“I promise that I’ll take really good care of Pess,” Trucy solemnly told him.

“I’m sure you will,” Miles agreed. “How many cups of kibble at breakfast?”

“We’ve already been over this,” she groaned, rolling her eyes.

“You shouldn’t have brought it up,” Phoenix stage-whispered to his daughter.

They were waiting just outside of customs at the airport. The traffic wasn’t bad that evening, especially when compared to the sights he had encountered in the past. Kay and Franziska were to the side, sipping overpriced coffee and giving them time to say their goodbyes. The reign of terror during their extended visit was finally coming to a close. Now they could conspire about the ideal colour for the wainscotting in their home, rather than his.

“How many?”

“Two and a half unless she had a treat the night before,” the girl recited.

Miles had designed a helpful guide for Trucy, so that she would have no trouble being a good dog owner in his absence. It helped quell his fears as well. He knew Trucy was responsible when put to the test, but Pess could be a handful if she wanted to. Miles wasn’t sure how Pess would take separation for almost a week. They hadn’t gone long times without seeing each other before. He might be left sleeping on the couch for a while when he got back. Keeping her happy while he was gone would mitigate whatever damages she wrought.

“What is the ideal length of walk?”

“Add a minute for every extra biscuit I give.”

“I know for a fact you don’t follow either of those things,” Phoenix interjected. “Just the other day you gave her your leftover peanut butter toast and then had a nap on the couch!”

Impossible! How had Phoenix noticed when he was very subtle about handing it to Pess under the table?

“Nevertheless,” Miles began, folding his arms

“We can have Pess call you every day if that will make you stop worrying,” he teased.

He scowled, and looked away from the Wright’s sappy, grinning faces.

“That isn’t… necessary.”

“Aw, Sweaty-”

“Don’t you mean Sweetie?”

“Nah,” Phoenix squinted at his list. “There aren’t two Es there. And you did begin to sweat when I pointed out that your dog is absolutely spoiled.”

“Ngh!”

“Are you done tormenting my brother?” Franziska called over to them

“Almost!” Phoenix replied. “Truce, go say bye to your aunts.”

Trucy did as she was told, giving them room to have a proper farewell. Phoenix’s grin became more shy than smug. Phoenix angled his head, also looking to the side. The trio were sharing hugs, and no doubt planning when Trucy could come visit them.

 “I should still keep an eye out for that,”  Miles remembered.  “I wouldn’t put it past Kay to recruit Trucy while we’re off guard.”

“It’s kind of strange, isn’t it?”

His attention snapped back to Phoenix.

“What is?”

“It used to be the other way around,” he elaborated. “I was the one who would leave.”

Now he understood. During that time, when he had been seeing Lang, and not even considered Phoenix Wright in that sense. It felt like an eternity ago, when in actuality, it had been less than a year. That was the funny thing about time, of course. Perceptions of it changed with age, and experience. So did opinions of other people. To think that he would be in a committed relationship with the man...

“Indeed.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Phoenix asked, spreading his arms for a hug.

“It’s all I can think of.”

“Stay out of trouble,” Phoenix mumbled into his shoulder.

“I feel as if though it is I  who would be saying that to  you.”

“Nothing’s stopping you from saying so,” he replied. “I just figured you should know I want you back here when it’s all over.”

Phoenix clung to him a second longer. Trembling fingers ever-so-slightly dug into the fabric of his coat. Franziska was staring daggers at them now, her eyes pointedly flicking between their luggage and the clock overhead.

“We’re being glared at,” Miles warned.

Phoenix let go, and they rejoined the group.

“Take care,” Phoenix said to the women.

Phoenix offered them both a hand. Kay made finger guns, pointed in his direction.

“Right back atcha’.”

“You as well, Phoenix Wright.”

Franziska hesitated, and shook his hand with an awkward motion. She was crushing his wrist, even if it wasn’t her intention to intimidate. Phoenix cringed, and tucked away his victimized hand in his hoodie pocket.

“Where’s Trucy?” Phoenix asked, glancing around.

“Bathroom.”

“Kay."

“S-she really is!” the thief said, holding her arms. “Fran back me up here!”

Half a second he had looked away from the trio, and now Trucy was gone. It didn’t help that she was so capable at disappearing acts.

“Even if she wasn’t, her education would hardly be lacking,” Franziska said, wagging a finger. “She would be studying under two of Interpol’s finest agents!”

“Neither of you are  borrowing  my daughter,” Miles snapped.

Silence.

“What are you gaping at me for?”

Had he said something without realizing it? Accidentally slipped to German? He’d been speaking in it with the couple more often, so his accent would be up to snuff for the lectures. It was probable something like that could have happened without him being aware. His question would never be answered, for it turned out they really hadn’t let Trucy stow away in their suitcases.

“There you are,” Phoenix sighed.

The man kept a protective hand on Trucy’s shoulder this time. There would be no more chances for vanishing performances that day. It would’ve been awkward to explain to security why there was a child hidden in the largest suitcase.

“Where did you think I would be?” asked the girl.

“Germany.”

Everyone double-checked that they had the essentials with them, and then they parted ways. Getting through the airport security was an art that he and Franziska had perfected over the years. Kay remained on their coattails, making sure that they didn’t fall behind on schedule. The typical fuss that many went through with their luggage was avoided, a few well-placed glares prevented any “random” selections from their group. Passports were in order, tickets weren’t lost, and they were boarding the plane with plenty of time to settle in.

The flight was a long hall, and the view from the window mostly uninteresting. City lights glimmered for a time, drawing together in clusters of lines. Then they were over the ocean, and there was nothing to see but pitch black, and his tired reflection. Miles’ original plan had been to prep a bit on the plane, review his notes for the first of his speeches. While he put in a good fight, reviewing the cue cards Phoenix had designed for him, the battle was eventually lost. He tucked them back into his carry-on and rested his head against the cool surface of the window.

Sleep was light. Miles could hear muffled voices- the couple smothering words behind their hands. They had opted to stay awake, and were enjoying their second cups of coffee. He preferred sleeping longer to adjust to the time change, so their conversations mingled with his dreams.

Trucy wanted him to bring back the entire autobahn, or maybe teach her how to drive on it? In his car no less. He decided to import a second one from Europe, so that way if she harmed his during the drive there would still be a back up- but for some reason the manufacturers had given him the wrong shade of red. It was closer to Apollo’s blazer- the upholstery was made of Apollo’s blazer, which was why he never wore a jacket in court. Of course! It all made sense! How had he not logically realized that before?

Miles woke up near the end of the flight, because of air turbulence. Kay squeezed his arm and they practiced calm breathing together. He was fortunate that it left quickly. It was still dark when they landed, because they had flown west. It still felt like morning to him. Franziska had called their elder sister while they retrieved luggage. The woman still lived on the family estate. It had drafts, nosy servants, awful childhood memories, and how she tolerated it was beyond him. But this meant there was a driver waiting to escort them to Franziska’s not haunted, less ostentatious, apartment.

Kay fiddled and swore with her set of keys, while Franziska leaned heavily against the railing.

“Here we are.”

They stumbled inside together, leaving their bags by the door. Not in any mood to be polite or explore around their apartment, Miles kicked off his shoes and lay down on the couch.

“Wonderful. If I’m not awake by eleven tomorrow- today, wake me up.”

He fell into a pattern of relaxed breathing, and listened to their stirring around the apartment. Lights were flicked on and off, one of them dragged a suitcase away.

“I think our fish died.”

“We don’t have a fish.”

“I think someone broke in and gave us a dead fish in a bowl while we were gone.”

“That’s not a fish that’s our  eel.”

“Fish are eels!”

“Is it dead?”

“I believe that is is sleeping.”

 “I would like to sleep,” he reassured them, twisting onto his side.

“Sorry.”

Now that they were in, Miles thought of texting Phoenix to say that they had arrived without mishap. No luggage had been stolen or lost in the system, their direct flight had not been stalled at any point. Exhaustion won over, he wound up sending a simple “here” to the man.

And so began day one of six.


“I shared all my dirty secrets, now it’s your turn.” Emily smirked over her whiskey, she was sat on the opposite end of the couch facing you with a devilish look in her eyes. You knew that starting a conversation like this would be a bad idea, especially with the amount of alcohol you had both drank. Asking Emily about her sexual experiences was inappropriate and you knew this, she was your boss but she also was your best friend and it would be lying to say you’d never wondered before.

Listening to the tales of her sexual adventures was an interesting way to spend your Saturday night, you had invited Emily around for drinks mostly because you were lonely but also because she was the best company. The topic about sex had come into play after Emily had confessed it had been almost a year since she had slept with anyone, picturing her in bed had made you blush but you encouraged her to keep talking; the sweet tingle in your stomach was too intoxicating.

“I haven’t got anything as good as yours.” You laughed awkwardly, taking a sip of your drink in the hopes it would give you courage. None of your stories were that great, they were all awkward and ended poorly but you were too embarrassed to actually say that.

“Come on, (Y/N)! You’ve got to give me something! Tell me some filthy shit like…” Emily paused to think, staring at you from across the couch. “What’s the most times a guy has made you come?” She looked very proud of her question, going to take a sip of her drink before realising it was empty and pulling a very confused face.

You could have lied. You didn’t have to tell her that no one had been able to make you come during sex, that you faked it every time because you didn’t want them to feel bad. She didn’t have to know; but you told her anyways.

