The lady regarded him quietly for a moment and then laughed a harsh laugh. “That man is my husband,” she corrected, though, fortunately,  she didn’t sound so pleased about it.

“Oh,” Fiearius replied, widening his eyes in false surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry. I–I just assumed he wasn’t–well…”

Her eyes flicked towards him suspiciously, but there was a distinct hint of interest there too. She took the bait. “You assumed what?”

“Well, I mean…” Fiearius muttered awkwardly, looking down at his feet. “I’m sure he is a great man, but…someone such as him and…someone such as yourself, I didn’t think–It’s none of my business, terribly sorry, ma’am.”

A coy, flattered smile pulled across her face and she took a step towards him for the first time. “Aw, aren’t you sweet,” she cooed softly. “But wrong, I’m afraid. He is my husband.” Her eyes flickered briefly to the fireplace as she grumbled bitterly, “As little as he acts like it…”

This was almost too easy. “Well he is an ingrate to forsake such a gift as yourself,” he stated simply and bowed his head again. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have business to–”

“Hang on,” she said immediately, stepping towards him again. “Maybe I can help.” Fiearius cocked a brow at her and she closed the gap even further. “What are you looking for…exactly?”

Fiearius eyed her warily. “Potential threats. Unsecured weaponry. Unsavory individuals…” he told her slowly, letting the words roll off his tongue delicately.

As the lady of the house smiled at him shyly, he felt Corra glaring at him, silently urging him to finish this. And for once, he agreed. He needed to hurry it up before it fell apart.

“I don’t know about any threats,” the woman went on thoughtfully. “Nor any weaponry. And the only unsavory individual I’ve seen…is standing right in front of me.”

“Well I’ve full faith in your observation, ma’am.” Fiearius smirked at her, “But I’m gonna need to apply my professional opinion as well, if that’s alright by you.”

She returned the smirk and held out her arm, the silk sleeve of her robe sliding back to reveal her pale, dainty wrist. “By all means.”

With a nod to Corra, who diligently went about pretending to inspect the sofa cushions, Fiearius started opening drawers in the dresser, sifting through the books on the nightstand and running his hands through the curtains. Only when the two of them had scoured the entire room did he even approach the vanity and gently undo the hinge on the jewelry box.

Inside, there it was: the ornate oval necklace, the crown jewel, the prize. Even Fiearius, who knew exactly nothing about even the cheapest jewelry, had to appreciate how this piece shined so brightly he nearly had to squint.

Just then, he felt four slender fingers on his shoulder. “Mr. Levistus,” breathed the woman in his ear, “what kind of woman do you take me for?”

Reluctantly letting the lid fall shut, Fiearius turned around to find Sanilac’s wife standing far too close for comfort, though it wasn’t suspicion or anger in her eyes for the attempted theft of her property. No, it was something very different.

“A lady doesn’t keep weaponry in her jewelry box,” she said softly, practically whispering in his ear. Briefly, Fiearius caught Corra’s eye across the room. Her arms were crossed over her chest impatiently as she mouthed ‘hurry up!’ Again, he was inclined to agree.

“I have to check everywhere, ma’am,” he said promptly and, in a decision he would come to regret, put his hand on her hip to push her away,

Unfortunately, just as did so, the door opened and a voice gasped. “Marjorie?!” As the woman (Marjorie, apparently), spun around dramatically to face her accuser, Fiearius too peered over her shoulder at the man standing in the doorway.

He was middle-aged, also dressed in a robe, his dark hair damp. His handsome face was contorted into a look of shock.

“Marsden,” said the woman distastefully as she crossed her arms over her chest and sidled closer to Fiearius who sidled further away.

The man marched further into the room. “Marjorie, what is–” he began and looked down at Corra who blinked up at him with wide-eyed innocence, her lips sealed shut. “Who are these people?” he demanded. His eyes swung madly to Fiearius. “Who is he?”

“A friend,” she said at once, seizing Fiearius’ hand and not letting go despite him trying to yank it away.

“A friend?” Marsden repeated bitterly, stalking towards them. “A friend?!”

“Yes, Marsden, a friend,” Marjorie replied sharply, turning on her heel to glare at him, effectively stopping his onslaught in its tracks.

“A friend….” he growled yet again. “Have I not been friend enough for you?”

