“There you are,” said Leta, exhaling sharply as she found Fiearius in the hallway. He was just exiting Aiden’s quarters, walking toward her with his typical long stride and scowl on his face. Leta ignored his expression, as usual, and said briskly, “I need to talk to you.”

Rolling his eyes, Fiearius tried to edge past her. “Now is really not the best time to talk about saving your boyfriend.”

“Fiance, and this isn’t about him,” said Leta. “It’s about the crew.”

Leta abruptly seized Fiearius’ upper arm and steered him toward a more private alcove. Fiearius staggered after her, glancing down at her hand, then up at her, looking more confused than interested.

“Fiear, this is stupid,” began Leta, surveying his face in the shadows of the quieter area of the hallway. “But — you didn’t take those breathing masks that are stored in the infirmary, did you?” she asked sincerely. “Or tell anyone else to? All of them are missing.”

Fiearius’ eyes narrowed on her thoughtfully and then moved away toward the wall in contemplation. Clearly, he was uninvolved. “That doesn’t make sense,” he said simply. “Life support’s running fine. Cy says it’ll be months before the generator would even start losing power. Why would someone steal oxygen masks of all things?”

“Because,” she said simply, “people are getting scared.”

The corner of Fiearius’ eyebrow twitched in irritation.

“Well they shouldn’t be. Everything’s fine,” he said bluntly, and turned to walk away. He only got a half step away before Leta grasped his arm again to tug him back.

“You don’t have to lie to me, you know,” she said testily.  “The crew knows you’re hiding something from them, Fiear. People can sense these things. And now they’re starting to act on their fear.”

Fiearius stopped abruptly and dropped his hands to his side. His expression shifted, or perhaps softened.

“I know,” he muttered tiredly. “I know. I already got all that from Aiden.” He gestured to the door down the hall. “I don’t need it from you too. I know they’re scared, I get it.” Annoyance colored his expression, but he spoke unusually calmly, particularly for him. “But my engine’s still broken and my options are still absent. The hell am I supposed to do?”

“They need to hear from you,” said Leta wearily. “Even if it’s not good news you have to give them, they need it from you. Otherwise, there’s hearsay. And blame. And … weird rumors,” she mumbled, glancing sideways, unwilling to admit that she was quite sure those weird rumors were mostly about, well, the two of them.

“Rumors or not, I’ve got no news to give them,” he grunted, clearly dismayed as he clasped a hand to his temple. “The ship. Is broken. That’s all. That’s it. There’s nothing more.”

Leta crossed her arms over her chest. “But there is more.”

Fiearius groaned, dragging his hand down his face. Through his fingers, he opened one eye to peer at her and muttered, “Well you know that and I know that, but they certainly don’t.” Dropping his hand to his side, he added, “And they don’t need to. If I tell them we actually could land, what do you think they’re gonna do? And then when I tell them we can’t because it’s Satieri? When I tell them that planet is even more of a deathtrap than this ship?” He shook his head. “It’s easier this way. What they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em.”

Leta exhaled tightly out of her nose. “Do you even have a plan here, Fiear?”

“Of course I do,” he snapped. “I’m not a moron. I got in touch with Finn yesterday. He’s on his way with a ship to ferry people off if it comes to it.”

“Then tell the crew that,” said Leta, her impatience flaring as she tossed her hands in the air. “Because they can sense you’re holding back. People are mistrustful and starting to take sides.” To her frustration, Fiearius was not looking at her, but gazing boredly over her shoulder. Leta raised her voice, “Fiearius, listen to me. They think you’re really hiding something! And that you’re not doing anything to help them, which is why they’re acting out and stealing oxygen masks, and that you’re — “

But Fiearius didn’t seem to listen. Of course. Suddenly, Leta growled in her throat and clasped her palm to her aching forehead, squeezing her eyes shut in frustration. The first painful tinges of a fever prickled beneath her flesh and, all at once, Leta felt more tired than she had in months. Exhaustion sank and sank through her, and just when she was considering turning to leave, Fiearius’ voice freed her from her thoughts.

