the hallway, down the stairs and out into the evening. He knew Mournspire's route, if he'd done what he said he was going to do. Odds were he'd run into the other man on his way ba- Rhysand stopped. His eyes were on a crumpled bag, shattered glass strewn across the sidewalk, and a shoe he recognized immediately laying in the gutter. His chest started seizing and heaving all at the same time. Rhysand darted forward, lifting Ezra's shoe, and looked around frantically, eyes wide, instincts and emotions churning and latching onto him. Panic tried to bog him down by Rhysand shoved it aside, falling into action - doing something - to keep it at bay. His eyes fell on a dry-cleaners across the street and, specifically, the camera it had in its window, facing outward. The shop was closed, but lights were on in the back, and shapes moved. Rhysand pounded on the glass until one of them came to the door. "I'll give you five-hundred dollars for that security footage," he bellowed against the glass, jabbing a finger at the camera. - - - - The picture was grainy and stuttered, but it told a clear story. Rhysand watched it, fury climbing up from his stomach like bile, hands plastered on the desk on either side of his laptop. The wooden grain creaked with the force of Rhys curling his his fingers into fists. There was Ezra, sauntering down the street. There were his two tails. Everything fell apart from there. Rhysand stared at the reeling, empty footage in the moments after watching the van that took Ezra drive away. He stood, a vein bulging in his temple, eyes wide and dangerous. Rhysand stalked to the other side of the room and, with a scream, drove his fist through the wall, all the way into the small hallway on the other side. Whimpering pricked his ears and Rhysand looked down to see Jonah staring up at him in question. Rhys pried his arm out of the crumbling drywall and slowly crouched down, butting his brow against the top of the shepherd's head. "Don't worry, bud," he murmured, voice thick with emotion. "I'm getting him back." The promise renewed and invigorated him. Rhysand stood, scrubbed at his eyes with the back of one hand and rushed back to his computer to see if he could get the plates off of the van in question.

. . . I'VE BEEN RUNNING WILD HAD A GOOD TIME BUT I CAN'T STOP NOW OVER MY HEAD IN THE LANDSLIDE CAN YOU PULL ME OUT?... omen @ezra

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Part of him reasoned that staying silent was definitely an option, but this close, most of his reason and rational thought went out the window. Stepping forward, he jabbed his hand at Alistair, lips curled back in a sneer. "You did it, didn't you? You twisted bastard. It must feel real safe over there where you're standing, eh? How's your hand feeling?" Ezra growled, and as he'd promised himself, he spat at the older man. There was no clear or distinct response from Alistair at that, and it only served to boil his blood more. Silence rang between them for a moment, and then, "I suppose you're referring to Saadia and Helena." "Don't you dare use their names. You lost tha-" "Yes. I did." Ezra froze, blood running cold at the plain nonchalance in his father's voice. "What? Why?" He asked, as if he hadn't already guessed. Then, everything within him burned, white hot with righteous fury and anger. "You better hope and pray I don't get out of here, because the first place I'm going is to see you." He hissed. Alistair smiled at that, shaking his head in what seemed almost like amusement to Ezra. "I'm sure. As much as I would love to catch up further, dear, I'm afraid I have big plans that need quite a few finishing touches. Goodbye." The door slammed shut and latched, and Ezra ground his teeth in frustration. Pressing his back against the wall he slid to the ground, dragging his palms against his face, exhaling a shaky, agitated breath. His mind wandered there in the absence of outside stimuli, immediately zeroing in on Rhys and Jonah. Thinking about the other man made his heart twist almost painfully with contrition and affection. He still didn't know what to make of all of it. The way he felt about Rhys reminded him in so many ways of how he'd felt about Saadia, and he wasn't sure how exactly to feel about that. Ezra's brain crowded with feelings and thoughts at every interaction, simultaneously feeling the best he had in a while, and yet, as if it was wrong to just move on from what was lost and never coming back. His thoughts continued churning, contrary to one another until he curled up and began to nod into a restless sleep, wishing he could instead be caged beneath Rhys, in spite of his guilt.