“Um, like..zero?” You tried to joke around with it, hoping that she wouldn’t judge you or think you were weird. “I don’t know, I guess no one’s worked out how to do it yet.” It wasn’t like orgasms were this mystical thing you’d never experienced before, you could make yourself come by yourself but whenever someone else was involved, it just never happened. Part of you felt a little broken, like you’d never be able to be pleased by another person and therefore were just there for their pleasure.

Emily looked even more confused than before, staring at you intently for at least fifteen seconds before understanding what you meant. She didn’t look at you with pity in her eyes, rather genuine curiousness. You watched as she put her empty glass down on the coffee table and sat up straight, crossing her arms slightly in a way that unpurposefully empathised her cleavage.

“You know that’s normal, right? One in three women find it difficult to achieve orgasm, it’s not rare.” Her words brought a little comfort to you but you still felt embarrassed, maybe Emily wasn’t judging you but you still felt like this inexperienced little girl when compared to her.

“Thanks Reid.” You laughed as she leant forward to hit your leg playfully, pretending to be more offended than she actually was. Instead of leaning back, she sat closer to you, taking your glass from your hand and putting it down on the table.

“Stop me if I’m being too inappropriate.” Emily clarified beforehand, your nerves kicking in. Your mind raced with all the possible things she could ask next, if asking you to tell her about your sex life wasn’t inappropriate enough then what could be worse than that? “Maybe the reason you haven’t been able to come with other people is because you haven’t been comfortable around them, they’ve all been hookups not actual relationships. So, maybe if you try it with someone you’re comfortable around, you could get there.”

Emily was right, you hadn’t seriously dated someone ever, all the sexual experiences you’d had were from tinder matches or one night stands in gross nightclubs. Her words made sense, if you were with someone you trusted and who made you comfortable, your body might relax.

“Are you suggesting we fuck?” The words came out of your mouth before you could process them, you tried to play it off as a joke but by the way Emily was looking at you; it was clear you’d guessed her plan. You had never been with a woman before, thought about it, sure, but never had the courage to actually pursue someone. Emily was a very beautiful woman and you were definitely attracted to her, but the flirtatious had always been friendly, it was just how the ladies at the BAU were to each other.

Silence hung thick in the air, Emily was looking at you and you were looking at her and neither person knew what to say exactly so silence was the best option. Eventually however, Emily was leaning over and then her lips were on yours.

Her lips were so soft, they slid over yours perfectly and became the perfect fit. She tasted like cherries from her lipstick and the whiskey she’d just finished and it was intoxicating, it was different from kissing men, her kiss made you felt like she truly cared about your pleasure. You obsessed over the feeling of her body against yours, her hand resting on your thigh and how you could feel her breath against your lips whenever she pulled back for a second for air. Never had you been kissed in such a way, you felt that tingle in your stomach begin to grow.

“I want to help you, can I?” Emily’s voice was always hot, husky and dominant but considering the circumstances it was so much hotter. She was hovering above you now, her nose brushing against yours and her eyes trailing down your body. God, just knowing that she wanted to get you off was almost hot enough to make you come right there. There was a tiny voice of doubt in your mind wondering if you should be doing this, it wasn’t professional in the slightest and could lead to awkwardness in the future but right now, why not try it?

“Go ahead, Prentiss. Impress me.” You didn’t know where that confidence came from but you were thankful for it as it made Emily kiss you again, rougher than before. Now she knew that you were okay with everything, her mannerisms changed. She was always a take charge kind of woman but you could already tell she was the dominant one in bed, you felt yourself melt back into the couch as Emily moved on top of you, knees either side of your waist.

Her hands began to wander, stroking up your thighs and then up your shirt, her cold fingertips against your skin. Every touch had you keening, this was like nothing you’d ever experienced before, she hadn’t even touched you sexually yet and you could already feel the heat between your legs. You groaned against her lips and pressed your hips upwards, wanting any friction you could get.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted you?” She husked against your neck once she pulled away, leaving slow kisses against your pulse point. You couldn’t form any coherent words so you just moaned, feeling so needy for her touch. As if she read your mind, Emily slipped her hands out of your shirt and began unbuttoning it, taking her time until she was done, helping you remove it from your body. “I’m going to take such good care of you.” She whispered before her mouth was trailing down to your collarbone, her skilled tongue tracing around the curve of your breasts in your bra.

She knew exactly how to touch you, this wasn’t like those inexperienced boys who just cared about getting their rocks off. Her hand snaked around to your back to unclip your bra, looking up at you to check you were still okay; instead of talking you just slid your bra straps down your arms and took it off yourself. Emily was looking at you like you were the most delicious thing she’d ever seen, and she intended to taste every part.

Emily was intent on taking her time. She continued to kiss around your breasts, interlocking her fingers with yours so she could pin you down on the couch. Slowly, she progressed down undoing your jeans to then help wiggle you out of them.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” She made herself at home between your thighs, brushing her dark hair out of her face before diving in. She licked you over your panties, smirking as your thighs tightened around her. Emily didn’t want to tease you this time, her focus was on showing you what you’d been missing out on or at least having an enjoyable experience. After peeling your panties off, she took a second to look at the most intimate part of you before her mouth started to water and the urge to taste you as too intense.

You weren’t prepared for her mouth, it was apparent she was no stranger to this anatomy because she knew exactly what she was doing. You’d never had good oral sex before, it was always from guys who were just doing it so you’d then give them oral in return so to have someone actively eager to please you was hot in itself. Her tongue flicked against your clit and you were putty in her palms, your head thrown back and mouth agape.

“Oh my god!” You gasped as your hands found their way down to Emily’s hair, tangling themselves in it to keep her in place. You weren’t sure how long it normally took people to come but with the way her tongue would slide against your folds or how when she wasn’t paying attention to your clit with her mouth she’d use her thumb to rub tiny circles - it wasn’t going to be long until you exploded.

It wasn’t until you felt two of Emily’s fingers slip inside of you that the feeling really set in, that rush of adrenaline you felt by yourself when you knew you were on the brink. Her fingers curled inside of you as she slowly pumped them in and out, substituting your clit for your g-spot. Feeling her rub against that extremely sensitive spot was enough, you looked down at Emily for a second caught her looking back at you, the sight of her between your legs was all you needed.

“Emily!” You cried out, your back arching up as you came, she continued to eat you out whilst you orgasmed, only pulling away when you collapsed a heaving mess. To say she was proud would be an understatement, she licked over you one last time before pulling away, licking her lips. “…Fucking hell.” You managed to say breathily, watching as Emily crawled up your body.

“What can I say, ladies know how to take care of ladies.” Emily collapsed next to you with a grin, wiping your wetness off from around her mouth. All you could do was nod before you had to kiss her again, the urge was too strong. You felt her smiling against your lips which in turn made you smile, you were thankful that Emily had given you this and were hopeful it wouldn’t be the last time.


Chapter 13

Lucky Latchkey Life

Five managed a smile.

He managed to scrape up enough effort from the bottom of the empty reservoir inside of him. He managed to turn exhaustion into effort, into energy, into enough bullshit patience to curl his mouth into some semblance of a grin. It was all so pointless and dumb, and fucking trivial in the dullest senses of formality.

It was almost mechanical the way that his mouth worked. It was a force of wills, a fight against gravity, a brainteaser on how to work his own fucking mouth because he didn’t want to smile. He didn’t want to play nice in the final round.

He didn’t want to be here anymore.

All he wanted – no. No. All he needed was the key to the bathroom so that he could leave Klaus, and Diego, and the whole damn city behind. But no.

No.

Of course not.

He was stuck in this stalemate of stale smiles and way too many fucking teeth, moving at a half speed so slow that it felt like he was suffocating above water. After a while, a smile was just a smile, and after too long, it meant something sinister.

They were grimacing pointless politeness to each other while not quite letting go of the cards that they still had to play. It was verbal poker. It was Texas Hold ‘Em in nonverbal cues. There was a tension building up to a point because Klaus was crazy, and Five was feral, but despite every lie and story that could weave, Lance truly did hold the last card.

Five was stuck playing nice, playing polite, playing this topsy-turvy game of power Jenga. He was stuck working a Rube Goldberg contraption of complex mental pullies from his brain to his mouth just to prop up the corners of his lips. It was expected of him to smile, to be grateful despite the fact that he had to fight just for the inch of give that he got.

It was a kid thing.

Kids were always supposed to be grateful no matter how they got things. Kids were supposed to smile and say thank you,  and kids got what they wanted, but kids had to wait patiently for adults to get over themselves.

By all definition, Five was not a kid.

He was technically a teenager and only really in age, but teenager just meant kid in the eyes of some people.

He wasn’t a kid.

Orphans weren’t allowed to stay children for very long because kids got hurt and kids got crushed under rocks and choked on dust and needed help that wouldn’t come. They got held and protected and loved and were supposed to be safe. Kids got what they wanted in the very end because kids got happy endings.

Five never got anything that he didn’t have to fight for.

Five didn’t even have a name.

He had calloused fingers on calloused hands and scars everywhere else. He had trauma on top of trauma written in brief therapy sessions. He had nuns and he was bleeding. He had been attacked and shot at, and he had crawled his way out of hell through broken windows.

The walls pressed in close. His lungs burnt a claustrophobic fire. All he so desperately needed was that fucking key.

He was not a goddamn kid.

There was still blood beneath his fingernails, blood clotting on his bottom lip, blood seeping through his shirt, vest, jacket. It was all his and that only furthered his point.

Kids didn’t bleed this much without someone noticing.

“I’ll take the key,” Five drawled out through his split lip, through exhaustion and frustration, and a thin patience. His blood-tacky fingernails tapped against the table in time with the tick of the clock. “Now.”

Five was not a kid, but he looked like one.

