(Verando's POV)

How could I ask him to die, over and over again, when I'd refused him his attempt to end this sorry existence? How could I not see that every time he opened his eyes, it was a fight for the surface, not to let the waves pull him under again? Did I not see how impossible this felt? 

Coming to the future had been challenging in more ways than one, knowing now that there was something mentally wrong with him had been a gnawing wound that he struggled to accept.

 'Depression'.

 No cure, no remedy beyond a pill you could swallow and a lot of shrugging at his questions, it was poor luck, it would seem, that some are more afflicted than others.

Verando was drowning in a sea of regret, each turn another kick from his past, each door held another painful memory of failure from a past life that refused to stop reanimating. A corpse looming in the background, rotting away at every moment of happiness. 

Living under the same roof as Legardo was excruciating, to be trapped as a burden under the watchful eye of a bastard son who despised him. Every morning, he woke up to a woman who had paid for his livelihood, who purchased his body time and time again, and who watched him spiral out of control on drugs and alcohol. 

To see that life had been cruel, that Legardo had become everything Verando had feared, was the magnum opus to this new hell. To see the monster played on repeat, ruining another person's life and scarring more spawn for another fucked up generation of Mercer misery. So, for me to suggest that he could die for this cause, only to be brought back to continue to live this life, had set him off on a war path that frankly frightened him. 

Knocking on the door, he enters without waiting for her to answer. Pushing past the man he'd come to know as Eddie, Verando makes his way down the familiar metal hallway and into the main room. At the top of the wooden staircase, the claw marks that span up its length are all too telling of the events that occurred there. 

Alpha paced in the back of his mind, a wolf on a mission; it was an annoying trait to act so obediently despite what the human side wanted. Why was he here? Why was he doing me any favors when I'd spoken to him so--

His mind trails off, and he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. I'd looked apologetic enough, I obviously hadn't meant it that way, so why did he take it so personally? 

"Eddie, what did I tell you-" The woman pauses, in nothing but an oversized shirt and soft cloth shorts that are swallowed by her thighs. She hesitates, narrowing her eyes before turning on her heel to leave. "Fuck off." She snaps over her shoulder, earning a heavy eye roll for her trouble.

"Kitten." Verando sighs, jumping over the railing to follow after her. 

"Don't 'Kitten' me, Verando. This is low even for you, showing your sorry face back here. What is left of mine for you to destroy? Thanks for not killing those cats, by the way." She gestures to the body bags beside the door. "That was a real treat. Good thing I had Tonic with me, or maybe  that was your plan, you insufferable, egotistical prick-"

"Marisol." Verando slips in front of her, holding up his hands in defense as the woman produces a knife, which she points threateningly towards his face. "I'm sorry about your building, alright?"

"My home!" She snaps back, swinging the blade at him, narrowly missing as he darts around one of the steel beams. "You left my home to be overrun by mutants! You locked the front door, leaving me and my men to clean it out! You didn't even come back!" Marisol slashes again, gritting her teeth as he carefully backs just out of her reach, careful not to touch her.

"Nic was hurt. I had to get him to safety, he was drained, and they can't be allowed to capture him-" 

"HA!" Marisol spits, dragging her tongue over her teeth as she stands before him, body ablaze, skin covered in a light layer of sweat as the shirt slides off one shoulder. She drags her fingers through her tangles, blowing them out of her face as her chest heaves with malice. "A home is life or death. You know this. This is my haven and you let it get ransacked for a... piece of ass?!"

Gritting his teeth, she smirks at the reaction she elicits from him. "Can you just not be a raging bitch for 5 minutes and let me explain?" 

"Not a chance." In one quick move, Marisol jumps, Verando grips her hand with the blade, carefully twisting her wrist, it's like holding onto a rabid animal with the way she twists and spins. Her body is a flurry of kicks and attempts to plunge the knife into him; it's everything he can do to ward her off. 

As she moves to kick him in the stomach, he grabs her leg, slinging her onto the couch and sending the furniture sliding across the room with a screech. "Do you need me to hurt you? Is that what you're after? I told you, it's what I had to do."

"Oh, you've already gutted me, sweetheart. You're fucking a man, remember?" Marisol scowls, climbing off the couch to produce a second knife. "You couldn't even have the decency to pick another bastard, I actually like him. It just makes it so much worse."

