Kalon fought her way into the crowded salon. She murmured apologies for stepping on toes and jabbed elbows, each time getting more and more irate. She threw herself against the counter like breaking from drowning. Her long, brown curls were disheveled with her hair clip dangling uselessly in the tangle, caught in the solitary royal blue streak.

“It’s mad in here!”

“I’m aware.” Strauss bounced her baby girl on her hip, shushing her as she gave the crowd an irate stare. “I told you lot to clear out! We’re closed!”

“Good business though, right?”

“Hardly! I only had two or three actual customers all day. The rest of those hens were just tagalongs to sit and gossip with them. I swear, each woman brought half a dozen friends in with her.” Strauss’s glare deepened as she let out a long groan. “Hold Isabelline a tick.”

Kalon took the baby as Strauss circled around the counter, grabbing her broom. She had the baby girl watch her mother chase the gaggle out with great sweeping motions for a second, ensuring she was calm, before carrying her off to the backroom.

Mal sat in a playpen, studying plastic scissors. His head jerked up as Isabelline whimpered. He scrambled to pull himself up, his blue eyes tearing up as he opened his mouth to reveal three bottom teeth.

“Maaaaa!”

“Shush, Mal, I’m right here.” Kalon awkwardly dipped to keep Isabelline from Mal’s grabby hands while also rubbing his back. “Shh, I’m here. Just wait for Auntie Strauss to fetch Isabelline.”

Strauss appeared just as Kalon finished her statement. She still looked agitated but happily plucked her daughter from Kalon’s arms.

“Your hair is still a state.”

Kalon twisted her curls into a knot, clipping it up. She pulled Mal from the pen, resting him on her hips.

“I'm sorry to keep dropping him on you when you've been so swamped.” She stroked his brown hair. “And while he's cutting teeth.”

“You must stop apologizing each time you fetch him. It's safer here than at the library right now.” Strauss smirked. “And I'll remind you, often, that you agreed to take Isabelline for just as many days once she’s teething.” Her smirk waivered. “How was it at the library today?”

“Gramps shot a person. Not fatally, of course, but it sets a tense tone all the same.”

“Mrs. Gousa still hasn’t put forth her summary, I take it?” Strauss groaned at Kalon’s head-shake. “At least when that old First Son popped back up and died, it was sudden. I had just a week or so of madness, and that disappeared as soon as Mrs. Gousa put forth her summa.”

“There was no gossip beforehand as well.”

“Exactly! And, with that being a United Americas thing, we have a removement from it all. It was a proper spectacle we could gawk at. But this!”

Strauss burst into tears. She cradled her daughter, trying to comfort her as she started whining in distress over her mother’s outburst.

Kalon took Mal’s chubby hand as he pointed, open-mouthed. She kissed it, swallowing the lump in her own throat.

They took a few minutes to apologize and comfort each other for the emotions and the distress to the kids before Kalon left with Mal. She adjusted him on her hip frequently as they headed towards the library; her mind wandering off to the reasons for the chaos, trying not to think too hard on it.

The official announcement that the Paris Colony heir would be a father caused great excitement for the following five months. It had been busy at work, but an enjoyable sort where there were constant pauses to speak theories and hopes with those visiting the library. Everyone had been in such a joyful mood that no one even attempted stealing or vandalizing. This mood turned completely celebratory once the baby girl was born; cafes offering free food and drinks to whoever wandered by, clothing stores giving away baby items at heavy discounts, and everyone having a friendly wave or greeting to any person they made eye contact with.

The euphoric atmosphere lasted two months, only starting to wane when the horror occurred.

She paused beside the largely ignored, badly maintained news kiosk. The screen that should have smoothly cycled through trending stories was stuck–flickering, heavily lined with damage–on a still of the Foxcroft granddaughter and Paris Colony heir dressed up smartly, standing outside the Lord’s mansion house, holding a bundle of delicate pink and lace. The smushed face of their newborn daughter barely visible among the blankets. The headline yelled: Paris Colony Granddaughter Missing, Presumed Murdered.

“Maaaa!”

She snapped to. “Sorry, Mal, Mummy was spacing.” She adjusted him again. “We should hurry back to get your dinner ready.”

The library was closed up for the night, dark and imposing. Mal’s hungry whines and Kalon’s heels echoed throughout as they made their way to the dwelling beneath. She was fast to deposit him into his chair, leaving him to protest the abandonment and lack of food.

She dug through the fridge to pull mashed sweet potatoes and overcooked chicken, shredded beyond recognition. Her brow knitted as she spotted Grams’s lunch still plated and wrapped, completely untouched.

“Maaaa!”

“Yes, coming!” She grabbed the lunch too, placing it out. “You act as if Auntie Strauss wasn’t feeding you snacks sporadically all day.”

Gramps appeared from the stairs. He strained to put his pistol on top of a bookcase, far from reach of anyone else. He immediately went to Mal, patting his head and taking the chair opposite.

“I’ll feed your boy. Scrounge something up for the rest of us.”

“Grams didn’t touch the lunch I made.”

The old librarian’s keen eyes darted towards the kitchen, and then to his wife’s working area. He took Mal’s food up.

“Take it to her. I’ll see about food for us if he eats quickly.”

She hovered outside the doorless doorway, clutching the plate of cold chicken with both hands. The room beyond was well lit with the ceiling light, desk light, and floor lamp all on, but it might as well have been pitch black and freezing. She inched into the heavy atmosphere.

Grams was hunched at the desk. The glow of her laptop caused her to look wraith-like. Her colorless hair was unkempt and added to the haunted effect.

“Grams?” Kalon carefully placed the plate on the desk in a clear space. “You should eat.”

There was no argument from Grams on this point. She leaned away from her screen, blinking the red strain from her eyes, and deftly plucked a chicken leg from the plate.

“She could be dead.”

Kalon felt a chill at the bluntness. “I thought she was…? The blood was hers.”

“Oh no, not the baby.” Grams took a mighty bite. “Not much hope there.” She swallowed. “The mother. That Foxcroft girl.”

Her breath caught. “Pardon?” She dropped into the armchair Grams used for more cozy information gathering sessions. “I don’t understand….”

“Of course not, my girl. More of a shadow of a rumor at this point.” She waved flippantly towards the doorway. “They feel something though, I suspect. They feel something wrong about the sudden lack of attention on her. They just don’t know they do.”

“Surely the lack of attention is to allow the poor woman to mourn.”

“That’s precisely why there would be more attention.” Grams set her sharp eyes to Kalon. “Do not let your good heart be fooled into thinking colonials wouldn’t attempt capitalizing on this politically. They are not like us.”

“They are people.”

“People are not all the same.” She turned her focus back to her food. “You’re too quick to forget that Arios Washington supposedly met a similar fate as a child. He was written off for political gains, and everyone would’ve continued to buy that had he not come back from the dead.” She gestured to her screen. “Something is happening in Paris Colony. Did the mother murder the child? Did the in-laws? Is she murdered at all?”

“But the Foxcroft granddaughter disappearing from the public eye…?”

