“What is it?” he asked slowly, trying to keep his voice gentle, although he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, honestly. “Is this — is this about the fight earlier?” he asked, scratching his hair nervously.  He asked himself quickly — what would Elsa, one of his ex-girlfriends, have done? She was always good at this shit. Unfortunately, she was unreachable, far away at the military base. And Leta was still in front of him, hastily brushing away tears with her wrist.

“Do you want me to go get someone?” Finn went on. “Cy … Corra … Fiear? Or — ”

At that, Leta made a noise of disbelief — it was either a hiccup or a laugh, he couldn’t tell. “Why the hell would you go get Fiearius?”

“Er, no idea,” Finn admitted, smirking uncertainly. “He’s even worse at this stuff than I am.”

The words hung in the air as Leta watched Finn for a moment, looking terribly worried, then moved her eyes away, hugging her arms tighter across her chest. Probably this was his cue to leave, but Finn found himself immobile as he tapped his fingers on the counter and went on, as if playing a game.

“Is this … about your fiance?” he guessed. “Or is iiit … uh … well y’know, I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

At that, Leta did laugh, heavy and breathless. “You can’t help even if I do tell you,” she muttered, and it was then he noticed Leta lean back on the counter and, subtly as she could, pick up the discarded piece of paper and turn it back over, shielding it from view.

Finn glanced at the paper a moment — well, whatever it was she couldn’t tell him, clearly that piece of paper knew.  He was just considering reaching for it when Leta spoke, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Have you known Fiearius for a long time then?” she wondered, steadying her shaky voice and rubbing her nose with the back of her hand.

Finn blinked, then recovered his surprise — maybe she just wanted to talk.

“Yeah, awhile,” he said at last, leaning his hip against the counter and frowning in thought. “We met at a bar at a couple years ago, on some shitty backwater planet, right after I got kicked outta the military.”

“So you were in the military,” she muttered, passingly curious. “You’re from Carthis then?”

“Naw, I’m actually from Archeti,” he said, and he saw the mild surprise in her face. Most people who grew up on that gang-ridden planet never managed to leave. “Grew up there, went to the military academy to become a fighter pilot.”

“But you got kicked out?”

“Er, it’s a long story,” said Finn, grinning. “Anyway, so I met Fiearius at this dive. We were drunk and started yelling insults at one another ‘cause he — well you’ve seen him, he’s got all those tattoos. All of ‘em are symbols of the Society. And Carthians are no fans of the Society … what with all those territorial disputes and all. And I happened to be wearing a Carthian military jacket,” he recalled, starting to laugh. “Old habits, I guess. So tradition tells us we were supposed to beat the shit out of each other. But we bought one another a round instead. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

Leta’s lips twitched toward a half-smile. After a moment, Finn went on, choosing his words carefully, “And y’know, I know the guy pretty well. And clearly  … he cares. About you. I mean, he was a jackass earlier. But if something was really — wrong with you right now, he’d want to help — “

Was this the wrong thing to say? Leta’s eyes widened and her smile faded, her mouth forming a thin, hard line. After a moment she glanced to the floor and muttered, “I know,” in a voice that was neither happy nor distressed.

Finn wasn’t sure what else to do or say — but then, Leta’s forehead wrinkled again, and her eyes filled with fresh tears that began to pour silently down her face. And although he barely knew this woman, he found he couldn’t really handle the sight of her crying. And she was clearly important to Fiearius, one of his best friends; he had to do something …

Which was why Finn glanced to the side and sharply slid the piece of paper off the counter, bringing it quickly to his eyes as Leta looked up in alarm. Before she could snatch it away, he read through it hastily and felt his heart turn over in his chest.

Stepping behind her, Finn wound his forearm around her neck, capturing her in a chokehold for her escape. Over her head, he glimpsed Fiearius staring dully at him before Leta used evasive tactics, striking his ribcage with her elbow and slipping from his grip.

From the sidelines, Fiearius scoffed, “That would never work.”

Leta’s face darkened, but she purposely looked away from Fiearius. Finn, however, was intrigued to see where this was going. “Oh?”

