[  idk about you guys but I've had a great weekend. saw the new indiana jones, got a shark week shark from build a bear, killed a character I've been waiting weeks to kill. good times. anyway, here ya go  ]

☆︎

HOW'S IT SUPPOSED TO BE YOU AND ME IF WE'RE NOT TOGETHER?

☆︎ FEBRUARY 4TH, 2000 ☆︎

Jackson let out an annoyed groan as the landline in the house began to ring loudly. He peeled one eye open and saw that the sun was still in the process of coming up, so he shoved a pillow over his head to drown out the sound and go back to sleep.

But three seconds after the ringing ended, it began again.

"SOMEONE GET THE FUCKING PHONE!" Sophia shouted tiredly from her room across the hall.

But no one else began shouting and complaining, leading Jackson to think he and his sister were the only two at home. So, with a tired little whimper, he rolled out of bed and stumbled to the hallway, wishing there was a phone in each room for ease of access. By the time he made it, it was already ringing for the third time.

"GET THE GODDAM—"

"I'm fucking getting it!" Jackson snapped at his sister, just as grumpy over the noise as she was. He leaned his forehead against the wall and shut his eyes while answering the call. "If this is the killer, I'm gonna need you to call back after lunchtime. It's not a convenient time."

"Jackson, it's Dewey," he greeted, his voice sounding soft. "Something happened."

Jackson rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up a bit more. "What? What happened?"

"Can you get your sister for me?"

Despite his confusion, Jackson sat the phone down and trudged into Sophia's room. She whined when he dragged her out of bed but quieted down once he said Dewey needed them both. Both siblings leaned against the wall sleepily and put it on speakerphone.

"We're both here," Jackson mumbled, yawning at the end.

"The killer, he attacked at Jennifer's," he told them. And then the siblings woke right up.

"Holy shit," Sophia said. "I told you guys not to go to that! Are you okay? Where are you?"

"I'm - I'm fine. I'm at the police station right now. Indiana is giving her statement, but she's okay."

"What happened?" Jackson demanded again. He didn't like how Dewey only mentioned himself and Indy.

"Um, Stone was killed first. Then... the house blew up. Tom was inside."

"Fuck," Sophia whispered, clenching her eyes shut. "Fuck! Please tell me Zay wasn't watching. I can't imagine how he's feeling."

Dewey hesitated for a moment, struggling to get the words out. "Soph... Isaiah, he, uh, he didn't..."

She was shaking her head instantly, knowing what he was trying to tell her — and it wasn't that he didn't see Tommy die. "No. No, Dewey. Put Zay on the phone right the fuck now. Right now. I need to yell at him for being stupid enough to go to that party."

"Soph," he whispered, his voice cracking a bit. "Isaiah's dead."

Sophia's knees buckled and she slid down the wall. Jackson instantly crouched beside her, holding her up before she could fall over completely. She hid her face in his shoulder, a sob wracking through her.

Jackson took in a deep breath which did nothing to still his racing heart as a few tears welled in his eyes. "How'd it happen?"

"Stabbed in the chest," Dewey told them. He hated hearing Sophia's stifled sobs through the phone. "Luca tried to fight him, but he couldn't stop it. He, uh, he and Virginia were taken to the hospital. Both were stabbed, but he hit his head real hard — they're worried about head trauma with him."

"Can - can we see him?" Sophia whispered. "Zay?"

Dewey sighed, hating how broken she sounded. "He's, uh, he's in the morgue at the hospital. There's an officer coming to get you two. She was meant to bring you here, but you can go to the hospital if you want. None of us could go with Virginia and Luca since we have to give statements. I know they'd like the company aside from the guards outside their rooms."

"Okay. That's good," she said, rubbing her eyes, which was useless as more tears fell.

"I'm coming to the precinct," Jackson then told him. "I'm not leaving Indy's side. Not again."

Bad things always seemed to happen when he wasn't by her side.