“You okay, kiddo?” he muttered. He looked oddly worried, his brow knit, and his hand was curved around her upper arm. “You don’t look so hot.”

Gingerly, Leta pulled her hand away from her forehead and stared at Fiearius in surprise, practically awaiting his insult or punchline. “What?” she demanded quietly before hastening on, “Yes. I’m fine. Except … I am sort of tired of defending you.”

Fiearius wrinkled his forehead. “I didn’t ask you to defend me,” he replied, though his tone wasn’t angry, but confused.

“You didn’t have to,” she admitted quietly before she could stop herself.

Abruptly, Fiearius let silence fall between them — heavy, curious silence that he made no effort to fill. It held a degree of expectation Leta wasn’t sure she liked, and as it stretched on, Fiearius was regarding her, his eyes searching her face curiously in the shadowy darkness. She’d never noticed before, but he had a very intense, burning stare; it made Leta suddenly very aware of herself.

Swaying uncertainly on her feet, she broke the spell of silence. “Just — talk to your crew, alright? Captain?”

At last, a familiar grin unraveled across his scruffy face. “Or you could talk to them.”

“Yeah, or not,” Leta snorted. Then she shook her head. “I don’t know. I just have a bad feeling this is all going to get worse before it gets better.”

“Yeah,” Fiearius muttered in agreement, dragging his hand through his messy hair. “Just gotta hope Cyrus gets the engine running again before it comes to that … “

But ghosts weren’t her main worry as she walked toward the engine room.

Corra knew it was wrong, but she still hadn’t spoken to Cyrus since the incident on their ‘date’ the previous week. She’d wanted to talk to him the next day, but then this whole technical issue had happened and Cyrus had disappeared into the engine room to never come out. It wasn’t her fault, she told herself furiously. She was forced to delay.

But this morning when she woke up to find the ship still not moving and that pit of discomfort still lodged firmly in her stomach, consuming her thoughts any time the ship’s engineer was mentioned, she had decided that she could delay no longer, engine trouble be damned.

Unfortunately, her resolve had lessened somewhat throughout the day and although she had demanded that she be the one to deliver his dinner rather than Leta for once, even as she approached the engine room, tray in hand, she didn’t know what she was going to say. She had played out hundreds of conversations in her head over the past week, but now that she was here, she forgot all of them. Hopelessly, she stood outside the door a moment longer, trying to conjure something, anything. Her mind was uncharacteristically blank.

Finally, she took a deep breath and slipped inside and settled on a meek, “Hey there.”

Cyrus was hunched over a console screen, frantically skimming through data readings. He did not look up. Dark circles hung under his eyes and his forehead was creased as he swiped the screen desperately, moving from page to page to page and back again. Behind him, the massive shape of the engine sat still and silent.

Corra watched him work a beat longer, unsure if he’d heard her arrive, so she tried again. “Cy-cy?” She stepped further into the room. “I brought you dinner.” She lifted the tray to show him.

But he said nothing to her, his eyes focused on the screen as if they were miles away from one another. Disgruntled, Corra opened her mouth to try again, but just as she did, he cut her off.

“Thanks, just…put it over there,” he muttered, not looking up and waving in the general direction of the wall. Then he started to mumble numbers to himself, ignoring her once again.

Corra’s heart sank. Was he so upset with her that he couldn’t even look at her? God, how badly had she screwed up?

No, she assured herself. No, of course not, he was simply frustrated with the engine. This had nothing to do with her. He was probably the same to Leta …

Even so, her paranoia wouldn’t allow her to let it go. What she wanted to ask was ‘can we talk?’ or ‘do you have a minute?’ or even, more bluntly, ‘are you still angry with me?’, but what came out was, “So…how’s the engine?”

