Gargoyles Fan Fiction ❯ Of The Night ❯ Brief Freedom ( Chapter 9 )

Disclaimer: “Gargoyles,” its products and such, are not owned by me. I am not profiting from this fanfiction.

Of The Night

Nine

Lydia glanced up at the sound of a door opening. She wasn’t surprised to see Brooklyn walk in. It was close to morning -- and had been the routine the past two weeks. She would practice dancing, with Fox instructing from the moment she woke until a few hours before she would go to bed. Fox would never stay longer than an hour, two at the most.

And Brooklyn would show up at half an hour or so until dawn, to see how she was progressing and say good night.

She waved three fingers at him, then went to turn off the stereo. Today’s music set was a Korn CD, two Billy Idols, and a dance mix. Perfect for keeping her at high-energy.

“How’s it going?” Brooklyn asked.

She knew he meant the lessons. “Damn good,” she answered with a smile. She loved to move, after all; dancing was a great outlet. Even if it did leave her exhausted by the end.

“Has everyone agreed yet?” she said.

He nodded. “Well, I doubt Hudson would’ve refused. But yeah. Xanatos got Elisa to agree to come, and she got Goliath to agree. Those two were the last.”

“I figured it would happen that way,” she smiled.

“What do you mean?”

“Just the whole Goliath-Elisa thing. You rarely find one without the other.” She brushed her hair back from her forehead.

He seemed to be thinking, quietly examining her.

“What?” she asked, brows raising.

“You don’t look too happy,” he pointed out.

She shrugged. “Dancing is fun and all, but it’s only a mild freedom.” She sighed. “What I wouldn’t give to have a day to myself. Or night, for that matter,” she added with a laugh.

He looked like he wanted to say something, then bit it back. “Meet me at dusk. I have an idea.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “Why, Brooklyn, you’re not thinking of busting me out of here?”

He jerked, surprised. “Why would you think that?”

“Because it’s a deliciously bad idea,” she explained. “Elisa wouldn’t approve, that’s for sure.”

He returned that skeptical gaze. “You say that like you’ve been thinking about it.”

“Just plans, so far,” she admitted. “Now you need to skidaddle before you turn into a doorway statue.” She shooed her hands at him.

He relented, though not without reluctance. “Dusk,” he repeated.

“I got it,” she all but whined.

The next evening, Fox looked surprised to find her outside, just hanging out with Brooklyn on the wall.

“I thought you would be in the dance room,” she said, the words suspiciously close to a reprimand.

Lydia shrugged. “Needed a break. A night to myself. Why, is there a problem with this?”

“No,” Fox agreed with ease. “In which case, tomorrow?”

“We’ll see,” Lydia half-promised.

Fox seemed perplexed, but didn’t press the issue. Once she was out of earshot, Lydia continued with the conversation she’d been having.

“But don’t you get tired of it?” she asked. “Night after night, the same bullshit?”

If anything, Brooklyn seemed surprised at her curse, with how easily she said it. He shook himself out of it. “It’s not ‘bullshit.’ We’re protecting people, keeping them out of danger, returning stolen property, sometimes even more. I saved you. What d’you suppose would’ve happened to you that day, if I had chosen to take a day off?”

“It wouldn’t have been your responsibility,” she countered. “But I guess I wouldn’t be here now. I’d still be in my apartment, still have my job.” She laced those words with disdain.

He didn’t look happy. “You have this,” he said, gesturing wide, as if to count the entire castle as something of hers. “But I was talking about what those men might have done to you.” He gave a shudder, shaking his head.

Well, yes, clearly, that was a possibility. Then again, Brooklyn had never seen her in action. Even if she ended up with more than a cut to the neck (which had long since healed), she had no doubt she would’ve been able to escape.

She said, “You’re just examining the worst-case scenario. I was thinking of best-case.”

“Which would be. . ?”

She clicked her tongue as she thought. “Honestly, Brooklyn, you’ve never seen me in action. You don’t know how wily I can be.”

“I saw that one night when you flipped around on the grass,” he shot back.

“Oh, that?” She laughed. “I was trying to do a specific something. Failed, too.” She shook her head, amused with herself.

“Which was. . ?”

She gave him a wry smile. “Can’t explain. It’s too weird in my head.” She tapped her temple for effect. Then she glanced off the wall, at the glittering lights of the city. She wondered if her expression was wistful. It would fit her longing. How she wished she could just leap off and go wherever she wanted. . .

After another moment, Brooklyn whined, “Alright, fine. Stop making that face.”

“What face?” Her innocent expression matched her surprise. She’d been making a face after all?

“Come on,” he gestured. He squat, waiting.

She raised a brow but didn’t argue. “Elisa’s gonna slaughter you when she finds out you did this for me.” She climbed onto his back.

“My problem,” he shrugged, then leapt.

In the back of her mind, she could hear sirens going off; her imagination reminding her what a bad idea this was. Then again, she so loved the bad ideas. . .

“Any particular place you want to go?” he asked.

She was grinning already. “Definitely.” She pointed downwards. “Head for that roof, would you?”

As he dove that way, he said, “Why that roof?”

“I have a course there.”

“Course?” he echoed with heavy emphasis.

