"...and Wick and Jorry have taken care of me, really..."

Jorry? Windhaven.

That was even more confusing. He'd seen the altercation Kat had interrupted between Jordan Windhaven and his wife, and he didn't understand how or why they would possibly have reconciled. He'd seen enough data to understand why Jor had reacted the way he had, and he'd seen enough of Wick's recovery to make it hard to believe that she'd accept Windhaven back into her home. Maybe she had something on him. Maybe it was part of a plan. Contemplating it made his head hurt, and he closed his eyes and frowned.

"...please? Don't be mad?"

He considered his options, of which there were very few. Katera was his only ally here, and he still had no way to get around easily on his own and no idea where they were. He knew that to shun Katera now would be to drive to her away from him, possibly permanently, and though the dim part of him that loved her deeply was not yet vocal enough to protest coherently, there were many good logical reasons to keep her with him to stand in for them. He needed time and information, and she needed closeness. It was almost like it had been in Charybdis; once again, he was the outsider and she was the guide.

You don't have to understand. You don't have to be happy about it. But you will have to trust me; I know what I'm doing, love, and I know how to protect you. This was the only way. We'll be alright.

"I missed you," she whispered, and settled her cheek against his side. The rise and fall of his chest was comforting, and she felt him breathe and listened to his heart beat and thought that maybe, eventually, it would be like it used to be. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

That statement brought on the familiar tide of emotions, and to keep from having to think of what might have happened, Kat looked up and smiled weakly at him. It was the best she could do, but it was happy, nonetheless, and then she lay back down against him and kissed his shoulder. "But now you're here," she said, "and you can get better."

Wick. He didn't catch another glimpse of her until he'd been there nearly a month, and then it was just in time to see her going down to her laboratory. Kat informed him that there was a workshop downstairs where they weren't allowed to go. God alone knew what she did down there, but at the very least he had faith in her survival instinct to assume she wasn't going to blow them all up. It also meant that he knew where she was most of the day, and since that exit seemed to be the only way in or out, he felt free enough to move about the house once she'd gone to work, whether it was to the lab downstairs or to the IF facility nearby.

He got as much information from Kat as he could on the Windhavens, but Kat didn't offer any details about their reconciliation and so he didn't ask. Jordan was apparently still stationed at Charybdis, and not due home for another three months. At first he didn't know what to make of that, but eventually determined that if Wick had some purpose in bringing him here then she wouldn't be particular about who she used to do it. Kat insisted that she'd come to Wick without warning, that she hadn't had any place to go, but though he got better at hiding his misgivings, they did not depart.

And there was something else.

His dreams had been something he'd been able to distance himself from, with James' help. It had been more than a year before he'd been able to mention them, still longer before he could bring himself to tell James what they were, and what he was afraid they meant. As far as he knew, James had done as he had asked and refrained from mentioning it to his doctors, and from the little that he knew, James was good at keeping promises. After a particularly unpleasant discussion - the last time they'd talked about the dreams - he'd made James promise to put him under, if Kat ever came to get him. He didn't want to hurt her, or James, or anyone else, and he wasn't sure what he would do when he saw her again.

After pointing out repeatedly that a situation like that would not come to pass, James had promised, and he had kept his promise. Now he had no one to help him distance them, and they were getting more and more vivid. Before, they had been going away. Now they were getting worse, and he was beginning to dread sleeping almost as much as he dreaded waking up; he was always afraid that he was going to wake up to find that it had been no dream, that Kat would no longer be in the bed with him because she'd run away, or that she would be in the bed with him, because she hadn't run fast enough.

His physical weakness was his shield for those first few weeks, but the nurse and Kat both insisted that he move, and he was admittedly eager to be moving under his own power; there was Wick, and he had to be ready, he told himself, and they were only dreams. Just dreams.

One morning he woke up with a start to find that she was gone. A glance around the room confirmed her absence; his heart started to hammer, and he leapt out of bed and to the door and flung it open.

She was in the hallway, and almost dropped the breakfast tray she was carrying when she saw him. He sank against the wall to let her go by, and followed her back in. She set the tray down and turned around and smiled at him, and in his desperate relief he took her in his arms without thinking about it and pulled her close to him.

There was a blush burning up her throat and cheeks, and she bent her head over a plate and fiddled uselessly with the silverware. It was not a shy blush, but a hungry one, and it took her over a minute before she could turn again to meet his eyes. "Come and eat."