It was a question she immediately regretted when Cyrus stopped mid-motion and looked over at her like she was insane. “Sorry, I mean–” she corrected hurriedly, “I mean, do you…do you know what’s wrong with it yet?”

“If I knew what was wrong with it, it would be fixed,” Cyrus said shortly, focusing back on the screen again.

“Oh. Right.” Corra faltered, looking down at the tray of food in her hands in despair, desperately trying to convince herself it was just stress. He was frustrated. It wasn’t her. It definitely wasn’t her.

But as much as it wasn’t her, she couldn’t stop herself. “Cyrus, I’m sorry,” she blurted out suddenly.

Again, Cyrus paused and stared at her, but his eyes were much softer this time. A little confused, perhaps, but not hostile. Even so, Corra wanted to shrink away from his stare as he mumbled, “Corra…not now…”

Slowly, he stepped away from the console and approached her. He gently took the tray, for a few awkward moments they each held either side of it, until Corra lowered her hands.

“Thanks for dinner,” he said quietly, trying to meet her eyes. “I’ve gotta keep working on this.”

Corra felt her face turn red in embarrassment. Of course he had way more important things to worry about right now than that dumb date with her. Feeling a strong urge to go bury her head in the dirt somewhere and never unbury it, she nodded quickly and muttered, “Yeah, definitely, absolutely, good luck,” and before he could stop her, she turned on her heel to flee the room, wondering how long things could be this awkward between them.

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

That evening, eager to leave behind the bickering crew, Leta slipped quietly downstairs alone. Dinner hour had been tense: everyone was impatient and snappish while awaiting an update from Fiearius. But they never got an update, because Fiearius hadn’t shown up to dinner at all. Aggravation burned under her skin: when was he going to answer for himself? His silence was giving the crew more and more ammo against him …

Downstairs, the infirmary lay mercifully empty and silent. Leta closed the door behind her with a soft snap, and then crossed the room and opened a cabinet, reaching for a bottle of pills. The medication fought fevers and infection; she’d started taking them after the combat ring, when that man had dug that filthy knife through her flesh.

Glancing down at the bottle, Leta shook it, and found there were only a handful of pills left. One problem no one considered with the ship’s broken engine was the dwindling lack of medication … thankfully, Fiearius’ shoulder was healed now, but she didn’t have many resources left to stave off fevers …

Well, she thought briskly, twisting the cap back on, she’d likely be fine; she didn’t need to take any today. The pills were mostly preventive anyway. And no doubt Cyrus would have the ship running again in a few days.

Just when Leta went to close the cabinet, however, she suddenly froze in place. Something wasn’t right here. The skin on the back of her neck prickled. Narrowing her eyes, she scanned the shelves, still packed in the order she preferred it … except …

With a jolt that, she realized: the neat stack of oxygen masks was missing. Not where she’d left them. Gone.

She always locked the cabinets, as well as the door each night. She hadn’t touched the masks. Perhaps Fiearius had? Though that did not seem likely. Leta did not like to think it, but the word crept up into the back of her mind: stolen.

By whom? Did the crew take the masks — did they think their life support systems were in danger?

Wrong-footed and startled, Leta eased the cabinet door closed and backed away.

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

Leta threw Fiearius a dirty look. “Cy needs you below deck. He thinks there’s something wrong with the engine.”

“There’s always something wrong with the engine,” Fiearius said simply. “The engine is wrong. In general. So what else is new?”

Leta rolled her eyes better than anyone he knew. “He thinks something is really wrong.”

“Then tell him to fix it,” Fiearius grumbled impatiently. “Dunno what he expects me to do. I’m sure it’s nothing he can’t handle.”

Then, as if the ship herself wanted to mock him, a low groan rumbled from the engine beneath the floor, filling the cabin. The walls warbled in protest and then the groan weakened, like a pained, dying animal. And then there was silence in the ship. Tomb-like, horrible silence that meant one thing: the engine was shut off.