Cursing under his breath, Verando snags a towel off the table, rapping one end around his palm and holding the other in the opposite hand. "Do you really want to do this? Make an ass out of yourself? If you're a fan of Nic, then think of this as helping him, not me."

This was his problem with their relationship; it was tit for tat. No matter the pain, no matter the discomfort, there was no space for it among them without the other feeling appropriately validated. It was the first time they'd been alone together, the first opportunity to process what had come between them and what was left of their relationship. 

Coming here had been foolish. 

Why would she want to speak with him after what he'd done? Her words told the story clearly; it was more than her house that she hadn't forgiven him for. 

Using the towel as a mitt to ward off the dominant knife, his time schooling with karambits had taught him well. Getting cut was inevitable with knives; the fear would only slow you down, it was the stab that he was trying to avoid. A few slashes on his skin, she was carving her misery out of him one drop of blood at a time. 

It was a dance, luring her into getting lazy, letting her get confident in the amount of damage she was inflicting, and when she stretched too far beyond her reach, he descended upon her. Wrapping one wrist with the towel and quickly catching the other on the backswing, he knotted both hands in the fabric. Narrowly missing a knee to the groin, Verando swept her legs, easily pinning her beneath him. 

Her face pressed into the ground, and a knee on either side of her hips as he shoved her bound hands against the small of her back. 

With a low snarl, she releases the knives, and he quickly smacks them away. 

"Are we going to fight every time we meet?" Verando demands, grimacing at the sting of multiple cuts mingling with sweat. "You saved Nic... I thought you had.." 

Gotten over it? 

Forgiven him? 

Decided she hadn't cared?

Marisol struggles against him, making an enraged sound as she attempts to buck him off, but in this instance, his size is on his side. Pinned under him, she was at his mercy, "What was I supposed to do? He's a good guy, it's not his fault you destroy everything you touch!"

His chest tightens, his hands loosen, and in a quick move, she flips over in his grasp, freeing one of her wrists to grab the gun off his hip. Propped on her elbow, resting beneath him, the muzzle of the weapon aims squarely at his heart, and Verando lifts his hands in defeat. Together, they pant in silence, regarding each other as the lights flicker from a train passing overhead.

His expression brings her to a pause, surrounded by her men, holding him at gunpoint.  It was an expression she was unfamiliar with —a fracture in his carefully crafted facade; the truth beneath the mask had been revealed. A man on fire, stuck in the pits of hell with no way out.

 After what feels like an eternity, she uncocks the gun, lowering it before turning her attention to Eddie. "Out. Every one of you, get out."

"Soli-" Eddie warns, only to quickly nod, motioning as the rest of the men depart and close the door behind them. 

With a heavy groan, the Spanish woman flops back onto the floor, raking her fingers through her hair, a quiet exorcism of her morals as she attempts to come to grips with the broken being before her. "Damn it. How dare you look at me like that?" The shorter woman jabs him in the ribs with her thumb, "If this is your plan to get forgiveness for destroying my house...." 

"I don't know what you're talking about." Verando retorts shortly, allowing her to slide out from between his thighs as she puts herself onto her knees before him. The warlord settled down onto his hip, as if every ounce of energy had been zapped from his body, and suddenly the world felt impossibly heavy. 

Marisol brushes a strand of kinky hair out of her face, regarding him with a tilt of her head. "To be honest, I'm surprised he'd let you come here on your own; he must trust you."

"Who do you think asked me to talk to you?" Verando says dryly, making Marisol smirk. 

"Of course he did, you must have it bad to come here like a good dog. You know better than this; only an outsider would ask you to do something so damned rude. You know I have every right to take your life for this."

"You would." Verando allows. "But that would mean you wouldn't get to torment me yourself, and you and I both know you're too selfish for that."

"Selfish," she spits on the ground, slowly climbing to her feet to stride over to the bar and grab a bottle of rum. Popping the top, she takes a swig, measuring the space between them as if somehow the distance might make her like him more. He could smell the alcohol on her; she wasn't coping well with this either. "That man doesn't know you."

"Does he have to?" Verando's tone is low, hard, and uncomfortable with the topic. "He knows me better than I know myself. He somehow manages to see good in me, that's more than I deserve."

