It had been a long, hard journey, and you could see it in her walk, the tired deliberation in her steps as she made her way up the road. Unwilling to risk public transportation, she'd walked the majority of the way from South Carolina, and no matter how strong she was, it was still, undoubtedly, a great distance to come. Her feet shuffled across the asphalt, but as the gated estate grew closer there came a new bounce to her step, a lightness in her gait.

She was close, so close. Now all she had to do was get past those gates, and then she would be safe. Wick was behind those gates. It had taken some searching, and hundreds of miles of walking, but Kat had finally found her sister, and a little life bled back into her eyes as she read the name on the plaque that hung before her.

Callenstrom Forestry.

Callenstrom. Windhaven. Wick.

There was a sentry in a little guardbooth, and Kat automatically snuck closer. It didn't occur to her to just ask him for entry; she had grown too accustomed to being suspicious of everyone and everything, and she crept to the window, peered inside. He was asleep. There was a button to open the gate, but she didn't want to risk waking him, and it didn't appear too terribly high anyway. With a few nervous glances in his direction, she tossed her small bag over the bars and then pulled herself over, dropping to the other side with a thunk and a hiss. He didn't notice. Kat picked up her bag and started to walk again.

It was a winding, paved drive that led to the main house, edged by tall trees, and she skirted the road in favor of staying in the fringe of the woods. It was harder going this way, but she was in better spirits than she could remember being in for months, and she didn't notice her own weariness. Shielded from the sun by the overhanging branches, she padded over soft ground, humming quietly to herself and feeling almost happy again.

There was a lot to be said for feeling almost happy, because Kat had been nowhere near happy in a long, long time.

This walk was shorter than the rest, and it only took her ten minutes before the main house came into view. Kat involuntarily paused and gawked-- there was no other word for it-- as she took in the sight. It was, for lack of a better description, enormous. It was also beautiful and expensive and, in stark contrast, Kat was not. Suddenly conscious of her own appearance, she retreated further into the trees and tried to straighten her clothes, tried to make herself more presentable before she walked up to those front doors.

It was a lost cause. Kat had managed to keep herself fed, but sometimes only barely, and while she had been slender before she was even moreso now. The ragged shirt and pants she wore hung on her loosely, and she brushed at them uselessly, as if she could wipe away the grime they had accumulated over the course of months. She swiped at the dirt on her face next, managing to rub some of it away, but there were also traces of bruises and sunburn that refused to come off, and she gave up on that. Her hair she ignored; she had braided it, and her curls had knotted themselves into a mass that was impossible to untangle.

Her appearance had not been important until now, but Kat was beginning to feel apprehension and doubt she had steadfastly ignored up to this moment. Only after five minutes of hasty repairs did she abandon her efforts to clean herself up. Five minutes after that, she finally left the safety of the trees and set off across stone-paved turnaround that circled in front of the house, determination quickening her stride as she climbed the steps and paused before the door.

Kat took a deep breath and pushed the chime.

She could hear footsteps approach the other side, but no one answered for a few moments, and she shifted impatiently from foot to foot before the door opened. An older man in a uniform peered out and then looked her over with obvious distaste, and Kat scowled because, with that one look, he had managed to make her feel extremely self-conscious.

"...can I help you?" he asked, and she tried for a winning smile that only came out as a deeper scowl. "Yes. I'm here to see Wick."

He looked her over again, and her eyebrows dipped lower, her eyes narrowing. "Is Mrs. Windhaven expecting you?"

"Yes."

"I see. In that case, might I tell her who is waiting...?"

Kat thought about this question for a moment before answering. "Her sister."

"I see. In that case, miss, I will be right back." Pleased to have gained entrance, Kat started to follow him as he retreated back through the doorway, but he closed the door in her face without so much as a backwards glance. Caught off-balance, she hit the door with an outstretched hand, and a few seconds later there was a very noticeable click as the lock engaged.

He locked me out. He locked me out, and I can't see Wick.

"What?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, miss," said Frederick humbly, "but there's a...person here to see you."

Wick frowned further, but some of her exasperation dissipated. "Here? Who is it?"

There was a pause, and then Frederick's voice again in a tone that said he expected to be beaten for his reply.

"She says she is your sister, miss."

There was a longer pause.

