Fion had always felt a certain ambivalence for the phrase, "no time like the present." There were always better times, like later or after she'd had a nap or even as soon as possible. The present never had enough time for her, it ran by far too quickly. That and it was difficult to seize when the man she wanted to involve in it was unconscious. She wasn't even sure if he was awake now.

She wasn't sure if she should knock.

Fion rubbed her hand over her brow and tried to remember what it had been like to feel confident. Luckily for her, she remembered that she largely wasn't. She was just great at faking it. Stu wasn't the greatest at picking up subtext, if he had been, they would have gone to the circus together those many years ago.

She was worried about him. It had taken all her strength not to look in on him the night before and possibly interrupt his sleep. Instead, she'd sat outside his door for an hour before giving up and going to bed. Sleep had been elusive but she was used to working without it.

She knocked, three times. "Stu, are you in?"

She wanted to go to the beach.

From inside the room came a muffled groan, sounding surprisingly like when Piran stuffed his face under the pillow and wordlessly voiced his displeasure at having to get up for breakfast.

Fion laughed a little, under her breath. It wasn't exactly an invitation but she was going to take it. She hadn't realised that she'd been holding her breath, waiting for any indication that he was still inside and breathing and not back at the gaol. She opened the door slowly, sliding inside and closing it behind her.

"Hey Stu." She said, using his real name since she was sure no one else would hear it. "How you doing?"

She took a moment to acclimatize to the change in light. Stu's room was darker than the hall she'd been in before. She could make out a lump on his bed. She assumed it was him.

She wanted to ask if he needed anything but she didn't want him to think she'd come just for that. She wanted to talk to him.

His brain was exhausted; his muscles and limbs were rested, but he felt as though his mind had finished a marathon. In truth he had gotten little sleep the night before, so preoccupied was he on the troubling matter of Fion being in the next room, probably sleeping peacefully, so close by.

Now she was at his door. In a corset.

He struggled to sit up, and reached groggily for the light beside his bed only to realize it wasn't there; this wasn't the Book and Bell, but the same hot and muggy room he had dozed off in. Everything was sticking to itself.

He didn't dare look up at her, knowing that the moment he did, all the thoughts he had been repressing for the last ten years would bubble up inside him once more and take control of his body. Being face-to-face with oblivion had done something to him; he realized now how close he had come to dying without ever having kissed her, without having told her how he really felt. And the worst thought of all was that despite everything they had been through, the situation was still as impossible; she didn't love him; she had a family, and responsibilities; they were involved in a resistance that would surely tear them apart one day; he was a wanted man...

"I'm...alive," he replied, the only words that came to mind to describe his state of being; his voice was raspy. He rubbed the back of his neck, noticing that his shirt had been removed and that thick white bandages had been wrapped around his shoulder and torso. He winced as he rubbed the spot where the arrow had pierced him.

"So I see." Fion said, a grin so relieved that it bordered on stupid blooming on her face.

She brushed her hands down her skirt. She'd been watching the women she could see since they'd arrived in Old Rose and the consensus seemed to be that corsets were the go. Hers was much plainer than any she'd seen but it did have some nice embroidery on it. He seemed to be avoiding looking at her and she hoped it was because her choice in outfits was a good one. The alternative was that it was embarassingly bad.

She walked over to his bed, hands behind her back so he wouldn't see their nervous shake. She sat down on the corner of it, near Stu's knees. She leant down slightly, trying to get within his eyeline.

"Does it hurt too badly? I wasn't exactly gentle when I pulled the bolt out..." She wasn't sure she'd done the right thing.

Her eyes traced his new scars, taking in the changes. His nose was now a different shape, he had a scar through his brow, over his lip. She was sure that she was breaking one of those nice boundaries that friends generally had between them to avoid embarassment.

"You look very rugged." She said, lips quirking, still liking the look of him even if she hated what he'd been through.

Stu shook his head. It did hurt - there was a dull, digging pain, like something was burrowing into his muscle, but it was manageable. He hadn't noticed until she mentioned it.



"Good," he replied, "that was what I was going for."

He managed a crooked smile, and accidentally looked up at her.

In the past he had read bed-time stories to Ginny, or rather she had read them to him; there was usually a prince and a princess involved, and when one looked upon the other their face was unanimously described as being encircled with a halo of gold, a blooming sheen of perfection washing out every defect in their features, bright eyes shining like the sun. It was never like that with Fion. She looked dull as anything else in the dim surroundings, devoid of unexplained ethereal light. But when he looked at her he felt the same way he always did - like the room was somehow a little less dim, the filth on the walls less noticeable, the clenched feeling in his stomach released. Nothing further was needed, and had a mysteriously glowing princess suddenly waltzed into the room he wouldn't have even glanced away.

