a nothing king. sid & jamie

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

JAMES  MONAGHAN

You hear her before she's ready for you to.

That much you're certain of.

You've only gotten more perceptive in the year and however fucking long since Juliet decided that her life wasn't going to be worth as much as Noah's even though she never stood a chance to get out of there and then she went had her leg hacked off and her arm cut away and ate a goddamned blade with her gut and—this is why you stopped thinking about it, stopped letting people say her name when you're around, stopped even staying at the house as much as you did once upon a time, because every time you think about it, about her, about Juliet, your thoughts run away from you.

And you don't have time for that.

There are exactly two things in this life that you have time for anymore, and they're business and spilling blood. Sometimes, like tonight, they even do you the courtesy over overlapping. It's always your favorite, when the Peackeepers start acting like they can bite back, like they run this District, like it isn't the Monaghans singlehandedly managing to keep this crumbling place from fully falling back into the earth. Please, you can still hear him begging, down on his knees before you'd mockingly given him a three minute head start to run before setting your hounds chasing after.

Absently, you wonder if his voice is ringing in Sid's head just the same, of if there's an kind of abject horror that will cling to her heart the way it never did to yours.

"You might as well come out," you say when the room has cleared and the man has run, your soldiers in pursuit. You adjust your black leather gloves, tug on the edges to—you're not sure. It's a tick, you know. It's the thought of Juliet lingering, you're sure. "It's just me and you."

[fireflyz]

Sidonie resented being reminded of her age. Anytime someone made a quip about her being too young to understand, maybe when you're a bit bigger, oh how precious, it took everything in her to keep her fists pressed to the sides of her legs. She was somewhat better at controlling her outbursts now, remembering to draw in slow, cool breaths to alleviate the burn that spread in her chest. When she was actually small (which she wasn't now, thank you very much), she remembered wrangling her way out of her blanket cocoon to screech at one of her siblings who had said she slept like a baby.

"I am not a baby!" she had squeaked, blanket crumpling to the floor as she slid off the mattress. "I'm literally seven!"

Her indignation was met with laughter, as it usually was, and she eventually retreated back to her cocoon to sulk until her eyes could no longer fight the tension of slumber. Back then, Sidonie had a penchant for being able to fall asleep anywhere, going from the star of the show to a dimming light as if by magic. But in the year since Jules' death, it was like Sid was always switched on, lights spilling from every window even though on most nights there was no one home. She wished that she could sleep like a baby again instead of hearing every creak and whisper of the house. She should have known by now that wishes didn't always come true.

Sidonie's head was buried beneath her pillow when a door hinge spoke through the wall. Someone was moving - they always moved at this time of night. At least they were consistent in their midnight snacking. She swallowed and realized that her throat was full of copper, her mouth dry. Guess I can talk to whoever's down there, she thought. Sidonie jerked her arm to the side, releasing the pillow and hearing a thud as it hit the wall. She sat up and slid out of bed, feet shuffling into her fluffy once-white slippers as she went to the doorway. She turned the knob slowly, slipping into the hallway in search of an open door. There were none. Sidonie left her own slightly open.

She descended the first few steps, but stopped when she heard another door swing open. She waited for someone to speak, the sound of footsteps coming closer - instead, there is nothing but a departure. The door shut and Sidonie was no longer trying to be stealthy, skipping two steps at a time to find herself alone in the foyer with a shadow receding on the floor. Through the little window on the door she saw the back of his head, and then she could put a name to what went bump in the night. Jamie.

Sidonie waited until he was no longer visible from the window to open the door, muggy air and the sound of crickets beckoning her outside. Her slippers found dirt and she wobbled slightly as she followed behind him.

At first, she thought the other men she saw were the result of her exhaustion giving her triple vision. Then one of them made eye contact, and Sidonie found herself sprawled out on the gravel behind a nearby building, her knees aching from the sloppy dive she'd performed. Her ears rang. Muffled voices drifted further away.