Five was not a kid, but he had the face of one.

Five was not a kid, but he was not taken seriously like one.

The clock on the wall ticked, ticked, ticked the seconds by as Lance B. – Floor Manager thought that he still had options to take back control. It ticked, ticked, ticked as Lance gritted his teeth and crossed his arms, huffing. It ticked, ticked, ticked as he took in a breath, took in his indignantly and his anger at being backed into a corner by a kid.

Time was crawling by like it was crawling over broken glass, and Five felt every cut on his skin. He felt it echoed in the hollow of his cheekbones, in the tired exhaustion draining blood inside of him. He was so close to the plan coming together, to the end, to the exit. He could taste open air on his tongue and he needed it.

He was going to get it, one way or another.

He didn’t have the fucking patience for this anymore.

This stalemate was pointless. Card games were stupid, mental or otherwise, and the tension that was building was towering over. Five was going to cry.

“I’ll start crying,” He threatened, voice as cold as ice on a July summer day. It was melting quickly into something wet at the back of his throat and the corners of his eyes. He curled his shoulders in and sniffled, but his eyes stayed defiant. “I’ll cry right now, and I’ll tell a story so much worse than anything that Séance can come up with, Mr. Biggs. Those guards will be in here any minute now and I won’t just get you fired. I will ruin your goddamn life if you do not give me the key. Now.”

Five looked like absolute hell, worse since he walked into this room. Klaus was still bleeding from his forehead, silently watching from his chair with an amused grin, “Might want to listen to the kiddo, man.”

Five ignored him.

He didn’t take his eyes off Lance B. – Floor fucking Manager. He was bleeding all over with intensity and intention, and finally. Finally, Lance broke his standoff with a sigh and the security guards came into the room.

One was a tall man with broad shoulders and blond hair stuck up under a hat that said ‘security,’ stepping into the room before assessing it. He moved the way that overeager soldiers moved, reacting before realizing what he was reacting too. He dropped his hand from his gun, “Sir?”

The guard that came in after him was slower in her movements – squared shoulders, cheap suit, caramel colored hair. She moved with a purpose, assessing the situation with a laser-focus and finding it not worth her time. Five could not fault her for that.

He let his eyes slide sideways off her back to Lance and the way that he crumbled under the delusion of his own power. He let his cards drop to the table, he folded. He pitched forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his forehead against his fist, and Five managed to smile again.

There was an ease to the pulley system that wasn’t there before, something like satisfaction oiling the strings as everything started to slot into a place that he found manageable. Klaus waved off the security guards with a grand gesture, coming up with a believable story about tripping and hitting his head, “And poor Lance here, had such a fright at the sight of blood. We thought he might pass out.”

Five barely noticed anything beyond Lance’s defeated pinch to the bridge of his nose and his deep heavy sigh as Klaus said, “Luckily we’re not the type of people to sue.”

Five allowed himself to breathe just a little. He could almost have laughed when Lance had straightened his spine and snapped his fingers at the woman, “New girl.”

“Carol, sir.”

“Carol, yes. Get the first aid kit for Mr. Hargreeves.”

Five could squeeze warmth back into his fingertips when he had a purpose as meaningful as this. He could force himself to lean off the desk without feeling black-spotted and dizzy. He could ignore the aches and the pains in every movement because he won.

He picked the right horse this time.

He got the good cards. He got first place.

So, he smiled.

He said, “We would really appreciate that.”

It was a misshapen little smile, stretched and misplaced on his face. It pulled at all his frayed ends and tangled them together in a knotted-up smile, but it was a smile because Klaus pulled through. It was an ever-polite presentation of teeth that backed a big man into a corner, and Five smiled gratefully, “I’m glad that we could come to an understanding, Mr. Biggs.”

“Mr. Katz,” Lance sighed, straightening up in the illusion of middle management power as he addressed the guard with blond hair. “Please give Mr. Hargreeves’ son the key to the restroom in the back and escort him there.”

“Oh, please, Mr. Hargreeves was my father, call me-“

“That won’t be necessary, I know the way,” Five said, dropping his smile into something severe as he held his hand out for the key. “No, thank you.”

“Sir, that bathroom is under-“

“You have five minutes in there,” Lance sighed, turning back to his guards and telling them, “Tell the construction workers to take their next break. It’s not a request. Radio that to them. And Carol, where is that first aid kit?”

“On it, sir.”

Five smiled.

It felt almost surreal.

After so long of so many things going wrong, the key felt like a finality in his hand. It was a conclusion, a dream come to fruition. It was heavy like implication, like doors opening up for him and relief because he was moving forward. The end was weighty and heavy, and triumphantly there within his reaches.

Five was standing at the cusp of a new age, one where he could breathe, and the walls were distant, and things went right. Klaus had called for him to wait a second, but Carol was back with the first aid kid and Katz wanted her to watch how to patch up customers if needed. Five didn’t wait.

Klaus didn’t even notice, too busy asking the guard, “So, you said that your name was Dave, right? Dave Katz, that’s a nice name. Do you like to dance?”

Five kept his fingers looped around the key tight.

He kept it close to his chest as he walked to the back of the store once more. He followed the same path and walked, and walked, and walked until he met the plain backwall again. He walked, and walked, and walked with his heart low in his chest and his blood pumping, and an air of anticipation buzzing inside of his bones.

This was what he wanted.

This was what he was getting.

A plan complete. An end in sight.

It wasn’t ideal. It was messy as all fucking hell, and he was going to have to forget his duffle bag. He was going to have to drop everything and run, forget Diego and his thieving hands, forget the doughnut shop, forget the masks and the guns. He was going to have to leave the city.

He was going to break the city limits and lay low just to be able to breathe. He just had to get one thing before he could do that.

Five slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open. He let it bounce on its hinges and close behind him as he stepped into the small windowless room. It pitched into a single-bulbed darkness, throwing shadows on every wall.

Five breathed out, “Okay.”

He took in a breath that tasted stale and chalky, took in the room for what it was worth, and he assessed his plan.

The inside of the bathroom was small, picking at his claustrophobia like a needle beneath the skin but he pushed the thought down. The single exposed light fixture above him casted the three stalls on the right and the sinks on the left into darkness. It left the room in an almost eerie state of demolition.

The piping under the sinks were gone. Two of the three stalls doors were taken off already and discarded in the corner. There was a layer of dust that permeated the air and crawled into his mouth, and a portion of the floor tiles had been ripped up. Five let his gaze linger around the room and wrinkled his nose.

He took in a dusty breath and held it for a second before letting it go, watching his shadowed reflection in the mirror as he repeated the action. He was here, not anywhere else. It was dark because the lights were off. It was dusty because of the work. The room had solid walls and high ceilings, and he only had five minutes.

He took another breath.

He let his hands brush down his rumbled damp jacket and pushed it back. Even in the dim light, he could see the red that had seeped almost black through his vest, “Shit.”

His actions were careful but hurried as he pulled up his vest and his collared shirt to the swollen skin and the broken stitches beneath. The wound was still seeping blood but most of it had dried and clotted, radiating a warmth that foretold a possible infection. Five swore again, squeezing his eyes shut as he rolled back down his shirt.

He didn’t have time.

He buttoned his jacket and told himself, “Deal with it later.”

He told himself, “Forget the bag, drop everything. Run.”

He told himself, “You have five minutes.”

When he opened his eyes again, all he could see was his own pale face and his sunken hollow eyes. His hair was a mess like he never kept it, his uniform unkept. He felt gross, but he pushed it all down and told himself that he had a job to do.

He lost his duffle bag and his whole life that was packed inside of it. He lost his room at the orphanage to gun violence. He lost a lot of blood and he was going to lose Delores too. There was no getting to her with his duffle bag gone and a target on his back.

I’m sorry, he wanted to tell her. I know that you’d understand, but I’m so sorry.

He had to go.

Delores was the smartest person that he had ever met, and he knew that she would understand. It wasn’t abandonment, it was about survival. He was a danger to her, he was in danger. He would try to come back for her eventually, but – but everything was so big and a lot, and if he was honest with himself, he was so out of him depth.

There was no way to really articulate the fear that rolled inside of him. He could place himself in the shoes of all those comic book characters, but Diego outlived the monster that had adopted him and broke him. Five just wanted the chance to be able to breathe, so he had to lose everything that he had to do it.

He’d lost everything before.

But not Delores. Never Delores.

Shut up, he scolded himself mentally.

The pain in his chest was blossoming into something barbed at the edges, catching on the corners of his plans and tearing into them because no. He had to force himself to move forward because if he thought about leaving her behind than he would never move again.

He didn’t want to leave without her. He vowed to her unhearing ears as he moved into the last stall, “I’ll come back for you, Delores.”

He vowed, “I’ll figure out what to do next and I will come back.”

He could hear her voice like velvet and marshmallow peanut butter sandwiches in the corners of his mind, washing over like a blanket. She was there like she was always there, you must take care of yourself. You must help yourself. Be careful, Five.

I love you.

Delores was smarter than he would ever be, and he knew that. HE could admit that in this empty room and this empty stall. He could admit it in the same way that he knew that he could live without her, without his duffle bag, without his plans, but he didn’t want to.

Five blinked back the heat behind his eyes.

He swallowed down the wetness choking up his throat.

He got to work.

Five knelt onto the dirty floor next to the toilet, feeling the grainy press of broken tiles digging into the bandages on his knee. He ignored the pain as he wedged himself closer to the vent at the back of the stall.

It was a boxy stretch of ventilation, square with four screws holding it in place. Five ignored the way that the skin on his fingertips snagged and tore as he worked all four of the screws out of place and dislodged the vent.

