Fiearius led them along a quieter street to their next stop, which turned out to be a quaint little store a few blocks away from the square. To Leta’s immense interest, the windows were filled with mannequins and dresses — he’d brought them to a clothing boutique.

“Where the hell are taking me now?” Leta asked as Fiearius pushed open the front glass door, which dinged merrily to announce their presence. Inside, the store was filled with racks of dresses and suits, but emptied of staff.

“Hello?” Fiearius called. Even the cash register was empty. “Hello-o?” When no one answered, he muttered, furrowing his brow, “Oh he better be here … “

Leta wasn’t sure whether to be amused or concerned. The owner of a fancy clothing store did not seem like someone Fiearius would associate with regularly. “So who is it we’re giving the painting t — “

But it was then that a man stepped out between the racks so quickly that Leta jumped backwards into Fiearius. He was a short, round gentleman with a wide grin, kind eyes, and rosy cheeks. “Tieh waré!” he greeted cheerfully, marching forward, and, to Leta’s amazement, he pushed her aside so he could better throw his pudgy arms around Fiearius’ middle.

Leta noticed the man rather lacked the immediate firepower — and the height — of Fiearius’ usual network of thugs. But anyone bold enough to seize Fiearius in a hug like that had to have something going for him.

Fiearius half-grimaced, half-laughed as he patted the man on the shoulder awkwardly. “Orodiase, noh fian de gona’iin.”

“Asa’de, asa’de!” cried the man, taking a step back and bouncing on his feet in excitement. Then he noticed Leta and his eyes bulged. “Horidi forata sou limére ta?”

“She doesn’t speak the language, orodiase,” said Fiearius quickly. “This is my ship’s doc, and this is Yseltin, old friend from Satieri.”

“Oh, dov’ha gi’ame, I’m so sorry,” said the man, suddenly seizing both of her hands in his and squeezing. “Forgive my rudeness. I assumed your companion here would inform me of something like that before I made a fool out of myself.” He shot a glare at Fiearius before returning soft eyes to Leta. “My name is Rahdien Yseltin. I welcome you to my humble shop.” He smoothly lifted her wrist and kissed the back of her hand.

Over his head, Fiearius was rolling his eyes. Leta, however, laughed.

“Well aren’t you friendly. Nice to meet you, I’m Leta. And — how is it you know Fiearius?” she couldn’t resist asking. This was possibly the least likely scenario Leta could have imagined.

“Fiearius and I? Oh, my dear, we go way, way back. This man — he saved my life.” His chest swelled with emotion. “He truly did. Against all odds. More than I deserve.” The man took a deep, shaky breath, and Leta found her curiosity piqued. Especially when he confessed, “Believe it or not, he spared me from death. You’d never believe the story — “

“Hey, Yseltin, didn’t you see,” Fiearius suddenly interrupted, lifting the painting in his hand. “I brought you a gift.”

“Dov’ha toridi, this man,” he said, his voice exhausted. “I owe him my life, he keeps bringing me gifts. How ever will I repay my debt at this rate?”

“I told you,” Fiearius said impatiently, “You’ve already repaid your–”

“Although,” Yseltin went on, tapping his finger to his lips. “I cannot say no to such wonderful gifts. Especially not when they are pretty girls.” He held Leta’s shoulder fondly. “Though what will my wife say when she finds out?”

“Not the girl, giaté,” Fiearius muttered, passing Leta a look of exasperation. “This.” He held up the artwork again, though Yseltin did not glance at it.

“Ah, she’s yours then? I was wondering,” the man guessed slyly, a broad smirk slipping over his face, which made Fiearius growl in frustration.

“She’s not–”

“Though I don’t know how you managed to win such a fine young woman for yourself.”

“I didn’t–”

“If you don’t mind me asking, miss — “ He swung toward Leta. “How well do you know him?”

At last, Fiearius held out the art piece one more time and snapped, “Take it or I’m taking it back.”

With that, Yseltin burst into laughter. He released Leta’s shoulder and accepted the handsome painting with two hands. “It is a fine gift, tieh waré. You, as always, have exquisite taste. But I have to ask — why? What is it this time, hm? You bring me such a fine gift, you must need something.”

So it was an exchange, Leta realized with growing interest. And indeed, Fiearius replied quickly, without looking at her, “We need papers.”

“Papers?” said Yseltin. “What kind of papers?”

“Ordenian papers,” Fiearius stated simply.

“What’re those?” said Leta, just as Ysetin’s eyebrows shot up.