“She’s too weak,” he said bluntly, lifting his shoulder in a shrug. “If someone was actually trying to choke her, no way she could get out of it like that.”

At last, Leta gasped in insult and wheeled around. “Weak? Did you just call me weak?”

“All I’m saying is if someone twice your size is tryin’ to kill ya, no amount of fancy hand formations are gonna stop that,” Fiearius said simply, sounding actually serious about the topic. “Kick him in the balls, bite him, pull his hair, fight dirty. He’s gonna be. You’re gonna have to as well.” He gestured at Finn and a smirk pulled across his face. “No offense, mate. Just think all that special Carthian technique’s a bit bullshit out in the real world.”

“That’s funny coming from behind such a massive black eye,” Corra pointed out bluntly, raising a brow at him as she added sarcastically, “Oh captain, master of the fight.”

Leta kept her eyes on Fiearius for a beat longer, her mouth clenched tightly. “Thanks for the advice,” she muttered dryly, turning her back on him and facing Finn again. Clearly working to reign in her frustration, she inhaled sharply, “Let’s go again. Come at me this time.”

For a moment, Finn simply stared at her and lifted his eyebrows wearily. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be in the middle of this anymore … clearly, Fiearius was invested in her well being … but then again, she did sincerely want to learn …

Sighing, he nodded, and then crossed forward over the mat to seize her arms. This time, she reacted quicker than she ever had and pulled every move together: she twisted her wrist, wrenched away and effectively nailed a punch to his arm, sending him staggering back in surprise.

Finn steadied himself, grasping his shoulder. “Whoa,” he said, blinking slowly. “Fiear should piss you off more often,” he muttered, and Leta smiled uncertainly. “No, seriously, that was really, really good,” he assured her, and this time Leta’s grin sort of exploded all over her face.

“Yeah? Really?”

“Definitely,” said Finn fervently, still feeling surprised but nonetheless impressed.  “Guess you learn quickly. The whole crew can sleep a little better with skills like that next door.“

“Great, one less thing for me to worry about,” Fiearius interrupted suddenly, his voice bitter with sarcasm. “I feel a huge weight lifted off my shoulders.” He pushed himself to his feet and started to leave the room, still somewhat unsteady on his feet — but nonetheless, his exit had an impact on at least one person in the room.

“What the hell’s wrong with him anyway?” snapped Corra impatiently, throwing her hands in the air.

“What isn’t wrong with him?” muttered Cyrus, rolling his eyes.

“Who knows,” Leta said quietly, pressing her fingers to her forehead. Finn was about to suggest they go for another round when she said, “Actually — actually I feel kind of tired. Dizzy. Let’s just call it a day, yeah?”

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

Later that night, Finn found himself in dire need of painkillers. Although he didn’t want to admit just how sore and achey he was after their stint in the cargo bay, he’d certainly earned an unpleasant reminder that he wasn’t a spry, fit twenty-two year old cadet anymore. Gods, he wasn’t even in his mid-twenties any longer. Was he really going to be twenty-nine soon? At least he was younger than Fiearius …

Grimacing to himself, Finn slowly wound his way downstairs toward the infirmary. When he stepped inside, he received a jolt of surprise — he wasn’t alone down here. Leta was leaning against one of the exam benches, intently regarding a slip of paper in her hands.

If he was surprised to have company, it was nothing compared to her reaction. Leta nearly jumped out of her skin, gaping at him as if he’d caught her undressed.

“Whoa, easy killer,” he laughed, wondering if she was still jumpy because of Ludo, as he crossed into the room.

“Yeah, hi,” she breathed, clasping one hand to her chest. Clearly flustered, she turned back to the counter, holding one hand across her forehead as her eyes darted around. “Do you — what is it you need?”

“Just some aspirin. I can get it,” said Finn, waving her off and approaching the cabinet beside her. But it was then he glanced sideways and noticed Leta wasn’t just startled; she was downright upset. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, her voice hoarse from what must have been — crying. Was she crying alone down here?

