Brooklyn sat across from Petra, the last girl she was escorting home. Sadly, she was the only surviving of a pair of sisters, that Brooklyn had been able to save. Her sister Olia had been twelve, and the culminating reason for her to kill Morozov's oldest son. Petra was silent, sitting straight up, looking out at the passing countryside.

"Are you worried? About seeing your parents again?" Brooklyn asked softly, in Polish. Ever since they had dropped off the second to last girl, Wioletta, who had also been from Poland, in her tiny village, Petra had been silent. The hours had passed, with the girl growing almost smaller into herself as they got closer to her home village of Tykocin.

"Will they hate me? They sold us. And I couldn't keep Olia safe." Petra whispered.

"I'm sure they had their reasons. That they felt there was no other option." Brooklyn shook her head. "And I'm sure they will understand that there was nothing you could do."

"I could have fought them. I could have tried harder to protect her." Petra wiped at her face. "Maybe I would have been able to fight them off. You did."

"I have been trained to fight men twice my size." Brooklyn soothed. "And honestly, Petra, there was nothing you could have done, not really. If anything, I would be taking your parents the ashes of both their daughters, rather than one, if you had. Those men... Those monsters.... they were going to do what they did, if you had fought them harder or not. Do not take their sins, onto your soul. You have enough time to add your own sins, later."

Petra gave a short nod, before biting her lip. "Will Olia ever forgive me?"

"The dead do not care, about the lives of the living." Brooklyn looked out the window of the train. "If they did, we would have less violence in the world. If the dead actually affected this world, we would have more care about it."

"Do you honestly live your life like that?" Petra asked, a bit of shock in her voice. "What about God? Do you not have faith?"

"Faith is for those who have something to lose." Brooklyn shook her head. "At this point, I've already lost everything. So why do I need to have faith?"
"Maybe you need it more than others." the teenage girl sounded wiser than her years. "Because faith is supposed to be meant for those who don't even know they need it."

"Maybe some day I can afford faith." Brooklyn smiled, wryly. "My biggest worry about that, is my sins are very dark. And I don't know if even a benevolent God would forgive them."

Her most recent being the assassinations of Stelluto and Morozov. Before that, Morozov's son and his men. Although, she was sure that might fall under the classification of 'an eye for an eye'. But before that... yes, her hands were soaked in the blood of many people. More than a few of them could possibly be considered innocent. So, yeah, if she believed a higher power, or even in Hell, she was certain of her final destination when she finally died.

"God is always there, even if you don't know it. He will be there when you least expect it. And He will welcome you back. Because He will always search for the one lost sheep, over the ninety nine that stayed." Petra gave her a sad smile. "Even if I am worried about Olia forgiving me, I know she did not die alone. Because my God would never leave a child to suffer like that, and not take her home, and into glory."

"Then you should also know that in that moment of death, Olia forgave you." Brooklyn raised her eyebrow. "Because if what you say is true, than she knew you loved her, and tried to fight to protect her. She knew you never meant for anything to happen to you."

Petra nodded. "Do you have siblings?"

"I have had several. And I have a little sister that I am raising." Brooklyn smiled. "She's five. And I know, if anything happened to her, like what happened to Olia, and I had been unable to stop it, I would be... I would be inconsolable. I would have dropped and not gotten up. It would have killed me. The fact that you are brave enough to go home, and face your parents, means you are and will always be stronger than me."

Petra looked shocked, as if she had just admitted to blowing up the moon, or something similar. "But you were able to hurt those men! You got justice for Olia!"

"That's not strength." Brooklyn gave her a sad smile. "That was rage. And training. And learning to disconnect myself from my actions. And justifying my actions, by calling it justice. It wasn't. It was vengeance. It was violence. And in all honesty, it makes me as bad, if not worse than the men who were keeping you and the other girls captive."

"Will we be the last?" Petra challenged. Something inside Brooklyn rolled over, something dangerous. She pushed it down. Petra was still a child, and it was natural for her to be challenging. "Will we be the last girls you save, because you believe you are a villain, instead of the hero?"