. . . I can't begin to let you know just what I'm feeling . . . Séance @rhysand

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Rhysand delved into the deepest parts of his PI experience - resources, tricks, methods. In the hours after seeing the footage, he worked fervently in the apartment, and every stall or stumbling block - a few times just ambient anger that was so thick it needed venting - had him turn on the room around him. By the time Rhysand was furiously yanking on his jacket and grabbing his keys, the main area of the apartment looked like a storm had gone through it. Rhys topped off Jonah's food and water dishes, gave him one last pat where he lay, and pushed out into the hallway. - - - - "We're close-" the woman walking into view behind the counter of the psychic/palmistry establishment blanched when she saw Rhysand. "Oh sh*t," she whispered. Rhys ignored her, walking around the counter itself and swiping aside the obnoxious beaded curtain blocking the doorway clearly labeled "employees only." The woman raised her hand, like she was thinking of saying something, but thought better of it and promptly pulled out a cigarette and lit up instead. Rhysand swept through the little area beyond - two "psychics" playing poker at a little table and chatting animatedly in Thai; a kitchenette, among other things - and headed straight to the door with "Utility Closet" labeled on it in several languages. He didn't try the handle to see if it was unlocked. Instead, Rhys leaned back and leveled a kick at it that splintered some of the doorframe with how violently it swung inward. "F**king hell-" came a voice from inside. Rhysand ignored the small, dark room full of servers, wires and monitors. Instead he grabbed the wiry twenty-something guy who had his arms shielding his head, hefted him, and slammed him against a wall. "You still too busy to help me with my lead?" Rhysand's eyes were still crazed, vein still bulging from his temple. The young man looked at the violent PI inches from his face. He craned to peer past him. The two women who were peeking through the door, cards still in hand, quickly ducked out of view. He swallowed and gave a feeble, nervous smile. "You know, I think my schedule just cleared up, actually."

. . . I'VE BEEN RUNNING WILD HAD A GOOD TIME BUT I CAN'T STOP NOW OVER MY HEAD IN THE LANDSLIDE CAN YOU PULL ME OUT?... omen @ezra

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The most he could really do was rest and prepare some sort of plan to get out. He slept a lot, without outside interaction, or the proper concept of what time it was at any given point. Somewhere in the fringes of reality, between sleeping and waking and waiting for something to happen, he drifted. Sometimes, when he opened his eyes, he had a visitor or two there, sitting silently of course, as they always seemed to. In this particular instant, he almost imagined he could feel her hair tickle his ear. "I'm sorry." He said softly, mouth moving on it's own. "I know you've been here all along and I ignored you." An ethereal hand found his, and despite how cold it felt when he looked there was nothing there. "I just...It..." "I understood." Ezra remained perfectly still, despite the surprise the response gave him. For a moment he wasn't sure if he'd actually heard it or not. "I...We were so close. We were gonna get them and then you could-" "I'm not here to talk about that." She said, and he paused, nodding solemnly. "I want you to move on, Ezra." He opened his mouth to protest, but stopped, sighing quietly. Instead he answered, "Alright. I'll listen this time. I promise." "You deserve to be okay. That's all I ever wanted." "I know." "Then let yourself be happy. Promise me that." Ezra stared for a moment at the floor in front of him, chewing his lip in thought. Hearing it directly from her felt so surreal. It cauterized the wound that'd been festering for some time now, cutting away the guilt rotting within him. He realized though, that it was what he'd been waiting for. Some sort of confirmation that what he was feeling was okay. That it came straight from the source of his concerns was just the cherry on top. "I promise."

. . . I can't begin to let you know just what I'm feeling . . . Séance @rhysand

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The moon bore down on the fiftieth hour without Ezra, and Rhysand's bloodshot eyes bore into the place that held him. He'd used every bridge he'd created as a PI, and left a few of them burned beyond repair; he'd bloodied his fists and emptied his wallet, wracked his brain and rattled a few others's. But here he was. The building was a foundry, decommissioned the year before when its owners moved their business overseas for financial reasons. Six months ago it'd been purchased by a no-name organization. Five weeks earlier permits, licenses and approval for significant reconstruction - interior and exterior - had been ironed out. Rhysand didn't know how valid those claims were, given what group was using the foundry. Maybe the sound of the power tools and demolition were just to cover up something? Maybe they actually were updating the premises? He didn't care. All he knew was that the metal scaffolding that created a shell over two-thirds of the perimeter, the copious amount of curtained plastic sectioning off pieces, and more made his job easier. He scaled some of that scaffolding and slipped through a window that, thanks to his radar, proved to give if he pushed just the right angle, despite it being locked. Rhysand eased into the foundry and paused, closing eyes that were hollowed and sunken and blackened with lack of sleep to let his radar scope his way forward. In the most open room of the complex, molds waited to be filled, making pillars and foundations for some new cement structure or segment. The machines themselves were on, Rhysand didn't know why, churning the cement to keep it from setting, filling the place with a steady drone of sound. He was grateful for that. Because the first cultist, he found right after a wrench, and the backdrop of industrial noise masked the crack of that object colliding with their head. The person crumpled without a sound, revealing Rhysand, dead-eyed and glowering, behind them. He dropped the wrench on their unmoving chest and kept going.

