❝spencer, all this week you've been holding my hands. what about your germ thing?❞
❝you were more important.❞
hazel finley is a liar. but she's a damn good one. and she's especially good at telling when other people are lying. she's the newest memb...
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❝Those who escape hell, however, never talk about it and nothing much bothers them after that.❞
CHARLES BUKOWSKI
✩
1.2 : better me than them
OR
season 4, episode 3 : minimal loss (ctd.)
(tw: abuse, mentions of abuse)
"WHICH ONE OF YOU IS IT?"
Spencer and Fin's heads jerk up almost in sync. It's Cyrus, and he is pissed. He saunters past the benches, turns around, unbuttons his shirt, and pulls a gun out of his waistband. "Which one of you is the FBI agent?"
Shit shit shit. How in the hell did he find out? It's not hard to maintain a shocked expression; Emily and Fin aren't struggling at all.
"Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?" Spencer asks, his hand covering Fin's instinctively, out of Cyrus's sight.
Cyrus makes eye contact with him and Fin almost shivers at the look he gives Spencer. "God will forgive me for what I must do," he says quietly, and then he cocks the gun and levels it at Spencer's head.
Oh, my god. Fin bites down on her lip to keep from screaming, "Shoot me!" Maybe Spencer can talk this out a little, stall him.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Spencer replies calmly, but his hand is shaking; Fin can feel it. Across from them, Emily's mouth is wide open, her eyes scared.
"One of you does." Cyrus' finger is way too close to the gun's trigger for Fin to feel comfortable. "Who is it?"
Emily opens her mouth, but Fin's way too quick. "Me."
Both Spencer and Emily's heads whip around to stare at her, openmouthed. Fin takes advantage of their surprise to play it up, make it more real. "It's me." She squeezes Spencer's hand, feigning regret. "I'm sorry, I know I should've told you, but I couldn't."
Cyrus studies her face, then slowly, ever-so-slowly, he lowers the gun. Fin breathes a sigh of relief-until he grabs her by her hair and drags her off the bench. Pain shoots through her scalp and she scrabbles at his hand with her nails, hoping vainly to pull him off-
Spencer leaps to his feet, lunges toward her, but two burly men with rifles push him back down, and that's all Fin sees before Cyrus drags her into a storage closet and slams the door.
Better me than them. Better me than them. This is Fin's mantra as Cyrus looms over her. She's prepared for him to do the worst, to touch her-but he just sighs. "'For nothing is secret, that shall not be made manifest; neither anything hid, that shall not be known and come abroad.' That's from the book of Luke, the words of the Christ, you sinner."