Sid squeezed her eyes shut, cursed herself for not just getting a glass of water and going back to bed, but her need to know what was going on with Jamie wouldn't have been quenched. She'd be back in her room, unable to sleep, wishing she was still a baby.

A pained shout made her eyes fly open, and she was scrambling to her feet again, her slippers scuffing against the pavement. The sounds were coming from inside a building - skin colliding with skin, someone collapsing against concrete, an anguished groan - and Sidonie felt her way along the dark walls until her body was safely pressed up against an empty crate. Her breathing was unsteady, and she cupped a hand over her mouth, gray dust leaping from her palm to her lips.

"Please," someone begged, and Sidonie felt tears bite at her eyes.

There was silence, and then the sound of someone scrambling away. Within minutes, leather boots striking the floor. Sidonie wiped her damp eyes on the back of her hand, letting out a soft sniffle.

And then, a voice she knew. A voice that filled her with warmth, albeit not to its full capacity at the moment.

"You might as well come out," Jamie said. "It's just me and you."

Sidonie pressed her back against the crates, willing her breath to slow. She could just pretend to not be there. It would be so easy to let Jamie walk away and simply hope that she made it back home before he did. But Sidonie Monaghan had never been one for the easy route, and so she dropped to her hands and knees and crawled into the open. The first thing she saw was the angry crimson stain at her brother's feet, and she was struck with a wave of nausea. She looked up at her brother, casually adjusting his gloves as if nothing had happened, and the gentle hearth that had bloomed within her died.

She rose to her feet, painfully aware of the layer of dust covering her from chin to toe. Her heart raced not only out of fear, but because she was the petulant child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, if the cookie jar were a potentially life-threatening situation.

Sidonie's mouth quivered. "J-J-Jamie... what did you do?"

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

JAMES  MONAGHAN

Letting Sidonie follow you had been... reckless.

It's the kind of thing that you know in another life, maybe you would be ashamed of, the kind of thing that you're pretty sure your mother would scold you for. Then again, in another life you think it's pretty unlikely that your mother would be the kind of woman who didn't bat an eye when you tell her that you've punished an enemy by slitting their throat, that in another life maybe Marissa Monaghan would have been the kind of woman who baked cookies for her children to come home to after school instead of having them work the counter at the store where she sold black market goods. In another life, maybe you'd have been cast out for the fact that violence becomes you as well as it does, wouldn't be allowed to be more blade than boy.

Maybe in another life, when you got blood on your gloves you'd feel more like you'd been caught red handed.

But in this life, you had one single voice that was ever properly able to temper you, one single voice that reminded you that you were human, that you needed to be kind sometimes. 

But you don't hear Juliet's voice anymore.

"Nothing I haven't done a hundred times before," you say, feelings something tight pulling in your chest. There's dirt and dust all over your baby sister, and somewhere in the darkest, deepest hollow of you, the part of you that was loved by Juliet is screaming out that you should help her get cleaned up, that you should be the one to take the cloth from the bucket on the table and wipe the grime off of her cheek, but that part is too buried, too forgotten, and instead all you can do is walk over to it and pick it up, put it on the nearest surface to your sister.

You don't miss the smear of crimson you leave on the edge.

"You should clean off your face before you head home," you say instead. "If Mom catches you like that, there will be hell to pay."

[fireflyz]

He set a pail of water and a rag before her, and Sidonie had half a mind to knock it onto the floor and wash away the mess her brother had made. Jamie's fingerprints were embossed in red against silver, and Sid found herself standing in the Justice Building once more, blood on Jamie's hands, blood on Jules' face. How her sister had been almost unfazed.

Jamie, did you hurt yourself?

didyouhurtdidyouhurtdidyouhurt

"Nothing I haven't done a hundred times before."

She tightened her fists at her sides, staring at the ground as the mismatched fragments in her memory began to piece themselves together. Jamie hurt people. On purpose. Sid had hoped and prayed that none of her siblings would have to hurt anyone or be hurt ever again and her brother did it like it was sport.

She should clean her face. Her cheeks felt grimey and her mouth tasted of earth and she should clean her face. Yet, her hands stayed at her sides, and she raised her eyes to meet her brother's.