“Yes, that is what I’m attempting to discover. I cannot in good faith put out a summa until I get that piece.” She held her empty plate out to Kalon without looking away from her screen. “Her vanishing is not something her in-laws want. That is the only tangible bit I’ve got. Now, is it guilt? Grief?” She wagged her plate impatiently. “Clear this out and leave me to it.”

“Do try for some sleep tonight, Grams.” Kalon wrinkled her nose. “And perhaps a shower….”

She leaned against the wall, taking breaths to calm the swirl of information and emotions Grams had helped ushered. She exhaled as Mal called out for her, putting on a smile and hurrying off to relieve Gramps.

---

The heavy overcast reflected the mood of the people perfectly. No sooner than Grams relented and released her summary–giving way to the official narrative that the Paris Colony granddaughter had been slain–did an additional development emerge.

Alouette Foxcroft had disappeared from the eye due to being found collapsed in her room two days after the attack on her daughter. The details remained tightly hushed. The rumors flew in the streets, in the salon, in the library, all of them grim.

Kalon bounced Mal on her hip as she carried him through the early, gray light. “Auntie Strauss is going to be quite busy and a tad upset, so you need to be on your best behavior today.” She frowned. “I hope all this sorrow doesn’t cause long term affect to you and Isabelline. It’d be horrid if you have a negative outlook on life due to all this.”

She slowed as she became aware that there was a person leaning on the building ahead. There was an agitation to their posture, like a cornered animal ready to lash out. She held Mal tight to the point he started to push her away in protest.

“Thought I’d run into you eventually if I camped out here.”

Her shoulders relaxed as she recognized the strange accent. She offered Khoa a smile, but it weakened when his posture stayed coiled.

His inky black hair was longer, partly obscuring his dark brown and hazel eyes and creating a frame that highlighted his face shape and gave his neck a longer, more elegant appearance. The rip-like scar on his mouth and cunning glint in his eyes reminded Kalon that she needed to wade into any interaction with him.

“I almost believe you wouldn’t come by again.” She adjusted Mal. “He’s getting big, isn’t he?”

“Do you have a car?”

“Do I–? What? Why?” She turned slightly, just enough to put Mal a fraction further from Khoa. “No. I’ve never–.”

“The old man doesn’t have one?”

“He has a van, but the thing is ancient. I’m not sure–.”

“Borrow it.”

“What? You want me to steal–?”

“Ask him first if you need to. I can drive.”

She narrowed her green eyes, scowling in irritation. “What is all this about?” Her heart missed a beat. “Is Innit all right?”

“He’s a bastard, but whatever.” Khoa crossed his arms. “He’s done what he said he needed, but now he’s lookin’ for any reason to do more. There ain’t no reason for it. It’s annoyin’.”

“So… you want me to see him… because he’s getting on your nerves?”

Khoa shrugged. “Good a reason as any.”

Kalon cocked her head. “Is it?”

“If you don’t want to see him, just say it and I’ll leave. I can always see if Bex has something to distract him from being an idiot.”

“No!” She cleared her throat to cover for her hasty, higher tone. “I’ll see him. I want to. I….” She pet Mal’s brown hair, smiling at the wary way he stared at Khoa. “I need to prepare first. Drop Mal off. Ask for the van. Et cetera.”

“Fine. Don’t be too long.” Khoa pushed away from the wall. “Probably keeps that van out in the parkin’ garage with the other townie cars. I’ll wait there. Just for a couple of hours.”

She waited until Khoa had vanished around a corner before heading the two doors down to the salon. She deposited Mal into the playpen in the back, receiving a great cry of protest that she ignored. She tucked a container of food and two bottles into the small fridge in the corner before kissing the top of her son’s head.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“You’re in a hurry this morning?” Strauss swayed side-to-side, pressing Isabelline close. “Any news?”

“Not yet, but surely Grams will find something tangible soon. We’re going on a week now. They can’t stay quiet forever.” She picked at her violet nails. “I’m seeing Innit soon.”

“Innit? As in Mal’s father?” Strauss’s eyes hardened. “Kalon….” She shook her head. “No. I won’t say anything. Do as you think you must.” She bit her lip. “Are you telling him about Mal?”

“I haven’t decided. His life is so… complicated. I can’t see how that would do Mal any good. He has enough setbacks without dragging in a person that may always have one foot out the door.”

“Twat.” Strauss laughed weakly. “Sorry. I’ll say no more. Promise.”

Kalon headed out before Strauss broke that promise, and before her nerves sabotaged her into being late to meet Khoa by way of getting into a banter. She fought her way through the line already forming outside the library.

Gramps took his hand off the pistol on his hip as she entered. “Oh, there you are. Was young Malvern difficult?”

“No… I heard word of Innit.” She looked away before she could get a solid look of what expression Gramps had, picking her nails. “Can you manage on your own today?”

“What do you think will come of this?”

“I’m not sure….” She stuffed her hands in her pockets to stop her picking. “I believe I owe it to Mal to gauge if his father is in a spot to be his father though. And,” she swallowed roughly, “I’m worried about him. I want to see if he’s all right.”

Gramps was silent long enough that Kalon looked up at him to make sure he had not wandered off. His mouth was a tight line. His eyes narrowed in concentration.

“I imagine you are bringing this to my attention not only because you’ll miss work while we’re so busy, but because you need something else? My pistol?”

“The van.”

“You cannot drive.” His expression soured. “Ah, it’s that other boy that told you all this. Perhaps you need the pistol as well after all.”

“I’ll bring my baton.”

“I’ll allow it, but I have a request. Do not tell him about young Malvern. Speak to him if you must, but keep your boy’s existence unknown.”

She gave a reluctant nod.

“I also strongly advise you to say nothing to Pistachio when you fetch the keys. If you’re quiet, she’ll likely not notice you at all.”

She crept downstairs, took her baton from her vanity, and picked up the key from its hook. She tried to say something to Gramps as she left, but unsure if she wanted to express gratitude or optimism, she mumbled incoherently instead.

Khoa was standing at the mouth of the parking garage looking irate at the pace she walked.

It took a few minutes to start the van. Grasses had grown into the rusted crevasses of the body, and some type of rodent had used the gaps in the engine for hibernation. The brakes creaked and the whole thing rattled more than Kalon remembered, but Khoa was successful in getting it from the garage and out onto the street.

“Innit’s got a car. I’ll drop you off and bring this one back to swap with mine. I’ll stash the key in that hole that had the weeds.”

“You have your own car?”

“Bex let me borrow his.”

“Really? For more than half a year?”

Khoa shrugged. “It ain’t like I planned on being away that long.” The corner of his mouth curled. “Besides, his parents made him.”

“Bex has parents?”

He gave a snort and an eye roll, but elaborated no further.

She craned her neck to watch the roundabout pass. She had not left Dijon since Gramps brought her home. There was a melancholy weight on her chest over it, but none of the anxiety she had expected.

She leaned back in her seat and glanced at Khoa. “How’s Innit look?”

His sleek eyebrows knit together. “Like Innit? Blue eyes. Freakishly blond hair. He ain’t got fat or gross or nothing.”