"I'll be right up."

~~~~~

All three manual locks had been engaged on the front door, and Wick unlocked them without waiting for Frederick to do it for her. The door was heavy but well-designed, and she pulled it open and squinted against the sunlight.

On the far side of the lawn, a strange looking figure huddled under the trees.

It (she?) appeared to be composed primarily of dirt, with faded hints of color suggesting that the clothing under the dirt had not yet completely dissolved. Her visible skin was caked with it, every line on her knuckles dark with it, her hair a nest laden with it, and Wick wasn't sure who she was looking at until the woman moved. It wasn't much of a movement, just a brief shifting and what looked like a huff of exasperation, but the way she was standing, the way the head canted slightly to the side, immediately identified her.

"Frederick," she said without looking back, just loudly enough for him to hear her, "go back inside. Shut the door behind you, but don't lock it. And have Anna make up the guest room next to mine."

She waited until the door clicked shut behind her, her eyes locked on the grimy figure beneath the tree to keep it from disappearing, and then walked forward toward her. She stopped when she reached the edge of the shade, six feet away. Up close, it was even harder to believe that a single person could have accumulated that much dirt, but from here she could see the eyes, and there was no doubt whose eyes they were.

Torn, she huffed and leaned more comfortably against the tree, her heart and mind arguing fiercely over what was more reasonable. Good sense told her that it was up to her to save Mode alone, that this was a task she had undertaken herself and she couldn't possibly expect help along the way... but the rest of her wanted to hope, wanted to believe that Wick would open that door and give her a chance. All Kat wanted was one chance.

And then the door opened.

A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, a figure she knew, and after a pause began to descend the front steps. Kat held her breath and waited as the figure approached slowly, hope lighting a pair of green eyes that hadn't held any glimmer of life in too many months to count. Those eyes began to water, because Kat refused to blink, lest the person disappear... but finally she had to close them, and when they reopened, Wick was there.

They stared at one another for a long moment before Wick spoke. "...Kat?"

Thank you, God. Thank you for this chance.

She watched the filthy figure in front of her slide to the ground with the barest of sighs, and Wick just stared at her as the bedraggled woman began to speak again.

"I thought you weren't going to see me. I thought I was going to have to leave."

Still too shocked to respond, Wick just nodded slightly and took a hesitant step closer, unsure of what to do. Kat needed help, that was pretty obvious, but she didn't know what to help with first.

When no more words were forthcoming, Wick glanced back toward the house. Jordan wouldn't be home for another four hours. There was time enough to find out what was happening here, time enough to hide Kat away in one of the rooms nearest hers. For some reason, Kat's presence made her feel guilty, and Wick was inclined to trust her instincts.

"I'm not that tired," she asserted a little too forcefully, and began to plod her way back toward the house, aware of Wick's presence behind her. Pride made her hold her head up as she climbed the steps, trying not to limp or show weakness, but the effort it took was visible on her face when they finally finished their walk through the hallways and arrived at a room.

Wick entered first, and Kat followed cautiously, looking back over her shoulder several times before slinking forward and peering into the room. It was just a bedroom-- a large one, in fact-- with several windows and another door leading off of it. Wary but really too tired to stand around much longer, she finally slid through the doorway and circled around the room, examining everything. After a good ten minutes, finally satisfied that nothing appeared to be dangerous or suspicious, Kat sat on the floor as far away from Wick as she could get and looked over her sister.

She looked the same; albeit, a few years older, but Kat had no room for comment there. The other woman was watching her with a muted version of her own wariness, but with far less distrust, and it was a look that never failed to make Kat feel the need to speak.

Kat was still standing in the doorway, looking in nervously and occasionally glancing back toward the hallway. She appeared to be examining everything as closely as possible, but nothing seemed to catch her eye until Wick leaned back slightly against the wall. Kat's eyes snapped to the movement, and Wick began to understand what Kat was afraid of.

Everything.

She tried to stay as still as she could, and eventually the dusty shadow slipped into the room and closed the door behind herself immediately and started to search. Satisfied that Kat wasn't about to bolt, Wick crossed her arms and watched her look everything over. She had a chance to examine the older woman now, and she really was filthy, but underneath the filth she was thin and her cheeks looked hollowed. She promised herself to send someone...to go to the kitchen and bring some food to Kat once she had a chance to get Kat into the bathroom.

Finally, the overturning of things stopped, and Kat withdrew to the far corner of the room behind the door and sank down again like she had outside, staring at Wick as if she expected either violence or reprimand.

"Is it safe here?"

The voice sounded far more tenuous than the one outside had, but it carried, and Wick left her spot on the wall and approached Kat slowly with an irrepressible expression of concern on her face. Kat huddled closer to the wall, and she stopped three feet from her and knelt so Kat wouldn't have to look up at her.

"Yes, Kat," she said relatively gently. "This is my house." This is my house, her tone stated. Nothing happens here unless I approve it. You're an exception, I suppose, but you always were.

She paused a moment more, and the stale scent of sweat drifted to her and made her decide that now was not the time for questions.

That was enough to make Kat perk up, and this time she looked around the room hungrily, eyeing anything and everything... even Wick. Her sister blinked at the predatory expression on her face, and it made Kat smile. Just a shadow of a smile, perhaps, but a tiny remnant of her former shark grin, nonetheless, and it seemed to satisfy them both.

"Alright," Kat managed to concede, and Wick nodded and then moved to open the other door. There were sounds of faucets and running water, and while Wick was occupied with that, she set about working her way out of what remained of her clothing.

Her boots came first, but slowly, because her feet were swollen and it hurt to move them. Blisters and bruises made her grimace, and she tried rubbing the soles of her feet gently to make them feel better, but it didn't help much. Her shirt all but fell apart at the seams when she tugged it over her head, and her trousers did rip; Kat threw the filthy garments to the side and looked herself over.

She didn't look very good.

She was skinny now, barely anything more than wiry muscles and bone, and what little flesh was left was covered with bruises. In fact, there were bruises everywhere, both new and old, interrupted only by scrapes and cuts scattered over her arms and legs. Kat was busy poking and prodding and catalogueing her various injuries when a noise interrupted her, and she jumped in surprise, onto her feet and up against the wall before she realized it was only Wick.

The other girl stared at her in what Kat took to be horrified surprise, and the look made her own eyes fill with defiance. "I'm fine," she said, in a voice meant to be strong, but her knees wavered a little from the sudden shift from sitting to standing, and Kat had to put a hand out to support herself against the wall. "Just a little tired," this time less defiantly, and Wick nodded silently and made a gesture to the bathroom. Steadying herself, Kat scowled at Wick and stomped past-- it could barely be called stomping, much more like shuffling-- and slammed the bathroom door shut behind her.

So thin. She's so thin, and bruised. She looks like she was starved and then run over by a marathon and dragged through a mudpit. What happened?

Lucy supplied her with a very large bowl of soup and a generous portion of bread, and she stopped by Kat's room to set it on the table and then went to her own to secure some clothing. Kat was shorter than she was by a few inches, and wider across the hips and bust, but Wick had never favored tight clothing, and in her reduced state there really wasn't enough size difference between them to matter. She also collected toiletry items, deoderant and shampoo and other such things; the rooms had soap, but that was all, and Kat would need quite a bit more.

She brought the clothes back into Kat's room and then hesitantly knocked on the bathroom door. It opened slightly, and a wet section of still-dirty face showed itself. Wordlessly, she handed over the shampoo and clothes, and the door slammed shut again.

She was layered with dirt, covered in it completely from head to toe, and it took some very concentrated scrubbing efforts to begin to make a difference. By the time she managed to scour through all the layers of grime, her skin felt red and raw, and she wiped away the last of the stains gingerly. Now she was only bruised instead of bruised and filthy, and it made the blue and black marks stand out more without the dirt to disguise them.

Wick interrupted her bath to bring her shampoo and other toiletries, along with some clothes, and Kat snatched them impatiently and then shut the door again, eager to return to the bathtub. Now armed with shampoo, she attempted to wash her hair, but it was one big tangled mess and eventually she got tired of trying and gave it up as clean enough. That left her as dirt-free as she could make herself without actually taking off all her skin, and Kat splashed around a little more in the water before reluctantly stepping out to get dressed.

The clothes were loose and baggy on her, but with a few adjustments to the belt and buttons she managed to appear decent. Now a little more confident after her bath, she stepped from the bathroom back into the main bedroom. Wick was seated at the table with a covered bowl beside her, and Kat's eyes instantly lit up; in a flash she was across the room and already eating, too hungry to do anything but choke down the food at a dangerously rapid pace.

It was the best food she'd tasted in months, and in about five and a half seconds her bowl was completely empty.

Wick watched as Kat vacuumed her soup bowl and smiled faintly when Kat asked for more.

How long were you out there, Katera?

She went downstairs and brought back three more bowls, and Kat was halfway into the third before she stopped and began to look a little green. Wick smiled at her a little ruefully and covered the last of the soup so Kat wouldn't have to look at it. Kat hiccupped and winced, and when she turned her head to scout the room for somewhere more comfortable than the chair, Wick got her first good look at Kat's hair.

It was a snarled mass of red fibers, impossibly twisted and tangled and matted completely across. Kat turned back and caught her looking and Wick dropped her gaze, unreasonably ashamed.

Still, it was difficult to stop; before she'd hoarded and devoured anything she could get her hands on, not knowing when the next time she could find food would be. Now, even though reason told her that Wick wouldn't try to steal it away, she continued to eat, eyeing the other woman like a wild animal protecting its catch. She managed another half bowl before it became too much, and her stomach lurched into her throat, making her suddenly nauseous.

Wick noticed her discomfort and looked away, and Kat swallowed slowly to hold down the tumult in her stomach. "Do you... want to lie down?" Wick asked, and Kat glanced toward the bed. "I had the sheets changed."

Next to food, the word bed was suddenly the greatest thing she had ever heard, and Kat limped from her chair to the enormous bed.

Oh, it was soft, and big, and warm, and she forgot about Wick as she burrowed into the covers. It took a few minutes of tangled scuffling around before she reemerged and peered from the blankets, and when she noticed Wick watching her she tried to relay her appreciation.

"Get some sleep," she said at last, and walked to the bedroom door. "No palm locks," she explained, and showed the turning lock mechanism. "Turning it this way locks it." She engaged the lock and pulled on the door, and it made a satisfying thunk as the deadbolt did its job. "Just turn it back to have it unlock, ok?" Kat nodded wordlessly, and Wick left the door locked and walked past the bed to the windows and pulled the drapes to reduce the light in the room and then looked back at her guest.

Kat looked tiny in the middle of the bed, and the bedclothes were already tangled around her, the green eyes and the pinched face staring at her with a significant amount of distrust.

"I'm going to be in the next room, and I'll come get you at dinner time. Alright?" The woman was trying for casual, but Kat read the hesitance behind her manner, and her paranoia rose to irrepressible levels. "Why are you leaving? Are you going to turn me in?" she demanded abruptly, huddling further into the sheets, and Wick met her terrified gaze.

"I'm leaving because you need to get some sleep. And if you had to ask, you wouldn't be here."

Kat stared back before swallowing heavily and nodding, and remained silent as Wick turned and left the room. Just as soon as the door closed, she was up out of bed and already turning the lock, but it wasn't enough. She dragged a set of drawers across the room and shoved them against the door, but it seemed too flimsy, and it wasn't until there was a table and two chairs stacked in front of the door before Kat deemed it securely barricaded.

That done, she retreated back toward the bed, but didn't climb in. Instead, she tore the sheets, blankets, and pillows from the mattress and dragged them into the bathroom, being certain to lock that door too before she made a nest on the cold tile floor and, now feeling relatively safe, managed to close her eyes in an attempt to get some sleep.

She took the meal back to the kitchen and encountered Jor on her way back up. He'd just come home, and he seemed to be in a good , but she decided the best thing to do would be to keep Kat's presence a secret until she'd figured out what had brought her ragged older sister to her doorstep.

Jor was much easier to make comfortable than Kat had been. She ate dinner with him and talked with him and listened to his day, but when dinner was done she excused herself, explaining that she was tired and that she had a great deal of work to do in the morning. He accepted her rebuff with relatively good grace, and she left him downstairs to find his own amusements until he took himself to bed.

The door was still locked, and after looking at it for a moment, Wick locked herself into her room and sat down at her computer terminal. Kat couldn't answer her questions, but she wasn't the only person to ask.

Katera Qui...Katera Terrence. What are you doing here, Kat? Where is your husband? Was I convenient, or did you seek me out for a reason? What are you doing on Earth? What do you want from me?

It only took ten minutes of searching to uncover the murder of Robert Quistin, formerly of the IF. The prime suspect, Katera Terrence, was believed to have caught a ship to somewhere in the Ecliptic, but the IF claimed that it had the situation well in hand. That notice was eight months old, and very little new information had been added to it. It appeared that Kat had slipped through their net and made it to Earth, and it explained why she would have come to Wick instead of one of her real blood relatives. They'd be under surveillance.

She shut down her terminal and crawled into her own bed.

What do you want from me, Kat? A place to stay? I can give you that. But where is your husband, Katera? I think he might disapprove.

