Jonn: What Did You Do To Their Bodies?

He was breathless when he made it back to the Guildhouse, from the running and the laughing. The woman at the door eyed him, but she knew him, and let him into the back room without comment.

Helena was behind her desk, with her boots propped up on it, sharpening a knife idly, and it took Jonn a beat to realize that she wasn’t alone in the room when he burst in. She fixed him with a chilly stare -- should’ve knocked, he realized, too late, and froze for a moment, bit his lip and twitched in place as he tried to figure out if he should duck back out and try again. But he was too excited for that, and she was going to be proud of him and forget all about it once he showed her.

He ignored the man sitting on this side of the desk and skipped forward, thrusting his hand out to show her the gold necklace with the heart-shaped ruby dangling from it. “I got it,” he said, too loud.

Her eyebrows raised, for a second, in what he thought was surprise. She was going to be impressed. He’d done well. Then her boots dropped off the desk with a slam and she grabbed his wrist, yanking his hand further across the desk and pulling him off balance.

“And what’s this?” she demanded.

His hip had banged into the edge of the desk painfully, and he fidgeted in place but was careful to not jerk his hand away. “It’s -- it’s the necklace you told me to get. Right?” Heart-shaped ruby. He couldn’t have gotten the wrong one, but he’d done something wrong, he could tell that much.

“The fucking blood on your hands, Jonn.” Her fingernails dug into him, then she let him go. He stayed where she’d put him. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I slit her throat,” he said blankly. “To get the necklace.”

Helena slapped him across the face, hard enough that he went reeling and collided with the other man in the office, and the necklace clattered out of his hand and onto her desk. Tears stung his eyes. He tried to hide them behind his hair until he could blink them away, but the thief he’d tripped into was standing, pushing him upright and to face Helena again. Instinctively, Jonn shied away from looking at her.

“I should, uh --,” the other thief started, pulling his hands away from Jonn.

Before he could finish, Helena spoke over him. Her voice was calm now. “We talked about this, kitten.”

“She never took the necklace off,” he said quietly, still turned toward the other thief, head down. “I waited. In her bedroom and everything. But she got drunk at the ball and she passed out in her dress and her jewelry.” It’d been a pretty dress. He’d stolen her pearl earrings, too, but he hadn’t planned on telling Helena about those. “I couldn’t get it off her without waking her up, and you told me not to let anyone see me.”

“So you thought it best to draw attention to a murder, instead of a fucking robbery.”

He hesitated, and picked at the dried blood under his fingernails. Helena came around her desk -- the other thief backing away several steps -- and grabbed his chin to make him look at her. He tasted the fresh blood, now, coming from his lip.

“And what aren’t you telling me, kitten?”

“I stole her earrings too,” he blurted.

She narrowed her eyes, studying him. “What else?”

“Nothing else,” he lied, even though she’d find out soon enough. He didn’t think about that in the moment. Just wanted to say the thing that would make her stop being angry at him. Hansel was never angry at him. He never had to lie to Hansel.

Helena was also much better at telling when he was lying. Her lips quirked and she let go of his chin to slap him again. “I told you not to fucking lie to me.”

“I’m gonna go,” the other thief tried again.

“You stay right fucking there.” Helena pointed the knife she’d been sharpening at him, then looked back to Jonn, who hadn’t moved, body locked in place. Her voice went low, the way it did when she was really fucking pissed off. “If I have to find out what you did from someone else, so help me, kitten.”

The vagueness of the threat only made it worse. He needed rules, and consequences. Hansel did that. Hansel told him what to do, how to stay out of trouble, and told him what would happen if he didn’t. And then Jonn could decide if the consequences were worth it anyway. But Helena -- Helena would hurt him. And she wouldn’t specify how. Maybe she’d throw him back out on the street, blacklist him. Maybe she’d let the Basha catch him and torture him. Maybe she’d torture him herself. Maybe she’d just lock him in a room and forget the key so matter how much he screamed.

She just said *so help me, Jonn*, in that tone of voice, and let him do the rest, and even though he knew what she was doing, it worked.

“You said she’d be alone,” he hedged.

“I told you to *get her* when she was alone.”