"Oh, Petra. I'm not a hero. I'm not a villain." Brooklyn looked out the window again. "I was born of blood, and baptized in violence. I was trained for war. I was made to rule. And I was thrust out into this world, stained by sins committed before your parents were even born. You and the others wont be the last girls I save, I think. But don't ever mistake me for a hero. I've seen a hero, bend his knees. And he still remained one." She had a moment of pain, as sharp as a stab wound at the thought of Rogers, but pushed it away. There would be time to feel, later. As for right now... "I will never be able to bend my knees. I will never be able to accept defeat. I will die, fighting. And if I am very, very lucky, it will be fighting the good fight."

They remained silent for the rest of the train ride, both of them watching the scenery pass by until the announcement was made for their stop.

******************

Petra stood, silent, staring at the small, broken down house. "My father should be getting home from work, soon."

"Do you want to wait?" Brooklyn adjusted her traveling backpack, while holding the box that held the urn of Olia's ashes. "Or do you want to just... get it over with?"

"Get it over with." Petra was pale, Brooklyn noted with a frown.

Sighing, she reached out, and put her hand on the younger girl's shoulder. "Look, it's not going to be easy. I mean, they sold you. You have questions. A lot, I imagine."
"I want to know why." Petra whispered.

"Yeah, so do I." Brooklyn looked at the house again. "So, let's do this. And remember, if you don't want to stay, Mrs. Marino said she would arrange for a new place for you. A safe place."
"A boarding school." Petra snorted. "I am not the best student."

"That's the beauty of it." Brooklyn grinned. "You don't have to be, if someone is paying the tuition. Remember, a few of the girls wanted to do that, instead of going home."

Well, one of the girls had elected to go, right off the bat. The other... well, she had been rejected by her family. They had been worried that the people they had sold her to would come looking to get their money back. Even with Brooklyn assuring them that no one could come, and offering money, they had been too afraid. The crying girl had quickly had arrangements for her to go to the school in Switzerland, the one that Kitty had picked out for the possibility of shelter for some of the girls. It was an all year round accommodations. Better than most people got, really.

Petra shook her head. "We shall see. I want to see what they have to say for themselves, first. I want to see their faces when we tell them how Olia died. What was done to her. I want to see their faces when I ask them if they were paid enough."

Brooklyn raised an eyebrow, approving. "That's definitely a question that needs to be answered."

Taking a deep breath, the younger girl straightened her back. "Shall we?"

"I will follow your lead, Petra. This is your show. You have the power, here." Brooklyn reminded her.

Petra gave a short nod, before striding with purpose towards the door of the small house. She paused, before raising her hand slowly, and knocking heavily on the door. She paused, dropping her hand, before turning her head to look over her shoulder at Brooklyn.

The door opened, cautiously, before an older woman with premature graying hair looked out, her face going white when she saw Petra on the doorstep.

"Petra?" She whispered, as her eyes widened, and she brought a hand up to her mouth. "How...."

Petra burst into tears, throwing herself into her mother's arms. "Mama!"

A few hours later, Brooklyn stood from the uncomfortable couch, brushing her hands on her legs. On the chipped coffee table in front of her, stood the small metal urn that held Olia's ashes. Her parents were still wiping tears from their face. Petra looked up at her from where she was sitting on the couch.

"My condolences on your loss. I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

"You saved one of my daughters." Petra's father shook his head. "That's more than enough."

Through the course of the time that they had been here, the truth about why Petra and Olia had been taken had come out. Her father had borrowed money from a local business man who was known to have shady connections, to pay for a small operation that his wife had needed. When making the payments had proven to be problematic, the businessman had sold the debt to someone connected to the Russians. Throughout the various transactions, the small amount, which had been somewhere in the five thousand dollar range (American), had grown in amount (somewhere in the hundred thousand American range) to a point where the only collateral that would have been acceptable was the girls.

So, it had turned out that her parents had not sold Petra and her sister. The debt collectors had come, and taken them, considering them a fitting form of payment. Brooklyn felt like lecturing them, but knew that having to hear how and why their youngest daughter had died was punishment and lesson enough. They would have to live with that. It was a horrible lesson. One that she knew was harsh. And she felt for the family, she really did. The father had never intended for his daughters to pay the price for his mistake. It should have been dealt with quietly.