"That's..." Her voice came out soft and trembling, and she grabbed it before it could recede further down her throat. "That's all you can say?"

When her words stopped echoing through the room, all she had was her heart, hammering inside her ears like a bass drum. She hated it. She hated that he was so nonchalant, that he cared more about how she looked than how he did in this moment.

"Why should I have to pay for anything?" Sid shrieked. "I didn't do anything. What about you?"

Her mouth quivered, and she was back to a murmur. "Does mom even know?"

Sid's eyes fell back to the bucket, and for a moment she considered grabbing hold of the edges and flinging its contents in Jamie's direction, and maybe he'd become indignant or melt into hell or simply wake up to the situation that he, and now she, were in.

Instead, she angrily plunged the rag into the bucket and began to streak water across her face.

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

JAMES  MONAGHAN

You remember too well the last time Sid had found you red-handed.

You hadn't been able to collect yourself quite all the way then, hadn't been able to unravel yourself from Jules and the reality of what she had done, had just stood there trembling with her in your arms and Sid looking at you like the earth had fallen out from underneath her and just... letting that be. And she hadn't asked you about it again and you don't know what she assumed happened or what she thinks transpired to end up in a room with your gloves soaked in blood and having crawled through the Justice Building window, but—you were grateful she hadn't asked.

You don't like questions.

(They make you think about the things that you have done, and to be frank, you'd really rather fucking not.)

That's all you can say? she says this time though, and there's no trace of kindness or worry etched into her brow this time, no lingering bit of innocence to make you believe she might still think you half as kind as Jules had been. Twice as fierce, maybe, but you don't suppose she seems that as all that much of a good thing.

What do you want me to say? is right there on the tip of your tongue, so clear in your mind that you can almost hear yourself saying it. You voice level and calm and thought through, you could be crueler than you've ever been before, fully let her in and show her the monstrous things that you do in the dark, things that not even your mother knows about. But even though you don't hear Jules in your head these days, a part of you wants to sit there and look your sister in the eye and be anything other than the monster that you've let yourself become, wants to take the rag she's angrily dragging across her cheeks and do it more gently. You want to react more when she starts to shriek, but there's only an expanding abyss taking over every part of your body, sucking your energy and your happiness and your kindness away with it, buried where you've hidden the ashes of your memories with your death twin sister.

Your dead better half.

"First, you snuck out and put yourself in a situation you shouldn't be in. That's punishment worthy," you say, taking the second rag in the bucket and wiping down your own hands. When you're done, you cross your arms over your chest and lean back on the table you set the bucket down on. Your pose is casual, and you have a feeling it will only make things worse, but you don't know how to shake the mask you put on the day Jules died, think maybe you've become it. "As for mom, she knows what she needs to know." Your jaw clicks. "Plausible deniability, and all that."

You watch your baby sister, not a baby anymore, and wish that Jules was here to tell you how to handle this one.

[fireflyz]

Deniability.

Sid thought of all the times she had tried to ignore something, tell a fib, done anything to run away from the truth. Someone was inevitably always there to take hold of her, lightly tap her on the wrist and remind her of the importance of honesty.

And she tried. She really, really tried. She tried to be an honest merchant, catering to the whims of customers with a smile even when they regarded her like she was one of the lowest things they could ever lay eyes on. She tried to be an honest sister, a good daughter, burying her most twisted emotions for the sake of the family. She was being honest when she said she didn't need the other kids in Twelve to be her friends because her family was enough.

But for over a year, Sidonie's heart had been screaming for someone to hear it, acknowledge it, wrangle it home so she could turn all the lights off and sit in the cool, dark silence without fearing that it would consume her, but even in the light no one came. Even when she was sat at the dinner table with everyone she loved, she looked at each of their faces - Jamie and mom and dad and Noah and Eli and Justin and Bailey and Saoirse - and it was the familiarity that made her shrink within herself, because even being around the people she had known her entire life was not enough to curb the loneliness. And on top of it, they all knew more than Sidonie had apparently ever known, because they could easily deny it.

