Home Is Where the Guns Are Laid AsideMature

"No." She laid her palms flat on the desk. 

Andrea had sent her sister ahead to her flat with Alex, staying behind for a quick meeting with Mortician.

Technically, she should have been in a meeting with Yakuza (his name was't actually Yakuza, but everybody called him that, because the Yakuza were a Japanese mafia and the man was threatening as hell - seriously, his scary levels were Empire-State-Building-high), but instead Mortician was sent to deal with her. He was really the only person she would actually listen to.

But now she was stuck in a meeting with him, and she was not liking where it was going.

"Your team could use some extra help," The man stated calmly, and she was at his throat in a minute (figuratively, thank god).

"My team is just fine," She hissed.

Mortician waved a hand, as if to sweep her comments aside. "Of course, of course. But the higher-ups want to add someone to your team, nevertheless."

Andrea shot him a glare. "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

She shot him with a tranquilizer and escaped through the air vents.

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"So, Fräulein Rosemary," Alex asked politely. "How are you?"

She was oddly quiet, but she smiled slightly at his formalities and replied, "Oh, you don't have to call me Fräulein, Alex. Rosemary is just fine."

They're sitting inside the flat, talking as Aleksander flits around the kitchen, making tea with a calm precision. They all know, the Archers, that Rosemary prefers coffee.

They make her tea anyways.

She'll drink it, and they all know that she consumes more caffeine than is strictly healthy on a daily basis. Tea will do her good.

The flat is teeming with sweaters, shirts thrown over the backs of chairs, chocolate almonds and pomegranates and alcohol flooding the fridge. There's hidden pottery everywhere, clay bowels holding keys on the little table by the door, glazed a warm brown-red color on the outside and a dusty green-copper on the inside. There's pots perched on shelves and hidden in nooks and crannies.

Newspaper clippings about the 'amazing Dr. L' are taped to the fridge, and other things are held up with cat magnets. Paintings and photos are hung on the walls everywhere, barely a free space, yet managing to squeeze even more on.

It's a safe space that all of the Archers have come to know well. They've been bleeding out on the carpet, hardwood, tiles. They've been unconscious on the couch, the bed, the floor. They've come 'home' with the knowledge that they can finally lower their bow and unscrew their sights.

Rosemary retreats into Andrea's bedroom, and everyone clears the space respectfully before she vacates it once more and they move back in. She's changed into a pair of galaxy-patterned tights and a too-big button-up plaid shirt (Andrea always did have eclectic taste).

And the infamous Mocker comes home.

To find her team and her sister.

And she takes care of her family.

The End

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