Fion felt her heart jump, when he smiled and she saw that hidden, kind look in his eyes. She felt strange, very odd indeed, like she was seeing the sky, after a life of looking down. She wondered if she'd just given up on propriety. It was very human, to avoid sight. You could simplify so much of the world just by not looking at it.

Fion laughed a little, at the joke, her torso shuddering slightly. It was an immature laugh. Not the sort for high wit. The laughter was comfortable.

"The ladies like it, trust me." She said, sitting up again so that her head was no longer tilted and her hair was no longer trailing towards the sheets. She rested her arm on her knee and placed her chin on her palm. She felt quiet, though it would have been a lie to say she felt serene. There was much that Fion wanted to do.

"I think you should get some sun." She said, speaking as though she spoke only for the interests of his health. Fion had learned to enjoy blatant hints in her lying voice. "You look a little pale. Come for a walk with me."

There was no question, the the upward lilt of her voice implied one. Fion wanted to get out for a while, wanted to keep her eye firmly on the man for as long as he would endure her. For once she was free of the anchor of her life and while much of it was fiercely loved and hard fought for, she was ready to embrace the break from reality. For as long as it would last.

Sun? Sun...it had been ages since he'd seen the sun properly.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied with feigned soberness, as though the paleness of his skin was a grave matter that deserved immediate resolving. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and felt around for his boots.

Right. Old Rose. No boots by the side of the bed. He spotted his prisoners' boots in the corner; they had taken his good ones. A creature of habit, that was what he was; outside of the tavern he felt lost, completely separated from everything familiar to him, but also strangely free.

"Where are we going?" he added, pulling on the boots and scanning the room for a shirt.

Fion contemplated helping him look for a shirt then decided she'd rather just look at him instead. It wasn't as though she had much opportunity to see any part of the male anatomy during a day, not until recently and not since she'd stopped seeing Dem. She realised, abruptly, that it had only been a week. Guilt began to rise and then was quelled by the same thing that had been affecting her since she'd left Vienda.

Stu had almost died and now they were in Old Rose. She wasn't going to waste the time she had with him on her own regrets. They were alive despite the best efforts of the seventen. All was as best as it could be.

"Well, we're not too far from the ocean. I'd like to see it. I've never been before." Fion replied, still tracking Stu's movements with a light eye. "I don't have any of the local coin but at least the view is free."

She smiled at her own little joke.

Stu inhaled sharply as he pulled on his shirt, which had been halfheartedly washed so that the bloodstains resembled pale brown patches. His shoulder had twinged.

"You mean you've never been to Old Rose?" he said incredulously. "It's...practically the center of the world..."

----

The guards to Silas Hawke's mansion waved them casually past, not even checking their names; whispers and glances confirmed that they knew exactly who they were, but apparently they had been given orders not to detain them.

The sun was blindingly bright outside, and Stu lifted his hand to his eyes as he looked back at the Palace. It was even gaudier in the light of day than it was at night. The cracked, water-stained gradation on the plaster, the mold and fungus-strewn stone work and the rusty patina of the iron made it look like some giant decrepit monster of architecture was looming over them.

From the road that led down to the oasis, one could look out over the tops of trees and see the water, albeit with some difficulty through the mass of boats and docks.

Stu gestured out to the sea and turned to Fion inquisitively.

"That close enough?" he teased. "Or should we approach it cautiously?"

Fion had no eyes for Hawke's mansion. It's walls and vines and iron bars could not compare to the sight of the ocean. Fion had seen only the Stacks and the towns around it, before moving to Vienda. She hadn't travelled beyond since.

This was freedom and Fion was in love with the sea.

"No, no, much closer." She said, excited enough to react inappropriately to teasing.

Usually she laughed and mocked back or flicked her hair and feigned offense. She slipped her left arm through Stu's right, squeezing it. She felt nervous. Her hand might have been shaking, slightly, just slightly. Not enough to feel. Just enough so that she could notice.

She felt ashamed that even Stu had been to the harbour before, while Fion had been tied to home. Like a good girl, a good wife, though she was none of those. Fion wasn't sure how to act. This was not her territory. Not even territory that she could bend into being hers, she could almost feel it twisting and becoming newer and older with every breath.

"Can I hold your hand? I might get lost." She said belatedly, since her hand was already on his arm.

She didn't want to drag him but she did want to get up close. She wanted to touch that water and walk on the sand. It lookd so beautiful from afar.

Stu had momentarily forgotten where, and who, he was. Her voice jolted him. Knowing he would only stammer like an idiot if he answered, he wordlessly took her tiny hand in his own and consented to be dragged down the road.

