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!

Elliot gnashed his teeth and pulled against his captors. He writhed and wrenched against the ropes that bound him until his skin had rubbed raw. He was repeatedly held back and pushed down, and he finally flopped back to the ground with an exaggerated huff.

He looked over at Ace, emotionlessly slumped over his knees. His wrists were bound by cold, metal shackles. His hair was messy and barely held back in a ponytail from all of the times the guards gawked mockingly at the mark on the back of his neck. To top it off, he now bore a patch of white hair that fell on the right side of his face: yet another sign to prove his Aravasti genetics.

He slowly turned the silver wedding ring around on his finger. Its return had been his final request granted before his public execution.

A makeshift platform had been raised in the middle of New Arden’s city square, and a crowd had thickly gathered around it. The water of the canal formed a backdrop to the scene as the sun ducked in and out of clouds overhead. The dull roar of hundreds of discussions was quieted as a thin man with wavy hair in a navy-blue uniform stepped forward beside five officers. Ace and Elliot sat, bound, at their feet.

“Citizens of New Arden,” Cason announced with his hands raised. “Today is a day we will remember for years to come, and today is a day Echoes will not soon forget.”

The mob offered a smattering of applause and shouts in affirmation.

“Ace,” Elliot managed to shove his friend with his shoulder.

The Outlier, however, continued his trance-like wringing of his fingers.

“Today we take control of their efforts to undermine our people in their skewed desire for revenge. Today, we show Echoes everywhere what we will do to them when they break our rules.”

Cason had scarcely gestured toward Ace when the crowd instantly broke into shouts and yells of anger.

Elliot began to struggle again. “Ace—snap out of it!” He urged.

“And then what?” Ace’s narrow eyes slid toward him under the white and brown hair in his face.

The Barean scowled. “You can’t just give up!”

“What else can I do?” Ace turned, shouting over Cason’ continuing speech and the crowd’s calls in reply. “Try to pretend hundreds of people didn’t just die? Try to pretend I’m not going to join them, leaving behind everyone who’s ever cared about us and will never know what happened to us??” His wedding ring glinted in the sun.

“I know how powerless that feels, but I refuse to believe everything you did yesterday to save my life was done in vain.” He shook his head when Ace continued to ignore him. “I refuse to believe you’re going to sit back and force me to watch you die in front of me—only for me to get killed right after.”

Ace winced and turned away.

Elliot, however, scooted himself closer. “You may not want to believe me, but I know you can do it. I still trust you, Ace.”

The guard pulled him back into place as Ace hung his head. 

“I have no more tools,” he muttered. “No more power. I can do nothing.”

“When has not being able to do something ever stopped you?” The Barean urged, bending around the guard’s leg. “Besides, you still have the power. But, like that butter knife lock pick, you just have to find another way to use it.”

Ace’s eyes opened.

“And here!”

Ace was grasped by the shoulders and drug to the front of the platform. He was heavily dropped back to his knees, but instead of slumping forward, he held his back steady. His once emotionless face was beginning to sharpen with determination.

“This Echo we have called The Outlier has at last been captured.” Cason dramatically grimaced as he looked upon Ace. “Many of you may remember the havoc he dealt on our town days earlier. Since then, he has attempted to murder our very Commander Konstantin—not to mention he has cast a spell over this Barean traitor.”

Cason turned to scowl at Elliot, but he was taken aback by the man’s smug expression.

“By his death, we will send a clear sign to all Echoes,” he turned his eyes back to the crowd, “By his death, we will ensure New Arden’s life!”

A clap of thunder masked the crowd’s joyful cry and caused all eyes to turn to the sky.

“Well,” Cason attempted a smile, “I suppose we should get to the point quickly. General?”

The general, armed with a long rifle, stepped forward. He coldly pointed the barrel at the back of Ace’s neck. He paused and then used the barrel to sweep Ace’s hair aside. His eyes grew wide.

Cason’s eyes narrowed, and then he noticed the raindrops in the air.

They were not falling.

Behind him, the crowd had grown uncharacteristically quiet. They, too, had donned a variety of fearful expressions. Some had even begun to run away.

He looked down at Ace.

The Outlier’s eyes were coated in blue light. Glowing streams pulsed from the shining mark on the back of his neck, tracing through his hair, across his face, and down his neck. Despite the shackles blocking the path of his power to his fingers, he had found a way around them.

Screams urged Cason to raise his eyes and witness the water rising from the canal at their backs and swirling into the clouds above. He grit his teeth in an expression encompassing apprehension, amazement, and outrage.

“Shoot him!!” He barked, attempting to grab the gun from the stunned general’s hands. “Shoot him now!!”