“See?” said Leta bossily. “Something’s not right. Obviously I wouldn’t come up here otherwise.”

Overheard, the lights abruptly switched off, replaced at once with the dim orange glow of the back-up lights. Okay, so something really was wrong …

Leta glared at him pointedly and swept out of sight. Trying to ignore the obnoxious warning flashes from the dashboard, Fiearius mumbled under his breath in mocking fashion, “Oh yes, ‘cause I’m the doctor and I’m so special, I run errands for Cyrus, la dee da, so special….”

He pushed himself to his feet, ready to go deal with, well, whatever this was. In the semi-darkness, Aiden was studying him curiously from his seat. Before Fiearius could ask, Aiden said, “You remember that Leta’s engaged, yes? Engaged to be married.”

Halfway toward the door, Fiearius looked down at him, perplexed. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Aiden shrugged, a portrait of innocence. “Just reminding you.”

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

The engine room — usually churning with mechanics and gears and noise — was eerily silent and still. The only sign of life was Cyrus dodging between the system monitors, his expression darkened in what looked like aggravation, determination and downright panic.

Fiearius paused in the doorway beside Leta, watching as Cyrus crouched beside the main core, using a flashlight to hastily investigate her inner-workings. Apparently unsatisfied, he made a face of worry, turned away and rushed towards the fuel conversion unit to do the same. That didn’t appear to go well, either.

Preparing for the worst, Fiearius prompted dully, “I assume you have an explanation for why my ship’s not working.”

“No,” Cyrus snapped. He didn’t tear his eyes away from a flashing monitor. “Actually, I don’t. Working on it.”

Raising his eyebrows, Fiearius exchanged a look of alarm with Leta. Then he slipped past her through the door, stepping into the room to lean his elbow on his little brother’s shoulder to watch the screen he was working on. Of course Fiearius had little idea what any of the scrolling diagnostics meant, but with one glance back at his silent engine and the distinct gut feeling that was growing within him, he was quickly becoming aware of the gravity of the situation.

“Talk to me, little brother,” he said simply, still distinctly calm. “Give me options.”

“I don’t have options.” Cyrus shrugged off his elbow, like he was brushing off an insect. “I don’t know what’s wrong. The engine just stopped working and I don’t know why. In data terms, it’s fine. There’s nothing wrong. Everything is perfectly normal. But…” He hesitated and glanced back at the silent beast of an engine. “Clearly it’s not.”

“The back-up generator’s running fine,” he went on dutifully, skimming through his statistics on the screen. “We’ve got lights and life support and all secondary functionality, but…” His voice trailed off hopelessly and his shoulders sunk toward despair. “I just have to figure it out and fix it. That’s really all there is to do,” he said at last, looking up at Fiearius in earnest.

Fiearius watched the symbols on the screen distantly. “No other possibilities?” he asked after a moment. “Just sit here and wait ‘til you get it back up?”

Cyrus began to shake his head, but in the middle of it, had a realization. “Well, maybe we could … ” He turned back around to face the console and, typing in a string of characters, pulled up a new list to examine. “We could land on a planet within range while I work on her. The back-up can get us about 50 AUs if we sacrifice power to the lower decks.”

Leta stepped deeper into the room, her arms folded over chest. She, too, looked at the screen, and Fiearius thought he knew what she was thinking: they weren’t exactly in the middle of populated space. “Are there any planets in range?” she asked skeptically.

Wincing, Cyrus entered another few lines to pull up the navigation. This time, a single item blinked on the screen. “Just one. But it’s inhabited. It’ll work. It’s probably not a bad idea just in case whatever’s affecting the main systems spreads to the back-up.”

Relief almost reached Fiearius, but then he looked at the screen himself. Sharp dread punctured him.

“No, that’s a very bad idea,” he stated simply, which did not adequately express the sickened way his stomach clenched. “Look again, lil brother. Look familiar?”

Leta shifted closer curiously to look. Cyrus leaned in, closed his eyes and winced.