It had been so long since he'd touched her.

More than two years; she could count the days, still, because it was that important to her. Since he'd arrived she'd done nothing but tend to him, following his every move and providing for his every need, and she had not allowed herself the luxury of another sort of tenderness. It was enough that she could care for him, enough that he grew stronger every day, and she watched him heal and silently waited until he would come for her for another sort of need.

For those first few weeks he couldn't, and she understood that, but it didn't make waiting any easier; sleeping beside him at night was a new kind of distance, one that was just as difficult to bear as hundreds of miles. When he well enough to walk around on his own, she hugged herself and smiled, waiting for him to tell her how much he'd missed her... but he didn't. More time passed, days, weeks, and every night she lay by his side and wanted to touch him, but couldn't.

You'll be better soon. We'll be better. I can wait.

Now here he was, and he had hugged her to him, and for a moment her eyes had closed and she'd felt safe again... but he'd pulled away and apologized, and that she couldn't understand. She wondered if she'd done something wrong, and could think of nothing, and continued to stare at the meal in front of her. He didn't say anything, and so neither did she, but eventually the silence became too much, and before she could do something terribly rash like kiss him, she looked up and smiled.

"The weather's nice today. Do you want to go for a walk outside?"

He smiled in relief. "I'd like that," he said gratefully, and pushed aside his plate. "I haven't been outside yet. You can show me around." After a moment she smiled back, and he followed her through the house and out into the sunshine.

The grounds to Wick's estate she knew by heart, and she carefully led him around the path that skirted the woods. That was a place she wasn't willing to show him, but he didn't ask, and she didn't offer, and they occupied themselves instead with exploring the orchards.

From there came the stables, and Kat pointed out the horse that Wick had made her ride once-- without mentioning the circumstances under which that ride came-- and tried to pet it, but it shied away. She stuck her tongue out at it in a petulant gesture, and Mode laughed at her, and as they left she gratefully slipped the horse some sugar she'd stolen and grinned quietly.

He's laughing again.

And he was, he was laughing and smiling and even joking with her a little, and she did her best to entertain him with stories and jokes of her own. His hand stayed in hers the entire time, and she couldn't stop smiling; this is what she'd been waiting for, what she'd been dreading couldn't happen, and relief that things seemed to be alright kept her eyes shining and her face happy.

He's happy again, finally.

He still tired easily, and they stopped and sat down in the orchards so that he could rest and Kat could try to eat whatever half-ripe fruit was on the trees. His activity was far more productive than hers, and eventually she gave up and sat down next to him, took his hand again and flopped onto her back in the grass to look up at the sky.

"I like it here," she said decisively, and tilted her head to glance at him with a smile. "When you're better, let's go someplace with trees. I like trees."

He seemed about to say something, but she was already up and moving again; the fresh air made her restless, and she liked showing him around the house and grounds. It reminded her of his first Charybdis tour, only without the army brats and the wariness, and she looked into an Angel's face years older and was glad for this second chance.

"Hurry up," she said, prodding him gently with her foot, and then sighed and rolled her eyes and grabbed his hands to help him up. He resisted a little, just to make her give him a look, but soon relented and allowed her to drag him back to the house and through the hallways.

She showed the pool (which she was scared of), the kitchens (which she adored), and finally the little gym Jor had built. That was a place more to his liking, and she perched on a bench and watched him look around with interest on his face.

Once they were back inside, she showed him the swimming pool, which peaked his interest. He hadn't been swimming since he was little, and then not very often, but he remembered it being something he enjoyed. The kitchens were next, and a rather shy looking young lady nodded in their direction as she prepared the evening meal. He nodded back politely and waited for Kat to get tired of trying to steal a bite and then followed her contentedly to the next stop.

It was a small gym, compact but well-equipped, and he was pleasantly surprised that it appeared to be open at all times. Once he had mastered the delicate arts of moving on his own without getting tired so easily, he would come here.

"That's mine," she said proudly, indicating the well-broken in punching bag and grinning at him. He grinned back. This was good, it felt good, and the fear his dreams had been instilling in him was rapidly dimming. There was no reason for that to happen, none at all. He loved Kat, and she loved him, and they were together and he was getting better all the time.