. . . I'VE BEEN RUNNING WILD HAD A GOOD TIME BUT I CAN'T STOP NOW OVER MY HEAD IN THE LANDSLIDE CAN YOU PULL ME OUT?... omen @ezra

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Never once did it cross his mind that he wouldn't be getting out of there. Not with what was on the line, and there were quite a few things to speak of now. Aside from revenge, and closing the case once and for all, was the knowledge that Rhys was probably on his way at any given moment; and that brought a very real and present worry to Ezra. So when his cell door opened for the first time in what felt like a while, not including the food that had been brought in earlier that he pointedly didn't eat, he was as ready as he could've been for that particular situation. He remained perfectly placid as they transferred him to a different set of cuffs carefully, glaring all the while. The moment they began moving down the corridor however, all hell broke loose. Slinging the chain that held his cuffs together over the neck of the guard closest to him, he wrenched them back, providing himself with a temporary shield. Plucking the headset from his hostage's ear, he snapped it in half, ignoring the other two yelling orders with their guns trained on him, loaded with tranquilizers from what he could see. Backing away with the guard, his eyes flickered between the others, the makeshift lock picks he'd made, and the lock for his cuffs as he fiddled with them, "Now just calm down, yeah? Can't hear myself think with all your carrying on." With a distinct click, the cuffs came loose, and he flashed a toothy grin. Gripping his hostage by the neck, he swung them hard to the left, bashing him into the wall beside a fire extinguisher, before tossing him into the second guard who'd been stepping precariously closer. "Oh. Hello." He laughed, taking the extinguisher in hand and ducking out of the way of a punch leveled at him. For a moment he fumbled with the makeshift weapon, before spraying a puff of hazy white in the direction of the second guard, who'd swung on him, drawing a shriek out of the man, before lashing out with the extinguisher and cracking it against the man's face. With a quick kick to the first guard, ensuring he stayed down, he stepped back from the smoke-like haze. Through the bloom of powder, the third guard stumbled forward after him, gun still drawn, "No, no, no, don't-" He started, and a dart hit him in the shoulder. Pausing, he ripped it out, tossing it to the ground with a sigh and an annoyed glare. "I tried to warn you, you bastard." He huffed, jabbing forward with the end of the extinguisher and bloodying the man's nose. Kicking the gun out of his hands, he swung hard to the right with the extinguisher, feeling the impact as it rattled the other man. "I've been getting blitzed off tranqs since uni, arsehole. Built up quite the tolerance." Grabbing the gun off the ground, he cocked it, aiming it at the third guard and firing once. "How's yours?" Swiftly, he unloaded two more rounds into the other two groaning guards. Chest heaving, he brought the red fabric of his shirt up- the one they'd forced him into -as a makeshift mask and started through the white haze.