“I don’t know about you,” said Fiearius, “but I’m not particularly in any mood to go home right now.”

Both brothers stared at the screen, fixated on the glowing word ‘Satieri.’ There weren’t many fates Fiearius preferred to a slow, cold vacuum death. But if there was one, it was the bloodbath that what would await him the moment his ship touched down on that Society-controlled planet.

After a moment, Cyrus heaved a sigh and stepped away from the console. Brandishing his flashlight and ruffling his messy hair, he looked up at Fiearius sadly. “Like I said,” he began slowly. “I just have to fix it.” His eyes drifted towards the unmoving hunk of metal beside him and then back to his brother. “And until then? We’re stuck.”

Fiearius sighed bitterly. The crew was just going to love this.

A heavy sigh passed through his lungs as Fiearius put his forehead in his hands, frowning down at the floor beneath him. “I wanna help her, I do,” he admitted impatiently. “But it’s not that easy. There’s no way on or off of that damn ship without it being a suicide mission. At least, not that I’ve found yet.” He looked over at Aiden wearily. “So what do I tell her? It’s hopeless? Go find someone else? Someone else who’ll either say the same or promise the opposite and get her killed anyway? Tell her to just wait until I can figure something out? Yeah, because that’s a satisfying answer when your boyfriend’s being brutally interrogated…”

“We tell her the truth, is what we tell her. That you can’t risk your ship and crew, that it’s simply not possible for you.” He spoke firmly, his voice steadier than water; he made it sound so easy. “And from there, it’s her decision how she’d like to proceed.”

“But it is possible,” Fiearius said at once, the words jumping out of his throat. “It has to be. I can do it. I just…need to figure out how. How to do it without risking my ship and my crew…”

“If you think there is a way,” posed Aiden evenly.

“There has to be,” Fiearius insisted fiercely. “Nothing’s impossible.”

Aiden did not argue, but what he said was worse than any argument. A horrible sense of pity came to his eyes when he said quietly, “I just want to be sure you’re doing this for the right reasons.”

Fiearius felt himself go still in his chair. It was seconds before he responded. “Is there such thing as a wrong reason for this?” he asked slowly.

“Yes.” Aiden sounded positively certain; to him, this was fact. “I don’t think you should feel obligated to help Leta because of your own history.”

Fiearius’ stomach turned over. Hesitant to hear the answer, for he was fairly certain he knew it, he nonetheless ventured, “What history?”

Aiden heaved a sigh, his eyebrows lifting in apology. “With your wife, Fiearius. I don’t think you should help Leta with her fiance because you lost your wife.”

His stomach lurched again, more painfully this time. His eyes were fixed on the dashboard, his voice cold, when he finally answered, “The doctor and her fiance have nothing to do with me and Aela.”

The words hung in the air bitterly. Fiearius was certain Aiden did not believe him, but he did not press it, either.

“Alright,” he said at last. “And if you think it can be done, then we’ll put together a plan.”

“Yes,” Fiearius agreed through a sigh, slumping back in his chair tiredly. “Just add it to the list. Add it all to the list. Right behind ‘stop being broke.’”

“As much as we can, I think we should keep the crew informed from here on out. Right now I’m afraid we have a boat of unhappy passengers who want to know what the next step is.”

“Ah good, then we’ll have something to relate to one another about,” Fiearius muttered, rolling his eyes. “If they wanted timeliness and flight plans, they should have taken a cruise liner.”

“Probably should have, yes,” Aiden laughed. “But since they did not … I’m having trouble keeping animosity at bay. There’s a sense of — hmm … I don’t know what it is, exactly. Maya made her unhappiness well-known to me; she thinks all ship plans are being bent to fit Leta.”

“What?” Fiearius demanded, incredulous. “Where the hell’s she getting that idea from?”