Brooklyn couldn't help but wonder about the businessman who had issued the original debt, though. He had to have known that the family wouldn't be able to pay back the money he loaned. Petra's father was a janitor at an office building in the area. Her mother wasn't working. She would pick up work, here and there helping out some of the more affluent people in the village with tasks around their homes, but other than that, she wasn't able to contribute to the funds of the family.

She considered going to pay the businessman a visit, to find out if the family had been specifically targeted because of the girls, but time wasn't on her side. At the very least, she would bring it up, the next time she had Kitty on the phone, to see if that was something the Marino's wanted to have looked at further

"I am sorry that I have to give you such news, and leave. But my train to Warsaw leaves in a little more than an hour." Brooklyn gave Petra a soft smile. "Have you made you choice?"

"Choice?" Petra's father frowned. "What choice."
"Petra has the choice to stay here, or have a patron to pay for her tuition for her to attend a boarding school." Brooklyn explained, gently. "It was an option given to all the girls we have returned to their families. But the choice is up to Petra. It's her life."
"She's a child." Her mother protested.

"She is no longer a child." Brooklyn corrected. "After what she has seen and experienced, she has left childhood behind. But she's not yet a woman. She has a few years yet, for that. The school that she will go to, if she chooses it, will protect her until she is ready to decide what she wants her life to become."

"I will go." Petra spoke, standing up. "But I want to... I need to grab some things from our room. Mine and Olia's."

"Make it quick." Brooklyn nodded. "We have to go, very soon."

Petra nodded, quickly walking towards the back of the house. Brooklyn waited until she was out of sight, before picking up her backpack, setting it on the sad looking coffee table, next to Olia's urn. "I have a number, and an address, for you. If you ever want to get a hold of your daughter. It will be up to her to decide if she wants to contact you back. I suggest you take the time we have, here, to make sure if there is anything you want to say to her, you say it. This might very well be the last time you will see her. For her safety, and yours, when we leave here, you will not know where she will be."

Brooklyn reached into the front pocket, the one that really had no real purpose, but the one she had put to use for holding the small white cards with the European phone number, and the address to the dummy drop. Picking one out, she held it out to Petra's parents.

"I'm sure you understand that this might be for the best. That businessman you dealt with, he might still come looking for payment, if he knows Petra returned home, unharmed." Brooklyn waited until Petra's father took the card with shaky fingers. "Again, I am so sorry for the loss of your youngest. I am also sorry I wasn't able to stop it."

"You saved our oldest." Petra's mother, her voice thick with tears shook her head. "You saved her, and brought my baby's ashes home to me. You are also doing what you can to protect Petra. Thank you."

Brooklyn nodded, hauling the backpack up over her shoulders. "Your welcome. I just wish.... Yeah."

She walked away, towards the door, waiting for Petra. The girl wasn't long, really. She came back to the living room area, clutching her own traveling pack close to her chest. She met Brooklyn's eyes, showing that she had been crying, before she turned to her parent, who stood up from their chairs.

"Mama, Papa.... I have to go. I can't stay here... not now...." Petra explained, as her mother wrapped her arms around her. "I promise, I will write... I can come back, some day. But I can't stay here..."
"We understand, Petra." Her father nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "We understand."

Their goodbyes were tearful, but thankfully quick. Brooklyn tried to not pay attention to them, but she felt a little bit of jealousy for how easily Petra was able to walk away from her remaining family.

Soon, they were standing on the platform, waiting for the go ahead to get on the train that would take them to Warsaw. Petra heaved a sigh, wiping her face, before turning to Brooklyn.

"It's a pity we didn't stay longer. We could have gone to the church. It's been the center of our village for centuries. The Church of the Holy Trinity. Its beautiful." Petra sniffed, clearing her nose. "I used to go with my Mama when I was younger. We would sit in one of the pews, and just admire the building."

Brooklyn hummed.

"I used to like it, sitting there. The smell of the incense and the beeswax from the candles at the alter." Petra rubbed at her face again. "Sometimes we would be there to hear the canticles being sung, in the morning."

"To be honest, the only thing I know about this village, is that during World War II, the townspeople helped the Nazi's round up the Jewish population, took them out into the forest near by. Then they shot and killed every single man, woman, and child. Over two thousand people, exterminated in less than two days." Brooklyn adjusted her backpack. "The Tykocin Program. I guess there's a memorial nearby, just outside of the village. It's why it lost it's status as a town, in the fifties. Because they had dropped their population under the Polish designation. At least, until the early nineties."