She went to clarify but shut her mouth and leaned against the window. She would bet Khoa knew exactly what she had asked and was trying to toy with her, some type of retribution for making him wait, for making him feel the need to seek her out to start with.

She drummed her fingers on the dashboard. “What are Bex’s parents like?”

“Dunno.”

“Of course you do!”

“Why? Because of the car thing?”

She narrowed her green eyes at him. “How long is this drive?”

He smirked.

---

The drive was thankfully not much longer than an hour outside of Dijon. The town was nestled in a dramatic bend in the river, giving it waterfront on three sides. The architecture was similar to Dijon with stone roads and whitewashed stone buildings, except more than half these buildings were ruins. There were rusted out cylinders–airplane hulls–among some of these ruins.

Khoa wretched the van into park. “He’s campin’ out in the Rivotte Bastion. Just follow this road straight down. You’ll know it when you see it.” He pointed to the squat, square tower in front of them. “Looks like that, in case you’re too spacey.”

“Is there not a car park near it?”

“Lots of them.”

“Well?”

“What?”

“I’m in heels, Khoa. Can’t you drop me nearer? Or best option, just escort me directly to Innit.” She sighed at his stare. “What if Innit doesn’t agree to drive me back? Or, what if he’s already gone off somewhere else? I can’t be wandering a strange town all day. I’ve got to get back to the baby.”

She opened her mouth angrily as he cut off the engine, but shut it as he threw open his door.

“I ain’t goin’ to try re-parkin’ this heap. C’mon, let’s get this over with.”

She followed Khoa half a step behind due to her shoes and not knowing where she was. They kept the river to their left, moving with a conflicting lazy agitation.

The Rivotte Bastion was soon in sight, looking as square and squat as the tower they parked near. The walk would have been easy enough for Kalon on her own, and it was near enough there was a slim chance she could have gotten within sight and shouting distance of Khoa should she had discovered Innit was not there and needed a ride back.

She hugged herself as a cold breeze came off the water. She took out her hair clip to better warm her neck, looking sideways at Khoa with his short hair and t-shirt.

“Are you chilly at all?”

“What’re you gonna do about it if I am?” He looked her over. “You ain’t got a jacket to give me.”

“I was attempting to show you humanity and compassion.”

“By reminding me I’m cold?”

“My mistake.” She eyed him, focusing on the scar on his mouth. “This is going to be a stupid question–.”

“Great.”

“--but was that painful?” She tapped her mouth to show what she meant.

“You’re right, that was stupid.”

Further elaboration did not come, but it was just as well with the entrance to the bastion just feet away.

Khoa swept his hand dramatically, bowing slightly. “Your prince charming awaits.”

“How did you manage to make something so cheesy sound so ominous?” She rocked up on her toes to attempt to see better, but did not wander in. “Are you certain he’s still there? It’s rather dark.”

Khoa spun, narrowed his eyes against the light, and pointed. “His car is over there. He’s here.” He leaned against the doorway, setting her in his sights. “Are you scared?”

“Of… the dark?”

“Of seeing Innit.”

The comment caused her pause. It had not occurred to her that she had hesitations in seeing Innit. It was not as if they parted friendly, and she had kept Mal’s existence from him. There was no way to know how he would react to that, if she decided to tell him at all.

“Of course not. I’m rather looking forward to it.”

Khoa scoffed, pushed away from the doorway, and headed inside.

Kalon crept after him, wrinkling her nose and scooting around molding cardboard boxes from someone attempting to use the bastion as storage. The mess did not appear to register with Khoa, and she soon fell behind as he rushed ahead.

“I’ve read too many stories about stupid women walking into obvious death traps to be doing this….”

She jumped at the sounds of crashing, like some of the boxes were kicked or shoved over. She inched towards the sound with her heart pounding. She paused at Innit’s voice.

“Why’d you do that! Now it’s all–.”

“You ain’t payin’ attention, that’s why! You even move since I left?”

“You don’t get it, Khoa. I’m so close to figurin’ out if she’s dead or not. …Magpie ain’t sayin’ nothing…. There ain’t a chance in hell he knew about this….”

“Yeah, he’s probably cryin’ his eyes out. Leave him to it, and move on with your life.”

“What life? All I got is tryin’ to sort out–.”

She jumped again as another set of boxes was knocked over. She could see Khoa standing stiff-legged over the destruction, fists clenched as he bore down on Innit. He sat on the floor, with only his platinum hair visible to her.

“Stop!” Khoa growled-groaned up at the stone ceiling. “Just stop it, Innit. You did enough. You ain’t doin’ nothing but wastin’ time.”

“Yeah? And is me tryin’ to help you wastin’--?”

“Yes! You can’t save me, Innit!” Khoa kicked over another stack of boxes at Innit’s inaudible murmur. “Y’know what? Fine. But I ain’t stickin’ ‘round for you to use me as an excuse.”

Kalon jerked and leapt aside as Khoa spun and charged her direction. She shrank as he stopped behind her, casting a furious look her way.

“Told you he was being a dumbass.”

“You… said bastard….”

Khoa’s lip curled. “Whatever he is, he ain’t my problem.”

She turned to track Khoa’s rtreating form, teetering on following after him and demanding a ride back. She looked back at the blond figure hunched over his laptop, eyes fixed on the screen. The milky light washed him out and made his hair glow. Her mouth twitched against a smile, and she turned back his way, slowly creeping forward.

Eyes still locked on his screen, Innit straightened slightly. “Kalon?” He looked up, mouth drooping open. “K-Kalon!” He set the laptop down as he scrambled to his feet, leaning forward and just as suddenly pulling back. “I don’t…? How are you here?” He scowled. “Khoa….”

“He took off in the van and left me without a ride home.” She gazed at her toes, swaying anxiously. “Give me a lift back?”

She dared look up when it was quiet too long, exhaling to see Innit stuffing bits of clothing and his laptop in his suitcase. She stepped aside to allow him to pass, giving him a smile that was not returned. She trotted after him, sticking close to his back until she stepped from the musty bastion.

She followed him to the lot Khoa had flippantly waved at, over to a slate gray Cadillac with knicks and dings that added character more than detracted. She touched a chip in the door.

“It’s well loved and still a beauty.”

“It was Dice’s.” Innit slammed the trunk down after tossing his bag in. “You can get in. It’s not locked.”

She climbed into the front passenger seat and watched Innit push the ignition on. His knuckles were white on the wheel, his arms tense as he steered them from the lot. She followed the curve of his arms to his shoulders, his neck, his ear–the tip red–and eyed his angular jaw. Her eyes darted away as his blue ones shot to her.

“You let your hair keep growin’. Added some color too.”

“Yes.” She tugged her royal blue lock straight. “My friend thought it accented my complexion and caused my dull hair to look less dull.”

“I never reckoned your hair color was dull.” He cleared his throat. “If you like it, that’s what matters.” His fingers tapped the wheel. “So… why’d you get in a car with Khoa? Did y’all get more friendly?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” She chipped at her violet nail polish. “More of an understanding of sorts. …I know he’s sick.” She smiled weakly. “He was so angry with me when I asked if you had it.” She reddened. “I-I mean, of course I knew rationally that you didn’t. You would have told me.”

