YOU THINK I DON'T KEEP TABS ON YOU?

☆︎ FEBRUARY 4TH, 2000 ☆︎

Shortly after checking out some of the other places where Maureen's photos were taken, Sidney asked to take a break. It was bringing up a lot of bad memories of her dead mother. So, while Dewey waited outside, she and Indiana stopped inside one of the lots and used the restroom there.

Indiana sat on the edge of a sink, watching Sidney carefully as she cupped some water in her hands and splashed it on her face.

"You okay?" Indy asked in a soft tone while holding out a paper towel for her.

"Yeah," she said in a weak tone while taking it. But both noticed how Sidney's hand was shaking as she did so.

So, Indiana covered it with her own, the shaking stopping as she did so. "Hey, you'll get through this. I'm not losing anyone else."

"That's not something you can control," Sidney whispered, both of them thinking of Isaiah. "And I - I mean, all that stuff Randy was saying about the killer being invincible. You shot him last night, and that didn't slow him down."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure a knife in his back will do the trick," she muttered. "But we're gonna stay together until then. We'll figure all this out."

Sidney nodded and then looked at herself in the mirror, sighing at what she saw — a tired and scared girl who was still stuck in 1996. And Indiana wasn't much better, clinging onto 1998 when Mickey and Cici were still around.

"Come on, Sid," she muttered to herself, rubbing her hands over her face.

Whatever comforting words Indiana was going to say were cut off by a banging sound. Both girls looked around the seemingly empty bathroom in alarm, and Indy slid off the sink, ready for anything. They shared a look before ducking down to peer under the stall doors, catching sight of a pair of black boots disappearing to step up on a toilet as they did so.

Sidney reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a container of pepper spray, moving to stand in front of Indiana since she didn't have anything but her fists to protect herself with. Then Sid kicked in the door of the stall, making the person inside scream and drop the armful of items they were holding.

It was fucking Angelina, who was crouched over and holding a bundle of black fabric in her arms. But then she looked up and saw who they were — who Sidney was, at least, and freaked out.

"Oh, my god, Sidney Prescott!" she exclaimed while stepping off the toilet. "Oh, my god! I'm Angelina Tyler. I'm you!" As she spoke, Indiana grabbed Sidney and pulled her back a few steps, still not trusting the actress after her disappearance the night before. "I mean, I'm not. I mean, I was."

"Interesting choice of supplies," Indiana muttered, glaring at Angelina, who began to tremble, still a little afraid from her threats.

Sidney looked down and spotted the Ghostface mask and cell phone that she'd dropped. Paired with the black boots on her feet and the rest of the costume in her hands, it didn't exactly make her look innocent.

"I - I thought, well, if there's no movie," she said, stuttering a little as she bent down to pick everything up, which Sidney helped with, "then no one would care if I took some souvenirs."

"Souvenirs?" Sidney asked while Indiana just scoffed.

Angelina nodded while they stood back up. "I may never win another role, so these may be my only memories, you know, of Hollywood. I - I know it's weird 'cause it's your life and all, but I wanted to make you proud, Sidney."

Sidney had to bite her tongue for a second before managing to speak in a nicer tone while handing the mask back. "Oh. Well, I'm sure I would've been," she said, lying through her teeth but not wanting to hurt Angelina's feelings.

And Angelina was still in awe of Sidney's presence. "The real Sidney. The real person.
I wish... I wish it would've worked out," she said sadly.

Angelina smiled once more, but it dropped when her eyes flicked to Indiana, who still looked like she was trying to kill her with a glare. So, she quickly scurried out of the bathroom, not wanting to be around her any longer.

"Bitch," Indy muttered under her breath.

Before Sidney could ask why she disliked the girl so much, she spotted a hairbrush still on the floor. She quickly picked it up and looked to the door, seeing that Angelina was long gone.

"Hey!" she called, which was pointless as the door was shut. She sighed and moved to leave the bathroom, Indiana trailing behind her.

But then Indiana's phone rang, making her stop in her tracks.