“Ordenian? Now why in the dov’has’ names do you need Ordenian papers?”

Fiearius sighed. “Because there’s something I want to do that requires me to be Ordenian of course.”

With that, Ystelin suddenly brightened. “Oh oh oh! You need Ordenian identity papers! You need a new name! That means you wish wish to attend the–”

“Yes, that,” Fiearius cut him off. “Can you get us in?”

“In where?” said Leta, deeply curious. “Where’re we going now?”

“Oho, you’ll see, my dear,” said Yseltin, beaming. He clapped his hands together. “I can get you papers. Getting into the event though…You?” He frowned. “The lady, perhaps. But even she…You know how rich the Ordenian people are? They will sniff you out in a heartbeat, you know that.”

Fiearius opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off as Yseltin seemed to amend this problem. “But thank the gods, you’re here in my shop and I can make you look the part.”

“Well I was just going to–” Fiearius muttered through gritted teeth.

But by now, Yseltin was pushing Fiearius back deeper into his shop. “We will give you Ordenian garments. Fine Ordenian garments. You will blend right in! And you too, young lady!” he cried, as Leta hovered in the doorway uncertainly. “Tieh waré, pick out something from these racks. And you, miss — into the changing rooms!

Before Leta could comprehend what was happening, Yseltin seized her hands and dragged her back to the dressing rooms. “Let’s get started! Not much time!”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

A half hour later, Leta barely recognized her own reflection. She looked nothing like herself, or nothing like herself of the past six months aboard a dirty pirate ship anyway. Her ragged jacket, shirt and trousers were discarded and replaced with a long, bold-red dress that fell over her bare feet, shimmering faintly in the light.

Behind her, Yseltin was positively bouncing with excitement. “It is perfect! It is perfect on you! Just a few more adjustments — “ He darted forward, needle stuck between his teeth, to finish the fitting. Leta managed a heavy, confused laugh.

How had this happened, exactly? She certainly hadn’t woken up this morning thinking she’d end up on Tarin, in a clothing boutique, wearing a gown and waiting for Fiearius to return. And in fact, at first, she’d resisted Yseltin (“Really, I can just run back to the ship and change, I don’t need to — “) but then, he’d brandished the dress at her and she’d gone a bit weak. As it happened, she’d lived on a grimy pirate ship with mostly male crew for nearly a year, and the last time she’d gone out wearing something like that had been even longer. As such, she couldn’t help it: her eyes got big.

“It is beautiful,” Leta had to admit through a wistful sigh, turning around on the dias. “But I still don’t understand where we’re going. Why did we need new identities? And what does Ordenian mean?”

And that was that. He’d been left with more questions than answers. The rest of the week, they’d been polite, if a bit terse, and simply avoiding one another.

Of course, Fiearius couldn’t begin to explain this to Cyrus. He simply leaned back in his seat and replied, casually as he could, “What the hell is there to figure out anyway, Cy? We were a little drunk, we argued, we got physical, it’s not like some grand mystery of the universe.”

The answer was clearly not the one Cyrus wanted, but fortunately he didn’t press it. He just eyed his brother wearily and seemed to give it up. Seemed to. Up until he opened his mouth and said, “I don’t want you hurting her.”

At that, Fiearius gave a start. “Excuse me?”

“She’s been through enough recently,” Cyrus went on, furrowing his brow seriously. Fiearius couldn’t help but wonder if this had been rehearsed. “Everything that happened with Ren and the Baltimore and Satieri. It’s a lot on one person. And the last thing she needs is you mucking things up even more.”

“Mucking things up?”

“I’m asking you, as your brother and as her friend, to just lay off. She’s had enough crap thrown at her recently, she doesn’t need any more.” He paused, and then said boldly, “She doesn’t need to be another notch on your bedpost.”

Frankly, Fiearius couldn’t believe this surreal conversation was even happening. Cyrus was possibly the least confrontational person he knew.. “Wow,” was all he could say at first, almost laughing. “Just…wow. I’m so glad that’s what you think of me.” Closing his eyes, he ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. At last he admitted, quietly, “She wouldn’t be.”

Cyrus didn’t answer, though even with his eyes clamped shut, Fiearius could feel his stare. Finally, he asked with all the knowingness of a sibling, “How deep does this go?”

Dragging his hand away, Fiearius looked over at him. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “I mean–I care about her. I respect her. I trust her. I don’t know?” A bitter grin ran across his face, then faded slowly toward thought, and he found himself talking more than usual.