He smiled a little to himself as he reached inside and pulled out a blood splattered briefcase. He laughed a little, surprised that it was still there honestly.

The briefcase had been nothing but surprises.

It had been a topic of conversation when the man at the diner had let it slip that it was a very powerful leveraging chip right before his head got blown off. It had been a snap decision to grab the case and run into the back. It had been a calculated decision to wedge the thing into the ceiling tiles at the doughnut shop and a calculated decision to go back for it when he was attacked. It had made sense to hide it in Grimbel’s because Grimbel’s was a safe place.

And it was here.

And now, Five could leave.

He took a breath and he laughed a little more, unbelieving.

The laughed died on his lips when he heard the bathroom door open and close again. He sighed and he rolled his eyes, calling through the stall door, “I do not need you anymore, Séance. Leave.”

The footsteps came a little closer and Five sighed louder. He unsnapped the clasps on the briefcase, reaching into the pocket where the man said he kept extra money. He tossed out a little role of twenties, “Here, I paid you in abundance. Go.”

“Klaus, I told you-“ Five snapped when a hand rested heavy on his shoulder as he snapped the briefcase closed. He turned his head to glare at the hand with an insult on the tip of his tongue, but it all died a quiet death.

There was a bite mark on the hand.

Thick fingers curling into the fabric and the imprint of teeth in the flesh. Five felt very cold, very suddenly. His eyes traced the bite mark up the dark fabric of a cheap suit to that of a metal mask.

There were only two works spoken, muffled, “Times up.”


While Oliver wanted to attempt to fix his relationship with Felicity right away, he knew he should give her space. He needed space himself and time to mull over all he had learned that day.

In theory the day he got his memories back after two long months should have been filled with relief and celebration. Instead it had turned out difficult and exhausting. He had no one to blame but himself, he knew that, but even so a part of him was angry. Granted, the anger was mostly directed at himself since he hadbeen that kind of guy before the Gambit had gone down, but there was anger directed at the people around him as well.

Proving that he had changed wasn’t new to Oliver. On the contrary it was exactly what he’d been striving to do for the past two years, since his return from the island. However, seeing how everyone kept their distance after just two months of behaving like his old self left him feeling weary.

Did they still think him so fickle that he would truly revert back to being as spoiled and self-absorbed as he was, even now after his memory had returned? After two years of trying to prove that he was a different man now?

That night upon returning home and informing his mother and sister about his recovery, he saw that the answer to those question might be affirmative. Even though his mom and Thea were extremely happy and relieved that he had gotten his memories back, the way they looked at him had changed. They seemed…distant.

In his mind Felicity and Diggle were completely justified in being puzzled and not liking who he had been before, but he felt hurt that his family obviously felt that way. Sure, for his first year back he had tried to throw people off the scent by promoting a public persona in line with the one he had before the island, but he had struggled to turn that around since then. He’d undertaken the responsibility of being the CEO for Queen Consolidated, and had even done well. Even more than his public image though, he had strived to prove to his family that he had changed. That he was no longer a selfish bastard, but a caring brother, son and friend.

Which apparently hadn’t been enough, since just two months of acting like the Ollie of old had made people view him as a live grenade ready to explode any minute.

The unfairness of it all made something tighten in his throat, which was made worse after a few hours spent with his mother and Thea that night. The looks they shot him when they thought he wasn’t paying attention were enough to make him crave some solitude, so he quickly excused himself and went up to his room.

He changed and got ready for bed, going through the motions, his mind still trying to process all he had learned and remembered that day. He needed this time alone. He needed the time to come to terms with what had happened to him, what he had done. To look at the memories of the past two months through the eyes of ‘Oliver’ and understand what he had to do to fix the things he was responsible for breaking.

He got in bed not expecting to sleep any time soon. What he also didn’t expect was that the minute his breathing slowed down, the moment he pulled the memories of everything that had happened that day to the forefront of his mind, his heart would speed up. Faster and faster it beat until his breaths became pants and a vice tightened around his chest.

Thoughts of strategizing and fixing things flew from his head as he shot up and hunched his shoulders, trying to slow down his breathing. It didn’t work. Instinctively he got up and started pacing, somehow thinking that releasing some of the energy that was fuelling him would slow down his heart.

Wrong.

Unhelpfully, the memories bombarded his mind. Thinking back on what he’d done right after the accident he recalled how as Ollie he wasn’t so much troubled by the absence of memories when his condition was explained to him. He’d figured that even with seven years gone by, everything would be just as he’d left it and while he’d been confused at the changes around him, self-medicating through alcohol was the surefire solution he’d turned to.

Now though, as he relived the terrible sensation of having dark, unknown gaps in his mind he felt…adrift. Delayed reaction to past events, his brain provided, but that didn’t make his heart settle down or the tightness around his chest ease. Even the thought of her, the thought he’d always invoked when he’d lost the battle with his nightmares in the past, didn’t soothe him. For now the image of her face didn’t bring him peace. Instead he thought of all the ways he had screwed things up with her.

At that his breathing became labored, so he tried clearing his mind. Focusing on a landscape painting hanging on the wall above his bed, little by little he tried to steady himself.

He didn’t know how much time he spent like that. All he knew was that he felt every single second of it.

It felt like hours.

When he finally felt calm enough to move, he walked to his desk, picking up his phone on the way and then falling heavily on the chair.

Carefully he focused once more on what had happened to him. He had to think things through but first he needed to make sure he could handle it. Stubbornly, he recalled every time he’d been a dick to the people he cared about and waited for his heart to start racing again.

When it didn’t, he dropped his head back, closed his eyes and attempted to reason everything out.

/////

The shadows faded slowly around him, as the soft, lavender light of dawn filtered through the trees outside his windows. The room brightened until golden rays of sun invaded every corner of the room.

He was in the same place the dark of night had left him. He sat there on the desk chair and as the sunlight fell on him, one by one the shadows inside him scattered.

He’d kept the video playing on a loop for hours. Time and time again he heard himself telling Felicity – or more accurately her door- that he loved her until the echo of the words, the tone he’d used to say them had settled in his bones.

The alert of his battery getting low finally had him dropping the phone on the desk in front of him. Slowly, with eyes gritty from sleeplessness he looked around the room.  Everything around him held a memory of his life before the island, nothing betraying the man he thought he had become except the increased number of business suits in his walk-in closet.

And after the night he just had he decided this had to end.

Slowly, he got to his feet taking the time to stretch and get rid of the kinks the night of stillness had brought to his body.

He had things to do.

*******

When Oliver walked into Queen Consolidated later that morning with Diggle in tow, it felt like he hadn’t done so in ages.

With renewed purpose he walked into his office ready to get things back on track. One by one everything that had taken the backseat in his life would be put to rights. Starting with his company.

The next few hours flew by as he arranged emergency meetings with the department heads, made conference calls to most international subsidiaries and firmly stood his ground against the decisions Isabel had taken that he disagreed upon. All to establish that he was back, all he could towards safeguarding Queen Consolidated.

Stubbornly he resisted the urge to get in the elevator whenever he escorted someone there, refusing the compulsion to travel down the eighteen floors that separated them.

Space. He needed to give her space.

Soon, he promised himself as he stared longingly at the closed elevator doors.

********

By lunchtime he knew Diggle was getting impatient.

Oliver had told his friend they would talk later when he had driven him at work this morning, and while the other man usually had the patience of a saint, the visible fidgeting clearly showed he was at the end of it. Twice during the morning hours, Oliver had caught Digg on the phone, carefully not looking his way, betraying it was Felicity on the other end of the line.

The thought brought a soft smile to his face. If she was calling John then she hadn’t given up on him completely. There was still hope. And while Oliver had prepared for the event of there not being any chance she’d hear him out, now that he knew that there was, made him all the more determined to do this right.

After ending the last morning conference call, Oliver stood up and buttoned up his jacket, noticing from the corner of his eye that Diggle straightened up as well.

Without hesitation he strode to the outer office. “I’ll be back in an hour, Mrs. Fitzhughes,” he said, ignoring the disconcerting feeling at the sight of the woman in Felicity’s desk. Glancing at Digg he turned towards the elevators, sure that his friend was following. “Big Belly Burger?”

“I’d say we need it,” was all his friend said.

By unspoken agreement neither of them said anything else until they arrived at the diner. They situated themselves in a booth by the window and ordered after exchanging small talk with Carly.

“So,” Digg brought his hands together on the table.

“So,” Oliver repeated and stared steadily back at him.

“You know what you’re going to do,” came Digg’s as always astute observation.

“Yes,” he paused to take a sip of coffee. “I spent all night thinking about it. Everything.”

“And?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Oliver let out a deep breath searching his mind for a place to start.

“I didn’t think it would be,” Digg said. “What happened, Oliver? You went to her apartment drunk?”

Oliver’s eyes snapped to Digg’s in surprise. He had forgotten that his friend didn’t know about what Tommy told him. Here he was gearing up to explain everything he’d thought about his life and get his friend’s input, when they hadn’t discussed one of the most important factors. So haltingly he told Digg everything Tommy had said. After he was done, Oliver fished his breast pocket for his phone and finding the video, set it down on the table pushing it towards Digg without a word.

Oliver watched the other man’s face as the video went on and mirrored every wince. Soon enough it was over and the phone was silently returned to him. He remained stoic waiting for Digg to pass judgment on what he had seen. Several minutes passed and they only spoke to thank Carly as she set down their food on the table but neither made a move to eat.

“When was this?” was the first thing Diggle asked.