"I'll be right there," she told Sidney, who nodded and continued after Angelina.

It was an unknown number, telling Indiana already who exactly was calling.

"Yeah, fucking what, Ghost Boy?" she asked, scoffing as she answered it.

"Damn. And here I thought you'd be happy to hear my voice, Sweetheart."

Indiana froze, not even letting herself breathe for a few seconds as she took in the sound that was so blatantly and painfully the voice of Mickey Altieri.

"Oh, don't tell me you're silent. You always have something to say, Indy."

"M - Mickey?" she whispered, weakly leaning against the wall. Her eyes flicked around the empty bathroom like she was waiting for him to appear out of nowhere. "You're not — this isn't real. You're dead. You died."

"Maybe," he said. Indiana shut her eyes, her chest feeling like it was going to explode from the pain over hearing his voice so clearly. "Or maybe Virginia didn't check to make sure I was really dead because she was too busy taking you to get your leg treated."

She shook her head, refusing to believe it. "No, no, this is... I'm hearing things or something. Just like Sid hearing her mother. Bodies don't just disappear from crime scenes."

"Oh, sure they do. All the time — that cop you've been fucking to forget about me wouldn't have me listed as a suspect if not," Mickey —or who she hoped was Mickey — said, practically spitting the words as he brought up Mark. "Tell me something, Sweetheart, does it work?"

"What?" Indiana asked, opening her eyes. And when she did, the tears finally fell.

"Did you forget about me? Did it work when you went home with him from that bar? All the times you crawled back when you got to L.A.? Or do you wish it was me when you let him fuck you?"

"Ho - how do you know about him?" she questioned, her voice shaking a bit.

"You think I don't keep tabs on you? C'mon, Indy, you know me better than that," he said, and she could picture the smirk on his lips. "You've been everywhere — New York, fucking Harlan, that Detective Kincaid's little apartment on 5th Street. Can't help but be a little jealous."

"Leave Mark out of this," Indiana told him in a defensive tone.

Mickey let out a hum, sounding rather displeased. "See, now I don't know if I can do that. People have gotta die, Sweetheart. Isaiah can't be the only one."

The sad and longing look on Indiana's face quickly morphed into one of rage. "You killed Zay?" she asked darkly.

"Well, not me, per se," he told her. "I would've rather taken out Gale or the rest of those dumb actors. But I wasn't pulling the strings last night — busy making some other arrangements for you, Sweetheart."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, clenching her eyes shut once more. "Why now? Why are you calling me?"

"Maybe I got impatient and just wanted to hear your voice. Or maybe I'm not calling you at all. Maybe you're just hearing what you want to and hanging onto to threads of me that don't exist anymore," Mickey said, chuckling a little.

Indiana ran her hands through her hair, genuinely feeling a little crazy as she continued to talk to someone who she was certain was dead. Sidney had been hearing her mother's voice and hallucinating her. Maybe they were both going through the same thing together.

"Or maybe," he continued, "I just wanted to get you away from your precious little Sidney."

As soon as she comprehended what he was saying, Indiana bolted, running out of the bathroom, dropping her cell phone and forgetting about Mickey as she did. The door let out into the remains of the Macher house set, which she ran through quickly, familiar with the setup. And once she was outside of it, she could hear Sidney shouting, followed by the sounds of a struggle.

"Indy! Dewey!"

It was coming from the fake Prescott house. The window above Sidney's room was broken, and the table full of food below it was in pieces, telling Indiana that someone had fallen through it. Not wasting any more time, Indiana ran into the house and up the spiral staircase, feeling a sense of deja vu.

But what was even more concerning was that for half a second, she was sure she heard Maureen Prescott calling Sidney's name.

Following the sound, she burst into the bedroom that was all set up for the scene where Billy and Stu killed Sidney's mother. Sidney was in the room, but she wasn't alone. Someone was backing her into the window, a white coroner's sheet thrown over them.

"Hey!" Indiana shouted just as the attacker ran at Sidney, who stumbled through the open window and fell out.