“There’s something about her,” he went on, mumbling now. “Or, I guess, about being around her. She makes me feel better. And I don’t mean less crappy. She makes me feel– “ But the words failed him. Cyrus tilted his head at him curiously, but still said nothing. “To everyone else,” he tried to explain, “I’m just this reckless murderous psychopath with a spaceship, too far gone to ever come back from that. And I’ve come to believe them. That’s just who I am and it’s hopeless. But with her, it’s not like that. That’s not an excuse. She believes I can be better than that and it’s…I don’t know, it’s refreshing. It’s refreshing to have someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m a lost cause.”

Cyrus was watching him with a perfectly blank expression. Though of all the things Fiearius expected him to say, the last was, “I don’t look at you like that…”

Which was completely beside the point. Fiearius glared at him and then rolled his eyes. “Well okay, but you’re my brother, so I’m not really interested in you, thanks.”

“But you’re interested in Leta?”

Fiearius opened his mouth, then sharply closed it again. “It doesn’t matter,” he decided at last. “You said it yourself. She’s been through enough. Need I remind you she just got dumped by her fiance? You know, the one she spent a year trying to save only to find him off his rocker?” He snorted. “Doubt she’s in the mood for something new.”

“Pretty sure that’s up to her.”

“Sure, but it’s up to me too. And I don’t wanna be that guy’s replacement. Nor do I want to be around when he inevitably comes back from crazy town and sweeps her off her feet.”

Cyrus shrugged one shoulder. “That’s a fair point. But you don’t know that’s going to happen. I don’t think their relationship is quite that black and white. Nor do I think yours is. And you’re definitely nothing like Ren so you’d be a shitty choice of replacement regardless.” Cyrus smirked, but Fiearius felt miles away from amused.

“I’m just saying, that sounds like an excuse,” Cyrus went on knowingly. “I know it’s been a while since you’ve felt real, actual human emotions, but it’s not that scary, y’know. Trying something. Maybe there’s some risk involved, but if she really makes you feel so good, maybe it’s worth it. Who knows?”

Fiearius said nothing as he leaned his head on his hand. Although he would never admit it aloud, he couldn’t ignore the fact: Cyrus had a point.

Trying to brush that uncomfortable thought aside, Fiearius muttered, “What’s with you anyway? One minute you’re asking me to leave her alone, the next you want me to be her damn boyfriend, I don’t get it.”

Cyrus smirked sideways at him. “All I want is for you to stop causing problems,” he admitted absently. “And either of those would do it. It’s the in-between I have trouble with. Though if you choose the latter, I don’t need to hear about the details. Or worse, witness the details. Ever. If it’s all the same to you.”

Fiearius snorted. “Noted. Though it’s a little ironic, y’know. Taking relationship advice from you, of all people.”

“Are you taking relationship advice from me?” Cyrus laughed. “What are you going to do?”

It was a question Fiearius should have answered by now. He knew that. His back-and-forth with Leta had been tumultuous and perplexing for months. But suddenly, more than ever before, Fiearius feel the pieces coming together — some things started making sense. Some things were coming rapidly into focus.

Reaching forward to the console, he pulled up the navigation and switched the ship’s destination from Archeti to Tarin — if he remembered correctly, Tarin was a place Leta liked. Even better then. “I have an idea.”

“Everything we have is going straight to fuel, since this girl eats like a monster,” Corra went on. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do when our crew asks for their paychecks and I’m pretty sure we’ll run out of food eventually. But all we seem to be able to do is bring it petty chump change and it’s getting us nowhere.”

“I’m willing to forgo payment if it’s of any comfort,” Daelen said. Corra smiled at him, but shook her head.

“That’s sweet, but I doubt the lot we picked up on Carthis will feel the same. And there’s thirty of them and only one of you…”

“It’s only been a week,” put in Addy, looking hopeful. “It’ll get easier.”

“No,” said Finn suddenly, swigging his beer and lowering it to the dashboard with a thud. “Corra’s right. We need a long-term plan here. Something sustainable.”

“I suppose legal work is out of the question,” Daelen put in thoughtfully. Finn and Corra simply stared at him.

“Right,” Daelen muttered. “Never mind.”

“Can’t do legal work on a stolen Society vessel anyway, mate,” Finn sighed. “We need a connection to the black market. These one-off gigs are gonna get us nowhere.”

Corra had to agree. “When the Dionysian was first starting out, they partnered with Goddora. Not that anyone should partner with that son of a bitch, but maybe we need something like that? We need our own Goddora.”

