It Takes One to Raise One

Sequel to the incredibly long titled No One Takes Down Hit Girl But Hit Girl. As before, Mindy is telling this story to someone, much as Dave does during the movies. It is set after KA2. She is 16 and Dave is 18 and finishing High School in a couple of weeks. Yeah, I cheated her age a bit. They are a couple now and are living together in a Safe House. Sex has been had, repeatedly. Beyond that, welcome and thank you for reading. Title courtesy of Makokam. Revised since only about 1/5 of you seem to keep reading this after the first chapter. But most people who read past the first chapter go on to read all of it. If you're hesitating at all, please, give me another few chapters. I aim to please.

It had been a crazy year. I'd returned to the city after getting to ride away into the sunset like a hero. I'd seen some bad things and, at least a few times, had my ego handed back to me like a maxed out credit card. I actually managed to shoot myself in the head, on accident, I swear, and suffered the consequences that come from any brain injury. Marcus was gone. He'd left to make sure that he never had to arrest me, god forbid, take a shot at me. Dave and I had fallen in love. Yes, me, in stupid sappy love and totally happy about it. The fact that the sex was great didn't hurt, well, except when it was that 'good' kind of hurting…. Sweet sixteen and never been… umm… What the hell haven't I done?

Just fucking with you. Or, more accurately, Dave.

As I mentioned, Dave and I were together now. I mean, really together. And that meant figuring out a future. I was Hit Girl. No fucking doubt about it. But while that was somewhere between a calling and a job, I still needed to figure out how to have an actual life. Especially as we got closer to the summer. Yay…. Short nights for patrolling and daytime TV that totally sucked ass. It gave me way too much time to think. A few days ago, I had even admitted to myself that marriage and a baby were very real possibilities. I didn't even know who I was anymore. It did force me to keep thinking about the future, which I'd been avoiding for a long time. Marcus invested a lot of time and effort in giving me a chance at a future without being Hit Girl. And, while I decided that his future wasn't the one I wanted, I still had to figure out what I did want.

Monday night, I was out patrolling by myself. Dave was studying for the last push through finals and then High School would be bye-bye. I was of two minds about that. It would be nice once he was totally free to embrace the life we were living. But what if he wanted more? College? Nah, he was passing but his grades sucked. A non-homicidal girlfriend? Seriously, who could be better than me? Someone who could cook? Hmm, that last one was actually possible. I burned pop tarts the other day.

Shit. Note to self. Learn how to cook.

What wasn't so good was that he and I were kind of on separate journeys at the moment. He was going through those normal rite of passage things like finishing high school and I'd totally abandoned the idea. I was Hit Girl, damn it!

And, maybe, a little bored?

Funny how life likes to fuck with you.

Like I said, I was out patrolling and I was walking through an alley that didn't smell TOO much like vomit. Suddenly I heard a scream above me. I looked up to see that some fucktard was plunging a knife into a woman repeatedly up on a fire escape. Like seriously? The knife was coming out her back. Dude, she's already fucking dead. She just doesn't know it yet.

OK, yeah, I felt bad for her, and I'll take care that asshole in a minute, but if you're going to live a violent life, know your fucking job. Kind of harsh, but… Crap. What the hell was wrong with me?

Anyway, the 'impending murder victim' was holding some sort of bundle over her shoulder and trying to keep it out of the path of the knife. I've seen a lot of fights like that and I figured she was trying to keep it from him. In fact, it's probably what had started the fight. She should have just given it to him and lived another day. That or spike his crack pipe with Draino.

I have a tough time indentifying with people who can't defend themselves. I feel bad for them but somehow I also feel they have a responsibility to get off their ass and do something about whatever is wrong. Something. Even it if is small. Because if you're going to die, die for fucking reason.

Well, it didn't really matter why she was defending that bundle. Because she'd lost the fight before I even saw her. And it was my job to punish the bastard responsible. These were my streets and when you did something bad, you didn't get a lawyer or Miranda Rights or a fucking comfy jail cell with three meals a day. You got pain or death, depending on the severity of what you had done. And my mood. And, maybe, just maybe, what time of the month it was. Not that I'd ever admit it to Dave, but beating the shit out of someone was a great way to deal with PMS.

Well, it was. It was like exercise. Kind of….

We weren't 'Off Off Off Broadway', if you know what I mean. Someone might hear us if I wasn't careful. So I quickly decided that being subtle would be a good idea. Like I said, the woman was already as good as dead. No one survives wounds like that. So I took the extra couple of seconds to attach a silencer to the end of my 9mm before I capped Mr. Stabby cleanly in the head. One shot, one kill. I love those fucking Sniper movies!

Just as he popped backward with the stupidest look on his asshole face, the bundle that the woman was holding tumbled off her shoulder. I guess the way she'd protected it with her life inspired me to try to catch it, even if it was probably a bag of clothes and shit that even Goodwill wouldn't touch. It was the least I could do since I'd failed to find her before Mr. Stabby. I dropped my gun and tried not to think about how long it would take to clean it later and polish out all of the scratches. Then I held out my arms.

The bag hit my arms with an audible 'oof'. Holy Fucking Shit! The bag was heavy. I even had to drop to my knees to slow down its fall enough that I wouldn't drop it. I tried to recover and breathe for a minute when the fucking thing began to talk. And cry. Goddamn it, bags aren't supposed to cry!

It turned out that it wasn't a bag. It was young girl, maybe five or six. The clothes she was wrapped in draped around her like a tent, hence the baglike appearance.

"I want my mommy!" screamed the little girl with a not so little voice.

Shit. So much for being quiet. I picked up my gun with two fingers and pulled out a Kleenex to try to get some unidentifiable shit off of it. Then I looked up at her mom, but the amount of blood pouring down from the fire escape said more than any medical exam could that she was gone. So I replied back to her with probably the stupidest thing I could have said. "Sorry, your mommy's dead. That asshole killed her but I killed him." I pointed up at the remains of Mr. Stabby.

The range of emotions that played across her face was epic. Then she settled on anger and screamed "Burn in hell you Mother Fucking Cunt Rag Whore Fucker!" at the corpse of the guy who'd killed her mom. Then she began to use the kind of language that I generally reserved for when the US is losing in the World Cup.

Seriously, United States. Why can't you embrace the brilliance that is soccer? And yes, I know I should call it football but that would just confuse you.

Anyway, the little girl's swearing was impressive but she lost points for using 'fuck' twice in her first sentence. Not that I could criticize too much. All I managed to scream when Daddy was set on fire was "No!" Or something like that. Parts of that night are still a blur. Still, she had potential. And despite my problems with anything or anyone that couldn't defend themselves, I kind of liked her.

But, what to do now? I was at a loss. I needed to get out of there before cops showed up but I couldn't just leave her here all by herself. Then I looked into those eyes that were so full of loss and pain and I knew what to do. My next decision would piss Dave off more than I ever had before. And I knew it was not a wise decision. But, it was the right decision. So, just like a puppy you find alone in a box in front of the grocery store, I couldn't resist taking her home.