“Well, I think word must have spread that you told Leta you would help her. Maya didn’t take that well … since we’ve been remarkably off-schedule since Leta came aboard. Not that I blame Leta for that — but some people do.” Aiden shook his head. “Ludo, for example; he wants work. And Alistair and Palia — the married couple,” he clarified quickly, knowing full well that Fiearius did not remember petty details like names, “they’ve been aboard three weeks longer than they anticipated.”

“Okay, for one,” Fiearius began tensely, finding all of this information neither interesting nor worth his time, “We’re always off schedule. Because we don’t have a schedule. We do what needs to be done when it needs to be done, doctor or no doctor, and Maya should know that by now. Two, Ludo would have more work if he stopped pissing me off every time I give him work. And three.” Here, he paused, trying to recollect who this married couple was exactly and where they were headed. Failing, he said again, “Three, they shoulda taken a cruise liner,” and shrugged.

A wry smirk spread over Aiden’s face. “I’ll let them know you said so,” he said, and for a moment it almost felt like things were normal. Almost.

This conversation had somehow turned into a conversation Fiearius and Aiden had had many times before. Aiden would inform him of the goings-on of the crew. Fiearius would groan and put it off. Aiden would take care of it. That was how things worked and they had been working that way ever since Aiden came aboard. But it was difficult to forget how they’d come to be sitting in the bridge having this discussion to begin with: Aiden wouldn’t be aboard much longer.

“How do you possibly expect me to handle all these whiny people on my own?” Fiearius despaired, overly dramatic as he dropped his head in his hands. But as theatrical as his woe was, there was a note of truth to it. How would he handle the crew without Aiden? Fiearius wasn’t exactly the definition of a people person and he certainly would never be described as patient or understanding or wise or helpful or really any of the words someone might use to describe Aiden. That was why he liked Aiden so much. And why everyone did.

Just then, the pounding of intent, purposeful footsteps approached, interrupting his thoughts. Fiearius glanced up and saw Leta was in the doorway, and of course she was. Generally the crew avoided the command deck, but not Leta. She had no reservations at all about storming up here and making demands every other day.

In this moment, thought and determination clouded her face, a bad sign indeed. Fiearius reached for his beer instinctively as she breathed, “Hey — sorry, am I interrupting?”

At once Fiearius barked, “What do you think?” just as Aiden said, “No, of course not.”

 

Nonetheless, as Marjorie got a good shot at his wrist and dug her nails in so hard it drew blood, Corra let out a sigh, as though this were such a bore, and drew her gun from where it was holstered beneath her coat.

“Alright, down, girl,” said Corra sharply, aiming at Marjorie’s head.

The woman shrieked — Fiearius threw a hand over her mouth, just in time — and finally released her grip. Across the room, Corra had already reached for her other pistol to point at Marsden, who was sputtering in utter terror, backing away with his hands in the air. So now they had two terrified lovers just aching to screw this up …

“You got any rope?” said Fiearius hopefully, and Corra rolled her eyes.

Luckily, Majorie had a collection of woven silk scarves that were just as effective. Soon after, Fiearius was crouched on his legs, tying knots around Marsden’s wrists, attaching him to the sofa beside his estranged beloved, and then Corra started complaining.

He wondered when this would start.

“You know, this whole thing was avoidable,” she said, breaking the long silence that had prevailed since he’d shoved a scarf in Marjorie’s whimpering mouth. Fiearius glanced up at her tiredly. He was well used to Corra’s lectures by now. “We could have just waited,” she went on. “I don’t know why you had to barge in here and come up with some stupid ridiculous act. Just to show off? Don’t you ever get tired of being such an exhibitionist?”

“No,” Fiearius replied at once, standing up and admiring his two squirming two captives thoughtfully. “You two be good now,” he chided. “Someone will find you soon enough. And just remember. When they do. We’ll already be gone. So don’t even try.”

“This is just dumb,” Corra snapped. “If you weren’t so damn arrogant, none of this would have happened.”