As the attacker turned, Indy lunged at them, tackling them to the ground. The pair fought and punched and scratched until the sheet was pulled off, revealing someone in a Ghostface costume. He ended up getting on top of her, wrapping his gloved hands around her throat tightly, cutting off her air supply.

Indiana's hand flailed around until she grabbed a hold of some kind of prop. It wasn't very heavy, but she could still swing it and hit him over the head. It knocked him back a few inches and caused him to loosen his grip on her neck enough that she could push him off.

Then she punched him hard, making him fall back. And as they continued to fight, they fell through the closet door which didn't actually lead to a closet.

It was one of those fucking fake doors that dropped off, meaning they both fell about fifteen feet. There wasn't a bed to catch Ghostface this time, and Mark hadn't appeared and caught Indy before she could fall. They crashed into a dining room table, the wood shattering and splintering underneath them.

The wind was knocked out of Indiana's chest and her head smacked the ground painfully, unable to hear anything as the blood pumped loudly in her ears. She groaned and tried to roll off the table debris, wood cutting into her arms as she did so. But then she collapsed back down, still recovering from the fall.

Clearly, she had it worse, because when she opened her eyes, Ghostface was already on his feet. Her pounding head caused her to see double as two blurry versions of him stood above her, tilting his head in sync to the side as he studied her.

Then he heard something that she couldn't, his head whipping around to one of the doors. The dining room was at the back of the set, not following the exact layout of the real house. But he could faintly hear someone ordering for the house to be searched, so he booked it, leaving Indiana to recover on her own.

Indiana wasn't the only one that survived a big fall. After going out the window, Sidney rolled along the slanted roof covering the porch and then fell onto the fake grass. Then as she lifted her head, someone finally turned the lights on, illuminating the set.

"Sid!" Dewey shouted, running around the boat that was parked by the Macher house. Wallace and some security guards were right behind him. "Sid, are you okay? What happened?"

She was still crying as he helped her sit up. "The killer's in the house, Dewey," she said, looking back toward it. "He's upstairs with Indy."

"Let's go, let's go," Wallace ordered, running into the house with their weapons ready.

Sidney stayed with Dewey, still shaking from the things she'd seen. "And my mother, I heard her voice. I saw her, Dewey."

"It's okay, Sid," he comforted her. "You weren't supposed to go in that house. It's all set up for the murder scene. I'm sorry you had to see that."

"He was in there, Dewey. He was in there, I swear, I swear," she insisted. Because Dewey looked like he didn't believe her.

"You know I believe you," he promised in a gentle tone. But he certainly didn't believe her about her mother.

Then Mark finally arrived on the scene, running over. "What happened?"

Before Dewey or Sidney could say anything, Wallace called out to him. "Kincaid, hey!" They all looked at him on the second floor, leaning out the window that Sidney fell from. "There's nobody up here."

Sidney shook her head, her voice still weak. She looked at Mark, who was kneeling next to her and Dewey to make sure she was unharmed. "Indiana's in there with the killer still!"

Mark quickly stood up, looking at the house in alarm. He ran inside and up the stairs as fast as he could, meeting Wallace in the hallway.

"Spread out and search every inch of this set until you find her," he ordered, looking at the two security guards. They nodded and broke off, barging into all the other rooms.

"There was definitely a struggle," Wallace said as Mark entered the bedroom, looking at the ransacked set. There were many broken props and the cloth covered in fake blood was tossed to the side, far from where it was meant to be.

Mark spotted the light glinting off something shiny and bent down to pick up a familiar item, something that wasn't a part of the props meant to be in the room. Before he could inspect it further, just barely, they heard someone let out a groan of pain.

"Where'd that come from?" Mark asked, whipping around to search the room fully. Then his eyes landed on the closet door. It was off its hinges and swinging outward a bit. After pushing it open carefully, he saw that it didn't lead to a real room.

Looking down, he saw Indiana facedown on the floor with the broken table underneath her.

"Shit," Mark swore, backing out of the room. "Indiana, don't move!"