He smiled at her and wandered around the little gym, examining the equipment and even making a half-hearted bat at her punching bag, and she sat beaming at him until he walked back over. "Where do you want to go now?" she asked him, and then answered her own question. "I'm hungry."

"I am too," he admitted, and she hopped up and grabbed his hand and led him back to the kitchens. "Lucy cooks really well," she informed him with the air of someone who had extensive knowledge of the fact, "and she makes pie."

Lucy was still in the kitchen when they arrived, and Kat got Mode settled into one of the tables and promptly began to harass her. "Can I try that?" she asked, pointing, and then opened the fridge and rustled around, taking out random plates and dishes and peering in them all. "Is this good?"

"You're awfully thin. They didn't feed you enough there. You need to eat more."

His grin became a little more subdued. They had fed him in there, but with no room to move around his appetite had rapidly declined, and after that the twitchers had kept him slightly nauseous all the time. He'd gotten used to it, but James had noticed he was getting thinner and insisted he try to eat more. When he couldn't keep it down, James had arranged for an IV, and he only had to eat small amounts after that, but even those he ate under protest. James had insisted anyway, and now he understood why. If he had stopped eating entirely, it would have been far harder for him to start again.

The psychosomatic nausea made him swallow, but it left just as quickly and he smiled at Kat again. "I can't eat all of this, Kat," he said ruefully. "Will you help?" She gave an overly dramatic sigh. "I suppose..." Then his food began to disappear, and he decided if he wanted any at all he'd better get started.

He was worn out when they finally finished, and she could tell; his steps were a lot more heavy than they had been when they'd started, and so she took him back to his bedroom. She grinned as he sank gratefully onto the bed, helped him take off his boots and then her own, and crawled in beside him. He smiled at her, and Kat looked up into those grey eyes and decided she couldn't possibly wait any longer, and kissed him.

I missed you.

Her arms came up without direction and wrapped around his neck, and she forgot that he was hurt, that she was supposed to be gentle. It had been so very long, and she had him here, now, and suddenly that was all that mattered.

It's alright. It'll be alright.

Then her arms tightened, her body came up against his and the kiss became far more demanding, and his confidence stumbled. He tried to draw away gently, but she just pulled herself closer as if she hadn't even noticed.

Wait, wait, no, please....

His arms tightened with a strength that surprised them both, and the kiss turned almost feral. His hands tangled in her hair and tightened, and he felt rather than saw when her eyes snapped open. He broke the kiss and looked down at her as he had looked down at her so many times, his fingers intertwined in her curls, and the expression on his face struggled to stay blank as he forced his hands to unclench so he could pull them free.

It wasn't more than a second later that he pulled away from her, and she allowed it, but reluctantly, staring up at him with breathless impatience. His expression shifted, and she tried to read it, tried to read him, but he hid himself from her behind a blank face, and she could decipher nothing.

"What?" she asked quietly. What's wrong? What did I do? Why... why did you stop? He didn't answer, and she looked down to where he was now holding his hands in his lap. "Mode?"

There was apology in his eyes when she glanced back up, but she didn't want an apology, only him, and she kissed him again. This kiss was far more short-lived, and before she could latch onto him or hold him in place, he pushed her away. It was gentle, but she couldn't remember the last time he'd ever pushed her away, not when they weren't fighting about something, and the fear that maybe they were drove her back.

"No, Kat," he repeated quietly, "I'm not angry with you. I'm..."

Go on. Tell her. Tell her what's bothering you and why. Think she'll understand?

He swallowed.

"...I just need some time. I'm...I'm really tired." And it was true, he could feel his exhaustion pulling at his eyelids now, but she was still looking at him warily, and so he made the only concession he could afford.

"Of... of course." She conjured a smile, and he returned it a little weakly, but it was a smile nonetheless. Neither said any more, and she helped him get tucked securely into bed and then burrowed in beside him, close enough that she would wake if he did, but at enough of a distance that they wouldn't touch unless he wanted to. "Get some rest," she whispered, in an unusually gentle tone of voice, and then closed her eyes, trying to take her own advice.

He still spent the evenings with Kat, but each day it got harder. He spent the mornings thinking about it, his midday run trying to forget about it, but it was always there on the edge of his mind. She always came to see him in the evenings, and he hadn't yet dared to try to refuse her. He could see her disappointment and frustration growing every day, and intellectually he knew that some day, probably some day soon, something was going to happen, and he was almost positive he wouldn't like it, but he wasn't willing to risk the alternative. Not yet.