Marjorie expelled a massive ‘humph’ and rolled her eyes. “Oh please, you’re just as bad as Sanilac lately! Neither of you respect me. You both just want to hang me on your arm like a trophy. You claim love, but it’s a lie.” She swung her attention back to him and finished sharply, “I was a fool to think something between a lady and a servant would work. You’re just in it for the status. You don’t love me.”

“And he does?” Marsden pleaded incredulously, gesturing to Fiearius.

“No,” Fiearius replied immediately, as Marjorie blurted, “Yes!”

Fiearius raised his eyebrows. He was no stranger to ending up in uncomfortable situations during a job. He had come to expect them, actually. But as common as gun battles, fist fights and hostage situations were, this had to be the first time he ended up in the middle of  lover’s quarrel …

“Yes he does,” Marjorie declared with so much drama in her voice that Fiearius practically believed her. “More than my husband and certainly more than you ever did.”

“No, I really don’t,” Fiearius felt the need to point out, glancing at Corra for help. She had her hand on her temple, shaking her head slowly at this unfolding soap opera.

“How dare you?!” Marsden demanded, apparently not hearing him. “Get your filthy hands off of her!”

Really not helping matters, Marjorie said shrilly, “He can put his filthy hands wherever he likes!” Which only served to piss the guy off even more. Fiearius could see the rage rising in his eyes. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. His fists were beginning to clench and any moment…

“You son of a bitch!” he cried and lunged.

Fiearius was prepared when Marsden swung his first blow. He parried his fist away and took a step back, dodging the second. Fortunately, skilled a lover as Marsden may or may not have been, he was certainly no fighter. He mostly seemed to just flail in Fiearius’ general direction and hope that one of his arms was strong enough and fast enough to do some damage.

After only about a minute, Fiearius had enough: in one expert motion he seized the man’s wrist and twisted, effectively holding him in place as he let out a yelp of pain.

“Now hang on just a minute here,” Fiearius began calmly, trying to ignore the look of sheer pride exuding from Marjorie as the men ‘fought over her’. “I don’t give a damn about your mistress, alright?” And then that look of pride sank into a look of betrayal. “I’m just here for this.” With his free hand, he reached over to the jewelry box and roughly yanked out the necklace. “Just this. That’s all.” He looked sharply at both of them, in turn. “And now I have it. So I’m going to leave. Leave you two to…do whatever it is you need to do.”

He used his grip on Marsden to shove him towards Marjorie, who caught the man as he proceeded to nurse his poor, injured wrist in her arms. The necklace in hand, Fiearius turned towards the door and headed towards it, nodding for Corra to follow.

Fiearius only made it a few steps though before he felt a sudden weight attach itself to his back and skinny arms encircling around his neck.

“Give that back, you lying thief!” Marjorie shrieked, clawing at him furiously. Staggering back on his feet, he tried to shake her off, but it only made her more angry. Her legs locked around his, her hand latched into his hair and she yanked him backwards, nearly pulling him off his feet.

“Aggh, get off!” he growled, swiping at her with his arm helplessly. Directly behind him, she was just out of his reach, clinging to his back and relentlessly trying to bring him down.

As one of her sharp fingernails barely missed his eye, Fiearius threw Corra a pleading look to do something to stop this. Unfortunately, Corra seemed to be rather enjoying the show. Still poised impatiently, she was watching Fiearius battle with the parasitic woman on his back with a smirk on her face.

 

“Yeah,” Corra said, though her tone was truly anything but excited. “Yeah it’s been awhile.”

So clearly something was wrong. And Fiearius thought, based on the previous night, he could guess what it was. He’d told Leta she’d made a mistake encouraging his brother to take Corra out on a date. And apparently he’d been right.

Aiden caught his eye for a moment, then asked gently, “What’s bothering you, Corra?”

As soon as Aiden had asked the question, Fiearius could feel Corra’s eyes on the back of his head. This really wasn’t the time for this conversation and she must have known it. But Fiearius purposefully didn’t meet her gaze and it seemed that was all the encouragement she needed.

“I think…I think I screwed something up,” she muttered to Aiden, her voice brimming with hesitance.

Aiden must have sensed Corra’s reluctance to talk in front of Fiearius, because he slowed to a halt to let her fall into step beside him, looking concerned. Fiearius kept his eyes forward, but heard Corra say, “With Cyrus, I mean…I think I really screwed up this time.”