Since Mark was already running to her, Wallace was the only one to hear her weakly mumble out a, "Wasn't planning on it."

Indiana hadn't made much progress toward getting off the floor at all, so when Mark told her to stay put, she was happy to do so, letting her eyes shut as she tried to ignore her headache. But she could only stay that was for about thirty seconds, because Mark — two Marks — reached her in no time, crouching by her side with the Wallaces not too far behind him.

"Indy, Honey, are you okay?" he asked while helping her turn over.

"I'm super," she muttered. Then she tried to sit up with him aiding her, grimacing from her sore muscles.

Not really believing her, Mark began looking her over, seeing the cuts on her arm, her bleeding bottom lip, and the bruises around her neck in the shape of hands.

"Goddamn it, Wallace! I told you to keep an eye on her!" Mark snapped angrily at his partner, glaring at him.

Before Wallace could defend himself, Indiana was doing it for him, surprisingly. "We went to the bathroom, Mark. I don't need Detective Dumbass in the bathroom with me," she said, rubbing the back of her head. "Now, where's Sid? Is she okay?"

"Dewey is with her," Mark told her. "Barely a scratch on her. Don't worry."

She let out a relieved sigh. "Great. Cool, cool, cool," she said. Then she smiled at Mark. "You didn't happen to pass a masked asshole on your way here, did ya?"

"Sorry to disappoint," he told her. "C'mon. Let's get you out of here."

While Wallace and lot security checked out the rest of the set while also questioning all those close by, Mark led Indiana to where Dewey and Sidney were waiting outside. When the girls saw each other, they left the cops they were individually paired with to hug each other, Indy not caring about how the cuts on her arms stung and Sidney not caring about the blood that smeared on her jacket.

"Are you okay?" Indiana asked, her words muffled by Sidney's shoulder. She just nodded in response. "I'm sorry I didn't get there faster. It was a bait call to get me away from you. I shouldn't have let it go on so long."

"It's fine," Sidney mumbled, still squeezing her tight. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"There don't seem to be any traces of the killer," Mark told the girls as they separated. Wallace was confronting Angelina to the side about the mask she was carrying around. "You're sure it was a Ghostface?"

"As opposed to what?" Indiana asked, scoffing defensively. "A real ghost? Or yeah, no, I just threw myself onto that table for shits and giggles. Sid had a fun time falling off a roof."

"That's not what I meant," he told her. Of course, he believed they were attacked, but they had to ask all the questions.

Sidney narrowed her eyes at him. "I know he was there. I am not dreaming, I am not crazy. He was there in Woodsboro!"

"That's not Woodsboro, Sidney," he said in a calm tone.

"You know what she fucking meant, Mark," Indiana cut him. She knew all too well how disorienting it had been the first time she came to the Stab 2 set and saw all the familiar locations. So, seeing her own house and the recreation of her mother's death was jarring for Sidney.

"Yes," Sidney said, grabbing Indiana's hand. "He was there. He or she, or whoever this is."

Mark nodded and began to lead them to his car. "We're gonna take you both back to the station, keep you under watch. Put you in a safe house. Whatever it takes."

"Not fucking without me." They all turned to see Jackson jogging over to them, having heard the last of Mark's sentence. He was finally back from making sure Martha go away safely. "What happened?"

"Oh, what always happens when you leave," Indiana said, managing a joking tone. "Ghost Boy attacked. Starting to make me wonder if you're a killer, Jax."

He rolled his eyes and hugged her, glad to see she was fine enough to joke. "Please, I'm too handsome to cover this face up with a mask."

"Besides," Sidney spoke up, looking at Jackson pointedly. "I'm pretty sure Martha's sparkly lip gloss on your cheek is proof enough you were busy elsewhere."

Indiana's eyes went wide, and she turned Jackson's head to see the lip gloss stain. He just rolled his eyes when she let out a little squeal and wiped it off with his sleeve.

"I need to know everything you said to each other," Indiana said before looking at Mark. "He can ride with us, right?"