She was doing her best to avoid his eyes, awkwardly straightening jars along the shelf. Finn slowly opened the cabinet and ventured, “You uh — you okay?”

Apparently, it was exactly the wrong thing to say. Leta’s hands gripped the counter and she gazed at the row of jars, her forehead scrunching, her eyes suddenly, horribly, filling with tears.

“Oh shit,” Finn breathed, closing the cabinet quickly, now downright alarmed. Female tears were horrible to witness, especially from her — usually, this woman was hard as stone.

“You?”

“Of course. At that point, I was the prime agent of Internal Affairs, along with Dez. Which meant we were used to the most dangerous jobs and the most responsibility. Natural way of things, then, to offer me the Verdant gig.” He took a deep breath here and looked down. “Unfortunately, job offers from the Society aren’t made of paperwork and signatures. And the poor bastard who already had the position? He hadn’t left yet…”

“Did you — you killed him?”

“I didn’t want to,” he defended instantly. “I–they wanted me to. The council wanted me to. Which was very reassuring, considering doing so would cause me to take his place and probably end up in the exact same boat sooner or later.” He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t want it. At that point, I just–I wanted to leave. Get away from all their fucking games and bullshit and–I was tired of so much fucking death. But–” His words caught in his throat as the memory of that very fateful afternoon, something he often tried to forget, came flooding back to him.

Finally, he swallowed the lump in his throat and finished, “But they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. So I did it. But I…I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t be–I ran…” He looked down at his hands, fidgeting nervously in his lap and frowned.  “I just…ran.” He sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling. “Which wasn’t easy, mind you. Any legitimate ship would have all eyes on it looking out for me and they’d cut me off from all my accounts so buying myself passage on an illegitimate ship wasn’t even an option regardless.”

“Fortunately, there was still one person out there not buried in the organization and with enough spare cash to help me out,” he explained. “And you know what they say about the thickness of blood. Even after ten years of separation, all it took was twenty minutes of shouting for Cyrus to agree to lend me a hand. And a few hundred thousand credits to buy this beauty.” He gestured up at the ship around them.

“I always wondered how you got this ship,” said Leta thoughtfully, glancing up at the ceiling with unexpected fondness.

“Not that it did me any good at first,” Fiearius went on. “At the time I didn’t know what I had run off with.” He turned his wrist over to examine it. “When you join the Society, they implant a unique CID right here.” He tapped the base of his hand where the identifying microchip had been injected oh so many years ago. “That way you’ll always have access to your information and it’s impossible for it to be stolen or lost or…anything. It’s just there. Always.”

He took a deep breath and leaned forward again. “It’s sort of an archaic system at this point, but the Verdant’s CID is…special. Not only does it have full access to all of the Society databases across the whole span in every department. More than that. It’s…uniquely transferrable.” He grimaced as he explained, “Society weaponry carries data signatures specific to its user. When I shot the Verdant? His CID wiped clean. And mine…got a lot more expansive.”

He’d captured Leta’s attention now. Her mouth was hanging open. “You have access to the Society’s complete database?”

“How do you think I was able to find the Baltimore so easily?” he asked with a shrug. “I have everything. Everything they don’t want me to have. And until someone else comes along and ‘transfers’ it away? They can’t have it back.” He smirked tiredly. “They built the Verdant system to be unreasonably secure. Unfortunately for them….they picked the wrong Verdant and now they’re stuck. Can’t choose a new one ‘til I’m dead. Can’t kill me ‘til they catch me. And haven’t had much luck with that so far.”

He smiled at her simply for a moment until he frowned suddenly and added, “That, by the way, is the part you can’t tell anyone about. D’ya know how many aspiring little Society bastards are gonna come after me if they knew a tagged bullet to the head would give them the highest title in the whole organization?” He grimaced in disgust. “It’s bad enough with just Dez. Not a word.”

Leta was simply gaping at him. Any second now, he figured, she’d have a whole slew of questions for him — particularly about her fiance. It always went back to that with her, didn’t it? She’d demand more about how to use this to get to him. She’d want to know more about where he was, see the plans for the prison ships, get any and all information possible until she could order Fiearius to sail out there right now and rescue him.