She fell silent for a moment before heaving a sigh and explaining, “Last week, when we were all rescuing the captain, I went back to free the other prisoners. Cyrus came too and–well it was a good thing he did. He saved me. And I was grateful and appreciative so–I wasn’t even really thinking–I kissed him.” She winced painfully and shook her head. “And you know what he’s like. Of course he took it totally the wrong way and, okay, it was my fault to begin with. I should have known better, but–”

Fiearius was almost tempted to say something himself. By the way this was unraveling, probably something she wouldn’t take so well. He could imagine the disapproving look in Aiden’s eyes already though, so he kept his mouth shut.

“Anyway, I guess it gave him the grand idea to take me out to dinner, which is sweet and he’s my friend so I couldn’t really say no and he was totally insistent this time that it was absolutely definitely a date and it absolutely definitely had to be just us. So I agreed and–” Now, she actually groaned. “It was just terrible. Not on purpose. It was just naturally terrible. And he knew it too and I felt bad because it was partially my fault so I was trying to cheer him up on the way home and–”

“And he took it the wrong way again,” Fiearius suggested under his breath, rolling his eyes. Corra being friendly, Cyrus being hopeless. How many times had they been through this? The story was so predictable he could have told it himself.

“Exactly,” Corra moaned, apparently not picking up on his irritation. “And I just couldn’t take it so I…left. And now I don’t know what to do. I love Cy-cy, of course I do, but I don’t love him. Not like he wants me to. But I don’t know how to do this anymore. I don’t know how to be his friend without breaking his poor little heart…”

A pause fell. Whatever Aiden had been expecting, Fiearius doubted it was this.

“Well … I’m miles from the authority on this sort of thing … ” said Aiden slowly. “But have you tried talking to him about it?”

“And tell him what exactly?” she sighed. “Sorry, Cy, you’re great and we get along swell and I want to keep spending time with you, but that whole romantic thing you have going on is getting tiresome, please stop.” She sighed heavily again. “He’ll hate me. Last time I was honest, he stopped talking to me almost entirely for a year. And when he did again? I thought he’d gotten over it, but nope. Apparently not.”

Suddenly, Fiearius couldn’t help himself, and he muttered bitterly, “Maybe he would get over it if you stopped kissing him and hugging him and touching him and barging into his room at all hours of the night and basically treating him like your little boyfriend all the time.”

The words hung in the air with a nasty sort of sting. Behind him, Corra stammered, her voice weak and sad, “What–I didn’t–I don’t–”

Fiearius went to reply, but found himself suddenly silenced with a look that he’d seen at least a hundred times before. Aiden was glaring at him, a shadow over his face, his eyes dark, for a stretch of long, cold silence that Fiearius wanted to shake off like a hovering fly.

Finally, after really letting him feel the regret, Aiden turned and said, “Corra, you should never feel guilty or ashamed of only wanting to be his friend. And it’s no one’s fault,” he added curtly, glancing pointedly to Fiearius again.

Fiearius was almost tempted to argue, but Aiden always had that mystical ability to inspire him into silence with a warning look. It was unsettling. And yet also surprisingly calming. With a mildly disgruntled grumble, Fiearius looked ahead again, deciding he was not in the mood to be part of this meaningless conversation about his brother’s love life anyway. Or lack thereof.

Corra was still quiet, her eyes down, when Aiden spoke again soothingly. “I know it wouldn’t be easy, but honesty would clear things up between you two. And some distance.”

Corra was too busy watching her feet to answer. Almost a minute passed before she murmured, “I don’t wanna hurt him…I wish he could just see. See that he’s being silly. That it wouldn’t work…”

“Unfortunately, that might have to be something that’s spelled out,” said Aiden, smiling, a note of regret in his voice. “You know how Cyrus is. He’s a genius, but … not always that smart.”

Fiearius could feel Corra just about to launch into yet another bout of despair when he spotted the number he’d been looking for and paused in front of a tall pair of gates.

“Can we finish this later?” he interrupted. “Need I remind you both we have a job to do, thanks.” He swung his hands towards the gates before them. “And what do ya know, here it is.”

Beyond the wrought iron gates, a tremendous rustic mansion, lined with sparkling icicles, sprawled over acres of snowy lawn and trimmed hedges. The estate looked like something of a painting, or the front image of a Concordia holiday card.

Fiearius couldn’t help but wonder who could possibly need a house this big. What were all those rooms even for? One thing was certain: Fiearius felt no guilt whatsoever about stealing from the owner of this castle.

And, wonderfully, neither did Aiden.