Easy enough to answer. “About three weeks ago. I told you was going to stay in but I didn’t. I headed out after you dropped me off at the mansion.”

“And that worked out great,” Digg said picking up his burger.

“Clearly.”

John looked back at him plainly while he took his time chewing the bite he had taken. After taking a sip of water he finally spoke. “What do you want me to say about it?”

“Usually you’re very vocal about these things.”

“I’ve never been vocal about you and Felicity. I’ve kept all my thoughts to myself and if you ask me I was right to do so.”

“Why?”

“You’re two of the most stubborn, guarded people I know. If I had said anything to either one of you, you’d have pulled away from each other in denial.”

Thinking it over as he started eating, Oliver couldn’t deny the truth of Diggle’s words. Before any of this happened he’d have refused to vocalize his feelings for Felicity no matter who asked him or how insistent they were. Now though, now that everything was out there, the tables had turned. He realized last night that he couldn’t take anything back nor did he want to. Being in love with her had felt like a close guarded secret before; buried deeply inside him never to see the light of day, but now it was the exact opposite.

Hearing himself uttering the words in the video, letting them color the air around him, had been liberating. So much so, that it felt like those three little words had become a tangible thing, an armor covering every inch of his skin. Something to be shown off and not hidden; something to bask in and relish. He could no more shut it away than he could stop breathing. It was now a part of him, and not a deeply hidden one, but something as essential as air or sunlight that he couldn’t shy away from.

So he accepted it.

“How about now? Still nothing to say?” he finally asked his friend, focusing on the present.

“I didn’t say that,” Digg said, balling a napkin and throwing it on the table. “But first, tell me what you’re going to do about what you showed me,” he said, waving towards the cell phone on the table.

“There isn’t a plan. Not exactly.”

“Then what?”

“It’s more of a conviction. I’m done screwing things up,” Oliver said softly, steadily looking back at John, hoping he conveyed his determination in following through on what he said.

Digg simply nodded. “That’s a good objective. How will you get to it?”

“I can’t change who I was in the past no matter what I do.” Oliver laughed hollowly at the thought. “Even when I think I’m done with that part of myself, it comes back to haunt me. I can’t keep rejecting it, hiding from it, ignoring it. So I’m accepting it. No more roles and identities. Just me. Oliver Queen.”

“Does that mean no more…green?” Diggle asked, his eyebrows raised at what he was hearing.

Oliver shook his head slowly. “No. I can’t stop being…green. I can’t stop all the lies. But I can stop running away from myself. Both who I was before the island and on it. So, if you’re free tomorrow and willing to listen…maybe we can get a drink?”

Oliver held his breath, wondering whether Diggle understood what he was asking. For months his friend had asked him to open up about the island. It was a point of contention between them, and Oliver last night had realized that if he wanted to move forward, if he wanted to be the man he wanted to be, he had to open up. The two parts of him, the playboy and the soldier had to come together.

The silence that followed his stilted suggestion was short lived. “You asking me out, Queen?” Diggle asked, making them both laugh.  They sobered up quickly enough, though a knowing smirk remained on Digg’s face. “Why tomorrow?”

“I have some place to be tonight,” Oliver answered seriously, smiling when his friend nodded.

“Fair enough,” Digg said, throwing money on the table and moving to get up.  “You’re buying tomorrow. We’ll probably need a bottle.”

“Let’s keep it at the mansion then. Neither of us will be fit to drive afterwards.” Oliver tried to make light of it, pushing against the usual reticence that gripped him at the thought of opening up about those five years.

“Just because you threw tomorrow at me doesn’t mean I didn’t notice the subject change,” Digg threw over his shoulder and then held the door for Oliver to pass in front of him.

“I assumed as much.”

“And?” Digg asked, as they walked to the car.

“I’ll try to make it right. Whatever it takes,” Oliver replied seriously, holding his friend’s eyes as he ducked into the car.

Digg said nothing until he was situated in the driver’s seat. “Make sure that you do.” His stare even reflected from the overhead mirror was no less meaningful. A hard, protective stare, not unlike the one Tommy had given him when they’d talked about Felicity. In an instant however it was gone, replaced by a humorous glint. “And so we’re clear, despite all the heart-to-heart shit: We still ain’t dating.”

“Now, you’re just playing hard to get.”

They both smiled, Oliver feeling lighter despite his trepidation about sharing secrets he’d thought he’d never have to.

“What are you going to do to fix it, then?” Diggle asked some time later.

Oliver swallowed heavily and looked out the window at the passing traffic before turning back to meet his friend’s eyes in the mirror. “Anything. Anything I have to.”

*******

That night after hours of internal pep talk and going through scenarios in his head, Oliver braced himself and knocked on Felicity’s door.

She’d probably been expecting him, because it only took a few seconds and there she was in colorful, flannel pyjama bottoms and a t shirt calmly looking back at him.

“Will you be yelling at me this time?” she asked, the small curl of her lips both an olive branch and an ice breaker.

“No,” he said solemnly. Taking a deep breath, he fought against the fear inside him and hoped she wouldn’t close the door on his face. “But I can’t promise I won’t beg again.”


Loki is lying on a meadow, facedown, limbs sprawled outwards, blades of grass tickling his nose. He lifts his head, his gaze sweeping the landscape of the richest green stretching out towards the horizon, where the God of Thunder and Odin Allfather stand on the edge of a cliff. He recognizes the land in which once dwelled the Vikings and tries to prop himself up, shouting his brother’s name but he realizes that he does not have a voice.

There is a storm coming, says Odin solemnly, and isn’t it rather odd, Loki thinks, that he can hear his words as if he is standing right next to him even though the visual distance between them is so great that Odin and Thor are merely a few inches tall on the horizon.

He turns around and, the Allfather is right, there is a storm coming, no, not a storm, a tornado, a swirling tornado of ice that is rapidly approaching, spluttering snowflakes into the air. Fear settles into Loki’s stomach and he begins to crawl away, towards Thor and Odin, but his limbs are leaden and the distance between him and them does not shrink even though he is moving forward. He cries out again, cries out without a voice, and then the tornado is upon him and out of the violently rotating column of icy air step three giants that swiftly grow in size until they are eighteen feet tall at least, towering above him in whirls of snow.

Here he is, one of them says as he reaches for Loki’s right ankle, pulling him off the ground by his feet, dangling him head down at his side.

You come with us, snarls another.

Help me, Loki shouts, dread robbing his body of its breath, but the words do not make a sound when they leave his mouth. Please, help me!

Odin and Thor stand, unmoving.

Brother, please.

Loki thrashes in the giant’s grip, limbs trembling, but the giant shakes him so violently that every sinew in his body seemingly comes unstrung.

They hid you from us long enough, says the third. You cannot escape any longer.

The other two grunt their approval and Loki gasps as they step into the spinning tornado and the icy air swirls around him, numbing his face, and his sense of gravity dissolves and he is thrashing once more and screaming and there is a sound coming out of his mouth now, a horrid screech, and there is a weight on his shoulders, another pair of hands grabbing him, shaking him, pressing him down, and the back of his head is touching something soft and where is that softness coming from, all of a sudden and why is there—

Loki!

That voice …

Loki, wake up!

He realizes then that the giants and the spinning vortex of ice are not real, that they are not really there, and he pulls away from the scenery, pulls, pulls, pulls, until his eyes snap open and he stares into the blurred features of his brother’s face, who towers above him, his hands on his shoulders.

“Loki?”

A wail of terror tears out of his throat unrestrained, leaving him shaking.

“It was just a dream,” Thor murmurs, his hand traveling from Loki’s shoulder to the side of his head, stroking his hair. “Just a dream.”

“No,” Loki whispers breathlessly as the significance of the nightmare registers on his consciousness. He glances at his hands, lying unmovable at his side, their sapphire blue contrasting sharply with the pristine white of the duvet. “It was not just a dream. That is precisely the problem.”

“I am sorry,” Thor mumbles, his white, warm, fleshy Aesir hand lingering, stroking him.

“Will you stop touching me?” Loki hisses before he can restrain the words. “You aren’t mother and, quite frankly, I find your display of physical affection eerily unsettling.”

Mother. The mother that is no longer his and it is quite unfair, is it not, that Thor deserves the whole of Asgard and you don’t even deserve to know your own identity?

Thor draws back his hand, his teeth pulling at his bottom lip. “I am sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Loki snaps because it sets his teeth on edge that his brother is always sorry about the things that are beyond his control but never about those that are not. “If you apologize one more time, I am going to transform you into a slug as soon as my magic is restored.”

“I am,” Thor begins, interrupting himself with a swallow. He holds up his hands, palms outstretched. “Understood.”

Loki blows out a sharp, annoyed breath. He is vaguely aware that none of this is Thor’s fault. It is not Thor’s fault that he is a Frost Giant—and, by the Norns, that name still fills his mouth with the taste of vomit—by birth. It is not Thor’s fault that Odin brought him into Asgard to raise him as the second prince. It is not Thor’s fault that Odin and Frigga have lied to him for centuries. No, his brother revealed to him the truth as soon as he discovered it but still Loki feels waves of rage and resentment surge upwards from the depths of his stomach because Thor will not ever have to face a dreadful realization such as this after years of suspicion that he doesn’t belong scarring the core of his very existence.

“Did you ever wonder,” asks Loki, an edge of hostility in his voice that genuinely surprises him, “what you might be underneath all that perfect muscle? A dwarf, maybe?”

Thor’s face falls.