~~~

The next morning the door was still locked, but she left a breakfast tray, and Kat let her in at lunch time to bring more food and take the old dishes away. It was obvious her sister still didn't want to talk, and so she left her to eat and took the dirty dishes away when she brought dinner. Kat ate more at every meal, and by the third day she was looking much, much better.

Jordan's mood was equivalently worse. The fourth night she'd left him at the dinner table, he let himself into her room just after midnight, as if daring her to tell him to get out. She was welcoming, but her impatience with him wasn't entirely lost on him, and she got the impression that he left the next morning more frustrated than he had come.

That morning, when she brought Kat her breakfast tray, she determined that her guest had had enough rest to answer her questions.

Kat answered the door timidly, glancing furtively to see if anyone else was there, and Wick frowned in irritation. Wick had never possessed a great deal of patience, and Kat's rabbitlike manner was beginning to tax it.

"It's only me, Katera. Get out of the way."

Reluctantly Kat let her past, and immediately locked the door after her. Wick ignored this, set the tray down on the table sat down opposite Kat's seat. Kat looked more wary than she had when she'd answered the door, and Wick's frown deepened.

She was in the middle of examining the various cabinets and desks in the room when her stomach gave an enormous growl, and she looked longingly toward the door. Gods. She was so hungry, but Wick wasn't here, and Kat was hesitant to do anything but hide... and then her stomach growled again, and she decided it was time for action.

It took some maneuvering to shove the desk and chairs and drawers out of the way, but eventually Kat managed to unlock the door and open it a fraction of an inch. No one jumped at her, but there was a tray placed on the floor just outside, and after several failed attempts she got up the nerve to grab the tray and retreat inside, locking the door behind her and pushing the various furniture items back into place.

This time she ate slowly, savoring the food. Wick was an angel, Kat decided, for giving her pillows and bacon, and she was still in a rare benevolent mood when her sister appeared hours later holding lunch. Kat ate that too, and then dinner, and she was beginning to feel almost human again when night fell and she had to sleep.

She couldn't.

For hours she tossed and turned, hot and then cold, uncomfortable and then too tired to move. She was still in her bathroom conglomeration of sheets and blankets, and she gave that up, going so far as to furtively sneak toward the bed and make her nest there. That was slightly better, but sleep still refused to come, because Kat could not put her mind at rest long enough to let go of consciousness.

Mode... I miss you, Mode. Are you still alive?

The next morning found her just as exhausted as when she'd arrived, and Wick's entrances, although accompanied by food, were met with bitter, sullen scowls. But she ate, and grew stronger for having a safe place to stay without having to worry, and by the fourth day she was healthy enough to walk without a limp when she crawled out of bed and opened the door to let Wick in.

Her sister rebuffed her cautious approach, all but pushing past her into the room, and after a good look down the hallway Kat locked the door behind her. Wick was seated at the table with another tray in front of her, and the irritated expression on her face was an instant alarm bell.

What did you do, Wick? Do you want me to leave?

"Well? Aren't you going to eat?" She frowned and gestured toward the tray, and Kat backed away slowly, her eyes dangerously wide. Her mind was running too quickly to catch up with, spouting nonsensical, irrational worries of Wick sending her away, of Wick turning her in, and her thoughts turned to the bag she'd been carrying when she'd arrived and the shiv still inside.