“He’s going to be very surprised to see me,” Aiden mused quietly as he straightened his jacket. “I haven’t spoken to him since he terminated me years ago.” Fiearius knew this embittered Aiden somewhat, but in this moment, there was amusement in his eyes. “But I think he’ll like enjoy my company when I so desperately plead for my job back …”

Fiearius couldn’t help but grin. “You crafty genius, you,” he commented, eyeing the front door. “Knew there was a thief in there somewhere.” Signaling Corra to follow him, he pushed open the gates to slip inside. Before slinking off into the shadows to wait, he looked to Aiden and said, “Remember. Make sure the front stays unlocked. Get him into the drawing room ASAP. Knock on the door’s the signal to leave. Got it?”

Fiearius stepped behind one of the hedges, pulling Corra with him. Safely hidden, he watched as Aiden approached the double doors calmly. A booming knock reached his ears, followed by a murmur of voices.

“Sanilac. It’s been far too long,” said Aiden’s voice, and Fiearius couldn’t help but feel proud at how well the man had perfected the careful uncertainty in his tone of voice. “Can I — I’m sorry to bother you, but may I come in?”

Cyrus sighed, watching as she started paging through the papers. “It’s okay. I’m not very good at auxiliary weapons calibration. We all have a weakness,” he admitted with a teasing smirk before leaning back on his hands and stretching out his legs in front of him. “So what were you up to last night while we were out?” he asked. “Riveting adventure, I’m sure?”

As she tucked the prints neatly together, she responded brightly, “Absolutely. I started a new novel.”

Although, truthfully, reading wasn’t exactly how she’d spent her evening … but for some reason she wasn’t sure if she wanted to tell Cyrus how she had. Or who she had spent it with. Then, immediately, she scolded herself. Why wouldn’t she tell him? She had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Also, I drank with your brother,” she added, dropping the neat stack of blueprints with a thwap on the floor. At once, Cyrus gave a start.

“You what?” he asked incredulously, his eyes widening. His penetrating stare pinned her in place.

“What do you mean, ‘what’?” she said back, feeling herself become defensive, almost self-conscious. “I was in the kitchen reading, he passed through and offered me a drink.” She decided against including they had also downed shots, made several drunken toasts, told long stories and that she’d actually woken up with a bit of a headache.

Clearly, Cyrus was having trouble processing this story already. His eyes narrowed, searching over her in alarm. “Why would you say yes?” he asked, perplexed.

“Whiskey,” said Leta. “He had whiskey, Cy. I never turn down whiskey. Why are you looking at me like that?”

His mouth was hanging open, and he looked fearful for her sanity. “Just…” he began after a moment, looking away from her. “Not…what I would have expected.”

“Hey, me either,” said Leta fairly. “Maybe he still feels guilty about the combat ring, I don’t know.” But even in her head, Leta felt that wasn’t quite it, and she found herself muttering, “He was all pissed off at Ludo, that’s why he was drinking. I just happened to be nearby … “

There wasn’t accusation in Cyrus’ gaze, not exactly. More like a guarded level of suspicion. And with that, Leta suddenly said, “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

“I know my brother,” Cyrus replied at once. “It’s a little hard not to.”

Leta felt an unease crawl over her skin, slow and uncomfortable. Guilt twisted her stomach, even though she’d done nothing to actually warrant guilt. Except, perhaps, drink a little too much. After polishing off the bottle, she and Fiearius had saluted each other drunkenly and gone their separate ways to bed. Right before, there had been an odd, awkward moment when they brushed too closely together at the kitchen counter, but that moment had lasted only seconds; it was completely dismissible.

“He wasn’t coming onto me if that’s what you’re getting at,” said Leta after a short, sharp pause, kicking idly at the papers on the floor, scattering them back into a mess. “You would know by now if that’s what he’d done last night. Because he’d be dead.”

At that, Cyrus laughed. “Okay, okay, fair enough. Maybe don’t kill him. He’s kind of useful. But you have my full permission to beat him with a blunt object of your choosing.” He shrugged and eyed her briefly before cracking a mock grimace. “I still can’t believe you actually agreed to spend time with him though.”

“No kidding,” said Leta, snorting. “My defenses must’ve really been down … ”

Leta was glad the subject was dropped, senseless as it was. But even as the conversation faded, even as they started discussing Corra again, Leta couldn’t shake the odd sense of unease, nagging the back of her mind.