"Alright," Dewey said with a nod. "And the radio in the cruiser will be on the whole time so that we know you're getting picked up and dropped off safely. I've, uh, I've gotta call Isaiah's family now."

Sophia couldn't help but scoff, it getting caught in her tight throat. "Like they're gonna fucking care."

"Soph—"

"No, Dewey!" she cut him off. "They fucking hated him for who he was and then didn't bother to care about the parts they didn't hate. They aren't his family — we are."

"I know," he said quietly. "But it's a call that still has to be made, and you know it. I'll see you both soon enough."

As Dewey hung up, neither sibling moved. Jackson just continued to comfort Sophia as she cried in his arms, his own silent tears falling over losing Isaiah.

☆︎

Indiana felt numb as she sat in Mark's office in the rolling chair by his desk. And Jackson was leaning against the edge of the desk, keeping a hand wrapped around one of hers. Sophia was still at the hospital with Luca and Virginia.

Her eyes stayed glued to the corkboard full of all the evidence from the recent murders. They didn't have anything solid other than the photos of Maureen — not even prints off any of the knives, aside from the one that killed Stone, which both Indy and her sister touched, and the one that Luca pulled from Isaiah's chest.

After Angelina was finished being interrogated, she practically fled from the precinct, terrified of Indiana and her growing anger. She'd lashed out at everyone — the actress, Jennifer, Wallace, Mark. To his credit, Mark took every insult, accusation, and cutting remark with patience, knowing that she was hurting over losing Isaiah.

Indiana and Jackson weren't the only ones in the detective's office. Mark, Dewey, and Gale were there as well, rethinking the case now that three more had died so suddenly.

"Whoever it is, is now taking credit for Maureen Prescott's murder," Mark said, flashing the back of the newest photo.

"But we know who killed Maureen Prescott. Billy Loomis and Stu Macher," Gale said with a frown. Then she glanced at Indiana. "I mean, they even told Sidney and Indiana how they did it."

Indy didn't make a comment. Instead, she grabbed the folder full of information on her — there was a similar but slightly thinner one with Sidney's name on it that she chose to ignore.

Mark perched on the end of the table in front of the board. "Yeah, but if I'm not mistaken, you said in your book that Sidney got it wrong once before. She accused Cotton Weary of murdering her mother, and he was sent away for it. Maybe there is a third killer."

"And exert from The Woodsboro Murders," Indiana spoke up, clearing her throat a little. She was reading off a photocopy of a single page from the novel, a specific sentence highlighted in green by Wallace. "Rumors — and that's all they are for now, rumors — have flown around the streets of Woodsboro. Whispers follow Indiana everywhere she goes, some wondering if she was more knowledgeable than she claims when it comes to the actions of Loomis and Macher. Given her violent actions that caused her to leave North Carolina, it's easy to believe she could've cooked up the whole scheme and then killed Loomis herself to cover her tracks."

Indiana's dark eyes bore into Gale as she finished reading what she wrote back in 1997. Dewey and Jackson also gave her unimpressed looks, knowing how harmful writing something like that about a seventeen-year-old girl could be.

Gale sighed and looked down apologetically. "Indiana, I'm sorry, truly."

"Well, I don't believe you," she said while setting the file back down. "Regardless, there wasn't a third killer. It was just Billy and Stu — there's no one else he'd have trusted aside from Stu to help with something like that.

"You can't know for sure. You were barely in Woodsboro for four months before Maureen's murder," Mark said. Then he got off the table and walked up to Dewey. "Sidney might know something."

"I told you. I don't know where Sidney is," Dewey said, lying through his teeth. And Mark clearly didn't believe him. "And even if there was a third killer, Sidney doesn't know about it."

"That is for me to decide. I need to talk to her, Mr. Riley. She is a key element in this case," he pressed while moving away. "I have a press conference in an hour. I need to explain why there are five dead celebrities and a bodyguard."