“You didn’t even think to ask them,” Loki says and it is not a question. “Of course you didn’t.” He snorts. He doesn’t want to lash out at his brother, he really doesn’t, no, he loves Thor, he does, but there is that part inside of him that wants to hurt Thor the same way he has been hurt. “You see, this right here, this is the difference between us. Even after coming to know that I am not an Odinson, you never even thought that the same might be true for you. Not the Mighty Thor, no. You did not even question your heritage even after you learned that mine is a lie because you belong here. You have always known that you do and you do not question it. Not even now.”

The look on his brother’s face is one of pure terror.

“If our positions had been reversed,” Loki concludes bitterly, “this would have been my first thought.”

Thor gulps. “I am sorry.”

“Slug it is,” Loki snaps.

“B-but,” stammers Thor. “N-none of this is my fault. I swear to you I had no knowl—”

“I didn’t say it was your fault, now, did I?” Loki interrupts him in a soft growl that he doesn’t even recognize as his own voice.

“Then why are you being so hostile?” Thor yells. He springs to his feet at the sound of his brother’s foreign voice, anger flashing across his face, and Loki hears a soft thunder rumbling in the distance. “I spent five days by your bedside, never leaving your chambers because I care for you, reading about your ancestors in those norndamned books of yours, trying to make you feel better and in turn you try to make me feel horrible!”

“Because you don’t understand!” Loki yells back because his inability to pull himself together angers and frightens him in equal parts and because he despises himself for the fact that Thor had to spend five days watching him in all his vulnerable glory.

“That is right, I don’t,” replies Thor, his wrath slowly burning down to a smoldering fire of anger and disappointment. “And how could I? How could I possibly understand anything if you choose to fool me with your lies and your tricks instead of trusting me with what is on your mind as you once did?” He draws a deep breath. “I will not stand for these accusations,” Thor grumbles, turning away.

A shock jolts through Loki’s body. The sensation refills his depleted strength, allowing himself to prop himself up into a half-sitting position at last. “No, p-please,” he stammers, tears welling into his eyes. “I a-am sorry, brother. Puh-please, don’t g-go.”

A trembling breath rolls out of Thor’s mouth. “None of this is my fault,” he repeats, his back still towards him.

“I know,” Loki whispers and all the anger inside him withers. “I know. P-please just … don’t go.”

His hands fisted at his side, the veins sticking out, Thor draws in a deep breath and, eventually, he does turn around, his fingers slowly unclenching. “I know you are distraught,” he whispers, almost tonelessly, his rage shrinking until there is nothing left of it but a slight tremble in his voice. “But please, Loki, please know that if there was anything I could do to lift the burden of that knowledge off of you, I would do it without hesitation.”

Loki waits a few beats, a thin smile creeping into his voice. “You could have some more mead brought to us or, even better, you could go and sneak some of Odin’s prized wine out of his secret cellar.”

“Should you really—” Thor begins but then interrupts himself when he sees Loki’s eyebrow hiking up. “I am not mother, understood.” He nods his agreement and then takes his leave.

Loki exhales a deep breath as soon as the doors have clicked shut behind his brother. He tries to prop himself up further and, with a grunt, he manages to heave his leaden body into a sitting position against the headrest of his bed. His gaze sweeps the chambers in which he grew up in the belief that he was an Asgardian prince.

A lie, all of it.

No, not all of it. Thor is still is brother even though … he glances down at his hand, flexing his fingers, before raising his arm, slowly, very slowly, bringing it closer to his face. His blue fingers are still long and slender but the veins on the back of his hand stick out more prominently than before. He lifts his hand all the way to his face and presses it against his lips. His skin is harder than he remembers it but it is not cold and it does feel like skin. It feels a lot more like skin than Thor’s or Frigga’s hands did when they touched him.

The truth of that sensation fills his eyes with new tears but, curiously, he also experiences a tremendous sense of relief because he finally has answers to the questions that tormented him for so long. Because his silent and sometimes not so silent suspicions are finally confirmed.

Loki ponders over this, trying for once to tap into his emotions and not suppress them, until Thor clatters back into the room carrying a barrel of wine upon which he balances a plate filled with meats, bread and fruits. “I suppose you are hungry, too?” he asks, placing the barrel down beside the bed.

He is not, not really, and the smell of the meal Thor brought him hooks into his nose and churns his stomach. “No, I think I’ll pass.”

Thor raises an eyebrow at him from where he crouches on the floor, tapping the barrel. “Alright,” he mumbles as he fills the mug from the nightstand. “I hope this isn’t going to kill you, brother,” he jests, handing it to him.

“It might,” Loki mumbles and then brings the mug to his lips with both of his weakened arms. He takes a sip, waiting for the sweet taste to explode in his mouth and run down his throat, trickling into his empty stomach, but this particular wine is oddly crude and stale. “Where did you get this from?” he complains. “This has no taste.”

“Yes, it does,” Thor objects after taking a large slurp of his own mug. “It tastes … Oh.”

Loki glares at him. “What?”

“I think it might be your Jötunn taste buds,” says Thor, almost apologetically motioning his head in the direction of the pile of books on the windowsill. “You know, according to those, your folk sustains themselves with ice, which apparently contains nutrients for you?”

Loki’s mind goes blank at this for an instant, the sensation the information awakes in his stomach eluding all attempts at verbalization.

“Maybe we can freeze the drink into icicles for you,” Thor suggests, a flicker of mischief in his eyes, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Despite everything, a laugh rises in Loki’s throat. “This is not funny. Stop.”

“So that you can, I don’t know, suck on them, maybe?” Thor finishes, snorting out the laugh he tried to suppress.

“You really are the worst, brother,” Loki gasps but he is laughing too because this is all so incredibly absurd and isn’t it quite hilarious how his life turned into a theater of the absurd within just a few days? “Y-you will spend the rest of your days as a slug for this. You will ascend to the throne in your slug form.”

“I suppose that is only fair,” Thor wheezes.

“It absolutely is,” Loki cackles and takes another sip of the wine that no longer tastes like wine. “Because even with this face, I will still be prettier than you in your fat, Jörmungandr-sized, slimy, squidgy slug form.”

They both laugh for a good long while and when their laughter subsides, Loki feels comfortable enough around his brother to carefully approach the truth of his heritage. “Did Odin tell you who my father is?” he asks, softly.

“He did not confirm it when I asked him but his tale made it sound as if you,” Thor pauses and takes a sip to steady himself, “were the son of Laufey.”

“Laufey?” Loki echoes. “Well, that means I am a prince after all, aren’t I?” He cackles. “So, at least the ‘both of you were born to be kings’ part of the Allfather’s narrative wasn’t entirely a lie.”

“I suppose not,” Thor presses out, his face twisting into a deep frown.

Loki hesitates before asking the next question because he has a sense of foreboding that the answer will be devastating. “How come he took me?”

Thor seems to think the same, for he replies with, “That I do not know,” avoiding his gaze.

“Brother,” Loki sighs and Thor shifts in the armchair he has sprawled into. “You are a terrible liar. Just tell me.”

“They abandoned you,” his brother whispers. “The Jötnar … they left you … to die.”

The Jötnar. Thor has not called them Frost Giants once, Loki realizes then. He has never once said … but that does not even matter, does it, because they left you to die. “W-why? Be-because I …” His thoughts fail him for a moment. “Because I was too small?” He really doesn’t have the size of a giant, does he, no, and what if they cast him out because they didn’t want him because of that? Because they thought he wouldn’t ever fit in with them either?

“We should got to Jötunheim to find out,” Thor announces all of a sudden, placing his mug on the nightstand. “Everything we know about your ancestors comes from these books, from father’s tales. We have no way of knowing that this is all there is to them. I mean, you turned out halfway decent, so maybe the Jötnar aren’t all bad.”

Loki chokes on a laugh.

“I mean it,” Thor insists. “As soon as your magic is restored, we should travel there. Visit them. See what they are really like. And even if it remains forbidden, I am sure you will find a way for us to slip past Heimdall’s gaze.”

“I could do more than that,” Loki whispers, thinking of the secret portal to his birth planet that he discovered with Amora. “But are you sure you would … break the Allfather’s laws?” He gulps. “For me?”

“Brother, I would do everything for you,” Thor replies without a moment’s hesitation and Loki’s heart takes a tiny leap of joy. “I will admit that I find your company insufferable at times,” he continues in a half-jest. “You are terribly obnoxious, you have grown quite antagonistic, and your sharp humor exhausts me sometimes but none of these things are ever going to make me love you any less.”

A sob rises in Loki’s throat.

“Nor is this,” Thor continues, his outstretched palm indicating Loki’s skin. “You are my brother and you will remain my brother until the day Ragnarök befalls us and nothing could ever change the fact that I would do everything for you.”

“N-nothing?” Loki stammers.

“Nothing,” Thor confirms, his tongue lying a little heavy in his mouth. “Because, let’s face it, we wouldn’t make sense without each other.”

“Where did you pick up that line, uh?” Loki teases him. “No, don’t say anything, let me guess. This is Kvasir’s mead we are drinking here?”

Thor shakes his head, a half-grin playing upon his lips. “Kvasir’s mead is nothing but a myth.”

“Forgive me, brother, if I can’t seem to tell myth from truth these days,” Loki replies solemnly and the grin on Thor’s face dies.

“Do you really think I might be a dwarf?” he asks, hesitantly. “Or was that just …” His voice trails off.

Loki hesitates for a few beats before he replies. “No,” he whispers. “I have no doubt that you are Odin’s trueborn son. But speaking of dwarves,” he continues, his gaze flitting to one of his bookshelves, “I think there is something you can do to help me after all.”