“You told me to get her after the ball, ‘cause she’d be alone --.” He was too loud again, and she silenced him by pointing the knife at him warningly. His jaw snapped shut and he looked down. “She wasn’t alone. So. I couldn’t get the necklace off her. So I killed her.” Her blood was still on the delicate gold chain. “And. Then there would have been witnesses. So. I had to kill them too. Right?”

Helena was silent for a moment. He didn’t look at her face to try to guess her emotions -- he figured it was safe to bet she was angry.

Her voice came out even. “How many?”

“Three.”

“You killed three people to get this necklace.”

He nodded.

Again, silence for a beat. Her hand curled around the back of his neck, under his hair, skin to skin. “And what did you do to their bodies, Jonn?”

He looked up abruptly, eyes wide. “Nothing. Nothing.”

She studied his face, chewing on the inside of her cheek, expression flat.

“Nothing!”

She gave him a once-over and her expression changed slowly to relief. She closed her eyes, and pulled him closer to kiss his forehead. “Good. All right. Good.”

Jonn melted into her, relieved too, sighing.

“No more of that serial killer shit, right?” she said fondly, and petted his hair.

He nodded, and she let him press against her side, draped her arm around him. His face still stung; he licked the pooled blood off his lip and looked over to the other thief for the first time. He was pale, save for the mottled scars covering half his face, body language yelling that he was ready to bolt. The eye that didn’t have scars around it had a fading bruise instead, a splotch of blood discoloring the sclera, and there was a stitch in his bottom lip. Jonn wondered if Helena was taking care of him, too.

“What the fuck did you think he would’ve done to their bodies?” he asked faintly.

“What was I saying to you, before?” Helena said instead of answering his question. “I think you were giving me your qualifications.”

The thief’s eyes flicked between her and Jonn for a second. “Look, I just -- need to score a few good jobs, and then I’m fucking getting out of Skyport.”

“Oh, honey, you have to *earn* the good jobs.” She was amused. That was the voice she used on Jonn when he fucked up, but not badly enough for her to get mad at him.

“What I was saying about qualifications …” he said slowly. “It’s been a while back, but I cracked Baron Dillahunty’s safe.” He hesitated. “I could do it again. Prove it.”

She tilted her head. “Didn’t the thief who did that get his hands broken by the Basha?”

He held his up. Fucked up, like his face, but the fingers flexed.

“And didn’t the thief who did that start *working* for the Basha?”

That stumped him for a second. He glanced to the side, nervous. “Not anymore.”

“Me and Renar Basha, y’see, we don’t really get along,” she said. “I don’t make it a habit of hiring his people. Or letting them find out where my Guildhouse is.”

“I don’t work for the Basha,” he insisted. Jonn kept staring at him. He was trying to hard to sound brave, but his jaw was tight, and one boot scraped back against the stone floor. He wanted to run like nothing else but Jonn was betting he knew there wasn’t any getting away.

She gave a contemplative sigh and slipped her hand through Jonn’s hair again. “Little Jonn here used to have a bit of a problem with killing people when he wasn’t supposed to, you know. I thought about making him one of my assassins. Like the one who got so close to taking out all of your boss’s cartel heads -- you remember her? Renar had her hands broken, too. And a lot more than that.”

“Must’ve been before my time.” He swallowed.

“The problem with Jonn,” she went on, and he winced as she pulled at his hair slightly, “is that he’s just too damn *messy* to be an assassin. I mean, you heard him. The boy killed three people trying to steal a necklace -- I ask you.” She shook her head. “He has his uses, though, for when I don’t need things done cleanly.”

The thief opened his mouth. He couldn’t seem to decide which one of them he was meant to look at. No denying he was terrified.

Helena said, “I made him stop taking people apart, but he misses it. I feel bad, you know?” and shifted to hold Jonn out at arm’s length by his shoulders. “What about it, kitten? Do you wanna skin our friend the spy, here? Maybe take out his tongue? Cut open his hands again? I’ll give you a clean room and an hour before I kill him. Or if you do really well,” she crooned, “maybe I’ll send him back to Renar as a little message.”

Jonn stared at her. His fingers danced against his thigh. Oh -- the hands. He liked hands. They were pretty and delicate inside and he bet the hands of a safecracker would be really interesting, even -- maybe especially -- if they hadn’t healed right. He’d seen bones that had snapped and fused back wrongly before. And the tongue. There’d be so much blood and the way it would discolor his teeth, like that spot in his eye --

His heart thrummed in time with his fingers, but he looked away, and Helena frowned. “He’s not a spy, though,” he said timidly. Hansel wouldn’t approve if he let Helena talk him into hurting the thief. He would never find out, but -- if he asked if Jonn had been good, then Jonn would have to tell him no, and -- then he’d be all disappointed.