“You reckon? Seems like the type of thing I’d want no one to ever know.”

“Perhaps, but if I tried to get into your pants, you wouldn’t have let me, and you would’ve had to tell me why.”

“Or I could’ve slept with you and vanished. It ain’t like I’ve never done that before.”

The air thickened between them. Kalon looked at the scenery a second before allowing her eyes to wander back to Innit. She studied his slender fingers on the steering wheel, not daring to gauge what his expression was.

“I reckon that’s something we should talk about….”

“It was hurtful and at times I still am cross over it.”

“Just jumpin’ right in.”

“I had such a horrid morning, and I had thought that night would validate everything I had said about you. About our relationship. But, no, instead you run off and I hear no word of you for near two years!” She threw her hands up. “I looked such a fool on top of all the heartbreak and–.” She swallowed her next words quickly, laughing shakily to cover it. “I worried about you, you know.”

“Sorry.” His cheeks tinted red. “That ain’t enough, and I meant for right now and for then and… I ain’t got any idea what’d I be able to say to make it okay.”

“Words would never be enough.”

“I reckon so….”

Kalon drummed her fingers on her knee. “Don’t just not try! Some sort of explanation is in order.” She sighed heavily. “Have you at least accomplished what you abandoned me for?”

“Abandoned is harsh.”

“Accurate.” She gathered her hair to one side to fiddle with her curls. “I thought you were going to propose to me, Innit, in case you’ve forgotten that bit.”

Innit’s eyes bugged. “What? We definitely did not have that conversation. There ain’t no way in hell I'd forget that.”

“Oh… perhaps I was too vague with my expectations of that night….”

“What I remember is you sittin’ there, cryin’, and that look you had when you accused me of not lovin’ you.” He tightened his grip. “I saw it almost every night before fallin’ asleep.”

Her heart flittered. She reached over, gently brushing the short hair around his ears. She smirked as she saw him gulp.

“I nearly feel awful for that making me feel better.”

“I reckon that’s something….” He took her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Reckon we could start over?”

She recoiled, knitting her fingers together in her lap. She tensed as the air grew heavy once more. Her mouth went dry.

“We can't.”

Innit’s face went redder as he re-tightened his grip on the wheel. “Right. No. Sorry. With how you touched my ear….” He shook his head. “Forget it.” His fingers bounced against the wheel. “There ain’t no way it’s another guy though, right? Not with you comin’ out here and gettin’ me all hot ‘n’ bothered. You ain’t like that.”

“Not another guy in that way….” She took a deep breath. “I had your son while you were gone.”

There was no indication he had heard her. His expression was neutral, his fingers as tight on the wheel as before. She had not even seen any quickening in his breathing. She frowned as the seconds dragged on.

“Innit, did you–? Innit! Road!”

He jumped and cranked the wheel to avoid flying off a curve. The car screeched to a halt with Kalon slamming into the dashboard.

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

The one thing with writing on g.docs is I can't highlight and see how many words I have (or haven't figured out how to do it) so just put up sections when I feel like I've been writing them too long. I was not going to cut the end off like that (spoiler: super mild car misshap, no big deal at all) but you don't really need to see Kalon going 'yooo wut you doing' and stepping out to just not be sitting in the car.

There is clearly something bad going on with Alouette and it ties into Magpie having Rouen, and Alouette master plan (sort of). Oh, and Isabelline is a color. I thought it was appropriate for the hair dresser/tattooist to name her kid after a color.

The watery sun was pleasant but not enough to warm the snowy streets. The cheerfulness of the townies was enough to counter the cold, them greeting each other with a word or flick of the hand. The storefront windows were decorated with garlands and glazed fruits, the reasons long-lost but always a welcomed change from the everyday.

Kalon paused, halting the pram she pushed. She twisted and gave Strauss a sympathetic smile as she waddled hastily to catch up, an arm supporting her large stomach.

“Do you want a rest?”

“I'll rest at the shop. I cannot believe I forgot to buy the roast! Some housewife I'm turning out to be.”

“You, my friend, are being far too hard on yourself.” Kalon leaned over the pram. “Auntie Strauss is much too tough on herself, isn't she, Mal?”

The baby–heavily bundled in shades of blue–stared silently with eyes still an indiscernible dark shade of blue-gray typical of newborns. He was still squished in features, but the way he stared–especially when he screamed–reminded Kalon of a displeased kitten.

“What is of great annoyance, is that you were not anywhere near as big and bumbling at six months.” Strauss stopped, catching her breath. “I do believe you still wore stilettos.”

“I did not! I stopped stilettos by month four, at least.”

“Heeled boots then. The chucky kind.”

“Well… I had no flat shoes at the time, if that is of any consolation.”

“No. No, it is not.” Strauss waved her dismissively. “Come on, can’t stop the momentum.”

Kalon kept her pace slow, glancing from Strauss to the pram to check on her companions. She squinted into the weak sun a moment.

“What time do you think it is?”

“Need to get back?”

“Not immediately, surely, but eventually. Gramps’s back is bothering him again. I’m holding the place down, and we’ve been so busy recently.”

“I bet it has to do with the rumors.” Strauss laughed at Kalon’s perplexed face. “Honestly. You curate history and yet you never know what people are whispering about.” She smiled into the pram. “Though, you’ve the best excuse for the last couple of weeks. Ah, the butcher! Oh, the crowd….”

“We’ll wait out here. It’ll be faster for you. And easier should I need to rush to work.”

She watched as Strauss tried to use her state to get near the counter, failing as elderly women blocked her path. She braced against a gust of wind and re-tucked one of the blankets around the baby. She tapped the window, gained her friend’s attention, and pointed down the road before giving her a small, departing wave.

The probability of some rumor being the driving force behind the recent crowds at the library was likely. Grams had started taking meals in her office.

“See? Told you the Gousa granddaughter was pregnant.”

Kalon halted, gripping tight to the pram. She inched backwards into the nearest doorway. There was a short pause, then–.

“And Pistachio didn’t shove her down the stairs? That’s the bigger shock of it.”

Two old women–Grams and Gramps’s generation–were slowly shuffling down the sidewalk towards her and Mal. They were wrapped in woolen coats and shawls, carrying cloth shopping bags on their arms.

“So true! It isn’t so unusual given how they let her run wild. Do you remember what she used to look like? Bits of metal shoved through her eyebrow. Dressing like a little tramp.”

Kalon’s shaking hand went to where she had worn her eyebrow bar. It had been more than a year since she put it in, growing bored with the ritual around the time she first met Innit. Khoa showing up bangaged as he had then may have influenced her a bit too. She had caught her bar on her own clothing occasionally.

“It’s no wonder they had no contact until they needed to. Wouldn’t be shocking if she was sent to them to straighten out and her orphanage was just coincidental.”

“Not that it worked. Poor, little infant. Imagine growing up knowing your mother was no better than a common–.”