You... you can't give me to them, Wick. I'm your sister.

Wick did not appear very tolerant of her fears, and narrowed her eyes at her. "Kat," she began, but Kat's paranoia knew that the next thing she said would be "I've called the IF," and so she decided to speak first.

"Right now? In my clothes, with no money and no means of transportation? Where is it you're going, Kat, that's not very far from here on foot? Never mind. I don't need to know. In fact, here." She reached into her pocket and dug out the keys to her car and tossed them to the floor at Kat's feet. "Go to the garage first. It's red car on the left."

Wick had never been angry at her before, not when Kat could remember it. They had had unpleasant exchanges before, and perhaps during most it had been Kat who was angry, but this was different. For reasons she couldn't understand, her sister's anger hurt more than her betrayal would have, and Kat knelt on the floor and looked forlornly at the keys in front of her.

"I... I don't know how to drive," she whispered inanely, picking up the keyring and turning it over in her fingers. "I don't know where it is. I don't know..."

I don't know anything. Where he is, if he's alive... if any of this matters. I don't know why anymore.

She batted at the keys automatically, but she only marginally deflected them and they hit her leg and fell to the floor. Kat didn't appear to notice, but by the time the rant tripped over itself and ground down to a whisper, Wick's anger had been replaced by curiousity.

She left the keys where they had fallen, and walked to stand a few feet in front of Kat, but Wick couldn't quite bring herself to touch her.

"Daddy," she whispered, bowing her head and digging her nails into her tangled curls. "I hate him, and I... I..." She turned away and sank to her knees, still clutching at her own hair as if desperate to hold on to anything. "I killed him, I killed him, because he sent Mode away and I don't know why, I don't know why and how and why couldn't I stop him?"

Because I'm weak, and I can't save him, either.

The word fell through the air like a dry leaf and whispered its way to the floor, and Kat sank down to join it and pulled her body into a tight ball. "I don't know, Wick. There's nobody left."

Now we're getting somewhere. Daddy sent him away. That must be Mode. And she doesn't know where Charybdis is, and that is where Mode was sent, and now Daddy is dead, Mode is gone...and Kat is here.

Where else would she go?

She didn't voice these thoughts or anything else. Kat wasn't in any condition to think. Instead, she knelt down next to her and very gingerly laid a hand on Katera's shoulder, and said quietly what sounded incredibly clumsy and awkward to herself, but she nevertheless knew had to be said.

Over the course of her months on Earth, Kat had been very careful not to think too closely about what would happen once she found Wick. Things were easier to accomplish when they were simple, and wondering whether or not her sister would take her in was very not simple. Instead of considering all those awful possibilities, the possibilities that could leave her alone without anyone to help, she had focused only on getting herself here, and had ignored everything else.

And now it came, this final reassurance from Wick, this declaration that in three words told Kat she was not alone. She hadn't known how desperately she'd been waiting to hear this from her sister until it came, and when it did, with a gentle hand on her shoulder to comfort her, Kat's fear began to fade. It was replaced with a flood of relief and gratitude, and she turned and clutched at her sister, burying her face against her shoulder to hide the last remains of terror in her eyes.

So she did kill her father, even if she didn't mean to empty a flechette gun into him. If the IF finds her here, there will be all sorts of complications. I'd lose the new project and my job, and possibly end up in jail. I should call them now, before this gets out of hand. I should.

Wick was not someone people turned to for protection. In fact, she had never gone out of her way to protect anyone but herself and her husband, and she had no logical reason to help Katera, no reward that she could expect to receive. Kat had no resources and no contacts - except perhaps this Owen person - and sheltering her was not only useless. It was dangerous.

On the other hand...on the other hand, Kat was one of the few people Wick had felt a bond with. Her emotional world was not densely populated, and she would feel guilt if she turned Katera over to the IF. Besides, she had nothing to gain from doing that, aside from certainty that she wouldn't get caught. That was a matter of personal safety, and in her line of work, personal safety was really more a figure of speech than a hard line of principle. You could only be so safe when working with dangerous chemicals; she took precautions, but they were not foolproof.

It would be best to turn Kat in now. It would be a good precaution. But truthfully, she had no way of calculating what damage her own conscience would suffer, and she decided that it would be better to house Kat and spare herself than to throw Kat to the wolves on the off chance that the IF might pay a visit.

Once the decision was made, her emotion swam back in and flooded her logic with hundreds of other reasons why she'd made the right decision, and Wick patted Kat gently on the back.

Wick began to work at her hair. It was a nearly impossible task, one that Kat had long given up on, but it was soothing to have hands in her curls again, and she slowly began to relax. Her shoulders sagged and her eyelids drooped, and she was close to falling asleep when Wick tugged a little too hard and spoke.

"Kat?"

"Mmhmm," Kat murmured sleepily. "Hmm?"

"Tell me what happened."

That demand cleared the haze from her thoughts instantly, and she tried to pull away, but Wick would have none of it. After a good tug, Kat was obedient again, and she sighed and gave in.

"I don't really know. It was my day to pick up Jacks from daycare, but when I got there the ensign said he was already gone, and with my father. But that was silly, because Mode sent Daddy away a long time ago, and he wasn't supposed to come back, but I was scared anyway, so I ran home and when I got there he was there." Her voice was a careful monotone, as if to allow any hint of emotion would be to let all of it free. "He wanted me to go back to Earth with him, and he said he sent Mode away, but I didn't believe him. Then... then he kept lying, he said Mode was in Charybdis, and I tried to hit him, but he hit me and it hurt. He was lying, he said he'd taken Jacks and that he'd kill him, that I'd kill him like before, but I wouldn't!"

Still, personally murdering him was hardly the way to go about finding Terrence, especially if he really had been sent to Charybdis. But Katera was not Wick; in fact, Kat suddenly reminded her uncomfortably of Jor.

She continued her work and Kat continued to talk. Kat liked to jump around, and it made the story harder to follow, but Wick was good at piecing things together. Occasionally she asked a question when Katera's recounting got too random. She didn't ask for any details that Kat didn't volunteer. Three and a half hours later, Kat's hair could pass through her fingers without too much resistance, though it needed to be washed, and Kat's story was relatively complete. Wick was quiet for a few moments, running her hands through her sister's hair to check for any knots she'd missed, and then she stood up and stretched and gave Kat a faint smile.

"Go wash your hair. I'll have lunch brought for us."

"No," Jor snapped, managing to sound angry and petulant and bitter and a little pleading, all at once. "I'm busy too."

Then there was a loud clank, and a huff, and something hit the floor with a distinctly unmistakeable cracking noise, and Jor sat back in his chair and crossed his arms and did his best not to look as if he were pouting.

"You're pouting," a voice said from the other side of the room.

"Am not."

"Are so," it pointed out calmly. "And you just broke my phone."

"Did not."

The voice sighed. "Did so. It's in pieces. I can see it from over here. You know, maybe you shouldn't touch breakeable objects when you're obviously in a bad mood."