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

“C’mon, this isn’t the first time you’ve helped me steal,” Fiearius was saying, his breath exhaling a white cloud in the air as he fell into step beside Aiden, who shot him a good-naturedly dark glance. They were crossing down the icy streets toward the wealthy side of the city, Corra in tow. She lagged a few steps behind, unusually quiet and stony, which was odd, since Fiearius knew she loved this sort of job: pure, old-fashioned thievery.

Of course, Aiden did not. “Isn’t it?” he said, looking weary as he rubbed his hands together against the wind.

“When we met,” Fiearius reminded. “Don’t you remember?”

“Well, I try not to,” Aiden put in.

“I was on the run with a case of rather valuable documents I’d just lifted. Probably woulda been caught too if I hadn’t run into you.”

“Oh, now I remember,” said Aiden, but he laughed warmly. “I was standing on the sidewalk. You barreled into me, shoved the box in my hands and told me to run.”

Fiearius grinned proudly. “Did I ever thank you for holding onto that for me? ‘Cause thanks.”

“You didn’t, but you’re welcome. I got free ship passage out of it, at least … “

“Well this one’ll be different,” Fiearius promised. “Just gotta get into this guy’s fancy mansion, make sure he’s not paying attention, grab the shiny and get out. Gardién’s wife gets her necklace, he gets a whole ‘nother year to figure out the next anniversary theft and we get enough cash to make it to Ellegy and back.” Absently, he pulled a coin out of his pocket and started flipping it between his fingers. “At the very least,” he went on, glancing back at Aiden, “you’ll be more prepared this time. Speaking of which, how’s the distraction plan comin’?”

Suddenly, Aiden looked startled. “Plan? Wait now, I’m supposed to have a plan?”

Fiearius smirked, knowing full well Aiden was exactly the kind of person — unlike himself — who kept plans to each minute detail. He was certain Aiden knew exactly how to keep Sanilac Mauve in conversation as he and Corra snuck through his house and nabbed the necklace. After all, Aiden had the personal connection: years ago, Sanilac had fired Aiden from his teaching job at the university.

It was no wonder, then, why Aid agreed to help on this job.  Even good, honest people had a taste for vengeance.

The three of them continued down a sloped icy street, silent and thoughtful until Aiden looked over his shoulder. “Corra, why so quiet?” he asked, and then smiled. “You’re not nervous for this, are you? The captain’s plans always go so flawlessly.”

Corra looked up at him with round eyes, like a student caught not paying attention to the lecture. She stammered, “Oh yeah, no. I’m…I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Fiearius cocked a brow at her, curious. It wasn’t like Corra to be so silent nor was it like her to be so mopey and it definitely wasn’t like her not to take the bait on mocking him. With a worried glance at Aiden, he told her, “Thought you’d be more excited about this. Haven’t pulled one of these jobs in ages.”

Drawing back from the hug, Corra noticed the two of them staring at each other and laughed cheerfully. “Cy-cy, this is Rodrik,” she introduced, oblivious to whatever malicious thoughts were going through this Rodrik’s head. “Rodrik, this is Cyrus, the friend I was waiting for.” She grinned at each of them in turn and then seized Cyrus’ arm gleefully. “Come on!” she cheered, “Come dance with me!”

Corra started to pull him off into the crowd and Cyrus, eager to get away from whatever beating was coming his way if he stayed where he was, willingly followed. But before he could even move a foot, a second hand grabbed his shoulder, Corra’s grip slipped away and Cyrus was forcefully turned to face the grim leer of her former dance partner.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to cut in?” Rodrik asked, shouting over the music.

Cyrus’ first instinct whenever someone larger than him started threatening him was to run. But he had consumed just enough liquor and was having an evening just bad enough to overcome that instinct.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to steal someone’s date?” he snapped back, surprised at his own daring.

“I didn’t steal anything,” the man argued abruptly. “I just saw a cute girl and asked her to dance. Ain’t my fault her ‘date’ abandoned her.” Cyrus jerked his shoulder out of the man’s grip and opened his mouth to respond, but Rodrik beat him to it. “How bout you just get the hell outta here? That girl deserves someone who’ll treat her proper.”

At once, Cyrus was overcome with a blend of rage and despair. In equal measures he wanted to defend himself (“You don’t even know what you’re talking about, it’s not like that at all, shut up!” he’d shout), and run away. He hadn’t abandoned her. She wanted to dance, he let her dance. If anything, she had abandoned him, as soon as she’d decided not to give the nice restaurant a chance.

