Chapter Text
Sevika storms into his office, not bothering to announce herself before entering.
“You need to get her under control,” she snarls, before throwing herself down on his couch.
The couch creaks worryingly under her sudden weight; Silco wonders if Jinx has been repurposing the springs again. Sevika cracks her neck with a grimace and settles back against the cushions. Silco watches her without looking up from the ledger on his desk, feigning disinterest.
“And who, exactly, do you think I don’t have control of?” He asks, flipping to the next page.
Sevika leans forward, elbows on her knees. “You know who the fuck I’m talking about, Silco. Your girl’s lost her shit.”
Silco frowns. “I’d remind you to watch your tone. Remember who you’re speaking to,” he reprimands sharply. He closes the notebook with a snap and pushes it to the side, focusing on his second in command.
Sevika snorts. “I went down to that deathtrap lab of hers, like you asked. Jinx was there. She was pacing around, ranting about something; she was alone, but it sounded like she was in the middle of an argument.”
“She’s an inventor, Sevika. Sometimes she talks through her ideas aloud,” Silco reasons. “I fail to see why you think this is cause for concern – “
“She shot me, Silco!” Sevika interrupts. She flips back her cloak, revealing a centimeter wide hole in the upper portion of her prosthetic arm.
Silco feels the edges of a headache begin throbbing at his temples. “I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding? I tried to talk to her, and she shot me as soon as I opened my mouth. You can pick up your own damn prototype. She’s out of control!”
Silco eyes the gently sparking wound with mounting annoyance. Jinx and Sevika have never gotten along, but they usually avoid each other rather than resorting to outright violence. Silco questions if he should take this as a sign that the hostility between them has progressed. From the couch, Sevika continues glaring at him, not breaking eye contact. Jinx will likely claim it was an accident, but even so . . .
“I’ll have a word with her,” Silco sighs.
~*~
Silco carefully steps off the last rung of the ladder and onto one of the propeller blades that form the foundation of Jinx’s lab. It vibrates slightly beneath his feet, but the structure seems otherwise unaffected by his added weight. He can see Jinx sitting on the edge of the next fin over, close to the central hub of her workshop. An almost inaudible string of muttering rises from her turned back. Silco begins making his way over to his daughter.
He makes it halfway across the propeller before Jinx starts shouting, an unintelligible cacophony that echoes mercilessly throughout the canyon. Silco freezes midstride, startled by the sudden rush of sound. After a few bated breaths Jinx stops yelling, returning to her former muttering without acknowledging his presence. He can’t tell if the screaming was directed at him, or if she even noticed he was there, and a seed of worry starts germinating in his mind. Silco resumes his pace, purposefully increasing the volume of his footsteps.
Silco’s concern grows as he gets closer. The workshop is in disarray, paint splattered over every surface. The floor is littered with pieces of what Silco distantly recognizes as the prototype gun he commissioned her to make. Jinx herself looks little better; her hair, usually tied in neat braids, is a tangled mess of blue that hangs limply over her back and shoulders. She’s fidgeting with something in her lap, her movements more aggressive than her usual tinkering. Her eyes, once he can see them, are wide and unfocused. Occasionally she darts a nervous glance over her shoulder, still not looking at Silco, and her murmuring intensifies.
Jinx has always had nightmares; she’s always had skittish days where she doesn’t speak and sees things that aren’t there. Silco hadn’t thought much of it. Everyone is haunted by something, and some days those ghosts are closer than others. With her history, it makes sense that Jinx’s ghosts follow her so closely she can sense them even in daylight. But this . . . this is the worst he’s seen her by far.
“Jinx,” he calls, stopping a few paces away.
“Shut up, shut up,” she mumbles in reply.
Jinx stops fiddling with the object, which Silco can now see is a wrench. She brandishes it over her shoulder, away from Silco, continuing to mutter under her breath. After a few moments of this she sobs, and then hurls the wrench into the chasm with a quick jerk of movement. Silco takes another step closer.
“Jinx!” He calls again, raising his voice slightly.
Jinx twitches, but finally seems to notice he’s there. “What do you want?” She asks.
Her eyes dart nervously between Silco and the invisible specters at her back. Silco moves forward slowly and lowers himself to sit beside her, leaving a careful inch between them. Jinx ducks her head, refusing to look him in the eye. Her hands are clasped tightly in her lap, uneven nails digging into her skin.
“Whats wrong?” Silco murmurs.
Jinx flashes him a manic grin. “Nothing, nothing! Everything’s fine, we’re all just peachy keen down here!” She says, giggling hysterically.
“Jinx, I know it’s not ‘nothing.’ Tell me what’s wrong.”
Jinx rubs at the back of her neck. “It’s Mylo’s birthday tomorrow,” she finally mumbles, sneaking another glance over her shoulder.
Silco buries his surprise. “Oh? Is that what this is about?” He gestures to the wanton vandalism of her workspace.
“No, I mean – no. I just – I realized I don’t have a gift for him, so I started making something but . . . I couldn’t get it to work,” Jinx finishes in a small voice.
There are many things Silco could say in response to that. ‘Your brother’s been dead for over a year, Jinx.’ Maybe something more direct, like ‘Mylo died in the explosion you caused the night we met, remember?’ Or even ‘Come back to reality, Jinx. There’s no point in making a gift for a dead man.’ Jinx makes a shooing motion over her shoulder, and Silco knows that, with her, he could never be that cruel.
“Is Mylo here right now?” He asks instead.
“They won’t stop shouting today,” Jinx whispers, “I just want them to be quiet.”
She pulls her knees up from the edge of the propeller and hugs them tightly to her chest. Silco carefully closes the gap between them and wraps an arm around her. She leans her weight against him, hiding her face in his cravat. It’s been more than a year, but Jinx still isn’t handling her losses well. As Silco comes to this conclusion, he realizes something else: Nothing is more important to him right now than the little girl in his arms. Jinx is in pain, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to leave her to suffer through this alone.
“It’s ok,” he murmurs into her hair.
“I don’t know how to make them stop,” she whimpers.
“It’s alright, Jinx.” Silco gently sits her up and brushes the loose strands of hair out of her face. “Why don’t we take the rest of the day off? Come back to the Last Drop with me. I’ll braid your hair, and we’ll have Thieram bring in dinner tonight, anything you want. Would you like that?”
Jinx nods, twitching at something Silco can’t hear. He helps her to her feet and starts making his way out of the trench, Jinx walking close by his side. Silco admits to himself that he’s been neglecting his ward; she’s been struggling, and he hadn’t noticed, and that lapse of judgement is not something he can abide. He’s going to rectify that now. Ultimately, he knows that Jinx will be fine; he’ll help her find her way through this. After all, everyone has ghosts. Jinx just needs a little more time to deal with hers.
~*~