. . . I can't begin to let you know just what I'm feeling . . . Séance @rhysand

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The rumbling rattle of the cement mixer turned out to be a true blessing. Rhysand was beyond any point of reason or caution, and as he moved from one target painted in his radar to the next, he was brutal, decisive and not at all quiet. Once or twice, the thud of his fists on a cultist, or the smack of their heads driven into the ground piqued the curiosity of another nearby. Rhysand didn't care - that just picked his next victim for him. For all of Rhys's superhuman attributes and radar, he wasn't invincible. The bastards he was dropping, one after another, got in a few lucky shots - or ones Rhysand could've dodged, but refused out of anger, or because doing so would've prolonged an encounter. By the time Rhys dropped onto the foundry's main floor, his lip was split and welling and his temple was split, weeping a slow line of blood down his jaw. The more cultists that Rhysand beat into the ground, the more his focus was shifting - changing from violence to the real reason he was there: Ezra. His radar had a perfect read on the main area of the foundry, and there was no sign of Mournspire. So, instead of sweeping it clean, Rhysand turned his attention onto one of the points of access that lead deeper into it. Remembering how in the shoe factory they'd taken Ezra to a sub-level, Rhys made for the stairs. He broke out onto that underground story and ran right into two cultists. Rhys stared at them, lips open in a small O. They traded confused looks at each other. "F**k," Rhysand hissed, and lashed out at them before they had the good sense to turn their firearms on him. He rebounded from one to the other, sweeping a leg here, snapping ribs with a fist there. But another lucky shot came in, a pistol thudding against the back of his head. Rhysand fell on his side with another curse. The cultists bore over him... But the double doors they were in front of shoved open, letting out a wall of fading vapor. A figure emerged from it and, two metallic thuds later, the cultists fell unconscious beside him. Rhys blinked through stars and spots up at the masked figure. But his nostrils flared, picking out Mournspire's trademark musk even through the tang of blood and sweat on the air. "Ezra," Rhysand breathed, struggling onto his knees. And he didn't care if it was the worst time for it, he pulled the other man close, ripped off his face covering and kissed him violently, not noticing a tear trickle from a quickly blackening eye.

. . . I'VE BEEN RUNNING WILD HAD A GOOD TIME BUT I CAN'T STOP NOW OVER MY HEAD IN THE LANDSLIDE CAN YOU PULL ME OUT?... omen @ezra

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From there on, he all but rampaged down the hall, taking out cultists with little mercy as he went. At the far end of one corridor he managed to get cornered, holding his own with the fire extinguisher still in hand. He took a particularly jarring hit to the forehead, barely managing to force the attackers back with a blast of energy before wailing on them with the makeshift weapon. Storming down the hall, he kicked through the double doors, drawing a bloom of white into the hallway with him as he went, noting the three in the hall ahead of him.  Locking on to two cultists in particular, he crept through the haze, bashing the extinguisher against the closest one's head, hand lashing out to snatch the other guard by the hair. Ramming their head into the wall, he gave one good hit with the fire extinguisher when they were down, just to be extra safe. Hearing his name, his eyes fell to the third figure, feeling equal parts relief and worry simultaneously. Reaching down to help haul Rhys to his feet, he grinned, accepting the fierce crash of lips against his gratefully, resting his free hand against the nape of the older man's neck. Pulling away after a moment, he breathed, unable to stop smiling. "Hey." Ezra laughed, brow creasing in concern at the blood weeping, and the stray tear. Without a second thought, he swiped the tear away, cupping Rhys' cheek. "Are you alright?" He asked, expression drawn with worry.

. . . I can't begin to let you know just what I'm feeling . . . Séance @rhysand

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Having Mournspire in his arms was like having the breath knocked out of him. The relief that flooded Rhysand's soul knowing Ezra was safe almost made him collapse. The idiot was smiling at him, one of his thumbs darting over Rhys's face. The PI winced a little, Mournspire's hand on his cheek smarting his mounting injuries. And Ezra's face, even though it was furrowed, looking concerned at him, still radiated joy. "You f**king asshole," he growled between bared teeth, one hand snapping up to clutch probably unpleasantly into the hair at the back of Ezra's head. "Of course I'm not all-f**king-right." Anger coiled through him in place of relief, and Rhysand glared at Ezra, an inch of space between their faces. Then his powerful arms were around Mournspire, crushing them together, his one hand still cupping the back of the other man's head. "I thought I-" he paused, swallowed past the innate desire not to admit to something so vulnerable and sincere, and foraged on, "I thought I lost you, you f**king sh*t." Rhysand took a shuddering breath, and spent a long moment holding Ezra, breathing him in like his scent was Rhys's only source of oxygen. At last, Rhysand broke them apart and butted their foreheads together. "C'mon. We're getting you out of here. Then I'm gonna bust the head of every bastard in this place."

. . . I'VE BEEN RUNNING WILD HAD A GOOD TIME BUT I CAN'T STOP NOW OVER MY HEAD IN THE LANDSLIDE CAN YOU PULL ME OUT?... omen @ezra

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