But in a mighty crash of thunder, the wall of water and every raindrop burst through the air and collapsed heavily on the platform. Torrential waves crashed through the street and lapped against rooftops. The force broke through windows and busted down doors. People were swept away in the current, cleared from the scene and left gasping for air along the sidewalks.

Cason broke free from the current almost a block away, coughing to clear his throat and staggering to his feet through the receding water. He held up his arm to block the rainfall as he huffed air through his mouth. 

A glowing figure stood on the platform. The glint of the light made it difficult to decipher which was water and which was his physical body.

Behind him, protected and half-obscured by swirling mist, stood the Barean.

Cason mustered his weakened anger and grabbed his gun. He shouted and fired a shot, but water effortlessly collected in front of The Outlier and deflected it. He continued firing as he trudged through the slushy ground towards him, but every shot bent and diffused through the humid air. 

He roared when he ran out of charges, and he tried to rush at The Outlier instead. He recoiled when something was tossed to the soaked ground at his feet. He looked down to find broken metal shackles rocking back and forth in a puddle.

When he looked up, mist was slowly receding from the empty platform.

The acting commander shut his eyes.

Today was a day he would not soon forget.

----

Not gonna lie I still really like the idea of Ace having water power all the time 😁 But he doesn't exactly need it in the real story. Although his mom has a totem that creates mist, hmmm......

Also I decided everyone needs a friend like Elliot.

The bed jerked–Innit swearing with an accompanied thud of hitting the floor–and Kalon jolted from her sleepy daze. She blinked her green eyes at the textured ceiling, held the blankets firmly to chest, and eased up against the pillows.

The clock on the bedside table indicated roughly thirty minutes had gone by, not enough for her to have properly dozed off but apparently enough for Innit to be dressed again. He was busily throwing scattered clothing off the floor into an open, heavily used suitcase.

“A tad late to tidy up for me.”

His shoulders tensed, showing he heard her, but he continued filling the suitcase without raising his head. He tossed her blouse onto the bed as he climbed to his feet.

“Those pants are around here somewhere….”

“There doesn’t need to be so much hurry. It isn’t even ten. Gramps and Grams won’t start to worry until at least eleven.”

She clutched the blankets tighter, pulling her knees to her chest at his lack of acknowledgement. He continued to spin in place, muttering about missing articles of her clothing while tossing his own into the suitcase. His gaze wandered fleetingly during these turns to the open case glowing a faint, sickly, pale blue.

“Is that a laptop?”

He lunged, slamming it shut, causing her to jump. Her heart pounded in her throat.

“Innit?”

“I kept tryin’ to say it, but….” He zipped his suitcase. “I’m goin’. I got stuff I need to do.”

“Okay, sure…. When will–?”

“Not stuff like that. Not stuff like a checklist. Stuff like… stuff. Like the sort that you ain’t get to hang up at the end of the day.” He kept his eyes turned down, his knuckles whitening on his suitcase handle. “All what matters is this stuff….”

Kalon’s eyes prickled. Her throat tightened. Her bare shoulders felt cold despite the warm air. She curled her toes into the sheets beneath the blankets.

Innit was giving the room a once over, muttering under his breath–what about she could not understand. Her mind filled with static.

“You don’t love me, do you?”

He froze, his fingers twitching as his hand hovered above the laptop.

“You never did.” Tears cut down her cheeks. “Oh god, I’m so stupid.”

“You don’t get to ask me that.” Innit shook, his eyes narrowed and shining. “You don’t get to just throw manipulations at me when I’m tellin’ you I got to do this!”

“Manipulations? Is that what you think?”

“Why not? This is the first I’m hearin’ about all this nonsense.”

“Nonsense! I’m asking if you love me!”

Innit snatched up his laptop. “You can’t ask that!” He stormed to the door, stopping, whirling around. “What happened to all the you not askin’ anything of me thing? What about no expectations?”

“It’s different now.”

“Why? Because we started sleepin’ together?” He scoffed. “That ain’t nothing new to either of us, and it’s stupid to think otherwise.”

“It was new for me because I love you!”

She slid her arm around her stomach, hugging herself as he headed for the door. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her breathing quickened. She chewed at unspoken words as her mind raced through random fragments from psychology books, romance novels, letters, anything that she could use.

She jerked to her senses at the sound of the door opening. Hot, angry tears fell from her eyes.

“You could build a life if you stayed.”

Innit paused, halfway out the door. “You ain’t gettin’ it.” He glared at her. “My friend died. I ain’t lettin’ him die for nothing.”

She flinched as the door slammed. She stayed perfectly still, ears straining for any sound from beyond the door. She wailed into the silence.

---

Dry coughs echoed around the study hall. One of the three visitors cleared his throat as if staving off a cough of his own. Dustmotes floated in the bans of light.