The corners of his lips turned up. "Something tells me that even if I said no, you'd help him force his way into the vehicle."

Both Indiana and Jackson nodded before getting into the back of Mark's car — she knew Sidney wouldn't want to be in the back after what happened the last time they were in a cop car together.

"Come on, Sid," Dewey said while helping Sidney into the front. The window was down so that he could keep talking to them. "It's all right, Sid. We all believe you. He's watching and he wants you. But none of us, Indy especially, are gonna let him get you."

Sidney nodded and forced a smile before Mark drove off, headed for the precinct. Just as he did, the rest of their group arrived, coming straight from the archives.

"Hey, Dew," Gale called.

"Dew," Jennifer echoed.

"Virginia's gonna beat them both up when she's out of the hospital," Sophia muttered to Randy as they walked behind them.

"Come on," Dewey told them. "We have to go catch up with Sid, Indy, and Jack. Kincaid is taking them to the police station."

"Take a look at this first," Gale said, showing him Maureen's headshot. "Someone we know?"

"Where'd you get this?" he questioned.

"We got it. Archives," Jennifer informed him.

"And we met Carrie F—"

"You did not meet Carrie Fisher," Gale cut Randy off, rolling her eyes. Then she focused on the task at hand once more. "Sidney's mother was an actress. Three movies."

"Horror movies," Randy added. "Really shitty horror movies."

"Because that's an important distinction," Sophia chimed in, earning an elbow in the side from Randy.

"Wanna know who produced all three?" Gale asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dewey looked between them all, waiting for an answer. "Who?"

Sophia was the one to tell him. "John Mega Douche Milton."

"I don't think that's his real middle name, Soph."

☆︎

Deciding to confront the producer, the five of them marched to Milton's office before going to the police station. As they got closer, they could hear Roman shouting — well, it sounded more like whining to them — about something.

"I'm not a criminal! I was questioned. Yeah, but that's all. I was questioned. That's it!" he insisted.

"That's good for your mystique," Milton replied.

Then they burst into the room as Roman asked, "You think it will help me get work?"

"Roman," Jennifer greeted, walking ahead of everyone. "John."

"Randy?" Roman asked, surprised to see him outside of Woodsboro.

"Hey, man," Randy said, grinning at him. They shared a quick handshake before pulling each other into a short hug. "Long time, no see."

Milton quickly rose from his desk. "Jennifer, and guests. To what do I owe the honor?

"Rina Reynolds," Gale said, watching him like a hawk for his reaction.

But it was Roman that asked about it. "Rina Reynolds? Who's Rina Reynolds?"

Milton glanced at the director, seeming almost nervous. "Why don't you head to the house? Tell everybody not to cut the cake without me."

"Oh, god, I forgot. Your birthday," Jennifer said, rubbing her forehead.

"Yeah," he nodded.

"Happy birthday, man," Randy said.

"Happy birthday, Roman," Jennifer echoed.

"Yeah, as if life isn't tragic enough," Roman grumbled before heading for the door. 

"Shut the doors behind you, please," Milton requested.

Once Roman was gone and the door was shut, the rest of them turned back to Milton. "So, you knew Sidney Prescott's mother," Dewey said, it more of an accusation than a question.

Milton just tilted his head, looking clueless. "Who?"

"Rina Reynolds?" Jennifer repeated the stage name.

"Do you know how many actors have worked for me?" he asked, playing dumb. "Hundreds. Thousands."

"He didn't say she was an actor," Gale said with a smug smile.

"Good catch," Jennifer complimented.

"So what's the point?" Milton asked, crossing his arms.

"Uh, no point," Dewey said while digging out his phone. "I'm just gonna give, uh, Detective Kincaid a call."

"I remember," Milton said quickly before he could begin dialing.

"Mhm, I bet you do," Sophia muttered, leaning against the wall.

"She was a bit player in a couple of my movies," he explained. "A nobody. So what does it matter?"

