Khymarah sat in the dark, quiet of her sitting room, resting her chin on her hand, staring at the cold fireplace. The past few days had been unusal for the redheaded galdor. She'd left the harbour in the night, carried by moadrawn wagon, wrapped in a smelly old blanket. Alone, except for the unspeaking wagon driver, she'd slept only a little, afraid of her own shadow it seemed. Arriving just outside of Vienda, she had paid the man, then walked the rest of the way to the city.

Once inside, she felt out of place. Even though no one could really know, she felt like all the Seventen at the gate knew she'd been involved in the rescue. Fear settled in the pit of her stomach, as well as something else. Vienda wasn't her city anymore, it wasn't her familiar town. It felt forgien. Dirty. Taking herself home, she bathed. A long, hot bath, washing away the grime of the Rose and the feeling of filth she had. The next few days had been a bit of a blur, Khymarah found herself sitting for long periods just staring into nothing. Reliving everything. Thinking about what Fion had said.

Ivan was formost in her mind, but she didn't know how to go to him. She'd reacted poorly to a situation she'd only seen a fraction of. Would he even want to see her? The thought of rejection turned her stomach and made her chest hurt. Sitting now, staring into the unlit fireplace, she shook herself.

"I need a drink." The galdor said to herself quietly. Standing, she gathered her cloak, throwing it over the deep scarlet gown she wore. Leaving the hood down, Khymarah left the manor, walking briskly to the nearest tavern, finding little comfort in the dull orange light spilling from its windows, determined to get...

Slowing as she reached the place of ill repute, she stopped. Get what? A whiskey? A rum? A Chroves Erse?! What the clock was she doing!? She didn't even know what to drink, let alone whether she would even drink it. Shaking her head, she turned back around, embarassed at herself, wanting to get home as fast as she could. At least she could hide in the dark again.

Ivan awoke in the exact spot and position he'd curled up in on his return; the middle of the cold wooden floor, dumped awkwardly around the letter he'd found that morning. His head unstuck from the floor with a faint peeling sound, pulling at the corner of his mouth where saliva had fastened him to the boards. He blinked through a foggy mask and could not yet see, but from the light he could tell it was already early evening. He made an unmodest slurping sound and swallowed through a dry throat. Edges were resolving now, detail focusing.
Soon everything looked once again sharp and real, yet simultaneously unbelievable. It wasn't the first time he'd been fooled by a dream, and Ivan set about pinching himself and looking for any tells that would prove the setting false. He found none.

Had he really done it? Was Alstair dead, in, as he now remembered, a hundred pieces, opened up, maybe burnt to a bloody crisp by now?
It certainly didn't seem real. Wasn't he meant to feel different?
He'd killed people before, and there'd always been something. Today felt just like any other day, but for a dry mouth and the familiar ache of loss in his gut.

He realised suddenly he was sat propped in the same place he'd been when the passive had shot him. Ivan rolled up his leg and prodded the scar, then made to inspect his healed chest wound when he felt a dry crack in his throat and fell about coughing through the discomfort.
He needed a drink.

The doctor washed and changed, taking a few moments to dry his mass of hair until at least it didn't drip anymore. It was corpselike, cold and heavy with moisture, but he could wait no longer, and left hurriedly.

He watched the stones and cobbles pass by as he walked, familiar enough with the route to let his head hang low as he made steadily for the pub. It wasn't the lantern - he could never go there again, not after being seen insulting an officer of the law. Arguing with a dead man.
But any place would do.

He looked up to see what establishment his feet had selected. People were all around, the night was young.
He thought of turning back, then he saw her.

As she began to make hey way back up the street, a cool breeze tugged at her hair. Reaching up for her hood, she glanced up at the sky. The evening stars were hidden by thick black clouds. There was a storm coming. Looking back down, she began to pullup the hood and froze. A familiar and very missed man stood in the street, looking at her.

Khymarah didn't move, couldn't breathe. So many things caught her. Suprize, happiness, embarassment, anguish, relief. Her heart thumped in her ears as she began to force herself fowards, realizing how out of place it would look to others, a golly and a human locked in eye contact. Reaching Doctor Mottoni, she tried to speak, but nothing came out. Clearing her throat, she finally found a voice, quiet and on the edge of tears.

"Good evening Doctor, what a suprize to see you here. Having a drink before bed?" Her voice was distant, as though she wadn't sure if he wad real or not.

(( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SiO_7LhPZFM ))

She froze in her tracks, and he too found himself compelled to stillness. The nighttime air tugged on her hood, the hem winking over her blue eye indecisively. A complex sequence of ripples took hold of her expression and betrayed her turmoil. He half expected her to turn tail and run, but she didn't.

She walked towards him with glinted glazed eyes, stopping a neutral distance before him. He cast his eyes to the floor, unsure of what to do.

She spoke, sounding alien and cold, but he could hear the great effort it took, like she was supporting an aqueduct running over a valley.

He didn't know how to respond. Did he play along? He could put them both in danger if he didn't hide what was happening, and yet he did not move. His hands felt strangely numb as he withdrew her letter from his jacket pocket, and his eyes didn't know where to go. It seemed each time they flicked here or there, the wobbly spectre he saw waxed and waxed until his lashes could not hold on any longer.

She was back!

The fat tear tickled a groove down his face and he was taken by a great shaky sniff. Not knowing what else to do, he slowly fell to one knee, took her soft and pale hand in his rough and calloused digits, and kissed the back of it, soft and slow, like a cloud passing overhead. His tear fell through the groove of her knucles, and he remained knelt, waiting for her reaction.

Khymarah's gaze fell on the familar piece of paper he pulled from his pocket. Her letter, he had recieved it! Fighting to hold back the tears that filled her two-tone eyes, she smiled a little. Glancing up and the worn and wary man, she felt a stab of guilt in her stomach at his watery vision, butterflies in her stomach. She was a stupid, immature child. How could have she left him like that, how could have she accused him so easily. Watching as he crumbled to the ground, kissing her hand softly, she closed her eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks. A soft sob, sounding more like a gasp, escaped her lips.

"Ivan," She whispered, her voice almost inaudible as she squeezed his hand in hers. Swallowing back the hitching in her voice, she pulled on his hand lightly. The galdor didn't dare look around, unwilling to draw any attention to themselves, frightened of the consequences. Praying silently, she only hoped the were too drunk and into themselves to notice the human and the galdor. Opening her eyes, she looked down at him with an almost pleading expression.

"Please get up, before someone calls the guards." The redhead said softly, tears running steadily. All she wished to do was kneal before him, hold him close and let him know how much she cared about him. How much she wanted to run away from here, away from Vienda and its filth.

He got up quickly, and in the same movement turned away, trying to look like they were near only by coincidence. He'd not spotted any onlookers, but it was hard to tell without drawing further attention, and he had no intention of dallying. He wiped his face with his forearm, then dropped it to his side again. He was still holding the letter. He hoped she could see it, see him subtly indicating with a flick of the wrist that she should follow him at a safe distance. He started off in the direction he'd come, not risking to see if she would follow until they were at least round the next corner.

Letting go of his hand as he stood, Khymarah's eyes drifted back to the letter, vision slight blurred by tears and throat hurting with the strain of holding back her crying. The doctor's hand twitched, before quite suddenly he began to leave. Her heart thumped violently in her chest as fresh tears welled up. He was angry, he was leaving! Watching him go, she could feel her loneliness and dispair creeping up on her. Glancing around the street as she pulled her hood closer, the redhead started to follow him just as he rounded the corner. Her walk turned ito a quick step, almost a jog, breathless from her grief and blinking away the salty tears blurring her vision.

Reaching the corner, she practically ran around, looking for his familar form, not wanting it to end like this.

"Hello?" She called out in a broken voice, fearing she would see no one there.

He'd stopped a little way further, standing in the mouth of an alley, facing the other way and trying to look casual while wiping an eye with his palm.



He tried not to turn around, tried to look uninterested or that he hadn't heard her. The road was less busy than the other but still there were people about, enough to prevent him going to her. He waited for three paralysing seconds, then risked a glance.

Follow me! he wanted to say, but she was still too far for a hiss to carry. Again he signalled with her letter to follow, then began again to walk towards Friar Road.

With relief, she saw him there, back to her, almost as if he didn't even know she existed. What was he doing? Slowing her pace, her breath caught as he turned for but a glance, then headed off again, letter in hand. Pausing she slowly realised. He wasn't running away from her, he was signally her to follow!

Relief washed over her as she complied, keeping her distance, swallowing back tears. It was a familar street he took her down, Friar Road. Her feet almost knew the path off by heart. Even if she lost sight of him now, she knew where he was going. It was almost impossible not to run after him. How long had it been? How stupid had she been? Pushing on, she only hoped he could forgive her.

They'd made it to his street, and had miraculously not yet been spotted. He cursed himself silently for the scene he'd made earlier. How foolish! How easily they could have been seen!