His last visit to Old Rose had been almost twenty years ago, he reckoned. His father had been importing some Hoxian rockwine, a popular specialty drink in those days; he had been only a boy, tagging along, marveling at the wide ocean and the exotic sights and smells of the harbor. He remembered only bits and pieces, like dragging his fingers along a display of silk, tasting whiskey in the pub for the first time, digging his feet into the sand, being ushered quickly away from a pair of street-walkers by his protective father.

There were dangers here, and he didn't mind watching Fion closely. He didn't mind it one bit...

The road led to the Drought, a little secluded oasis that was deserted in the light of day. A nearly invisible footpath led through the trees; after a few minutes of pushing aside palm leaves and bushes, they found themselves stepping into the sunlight once more. This area of beach was a couple miles off from the main port, and also deserted; the bone-white sand looked undisturbed. Apparently the denizens of Old Rose were jaded about nature in general. Beyond the beach, the water looked blue and green and milky; the frothy surf was heaving itself onto the shore, propelled by the seasonal shift in the Aulus. Specks of sunlight sparkled in a swarm on the ripples.

As Stuart took her hand, Fion allowed herself a moment to be off colour.

"You have big hands." She said, smirking lightly and leaving the comment in the air.

It wasn't as though she'd teased him lately.

---

Fion hadn't had the time to embrace nature in years. She'd forgotten that it often involved being slapped face-first by a branch. She avoided the brunt of it by staying close to Stu's back. The humidity seemed less cloying, this close to the beach. The breeze was lovely and welcome.

The water was even more beautiful, now that she was close to it.

"Wow." Fion said, the corners of her mouth lifting and laughter bubbling. "I don't have words."

She chose a grassier piece of sand to sit on and leant down to untie her boots. They were formidable, so it took a moment. After that, went her stockings. They only went up to her calf, so it wasn't entirely improper to remove them. She sighed, pleased with the feeling and wiggled her toes in the sand.

"I want to live here." She said, standing, looking back to see if Stu seemed keen to walk into the water too.

don't stare at her legs don't stare at her legs don't stare at her legs



Stu blinked, momentarily taken by surprise. He approached where Fion was sitting, kicking off the uncomfortable prison boots. He glanced over to the east, where the view of the Harbor was hidden by a shallow cliffside.

It didn't occur to him that she hadn't been referring to Old Rose, but the beach itself; he took her at her word. Truthfully the thought had occurred to him before: Old Rose was hardly the best place to raise a child, but Vienda was fast becoming no place to raise a child at all. Fion could be safe here, potentially. So could Ginny.

She seemed so bubbly and chipper today, like a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. With the weight of the previous night's events weighing down on him, Stu felt physically incapable of making small talk. He was afraid of what he might blurt out if he so much as opened his mouth.

So he merely nodded dumbly.

Stuart's silence made Fion wonder if she was being too loud and forceful. Which was difficult because she wanted to push Stuart out of his shell and she wanted to respect his space and disrespect it and everything imbetween. She took a step towards the waves and stopped.

She liked the sound. It was so quiet but so distinct. Even the sand beneath her feet felt better than any fine fabric. She walked back over to Stu and put a hand on his cheek, hoping to steer his face upwards.

"Walk with me." She said. "It'll be nice. The water looks cool."

She let her hand drop down to the arm of his shirt. She tugged. She was being demanding and she knew it but their time was limited and she wanted to make the most of it.

"Don't make me drag you in." She said, playfully, as though she were capable of even shifting him an inch.

It had been so long since a woman had spoken to him like that; her words sounded far-off and echoed, like a whisper through a seashell. He didn't wonder if he was dreaming, or dead; the feel of the shifting sand under his feet and her cool palm against his face was too sharp and real, and lent him that unshakable certainty that he was not asleep.

He tried to think back to years before, when their relationship had been one of casual jokes and sly glances, when he hadn't loved her and turned himself into a shy, retreating stone for the sake of appearances, when he hadn't carried countless pounds of guilt on his back. He grinned and feigned terror.

"Noooo," he protested, shielding his eyes comically and turning away. "That stuff's poison! Body's not meant to go in the water! We'd have been born with flippers, elsewise!" He peeked out from between his arms. "There's no alternative. You'll have to drag me."

The sun was like a hand against Fion's back, encouraging and Fion was laughing because she was happy. She was happy because Stu was being playful and they hadn't been in years. She was touching him and he wasn't flinching away. Aside from holding his arms out. She wasn't counting that.

"Darn right I will!" She said, laughter easy, her left hand grasping the arm that was held over his face. "I'm like a bear, you haven't a chance, Solid."