"Oh, come on," Jennifer scoffed. "You have made millions off the story of her murder. You're obsessed with her, and you're obsessed with her daughter!"

Given that Jennifer began passionately shouting, Gale stepped in front of her to take over. "All right, easy, Geraldo," she told her before looking to Milton once again. "Why don't you tell us the truth?"

"What the hell are you guys getting at?" he asked defensively. "I make horror films, that's what I do. The studio came to me with Stab. They came to me! Check it out."

"But you knew who she was," Randy accused. "You didn't tell the police even after the photos surfaced."

Milton sighed and shook his head. "When we did the first Stab, I realized I had known Maureen Prescott before. I mean, as Rina. I couldn't tell anyone. Can you imagine the press?"

"Like that would affect anything," Sophia said, rolling her eyes. "Indy's the lead of a band that just finished making millions on tour, and there's plenty of shit written about her in the press."

"Yeah, and now? I mean, murder on your set, an - and still you say nothing?" Gale asked, not understanding why he was staying silent.

"Get real," he said. "That would make me a suspect."

"Just because you knew her?"

"Yeah."

"I don't think so," she said, continuing to challenge him as he moved back around his desk. "Just what did happen to Maureen when she was in Hollywood?"

Milton leaned over his desk to glare at the reporter. "Now, you listen to me, Lois Lane. Let it go. It's dead and buried."

Randy and Sophia snickered in the back as he called her Lois Lane then began whispering much worse and more offensive nicknames that he could've used.

"How would you like to see it dug up on national TV?" Gale threatened. And Milton's hard expression faltered, knowing she wasn't bluffing. "Why don't you tell me what happened?

With a heavy sigh, Milton gave in while sitting at his desk. "It was in the seventies. Everything was different. I was well-known for my parties. Rina knew what they were," he explained, not sounding very empathetic. "It was for girls like her to meet men. Men who could get them parts if they made the right impression. Nothing happened to her that she didn't invite —in one way or another no matter what she said afterwards."

"Are you saying she—"

"I'm saying things got out of hand," Milton said sharply, cutting Gale off while getting up again. "Maybe they did take advantage of her. You know, maybe the sad truth is this is not the city for innocents. No charges were brought. And the bottom line is Rina Reynolds wouldn't play by the rules. You wanna get ahead in Hollywood? You gotta play the game, or go home."

"You're a sick fuck," Sophia spat, pushing off the wall. "And something tells me that when the killer inevitably comes for you too, no one is gonna be particularly upset."

Milton wasn't too bothered by her words. "Yeah, well, without this sick fuck, you'd still be banging on drums in a shitty garage, so you don't really have a leg to stand on. Then again, given your dead keyboardists, seems the band is through."

Sophia moved toward him threateningly, but Randy held her back. "He's not worth it."

"Yes, the fuck he is!" she shouted. "Keep Zay's name out of your goddamn fucking mouth!"

"Get out of my office," Milton ordered, glaring at the younger girl. "In fact, get off my studio."

"Yeah, god fucking knows we don't wanna be here longer than necessary."

☆︎

Once at the precinct, Mark let Sidney and Jackson sit in his office. Then he took Indiana to a room with medical supplies that they used when someone wasn't hurt enough to require a hospital. Indy was sitting on top of a table, a bag of ice between her head and the wall for her headache. And Mark was standing between her parted legs, cleaning the cuts on her arms and carefully checking for splinters.

He also loaned her one of his clean shirts since hers had blood and holes torn in the fabric from breaking the table. It was a dark green color that reminded Indiana of his eyes, but she pushed that sappy thought to the back of her head.

"Sorry," he said softly when she winced from the burning caused by the antiseptic he cleaned one of the deeper ones with.

"It's fine," she mumbled. "I've had worse."

"I hate that you've had worse," Mark admitted.

His gaze was fixed on her arms, missing the way she was staring at him in an almost caring way. She took in everything from his slow, gentle touch to his handsome face and green eyes.