"I'm not in a bad mood."

"OH, FOR CHRISSAKE!" Lei finally lost her temper, and there was another loud crash and crack and Jor was suddenly not in his chair, but instead flat on his back on the floor. "GO HOME AND JUST TALK TO HER! I'M SICK OF YOUR POUTING, YOU BIG OVERGROWN BABY!"

Needless to say, Jor was not having a very pleasant week.

No, it was more than that, his temper insisted on pointing out, because if you counted all the days together where she hadn't really spoken to him, it was more than just seven. It was actually nearer twelve, which was just about two whole weeks, and the last time she hadn't spoken to him for that length of time had been right after he'd shown up, during the not-so-pleasant period that he didn't like to think about anymore. Either way, it was a very long time, and Jor was not very good about spending long times away from Wick.

He didn't understand it, and that was definitely a large portion of his frustration. Relations between them had been peaceful and, on the whole, just about everything Jor could have asked for... until recently. Until two weeks ago, when Wick suddenly began to retreat to her room right after dinner, leaving him with no conversation and no company. The first night, he didn't mind at all. The second was a little more disconcerting, but he worked on his bike and watched a very interesting documentary on television about Egyptian mummies, and the time managed to pass quickly. The third night he sulked, but after the fourth, when he snuck into her room and, although she let him, left feeling rebuffed, he decided there was really something wrong.

But he didn't know what. He started trying to bait her during their dinner conversations, waiting for any sign of what could be happening. Anger would have been something. So would have irritation. There was nothing. She was pleasant and reserved and Jor sat staring at her for their brief meals together, imagining all sorts of horrible possibilities, most of which revolved around thoughts of other men hidden in her private suite, which was why she never wanted him around and seemed tired and somewhat annoyed and god, what if that was what was really going on? Who was it? That man he'd seen at the Officer's Ball? Malcolm?

Jor was finally fed up. The thirteenth day, after Lei kicked him out of the office and sent him home, he decided it was time for action. He wanted to know what was going on. He was tired of walking on eggshells around her, afraid that to lose his temper would mean to lose her again, but Jor hated eating dinner alone and missed their time together and found sleeping with only his pillows to be completely and utterly unfulfilling, and it was time to do something about it.

He came home early, slunk around the hallways and looked for her, but found nothing. After about an hour of that, he was just starting to head to the kitchens to pout there, because at least there was food, when Lucy came down the corridor carrying a tray with two plates. Jor was instantly suspicious. Two plates? He was right! Lucy took one look at him and squeaked, because Jor was circling her like a shark in the water, asking an endless stream of questions about who was the food for and where was Wick and what was going on, Lucy, I want to know, I'm her husband and I deserve to know, and Lucy finally gave in and told him.

They had a houseguest.

A houseguest?

Jor pondered that for a long moment, keeping Lucy herded into a corner so she couldn't escape. Who could it be? He couldn't think of anyone who Wick would hide from him, unless it was another man, like he had suspected. He asked the maid that, but she didn't seem to know and, in fact, looked quite afraid of him during the question. Then Jor decided he'd just have to find out for himself, and told Lucy she'd take him to the room and not tell Wick and then she'd just have to face him and tell him herself.

She led him toward the wing of the house where Wick resided, but instead of going to her room they walked right past it. Lucy paused at the next doorway, and Jor stayed out of sight while she knocked. There was a questioning voice, and Lucy answered, and when Wick opened the door Jor not-so-politely shooed Lucy out of the way and stood there looking very imperious and trying not to stare at Wick as if he were deathly afraid of her having someone else in there, which was exactly what he was.

Jor became less of a concern and more of a bother. He never seemed to be in a good mood, and it made it that much easier for her to stay out of his way. It became more convenient for her to forego dinner entirely than to go to the trouble of facing him down, and when he didn't disturb her she found that doing so made it possible to forget him entirely.

The days were much easier than the evenings. Jor was gone to work, and though she had work to do of her own, Kat demanded a great deal of her time. Wick was learning too much about her sister to find it boring. Christopher had written a guarded reply to her innocuous query, and Wick had sent out another politely ambiguous message yesterday morning, and today she and Kat were discussing how they might go about bringing up two subjects Kat was most interested in: her son and her husband.

Lucy knocked at the door with lunch, and Wick opened it in time to see Lucy shoved to the side, and a very irate Jordan appeared instead.

"I want to know what's going on, Wick," he said in a low, angry voice.

Wick didn't hesitate, but shoved him backward into the hallway and yanked the door shut behind her. She'd promised Kat safety, and that was what she was going to get.

"Shouldn't I be asking you the same thing?" he snapped back. "I can come home early if I want. But what are you doing?" He was angry now, too, defensive because of her attitude towards him, and he jabbed his finger toward the door and narrowed his eyes at her. "You're hiding something, I know you are. What is it? Or should I ask, who is it? You've been avoiding me for nearly two weeks and Lucy's feeding two people and I want to know what's going on! I dese--"

The door creaked open in the middle of his furious rant, and Jor was interrupted by a clear, quiet little voice.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

"She's staying here. And if you're done making a fool out of yourself, Jordan, then why don't you have a seat next door? We need to have a talk."

Kat. What in the world was Kat doing here? It took a minute of staring at her before he realized that it really was her. Recognition had been automatic before, upon seeing her face, but it didn't quite register that it was Kat behind the door until Wick confirmed it. Completely caught off-guard, Jor could only stare, his thoughts crashing in upon themselves and leaving him open-mouthed and dumbfounded.

Wick pushed the other woman inside and shut the door, and Jor stared at the wood in shock. Then Wick reemerged, and outwardly he scowled, because he couldn't think of any other expression... but inside all he could think was how relieved he was that it was only Kat.

It could have been worse... I guess.

When she stalked past him he watched her go, still trying to make sense, and eventually gave up on pondering and followed her. She watched him with obvious anger on her face as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, but Jor's mind hadn't really moved past the idea of Kat yet, and he started and stopped and tried to ask several questions at once, before giving up and just asking one.

A simple "Oh" was all he managed.

"Oh?" she repeated at him with a hissing tone in her voice. "Is that it?" Jor considered this question in silence while she continued to glare at him. He could say yes, but that might make her even more furious, and he really didn't want to do that. He could say no, and try to think of something else to say, but he really had too many questions and she didn't seem to be in the mood to answer them.

One glance at her expression told him he'd better think of something pretty goddamn fast. Jor crossed his arms and shifted a little and regarded her with this extremely uncharacteristic calm he was feeling, and relented before she could say more.

"Don't you walk away when I'm talking to you, Wick." She ignored him and walked toward the door anyway, and Jor felt the familiar heat rise in his eyes, the old challenge and dominance she had always spurned in him. He unconsciously straightened, making the most of his height and standing even taller, and there was little left of his previous placidity when he narrowed his eyes at her retreating back. "Wick."