That was getting harder, too.

The brief double knock at his door announced her presence, and after only a few seconds of delay he moved to open it. She'd started knocking some time last week. He hadn't mentioned it, and neither had she, but he knew it meant something, probably something bad. He just needed time, time to sort this out without any interference, but he could tell from the too-bright eyes and too-eager smile she had started to greet him with that to ask for that time now would be to wound her even more deeply, and he couldn't bring himself to do that. Not yet.

He opened the door, and she smiled brightly at him. He returned it a little weakly, but he let her in. She was wearing green today, a green shirt that matched her eyes and made her hair that much more red, and when she hugged him hello he closed his eyes and hugged her back as briefly as possible, trying to shut out the feel of her curls under his fingertips.

She silenced the thought by focusing on her smile, and it became almost painfully cheerful. He returned it weakly, but if anything it only made her more enthusiastic; it was easier that way, to make up for his lack of interest with an excess of her own, but like every other afternoon she wondered, easier for whom?

"Hi, Mode," she chirped back at him, careful to let nothing but love and happiness and positive things shine in her eyes. Inside, though... inside she was anything but happy, anything but positive, and for a moment as she watched him move about the room, it slipped past her guard and clouded her face.

Why don't you want to see me anymore?

At first she had dismissed it, because she didn't understand it and Kat wasn't one to dwell on things she couldn't understand. It was far more simple to take his excuse at face value, and so she did that, giving him the space he asked for and waiting, always waiting, for when he'd had enough time.

But nothing seemed to be enough time. Now it was weeks past his first apology, and he kept pushing her further and further away, spending more time out of her company and avoiding her attempts to be near him. He didn't even bother to apologize anymore.

When she'd realized that, she immediately blamed herself, and sought to correct it. In a very uncharacteristic fashion, she became overly-sensitive to him, overly-helpful. She made sure the room was always immaculately cleaned, brought him his meals when he'd allow it, and even cornered Frederick and made him help her buy new clothes for Mode to wear. Dimly, she thought that it would prove her devotion to him, and he'd come to see that she was sorry for whatever it was she'd done, and would forgive her.

He didn't forgive her.

"How was your run today?" she asked brightly, sitting down at the little table and propping her chin in her hands to watch him. "You seem much less tired than a few weeks ago. You're getting stronger."

Now it just made her invitation sound that much more dangerous, and he laced his shoes instead of answering immediately, trying to come up with some sort of middle ground. He could say he was too tired, but she'd know it for the lie it was. He could say yes, and hope that she wouldn't go ballistic when he refused her inevitable advances. He could say no, and she would freeze over and withdraw even more. Maybe that would be best. Maybe.

A third and rather distasteful alternative suggested itself, and he reluctantly took it.

Not fooling myself anymore.

When he looked up at her again she steeled herself for his dismissal, her eyes a flat, cheerful armor waiting for the blow. Instead, he surprised her with a question, and she blinked and could not control her confusion; suspicion then worry then finally curiosity flitted over her face, and she blinked again.

But I have, she wanted to say, snidely. Because she will see me.

Mode took this sudden outburst without a word, but he looked up at her, and she at him, and suddenly Kat wanted to hit him. She didn't know why-- or she did, but couldn't put words to it, not yet-- and it only made her more angry, but none of it showed in her eyes. Just as abruptly it faded from her face, and she walked away to sit back down at the little table and prop her chin in her hands again.

"Wick doesn't eat dinner with us," she said quietly, but it wasn't addressed to Mode and she wasn't talking about herself and him, anyway. "And she hates champagne. But we don't have vodka left, because we drank it all, and I don't want to have dinner with her, I want to have dinner with you." Her eyes narrowed for a moment, the lines around her mouth deepening, but they smoothed out again and she stood and moved to the door.

That didn't leave too many other interactive possibilities, and he tried to close those out, but she wanted to watch a movie and wasn't at all shy about curling herself against him on the couch in her sitting room. He tried to remain as passively welcoming as possible, but she was right there, warm and inviting and tense, and he knew she wasn't interested in the movie any more than he was. She pulled herself into his lap and wrapped his arms around her, and he couldn't push her away. She felt good in his arms, and when he didn't reprimand her she turned in his embrace and kissed him.