Then Indiana's favorite person, Wallace came into the room, adding his input. "And a very angry mayor."

"Yeah, because we care about the mayor right now," Jackson muttered under his breath.

"Okay, look, we all know this has something to do with Stab 3," Gale spoke up again. "But what we don't know is why the killer keeps leaving pictures of Maureen Prescott taken over twenty-five years ago."

"And the photographs were taken at the same studio Stab 3 is shooting out of," Mark added, waving the picture once again as if they'd forgotten.

"And I still don't get what this has to do with Sid," Indiana said, refusing to entertain the idea of getting her involved.

Mark looked over at her, clearly frustrated. "Who knows more about Maureen Prescott than her own daughter?"

"I mean, if Sid's dad couldn't help you," Jackson said, "and he was married to Maureen, then what could Sid do? She didn't know her mother as well as she'd of liked."

Indiana nodded in agreement. Sidney didn't even know about Maureen sleeping around behind her husband's back. So why would she know what she was doing in Hollywood so long ago?

"Jackson has a point," Dewey said, right alongside them on the keeping Sidney uninvolved argument.

Wallace walked past and got in Dewey's face. "What's your problem? Last night you were almost charcoal. You gonna help us or what?"

Dewey just rolled his eyes as Wallace left the office, having to focus on other things after last night's massacre. But Mark replaced his partner, lowering his voice as he stood in front of Dewey.

"Do you wanna have this conversation with a polygraph?"

"Is that a threat, Detective?" Dewey asked anxiously.

"When it's a threat, you'll know it," Mark said in a darker tone. If Indiana wasn't so angry and sad, she might've thought he looked hot.

Mark moved away from Dewey, then the small-town cop couldn't help but ask, "Was that a threat?"

The detective let out a huff and spun back around, stomping toward Dewey. But Gale quickly got in between them. Jackson and Indiana just shared a look, both rolling their eyes in annoyance.

"Boys, boys! Why don't we compare our gun calibers later? The issue is Maureen Prescott," she reminded them.

"Wrong," Mark declared. "The issue is Sidney Prescott. And either Mr. Riley is going to obstruct justice or he's going to put me in touch with her. So, where is she?"

But the thing was, Dewey didn't waver under the man's threat and glare. Instead, his eyes moved to Indiana, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Don't look at her," Mark snapped. "Indiana does not decide who can and cannot contact Sidney Prescott."

"Actually, she does," Jackson muttered. "She's her guard dog."

Dewey nodded. "And I'm more scared of her anger than potential jail time."

Mark scoffed in disbelief and looked at Indiana. "You're being ridiculous—"

"No, I'm not!" she snapped, standing up and dropping Jackson's hand. "You don't get it, Mark! And you can't just read a file and some newspaper clippings to understand. One of my best friends in the whole fucking world just died—" Indy hated how her voice cracked, making her sound weak. "So, why the fuck would I ever let you talk to Sidney? Why would I allow anything that could risk her coming here and getting hurt? Getting killed when she's clearly the target here?"

Mark shook his head and moved closer, narrowing his eyes at her. "And you're okay with more people dying? It's okay if Gale or Dewey or Jackson die so long as Sidney Prescott is okay? It doesn't matter that Mr. Starnes might still be alive if you'd have given us her locat—"

In a flash, Indiana had smacked Mark, the sound echoing through the office. It wasn't a punch, but it still stung from the force and the rings on her finger. Mark slowly turned back to her, rubbing the side of his face as he did.

"Fuck you," Indiana said, her voice barely above a whisper as her anger grew. Then she pushed her way past him and entered the empty office connected to his, not bothering to turn the lights on.

Her fingernails dug into her palms painfully as she paced the small space, taking in and letting out deep breaths, trying to reign in her anger. She didn't want to smack someone. She didn't want to punch anyone. She wanted to paint a wall with the blood of whoever killed Isaiah, and that's what she'd do even if they were already apprehended and in handcuffs. Fuck anyone that tried to stop her.