Mickey — or whoever the hell called her — had asked if she'd even been thinking about him when with Mark. But the truth was, the only time she wasn't thinking about him was when she was with Mark. It was so easy to forget about him and get lost in the older man. So easy that it scared her a little.

Because how could she know he wasn't the one behind all of this?

"Thank you," Indiana whispered as he carefully put the last bandaid down, rubbing his thumb gently over the spot.

He looked up at her with a smile, her being a little taller since she was on the table. "Just doing my job. How's the head?"

"I only see one of you now," she informed him matter-of-factly. "Which is kind of a bummer because two of you? I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

"Are you sure you're not concussed?" he asked, only partly joking. Indiana hadn't exactly been doing a lot of flirting since learning what he did for a living.

"I've had several concussions, Detective. Don't worry, that's not this," she assured him.

Despite finishing with her arms, Mark didn't move away. He stayed close and carefully cupped Indiana's cheek. And she fucking hated herself for leaning into his touch.

Slowly, his hand moved down past her jaw and to her throat. He looked at the bruises around her neck, clearly upset at the sight of them. He brushed his thumb gently against her skin, not wanting to hurt her.

"I'm sorry I left you alone," he said quietly.

Indiana covered his hand with her own and shook her head. "Stu choked me way longer back in Woodsboro. Didn't even start to see spots this time. Don't worry about me."

"I do worry about you. I've always worried about you since the night I met you at Red's," he told her. "I hate to admit it, but I'm a little too enamored with you for my own good."

"I've noticed," she said teasingly as he leaned in.

"You're fucking addicting, Honey," he murmured, green eyes falling on her lips.

And she was no better, wanting him to kiss her badly. "You're pretty hard to deny, yourself."

Then he leaned in softly to kiss her, minding her busted lip. But Indiana didn't want soft, so she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck to deepen it, ignoring the bag of ice that dropped onto the table when she moved her head.

Following her lead, Mark kissed her more passionately, pulling her hips closer on the table while letting his tongue explore her mouth. She tangled her fingers in his curly hair, letting out a soft moan when he began to suck on her bottom lip.

Finally, he pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers, catching his breath. "I'm not really supposed to do that on duty," he said with a sheepish smile. But he couldn't make himself pull away as she continued to toy with his hair.

Indiana rolled her eyes. "Your occupation is so fucking lame."

Then she leaned in to kiss him again, it only lasting a few seconds since he truly did need to do his job. "Okay," she sighed, sliding off the table. He stepped back just enough to give her space to stand, their chests nearly brushing. "Get back to work, Magnum."

"He's a PI, not a police detective," he told her, smiling a little as he shook his head.

"Well, just promise not to grow the stache," she requested, rubbing her thumb over his lips. "I'm gonna go check on Sid."

Indiana moved to leave, but he called her name and stopped her. When she turned back around, his amused smile had faded and his hand was in his pocket.

"Yeah?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're ready to break the no making out at work rule so easily?"

"No, uh," he cleared his throat and took his hand out of his pocket, his fist clenched around something. "This was on the set. Must've fallen off when you were attacked."

As soon as he opened his hand, Indiana's own shot up to her neck, feeling for the chain that wasn't there. The gold heart locket that lived on her neck had been ripped from her body during the Ghostface attack.

Indiana hated how her hand shook as she took it from him, staring down at the item that meant so much to her. But despite all it meant, she hadn't actually opened it since Mickey's betrayal.

"I've never seen you without it on, so I knew it was yours," he told her. She just nodded, her throat feeling a little tight. Mark studied her expression carefully, unable to identify the emotions on her face. "Is it a gift from your parents? Sister?"

"Mickey," she whispered, not looking up from the locket to see his reaction. "I don't know why I still wear it."

If anything, it felt wrong to wear it, especially when Sidney still wore Derek's Greek letters around her neck — those were a real token of love, not the locket.

"It doesn't matter why," Mark told her. "He was a big part of your life, Indiana. Bigger than most people could probably comprehend. You loved the parts of him that you knew, and he must've loved you back."