He tried to remain unresponsive, and then he tried to keep it gentle, but she was digging her nails into his arms and pressing herself against him, and it was too much. She hadn't tried anything like this for more than a month, not since he'd been healthy, and if his body had been reluctant at all before, it wasn't now. Briefly, he became more forceful than she was, and her short gasp of surprise when he bit her throat melted into a purr that resonated in his spine and made him shiver. He was holding on to his sanity by a gossamer thread when she bit him back, and he hissed and pulled her away from his neck with his hands in her hair to kiss her.

If he hadn't looked down at her then, if he hadn't seen her with his hands threaded into her curls like that, it might have happened then, but realization swept over him in a cold wave and he stared down at her in shock.

Then he shoved her away and left.

No. I won't. I won't. I love you, Kat. I'm not going to kill you.

He didn't risk returning to his room until much later, but she wasn't there, and he was both relieved and disappointed.

I try so hard for you. What am I doing wrong?

Dinner had been a disaster. She'd gone to overly elaborate lengths to make it perfect, but good food and an intimate atmosphere could do nothing in the face of indifference. She hounded him with questions, because she could think of nothing else to say, nothing else that they had in common anymore to talk about, and it had degenerated to strained silence.

But Kat was unwilling to give up. She had even picked out a movie she thought he would like in advance, so that when she asked, he'd be unable to refuse. And he hadn't refused, he'd agreed, even let her sit beside him, then cuddle against him, but like before it went to hell the moment she touched him. For a moment she knew he wanted her too, with his hands in her curls, but then he'd shoved her away, and Kat sat up now to bury her face in her hands.

You used to love being close to me, used to love me. Then you were taken away, and I did so much to get you back. I did so much, and now you won't touch me, won't look at me, won't let me prove that I still love you. Don't you still love me?

Tears provided no answer, but they did fuel her resolve, and when she looked up again there was anger burning in her eyes. Quickly and furiously she swept through the room, pulling her clothes out of the closet they'd shared, picking up scattered discs and shoes and the dagger she'd shoved under their bed, and when she was done there was nothing left to show she'd ever been there.

Her room was cold and a little dusty from over a month of disuse, but Kat was not picky; she only needed a place to sleep, and she'd stayed in worst places. She shoved all her belongings into the dresser drawers in a haphazard fashion, and then sat on the floor in the dark, her chin on her knees and her dagger in hand, and she cried again until she fell asleep there in the dust.

The next day she managed to occupy herself until mid-afternoon, but the time came around when she normally went to see Mode, and she could not bring herself to go to him. Desperate, though, for anything, for some kind of company, she dared to do the one thing that had always been unspeakably forbidden, and found herself knocking quietly on the door to Wick's lab downstairs.

Aside from previously summoned servants, no one ever knocked at her door, but given the current occupants of the house she felt she could make an educated guess as to who her visitor was. She still checked the monitor, and when she saw Kat on the other side of the door in the little screen, shifting from foot to foot, she made some very quick decisions.

She knows better than to be down here. She's never come down here before. Maybe she's upset. So what if she's upset? Kat added to upset added to a good number of highly volatile substances might not equal the most intelligent of equations.

She peered more closely as Kat knocked again.

She really does look upset.

After a few more seconds, she thumbed the release and watched the door slide into the wall. Kat stepped in a little hesitantly, and Wick smiled at her with amused irritation.

"Something I can do for you, Kat? I'm just finishing something."

Kat stepped inside and looked around, because she couldn't be in Wick's lab and not look. It wasn't quite as she'd imagined it; mostly because she had a vague idea that the basement was full of dangerous chemicals and bombs and things about to explode, and instead it was just a large sterile space, with tidy workspaces and some papers that it appeared Wick had been writing on.

"I won't touch anything!" Kat blurted out abruptly, and with great care sat down on a stool near one of the workbenches. Wick grinned at her more genuinely and went back to work, but Kat apparently didn't feel like wasting time tonight, and Wick looked up when she started talking again.

"I was wondering...do you want to have dinner with...me?"

Wick considered the request for a moment and then looked back down at what she was doing and wrote a few more lines. "I don't see why not," she said speculatively, her pen pausing for the briefest moment as she assembled possible causes for why Kat might be asking her this. "I'm not really hungry yet, but I will be in an hour and a half."