But she hadn’t given it a chance because she didn’t feel comfortable there. Just as he didn’t feel comfortable here. The realization spread over him uneasily. Maybe Rodrik was right after all. Cyrus knew that Corra wasn’t the type for fancy restaurants and polite dinner conversation, but he’d tried to fit her into that familiar mold anyway. A mold she didn’t fit in. And in return, she’d done the same to him. Maybe he really was a terrible date.

“Cyrus?” Corra pushed back through the crowd towards them and laid a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon,” she insisted again, but before Cyrus could even answer, Rodrik stepped in.

“He was just thinking of leaving,” the man said darkly, putting his hand on Cyrus’ other shoulder and gently pushing him out of the way. Cyrus looked up at him hopelessly and for a moment believed that he probably should just leave. Until Corra spoke up.

“Oh?” she asked, casting him a worried stare. “Okay, let me just finish my drink and we can go?”

A warmth suddenly arose in Cyrus’ chest. A warmth that was quickly put out when Rodrik relented his grip on Cyrus and moved towards Corra instead, insisting, “Oh, you don’t have to go too. Stay, dance some more, I’ll make sure you get home safe.”

“No thanks,” was Corra’s immediate response and she smiled at Cyrus. “I don’t mind going now, really.”

Cyrus felt a large temptation to step forward and pull her into another hug, but this guy apparently was not giving up so easily. He looked shocked, and then simply appalled that she’d turned down the offer. “Aw c’mon, stay a little longer. We were having fun til this guy showed up.” He jerked his thumb towards Cyrus.

This time, when Corra looked up at him, it was with irritation. “I’m still having fun actually,” she corrected, her tone terse. “Cyrus, let’s go.”

“Seriously?” Rodrik asked, defeated and now grasping at straws. “You really wanna go with this loser?”

Privately, Cyrus agreed with the sentiment, but apparently it was the wrong thing to say to Corra. Corra suddenly spun back around, fury in her eyes. “Excuse me?” she said viciously. Her hand, Cyrus noticed, was still wrapped around his wrist.

“C’mon, look at him,” Rodrik explained, though his tone suggested he already knew this was a losing battle. “Dressed up like some fancy prick? What the hell’s that about? And what’s this?” Before Cyrus could stop him, he reached over and seized the roses from his hand, holding them up in demonstration. “Flowers? Really? What is it, 1810?”

With a hearty scoff, he lifted his shoulders and tossed the bouquet to the floor where it was immediately stomped on by nearby dancers.

Cyrus had seen Corra angry plenty of times, but never had he seen her with quite the amount of fury that filled her as she watched her flowers pulverized by heavy shoes and four inch heels. Her eyes went from the destruction on the floor, up to Rodrik’s face and finally down to the still half full glass in her hand.

With a low growl, the last two combined as Corra splashed what was left of it straight in his eyes. “Those were mine, you son of a bitch!” she shouted angrily. But apparently, the drink wasn’t enough to satisfy her. Distractedly, she tossed the empty glass aside (Cyrus thought he heard someone shriek as it smashed on the floor), and while Rodrik was still reeling from the alcohol burning his eyeballs, she sucker-punched him right in the jaw.

Corra paid no heed to the gasps of shock and awe as she confidently strode out of the bar, Cyrus immediately on her heels, more happy than ever to leave this place.

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

” …. right in the face. It hurt like hell, honestly,” Leta was saying, her voice uneven as she fought off another bout of laughter, “but it hurt her more. I actually broke her nose.”

Fiearius laughed, loud and uneven, as he handed her another shot glass, brimming and spilling over with whiskey. It was their — fourth shot? Or maybe their sixth, judging by the unsteadiness to Fiearius’ stance and the glassiness in his eyes when he grinned sloppily at her. She’d never actually seen the captain drunk before, and it struck her as particularly hilarious; even he couldn’t hold this much liquor.

In one swift motion she downed the shot, grimacing as it burned down her throat. Then she laughed and coughed as she tried to remember what it was they were even discussing …

Oh right. The one and only time she’d ever punched anyone, back in high school. “There was so much blood,” she recalled, sighing wistfully. “Enough that they had to repaint a wall.”