Helena’s expression was unimpressed, and Jonn cringed. “He’s lying, kitten,” she said, flatly, like he was stupid.

“No, he’s --.” Jonn struggled to disagree with her. “He’s really fucking scared. The Basha wouldn’t send someone like him, right?”

“It’s an act, Jonn. For fuck’s sake.” She sighed. “I’ll do it myself. You try to be nice to someone,” she muttered, pushing him to the side.

“But if the Basha knew where the Guildhouse was, wouldn’t he burn it down again?” Jonn asked.

Helena rounded on him, and he stepped back automatically, but she looked thoughtful.

“Why would he send someone who admitted to working for him?” Helena was -- she was smarter than him, but he wasn’t fucking stupid. He really thought the thief was telling the truth. She was probably right -- it was probably an act. Helena was right about things. But -- “Wouldn’t he know we’d move again? I mean -- I mean, is it a trap? I don’t get it.” He crossed one arm over to hold the other and took another step back. “You don’t have to explain it to me though, I’ll kill him if you want.” *Please please please. Let me kill him. If he’s lying let me kill him.* “I’m sorry.”

She considered him for a moment, then turned to the thief again, appraising him. “You got magic?”

He nodded, shakily.

“Fire magic?”

He shook his head, but did it hesitantly.

She slapped him just as hard as she had Jonn, and he turned back, stunned. “You don’t fuckin’ lie to me either, boy.”

“I don’t fucking have fire magic,” he spat. He touched his lip. The stitch had broken. “I was fucking -- thinking about it, all right? Why the fuck does it matter?”

Helena grabbed his collar and dragged him down to her level -- he was taller, but she was infinitely more intimidating, as far as Jonn was concerned. Seemed he felt the same way from the way his eyes widened and shoulders tensed.

In a low voice, she told him, “Because after your fuckin’ boss broke my best assassin, he burned down my fucking Guildhouse with all my kids inside, and I’m not looking to have a fuckin’ repeat of that situation. So I get even a whiff of smoke off you, little bird --.” She snapped her fingers and Jonn stepped immediately to her side. She put her arm around him, but not in a way that he enjoyed. “And I’ll let Jonn have you. You want him, Jonn?”

Jonn nodded silently, swallowing, and she smiled without taking her eyes off the other thief. Then she let go of his collar and smoothed it out, stepped back, leaving Jonn where he was.

“All clear?”

The thief nodded. He was pale again, or paler. “I just -- I just need to make some money before I can leave Skyport. I won’t even be here long.”

“Mmhm.” She studied the both of them, tapping her lips with one finger, then broke into a grin. “Aren’t you two cute together. My kitten and my new little bird. You know, Finch, I think it would be best if Jonn kept an eye on you, anyway. And you kept an eye on him. Keep each other out of trouble for me, would you?”

“What? I don’t fucking want a partner.” Finch glanced at Jonn with -- some kind of expression. “I’m not going to fucking betray you, I just --.”

“Just need a little money so you can get out of Skyport, I heard you the first dozen times.” She waved it off, leaning back against her desk and crossing her arms. “Well, you’re getting one, so that’s really just too bad. How do you feel about it, kitten?”

Jonn shrugged. He’d already pushed it. He wasn’t going to disagree with her now.

“And you’ll carve him up if he makes a move to sell us out to the Basha, won’t you?”

He nodded again, without hesitation.

Helena looked back to Finch and smiled. “I do hope that motivates you.”

And the subject was dropped. She circled her desk and sat back down, scooping the necklace Jonn had stolen up to scrutinize it, scowling over the bloodstains. Jonn stepped back again, on instinct, and bumped into Finch, who retreated further. At the movement, she spared them another glance and dismissed them with a gesture.

“Are you still fucking here? I’ll send a crow when I’ve got work for you."

###

Jonn walked along a low wall, one boot directly in front of the other, trailing Finch. When he got too far behind, he would dart forward a few steps, wondering what it would feel like if he slipped on the rain-slick bricks and fell off. Wasn’t that far. Finch was ignoring him so far. Jonn wondered if he’d stop and help him, if he fell.