Petra looked at her, shocked. "You really do look for the worst things, in the world, don't you."

"If you are already prepared for the worst, then the best is a nice surprise." Brooklyn answered as the conductor gave them the go ahead to get on the train. "Come on. Our train is waiting."

Petra didn't have anything more to say for the two and a half hours it took for them to get to Warsaw.

**************

Brooklyn stepped out of the shower at the hotel Kitty had arranged for them. As soon as they had gotten on the train, to go to Warsaw, she had texted Kitty to let her know that Petra had decided to go to the school. As soon as the text had been sent, Kitty had sent one back letting her know that she had booked a suite at the hotel, so that Petra would have her own space, for the day or so that they had to stay in Warsaw until things were ready for Petra at the school.

She left the private bathroom, going into the room she had claimed for herself, looking across the room through the window with it's small balcony. She could see the castle, lit up in the Polish sky. Say what you wanted about Kitty's propensity for spending money, it had its benefits. As she walked across the plush carpet, her feet sank a bit, and she couldn't resist curling her toes into the pile.

Rubbing her hair with the towel, making sure to collect as much of the dampness as possible, she went over to the window, leaning against panes, the cold of the glass cushioned by her hotel robe.

She turned her head as her phone began buzzing from an incoming call. Frowning, she went over, picking it up.

Sighing, she answered. "Rogers, what part of tw-"

"I don't want to wait." He cut her off, sighing. "I've... I've missed your voice, Babydoll."

She groaned. "Rogers, this isn't going to work, if you don't show a little self control."

"Tell me you don't miss me. That you don't miss us." He begged, taking a deep breath. "Tell me that, and I'll hang up, right now."

"Don't start trying to manipulate me, Rogers, just because you are going through withdrawals." She snapped, sitting down on the bed, drawing her knees up to cross them. "I won't put up with that."

"I'm going through withdrawals, yes." He agreed. "But that's not why I want to know that you miss us. I want to know, because I do too. I miss holding you. I miss your smile. I miss the sounds you make when you are studying, and are confused. I miss the way you do your hair. I miss the way you feel under my hands, right before you cum. I miss everything. I want you to come home, Brooklyn. I want you to come home, and I want to be there, and I want to hold you, and never let you go. Ever."

She rubbed her face with her hand. "You still have a week to go, Rogers. We'll discuss it when that week is over. Besides, who knows how we'll feel after that week ends."

"I know how I'll feel. Because I've been feeling it for a while. And detoxing from your pheromones won't make it go away, Babydoll." He sighed roughly. "It's been there for a while, and it's just getting stronger, the longer we go on."

"You are making no sense." She groaned. "If it's an erection... just... jack it off, or something." Sharp pain stabbed at her again. "Or go find another girl to take care of it."

"Fuck that." He snarled. "I'm not touching another girl. Ever. You and me, remember?"

"Rogers...." She looked out the window, staring at the castle, trying to ignore the inner pain. "Maybe it would help you take the edge off. I mean, you must have... in the past, right?"

"How can you even suggest that?" He sounded stunned. "After.... after everything we've been through... are still going through... how can you even think that I would..."
"It's not like I want that to happen." She confessed. "But... eventually, when you are completely free from the effects of the pheromones... you'll see, and it'll happen. Someone else, someone... better for you... I'm just suggesting you get a start on it, that's all."

He cursed, low and dark. "Do you honestly think I want anyone touching me the way you have? I'm yours, remember? You own me. Body and soul. I gave all of that to you. You don't get to.... just throw all of that away. Everything we've gone through, to be together. Everything we are still going through... it's everything, Babydoll. Everything. That's what you are to me. No one else is ever going to compare to that."

She closed her eyes against the tears that wanted to spill down. Why was he making this so hard for her. She was trying to be noble, do the good thing. She didn't want to force him to be with her. "At the end of the time, you'll see, just how wrong you are. And if Banner doesn't figure out how to inoculate you against it, it wont matter. Because I will do what I have to, to protect you. From myself, from other people... because if you won't do it, I will."
"I'm begging you, Babydoll...." He breathed, pain in his voice, "I'm begging you, on my knees, to not take that shit. Do not... Don't set us back... not when we are so close to the finish line. Please... Don't... Don't take yourself away from me. Don't cut yourself off, just out of some... misguided attempt to protect me. I can take care of it. All of it. Just... come home to me. Please."