Her cheeks were warm, both from friction and from the emotions that had burrowed into her chest. She weaved the cloth through her hands until all that remained were damp gray streaks in the crease of her palms. She dropped the rag in the bucket and smeared the residue on her pajama pants.

Jamie leaned against the table, expression virtually unchanged, and Sid willed the part of her that dug deep, took on more tasks, insisted on manning the desk by herself because she could handle it to come forward and ask the questions that she so desperately needed answers to. But her fire had quieted, embers crackling in the pit of her stomach as exhaustion set into her joints once more. She drew in a slow breath through her nose, mirroring the way her brother crossed his arms over his chest.

"I want to go home," she said in a low, careful tone, one that spelled take me home.

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

JAMES  MONAGHAN

It's not hard to read your little sister.

You wish, in a way, that it was more difficult, if you're being honest with yourself. You don't want to watch the fire in her slowly burn out, don't want to watch as she scrubs the dirt and grime from her face and hands and feel nothing echoing inside of your hollow chest. But the scariest part if it all is that the hollowness, you know, is the safest thing about you, the safest way for you to be, the only version of yourself that you think will ever be able to walk this earth again.

You think about it every single goddamned day, about how you want someone to just fucking pinch you awake, to remind you that you're alive even though Juliet isn't, that you're healthy and real and corporeal. You want to be punched in the fucking face so barely and woken up just because you are so desperate to feel something, to feel anything other than this numbness to the world that you feel now. It with you in everything that you do, everywhere that you go, makes you feel so alone and far away from everything that has ever mattered to you. Not even Mona has been able to shake you out of this reverie that you're stuck in. As badly as you want it though, you know that you're never going to have it, that if you let yourself feel the things that you would if you could process Jules dying on you, then you would tear District Twelve down brick by rotting brick.

You, better than anyone, know that it's dangerous for you to wake up.

It's why you can't uncross your arms, can't do anything other than raise your eyebrows when Sid looks at you and mirrors you. Foolish girl, you think to yourself. Please, don't be anything like me.

You can hear the command in her voice plain as day, the question, the want to not have to go home alone after everything that she has just seen, what she has just witnessed. That she is even more afraid of the things that go bump in the night now that she knows you are one of the worst monsters of all.

I'm sure you can find the way yourself you think, and the words are right there on the tip of your tongue until, finally, there she is. A recycled memory, not actually her in your head anymore, but her words all the same, her voice. Clear as a spring night.

Just look after them when I'm gone.

Your jaw clicks, and your hands clench into fists so tight you can almost feel your nails through the leather on your palms.

But when you reply, it's kinder.

At the very least, it is not cruel.

"I'll take you home then," you say before swallowing, pushing away from the table. "Last thing I need is your ass getting in trouble you aren't ready for."

Again, you tack on mentally.

[fireflyz]

He said, "I'll take you home then," and Sidonie allowed herself to breathe, mere seconds from leaning into his side and pretending the whole thing never happened. Of course he would take her home. Of course. Because they were family and Jamie would rather die than even consider leaving her out to dry.

The second half of his statement - last thing he needs - made her tense, but she kept her mouth shut, unwilling to start another fight even as he continued to act as if she were an inconvenience, nothing more than the bratty younger sibling who ruined all the fun.

Was it fun for him? Taking someone down and hearing them scream, toying with them the way Noel had toyed with Jules? She thought of the man who had shouted at her in the shop, the one who told her how people suffered every day, but Sidonie couldn't imagine any suffering greater than watching someone revel in your pain. She didn't want to imagine suffering ever again. But it was already too late - the nightmares having finally ebbed away, the sleepless nights continuing, what was once an abstract concept now becoming her own being. She felt another flicker of anger, but it was gone in seconds.

Sidonie shuffled outside, arms still crossed over her chest. She figured that she'd come from the east, so she began to drift in that direction. Once she was a few feet out of the doorway, she silently glanced back at her brother, waiting for him to take the lead.