Page 69 of Gunpowder

Soon, he was on his way back out the door of the cafe with a rolled up paper bag and the largest coffee they would sell him. He felt a surge of guilt for his thoughts—a feeling that got more familiar every day. He couldn’t be more proud to wear Incindious’ mark on his chest. Maybe it was the pending war or the healing wound in his leg, then, that made those inked flames feel like they were starting to burn into him.

Blair pushed those thoughts aside as he opened the door to Wren’s apartment, refusing to let them distract from the time they had left together before they moved on the warehouse later that night. A tuft of black hair stuck up from the back of the couch, so Wren was already awake. Blair pushed the door shut with his foot and went over to join him. Wren reached out to grab a pen from the coffee table and Blair’s eyes widened at the flash of a familiar red sleeve. Wren didn’t even look up, too busy circling a line in his notes, wearing only his underwear and Blair’s hoodie. Like the sight of him in it wasn’t making Blair feel like he’d swallowed a colony of butterflies.

Blair remembered to sit down, though he felt like he was going to be carried away by the fluttering in his stomach. Last night may have thrown him into a world of confusion about Wren, but Blair’s feelings were still there, as persistent and dangerous as ever.

“I got you coffee,” Blair said dumbly, as if it wasn’t obvious.

Wren looked down at it and blinked. His face remained stoic, but Blair could see the smile twinkling in the sapphire depths of his eyes as he slowly took the cup from Blair’s hand. “Thank you.”

They got to the bar at dusk. He had questioned bringing the Audi since they needed to approach the warehouse quietly, but Wren made a point that his bike wasn’t much quieter. He got out of the car and looked up at the bricks that made up Incindious’ unassuming fortress. It had taken a beating from the shootout with Phantom, but if everything went according to plan, then his home away from home would finally be safe again. He held the door for Wren and followed him inside, feeling like he was leaving a more peaceful world out there on the sidewalk, even if he knew it was a false sense of security when Phantom was just waiting to tear them down.

“Reymond?” Wren said, stopping so abruptly that Blair ran into his back.

Blair peered around him and echoed, “Doc?”

Reymond Garrett sat next to Felix on the couch like he belonged there as much as anyone else, one ankle crossed over his knee and a serene smile on his face. “Should someone get injured tonight, I’ll be here to help but my greatest hope is that my skills won’t be needed.”

“Blair, I need to borrow you for a minute,” Spencer said, and nodded to the narrow stairs tucked at the end of the bar.

“Are you good to stay here with Doc?” Blair put his hand on Wren’s back.

Wren clicked his tongue. “I would be fine anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll probably just be a minute.”

He followed Spencer upstairs to his apartment. It was maybe the third or fourth time he had been up there since joining Incindious but it was always a treat. Spencer’s apartment had a calming effect on Blair, like it had taken on the same energy as its occupant.

Blair leaned against a panel of old, striped wallpaper. He doubted Spencer would ever replace anything in the apartment his dad left him until there was no other choice, and maybe not even then.

“So what’s up?” he asked once Spencer closed the door.

“There’s something I need to give you.”

He didn’t offer any further explanation, just went over to the double row of bookcases stocked with everything from creased paperbacks to pristine leather bound volumes, and pulled a black case off the top. It looked like hard plastic. Blair’s eyes widened as the emblem came into view. Memories rose up in the back of his mind, of a similar case being put in his hands when his age still ended with teen. When Spencer gave him his 92.

“Blair, do you remember our first trip to the shooting range?” Spencer asked, putting the case on the kitchen counter.

He never uses my first name. Blair went to stand on the other side. “Yeah. Kinda hard to forget.” He’d barely been more than a rookie member when he walked into the range that day, and by the time he left, Spencer was planning to make him their first line of defense. And offense, when needed.

Spencer took his glasses off, looking gaunt without the tinted shades to hide the shadows under his eyes. “I’d never seen anyone like you.”

“I don’t think you called me up here just to make me blush.”

Spencer laughed, but it rang hollow. He pushed the case across the counter.

Blair opened the two clips and raised the top. Inside was what he expected but much more beautiful and a lot more terrifying. He picked up the Beretta, all black save for a red slide. He turned it and watched the lights play on the crimson finish. It was an M9A3 but it felt just as natural in his hand as the 92. He ran his thumb along the edge of the grip, leather like his other one.

“This gun had to run you over a grand even before you had it customized,” Blair said.

Spencer didn’t take his bait to lighten the mood. “I know it’s hard on your body but if the time comes—”

“I’ll use them. Don’t worry.” He dropped his other hand to his leg. “Hesitating is what got me a hole through my leg in the first place. I won’t do it again.”

Spencer lowered his head in a short motion like he wanted to nod but decided against it. He looked down for a long moment before saying, with resignation, “Let’s go get the bastards.”

Blair flipped the gun and put it next to his 92 in his waistband with both grips facing out. He wiped what he knew had to be a solemn look off his face on the way back downstairs. Felix was at the center of the room when they returned with Julian to his right and Marie on his left. His keys already dangled from his fingers.

Blair held out his arm, and Wren muttered what was likely a halfhearted attempt at goodbye to Reymond before shouldering his laptop case and crossing the room. He hooked his fingers into Blair’s belt loops. “Let’s go.”

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