"A few more days." She murmured, taking a deep breath, trying to push the pain down. It kept growing. Like an animal clawing at her insides. She was worried eventually the animal would claw deep enough it would draw blood, and she'd start to bleed out. "A few more days, just to see things through, then I'll be home."

"Will you meet with me? Anywhere? Just... just so I can see you, talk to you?" Rogers sounded almost like a lost little boy.

"I don't know. I don't know if that would be such a good idea." She flopped down on the bed. "It might just be a good idea to leave things where they were, when I left."

"I never should have let you leave like that." He whispered. "I should have stopped you. I should have made sure you knew that this wasn't what I wanted, ever. It wasn't a good idea. Because... I'm terrified, Brooklyn. I'm terrified you are letting go of me. And I don't know what I'm gonna do if you do that. I don't want to be alone again. And after knowing how good it feels to be yours? How right it is? I don't know if I can ever come back from that. I'm worried it'll be the death of me."
"You'll survive." She assured him, softly. "People like us, we always survive. Everything. It's who we are, remember?"

"Not this." He denied, just as softly. "Not this time. And I don't know if I want to. I don't know if I want to wake up in a world where you aren't... Where I don't belong to you. Even thinking about it hurts."

She took a deep breath, tying to steady herself. The detoxing must be in full swing. The withdrawals must be hitting Rogers. Hard. "That's why me taking the suppressors might be a good idea. At the very least, we can have some kind of relationship, when this is all over. A friendship. A good one, right?"
"How can you expect me to be your friend, when I know what you taste like when you cum?" He asked, stunned. "Do you honestly want me to go through that pain? Seeing you, on a daily basis, knowing that you don't feel that way about me, anymore? Because you decided that cutting off your natural responses was safer, than just... accepting that we should and could be together?"

"But that's just it." She tried to explain her reasoning. "Maybe we shouldn't be together. Maybe its the best thing for us, to have found this out before we went any further. I mean, Jesus, Rogers, I offered to give up my apartment, so we could have a place together. What would have happened if we had found out after we had moved in together? Where would that have left me? Maybe it's better this way. And like I said, in a week or so, you won't care anymore. I'm just... surprised, I guess, that you aren't angry about this. All of this, that I've brought down on you. That I've done to you."

"Why would I be mad at you for something you didn't even know you were doing?" He asked, using a soothing tone. "I wanted to be with you, before your pheromones kicked in, remember? At the club? You got my attention, just by standing still."

"I want to believe that, Rogers. I do." She rolled over onto her side, pulling her legs up. "But it's hard to, okay? And like I said, all of this is too early. Give it a week, and maybe we can re-discuss all of this."

A soft knock at the door to her room made her sit up, turning her head to look as Petra opened the door and came in, her arms wrapped around her.

"I have to go, Rogers." She murmured. "We'll talk again, after I get back."

"Promise me, Babydoll." He breathed. "Promise me, that we will talk again."
Brooklyn took a deep breath. "I promise, Rogers. I have to go, someone's at my door."

"Who?" A tone she had never really heard from Rogers laced his voice. "Who's at your door? Is that why you are so insistent that I move on with another woman?" Pain soaked his voice now. "Is it because you already have? Has another man... have you... God, Brooklyn, tell me you haven't...."

"I have not." She snapped, angry now. "I waited how long for you? I'm not so faithless as to jump into the bed of the first dick that comes alone, just because you broke my heart. Go to hell, Rogers!" She hung up, throwing the phone across the bed, groaning as she slapped her hands over her face. Fucking idiotic men. All over the fucking world. But Rogers was the biggest idiot she had ever come across. "Discus throwing dickhead!"

"Problems?" Petra asked, as she came further into the room.

"Not any more than usual." Brooklyn sighed, dropping her hands from her face. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"I wanted to know if I could order some food. I'm hungry." Petra blushed.

"Knock yourself out." Brooklyn sat up. "In fact, I might join you, if you don't mind?"