The last thing she wanted was company, and certainly not from the man whose cheek was still a little red as he let himself inside.

"Fuck off, Detective," she spat, turning away from him.

"You should know Mr. Riley is making a call to Miss Prescott."

Indiana whirled around quickly and looked through the window in the door, seeing Dewey nowhere to be found in Mark's office. She stalked forward with plans to stop him, but Mark grabbed her elbow and kept her in place.

"It has to be done," he told her in a firm tone.

"Like hell it does," she told him, trying to pull herself free. But he kept a tight grip on her, pulling her even closer so that their chests were brushing.

"Indy, I know that you're afraid—"

"I'm not afraid!" she snapped defensively. "I'm angry!"

But Mark just stared at her with an expression far too soft for her liking. It made her feel like she was a kid again, receiving looks of pity for what she went through with her parents.

"You're scared," Mark said again. Indy hated how her pulse slowed down as he began rubbing his thumb comfortingly back and forth on the inside of her elbow. "You're scared for Sidney and for yourself. But please just trust that I will protect you both."

Indiana stared up at him, wishing she could believe the look in his green eyes was genuine. "Billy told me he'd protect me. Mickey said I would make it out of it all okay. And both times, I was too stupid to ask why they were so sure I'd survive. And that was because they were the ones holding the knife. So no, Mark, I don't trust that you'll protect us. And I don't trust anyone when it comes to Sidney."

"I'm not behind this, Honey," he said softly. "And I don't mind putting in the work to earn your trust. I'm in this for the long haul."

Indiana let out a quiet huff and rolled her eyes. "There is no 'this' between us."

The corners of his lips turned up just barely. "It's adorable how you keep saying things like that." Again, she rolled her eyes, silently complaining. "I'm sorry for what I said. It was out of line."

"Yeah, it was," she mumbled. "Make another comment like that again and Wallace is gonna have to get a new partner because I'm gonna put you out of duty for a long fucking time."

"You really do love threatening people, don't you?"

"I love carrying them out too," she said, looking at him pointedly.

Then again, Mark had a stupid little smirk on his handsome face. "Something tells me you like me too much to mean any of them."

"Get over yourself," Indiana muttered, finally pulling away from him, too stubborn to admit he was right and that she did like him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go steal Dewey's cell and tell Sidney to stay the fuck away and turn her phone off."

Mark rolled his eyes at her refusal to help the investigation, following her as she reentered his office. However, before Indy could leave to hunt down Dewey, the man walked through the door, leaning against the frame.

"Detective Kincaid," he said, getting his attention.

Mark moved around Indy while nodding to him. "Yeah?"

"There's someone here who wants to help."

Then Dewey stepped to the side, revealing the last person on the planet that Indiana wanted to see in person right now — and Randy.

"Oh, my God. Sidney," Gale said in disbelief. "Is the man fast or what? Hi."

When Gale stepped forward, she and Sidney embraced in a somewhat awkward hug. "Hi, Gale. I'm glad you're all right."

"Thank you."

"What's up, man?" Jackson said, sliding off the desk to hug Randy.

"God, it feels like I haven't seen you in three whole days," he joked, hugging him back. "Guess we shouldn't have left right after the concert. Would've saved some gas."

"Yeah, you sure missed a hell of a time," he mumbled.

"We heard about Isaiah on the radio driving up," Randy said sadly.

"Sid," Dewey then said when she pulled away from Gale, "this is Detective Kincaid."

Mark excitedly stepped forward to shake her hand, unable to believe she was there. With how adamant Indiana was, he figured he'd never actually meet her or speak with her no matter how hard he tried. "Nice to finally meet you, Sidney."

And then once the handshake ceased, Sidney leaned to the side, spotting the last person in the room. Indy was still standing at the door to the other office, having not moved an inch. But her lip was trembling as she looked at Sidney, tears welling in her eyes.