Nino didn’t think that he could have been surprised anymore. The last week he had been on a rollercoaster, with figuring out the truth about Lila and breaking up with Alya to the events of today he was exhausted. Marinette had assured him that she didn’t need him to do anything until tomorrow, so he was hoping to distract himself by working on his music or finishing up some assignments. He certainly didn’t expect there to be a knock coming from his window.

He turned, eyes widening in surprise before he quickly rushed over to greet the two heroes. If they were here, then that must mean that an akuma was out and either after him or Carapace was needed. Given how, as far as Nino knew, Chat Noir didn’t know his identity, he was assuming it was a case of the first.

A chill ran down his spine, as he realized that it would mean that Alya got akumatized. His fear vanished, though, upon opening the window and the two heroes stepped in with smiles, showing no concern about there being an akuma on the loose.

“Nino Lahiffe. We have some important information for you, as well as a very special request.” Ladybug turned to Chat and he picked up where she left off.

“Due to some circumstances, we are switching out some of the old holders. That means that you will no longer be Carapace. However, we both agreed that you do make a good hero, so we figured that you could receive a different miraculous if you would like to continue being a hero.”

Nino’s eyes widened. He felt a little sad about not getting to be Carapace or see Wayzz again, but getting a different miraculous?

“Why am I getting a different miraculous if I can still be a hero?”

The two holders exchange a look before Ladybug answered.

“I made some bad choices with a couple of the past holders. It didn’t result in anything too bad happening, but there was a possibility of something bad happening if I had continued to keep them as heroes. I wanted to ensure that no past hero would feel victimized for no longer being a holder, so we are making any remaining holders switch miraculous. If you want to continue being a hero, you would be getting the fox.”

Her serious expression changed as she offered a sly smile.

“I remember you directing a movie project with your classmates a while back. Being able to direct what happens in an illusion is key. You can be as imaginative as you want with creating the illusion, but if there’s no direction in it then it all falls apart. Do you want to do this?”

Does he want to do this? He actually had time to think about it, what with no akuma attacking and no pressing motivation. Nino enjoyed his time as Carapace, not for being known as a hero but just being able to help save Paris. Plus for some reason the two heroes decided to keep him on, instead of just telling him about whatever excuse they told the other holders they let go. He was important enough to be wanted. He nodded, mind decided.

“I’d be honored.”

The two heroes smiled and Ladybug opened her yo-yo, pulling out a foxtail necklace.

“Well then, welcome to the team again.”

Nino eyed the miraculous. Why was she handing it to him now? There wasn’t actually an akuma right?

“You’re not giving me it to keep, right?”

Chat was quick to shake his head.

“No. We figured it might be a good idea to take out the new holders on patrol. Maybe let them test their powers if it’s safe enough to use outside of an attack.”

Nino sighed in relief. He didn’t want to say it, but he was worried about Alya sneaking into his room or bag and stealing it from him. It was only after he broke up with her that he realized how invasive she could be. If she would look and find a miraculous… well he was pretty sure that she would want to take it.

Once he slipped on the necklace, an orange ball of light formed. Then appeared a small fox kwami. It had a mischievous look on its face.

“The name’s Trixx, it’s nice to meet you. All you have to do is say ‘Trixx, let’s pounce.’”

Nino nodded.

“Trixx, let’s pounce!”

Ladybug and Chat Noir watched as he transformed, not bothered by the flash of light. Nino looked down at himself. His suit was more of a brownish orange than Rena Rouge’s, and he could feel that he had a cape.

“So, foxy, got a hero name figured out?”

He thought for a minute before responding.

“Let’s go with Fennec.”

“Well, Fennec, let’s get going on patrol. We can show you our main route before maybe letting you test your powers.”

With a nod, the three were out of his room and off towards the rooftops. During his previous times as Carapace, he had experienced the feeling of being transformed and running along the rooftops. However it was always during an akuma, and he was too focused on the battle to think of anything else.

Now, being transformed and not having to worry about being hit by an akuma, Nino could appreciate the feeling more. The power coursing through himself and the energy it gave him, not to mention how cool the city looked while he was above it. He understood why the two heroes did patrols.

Nino followed their pathing, zipping across buildings just slow enough for them to point some things out.

“We usually split patrols fifty fifty between looking for trouble on the rooftops and going on the ground to talk to civilians. It helps people feel safer, not to mention that the kids love it. Today we won’t be going on the streets unless there’s an akuma, but be prepared for it on later patrols.” Chat explained.

“I’m patrolling again?”

Ladybug laughed at the excitement in his voice.

“Yes. With the switch off of heroes, we figured it would be the easiest way to get people used to the new faces. Even after all the hype has died down, having more people to help, as well as letting the holders get more used to being transformed, would be beneficial.”

Nino grinned. He couldn’t wait to get to go out like this again. They continued to go around and say different things about their usual route before they stopped.
“Okay. I think that should be good enough. Now we should go somewhere so that you can try out your powers.”

Nino nodded and Ladybug led the way towards an outer part of the city that he hadn’t been to before. It was void of all people, which he supposed was important since he would be using his powers.

“Since you’ve worked with Rena Rouge before I know you know the general power of the fox miraculous but I can explain it further. In order to cast a mirage you have to focus on what you want the illusion to be like. Once you have a clear image, you cast your magic by playing your flute and saying the word ‘mirage.’

“If you want to get rid of the illusion then you say the word ‘reality.’ You can either cast an illusion at a general place or you could even cast an illusion on yourself to make yourself look different. If anything touches the illusion then it will disappear. Do you want to give it a go?”

Nino grabbed the flute and looked at it. He had seen Rena Rouge cast her illusions before so he did know, at least slightly, what he was doing. However he didn’t have any goal to focus his illusion on now. Sensing the unsaid issue, Chat prompted him.

“Try casting an illusion on yourself. Maybe into someone you can easily recall?”

Nino’s eyes lit up and he was already focusing on someone. He brought the flute to his lips and played a few notes before holding the weapon out and saying “mirage!” In a flash his image changed.

Once the mirage was fully casted, he looked at the two heroes to see how well he did. Ladybug smiled, but it seemed to be more of a smirk. Chat blinked before shrugging.

“I guess the guy whose face is plastered all around Paris is easy enough to recall.”

“I’d say you look spot on Nino.” Chat glanced over to Ladybug and smirked at the pun she made.

Nino felt like there was something else going on in their interaction, but quickly brushed the feeling off. It wasn’t important.

“Well he is in my class, and is my friend so- hey… wait my voice is different!”

Ladybug let out a giggle at that.

“Yeah, that comes with your powers. It wouldn’t be too effective if you could look like someone or cast an illusion of someone but didn’t sound like them.”

Nino guessed it made sense. That had actually worked similarly for while he was Carapace. He heard his voice in some video clips and he sounded different. Before he could speak again, a distinct beeping was heard.

“Well I guess this will be all for now. Dispel the illusion and we’ll take you back home.”

“Actually, my lady,” Chat interrupted as Nino said the word ‘reality’, “you’ll have to do it. I need to get to my thing before I’m late.”

Ladybug frowned and checked her yoyo.

“It’s almost six already? I didn’t even realize how much time had passed. Well I’ll see you tomorrow Chat.”

He gave one final wave before he bonded off the rooftops. Ladybug swung her weapon in a lazy loop as she smiled at him.

“Let’s head back. If you reach a minute before we get close, we can just land on a roof and I can carry you back.”

Before he could respond, she threw her yoyo and swung off, prompting him to follow her. Luckily the trip back was quick enough that he was able to land inside his room before the final beeps were heard and his transformation came undone. As he took off the necklace and began to hand it to her, Ladybug held out a hand.

“Actually, you should keep it for now.”

He frowned.

“I thought that I wasn’t keeping it.”

Thoughts of Alya discovering the miraculous came to his mind. Even though she was currently avoiding him that didn’t mean that she couldn’t notice the necklace. But even if Alya wasn’t a concern, he didn’t know how he felt about keeping a miraculous with him.

“It wouldn’t be permanent. It’s a special circumstance. I’m sure you’ve heard about the drama happening at Françoise Dupont by now. Well, there is almost no uncertainty that someone will be akumatized over it.”

“I understand that, but what’s that have to do with me keeping the miraculous even temporarily.”

Ladybug looked out the window before sighing.

“I unfortunately cannot give all the details, but Chat and I were informed that we would need the fox miraculous soon for an akuma. We are going to be getting all the new holders out for patrol for the rest of the week, but we started with you first because of that. Chat and I agreed that it would be best for you to keep your miraculous until that battle happens, just in case we cannot get the miraculous to you while the akuma is out. The next akuma attack there is, just transform and meet us.”

Nino nodded, deciding to just trust the heroine.

“Is there anything else that I need to know?”

“Yes. It’s most likely that Lila will be akumatized and will get some form that allows her to look like us or other people. If you want to know if it’s Chat or I, press the button at the base of your flute. It will cause our weapons to beep. No beeping means that the person you’re seeing is the fake. Also if we see Adrien Agreste or Marinette Dupain-Cheng while Lila is an akuma, we are going to assume that they are fakes as well.”

The dj’s mind flashed to a video he saw when Lila first got akumatized, and the idea of the real Adrien being dangled over the top of the Eiffel Tower before being dropped made his stomach turn.

“But what if they are actually real?”

“They should know to go and hide during akuma attacks. Besides, Lila likes to use fakes of people more since it makes the situation easier to control. And in the off case that they are real, the cure will save them. They’ll be okay, Nino. I promise. Now are you okay for keeping the miraculous until then?”