He caught up, wobbling a little, and commented, “If you do sell the guild out, she’ll probably kill me too. For not stopping you first.”

“Fuck,” Finch hissed. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

Jonn looked down at him. “Actually she might do something worse to me. I don’t know. I’ll make it quick, though,” he said, comfortingly. “I know a lot of ways to make it quick. It’s not like I want to hurt you -- that’s Helena. It’s a lot easier for me if you die fast, so you don’t move around. It’s cleaner that way. So, if Helena’s going to punish me anyway, there’s no reason for me to make it worse for you. And, my dad told me it’s bad to hurt people, so.”

He was chattering. He’d never had a partner before. He liked it.

Finch stopped and turned to him. “What the fuck is *wrong* with you? Fuck. *Fuck*. What the fuck. Fucking Mask. I have to get out of this fucking city.” He paused, and like a moment of realization, added, “I have to get a fucking drink.”

Jonn dropped down to a crouch, putting him closer to Finch’s level. Finch backed away. “Why are you scared of me?”

“You keep fucking talking about killing me!”

“You could kill me first.”

He narrowed his eyes for a moment, like he was thinking about it.

Jonn shrugged, and slipped his boots off the wall, dropping down onto the street next to him. “If you wanna get a drink, I know a good place.”

“Why the fuck would I want to get a drink with you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck off.”

Finch started down the street again, rubbing at his face, and Jonn tagged along after him. After a few paces, Finch rounded on him suddenly enough that Jonn almost walked into his accusatory finger.

“That shit Baron said --” he was trying to snarl, but his voice shook -- “about you … fucking cutting open my hands.”

“I won’t do it unless she tells me to. I mean,” he corrected, “I will, but I’ll wait until you’re dead unless she makes me.” He thought for a second. “Would it make you feel better if I tell you how I’d kill you? It’s really painless, I’d just --.”

“Stop fucking talking!” Finch threw his hands up. “Why would that make me feel better?”

Jonn shrugged again. “I know what I’m doing. That’s all. I’m good at it.” He hesitated. This wasn’t working. He wanted Finch to like him. “I don’t -- want to hurt you.”

“You just want to cut my fucking tongue out.”

“Not you *specifically*.”

“Oh, so just everyone.” He turned, walking off again. He sounded a bit hysterical, at this point. It seemed like a bit of an overreaction. “Fucking great. Really fucking helpful. Yeah. Makes me feel better. *Fuck*.”

Jonn tailed him, at more of a distance this time. Maybe Finch just wasn’t going to like him. This had happened before, when he’d lived at the Guildhouse for a little while -- the others staying in the bunkroom had found out what he did, and then they wouldn’t talk to him anymore. Got all scared. Helena had already told him they were off-limits -- they had never been in any danger -- but that didn’t seem to matter. She’d taken him aside, into her office, and told him he’d best get a room at an inn, petted his hair and told him that it wasn’t his fault. That she understood.

He’d liked his bunkmates, too, but the people he liked never seemed to like him. Except Hansel and Helena. Hansel told him to keep the murder shit quiet, like how he didn’t go around telling people he was a pirate, because that kind of thing tended to freak people out. And he’d end up in jail, Hansel said, in a little cell, locked up forever, and Hansel wouldn’t be able to help him. Another time Hansel’d been drunk, and emotional, and he’d held Jonn tightly and said that no fucking prison in the world could keep him from breaking Jonn out and keeping him safe.

Helena told him that if he ever got caught by the paladins or the Bashas, she’d let him rot, which was more compelling.

Well, Finch already knew. Jonn hadn’t had any control over that, and it put an angry little flame in his chest. He didn’t think it was Finch’s fault, but he knew it wasn’t his, and it couldn’t be Helena’s because -- because Helena was helping him. Helena looked out for him. And Finch was fucking stuck with him, now, so he could be as scared or annoyed as he wanted to be, and it wouldn’t matter.

Jonn dashed up alongside him again, hooking his arm around Finch’s, making him jerk and dragging him down a side street before he could respond and dig his heels in.

“We’re going to the bar *I* wanna go to,” Jonn informed him.

“Fuck off.”

“I get free drinks there because the bartender thinks I’ll sleep with her.”

Finch was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, all right then.”