Kat didn't say anything, and she finished another line before she asked the obvious question.

"It's upstairs," she said with another grin. Kat's enthusiasm made it hard not to show some excitement herself, and she tried not to notice the way Kat looked around each corner they turned as if expecting someone she didn't want to see. She tried not to wonder why, and when she entered the hallway just ahead of Kat and thought she heard a soft footstep just beyond the turn in the corridor, she said nothing at all and unlocked her suite door with a little more eager anticipation than she'd been displaying before.

"Hold on, hold on," she said, holding up her hands in a just-be-patient gesture. "Your things are on that chair, if you want them now."

Kat grinned broadly and skipped over. "That's where my sweater went," she declared loudly and a little accusingly, but the grin ruined it. "And my shoes. I like those shoes." She gathered up everything into a giant armful and peeked over the top. "I'll go put it away. I'm just next door."

She left before Wick could comment on the change in rooms, and let herself into her own suite, hastily cramming everything into her already disorganized drawers and throwing her boots into a corner. Her room was still dusty, and she sneezed and quickly left, appearing again beside Wick to hound her with questions.

"It's a gun, Katera. We're going to shoot things with it."

She led Kat downstairs and outside at a cheerfully brisk pace, but not too brisk, just in case. The small range had been left unused since Jor had been gone, and Wick had insisted the range be as far from the stables as possible, so it was a fair hike on foot through the trees to the far end of the lot. There had been rain the past few days, and by the time they'd gotten there their shoes were muddy and soaked through, but aside from some rather loud complaining, Kat's eagerness didn't appear to be too impaired.

Some of the big wooden targets had been blown down, but most of the big boards were still standing at the various distance markers, backed with hay bales to stop the bullets. It was really too wet to consider hanging paper over them, and they hadn't brrought any anyway; marksmanship wasn't really the point. The point was to test the weapon and to get Kat to quit moping - or it had been, until they acquired their shadow. Wick found it both amusing and infuriating that one of her houseguests would act in such a childish fashion, and she intended to make him suffer for it.

Kat dragged a bale of hay from the target area over so they would have something to sit on while Wick loaded the clip, and without ado she pointed at the nearest target and shot it four times. She wasn't much for firearms. She preferred to cut out the middleman. Nevertheless, the gun handled quite well and didn't offer much of a kick, and she smiled in satisfaction and tossed the gun to Kat.

She hadn't expected the ginger manner in which Kat approached shooting. She stood uncertainly and squinted one eye when aiming, and Wick spotted an opportunity she didn't want to pass up.

"Put the gun down, Kitten. Give it to me, before you get hurt."

She took it hesitantly, and stood up to assume her best shooting stance. Kat had never liked guns; hand-to-hand combat had been, for the longest time, all she knew, and to her guns seemed unnecessarily loud and dangerous. Regardless, she gripped the pistol tightly, squinted an eye to aim at the target, and was ready to pull the trigger when Wick interrupted.

"Stop!" she said, and Kat blinked with the one eye she had open. "That's all wrong." Instinctively she lowered the gun and tried to hand it back, but Wick fit herself against her back and demonstrated. "Like that. And don't squint! You lose your depth perception."

Kat shrugged a little and tried not to sulk. "I stab, not shoot," she pointed out defensively, but there was too much of a pout in her voice, and she could feel the vibration as Wick chuckled. "You still lose your depth perception," she said reasonably, and Kat sighed and straightened. Wick helped her level her arms correctly without locking her elbows, and Kat concentrated on not squinting and started to fire.

She'd fired a gun before, everyone had, but it was different than the lasers at the range and the fletchettes they used on the stations. There was a recoil-- not much, but enough to make Kat tighten her grip more-- and it was loud, but the targets splintered and the hay bales thumped with a very satisfying noise, and Kat tilted her chin back so she could grin up at Wick behind her.

"That's fun," she said decisively, and squirmed with her excitement. "Let's do it again."

"Very well done. My turn."

They took turns shooting the targets to bits for the next hour until the ammunition ran out, and by then it was cold enough to make Wick eager to get back inside. Katera followed her back cheerfully, and Wick tried to think of what they could do next. Her stomach rumbled then, and she remembered dinner about the time they re-entered the house. They were close enough to the kitchens to smell the food cooking, and Wick took a deep breath and then grinned at Kat. She hadn't felt this relaxed and eager for a meal in a long time, and she was looking forward to it.