***************************

She opened the door to Petra's room, checking on the girl, before shutting it silently. Breathing a sigh of relief, she zipped up her heavy coat, and reached up to adjust the knit cap she had on her head. Making sure the key card to the room was tucked away securely in her inner coat pocket with her phone, she slipped her collapsible baton in her right pocket, she checked the amount of money she had grabbed out of her wallet. She was feeling restless.

The phone call from Rogers had not helped. The man was going to be the death of her. He kept going on like she didn't want to hold on to him, that she didn't want to keep her ownership of him. If she wanted to, she could force him to stay with her after he was no longer under the effects of her pheromones. She could play on his sympathies, that as the daughter of his best friend, she would still need to remain close to him, at all times. Sex would also be another way to keep him. If she deliberately dosed him as often as she could with her pheromones, he would fall back under whatever spell had caused him to be hers the first time.

But all of those wouldn't make it real. It wouldn't make him love her.

In the end, it was best, this way. It was best if they just somehow found some way to coexist. For Juliana and for her father.

And one day, one day she might wake up and realize that the pain in her chest was all gone, and she might learn to love someone else. Someone more her speed, and better fitted to suit her needs. Someone who she wouldn't overwhelm with her neediness and broken edges.

Brooklyn left the suite, went to the elevator and took it down to the lobby. As she passed the front desk, the pretty woman there smiled, and wished her a good night. Pausing, Brooklyn frowned, before going over.

"Excuse me?" She asked. "I was wondering, what is there to do in Warsaw at night?"

The woman beamed, before launching into an explanation of all the nighttime activities in the city. "There's the museums, a lot of them offer access at nights. You can go ice skating, there are still a few rinks still set up, left over from the Christmas season. There are many night clubs and music venues with shows. Of course, you can always tour the Castle gardens. They decorate the gardens and the grounds. Plus it's free. There's also the Nocny Market. Its food and drink, and a few vendor stalls. Of course, just walking the streets might find you stores and such that are still open. If you like chocolate, a good suggestion is E. Wedecel Chocolate Lounge. Its off a chocolate factory. They have all types of chocolate goodies, including hot chocolate. We cater to the visitors, in Warsaw, even in winter." She grinned again. "Just make sure to watch your back. Men are not so kind to a pretty woman alone, sometimes."

"That's not going to be an issue." Brooklyn grinned back, before leaving the desk. "Thank you."

She almost hoped someone started something with her. She was almost desperate to work off some of the excess energy. If Rogers were around, she'd work it off in a more creative way. But lacking him, she would take a fight as a viable method, easily. Especially if it meant the men who were trying with her, weren't harassing other women. Although, the chocolate factory did sound intriguing.

Nothing like chocolate, to heal a broken heart, right?

She decided, in the end, to just wander, and see what happened. If she got lost, she could always take to the roofs, to find her hotel. It wasn't ideal, considering the crust of snow on the ground, and the patches of ice, but it was better than spending the rest of her life wandering a city with a history as vast and dark as Warsaw. Even if she might be looking for trouble.

She found the city center, easily enough. The signs were posted all over the city, sending visitors to where they wanted to go. Once there, she found the notices for the Nocny Market, and finding it, was slightly overwhelmed by the unexpected businesses. People were milling about, drinking, eating, laughing. No one acted like they had a care in the world. She was able to slip in among the crowd, and around people, as she wandered the Market, looking for something to catch her eye. Brooklyn paused at one of the local brewers, who was talking up their own beer, smiling, when she decided to try it. She purchased the reasonably priced beer, which was about two dollars for a pint, and went to find herself a place to sit, if only for a moment. The chill in the air was chased away by the many large patio heaters spaced around the area, but as she settled on a bench, sipping the malty beer in her hand, she felt the nip in the air, just the same.

As she sat there, observing the people around her, she smelled grilling meat, and despite the excellent meal she and Petra had ordered from the hotel room service, she felt her stomach growl. Standing up, she chugged the rest of the beer, pausing on her way out of the little area set up next to the brewery to leave her plastic cup in the garbage, before following her nose. She found the stall, not as crowded as some of the others, where a man with a burly mustache and beard was turning meat on an open fire grill. She waited until he noticed her, and asked for an order of their special. The man grinned, nodding, before handing her a plate with sausage, bacon, and small grilled ribs. The spices and sauces of the meat combined to make her groan slightly, as she paid. He gestured to a few picnic tables set up nearby, and waved her off as she thanked him. Sitting down, she picked up the plastic fork and dug in. The flavors exploded on her tongue, making her close her eyes for a moment. There was something about eating food native to the area you were in.

