They say blood is thicker than water, and while this is literally true, it’s also really annoying. Take it from a girl who’s cleaned up way too much blood in her time. When you take this expression metaphorically, however, it’s actually even worse than laundering your clothes to get the red out, writing off that nice new pair of jeans because they’re sodden with—never mind. I’m getting off point here. What is the point? The actual point? That blood, the people you’re related to—the ties are thicker than with almost anyone else. Because the things you do for blood—for family—well, I think they cause most of us more problems than can be fairly called our share.
And the things you do for the people you call family who aren’t blood … some of them are even worse.
I was in the training room on the agency campus listening to Ariadne vent her spleen about another of our director’s aggravating decisions. It was an early Tuesday morning in the middle of June, and the heat of summer hadn’t settled on Minnesota quite yet. It was lovely outside, and I wanted to get out there, maybe take a flight, clear my head. But when Director Andrew Phillips—asshole extraordinaire—made a pain of himself on the administrative side of our agency, which Ariadne ran, I listened to her gripes. Because in return, when he landed on operations, my side of the agency, I got to yell and throw things in her presence. It was a fair trade, most of the time.