“You’ll see,” she replied in sing-song.

He seemed to shrug it off. He circled the roof as he drifted downward, landing softly. She hopped off him, stretched her arms above her head. He sent her a curious look, but she wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. Her mind was sifting through file after file, building an effective course from here on out.

“This is gonna be fun,” she said absently. Then she took off, without warning him. She heard him trail behind her, almost laughing because she knew he’d be faster than her if he tried.

Ahead of her was the edge of the building. She jumped off it, making the next with ease. The very act of jumping made Brooklyn yell out a warning; she figured he was surprised to find she made the jump. The roof she was now on was littered with climbable items, divable openings, and jumpable hurdles. She used them with more flair than usual, since this run was just for fun.

He was keeping up. “What are you, a free runner?” he asked at one point.

She laughed. “On most days,” she answered. The edge of the building was nearing, and the following roof was a story higher. She leapt off and landed on a window sill, barely clinging to it with fingers and toes. Still, she could stand and reach the roof. When she went to pull herself up, he did it for her, frown in place.

“You could have fallen,” he scolded her.

“Didn’t,” she countered, taking off again. Her breath was coming fast now, but controlled. The adrenaline in her was strong, giving her a lovely feeling inside.

Between this and the next roof was a set of fire escapes. She jumped from one railing to the other, to the opposite roof in one go. No worries. She had to give credit to her shoes, though; these boots were great at gripping. She wondered if they’d been chosen for her on purpose, knowing what she’d want to be doing.

“Lydia!”

She glanced over her shoulder, met a disapproving look on his face. “Sourpuss,” she chided.

He grabbed her wrist, stopping her dead. Her feet flew from under her and she landed on her back. Her shoulder ached from the sudden stop.

She glared at him. “Ow.”

He matched it. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? You’re a human!”

She blew a raspberry, still catching her breath. “Such faith you have in me.”

“One slip up, doing stuff like this, and you’re dead!”

“Lord almighty, not that!” she said with a fake gasp. His glare intensified. She rolled her eyes and sat up. “I’ve been doing this for years,” she told him. “I haven’t killed myself yet.”

“One slip up,” he repeated.

“I’m under a hundred pounds,” she reminded him. “My terminal velocity is far less than the average person’s. Do you see where I’m going with this? I have a better chance of surviving a fall than most humans.” She stood up and dusted off her hands and rear.

“And that’s worth the risk?” he asked, dumbfounded.

She glared. “Surviving is,” she told him. “What, you think I started this free running business because it seemed like such a good idea?” She scoffed. “I told you I was hounded throughout my school years. Where do you think I ran to, to keep a distance?”

He was silent for a moment. “Practice doesn’t always make perfect.”

“You worry too much,” she snapped. Then she glanced around, spotted an antenna. She crossed over to it and, without flinching, cut her forearm on the sharp corner. Blood welled up.

“Lydia!” he all but barked, grabbing the arm. He stared at the wound as it began bleeding. “What were you thinking?!”

“I was thinking,” she replied calmly, “that yes, I’m breakable. But I’m not fragile. There’s a difference.” She yanked her arm back. It was starting to sting, that cut. “You don’t seem to get that. Just because I don’t turn to stone all day and wake up without a scratch doesn’t mean I’ll die if I do get one.”

“It’s reckless, what you just did,” he snarled.

“Less reckless than what you do on a nightly basis,” she pointed out. She pinned him with a confused look. “Why are you being so protective of me?”

He looked chagrined, then chose to glance at other things: a satellite dish, a door, a far-off skyscraper. “Is it wrong to worry about you?” he shot back.

“In this case, yes.” He looked at her sharply. “I know what I’m doing,” she told him. “I told you I had a course here. I can go across another ten buildings before I have to start improvising.”

“In which direction?” he asked, though his tone suggested he didn’t care.

“Every direction.” At his suspicious look, she sighed. “Fine. You’re not gonna let me have any more fun tonight, are you? Then take me back. At least in the castle I have a padded room to play in,” she added harshly, dripping with sarcasm.

He scowled -- which, she had to admit, was more than frightening on a face like his. Or it would be, she supposed, to someone unused to what he looked like. She just glared back, eyes narrowed. After a few seconds of staredown, the wind blew her hair into her eyes and she brushed it back.

Then he grabbed her wrists, yanking her onto his back, and took off with a grumble she couldn’t decipher. She held on only because it was the smart thing to do, considering mutiny every time they came close enough to a building for her to make the jump.

All too soon, she was back at house arrest. She didn’t feel like gracing him with any good nights, so she walked off without a word.

“From one fucking cage to another,” she hissed to herself. She didn’t normally swear viciously, but then again, she was a Brooklyn baby. She had the attitude, even if she tried to keep it under wraps most of the time. At least it was getting to the point where the accent rarely showed up.

She hated cages with a passion that often stunned her. Oftentimes it felt out of place; she could hardly stand seeing birds in cages, regardless of how grand the cage was or how spectacular the bird was. It confused her, though she eventually came to the conclusion that it was a past life thing. But that brought up another question: who was she in her past life? Or what? And why would that be connected to a hatred of cages?

And why did she see the largest building in Manhattan as a cage?