“Why does it matter?” Fiearius laughed. “We got what we came for.” He held up the necklace, which glinted brightly in his hand, and he grinned.

“At what cost though?” she asked, gesturing towards Marjorie and Marsden who blinked up at them, teary-eyed.

“Oh they’re fine,” Fiearius told her with a shrug, sliding the necklace into his pocket. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.” He headed for the door, but even in those first few steps, he knew Corra wasn’t following. He could almost feel her anger radiating from across the room.

“Are they fine?!” she snapped suddenly, in such a tone that gave him no choice but to stop and look back. “Are they? What do you think her husband’s gonna do when he finds them up here like this? And if she tells him how you were able to get the thing to begin with. And when he realizes what you stole. What’s gonna happen then?!”

Fiearius just blinked back at her, perplexed. “Probably nothing. Why do you care anyway?”

“I care because–” Corra began, gasping for air, “Because I just do! Shut up! I hate you!” And with all the dignity of an eleven year old, she threw her hands in the air in exasperation.

Fiearius stared at her, perplexed. Surely this wasn’t the time for a fit. Or was it a fit? He’d seen Corra viciously angry at him before, but this was just — distress.

“Corra…” he muttered, somewhere between unease and annoyance, taking a step towards her.

“No!” she yelled. “Don’t ‘Corra’ me. I’m so sick of you and how you think you’re so damn right all the time, even about things you don’t even understand and I’m tired of it and you’re not right all the time. You’re never right. You’re wrong. You don’t understand and you’re wrong so shut up.”

Dumbstruck, Fiearius blinked his eyes slowly, trying to understand what was happening here. It occurred to him that this outburst of hers had very little to do with their captives and very much to do with something else.

“Is this about Cyrus?” he ventured carefully, anticipating her pulling a gun on him for the comment.

Thankfully, she did not, but the storm brewing in her face made it clear she was considering it.

“No, it’s not about Cyrus!” she raged. “It’s about you! And how you’re a stupid know-it-all with an ego the size of a planet and how you’re a shitty captain who ignores his crew and doesn’t fulfill his promises and how you shove your nose in business that isn’t yours and say things that aren’t true without even thinking about if they’re hurtful or not and I’ve had enough of it!”

Then, she suddenly reached for the nearest object to her, an ugly decorative pillow, and tossed it at him with all the force her arm could manage.

The pillow knocked him in the face, then hit the floor. Wincing, he muttered, “So it is about Cyrus…”

If possible, Corra looked even angrier now, and she grasped blindly for the next closest object which was, much to his dismay, a heavy brass lamp. Just as she was raising it above her head, Fiearius rushed towards her, hands outstretched in alarm.

“Woah, woah, hang on, princess, hang on,” he said, though she continued to hold it threateningly in the air, ready to swing it at his face and just waiting for him to give her the right reason.

Hopefully he wouldn’t…

“Look, I’m–I’m sorry,” he went on, hoping to see some slack in her stance. There wasn’t, so he pressed on, “I shouldn’t have said anything and I’m sorry.” Still, nothing. She looked just as ready to pummel him as ever. He heaved a sigh and dropped his hands to his sides. “I didn’t–it’s not your fault, okay?” He met her eyes which were slowly softening. “It’s not your fault….”

And then the lamp started to lower. “I know the whole…affectionate touchy Corra thing?” he continued. “That’s just you. Being you. And it’s not your problem that my little brother is too much of a social invalid to realize that.”

Her frown came back suddenly as she demanded, “Then why’d you say it was me? That it’s my fault he can’t get over it? Why’d you say that and make me feel crappy if that’s not even–”

“It’s not your fault for being you,” he interrupted before her angry tirade got any worse. “But…” and here he hesitated, already able to feel whatever strike she was about to lay on him, “Sometimes…you gotta play to the disability.” She tilted her head in confusion. “Think of it this way. You’re a teacher. You write out your lessons on a board. But one of your students is blind. Do you expect that student to understand the lesson?” Still not really understanding, she shook her head slowly. “No. So you’re Corra, you specialize in touchy-feely happy friendships, but you’ve got a friend who’s too blind to differentiate between friendship and romance because he’s never been that exposed to either. What do you do?”