The two elders caught sight of her and the pram nestled in the doorway. They regarded her, gave a nod at the pram, and shuffled on. Their voices now lowered in a hiss.

“Think she overheard?”

She bit her lip to stop it shaking. She put on a smile for Mal–him staring soundlessly up at her still–and wiped her eyes.

“Sorry, Mal. Mummy needs….”

She crouched down, stifling a sudden sob that burst from her mouth. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth in long, practiced breaths until the overwhelming, suffocating weight in her chest subsided. She climbed back to her feet with a final huff, wiped her eyes, and gave Mal a more genuine smile.

“Sorry. Grams said I’d have moments. I suppose that was one.” She peered into the sun. “I should learn to wear a watch.” She began walking. “I never was one for bracelets. Isn’t that odd? Necklaces and earrings, but not bracelets and rings.” She laughed at Mal’s disgruntled expression. “I promise you that I’m not mad. Crazy, as your father would say.”

They were near the library when Kalon remembered she needed another packet of diapers. She ducked her head in an attempt to conceal herself from the small crowd waiting outside the library door, rushing by to go to the corner shop.

She whispered apologizes to Mal as she repeatedly slammed the pram in the sides of the narrow door in her hurry to get out of the cold. She smiled warmly at the proprietor, receiving a curt nod and a side-eye. She hissed at the time on the clock, and brisky headed for the baby section.

“Gramps is going to be cross at me for opening late.” She tucked a pack of diapers beneath the pram. “We probably shouldn’t have gone with Auntie Strauss this morning. C’est la vie.” Her head swiveled. “Was there anything else? Pens? Wipes?”

She tossed wipes with the diapers. She glanced at the clock, gulped, and headed for the counter. Anything else would need to wait.

She jerked the pram to a stop to avoid smacking into the young man waiting at the counter. The suddeness jostled Mal from his soundless, staring stupor. His face smushed up, reddened, and his mouth opened–huffing in preparation to wail.

“No, no, no, shush.” Kalon leaned into the pram, patting his cheek lightly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. That was too fast. Shh.”

“Library girl?”

Her green eyes widened. She straightened, feeling a cold jolt down her spine as she faced a pair of odd eyes–hazel and brown. Her grip on the pram tightened when those eyes momentarily darted to Mal.

She grimaced. “Honestly, Khoa, how do you not remember my name?”

“It’s Kalon.” He shrugged. “Library girl is how I remember you. Just came out.”

Her grip loosened. He was not trying to pick a fight. There was a tiredness to him, but one that lacked irritability. Other than the small look that showed he saw Mal existed, he appeared disinterested and was not acting any differently towards her.

“Have you come to use the library? Is Bex cooking up something? I do believe it has been at least a year–.”

“I’m alone.”

There was no further explanation, and no confirmation if he was there to visit the library or just passing through town. She rocked on her toes, chewing at her questions, stealing looks at the clock and at Khoa’s face. He was thinner. Or her memories of him were not accurate.

“So sorry for the wait, sir.” The proprietor returned from the backroom with a small, glass jar. “Smelling salts are not a commonly recommended item. It took me some effort to locate them.”

Kalon eyed the jar, cocking her head. “Are they for your first aid kit?”

Khoa smirked at her as he silently handed over payment. He backed away, ignoring the proprietor’s thanks, and headed for the door.

“Good morning.” She placed the diapers and wipes on the counter. “Have you been very busy today?”

She tightened her grip on the pram once again at the coldness the proprietor stared at her with. She fished out currency to busy her hands, cooing to Mal who was back to his mild disgruntled expression but still with extra shine in his eyes.

“I was three years ahead of your father in school.”

“My–? Oh, is that so?” She forced a smile. “Did you know him well?”

“Enough to know how ashamed he’d be.” The proprietor snatched the currency away. “Have a good day, Miss Gousa.”

Her chest tightened as the overwhelmed feeling surged. She backed away from the counter, and forced the pram through the door, jostling and upsetting Mal. She tried apologizing, choking on her sobs. She pushed the pram quicker until she was jogging with it, tears streaming down her face and Mal screaming from inside.

Khoa leapt aside on the sidewalk. “What the–? Kalon? Where are–?”

She blubbered something at him–she could not say what or if it made any sense–as she ran by him. She cleared the crowd outside the library easily with the pram and shrieking baby. She pulled him from it once safely inside the library, abandoning the pram in the entryway.

She carried Mal down into the dwelling beneath the library. Her tears had stopped, now just stains on her face. She shushed the baby repeatedly as they took a chair in the living room. She hugged him to her chest, catching her breath.

“What is all this crying?” Grams popped out of her workspace. “Did you leave the patrons alone?”

“I… I didn’t….” She squeezed her eyes shut to stop new tears. “I’m s-sorry.”

Grams heaved a sigh, giving her a thump on the back. “Get a hold of yourself, girl. I know it is not fun in the least, but you still have work to do.” She gave her another pat. “Feed the baby, and then go open. You’ll both have quieted then.”

“O-okay. Th-thanks–.”

“And do not come back until at least lunch. I’ve too much work, and heaven knows Vern will try leaving that bed if you keep disturbing him. Understood, my dear?” She pointed a gnarled finger at Mal. “Behave for your mother.”

She took a breath, and gathered her cover to nurse Mal. She whispered and cooed at him while he ate, lulling him to calm and then to sleep. She placed him in his bassinet outside her door–her room too cramped to fit it. She hung a walkie-talkie with the ‘talk’ taped down over the bassinet, clipped the pair to her hip, and headed up.

The visitors filed in, murmuring annoyance at the wait. She waved them through with her bat, just to remind them of the consequences should they break the rules. She barely glanced at any of them, yawning and staring blankly with her bat-less hand on the walkie-talkie.

“You left these.”

Kalon started, blinking the tiredness from her eyes. It took a moment to piece together that Khoa was standing there holding the package of diapers and wipes.

“Oh. Yes. Thank you.” She laughed shakily. “I was in such a rush to open–.”

“Sure, because forgettin’ to grab the only thing on the counter is believable.” He deposited the items into her arms. “Goin’ off the blues… it’s a boy?”

She nodded, swallowing. “Yes. Malvern. Mal for short.”

“Is he Innit’s?”

The paper packaging audibly crinkled as she tightened her hold on the diapers. Her eyes darted to a pair entering, her ears catching hisses of whispers. The tightness returned to her chest, and her eyes prickled.

“Innit's? Of course not!” She forced a joyless laugh. “Haven't you heard? I'm the town whore. He could be anyone's.”

Khoa’s face was blank. “You ain't a whore.” He gave her a mirthless smirk. “You had, what, three guys?”

“...Two.”

Khoa laughed. “Yeah, I'm the whore of us standin’ here.” His eyes sharpened. “You can’t let them eat at you.”

Kalon stepped back, gulping at the lump in her throat. The surge of gratitude rose in her chest. She sniffed heartily, laughing at Khoa’s mildly disgusted expression.

“Apologies.” She clumsily wiped her eyes. “Why are you being so kind? It’s… well, unusual.”