"I told you not to come here," Indiana said in a shaky tone, ignoring how happy seeing Sidney made her feel. "What are you doing here?"

"How's it supposed to be you and me if we're not together?" she asked with a weak smile.

Then Sidney ran at her, and Indiana met her halfway, the girls hugging tightly. Though she was taller, Indy still hid her face in Sid's shoulder, her jacket soaking up the few tears that fell. God, she forgot how much she missed Sidney. How much she needed her at a time like this.

"I missed you," Indiana mumbled, not letting go.

"Me too," Sidney said, rubbing her back. "I'm so sorry about Isaiah."

"Don't talk about it," she said, sniffing as she pulled back a little.

Though they still held on to each other, and Sidney looked over the small scrapes and bruises Indy got the night before.

"You got hurt."

"I've been in a lot worse shape, and we both know it," she said. Then she narrowed her eyes, getting over how happy seeing Sidney made her. "What the fuck are you doing here? You're not safe here, Sid."

Sidney shook her head. "I'm not safe at home, either."

"The killer called her," Randy revealed after finishing up a hug with Dewey.

"What?" Mark asked, looking between them in alarm. "When?"

"What did he say?" Gale questioned.

"Oh, you know, the usual small talk," Sidney said with a sigh while setting down her bag. "What's new? How you been? How do you wanna die?"

Then Randy began counting on his fingers as he answered. "Got a boyfriend, been relaxing around the house, and preferably not, if that's alright with you, that is."

Indiana and Jackson rolled their eyes playfully, glad to have him and his humorous outlook around.

"Sidney, do you have any idea how he could've gotten your number?" Mark asked her. He knew firsthand how practically impossible it was to track her down. And she just shook her head while leaning against Indiana's side, who wrapped an arm around her waist.

"He could have monitored her calls on a scanner," he guessed. Then he looked between Indiana and Dewey. "Did you call her from the set?"

"No."

"No, only from the house," she replied.

"Do you have her number stored in your memory?" Gale asked. Indiana nodded, but Dewey looked up, seeming to be thinking hard. "Phone memory!"

"Oh," he mumbled with a sheepish smile. "Yeah, guess I do."

"Has anyone else ever used your phones?"

"Just Jennifer," he told her.

"And Mark," Indiana then said, looking at the detective. "You asked for Dewey's phone on the set and walked away with it. We didn't see what you did with it."

Mark let out a hurt scoff. "Hey, I'm the cop here."

"Yeah, and that just fills me with so much comfort," Indiana said in a snide tone.

"Let me remind you that you're in my office, Honey. If I was behind this, I wouldn't let someone known for killing Ghostfaces within ten feet of me."

"And we all know he's been a lot closer," Randy said under his breath. It made Jackson snicker, but when Indiana glared at the boys, they elbowed each other to quiet down.

Indy would've said some kind of rude retort to Mark but she was distracted by Sidney. The girl had finally noticed the board full of evidence with the photos of her mother front and center.

"The killer leaves a photograph after each murder, Sidney," Mark explained.

"They were taken in Hollywood at the same studio that they're shooting Stab 3," Gale added.

Sidney looked at the photos for a moment longer before looking at Dewey, clearly upset. "Why didn't you tell me? This is my mother, Dewey. Why didn't you say something?"

"I was afraid they were bait," he mumbled. "Something to, you know, trick you out of hiding."

"And what about you?" she asked, looking at Indiana. "You said last night that there was nothing I needed to know."

Indiana crossed her arms and shrugged. "You didn't need to know. It wasn't important."

She scoffed in disbelief. "So you thought I needed to know how great at sex the lead detective is but not that my mother is connected to this whole thing?"

Ignoring the snickers leaving Jackson and Randy, Indiana bit her tongue hard, not daring to look at Mark. Because if he showed even a hint of smugness, she'd smack him again. "I don't feel bad, and you won't make me feel bad, Sid. After... everything, I can't handle you getting hurt or fucking worse. And I'm very tempted to tie you up and put you in a cab to send you right back to your cabin."