She pulled, not putting her back into it because doing so would only push her further into the sand. His nickname was well-earned. Her feet were slipping even with the firm tug she was giving his arm, which was firm with muscle. Her wrists were stems next to his.

Her intent was to get him to the water, but her intent was highly dependent on him playing along with her futile attempts at feats of strength.

Stu made a great show of straining against Fion, digging his feet into the sand and shutting his eyes in concentration. "No! My fine clothes!" he yelped, gesturing to his torn, stained clothing, "They'll be ruined!"

Finally he gave way to her 'feats of strength', allowing himself to be dragged towards the water. He was laughing. It sounded strange, like he'd forgotten how; his chuckles were intermittent and a little hoarse, and the breath escaping from him tasted stale, like it had been locked away for years. It was something a body could forget how to do, like swimming.

"You'll be the death of me, Fion Smith," he said, grinning, as his feet were inches from the water. "I always suspected you'd try to drown me..."

"Never." Fion said, laughing. "At most, a long dunking."

A wave brushed against Fion's feet, cold as winter. Fion shrieked and danced back, her hands rising up until they were near to her face. She hadn't expected the ocean to be so freezing. She looked over at Stu, aware that she had just done something almost unforgivably wussy. The sand was now sticking to her feet and she could almost feel the salt on her ankles.

She was blushing, just a bit.

"The ocean just man-handled me, aren't you going to do something about it?" She asked, grinning.

She reached down to gather up her skirt, the ends had gotten slightly wet. She pulled it to the side and tied it into a knot, so that she could get wet up to her calves and not get the thing too sodden.

"I told you it was evil," admonished Stu, slightly bereft that she had let go of his arm. He could feel the lingering imprint of her fingertips on his skin next to the bruises and scrapes from his shed manacles.

Would it return to the way it had been between them? Polite, removed, and carefully worded, her pity ringing in his ears as shame drove him to silence? The honest truth of the matter was that he had not expected to see her again; thoughts of their insufficient parting gesture had filled him with remorse and regret during the time he had spent in jail, but he had not imagined he would get the chance to make up for it. And she was so close now, so tempting.

All the same obstacles were still there, and more; the same roadblocks that had prevented him from action were only more dire now. But a great change had come over him; it boiled beneath the surface. Every breath he drew seemed precious. Before he had merely endured the motions of the clock, but now he felt like he was racing death, breathless and straining against time to make every second count.

Now, he was the sort of man who threw away his life on a rash decision: he had proven that to himself. He was the sort of man who took risks. That was a new part of him, grown up overnight, like a superfluous appendage; it had been lying dormant beneath the stern pragmaticism of his father, the solid security of his station in life - for how long, he didn't know. Everything he had struggled to repress for the extent of his mortal memory was struggling to the surface.

She was alive; she was there, with him, in a place so removed from his life in Vienda that they might have been on the moon, or in a storybook; the shackles of reality felt loose enough to twist out of, and the hem of her skirt was wet and heavy with seawater, and there was color on her cheek. It seemed ludicrous to feel this much joy, this much elation, without shouting.

He splashed into the water, marveling how the waves felt the same throughout the ages. When he had been here as a boy, he had been nearly swallowed by the riptide, gasping and laughing as the water crashed over his brown skin, ignorant of the danger; his father had plucked him from the current, but he would have been delighted to be carried away to another land now, one where he wouldn't know himself. But it was weaker now and merely sloshed against his shins. Still, he felt transported.

He held out a hand to her.

Stu rushed into the waves, leaving Fion behind. She breathed in the salt air, laughed. He was out among the low waves, further away now. Her feet were heavy in the sand and the distance was unwelcome. She felt the urge to grab him, to latch onto his body in case he fell and the water swallowed him. Like the air had swallowed the prisoners as they fell.

Fion was cold.

The unexpected fear was like bile in her throat. She wanted to walk out into the waves but she had forgotten how to move. Her hands were shaking. Stu was offering his.

Fion shook her head a few times, like she was shaking off cobwebs, not like she was saying no. She reached out, her fingers outspread so they could interlace. Fion was grounded, by his hand against hers, his comforting pulse against her fingertips.

Breath returned. And movement. The water was shallow and warmer the further she went in. There would be no falling away. Fion did not let go. She kicked to see the water in the air, with Stu beside her. Fion was happy.

"I want to do this again." She said, ducking in closer to Stu as a larger wave came. "We should come again tomorrow. Unless you're busy."

Fion stayed close. The sun was higher now, perhaps dipping again though she couldn't tell. She was hungry but she wasn't sure she wanted to go back to Hawke's mansion just yet. It was too big, she didn't like it. Her stomach rumbled and she ignored the sound.