"Men are idiots," Marisol tells him plainly before exhaling, "Here I thought I was the only one who could make you look like that, but you've been in a mood since you walked in here. Is this... are you...okay? You look like shit."

Why did she have to be able to read him? 

Why did he have to be the first to flinch? 

"This is what you want to say to me? Ask how I'm doing?" The warlord gestures to his various cuts and slices, to the places where her blade nicked and carved at his body. "Would you stop playing these mind games and just tell me what you want to say so we can be done with this? You're pissed, you have every right to be. For everything."

Tense, she stares at the ground, her full lips pressed together as she chews on those words. "I don't think you can expect someone like him to understand the plight of someone like us. He has never walked in our shoes, felt our hunger, experienced our torment. He does not understand what he's asking of you, and he never will. He's a King. A royal. He's not like us, mi amour."

"Don't call me that, Marisol."

She sucks air between her teeth, taking another swallow of her rum. The female lycan begins to walk back toward him, cautious, almost as if she were pretending to be vague in her destination. Touching a table, lifting and dropping a book, before she arrives before him, and in one move, she slumps to the ground to sit beside him on her knees. 

"The last time I saw you, you were chained to a post, and we were about to be burned alive. I'll call you whatever I want; you're my husband, damn it. You're my other half, my best friend, and you've just... moved on-" 

Verando doesn't meet her gaze, sinking deeper into the familiar dark crevice of self-loathing. She was right, he'd moved on before he even knew she was dead, and started a life that had meant more to him than anything ever had. He'd cheated on her in the worst way possible, he'd found happiness without her, leaving her behind to shoulder the misery of their past selves on her own.

 Knowing him, knowing the inner torment, she slides over to sit beside him and rests her cheek against his shoulder, pressing her body against him to force her way into that lonely space. 

"You're right, you shouldn't have come here." Her voice is gentle. "I'm not over you, your smell, your warmth, your god damn audacity..." Her nose skirts over his shoulder, taking a slow inhale.

She didn't mean the way she pressed into him, the way they fit together so perfectly. There was no fire and ice between them; it was two broken shards that somewhat rested together in a way that wasn't painful. 

"You just wanted a dose of pain, you want to find something else to hate about yourself, and you knew I'd give it to you. I shouldn't have said that to you... We were slaves when we were separated; it's not your fault you found someone else. Then I died-"

Shrugging her off, he slips away from her, standing to dust himself off with a heavy exhale of regret. This was the reality of their relationship; he came to her for help, but she still needed her pound of flesh. She deserved answers, no matter how far she needed to go to get them. It didn't matter how close to the edge he treaded; there was no mercy between them, just brutality disguised as honesty. 

They were poison for each other—two people who had hurt each other so intimately that it had become second nature. The score would never be settled, the debt would never be paid, the toll would never be high enough.  

"It's not just that I found someone else. I can't allow you to say he doesn't understand what he put us through; he tries to atone for that every single day. Marisol, I've found someone who is so much better than me —I don't know what to do when he shows his humanity. 

You and I have become so adept at pretending that we can't even fathom someone being genuine. It is us who don't understand how to be human. It is us who struggle to conform, to have a normal response to someone making a mistake. 

Everything in me says to scare him away, to get him before he can get me, when the reality is that I simply don't have this part of the... act. I don't know what to do with this anger I'm feeling, and it terrifies me that I'm going to hurt him so badly that he'll never want me again. So.. that's why I'm here, because he asked me for help, and if you can believe it, he offered me nothing in trade but his gratitude.

 I want never to go back; I want to never forgive him for what he said to me, and yet I'm so damn enthralled with this bloody human that I can't fathom not returning. I, too, used to think that only you could hurt me in this way. The only difference is that with Nic, I'm going to forgive him, because I know he doesn't mean it. Because, for some reason, he loves me, even if he says stupid shit." 

Wide-eyed, that hazel gaze takes in every ounce of him, horrified by such a reveal. 

"Is this what you wanted?" The gray-haired man demands through his teeth, shaking his head, starting to pace with the mounting anxiety. "Did you want me to hurt you, too? To tell you that I love a man?" The octave of his voice rises, and it was that same pain all over again.