Nino paused before nodding.

“Trixx will explain some other things to you about your power and also what they eat. If you need to reach out to me then you can shoot an emergency message while transformed. My kwami will feel the magic and then I can transform and read it. Any questions or worries that I can answer while I’m here?”

He shook his head and she offered a smile.

“Well I’ll be off then. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

As Ladybug swung out and away from view, he turned to his companion. The kwami’s eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief.

“Well kit, if you could get me some grapes so that I can recharge then I can begin to explain some more things about your powers. I think you’ll find them a lot more powerful than you first thought.”


‘’ Come on Ned.’’ Arya hits him with her practice sword before dancing away. Edric huffs once before getting back into his fighting stance.

It had been weeks since his name day and they never spoke of what had happened. Allyria said he was being stubborn and stupid, ‘some misplaced sense of honor’ she called it. So Arya had taken to avoiding it because if he was being stupid than let him be stupid. Thankfully, he hadn’t avoided entirely and they still sparred.

‘’ You’re never going to wield Dawn like that-‘’ she yelped as Ned tripped her with his sword sending her to the floor. She scowled as he circled her with a smug smile on his face. ‘’ That was a dirty trick.’’

‘’ All’s fair in war my lady.’’

‘’ Is that so?’’ Arya takes hold of the wooden sword and pulls him down with her, quickly straddling him and pointing the weapon at his neck, ‘’ and may I remind you I’m no lady.’’ She wiggles a little and brushes her lips against his as he groans.

He sits up and Arya thinks that he is going to push her off but instead he pulls her closer and tilts her head down till his lips meet hers. He is more forceful than the other night; tugging at her hair and pulling her closer until there’s no space left in between them.

When they break apart Edric places his forehead on hers and chuckles, ‘’ you’re going to kill me.’’ Arya hums but doesn’t say anything, twisting the hairs at the nape of his neck and tightening her legs around his hips trying to find relief from ache that is building in her.

‘’ Gods, ‘’ he moves his lips down to her neck, sucking and biting; keeping her hips in place when she tries to squirm. She’s never felt anything like it and to her shame it brings a flush to her cheeks, (it’s certainly becoming a common occurrence), ‘’ I’ve wanted this for so long.’’ He whispers in her ear and she can only whimper as he cants her hips to his.

Gods, if he doesn’t stop soon-

‘’ Arya! Edric!’’ Allyria’s voice echoes down the hall cooling Arya’s blood. She scrambles back running her fingers through her hair and picking up her practice sword. Edric does the same and Allyria enters the hall moments later with a smile on her face.  ‘’ Supper is ready.’’

Edric clears his throat, ‘’ Thank you- Arya why don’t you go ahead and I’ll clean up here.’’ Arya licks her lips and she can’t help but grin at the flash of hunger in his eyes.

When they’re far enough away Allyria nudges her, ‘’ so…’’ Her eyes are full of mirth and if Arya didn’t like her so much she would slap her.

‘’ I hate you.’’

‘’ I know.’’ Allyria laughs.

-----------------------

‘’Allyria?’’ Arya puts her ear to the door, frowning as she hears coughing from the other side.

‘’ Come in Arya.’’ She cautiously opens the door to see Allyria wiping her mouth with a handkerchief.

‘’ Are you alright? Should I get the maester?’’ Allyria smiles before tears start to run down her cheeks.

‘’ Allyria-‘’ Arya takes tentative steps towards the woman, hugging her as Allyria begins to shake with sobs.

‘’ I’m with child.’’ Allyria mutters into her neck.

‘’ Oh,’’ Arya knows that Allyria and Beric are to be married when he comes back from Kingslanding-, ‘’ does he know?’’ Allyria shakes her head. ‘’ Oh,’’ Arya says again and she winces from how much she sounds like a crow. She thinks of Jon and how mistreated he was, how he had winced when they had called him bastard and looked down on him, but then she remembers the youngest sand snakes. How happy they were playing and laughing in the pools; taking turns riding Nymeria and presenting flower crowns to Arya, and how Ellaria looked on with love and pride in her eyes.

---------------------

Arya chews on her lip as she begins to write her father.

Father,

       How are you? I know it must be stressful to be the Hand but I am sure that you do it well, and I am sure that Sansa is enjoying herself. It is all that she has ever wanted and more. Please give her my regards.

       I am sorry that I’ve not written you in so long. I have been quite busy helping Allyria get ready for the child- it is hard to imagine that she is eight moons along. Robb writes that Bran has awoken and has gotten the plans for the wheel chair, I hope it helps. That is not why I wrote this letter though.

         I know I was stubborn and angry when you first told me I was to go to Starfall and marry Edric, but now I am grateful. I was afraid of being shackled but you have truly given me my freedom. I ride along the beach and practice with my sword in the gardens and play with Oberyn’s youngest daughters in the Water Gardens. They love Nymeria as much as I do, and tell everyone to bring their wolves with them for the wedding as I’m sure Dorea and Loreza would enjoy it.

        And Edric- Edric is a good man and I cannot wait for you to meet him, and Allyria as well. They are like family to me now, although I still ache for you and mother and Robb, Bran, Rickon, Jon, and even Sansa.  You know I miss the Godswood most of all? I even dream of it sometimes.

I cannot wait to see you again, and I pray to the old gods to keep you safe.

Arya

------------------

Allyria fans herself as she lies in bed, belly large with child.

‘’ And so the High Septon crowned Aegon Targaeryn the first of his name-‘’

‘’ I can’t take this anymore-‘’ Allyria wipes the sweat off her forehead as Arya shuts the tome and places it on the bed. ‘’ I’m miserable Arya.’’ She whines. Arya rolls her eyes and places a cool cloth on her forehead. Allyria clutches it gratefully and wipes her face.

‘’ You’ve only got a few weeks left.’’

‘’ Yes just a few weeks.’’ Arya watches as Allyria rubs her stomach a smile on her face.

‘’ Has Beric written yet?’’

A small frown appears on the Dornishwomans face, ‘’ no- nothing of late. The last letter he wrote, your father was sending him on an errand. Help me sit up.’’ Allyria pushes herself up before freezing. ‘’ Arya it’s time-get the Maester.’’

‘’ Nymeria,’’ the wolf pops her head up, ‘’ go get maester Ardin.’’ Allyria shoots a confused look at her but Arya just presses another cool cloth to Allyria’s cheek.

‘’ You trust her to find him?’’

 Arya shrugs. ‘’ She found Sunspear without me, I’m certain she can find the maester.’’ Minutes later Nymeria comes back dragging the poor old man who is maester Ardin with her.

--------------------

Allyria labors a full day before Arthur is born.

Placed in a lavender swaddling blanket he looks up with curious eyes as Nymeria sniffs him and then lays her head on Allyria’s lap, closing her eyes.

‘’ He’s perfect.’’ Allyria whispers tiredly. Arya touches the small patch of gold hair on his head.

‘’ He is.’’ Edric watches from across the room with happy eyes. He had nearly killed his horse just to come in time for the birth, riding a day and a night from Sandstone.

‘’ The lady needs rest.’’ Maester Ardin holds his arms out for the child which Allyria places gratefully in his arms. She slumps onto the pillows finally able to rest. Edric crosses the room and kisses his aunt on the cheek commenting on her beauty for which she swats him playfully on the shoulder.

Arya yawns and gets up from her place beside the bed taking one last look at mother and child before exiting the room.

She hears Edric behind her, and steps to the side when she reaches her chambers, inviting him in.

 Edric plops down on the bed, ‘’ is this appropriate?’’ Arya rolls her eyes and pulls off her breeches and tunics, crawling under the silk sheets letting them cool her heated skin.

‘’ Of all the things to deem inappropriate, it’s this?’’ Edric grinned and stripped down to his breeches joining her in her bed. She closed her eyes as he kissed her eyelids, and cheeks, and shoulders-

 She sighed and let herself drift back to the night when he had taken her under the stars.

-----------------

Arya watches as Allyria walks around the room, rocking Arthur in her arms.

‘’ Nymeria.’’ Arya hisses at the pacing wolf. Nymeria answers with a bark which sends Arthur crying. ‘’ Out.’’ Nymeria goes with a whimper, her tail between her legs.

‘’ What’s wrong with her?’’

Arya sighs, ‘’ I don’t know she’s been acting like this all day.’’

‘’ My lady.’’ Maester Ardin hands her a letter, sealed with red wax. But why would-

Arya only reads the first sentence before letting it drop onto the floor. She sees Allyria and maester Ardin look at her with concern, but she doesn’t care. Why should she? Why? Just why?

She doesn’t realize that she’s running until she is out of the castle, but she still doesn’t stop until she reaches the cliffs.

It is then, and only then, that she screams, the waves crashing against the rocks, muffling the sound. She screams until her voice is hoarse. Then she paces, moving back and forth along the cliffs edge.

Why would they do this? Her father was a good man. This has to be some sort of trick. It cannot be true-

Her thoughts whirl around her head, spinning, making her dizzy until she can’t breathe.

     It is nightfall before Edric finds her. ‘’ Arya,’’ He steps toward her slowly, but she puts her arms out and steps back, willing him to stay away; willing him to just let her be.

He doesn’t though. Instead of the slow and sure he had been taking he rushes to her and wraps his arms around her. She pushes him away, ‘’ don’t touch me! Don’t-‘’ she repeats it over and over again; pounding her fists on his chest until she collapses at his feet sobbing.

All while he looks at her with sad eyes and wraps his arms around her; letting his tears soak his tunic, and when her tears dry her lifts her up and carries her back to the castle.