It didn't take more than fifteen minutes before she was back out the door, damp curls piled on the top of her head and feet bare as she made her way down to the dining room. The smell of food cooking sidetracked her to the kitchen, and she harassed Lucy by picking at bits and pieces of the meal, until Frederick finally managed to usher her to the table. Wick was already seated, and Kat grinned broadly and sat down beside her and impatiently began to fiddle with her silverware.

Frederick and Lucy served the dishes and then quietly excused themselves. The first course was a small, refreshing salad, and the main course was a savory stew of some sort served with rolls and French bread. It was good food for a cold night, and Wick surprised herself by chatting comfortably with Kat about her work. If Kat was pretending to be interested, she was pretending too well for Wick to want to pierce the illusion, and they passed their meal in almost normal conversation.

Once they were finished and Kat had eaten a slice of pie just a little smaller than her head, they took an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne for Kat and a small bottle of vodka and a container of cranberry juice for Wick in it, pulled the blankets from Kat's bed, made a comfortable nest on the largest couch in one of the lounges and watched a movie. It had plenty of admirable explosions (though the reason given by the movie was generally far less than adequate for such lovely pyrotechnics), and there was plot but not in dangerous doses. Wick wasn't generally much of a movie fan, but it wasn't too bad and Kat's pleased reaction was entertaining in itself - and knowing that they were being watched kept it amusing.

Kat had been trying to draw attention from Mode for weeks, without fully realizing what kind of attention she'd really been seeking. It wasn't intimacy that she needed, not entirely, but this closeness, this relaxed conversation and comforting feeling of being near someone else. Before Mode had returned, she'd sought it from Wick on several ocassions, and having it again made her realize how much she'd missed it.

They had a delicious dinner, and Wick chatted on about her work and Kat was honestly interested. She had little to do to keep herself busy these days, save care for Mode, and it made her jealous to listen to all the exciting things Wick got to do. She grew even more jealous when she realized that she'd never have a chance like that, not now that they were, for all intents and purposes, outlaws, and so she drank it all in, attentive and fascinated.

After dinner-- and pie-- they watched a movie. Kat adored movies involving anything loud, dangerous, or exciting, and this one had all three, with more explosions than she could count. The bottle of champagne Wick had brought with them disappeared as rapidly as the buildings, vehicles, and people did in the movie, and she was beaming and altogether pleased with the world when Wick moved closer.

She wasn't expecting it, and it took a moment for her to look down at Wick, leaning on her shoulder. Then it took a moment longer to decide what to do, but eventually she slipped an arm around Wick and rested her own cheek on the crown of Wick's head.

With Jordan, of course. Only...only it's not like this with Jordan. He wants things from me. I don't mind that...but this is different.

Kat brushed her cheek against Wick's hair just a bit, and Wick sighed and turned her face slightly towards Kat's throat. Kat stroked her hair idly, and Wick opened her eyes slowly as realization washed over her and then closed them again.

I remember now.

The safety, the love, the unquestionable bond, the clear, unspoken understanding between them...Wick had only shared such a relationship once before, and though the situation and the person had been radically different before, the feel was the same. Kat was nothing like her mother, but now, just for now, she could keep her eyes closed and know that everything was alright.

"Sorry," Wick said quietly, and Kat yawned again, widely, stretching her arms above her head and licking her teeth. She smiled again. "Neh," she said in dismissal, leaning over to scratch her chin against Wick's shoulder. "I fell 'sleep too." She made a face and stuck her head under the blankets to burrow around for a moment, and Wick was watching her when she emerged, champagne bottle in hand. "On the bottle. Ow."

That got her a laugh, and then it was Wick's turn to stretch. Kat watched her with drowsy, content amusement, her eyes half-veiled and happy, and she reached out and scratched her sister's chin lightly when she had settled back down. "Bed?"

It was a little more difficult to move this time, as they-- or Kat, at least-- had drank a decent amount, and both were tired. Wick left the bottles were they were, and Kat tried to fold up the blankets, but ended up just draping them over herself and dragging them behind her. It was a slow, quiet walk through the halls, and when they reached their rooms Kat paused, unsure of where to go, unsure of which she wanted. Wick noticed her hesitation and went into her bedroom, but left the door open, and it didn't take Kat more than a minute to decide.