But to his surprise, what she said was, “Why’re you telling me this?”

Fiearius blinked at her slowly, finding himself shocked and, undoubtedly, confused. “I don’t know,” he admitted after a moment. It was perhaps the most sensitive information he’d been keeping and he’d just spilled the whole lot of it to Leta without even second-guessing himself. Why had he told her this?

Accusingly, he held up the whiskey bottle, nearly emptied now, and glared at it. “I must be drunk,” he concluded at last. “Or just stupid.” He eyed Leta carefully in his peripheral. Somehow, as stupid as it was, he wasn’t struck by any particular feeling that he’d done the wrong thing. His gut genuinely didn’t seem to believe that Leta knowing his most well-protected secret would change anything. She wouldn’t do anything with it. She wouldn’t breathe a word of it. It was safe with her, he somehow knew. After today, after…well, everything, he could trust her with at least that.

“Well regardless,” he said suddenly, “you know now.” He looked down at his hands and then laughed, “Figures a doctor would get it all out, huh? Why I’m here and,” he laughed again, bitterly, “why I’m crazy. Don’t even think about making a study out of this, by the way or perhaps I’ll go nuts on you too.”

Leta frowned, surveying him closely. “Do you want my professional opinion?”

“Not really,” he admitted.

“You’re not nuts,” she said, plowing forward as usual. “You just have triggers. And Ludo found one of them.”

Fiearius sighed heavily. “Yeah, I suppose he did.” He glanced over at her and his face softened. “Well, thanks for getting me outta there. And patching up my messes.” He lifted his bandaged arm to look it over. “Literal and figurative…” he muttered. “How many times have you saved my sorry ass now?” He chuckled grimly, but met her eyes with a serious stare as he finally confessed, “Pretty sure I’d be dead by now if you hadn’t shown up. So — thanks.”

Leta’s lips twitched toward a smile as she muttered, “Anytime.” For someone who always demanded his recognition and gratitude, this time, she simply shrugged one shoulder.

It was then he noticed the thin cut in Leta’s cheekbone. A fresh line of blood ran through it, catching his eye at once. “Ah shit, kiddo,” he muttered, reaching out to wipe the drop away with his thumb. “You okay?”

He realized a second too late that he’d startled her: her shoulders went tense and rigid. But she did not, as he would have expected next, pull away.

“Wh — no, I’m fine,” she dismissed, her voice quieting. He knew he was supposed to, but he didn’t withdraw his hand from gently holding the smooth angle of her face. To his amazement, she only continued to gaze at him in a muted kind of alarm, but he swore he felt her soften against his hand.

It was a precarious moment, as if time had halted. Fiearius was certain there was no right move here, but he couldn’t help it — he met her eyes, and then his gaze lowered. He could have counted every freckle on her face. It was then a voice broke over the room.

“Hey, everything al –”

It was Cyrus. He stopped short in the doorway, looking startled. Fiearius felt Leta slide away discreetly and his hand dropped.

“Are you okay?” asked Cyrus, clearly noticing the layer of bruises on his face. But then his eyes darted toward Leta with a hint of suspicion, and he ventured, “Is everything — alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” said Leta hastily before he could answer. She pushed herself down from the bench and was not, he noticed, meeting anyone’s eye as she started to put medical supplies back on the counter. “Everything’s fine — “

Fiearius had never seen Leta look so flustered before. It was an odd sight: she kept her back turned to them and closed all the cabinets in quick succession. Tearing his eyes away, he forced a grin at his brother. “C’mon, Cy. I’ve been more beat up than this before.”

“He just needs rest,” Leta assured him, pulling her bag off the counter and turning toward the door. She passed Cyrus a watered-down smile, bid him goodnight, and slipped past him toward the hallway, a definite note of urgency in her step.

“Er — goodnight,” said Cyrus blankly, although she’d already disappeared. Silence blanketed the infirmary for a moment until Cyrus turned back toward Fiearius and arched an eyebrow in suspicion. “What the hell was that about?”