Indiana was glad to finally have someone not complain about her always wearing it. All of her friends at one point or another had made a comment that she'd just ignore because they had every right to.

"He, um, he gave it to me on my birthday," she told him, still keeping her gaze. "I brought him to Woodsboro for Spring Break. Zay thought he was so cool. And we went to the aquarium and the band played at some frat party. We were all so happy. I think that was one of the best weeks of my life."

"That sounds nice," he told her. "Can I see inside?"

She hesitated, part of her not even remembering which photos were cut up and shoved inside. What if they were so faded that she couldn't tell?

After a moment, she nodded and pried her nail underneath the latch, having to apply a little more pressure than usual since the hinges hadn't been opened in so long.

The photos weren't faded, but there was a red hue staining the inside in small patches, some of the dried flecks falling off of the metal.

Blood. Mickey's blood.

Indy had cleaned the outside after the whole ordeal but she never thought to open it and make sure the inside wasn't damaged.

"That, um—" Indiana paused and cleared her throat, trying not to get upset as she pointed to them. "That's the quad at Windsor. Cici Cooper took this. We were always hanging out there. And, uh, this... I think we were arguing about my favorite scary movie. He hated it, but I loved when we got into it every time. Even still, he'd sit through it to make me happy."

Suddenly, the ridiculous level-five friendship rule made a lot more sense to Mark. Because even though the photos were small, he could see the love on Indiana's face as she laid next to Mickey in the grass, their legs intertwined and the same look of love on his face.

"I like you, Mark," Indiana said suddenly, looking up at him. He could see tears welling in her eyes, though she was determined to not let them fall. "And if you're not the killer, then I think I'd like to keep liking you."

"I like you too, Honey," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "But I'm sensing a 'but' coming."

She smiled humorlessly. "But I think a small part of me is always going to be in love with him even after everything he did. And you know, my friends can't even handle that, so I don't expect you to. I'm a little too fucked up from everything I've been through to be tolerable in a real relationship again. So you should just get over me before I ruin your life."

Mark took another step closer to her, shaking his head. "Well, we've got a problem, Honey, because you already have ruined it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "There's no getting over a person like you."

Indiana hated how her heart picked up speed — there was some kind of hope for a happy future blooming in her chest and it made her sick. "And what about the Mickey of it all?"

In response, Mark took the locket from her and moved to stand behind her. "He's a part of you, Indiana — your first love," he said while moving her hair to the side. Then he put the necklace around her neck, carefully fixing the clasp. "I don't ever want you to feel ashamed of how you feel about that past. And not to remind you of why you should be angry at me, but I knew what you'd been through when we met. None of that's enough to scare me away."

"Maybe it should be," she mumbled, reaching to hold the charm that was back home around her neck. She turned to look up at Mark with sad eyes. "I'm not good for you, Mark. I'm - I'm broken and—"

"Why are you trying so damn hard to make me not want you?" he cut her off, raising an eyebrow demandingly.

"Because like I said, I like you — maybe more than like. And that scares the shit out me," she finally admitted out loud. "You scare me, Mark, and that's a hard thing to do with everything I've been through."

"You're scared because I'm not just some guy. You're scared because I could hurt you with how much you like me," he claimed, and she nodded in confirmation. "You don't think you scare me too? You came into my life like a hurricane without any warning."

"It'd be really cool to have a hurricane named after me next time they get around to the letter I," she claimed, laughing a little.

Mark chuckled and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in close. "Tell you what, Hurricane Indiana, once this is all over, how about I take you on that date that I owe you? We can be scared about the outcome together."

Indiana nodded before standing on her toes to kiss him, not caring about him still being at work. She nipped at his bottom lip, earning a content groan from him as he slid his warm hands underneath her shirt. They only parted for air for a brief second before he kissed her again, pushing her against the nearby wall.

"God," Indiana moaned as he began kissing her jaw, "I really fucking hope you're not a serial killer."

☆︎

[  there's a nice sad-ish mickey and indy edit over on tiktok to celebrate the emotional turmoil she's about to go through  ]