“Actually — “ Finn ruffled his hair into untidiness, then suddenly dropped his hand to his knee. He looked quite thoughtful, which was most unusual. “I might know a guy.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

The canopy of white stars filling the Dionysian’s window was the most beautiful sight Fiearius could imagine. After two months in the infirmary, he’d never been happier to sit in his own chair, enjoy the view and simply listen to the quiet around him. Gods, he had missed this.

Carefully as he could, he lifted his legs onto the control panel, wincing as pain shot up his knees — probably he was due for another dose of Flush. He’d taken one pill this morning when he’d awoken to a searing pain jolting up his spine, but the effects were starting to wear off. In his younger years, he rarely needed more than one pill to feel invincible for hours and hours. But in his younger years, he wasn’t recovering from a crippling injury.

Fortunately, the other effects — the heightened energy levels, the mild deliria, the loss of judgment and control — were starting to lessen. For the first week, he’d been all over the place, with high-highs and low-lows that had caused more than a few problems, but nearly two weeks in, his body was starting to readapt to the old system.

He was just about to reach under the control panel to grab one of  the pills he’d stashed there when he heard footsteps approaching. He quickly withdrew his hand just in time as Cyrus marched tiredly into the cabin.

Fiearius watched as his brother dropped into the co-pilot’s seat, swung his feet onto the panel, took in a deep breath and proceeded to gaze out the window without a word of hello.

Fiearius cocked a brow. “Everything okay, little brother?”

“Just exhausted.” He sighed. “Haven’t worked this much in a long time. Between the Dionysian and that mechanic and my freelance and the Beacon…”

Fiearius chuckled. “Please, the Beacon should be a cakewalk to you compared to my beast. Finn and Corra have it good.” Cyrus grunted an appreciative laugh, but predictably, the mention of their former arms master made him grow suddenly quiet.

Fiearius knew exactly what was on his mind.

“Still seems weird, huh?” he asked. “Not having her here. It’s so…quiet…”

“Yeah,” said Cyrus hollowly, before promptly changing the subject. “So where are we going?”

“Archeti,” said Fiearius. “Need to talk to Quin.”

“Something I should be worried about?”

Fiearius grinned. “Not just yet.”

“Well just let me know when to start.”

“‘Course,” Fiearius replied easily, shifting his feet on the dashboard. “So hey. Can I ask you something?”

“We both know that’s rhetorical,” Cyrus muttered dryly.

A slow smile spread over his face. “The blonde girl?”

Cyrus seemed to be waiting for the question to continue. When it didn’t, he snapped, “Addy? Yes? What about her?” When Fiearius answered only with a suggestive raise of his brow, Cyrus snapped, “Stop.”

“What, why?” Fiearius demanded. “She’s cute. And she’s almost as nerdy as you are. It’s not that far-fetched. You should pursue it.”

Cyrus looked over at him incredulously. “Pursue it? She’s not prey, Fiear. She’s a highly competent engineer whose family’s work I greatly respect. And that’s why she’s halfway across the span on the Beacon.”

“Which was a decision that lacked some foresight,” Fiearius commented. “Sending her on a different ship. Far away.”

“It was not. She’s doing a great job.”

“Oh, so you’ve been talking to her then?”

Cyrus pushed his glasses up his nose, flustered. “Yes, actually. Miraculously, she’s still willing to speak to me even after I exposed her to you.” The malice in his voice made Fiearius’ amusement collapse. He knew what was coming, before Cyrus even said, “Speaking of which.”

“Oh, let’s not,” Fiearius groaned, immediately looking away. Up until now, it was with mutual understanding that he and Cyrus had avoided discussing What Had Happened In The Bridge Last Week. Fiearius sure as hell couldn’t meet his eyeline when it came to how his sibling had seen him entangled with Leta up against the wall ….

But apparently, Cyrus was ready to confront the situation. “Well? Have you even talked to her about it?”

“What is this, an interrogation?” Fiearius grunted. “And yes, I have, actually.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did you figure it out?”

Fiearius didn’t answer. No, nothing had been figured out. If anything, when it came to the likes of Leta, Fiearius had never had such conflicting, confusing feelings pulling him every direction.

“We need to talk,” Leta had told him sternly the night after it happened, to which he agreed that yes, they probably ought to. He’d followed her into a quieter alcove of the ship, though before she could speak, he’d said quickly “Look, I’m sorry that things might’ve gotten a little — out of hand, the other night … “

She’d apologized too, her eyes wide and sincere and worried. He resisted the temptation to close the distance between them a second time and respectfully gave her a wide berth. Then she said, bluntly, “Look, Fiearius, I’m not going to just sleep with you, alright?”