She put her hand upon the doorknob, and Jor lost his patience.

He was across the room in three strides, and he slammed his hand against the door just as she tried to open it. The heavy wood thudded back into place, and she turned to glare at him, anger written just as plainly on her face as it was on his. "Get out of my way."

Just because I'm sorry for before doesn't mean I'll let you walk all over me now, Wick. I'm tired of getting out of your way.

"No," he said, and smiled.

"No," he repeated, and captured her wrists in his hands easily before she could retreat. She tried to pull away and he yanked with a sharp motion to bring her stumbling against his chest; it was simple then to shove her against the door and immobilize her that way. The struggle reminded him of the last time he'd done this, her words made him remember just why he had, and Jor tightened his grip, made her exhale in surprise.

She yanked, and he squeezed her wrists until she grit her teeth in pain. She'd never been a physical match for him, and now that left her only one avenue of attack.

"Obviously not," she said softly, looking into his eyes, daring him to look away or to let her go. "So where was I, Jordan?" she asked in the same soft, cool tone. "You seem to have all the answers, love. Where was I? Who was I with?" She lowered her lids slightly and gave the barest hint of a smile, her voice carrying the tiniest touch of suggestion.

"You should have been with me." His voice was somewhere between a growl and a shout, and with a shudder he threw her away from him. She stumbled and fell and slid to the floor, and moved to tower over her, his breath rasping in his throat and his hands in fists.

No, I promised I wouldn't...

"I don't want to do this again, Wick," he said, but his words belied the truth, and they both knew it was almost a lie. "I don't want to," he said again, almost pleading, a little breathless desperateness, but then she smiled at him and the corners of his mouth twisted down.

I promised...

"You are MINE!" he shouted, rage dancing across his face, and with a sudden motion he leaned down and grabbed her by the back of her shirt. She tried to hit him as he hauled her to her feet and then past, dangling her in the air, but he just kept thinking of someone else with her, and it made him angrier now than when he was imagining it before. He knew, logically, that it was only Kat in the other room, and that this wasn't like before, not like when she told him about Dominic, but he couldn't seem to care. He knew only that it was oddly comforting to feel this way again, this familiar rage and possession, and he forgot about temperance and careful consideration in this sudden rush of anger.

"Are you going to tell me now?"

She struggled harder, but his hands were like vises and she just ended up making the bruises deeper, and she didn't want to kick him. She didn't know what she wanted. He wanted an answer, though, and when he tightened his grip she hissed out her reply.

"I'd rather know where I stand than not," he said smoothly as he threw her words back at her. "And it wouldn--"

"NO!"

That snarl didn't come from Wick, and Jor blinked at her and glanced over his shoulder in angry confusion just as the door slammed open. It hit the wall with a loud crack, and before he could react a red-curled, furious little tornado launched itself at him.

What the hell is he doing here?

The last time she'd seen Jor he'd had blood on his fists, and when Mode sent him away Kat didn't expect to ever see him again. She didn't want to see him ever again. He'd nearly killed her sister, and while Kat could appreciate the violence, she couldn't reconcile herself to its recipient.

Why the hell did you take him back?

It baffled her, as she sat alone in her room and tried to make sense of what was going on. There must have been something different between them, for Wick to have taken him back after what he'd done, and part of Kat could understand that. It wasn't entirely dissimilar to anything she'd done, but she didn't want to think of herself and Mode in the context of what Jor had done to Wick, and abandoned that train of thought in favor of trying to decide what to do next.

Shouting from the room adjacent drew her attention then, and her ears perked up, her eyes widening as she moved to the wall and attempted to eavesdrop. She couldn't hear much this way, just loud muffled words that sounded angry, and she started to get nervous.

What... what is he doing now?

A loud thump was enough to make up her mind, and Kat was out of the room in an instant, slinking quickly down the hallway toward Wick's suite. Something slammed into the door and she jumped back, her eyes impossibly wide and her pulse beginning to thunder in her ears, and when more shouting began she snuck to the door and risked a peek.

Jor had Wick in one hand, dangling her above the ground. They were hissing things at eachother, angry things, but Kat didn't wait to hear. She couldn't wait. Before she'd almost been too late, but this time she had a chance to keep Wick safe, and it was more important now than it had ever been before. She needed Wick. Wick was her key to safety and happiness and saving Mode, and there was no way in hell that Kat was going to let anyone, especially Jor, take that away from her.

"NO!" she snarled, slamming the door open with a sweep of her arm. He turned to look at her, surprise on his face, and she launched herself at him. She wasn't sure what she intended to do, really, but he took up a stance in front of Wick, and Kat's eyes glazed over.

You can't have her!

The rest was a blur.

She attacked, that much was certain. The impact knocked them all to the ground, and then she was punching and kicking as fast as she could, indiscriminately and furiously. It didn't seem to matter what she hit as long as she hit something; all that was important was that she was angry, and Kat hadn't felt like this in too long. It was a different kind of anger, the alive, bloodthirsty kind she'd forgotten after her father's death had been overshadowed by the need to survive, the furious, murderous kind she'd given up for Mode, and it consumed her.

They all toppled to the floor, Wick half-pinned beneath him and Kat clinging to him. He tried to shove her off, but she punched him in the face with a surprisingly hard fist that slammed his head back against the ground, and just like that, it started.

She hit him and he hit her back, and they rolled around in this furious scuffle, punching and kicking and shouting at one another. A clawed hand caught him across the cheek, and he roared and swatted her back, knocking her off of him. Like a spring she was back up again and kicking at him, and he caught her foot and pulled, taking her off balance. She hit the floor with a thump, and Jor fought to keep those dangerous nails away from his face as he tried to explain.

"Kat, stop! I wasn't going to--"

"STOP IT!"

To her surprise, they did, and both looked at her, astonishment replacing some of the fury in their eyes. Both of them were a little bloody, but neither of them had managed to seriously wound the other. At the moment, she couldn't have cared less. She was tired of handling them like children, and she was tired of them responding like children, and being by herself was the only way to avoid doing or saying something to one of them that she might regret later.

"Out! Get out, both of you. NOW!"

They both flinched a little, but stumbled to their feet and retreated as she advanced.

"OUT!"

As a pair they backed out into the dressing room and then to hallway, first Jor and then Kat, and Wick slammed the door and locked it behind them. She moved away from it, waiting to hear if one or the other would bang on it or try to speak to her, but there was only silence, and she went back to her bedroom and locked that door too.

There was a long, long silence as they stood there, broken only by their ragged breathing. Eventually Jor began to feel uncomfortable, and he shifted a little and glanced toward the floor, up to the ceiling, down the hallway; anywhere but at Kat. He was trying to think of something to say, but she gave in before he did, and her hesitant, breathless little voice made him finally meet her eyes again.

"So... you weren't trying to..."

"No, I was not," he asserted a bit too forcefully, and when Kat narrowed her eyes at him he sighed and attempted to explain. "We were only talking, Kat."