Granted, she didn't have a whole lot of experience with this, but when she was able to sample the local delicacies, she was never disappointed.

This time was no different. Polish meat was done a certain way, that only those born and raised in the area knew how to cook. And the fact that the meat was done on an open flame helped, immensely. There was a char on the ribs that only fire could produce, and a the smoke was embedded into the meat to off set some of the more interesting spice choices. She quickly devoured the plate, feeling almost feral as she did so. Her manner fell by the wayside for a moment, as she used her fingers to pick up bites and put them in her mouth.

She sucked her fingers clean of the last of the spices and meat juices, belching slightly, when she was finished, before sitting back and sighing. That had been very satisfying. Cleaning up her spot, she threw away her trash, before catching the man's attention again, thanking him for the wonderful food. He grinned, laughing, as he accepted her thanks, before gesturing to the corner of his mouth, than at her face, telling her she had a left a bit of something.

Blushing, she asked about a bathroom, and the man gave her instructions. She found it, easily enough, before going in and washing her face and hands, using the scratched mirror on the wall to make sure she had gotten everything. Feeling lighter than she had in days, she left the bathroom, pausing once outside, to take stock of where she was, and what she wanted to do next. A bit more wandering led her to believe that there was nothing really available but alcohol and food, and done with that, she wandered out of the Market, and back onto the streets.

Wandering, getting herself lost for a bit, she paused to look in the windows of the various shops. Some were open, and when the people working inside saw her stop, they would often gesture for her to come inside. She resisted, for the most part, only going in when there was something that really caught her eye. But for the most part, at least in the area she was in, the nightlife of Warsaw consisted of bars and tasting rooms.

Deciding she was done wandering for the night, she turned to retrace her steps back to the hotel. It was easy enough. Again, the signs for the tourists were helpful, and she figured as long as she continued on in the direction of the Castle, she would be fine. At the very least, she figured if she found the Castle, she would visit the gardens and grounds, like the woman at the desk had suggested.

She was keeping an eye on her destination, when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise. Pausing at a crossing, waiting for a truck to putter by, she glanced over her shoulder, spotting the three men who were trying to be inconspicuous. It appeared that the warning the lady at the hotel desk was right. There were men who could be a danger to a woman alone at night in Warsaw.

Well, a danger to a woman who was not Brooklyn.

Grinning, delighted that she might be able to blow of some energy in a physical manner, she let herself get lost again, as a woman unfamiliar with the city she was in might do. She wandered, not picking up her pace, not letting the men following her know she had noticed them. Eventually she was further away from the city center than a tourist should be, especially a lone female at night. Stopping, she looked around, before ducking into an alley, as if looking for a shortcut. Behind her she heard the men speed up, certain they had trapped her. As she reached the end of the blocked alley, she stopped, before turning around.

"Hello, pretty lady." One of them smiled, reaching to unzip his jacket. "Did you get lost? My friends and I will help you.... for a price, of course."

"Oh?" Brooklyn replied, in perfect Polish. "And what would that price be?"

"Just a little bit of time, in your company. If you are nice to us, we'll be nice to you." He grinned wider, reaching down to cup himself, in his pants, indicating how he wanted her to be 'nice.'

"I'm sorry, I'm not interested." Brooklyn sniffed, moving towards them, deciding to give them one last chance, before she used physical means to make them change their minds. As she went to brush past them, one of them reached out and grabbed her arm.

"Don't be like that, pretty lady." He sneered. She could smell the beer and vodka on his breath. "Make this easy on yourself."

She arched an eyebrow up. "I suggest you let go of me."

"Oh, kitty has claws!" One of the other men laughed. "Maybe I want to see what those claws feel like."

"You'll wish you hadn't." Brooklyn pursed her lips, before tugging her arm, flipping her hand over to grab the man who held her, than bringing her forehead into his. The hurt faded after a heartbeat, but he looked stunned. She used his distraction to yank her arm out of his grasp, backing up so she was covered by the wall at the end of the alley. "Well, let's get this done."