It felt as if Fiearius were walking a tightrope. One wrong reaction would send her out of the room. Choosing his words carefully, he managed, “‘Just’? So, what — you want something more, then?”

Her reaction was, admittedly, a touch painful. A knife in his gut. “No,” she had said, “I certainly don’t expect that.”

“I didn’t ask what you expected,” Fiearius clarified quietly. “I asked what you wanted.”

Leta had stared up at him like a deer caught in headlights, but before she could answer, several things happened at once: the speaker on the nearby wall cackled with a message from the Beacon; Amora and Rhys started arguing loudly nearby; and, quickly seizing the moment, Leta excused herself, muttered that she needed some time to think, and fled the room.

Leta didn’t hesitate in trailing Fiearius and Dez all the way up to the bridge, where they were talking privately. She almost stepped inside the cabin — but something in Dez’s voice made her halt in the hallway and listen curiously.

“The Council believes that they’re invincible,” he was saying in a low voice. “Everyone living under their rule thinks they’re invincible.”

“Hell, I think they’re invincible,” Fiearius snorted.

“Well I would like you to use your assets to prove them wrong.”

“Assets?” Fiearius repeated incredulously. “I’ve got a broken ship, a supply drop timetable, and, what, you and me? To take down — what is it you said? Three Satieran frigates and their hundred person crews? Okay, Dez. Sure.”

Take down Society ships? Startled, Leta stole a glance inside. Fiearius was slanted against the wall, arms crossed, skepticism masking his face.

“You have allies,” Desophyles pointed out.

Fiearius raised a brow. “I have business associates,” he corrected.

“Business associates who would likely appreciate the opportunity to acquire three Satieran frigates and their bounty.”

“So what the hell is in it for me, then?”

“Whatever share you require. And,” said Dez, “the satisfaction of striking back.”

Fiearius’ mouth twitch in annoyance. “Well aren’t you filled with a newfound sense of vengeance.”

Dez looked only bemused. “Give it some thought. For now,” he added quietly, “I’ll leave you to your doctor in the hallway.”

Leta gave a start. Without a word, Dez locked eyes with her knowingly, then brushed past her shoulder and disappeared down the hallway, leaving Leta to swing her eyes back to Fiearius.

“What the hell was that about?” she asked incredulously, ignoring the fact that she was just caught in the act of spying. “You’re talking to Dez again? Why?”

“You’re creeping around the halls and eavesdropping now? Why?” he muttered, pushing away from the wall and eyeing her with distaste. He looked like he wanted to get back to work, but Leta stepped sharply into the room.

“You don’t actually trust him now, do you? Tell me you don’t. Tell me you’re not that stupid. “

“Of course I don’t trust him,” he snapped, scrolling through the console screen to ignore her. “Not that it’s any business of yours.”

“He’s supposed to be locked in the brig. What were you two talking about?”

“Just discussing plans. Why are you even worried about it?” he demanded with sudden irritation, cutting her a glare. “Sure as hell isn’t your problem.”

“Yes, it is,” said Leta in surprise. “Dez is definitely a problem if I’m part of this crew.”

Fiearius snorted. “Well you’re not.”

“Wait — what?”

Fiearius glanced to her, eyes cold. “What do you mean ‘what’? You leave my ship, you’re not part of my crew, you got no need to know my business. Don’t see what’s so complicated about that.”

“Leave? Leave, what — ?” Suddenly, realization struck her: perhaps Fiearius had overheard all those times Corra had asked her to leave with her …

“You think — you think I’m going with Corra on the Beacon.” Leta searched over his face, though she wasn’t sure what expression she wanted to find. In this moment he was looking her over swiftly with his jaw clenched, as if sizing her up.

“Why?” she challenged hotly, crossing her arms. “Would that bother you, if I did?”

“No,” he said, turning away. “I don’t care what you do.”

“So I up and leave tomorrow, you won’t even bat an eye.”

“No. I won’t.” He gripped the edge of the console, then turned away and paced an impatient circle in the room. A month of being bedridden must had truly gotten to him, because he was overflowing with roiling, misplaced energy.

As bad of an idea as it seemed, Leta couldn’t help herself. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Because you think I’m leaving?”

Fiearius suddenly stopped making circles, pausing in the middle of the room to stare at her. “What do you want me to say, exactly?” he demanded, twitchy and agitated. “Huh? What do you want from me?”

The question felt like a test.

