Page 53 of Assassin

Again, no one ever gave him permission to be pissed off at the woman who did this.

When Poe carried over the cooked food, he poured him some coffee, and placed the cup in front of him.

The smell was so delicious that his stomach actually rumbled in response.

“She’s winning, Gamble. She was so damaged she needed everyone to be damaged. Do you want her to win? Do you want her to have this moment where you succumb to her mental illness?”

He shook his head.

“Then, may I suggest you allow yourself to be angry at her, and work through that anger. If you die, who will get justice for your child? Her legacy will be forgotten. You’re the last person who can make her memory count.”

He’d never thought of that before. He’d wanted to die to go be with his daughter.

Not Storm.

But his child.

Now, he saw that doing that would mean she was forgotten from life, and that hurt too.

Gamble stared at the food in front of him.

As Poe sat across from him in that breakfast nook, he watched and waited. He could tell Gamble was hungry. He could hear his stomach rumbling.

This would be the first step.

If he could get him to focus his anger off of himself and onto Storm, he could save him. Then, they could work through forgiveness later.

As the steam floated up from the food, Poe held his breath.

Then, something short of a miracle happened. Gamble picked up his fork, and began eating on his own.

Poe joined him.

“Ketchup?” he asked. “I didn’t ask you if you liked it with your eggs.”

Gamble actually nodded.

“Yes, please.”

Getting up, Poe went to the refrigerator and fetched the bottle of ketchup, and a jar of his favorite jam.

He placed them in front of the wounded man, and let him control his mealtime.

It didn’t take long for Gamble to eat all of the eggs. It was crystal clear he’d been three days past hungry.

Poe pushed the little pot of jam toward the man after he spread some on his own toast.

Gamble picked up a knife and it shook in his hand before falling.

“I’m sorry,” he said, as it made a mess on the man’s table.

Poe reassured him.

“No worries, Gamble. Let me help you. You’re muscles are eating themselves without calories, and we’ll get them back,” he offered, going to stand behind the man, and handing him the knife again. Then, he gently placed his fingers under his wrists, and supported them as he tried again.

When he’d jammed up both pieces of toast, Poe sat and watched him as he sipped his tea.

His color was already looking a little better.

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