Kat gave him a look. "You talk awfully loud," she observed pointedly, and Jor shrugged. "Yeah. But I wasn't going to do anything."

"Right."

"Look," he began, starting to get angry again. "What do you know, anyway? And what the hell are you doing in my house? You can't just come in here and fucking attack me whe--"

"Your house!" Kat interrupted just as angrily. "Wick said I could stay here, and you can't blame me for trying to get her away from you after the last time you almost ki--" her voice trailed away when she saw the look on his face, but she wasn't quick enough to avoid the hand that lashed out toward her, and the slap knocked her head against the door.

"Don't you dare say that, Kat," Jor growled at her, and Kat made a face at him, already crouched and beginning to circle. "Or else what?"

They fought.

Again.

The scuffle was shorter than before, as both of them were too worked up to really focus on effective fighting, and because both of them were rather tired from the previous tangle. Kat managed to land several painful kicks, and Jor punched her hard enough in the face to give her a bloody nose, but that was about the extent of the damage when they finally separated and retreated down opposite ends of the hallway, breathless and bloody and bruised.

"Jesus," Jor panted, "You're fucking crazy."

"You hit hward," came Kat's muffled reply, just as she sat down abruptly in the middle of the hall. Jor's expression turned from anger to confusion, and his brows furrowed as he looked down at her. "What are you doing?"

"I'm bweeding," she sniffed thickly, coughing several times and spitting it to the floor, "and its goin' down my froat. Can't breafe very well."

He probably should have let it go at that and left, but instead he started laughing. She wiped at her nose and glared up at him, trying to look angry enough to make him shut up, and it only made him laugh louder. Jor hadn't known Kat very well during Command School, nor had he much experience with dealing with her, but her expression was a stark contrast to everything he'd ever heard about her, and it was just too funny.

"You-- you--" he kept trying to say, and she started to growl and then burst out coughing in a fit that eventually produced another clot of blood, and Jor howled louder. "H... hair ball!"

That time it was too much for her, even, and she began to giggle. It was the first time she'd laughed since leaving the Command Post, and it felt rusty and uncertain, but Jor was laughing too hard for her not to laugh too.

Five minutes seemed about all the time they could waste while cackling like madmen in the hallway, and finally Jor got control of his mirth and sat down too, holding his side and breathing more heavily than he had during their fight. Kat coughed some more and rubbed her shirt all over her face and nose to clear them, and when the two of them were calmed down enough breath normally Jor grinned at her.

"Truce?"

"I suppose," Kat conceded in a much clearer voice than before, but the agreement was accompanied by a look that held more than a hint of paranoia. "Does that mean I can still stay here?"

The last of the laughter faded from Jor's expression, and he looked at her more closely. "What do you mean, can you still stay here?"

"Wick said I could stay here," Kat said hurriedly, trying to avoid the questions she knew were coming next. "I just wanted to make sure, is all. Never mind."

But Jor wasn't so easily deflected. "No, that's not what you meant. Why are you here anyway, Kat? Where is Mode? I didn't know you and Wick were, what, friends? And then you show up here. What's going on? What did you do? Is that why you're here?"

Kat was suddenly extremely interested in cleaning the blood from under her fingernails, and Jor had to clear his throat loudly to get her attention. "Well?"

"Yes," she said reluctantly, looking back over her shoulder toward the closed door before fixing him with an almost desperate stare. "But Wick said I could stay here," she repeated again. "You're not going to turn me in or kick me out, are you?"

"Turn you in?" Jor asked, now really interested. "God, Kat, what did you do?"

"...something bad."

He considered this. "Oh. Well." There were a lot more questions he could ask, but Kat had a look on her face that said she didn't want to give any answers, and it was a look he knew. So, in order to avoid another confrontation, and with very un-Jor-like patience, he decided to let it go at that. "I guess not."

"...really?"

"Yeah," Jor conceded. "If she isn't going to turn you in, then I won't either." Kat looked so relieved at this last statement that he smiled at her. "Besides, if anything, it'll be her kicking us out."

Kat grinned a little hesitantly at him. "Yeah."

"Hey, I'm hungry. Are you? I kind of interrupted before you got your lunch, and Lucy must have run away with it." He motioned down the hall. "If we go to the kitchen, I bet she'll cook something for us. Wick won't talk to us anyway. We might as well do something besides sit here bleeding on the carpet."

"I'm not bleeding anymore," Kat contradicted, "but I am hungry."

"Then let's go." Jor hauled himself to his feet and stepped over to offer his hand to her. Kat stared at his hand for a moment before accepting the help, and they brushed themselves off before she nodded. "Okay."

She dialed in a number, and it rang three times before her uncle's face appeared on the screen. She was a little surprised that she'd gotten straight through.

"Good morning, Moira," he said pleasantly enough. "How can I help you?"

"You can come watch these children so I can get back to work."

"I'm assuming you're talking about your husband and someone else. A friend of his, perhaps?"

She explained tersely about Katera and the subsequent fight in her room.

"It sounds like your children need disciplining," he said with the hint of a smile, "but that usually happens at a younger age. But why do you assume they're your children, Moira? Why are they your responsibility? For all that they may act like children, they are in fact adults, and not properly in need of parenting - despite their apparent lack of it early in life."

Most of her rage was gone by then, and Wick blinked at thim in confusion. "But..." But they're in my house, and there's no one else...and I love them.

"But what? When children become adults, they suffer the consequences of their actions just like everyone else. So let it fall on them. It will be good for them...and if they get too disruptive, you can always put them in the guest house. Now if you'll excuse me, I placed a meeting on hold that I must get back to."

She could be so infuriating. Like Wick, she always seemed to know just what to say to get under his skin... but Wick had always (with one exception) stopped just short of pushing him past his patience. Kat, unlike Wick, didn't appear to understand the concept of a stopping point. On increasingly frequent occasions she took it upon herself to tease and taunt him until he couldn't stand it anymore, and the severity of their scuffles was also increasing as time wore on. Jor hadn't worn these many bruises since his and Wick's days together in Command School, and he had a not-so-vague feeling that this wasn't necessarily a good thing.

On the other hand, she could be fun. In her, Jor discovered a sort of kindred spirit, much like Lei but without the reprimands to Behave yourself, Jor, or Don't pick fights, Jor, or Eat with your mouth closed, Jor. They could throw a few punches and then sit down and eat through everything in the kitchen together. They could play cards-- which they did until Jor discovered that Kat was cheating, and then they argued fiercely, and she threw the chips at him and after that they stopped playing cards altogether. They could tinker in the garage, and he taught her about cars and motorcycles and why it really wasn't a good idea to start loosening bolts without knowing what they were for. Together, they had some good times.

Right now, they were not having good times.

He and Kat had argued. About what, he wasn't quite sure; usually she found some reason to pick a fight with him, and he was never too picky either about the cause. This time, though, it had been unusually violent, and she had left him with a nasty set of claw marks down the side of his face before storming off and locking herself in her room. Jor stomped off too, and it wasn't until Kat didn't appear to keep him company at dinner that he began to wonder if there really was something wrong this time.