She reached into her pocket, pulling out the collapsible baton, releasing it, and bringing it up to her shoulder, ready to strike. The first man who had spoken, snarled at her and lunged. She brought the baton down on his shoulder, as hard as she could, the resulting crack and his scream made her grin. She brought her elbow up, catching his chin, and used her knee to knock his thigh, sending him off balance. A final sweep with the baton at his knee made him drop, rolling over as the pain coursed through them.

"Maybe you should have learned to pick on someone your own speed, assholes." She grinned wider, feeling satisfaction as the man at her feet seemed to be crying. She drew back her foot, catching him in the face, and he went limp.

One of the men pulled a knife, and waved it at her. "I'm going to cut up that pretty face! You'll remember you should have just given us what we wanted, every time you look in a mirror!"

"Oh, please." She scoffed. "You'll remember me, every time you take a meal through a straw. Cause, Baby, I'm going to break your jaw so bad, it'll take years to heal."

From the stance he was holding, Brooklyn knew he had never really been in a knife fight. His grip was too tight, and it would take nothing really to make him drop it. As he went for her, waving the knife at her face, she stepped back, until he over reached, and brought the baton down on his wrist as hard as she could. The resulting scream from his mouth as his fingers automatically dropped the knife was so satisfying. Grabbing the broken wrist with her free hand, she twisted it, feeling the bones break even more, before using her grip to flip him around, and bring the baton across his neck, choking him. He still had the advantage of height, and to fix that, she kicked out sharply at his knee, feeling the bones give as she repeated the kick, until his knee gave away completely.

Shrieking again, he dropped to his good knee, the other one at a weird angle. She grabbed the other end of the baton, pulling it towards her chest harshly, hearing him gurgle and choke on the noises coming from his throat. She was so tempted to twist, hear his neck snap, leave a corpse.

But she didn't do that anymore.

Instead, she let go of the baton, before flipping it in the air, catching it backwards, and bringing the handle which was covered in the grip material, down against his temple sharply. He dropped like an ox, still, but alive.

The third man stood there, shock on his face, as she grinned at him. Her first step towards him was halted when he brought a gun out of his pocket and pulled back the hammer. The click made her cock her head slightly. It wasn't a powerful gun. A snub nosed revolver. As long as he didn't hit her head or her heart, she was more than a little sure she would survive. She wouldn't be happy, but she'd survive. The resulting mess would be a bitch, though.

"Drop the weapon, bitch!" He ordered, even as his hand holding the gun shook. "I'll shoot you!"

"Will you?" She taunted, deciding that she didn't care if she got a bullet in her, tonight. It would be worth it, to take this scum apart, piece by piece. Maybe she'd even go back on her earlier plan to not kill the fuckers. "Do you even have it in you, to pull that trigger? Have you ever killed someone? Watched the life bleed from their eyes because of something you did? Smelt them after they've evacuated themselves in that last moment of life? Heard the air move through their shredded lungs?"

He backed away from her. "What the fuck are you?"
As he turned to run, apparently deciding that he didn't want to deal with her anymore, and that saving his own skin was more important that trying to save his friends, someone stepped out of the shadows, grabbing the arm that held the gun. The interloper threw the man into the wall, and he made a sickening thud as he impacted into the brick.

Brooklyn took a deep breath, tightening her hand on the baton slightly, as she waited to see what this new person was going to do. She took a step back, lowering her head, readying herself.

"What're ya gonna do, Baby Girl?" the person asked, in an achingly familiar voice. "Bash my head in?"

She dropped the baton, bringing both hands up to her mouth in shock.

"Not like it might be an improvement. But after all these years, I don't think it'll jump start things for me." The person reached up, pulling down the dark hood of his jacket. He stepped fully into the yellow light that leeched into the alley from the street. "And you're still leaving your left side open. I know I taught you better than that."
she could barely see, from the tears that were welling up. As he came closer, she shook her head slightly, in denial, in pain... she didn't know. But he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. She inhaled a scent she was so familiar with, but always seemed to forget, digging her hands into the shoulders of his jacket, as he placed on hard hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair.

"Papa." she sobbed. "Papa. Papa."

A/N:  So... Yeah. Stick with me, okay? Vote and comment!