“I don’t know,” said Leta honestly. “I really don’t. But I wasn’t planning to leave the Dionysian.”

Fiearius met her eyes then looked away, quickly unnerved. “Well why the hell not? It’s a good ship with a good pilot and the captain’s your best friend. You could go anywhere you fucking like. Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because maybe Corra isn’t the only reason I’ve stayed on this ship so long.”

The words tumbled out of her, a vulnerable confession, but she did not take them back.

“You know the way you treat me sometimes,” she went on fiercely, “I probably should leave. Maybe it’s time I do.”

He did not refute it.

Dropping her arms in defeat, Leta stepped backwards for the door, to disappear into the hallway and pretend this confrontation had never happened. But she only made it one step when Fiearius turned to her and said abruptly, “Don’t.” His eyes were blazing over her face, pinning her in place, halfway out the door.

Feeble protests jumped out of her throat, and she started to shake her head. “Fiearius. You can’t tell me that. We can’t keep doing this, you can’t — “

“Don’t,” he said again. His eyes burned on her. “Don’t leave. The Beacon. Don’t do it.”

Leta was stunned into silence by the absolute conviction in his voice just as Fiearius was stirred to action. Suddenly, as though this were the most important task beset upon him, Fiearius marched through the room, caught her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers.

It happened so quickly, such a swift interruption, that Leta went rigid with shock. What was going on? How had they gone from arguing to — to this? Out of pure instinct, her hands reached to grasp his wrists, battling the urge to both shove him off and tug him closer. Her throat made a noise of — desire? protest? — but he swallowed it.

Beneath her shock, the cold, scolding voice in the back of her mind pointed out how completely and entirely foolish this was, kissing Fiearius — But then, the warmer voice, the one that was kinder to her, the one that she rarely listened to, ventured thoughtfully: wasn’t it about time she got something she wanted?

And for that, she felt herself respond.

Raising herself swiftly up to tip-toe, she deepened their breathless kiss while her hand dragged upward, encircling her forearm around his neck. In response, his hand pressed into the small of her back and pushed them back a step until her shoulders met the wall clumsily. A startled breath jutted out of her lips but it was only a half-second before his mouth attacked hers.

At this point, she’d found, resistance was long-lost and futile. Heat rose between them.  He pinned her wrist to the wall with one hand, his other hand clutched her hips, as his mouth pressed hurriedly down her jawline and neck.  Her fingers curved against his taut shoulder, pulling his hips against hers. Their kiss broke jaggedly; she heard his gruff voice in her ear.

“Here?” He meant here, now, the bridge. “Are you — “

Dimly she knew there was every reason to halt him here — what good could possibly come of this? But for once, she found she wasn’t looking for answers. Not now. Which was why she barely breathed, “Yes,” before seeking out his lips once more. He groaned against her mouth, and then his mouth dug against her neck, down her collarbone, and dipped southward.

It was a nearly unyielding embrace. Nearly.

Just when she felt Fiearius’ hands against her obliques beneath the fabric of her shirt, she sensed something else — something off. The air shifted in the room. Her eyes went to the door to their right, and suddenly, horribly, they were not alone at all.

“Uh — “

It was Cyrus halfway in the doorway, shocked, looking rather like he wanted to bolt.  And he wasn’t alone: standing beside him was Adrastreia, the young woman from earlier. Her mouth had fallen open, then she clapped a hand over it, though she looked distinctly more amused than Cyrus did.

“Sorry — I just — “ Cyrus groaned with disgust, pressing his palms against his eyes. “Just wanted to introduce you to Addy — “

Leta slipped away from from Fiearius’ arms just as Fiearius stepped backwards, turning himself away toward the front of the ship. At once, Addy chimed, “We’re so sorry! How about we come back later?”

“Yeah, okay, great,” Fiearius grunted, catching his hand in his hair and refusing to look at any of them.

“Are things always this fun around here?” Addy whispered to Cyrus; he just looked back at her with widened eyes.

“Sorry Cy,” said Leta quickly, her voice remarkably even, all things considered, even if there was a tug of dry horror in her tone. She felt like this would be the proper moment to figuratively bang her head against the wall. Or perhaps literally.

“Really. I’m sorry,” she added, her eyebrows raising faintly as she took a jagged step to the side toward the door,  dazed and unsure of what to make of this moment. Adjusting her shirt, the strap of which had horribly slid down her bare shoulder, she slipped hastily out into the hallway, grimacing profoundly once she was a safer distance from the bridge and from Fiearius.