Kalon paused her walking among the tables–bat resting on her shoulder–to watch the dust sparkle. It was like in the orangerie, minus the mildew smell. She smoothed down her oversized, black tunic, feeling a curve not quite noticeable to anyone but her.

“Pardon, mademoiselle?”

She startled, gripping her bat extra tight. “Yes?”

“Irrigation for this area?” The man held up a tattered book. “This is about ancient Rome.”

“Rome was famous for aqua–.” She forced a smile at his blank expression. “So sorry, sir. Leave it there at your station, and I’ll fetch the proper book.”

The irrigation book was not on the second floor, but that was where she ended up. She wandered into one of the study alcoves, sat on the desk, and sighed up at the ceiling.

Grams and Gramps most assuredly realized there was more to Innit leaving that night than him telling her over dinner. They were too keen to fool, and she made it easy coming in a sobbing, disheveled mess. Grams had taken to staring at her from out the corners of her eyes, no doubt noticing that she had stopped wearing corsets and skin-tight pants.

Kalon wiped her eyes before the tears could fall, took a breath, and headed for the proper section. She gathered two books–one detailed, the other novice–and returned to the study hall. There was only one man there, and one of the missing two had asked her about the irrigation.

She hurried to the remaining man. “Pardon, sir, did those other two–?”

“I want no trouble!” He eyed her bat warily. “They said keep quiet. I’ll keep quiet.”

She smacked the bat on the table. “Which direction?”

Her boots echoed as she raced off in the indicated direction. Her head whipped to catch sight of reference numbers, letters, hanging placards to give her a hint at where they could be going.

She skidded to a halt in the histories area. Her stomach dropped, her mouth agape. They were frantically ripping pages from the books they held, stuffing them in various pockets.

“Stop it!”

Kalon swung her bat, connecting with the shoulder of one man. She caught herself from falling as the other shoved her aside, leaving his screaming partner behind. She glared at the downed man, taking stock of his writhing, and chased the other.

“GRAMPS! VANDAL!”

Her yells rang around the library. The perpetrator would run right into Gramps with there only being one usable exit. It was better if she caught him first.

She hurled her bat towards him, quickly closing the gap as his legs tangled and he toppled over. She reached for the pages sticking from his jacket, recoiling as her eyes flashed to his hand grabbing her bat.

She shuffled back, tripping over her heels and falling hard on her butt. She kicked away in an attempt to crawl backwards without turning her back to him as he slowly staggered up, bat loosely in his hand.

She wrapped her arms tightly around her middle, curling into herself. “No!”

“Kalon!”

Bang!

The vandal yelped, dropped the barely held bat, and grabbed his bleeding arm. He ran off as Gramps knelt next to her, placing a firm hand on her shaking shoulders.

---

“Pregnant?”

Kalon flinched at Grams’s tone. She nodded meekly, eyes wet, and wrung her hands in her lap. She tried to clarify, but shut her mouth. She tracked Grams’s pacing before her, hands on her hips.

“How could you be so… so….” She snapped her fingers at Gramps–tucked in a corner of their living room. “What am I looking for here, Vern?”

“Take a breath, Pistachio, love.” Gramps cast his sharp eyes to Kalon. “How this came about, was it willing?”

“Y-yes. Very.” She winced. “S-sorry.”

“Careless!” Grams wagged her finger. “That’s the word. How could you be so careless, Kalon, dear?” She turned to Gramps. “I told you that we should’ve barred that boy from this place! Bad enough when we thought she was just brokenhearted! What a scoundrel to shirk his–.”

“I never told him.” She ran her hand over her stomach. “I couldn’t risk him reacting badly.” Her shoulders shook. “I… don’t believe he would be capable…. I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t do it….”

Grams sighed, sinking into an armchair. “Something will need to be done.”

“P-please….” Kalon held herself tight, tears streaming from her green eyes. “Please, d-don’t….”

“Hush, girl. No one will harm either of you.” Grams covered her face with her gnarled hands. “What to do first? Doctor? Dear, how far along?”

“Th-three months, maybe….”

“Short notice for your visit…. Well, I’ll make calls, see what can be done.” She gave Kalon a hard look from between her fingers. “Kalon, dear, I have a non-negotiable. Do not name this child after any craving.”

She laughed shakily, wiping her eyes. “I can keep it?”

“Of course you can! You’re its mother.” Grams dragged herself from her chair. “Now, to calls. I’ll continue my shock and disappointment for another two weeks at least. You’ve been warned.”

She bobbled her head, new tears forming, as Grams stalked off. She rested her hands over the tiny, unnoticeable bump, caught between sobbing and laughing with relief.