“My mom let it eat at her.” He rubbed a shiny, reddish scar marring his palm. “I paid for it.”

She quickly studied the paper packaging of the diapers as his eyes went her way. She searched for what to say, but fragments of what that scar could mean–burned, reaction to a corrosive cut, disease–flit through her mind instead.

“Does Innit know?”

She huffed irritability. “I've already said that Mal isn't–.”

“I don't know why you're protectin’ him.” Khoa crossed his arms. “Or, maybe what I should ask is did you know the last time you saw him?”

She kept her eyes on her items, picking at the corner of the seal keeping the wipes enclosed with a turquoise nail. Her posture relaxed as Khoa leaned away.

“I give you credit for not trappin’ him.” He scratched at his jet hair. “He could’ve ended up walkin’ out on you both if you did. And then he’d just be ordinary scum instead of in the dark about all this.”

Her heart sank. “You… you believe he would’ve left me regardless?”

“Dice did a number on him. Can’t underestimate that level of survivor guilt.”

“You don’t call him Arios…? You didn’t know him, did you?”

“Briefly.” Khoa shrugged. “I ain't got much to say on him except that his glarin’ issue was he overestimated his friends. He should’ve figured in that they’d go nuts if he screwed off and died.”

The abrupt, deafening cry that blasted from her hip–Khoa and she both startling–dashed any follow up questions she dared ask. She frantically tried lowering the volume and juggling her items as she dashed for the door leading to the subterranean dwelling.

She released her arms, dropping everything onto a chair, and scooped Mal up.

“Ssh, Mal, I've got you. Are you wet? Hungry?”

Grams approached with her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. “Change him and take him up with you. You can’t let the visitors alone long.”

“Surely they won’t miss me for twenty minutes or so? They’re so absorbed–.”

“The chances of vandals are high.” She peered grimly as she raised the cup. “The most prevalent rumor is that the Foxcroft granddaughter is pregnant. The officials in Paris Colony are being oddly silent on it; more likelihood of it being true but it being too early for the announcement.”

She grabbed the shawl draped over the chair she typically fed Mal in, and hurried back to the stairs. She nearly collided with Khoa at the top.

He held up the wipes, irritability. “You dropped this.”

She snatched them and tossed them down the stairs. She brushed by Khoa, clutching Mal to her chest–him still whimpering over the lack of food.

“Is there a topic of interest to you, Khoa? I won’t charge a fee. As thanks for bringing me my belongings.”

“The info here… is better than the stuff on the ‘net?”

“Of course. That is often scrubbed, definitions changed, whole events or topics deleted.” She gestured to the walls upon walls of shelves. “This is tangible and forever. Well, so long as I stop people from stealing and destroying books.”

“Does this gratitude carry to the next time I’m in town?”

“No.”

“Fine.” He glanced away. “Whatever you’ve got on that immunodeficiency virus. Or any news about cures if I got to be specific. More recent the better.”

Kalon looked him over, slowly tightening her hold on Mal. Her lack of subtly was noted by way of Khoa bristling; his expression turning cagey.

“Does Innit…?”

“Know?” Khoa clicked his tongue. “Of course he knows.”

“No, no, does he… have it?” Her lip shook. “Is Mal sick? Babies do poorly with such things.”

Khoa glared. “Oh, so now he’s Innit’s?” He rolled his eyes. “You think Innit would do that? That he’d say nothing after sleepin’ with you? Or, hell, before? Wouldn't you've realized something ain't right already?”

“Khoa, please!” Her eyes prickled. “I don’t care if my asking is irrational, I’m asking!”

“No, he ain’t got it.” He grimaced. “I was the only one lucky enough.” He folded his arms. “Is that enough background info to get me these books?”

She reddened. “Yes, of course.” She hesitated. “How long–?”

“Seriously?”

She smiled sheepishly and shuffled off. She stroked Mal's fuzzy head, sucking in her relieved sobs. She draped her cover over herself and Mal so that she could feed him on the go, and set about to find Khoa his request as well as tend to the others.

---

Gramps was still down with back spasms the following morning. The crowd was as thick as before. Kalon opted to wear Mal in a sling rather than put him in his bed. The frenzy over this bit of gossip was palpable, and she would not risk vandals using her disappearing to tend to Mal to commit their crimes.

She forced a welcoming smile for the umpteenth time as the door was pushed open, allowing it to drop when she spotted Khoa. She gave him a puzzled frown.

“Back again?”

“I need a dictionary for all that you gave me yesterday.” He held out a fold of paper currency. “Whatever this’ll cover. It ain’t much, I know.”

“I’ll stretch it as need be if you hold Mal a moment or two when I need him off me.”

“I ain’t holdin’ your baby.”

“Please, Khoa, I’m not comfortable climbing the ladders with him yet. It’s not as if I can pass him to anyone else.”

He gave a disgruntled groan. “Fine.”

“Perfect!” She removed Mal from her baby-sling. “Just, hold him so.”

“Wait, now?”

“Support his head” She clamped Khoa’s arms around Mal. “That’ll do. Back in a jiff.” She skittered to a stop. “Just… don’t move. You’ll act as doorman too.”

“Kalon, wait a–.”

“I know exactly where the right reference is. No time at all. I swear.”

She was confident she heard Khoa make a curse at her as she hurried away. She hoped it was something Mal would not be able to remember, or else risk him repeating it at a much later date.

She was distracted from completing Khoa’s request several times on her way by others wanting an additional tome. She sped-walked back towards the entrance with a medical dictionary for the everyman firmly against her chest. Her heart blipped as Mal screeched; it reverberated off the ceiling.

She snickered. “Poor, Khoa.” She quickened her pace at another screech, her heart again jumping. “Poor, Mal.” She broke into a run as an angry buzz joined the next shriek. “Mal!”

A tall man was bearing down on Khoa with great agitation. He swiveled side to side, wanting to go around, but Khoa’s raised hackles caused pause. There were papers clearly sticking from his pockets and he carried three books under his arm.

Four more men hovered on the edges, standing on their toes, waiting for a chance to run through the doors.

“--big shove, and that’ll be it.” The tall man inched nearer. “You won’t be able to stop all of us and hold onto that screaming thing.”

Kalon pulled her retractable baton off her belt, still running full speed. She flicked it to extend, and whacked the tall man across the back. Across the backs of his knees. Again across his back now that he was down. Again. Again. Her heart was racing; Mal was still screaming.

“Kalon!” Khoa caught her wrist as she swung again. “Take your kid!”

She hastily pulled Mal into her, dropping her baton to shush and cradle him. He was quick to quiet–missing the familiarity of Kalon–which settled her nerves too. She went to apologize to Khoa, or joke about Mal’s tantrum, or further reprimand the vandal; whichever did not get the chance to form and the blood drained from her face.

The would-be vandal was attempting to stand, gasping in pain as he clutched his leg. Blood gushed from his bent nose, him spitting whenever too much fell into his mouth.