Corra looked at him, lost. “Learn braille?”

“Well … yeah,” Fiearius acknowledged slowly, “but no. Cyrus is an idiot. Which is not your fault. But treating him as though he’s not an idiot. That might be.” He smirked hopefully, fully prepared to be met with a household object to the face.

To his surprise, Corra looked down at her feet thoughtfully and lowered her arms again. After a moment, her eyes swung back up to him. “So what’s the answer? What am I supposed to do?” she breathed, her tone finally softening.

Heartened, Fiearius said, “Aid’s right. You need to just be honest with him. Cyrus is a scientist, give it to him straight in language he’ll understand. I know he’s a sensitive little prick so telling him anything he doesn’t like is an uncomfortable, dramatic affair, but he’s not a total moron and he’s not a child. He might throw a little fit, in fact, he probably will, but he’s not gonna give up what you guys have for the sake of what you haven’t.” Half as a gesture of comfort and half as extra encouragement to put down the battering object, he reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. “He values you far more than that.”

Finally, it worked. Corra’s frame relaxed, the lamp dropped to her feet with a gentle, innocent clatter and she sighed. “Yeah I know…” she muttered. “I just hate seeing him upset…”

“Well I hate hearing both of you complain so … hurry up and sort this shit out,” Fiearius told her bluntly.

Corra rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on her face. Small and nearly hidden behind a mask of despair, but it was there. A silence lapsed between them until her attention fell back to the two bound captives who were just staring up at them, confused.

“You sure they’ll be okay?” she asked curiously.

“No,” Fiearius told her honestly with a shrug, glancing down at them himself. “But do we care?” He met Corra’s eyes and she smirked skeptically. “Hey, if anything, we taught them a valuable lesson about the perils of adultery.”

“Good point,” Corra admitted, tilting her head and following Fiearius as he made towards the door again. “Hey cap’n?”

“Yeah?”

“These people. That guy downstairs. Cyrus. Rich people can be pretty stupid, huh?” she mused thoughtfully.

A grin came to his own face. “They sure are, princess. They sure are.”

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

With the stolen necklace sitting in Fiearius’ trouser pocket, and Corra looking decidedly less murderous than before, the mood was considerably lighter, inching toward the giddiness of impending victory, when they hurried out of the mansion.

Quickly and quietly, Corra and Fiearius padded downstairs as Aiden finished goodbyes with Sanilac. (“I only wished there was something even more I could do,” Sanilac was saying sadly, “You know I’m a very charitable man to the needy … “)

Now, safely out in the street and making their way back to the ship, Fiearius clasped one hand on Aiden’s shoulder, another on Corra’s.

“So that was fun,” he declared cheerfully, ignoring Corra’s snort of laughter. “Don’t you just love the sweet taste of victory? Especially when victory isn’t lightly seasoned in blood and gunpowder? See, my job’s not always bad.” He grinned at Aiden hopefully. “And we make such a great team. Why would you ever want to be a professor when you could do this? Together, we could rule the span. Just think of the glory, Aid. Think of the glory!” he yelped, while knowing full well Aiden had loved his career as a professor. But it was not a life he could imagine, personally.

“This is certainly more thrilling,” Aiden admitted, but he wasn’t, Fiearius noticed curiously, grinning back. He wasn’t looking at Fiearius at all, but rather walking thoughtfully with his hands in his pockets. His eyes were dimmed, focused somewhere in the middle distance.

“You alright, professor?” Fiearius ventured hesitantly. At last Aiden sent him a glance, knitting his brow in bemusement, or perhaps puzzlement.

“Well.” He gave a one-note laugh. It died off quickly.  “Sanilac offered me my job back.”