She laughed again, and then clasped a hand over her mouth as she hiccuped. It was admittedly difficult to keep track of the conversation now that they had moved into the kitchen to finish off this bottle — and it was nearly empty now, she realized, picking up the bottle by the neck and tilting it back and forth with interest.

“Anyway,” said Leta, noticing a certain wobbliness in her voice. She lowered the bottle beside her before looking over at Fiearius. He was leaning sideways against the cabinets, facing her, currently finishing off his own shot. She sat sideways atop the counter, one leg swinging toward the floor. “What were we talking about again?”

“How you like to beat up high school girls,” Fiearius said at once, sliding his empty glass across the counter, his eyes following it with a drunken level of interest.

“Wh — no, that was only once. And I think actually we were speculating about how the date is going.”

Fiearius, who was busy flicking the emptying bottle as though it was the most important thing he ever had to do, picked up his head in alarm.

“What date?” he demanded. “I never said anything about this being a date.”

“Well good,” said Leta blankly, and then recovered, “because this isn’t. Cyrus and Corra, however … “

After a moment of profound confusion, Fiearius blinked. “Oh yeah,” he remembered, laughing slowly. “My brother.” He fell silent, and then said abruptly, “Hey, I used to beat up high school people too. Not girls usually. But they always picked on my lil brother for being a goddamn nerd.” He made a fist and frowned at it determinedly. “So I punched ‘em in the face. Only took a couple times though.” He grinned proudly. “Then no one ever bothered him again.”

Leta looked between Fiearius and the fist he was making, wondering where this story had came from, but snorting out a laugh all the same. “Wow, you punching someone. Shocking.” But actually, there was something she wondered, and she tilted her heavy head to the side. “Were you two close growing up then?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, dropping his fist. “Real close. Our house was pretty small so we had to share a room and sometimes we’d just stay up for hours talking about everything. School, home, our family, girls. We used to help each other write love letters,” he remembered with a laugh. “I had the ideas, he had the grammar and literary reference. They were damn poetry. Worked for me a couple times. I think Cy was always too chicken to send his though.” He smiled at the memory, but it faded as he added, “But I left home at sixteen and didn’t talk to him for ten years so…” He grimaced and shrugged. “Oops.”

Before Leta could response, Fiearius continued his rambling, seemingly choosing the words out of thin air.

“Look, it’s not that I don’t want them to be happy,” he said suddenly, focusing his hazy eyes on her with difficulty. “Cy and Corra I mean. Since I bet my ship against them and all. I want them to be. Really. And I love Corra, I do. And so does Cy, obviously. But as much as he thinks otherwise, she’s just not the right girl for him. I know it. She knows it. If he’d just open his eyes for a few minutes and stop being blinded by those big brown eyes of hers, he’d know it too.”

“Sometimes,” Leta put in quietly, “people can’t help who they like.”

Fiearius frowned. “Cyrus has this underlying belief that all it takes for a good relationship is being nice to each other,” he went on, almost as though Leta wasn’t in the room at all. “You like someone, they like you, you laugh a bit, have some conversations, good to go. He and Corra are friends, they get along well, she has female parts, clearly they are meant to be. But that’s not true.” He pointed his finger at Leta accusingly. “It’s not true.”

“It could be true,” Leta argued.

“I was married for four years,” he continued, laughing oddly as though he, himself, couldn’t believe it either. “Trust me, that’s not true. And you probably know that too, don’t you? You know. Real love, the kind that makes a…thing, a long thing, and isn’t just…you know, whatever it is, it’s way more than friendship. It’s trust. And honesty. And respect and anger and forgiveness and all the little pieces of you that you wish no one knew, it’s that. It’s understanding and willingness to understand.” As he spoke, he moved his hands in the air dramatically, as though trying to act out the concepts.

“It’s taking out your soul and laying it on a table and smashing it with a hammer and letting the other person try and put it back together again.” His hand gestures were particularly dramatic at this point. “Real love isn’t fluffy, happy friendship, it’s a connection. A connection that you want but don’t want at the same time. Something you can’t live with. But you can’t live without either.”

Seemingly at the height of his rant, he turned suddenly to Leta and his expression fell into concern as he asked, “You know what I mean, right?”

Leta hadn’t expected to him to address her, so when he did, she felt caught. She didn’t particularly want him to notice how curiously she was watching him now, intent on his every word.

“Yeah,” she said at last quietly. “Yeah, I do.”