The state of him was not what caused Kalon dread. It was how Khoa stood bearing down over him with his knuckles white on the baton. There was a flush to his face and a burning glint in his sharp eyes.

Kalon laughed shakily, her hold on Mal tight. “Thanks, Khoa. I suspect the anti-theft message–.”

She jumped as Khoa cracked the baton across the vandal’s neck. Her green eyes searched the still body, heart thumping and breathing shallow. 

Khoa’s expression was cold. His eyes darted to the other would-be vandals hovering in the corners. He rolled the one at his feet over with his foot, eliciting a sharp cry. His grip tightened on the baton. He reeled back his arm.

“Khoa!” She exhaled as he lowered his arm. “I’ll handle it from here. Your requested–.”

He dropped the baton, backed away, and rushed out the entrance.

She retrieved her baton, casting a steely look to those hovering. “Your mistake was thinking my baton would not hurt as much as my bat.” She adjusted Mal. “Set the books on that table, and be gone when I return.” She sneered at the man at her feet. “Take him too, or you’ll all face my grandfather’s pistol.”

She hurried outside, stopping just as quickly to stop from colliding into Khoa.

“I expected you to be long gone.” She shuffled closer. “I dropped the book you–.”

“It ain’t important.”

“Are you okay?”

Khoa nodded, keeping his eyes down. “Innit thinks he’s got all this darkness, thinks he’d go down any road to do what he needs…." He touched the tear-like scar from where he once had his lip piercing. "He’s got no clue that he followed Dice out into the light long ago without realizin’ it.” He took a breath. “You want me to tell Innit about the baby?”

She stroked Mal’s fuzzy head, running her finger down to his button nose. Her eyes prickled as a lump formed in her throat. She gave a small shake of her head.

“Mal deserves much more than what I can give on my own… but….”

“Innit won’t  go back into the dark. I won’t let him.” He rubbed Mal’s hand with his thumb. “I might never see you again.” He stared at Kalon. “I think you’ll be fine.”

“You should check in just to be sure.”

Khoa snorted, smiled weakly, and disappeared down the street.

----------

Finally! This took forever. The end is in sight at last. Some notes: the paper packaging for the diapers is because the ones I use are packaged in paper. I figured eventually, all diapers would follow the European model and do paper packaging. (And this does take place in Europe anyway.)

Khoa was always a single mom kid. Back in 2017ish when I was filling in the gaps with Innit's background via Khoa, I had to figure out the dynamic of the four boys. Clover, Innit, and Novie had the standard married parents that abandoned them. Khoa was he single parent. I never fully figured out if Novie was orphaned very young and abandoned by an aunt and uncle, or if he was just the youngest of his parents' children so "off loaded". He was the only one with siblings though either way, and was dumped because he was the youngest. But, yeah, when I remembered Khoa was from a single mom I was like 'oh he's going to have feelings about this'.

Kalon being emotional and a bit irrational is because hormones suck, lol. Sometimes you'd just start crying and then (in my case) you sit there like... okay, why'd I do that?

A man glanced up as the front door creaked open. He took one look at the pair of silhouettes and turned back to the stark white glow of a computer screen. “We closed thirty minutes ago,” he called out with annoyance weighing heavily on his voice.

“We need a flight off-planet.”

The man straightened up in his chair, peering between his screen and the divider used to separate his side of the desk from the public-facing side. His ruddy complexion darkened the further it moved from the glow of the screen.

The first of the two men stepped through the shallow lobby and approached the desk. The muted lights above his head cast his sepia skin with a dull glow, and his dark brown eyes seemed even darker in the shadow under his brow. The dark leather jacket he wore seemed to soak in the shadows of the room.

Behind him, a wiry man with mostly tan hair brushed aside the patch of white from his forehead. A black headband held back the rest, and a thick knitted scarf wrapped around his neck above a bleach-stained gray shirt.

“Off-planet?” The man repeated as the dark-eyed visitor casually rested a hand on his desk.

“We know you were the pilot who shuttled New Arden’s officers across a couple planets not too long ago,” Elliot casually slipped his other hand into his jacket pocket.

The pilot narrowed his eyes skeptically. “Who told you that?”

“Name another pilot in the tri-city region who still has aircraft able to go into space.”

The pilot shifted uncomfortably in his brown uniform. “Sir, I hope you can understand I can neither confirm nor deny that I, a humble transport pilot of Harbour Shipping, would shuttle New Arden’s officers—”

“Humble or not,” Elliot tried.

“Listen–it was a job–I was hired out! I swear–”

“We’re not here to get anyone in trouble.” Elliot eased with a quick wave of his hand. “We just need to go back to one of your stops.”

The pilot blinked. “Oh.”

Elliot’s brows raised in anticipation. “So?”

“All right, all right,” it was the pilot’s turn to wave his hands. “Which stop were you looking at?”

“The Tallelands.” Ace stepped up to the desk.

“Tallelands,” the pilot’s fingers pattered across his keyboard. “On the planet Tal E. Yeah, I was there a few weeks ago. Country of Northaven, looks like.”

“That’s it.” Ace’s eyes lit with hope.

The pilot glanced up from the computer. In the beam of light above their heads, the thin man’s streak of white hair seemed to glow. “Say,” he asked curiously, “you’re not one of those Aravast folks, are you?”

“No, I’m a Daethen from Northaven, hence why I need to get back there.” Ace said matter-of-factly.

“Oh!” He exclaimed as he leaned back in his chair. “Wow, I was wondering what they were doing picking up a bunch of people like that. They didn’t tell me much, just where to go and when to do it.” His ruddy face paled. “I mean... I didn’t say anything about picking up anybody. Nothing at all.”

“I got it,” Ace shrugged. “They were trying to see if I could help them, but it didn’t work out.” 

“Sorry to hear that.”

“I’m not.” Ace smirked.

“So, when can you fly?” Elliot asked.

“When can you pay me?”

Elliot reached into his back pocket and handed him a small card. 

“A cash card? I didn’t think cards still existed without a name attached to them.” 

“It was a birthday present. My grandmother was old-school.”

The pilot swiped it through a machine and nodded. “Nice birthday present. Now, I’ll need to scan your chip.”

Ace promptly backed away when the man stood and reached for his neck.

“What, you think you can just fly off without being scanned? It’s standard protocol to track all off-planet passengers!”

Elliot’s annoyance turned to silent dread as the pilot waved the scanner in front of them.

“Oh, it’s not that,” Ace recovered and offered reassuringly, “it’s just that I don’t have a chip.”

“Don’t have a chip?” The pilot blinked.

Ace held out his hand for the scanner and, with his back safely pointed away from the pilot, he pressed the scanner onto his own neck. It buzzed out an error. “See? I’m from The Tallelands; we don’t have chips there.” He handed the scanner back.

“Oh!” The pilot gave a short laugh and stepped back behind the computer with the scanner. “My apologies, sir. I guess you’re going off-planet as a chip read error, then.” He then sat back in his chair. “All right, I can probably get the ship up and running in about an hour.”

“Wait, what about him?” Ace pointed to Elliot.

“What about him? This ain’t enough for two tickets.” He lifted Elliot’s card.