He unlocked the double doors and before entering adjusted the "closed" sign that had become skewed since he'd gone out, then stepped inside and let the door remain open just a peek, resting on the latch. He waited inside, with an acute sense of muted impatience. Was she still following? Would she come inside?

Walking up the street, the last thing she saw was the silouette of the doctor, dissapearing into shadows. Catching up to where he dissapeared, she looked at the darkened surgery doors, noticing how one sat off the latch. Looking down the street briefly, she reached out and pushed the door open, stepping inside.

It was darker inside, but she could see him there, standing in the middle of the room, waiting. The redhed didn't say anything, closing the door behind her back and leaning against it as it clicked shut. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest as she looked at him. Waiting for a response. An angry yell, or perhaps a heartbroken farewell. Eitherway, she was prepared for the worst. Or she hoped she was.

After the door clicked shut, silence flooded the surgery once more. If felt as if it had been abandoned for months, not the warm quiet of a home, but the harsh coldness of a derelict hostel. For a time, nothing stirred but the static ringing in their ears, raised to fever pitch for lack of any whisper to latch onto.

The silence ripped apart at the sound of floorboards creaking to rest, then rapid thumps under foot, and then a huge rattling pound as Ivan's clenched fists slammed into the door above her head.

Silence again, like the instant before rain, like the moment before a breath. He kissed her.

The redhead felt her blood run cold for a moment as he came towards her, not frightened so much as surprised, jumping as the door rattled behind her, breathing quickened and a small gasp escaping her lips. Her dual colored eyes stared up at him with wide eyed anticipation, unsure of what he was planning to do. The silence felt thick and heavy as Khymarah stood, back pressed to the door, lips parted, looking into his eyes. It seemed like seconds turned into minutes as they stood like that, inches apart from each other, tortuously close after so long apart.

Then his lips were on hers, and everything else fell away. Closing her eyes, she returned the kiss, hands straying to rest on his chest, fingers curling into his shirt slightly, heart drumming against her ribs. It had been so long, she'd been so lonely without him, like all the spark had disappeared from her life. Her field hummed like a drawn bow string, enveloping him as she breathed deeply through her nose. The world could end at this moment, and she would be happy. As they lingered, lips pressed together in sweet reunion, tears welled under closed eyelids, rolling down her cheeks slowly.

Ivan felt like a man set free, pardoned suddenly from a terrible sentence, every liberty he'd lost, restored, all at once. Her field saturated him like an unexpected whiff of an exotic scent, causing a pleasant flinching gasp.
He pulled away for a moment and looked down at her with darkened and dilated eyes.

"Do you want to?"

As he pulled away from the kiss, Khymarah tightened her hold on his shirt, unwilling to let him leave her again. Her pulse thummped loudly in her ears as she caught her breath, captivated by the look in his eyes. A warmth spread across her cheeks and down her throat, sending a small shiver up her spine.



The question hung between them, serious and meaniful, sending her blush deeper. She'd said no before, avoided it and shyed away with fear, naive about the whole thing. But then, things had happened, and they had been seperated, cut off, without so much as a goodbye. Did she want to? Gods, yes, before anything else could take him away from her. Biting her lower lip nervously, she nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Her curling fingers pulled his shirt down and taught around his shoulders, lifting the edge at his back and letting some of the cool hallway air in. All his senses seemed to be heightened, a peculiarity he encountered whenever within a strong field. She nodded shyly to him, and a wave of blood and heat ascended his face.

He picked her up with little effort, the same way he had lifted her in her studio, what now felt like a lifetime ago. Draped in his arms and pink with embarrasment, she looked less the formidable galdori operative and more the young artist, naïve in the ways of love, and ignorant to the folly of being with a human.

Ivan knocked the door closed with a foot, then made his way steadily up the groaning staircase, his excitement only tempered by the fear that he could wake up from this dream at any moment.

As he lifted her, Khymarah wrapped her arms around his neck, red hair coming loose from under the cloak and draping across her shoulder and his arm. Cheeks burning, she looked up at him, dual colored eyes trusting and open. A million things to say, a million apologies to make...and nothing came from her lips.

As they ascended the stairs, she finally opened her mouth to speak.

"Ivan, I..." She began softly, pausing, unsure of what to say, frightened she would say too little. That she wouldn't convey just how sorry she was, how much she'd missed him. Looking away from his deep gaze, she tried again.

"I'm sorry, for, everything." The galdor said, almost a whisper. It wasn't enough, but, it was a start.