It was Finn, pushing himself forward to the edge of the crowd, out of breath, a gun in his hand. He was not alone. Corra and Cyrus hurried forward, just a few minutes too late. Both of them stared, thunderstruck, at the body of Ludo. And then at the man who killed him.

Corra’s hands flew over her mouth. “Oh god,” she muttered between her fingers. To Leta, she assured, “We came as soon as we heard but–” Her eyes traveled back to Fiearius. “Oh god…”

At her side, Cyrus looked ready to throw up.

It was indeed a sick sight. Fiearius stood over the dead body, his face dark, his skin covered in blood, looking every inch the assassin the Society had crafted him to be. He didn’t seem to recognize his brother’s presence, nor his friends’, nor anyone’s. For a man surrounded by people, he had never quite looked so alone.

Suddenly, with more strength than before, Leta moved forward decisively and cut through the crowd, ghost-like, entranced, but with a strange bout of resolution.

She stepped over Ludo’s body as easily as though it was a fallen chair, and then, her hand closed Fiearius’ forearm, her other hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, ” she breathed (she could feel his warm seeping blood on her fingers). “Back to the ship, come on.”

Finally, Fiearius drew his eyes from the crumbled shape of Ludo and met Leta’s stare as though he didn’t recognize her. His eyes were dazed and for a moment, it seemed he didn’t know where he was. Slowly, realization dawned over his features. He looked down at the gun in his hand, as though surprised to find it there, and back to the corpse, finding that too unfamiliar.

And when his gaze came back to Leta there was something there she had never seen in him before. Fiearius, so typically cocky and arrogant and full of swagger, looked–he couldn’t have been–frightened?

To her relief, he did not fight her when she tugged gently on his arm to lead him away. The gun slipped from his fingers, thudding to the ground. His eyes were on his feet as she guided him toward the door, her hand circled around his forearm. Cyrus, Corra and Finn simply stared at them, dumbfounded.

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

It wasn’t enough for Leta to lead Fiearius out of the bar. With her hand tightened around his wrist, she led him all the way through the city, back to the docks, toward the Dionysian. She guided him up the ship’s ramp, passing through the cargo bay, the crew deck, the emptied corridors, until they reached the bridge.

The bridge, where he belonged, lest he had forgotten. It was for her sake as much as it was his: it was only when Fiearius moved forward and slowly dropped into his captain’s chair that she managed to take a breath.

And that was all she wanted. Him, here. Alive. Ludo’s death was a justified one in her eyes, but gods, she’d almost lost Fiearius for it. And it showed. Crimson streaked down his arms and coated his hair; his face was a mess of forming bruises; he looked exhausted enough to sink to the floor as he stared hollowly at the dashboard, eerily silent.

Words sat readily on her tongue. She wanted to rage at him for not knowing earlier what kind of monster Ludo was. She wanted to tell him he was an absolute maniac for going after ten men in a crowded bar, for nearly getting himself killed, for scaring her to death.

But even as she tried to summon the anger, it never reached the surface. She rested her eyes on the back of his head for a long moment, noting the blood soaking the nape of his neck.

“Let me just  … get her off the ground before someone gets gutsy,” he muttered at last, feigning his best tone of normalcy as he flipped a switch on the console. “Then I’m thinking I might need a bandage or two if you don’t mind.”

Softening, Leta only nodded, not that he could see it. Just when she turned to slip out to go ready the infirmary, he unexpectedly spoke again.

“And thank you. For everything.” His voice was soft, hoarse and utterly burdened with defeat. His words shocked her, and locked her in place, halfway in, halfway out of the cabin.

“And I’m sorry,” he added, even quieter. “For everything.”

All at once, sorrow stirred in her chest. Ludo was gone, but the suffering he caused wasn’t over; this was no victory. And now, she was quietly and tensely aware that she had just witnessed Fiearius at his absolute worst.

Shamefully, she could’ve sworn she felt her throat swell closed of its own accord, but only for a moment. In lieu of a response (no words seemed right, really), she lowered her hand to the slope of his shoulder and stayed there, for a few moments more.