Ace and Elliot glanced at each other. Ace had donned a look of worry, and Elliot frowned and pulled him away from the desk. 

“Listen, I don’t need a ticket,” he spoke softly.

“Don’t need a ticket? You’re supposed to come with me!” Ace hissed back.

“You heard him; I don’t have enough money for us both!” He winced and added under his breath, “Besides, I can’t risk being scanned. If they follow me, they’ll be able to find you.”

The Daethen’s brows knitted. “But, you won’t be safe here.”

Elliot put his hand on Ace’s shoulder. “But you will be safe there.”

Ace shook his head, his eyes wide with fearful sorrow. 

The Barean gripped his shoulder tighter. “Now go on. And don’t you dare turn this into another sappy moment.”

Ace was struggling to retain composure. “Elliot.”

“Stop it!” Elliot released Ace with a half-shove. “What did I just say?” His voice cracked.

“I can’t—”

“You can. This is how it has to be.”

His words flickered a light in Ace’s eyes.

Ace rushed back to the counter. “How about this,” he looked hard at the ruddy pilot and he slipped a silver ring from his left ring finger. “You take this for payment, but we don’t scan him.”

“Ace, what in the—”

He shoved his friend back with his other hand, holding the shimmering ring between his fingers. “It’s pure white gold.”

The pilot selected the ring from Ace’s fingers and held it closer to his computer screen for light.

“You cannot give away your wedding ring!” Elliot tugged on Ace’s arm. “Are you insane?”

“If I don’t receive money, I can’t issue a ticket.” The pilot’s eyes were still glued to the ring. 

“See? So, take it back!” Elliot ordered forcefully.

“I can replace a ring,” Ace replied sternly. “I cannot replace a friend.”

Elliot’s mouth hung open, but not a single word could escape from it.

“If I can’t issue a ticket, I don’t have to scan you.” The pilot looked up.

Ace’s brows raised in anticipation. “So?”

“So, both of you just come back here and get on the shuttle.” He shook his head, pocketed the ring, and unlatched the half-door beside him. “I swear, you’d better not be on the run or something,” he muttered with a sigh.

Ace turned to Elliot with a wide grin.

Elliot, however, had not yet recovered. “Why?” He finally managed to get out.

“I told you why. Now, come on.”

He tugged Elliot through the door and followed the pilot through a series of hallways until they reached the hangar. While the pilot barked their last-minute plans to the crew, Ace and Elliot started up the portable staircase into the ship’s cockpit.

Ace bounced into one of the chairs and chuckled as it spun. He looked up to the door, turning his head as the chair slowly rotated below him.

Elliot stood silently in the doorway, almost trancelike as he ran his fingers across the curved shape.

“You can come in.”

Elliot looked up. At last, a smile tugged at his lips. “Forgive me; it’s odd to think I’m actually leaving this place.”

“It does seem a little surreal after basically convincing myself I didn’t have a chance,” Ace leaned his elbows on his knees.

Elliot puffed air through his lips as he sat in an adjacent chair. “It’s not like I’m leaving behind anything important. Just a dead-end job, a shoddy apartment, and old memories.”

“Good ones?” 

“Gershwin’s are the only good ones.”

“But you grew up here,” Ace tried, “you’ve got memories of your family before Gershwin, right?”

Elliot took in a slow, deep breath. “Those are... too buried beneath the scars.” 

“What happened?”

“You’re really going to make me get sappy again?” Elliot sat back in the chair.

“I’ll get it out of you one way or another.” Ace raised an eyebrow.

Elliot’s smirk softened. “When I was fifteen, something happened to the water, and my entire family—and most of our apartment building—got really sick. I was away at school, or I’d have been sick, too,” Elliot’s eyes turned idly out the open door. “I rushed them to the hospital, and they got them into beds and hooked up to monitors, but that’s when NAGI came in. They said due to a greater emergency, they would be unable to care for my family. So, they left them, hooked to the machines, to slowly die before my eyes.”

Ace had frozen, his hand pressed across his lips.

“To this day, I can’t stand thinking they could have been helped, but they weren’t. I can’t stand that I couldn’t do anything about it. And to this day, I can’t stand looking at those beds and machines—as you are well aware from my stupid panic attack.”

“It’s not stupid,” the white hair slid back into Ace’s face.

“And like you, I still wonder if I should have done something differently. Should I have run and grabbed a doctor, or not taken no for an answer, or not been so useless and helpless... It tore me up so bad; I lost everything, including my sanity.”

“And that’s when Gershwin found you.”

Elliot looked up. “…Good job.”

Ace offered an empathetic smile. “I’m really sorry you had to go through that.”

“It’s all past now.” Elliot leaned back in the chair and used his legs to twist it from side to side.

“Well, I hope you can come to make new good memories in The Tallelands now.” Ace leaned over with a smug grin. “Maybe even add a few more names to your two-person friends list.”

“Oh, you still think there’s two, huh?” Elliot ribbed him.

“Oh, sorry, am I being pretentious again?”

Try as he might to hold it back, Elliot broke into a hearty laugh. He held up one hand to shield his eyes and he heavily shoved Ace with the other.

Ace yelped as his chair spun in circles, though he was laughing almost as much.

Elliot hooted an exaggerated sigh. “Have you thought about what your wife and friends are going to think of you and your newfound power?” he asked once Ace’s chair had slowed to a stop. “‘Cause you’re, like, crazy powerful now.”

“They’ll be surprised, that’s for sure. But, I don’t plan on using it much if I can help it. Although technically, there are sorcerers around.” Ace raised a hand and caused mist to rise above his fingertips as the light flowed through the veins of his arm. “I may blend right in.”

“Sorcerers?” Elliot’s brows peaked. “This I gotta see.”

Soon, the pilot joined them in the cockpit, along with two crewmembers to help with the hours of travel ahead of them. In the cover of darkness, from an aircraft hangar twenty miles outside of New Arden, a ship slipped into Barea’s atmosphere and shot into space.

--

For the first time in weeks, her eyes were not wet with tears. She had not forgotten, nor would she ever forget, the loss she had experienced, but it was becoming easier to live beyond the icy hole punched through the center of her life. 

She leaned heavily on her brother-in-law’s arm as they walked down the sandy road to her door. She had been grateful to have James and her husband’s longtime friend, Dorian, at her side as they worked their way through their grief together.

“James,” Dorian shouted suddenly, giving his free arm a tug.

James stopped walking and turned to him, but he could only follow Dorian’s line of sight when he couldn’t speak further.

Athena broke from his arm and clamped her hands against her mouth, tears of hope welling in her eyes.

Two figures were walking over the hill towards them.

----

YAY it ended happily after all!! I was not expecting the cool bro-ness of Ace and Elliot when I first started writing, but I really like it a lot; similar to Ace and Dorian, but its own unique thing. I was glad I could fit Elliot into ToAG just because I hated for this coolness to only exist in this story, ha.

Although... they will both return in the next Star Trek TNG fanfiction I have planned in my brain! 😋 

Thanks for reading!