The door to her room was locked, and he knocked on it several times before growing exasperated and picking the lock. She was nowhere inside, but things were strewn about, the furniture knocked over and, in some cases, broken, and Jor knew what it meant. He remembered a time when he'd done the same thing. It meant something bad.

That night she didn't come back. The second night, she didn't come back either, and Jor began to worry. He searched the entire house to no avail, and when he found no trace of her, he decided it was time to take this matter to someone who could actually do something about it.

Wick.

She'd taken very little part in things after the little fight in her room. Sometimes she'd come to dinner, and he and Kat would be on their best behavior, and do their best to entertain her, but she never stayed for long. Once or twice she appeared in his room late at night, but she was always gone by morning, and despite Kat's companionship Jor missed his wife terribly. It was hard for him to breach their distance, however, and like before he'd taken to filling his time with other activities, most of which involved taking his frustration out on Kat just as she liked to take hers out on him.

Now, though, he needed her help, and he found himself outside her door with no idea what to say. He tried knocking, but pulled back and paced around and tried to think of a way to tell her that he'd lost Kat, and he was still pacing when she opened the door anyway.

"Jor?"

Jor started like a guilty child and looked around before finally standing his ground. He met her eyes and swallowed.

"You move over."

Wick watched her husband and her sister fight over space at the huge dining room table from the hallway and decided to take her meal in her room. Again.

She followed her uncle's advice and left them both to their own devices until her need for Jor overrode it or she felt it necessary to show that she wasn't angry with them. Jor no longer went out of his way to try to spend time with her, and she was alternately grateful and resentful, depending on the day. She did get a great deal of work done, and that was a very good thing. It kept her working reputation intact and it kept her from thinking about Kat and Jor, fighting with each other, wrestling with each other, laughing with each other and eating together and going on with their lives in her house without involving her in them.

She knew it was for the best. Jor needed someone more playful than she was, and Kat...Kat needed someone to hit. It left her comfortably isolated, and it should have made her happy. It very nearly did, for a few weeks, but every time she saw them together she was reminded of everything Jor was and seemed to need, and everything she was not. She became jealous of the way they had fun together and angry that she couldn't understand what there was to enjoy, and jealousy made her even more critical of their behavior. The net result was that she spent less and less time with them, and waited - waited for Kat to leave, for one of them to kill the other, or - and this she thought only in the dark of her room well after she'd gone to sleep alone - for them to leave together.

She withdrew into her work and let them hurt each other and play with each other and said as little to them as possible, and the routine was just becoming numbly comfortable the evening she heard Jor pacing outside her door. He hadn't knocked or pounded, and that meant there was no hope that he was here because he wanted to see her, and so she was already moderately irritated when she opened the door without waiting for him to ask.

"..Jor?"

He looked guilty, and she sighed and waited to hear the list of things he'd broken as he visibly gathered his courage.

"Kat's missing."

Wick blinked.

Maybe she got what she needed and she's gone now. Gone without a goodbye or a thank you. You weren't ever very good at those, were you, Kat? But you've left your playmate behind.

He didn't feel guilty anymore, because he really was worried. Instead, his hesitance was born of uncertainty, an uncertainty of how to express to Wick how he knew that this was more than just a wayward houseguest, and he rubbed at the back of his neck before raising his eyes to hers again.

"I don't think that's it," he began, trying to phrase his words carefully. "If she'd left, she would have taken her clothes and bag and everything, and they're still in her room. I don't think she's left."

She wouldn't leave. It has to be something worse.

"You're the one who invited her to stay here. You're the one who told her you'd help, and then all you did was lock her in her goddamn room!" His voice scaled higher and he gave up on temperance, turning instead to the comfortable anger that let him ignore just how much he was worried. It was easier to turn against Wick, to be furious with her for all her little brush-offs, for all the times she'd left his bed or ignored his dinner invitations or hid from them when all they wanted, all Jor and Kat would have liked, was to know she was there.

He stared into her angry face and was just as hurt, just as jealous of all the time she spent away from him, and his voice was low and deep and burning. "That's all you do, to both of us. She just got tired of it before I did, but I'm tired of it too, Wick. I'm tired of you treating me like something to be played with and put away. You don't do anything with me anymore, just hide in your room and sneak into my bed at night, but you're never there in the morning and I AM NOT SOMETHING YOU FUCK AND PUT ASIDE!" On this last he grabbed her and hefted her under his arm, ignoring the struggles she put up and instead stomping into her room. He threw her down on the bed and glared at him, his hands in fists at his sides and his eyes narrowed. "And I'm coming to you for help now, and you treat me the same way you treat her. If you don't want either of us here, Wick, then tell me, tell me you'd rather not bother, but since you've backed out on your promise then I'm going to help. You can fucking stay here and hide, like you always do. At least I care."

Then he turned and left, knowing just why Kat had left and just where she'd gone.

Jor stomped out, and Wick stood up, walked to the house phone and made a brief call and then went into her closet.

You seem so happy together. Maybe I should let you go to her. If she really is the way she was, god knows what she'd do to you. All she's given you until now have been scratches and bruises. But maybe she'd come to you, maybe she'd crawl down from wherever she's hidden herself like an animal about to die, and you could bring her back and comfort her. Is that what you think would happen, Jor? Is that what you're hoping for? Is that what you thought I would do?

She dressed in whites. She wanted to be as visible as possible, and it was very dark under the trees. There wasn't much of a moon, and starlight could only go so far through the thick canopy of leaves. She pulled on her boots and fastened her belt, adjusted her clothing around the holster her uncle had given her and took her pistol from the bedside table.

You think you know Kat, Jordan? You think you know what's best? If she really has gone out there to die it might be a mercy. Her husband is gone, possibly dead, almost certainly inaccessible. She's just waiting for the confirmation. You want to go out there to offer her a shoulder to cry on, but she might get greedy and go for your throat instead. Maybe I should follow my uncle's suggestion and let you go anyway. But it's my fault that she's here.

The house was dark and quiet, and she scanned the open space of lawn as she walked to the stables. She could make out a single dark figure that was already two thirds of the way to the edge of the woods. Frederick had roused someone else to saddle her horse, some local boy spending his summer cleaning the stables and staying on the estate, but she couldn't find anything wrong with his work. She'd asked for the dappled grey instead of Calia; her favorite horse was far too skittish, and the grey was taller and stronger, easier to see and more capable of carrying two riders a long distance.

They left the stable at a canter, and Wick kicked him into a gallop and passed her husband by fifteen feet before reining her horse to a stop and turning to face him.

"Go home, Jor," she said tightly, but he just glared at her and kept walking. She reached behind her and pulled the pistol free and brought it to bear on the person she loved most in the world. That brought his steps to a halt, and she took a silent breath to keep her voice steady and met his eyes.