Gramps emerged from his corner, resting his hand on Kalon’s shoulder. “How are you feeling about this?”

She gave him a watery smile. “Better.”

“Good.” He straightened. “To be safe, I’ll limit your work with patrons. And for the near future, you’ll be down here helping Pistachio to repair and re-record those books destroyed today.”

“What–?”

“Old histories on this area back before the colonies. Nothing of real importance; more likely a renewed interest with the heir to Paris Colony being married recently.” His eyes hardened. “Destroying such old books to sell pages at random to bored shut-ins. How disgraceful.” He pat her shoulder. “Rest for now, my dear. I’ll give you the titles tomorrow.”

She murmured a combination of gratitude and apology as he left. She breathed deeply, prodding herself.

“We’re lucky.”

---

The vast slab of asphalt was dotted with cars. It lay before a long building segmented by doors and accompanying signs. Each indicated a different medical specialty.

Kalon exited the door marked for women's health. She still wore her bleach stained sport bra and the librarian’s coat. She now wore old sweatpants, and her long mass of brunette curls were better maintained and tied up. She held her care bag close, searching the parking lot for the silver minivan she arrived in.

The librarian waved her over. He held open the passenger's side door for her.

“Were you able to see the doctor?”

“Just one of the ladies.” Kalon tightened her grip on the bag, jostling the pill container inside. “She said… it was likely a miscarriage.”

The librarian's hands stiffened on the steering wheel. “And, did she explain to you what that was?”

“I had a baby starting to grow… and then I didn't.” She leaned against the window. “I didn’t even know. He did… I think. I think that's why the beating was that bad.” She bit her lip. “He never kicked me that much. He even did extra and said ‘that should do it’.”

“I do believe he knew. I also believe that was why he allowed me to take you. He knew should he have kept you, this would happen again, and each time it happened, there was more risk of a child.”

Kalon shook her head. “He would've killed me before then.”

“Yes… well, I didn't want to put such a dark thought into your head no matter the truth to it.” He turned a sharp eye to her momentarily. “How are you feeling about all this?”

“I don't know.” Kalon pulled her legs onto the seat. “I guess it's all too much too fast. I probably will feel more about everything after a few days.”

“Quite wise.” The librarian cleared his throat. “I wasn't going to ask so soon, but… how did you find yourself with that terrible man?”

“My parents sold me to him.” She picked at a thin spot on her sweatpants. “He convinced them that I'd never get a big enough marriage pool to make more than he was willing to pay.”

“Horrid lie to go along with everything else. You surely will be lovely, and you seem intelligent. Those are excellent qualities that would've set you apart once you came of age.”

She eyed him, frowning as she took in his lined face and gnarled hands. Her exposure to people his age was limited to three women who lived a few streets over from her parents’ house.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Why shouldn't I?”

She had no response, and turned her full attention to the scenery rushing outside the window. She crawled into the back once the mountains and vast fields bored her, settling among the piles of books.

“Kalon, was it? I was thinking, if you have nowhere else to go, you can come home with me. I have the room.”

“Oh?” She narrowed her eyes at the back of his seat. “You in the market for a maid with benefits?”

There was no warmth or humor in the chuckle he gave. His eyes flashed into the rear view, catching hers. 

“I am enough to be your grandfather. I cannot imagine such…degeneracy.” He smiled softly. “I do have a wife, if that sells the point more. She'd be happy to have a young miss around to dote on.”

“It isn't as if I have anywhere to go or could stop you if you just drove me to your house.” Kalon settled with a thin book. “Do I call you Gramps?”

His laugh now had warmth. “No, no, that's quite all right. My name is Malvern Gousa. Mr. Gousa, Malvern, or even Vern if you ever get comfortable enough.”

Kalon nodded absentmindedly, scanning through the book.

--------

End part was the second scene I typed up back when I thought I might get this done in time for Christmas. Now the only 'flashback'/old scene is one when Kalon meets Bex, and I'm not including that. But, the first scene of this I mentally have the whole thing from Innit's pov down. He's still a jerk in it, but he's also absolutely terrified and trying to be hardened. (And he doesn't believe her.) That's why librarians are armed and libraries are guarded, because peple steal and destroy books. You get some fanatics that really like--or really dislike--a colony, a person, ect. and they just start doing stuff to any information they can. And like Gramps says, some people here about someone mildly famous doing a thing, so they want to sell "rare" info related to thing. Even if it turns out not related. In this case Paris boy married Alouette, so those guys were just stealing stuff related to France. Could've been about the defunct monarcy. Could've been an art book on the Eiffle Tower. Didn't matter.

Oh yeah, and Kalon's pregnant. Happy Mother's Day.