Knowing that Indiana had good intentions, Sidney couldn't stay frustrated at her. She moved past Mark and held her hand. "You are stuck with me, okay? Because I don't want to see you hurt either."

"I'm not the target, Sid. I'm not the one that was lured here with pictures of my dead mother," she told her, shaking her head. "You're doing exactly what the killer wants by being here."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure you both always end up doing what the killer wants at some point during these things," Randy chimed in, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You can't get rid of us now that we're here, Hands of the Ripper."

"Fine," she huffed. "But don't come crying to fucking me when you're on life support again, Target Practice."

"Those are horribly offensive nicknames," Mark mumbled, looking between them with worry.

"Sidney," Gale spoke up, getting them back on track, "was she an actress or a model? Because they look a lot like publicity stills."

Sidney looked back at the board, frowning. There was so much she didn't know about her mother still. "I, uh, don't know," she admitted sadly. Then she looked at Mark. "Mar... uh, Detective, I wanna see this place in the pictures."

She nearly called him Mark just because Indy had been calling him that for months but caught herself. If circumstances were different — if Isaiah wasn't dead and two of their friends weren't in the hospital — Sidney and Randy would be having a field day with making fun of the situation.

"Are you sure?" Mark questioned.

Sidney squeezed Indy's hand, no hesitation in her eyes. "Absolutely."

☆︎

"How's Luca?" Virginia asked Sophia, who was sitting next to her in her hospital room.

Unlike at Windsor when all the injured were so close together, the hospital in the middle of L.A. was huge and packed, meaning Virginia and Luca were on separate floors and unable to communicate via shouting — not that Luca's head injury felt like hearing shouting.

"His head hurts a lot. So does his shoulder," she mumbled sadly, looking at her hands. She'd been picking at her fingers anxiously ever since leaving the morgue where an officer let her look at Isaiah — it was like she couldn't accept it until she saw him. "Uh, he's having trouble remembering stuff. But they said that would get better."

"And how are you?"

Sophia scoffed. "You're the one in a hospital bed, Virginia."

"Yeah, but you just lost your best friend," she said softly. "Besides, I'll be fine. Got an MRI scheduled to check on torn ligaments and muscles. But I'll be cleared to go after that. It'll be nothing like what you went through the first time around."

Sophia nodded and traced the scar on her hand left behind by Billy. "Out of all of us — everyone involved with the movie and the band and Woodsboro — Zay was... he didn't deserve this. I know that most murder victims don't deserve the murder, but fuck, he was just so good and kind and - and..."

"I know," Virginia said, her own eyes watering a bit as she thought of the younger boy that felt like another sibling at times with how much she took care of him. It hurt to think about the countless times he came to her house to get away from his fighting parents. "He was."

"Yeah." Sophia sniffed and then asked, "When's Dewey coming by?"

"Whenever the case isn't so overwhelming," she told her. "God knows when that'll be. But he's already called like twenty times to check in."

"I'll want to see him soon. And Indy and my brother," she mumbled. Then she rubbed her tired, red eyes. "How is this happening again?"

"Because the world hates all of us," she said, shrugging as much as she could in the hospital bed. "And because there's too many sick freaks out there. And I'm sure the wildly popular books and movies based on what happened haven't helped."

"Gale fucking Weathers," Sophia grumbled. Then she shook her head. "I hate her, but this isn't her fault."

"You're right. Eventually, they'll find who is responsible — or if they don't, the killer will get tired and reveal themselves like the last times."

"And your sister will kill them," she claimed, feeling a little bit of comfort in that. "I'll help."

"It's probably not wise to declare your intentions to kill someone with a police officer right outside the door," Virginia said, nodding to the door of her room.

"Well, both you and Indy are fucking cops, so you could get me out of jail, I'm sure."