It was in the next moment that Leta, all at once, noticed their proximity: he slanted sideways against the counter, oriented fully to her now, his gaze level with hers. Her foot was swung over the counter’s edge, touching his knee. They were inches apart; she could have counted the scars marring the edges of his face.

When had this happened? She didn’t remember this happening.

She searched his face in surprise, then quickly averted her eyes and reached for the bottle again so she could subtly shift away.

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

“Yeah, I’ve been in a barfight before.”

Corra laughed incredulously and squeezed his arm. “No you haven’t.”

“I have too,” Cyrus defended adamantly as he walked along the street back towards the dock. It was quiet in this part of the city, almost peaceful. “A few times actually.”

Corra laughed, looping her arm through his as she strolled alongside him. “Oh really? Do tell,” she demanded skeptically.

“There was one time on Tarin,” he recounted, “And there was another one on that little planet a few days out from Kadolyne? The one with that big monument of the person with wings and–”

“Lodain,” Corra put in helpfully.

“Right, Lodain. And then the one on Archeti,” he finished proudly.

“The one on Archeti?” Corra asked, indignant, though she was grinning. “What, the one where you got poisoned? Cy-cy, you were on the floor dying through the entire thing.”

“Well…yeah, but I was there,” he argued simply.

“And the other two?” He cast her a guilty smirk. “I wonder how those got started?”

“Okay, maybe my brother had something to do with it,” he admitted, looking ahead as the Dionysian came into view at last. The ship was a welcome sight, although he wasn’t sure he was ready for the night to end.

With a sigh, he started to open the ramp to the cargo bay, throwing a look toward Corra at his side. “But I was conscious for those two fights,” he reminded her, picking up the thread of their conversation. “I even punched someone in one of them.”

Corra shook her head, slowing to a stop. “You know, I’m okay with you not punching people, actually,” she declared. “I need at least one friend who has a less than fifty percent chance of ending up imprisoned for grievous bodily harm.”

“Dunno if I can keep that up,” he muttered regrettably and raised his arm to flex his bicep. Or, what little of one existed. “It’s not easy keeping this much raw power contained.”

She laughed even harder now, a little too hard, actually. Maybe he should have been offended. In any case, he said, “Seriously though. Thanks for punching that guy. Sorry you’re not allowed in that club anymore.”

Corra just smiled back at him kindly. “That’s okay, it was a stupid club anyway,” she remarked flippantly as her eyes trailed down to the hood hanging around his neck. Fussily, she readjusted where it sat on his shoulders. “You don’t even really look like a fancy prick, by the way,” she told him bluntly. “I’m mostly just bummed he wrecked my flowers.”

“Even if it’s old-fashioned?” he wondered quietly, suddenly finding their proximity and the foggy moonlight shining on her face particularly distracting.

“Especially if it’s old-fashioned,” she assured him with a smile. The sight of it actually made his heart — he swore it, biology be damned — halt in his chest.

Go for it, he told himself, as a brief, expectant silence fell between them. Go for it. Fear of rejection shouldn’t have held him back. Not when she was standing so close, smiling up at him like that and she was just within his reach. This was his chance, possibly the only one he’d ever get. He’d be a fool not to take advantage of it.

“I uh…I had a really good time tonight,” he muttered, since it sounded right, but of course Corra scoffed.

“No you didn’t.” She cocked a brow. “You had a terrible time.”

He considered arguing, but finally relented,“Yeah actually. I did. But…not now.” He cast her a hopeful smile. “I’m having a good time now.”

She chuckled, squeezing his arm warmly. “Well good,” she said simply. “Me too.”

This was it, right? Cyrus had seen enough movies to know that this was it. This was when he was supposed to lean in and …

His gaze lowered to her mouth, noting the particular curve of lips like it was his job to memorize the shape. His hand tentatively found the small of her back, and he leaned his lips gently down to meet hers, closing the small distance between them.

It was more of a light brush than a real kiss, but it still sent warmth running madly to his limbs. Before he had a chance to deepen it, Corra’s voice suddenly filled his ears, worried and alarmed.

“Cyrus, I — “

His eyes opened at once, just in time to see Corra step backward, breaking their embrace. Immediately, Cyrus felt all his insides churn at the look on her face: she looked stunned. Lost, even.

“I don’t –” she tried again, another step backwards. Her eyes widened in apology. “I have to go,” she said, and before he could find his voice, she had turned away from him and fled into the ship, leaving him standing at the bottom of the ramp, dumbfounded and alone.