Marisol blinks with each word, flinching at the mounting harshness in his tone. She could only stare; he had never felt like this for her, never shaken like this over her; he had never felt so conflicted. "God.. You really do love him," she manages, broken. A single tear slipped past her lashes. "I don't even recognize you."

"Yes, you do." Verando mutters with a sad scoff, "You carved away at me until I was the person you remembered. We destroy each other, we can't help it. If we truly loved each other, we wouldn't feel the need to hurt each other like this."

Without thinking, her feet moved, and it was as if time stood still as she appeared before him.

 She was looking at a ghost, a man she'd accepted was dead, returned to tell her he'd found someone else. "A man." She breathes. "So you're saying you don't love me? Is that what this is?"

I had been his salvation, a light at the end of this long and dark tunnel. "Would it make a difference if I said I did? I don't want this anymore."

Reaching for him, she runs her hand through his hair, soaking in the pain of the loss. "I'm sorry." She whispers. 

His expression changed, and Marisol took a ragged breath as if it were hard to breathe. She guides him over to the couch, pushing him to sit as she hands him the bottle of rum, sitting on the coffee table in front of him. "You know what to do when he says something stupid: make him regret it and move on. He's a man, Doe. You're going to have to get used to it because you all say a lot of dumb shit."

Lifting his eyes to meet hers, Verando offers her a small smile, dimpling his cheek as he takes a swig, wrinkling his nose at the low quality. "And suddenly you're the expert on the male mind?" 

Marisol giggles as she sniffles, wiping her eye with the back of her hand. "You know, not many people get a husband and a wife. You said Nic sent you here, and I'm assuming it's because you need my help. I'll do it, on the condition that I get to keep a piece of you. I've missed you so much I can't even stand it." 

A small sob leaves her chest, "I feel like my best friend has died twice, and I just want you back. If it can't be as my husband then, please... I'll behave, I'll do what it takes, but please don't vanish again." 

Cursing under his breath, Verando places the bottle down, reaching across to gather her into his lap, "Fucking hell, Kitten." He exhales, stroking her hair. Holding her close, she reaches up to stop him, clutching his hand in her own.

Her voice is barely above a whisper. "Sitting here with you, like this, is the most natural thing in the world, and I just don't understand how it ended this way."

"Marisol..." 

She can't help but lean forward to kiss his lips out of instinct. He'd belonged to her for so long, and while he hesitates for only a moment, the melting of his lips against hers elicits a gasp. 

Marisol throws her arms around his neck, crushing her lips to his. Desperate, hungry, her pulse pounds wildly as she knots her fingers in that delicious head of hair. Verando tenses as her tongue traces his lower lip, breaking the kiss to turn his head away quickly.

"Why did you stop?" She pleads, hovering her lips over his.  

"Because I love him and that was.. a mistake." He manages, cursing under his breath, damning himself to the furthest pits of hell. 

Rocking back to sit on his thighs, offended, her hips pressed down to feel that there was no state of arousal from the sudden influx of affection. Her chest heaving, she regards him for a moment before slowly sliding out of his lap and onto her knees.

"Satisfied?" he confirms, cold from her nonchalant attempt to check for a hope of his infidelity. 

"No." Marisol spits, grabbing the bottle of rum to take another swallow, the fluid spilling over her chin as Verando quickly yanks the bottle away. "All those women. All those women you bedded, and it's me you won't cheat with." 

Her nails dig into his thighs, shoving his legs apart, fighting for the button of his jeans as he carefully places his hands over hers. "Why not?" She demands harshly. "I'm not the one you end up with, I'm not the one you'll cheat with, why do I even give a damn that I can't have-" Stopping herself, she inhales sharply, reeling back in the emotion. "Randy, I didn't mean to kiss you."

"I shouldn't have... let you." He frowns, voice heavy with disappointment. "You're drunk. It's not your fault."

Looking up at him, she takes a slow breath before standing. "I'm sorry." She manages, placing her hand over her mouth, and shutting her eyes as he stands and buttons his pants. "Are you going to tell him? Do you even have to tell him?"

The temptation to lie was there, and with his accomplice, the lie would have been easy to lock away. But I deserved every shred of decency he had. "Yes. I'm going to tell him, because it meant nothing... and he has to know that. "