Kat was amenable, and while she was splashing around in the giant tub in Wick's bathroom Wick crept into Kat's room and retrieved a set of clean clothes and stopped to take a brief shower herself. Kat was just getting out when she came back, and once they were both dressed Wick talked Kat into letting Lucy braid her hair for her. With the long curls pulled straight and tamed into a very respectable braid (with many gentle admonitions from Lucy that holding still would make it much smoother), Kat looked quite different. Wick had never seen her without the red hair hanging in her face, and she looked...she looked adult and capable, and only occasionally did her furtive eye movements give her away.

Wick got dressed while Lucy and Kat were wrestling, and when Kat was done looking at herself in the mirror and turning her head from side to side, Wick handed Kat a pair of discreet sunglasses and told her to get her shoes.

Then they left.

Wick hadn't risked taking Kat into town since she'd arrived; the IF was undoubtedly looking for her then. It had been almost two years now, though, and she seriously doubted Baton Rouge was a major target of investigation.

Once they were out of the car and onto the sidewalk, Kat got jumpy, but the midday pedestrian traffic was light, and Wick was careful to take her into places where the press of people wasn't too heavy. They even hit a shopping mall, and because it was a weekday there weren't too many people around, and Wick let Kat drag her into any shop that had something that caught her eye. They didn't actually walk away with much, relatively speaking - Kat's interest was fast and fickle - but by the time they returned to the waiting car, Kat's hands were full of shopping bag handles. Wick didn't mind buying her friend things, but she wasn't going to carry them.

They did a lot of walking, and when they finally went home it was well after dark and they were both too tired to do much but eat dinner and go to sleep - in Wick's room, of course.

Over the course of the next two weeks she and Kat were constant companions, and Wick never let her out of her sight. They went out every day, as soon as they woke, and stayed out later each night. Wick was more of an observer than a participant, and they slowly graduated from shopping to movies and sightseeing. They ate ice cream and visited amusement parks and after Wick verified that the construction of the vehicles was stable, rode Go Karts. They visited a couple of the giant holo-arcades and, towards the end of the second week, a couple of bars, though never for very long. Wick did not trust herself to be able to contain a drunken Katera in the midst of so many predatory men, and she didn't care for the noise.

Kat drank it all in, but Wick could tell when the internal pressure began to break through. It took more to make her smile - and Wick delivered, she did, but she knew Kat was aware of the decline. At the same time, Wick wondered what Nathan was doing with all the time she was buying him. At night when Wick and Kat slept together, Wick often woke up to Kat clinging to her in her sleep, but it wasn't Wick's name Kat was whispering.

It had been a long time, she realized, since she'd last seen her own face in detail. She usually just flew by the mirror in her room, stopping sometimes to smooth her hair, or rub a mark off her cheek, but rarely did she spend any length of time looking at herself, and never did she stop and just look.

She looked tired, she decided, and somehow more responsible, with the riot of curls pulled back and the lines of her face clean. Her cheekbones seemed more pronounced than she remembered them being, her eyes wider, her chin sharper, and the scar on her cheek was all but gone. There were lines around her eyes and mouth, but those lines had been there a long time, and they were nothing new. Still, it was enough of a change that she leaned closer, and it took a few minutes before she was satisfied with these discoveries.

She looked like a very different Kat, but when she turned away from the mirror she was smiling, and Wick nodded in acknowledgement.

They left the house after that, and from behind sunglasses and tinted windows Kat had a chance to see the world again. She was happy enough just to be off the estate, out where there were other people and places, but Wick was not as content as she was to sit and stare, and soon enough they stopped and Wick climbed out of the car.

Kat didn't want to move. She glanced up at the sun, and looked around this unfamiliar place, and it was frightening and terrifyingly exhilarating all at once. With some reluctance she allowed herself to be dragged out into the open, and there it was harder to contain her nervous excitement; there were so many people and sights and sounds to keep track of, and it felt like cage shakes all over again. Wick noticed, but didn't seem to be bothered herself, and Kat resolved to be calm like her sister was calm, and followed her down the street.

God. The world was such an interesting place! Kat had forgotten just how fascinating the smallest things could be, and it didn't take long before she was over her anxiety and bouncing around, dragging Wick this way and that, picking up anything she could and running her hands over anything she couldn't. She had never long had the luxury of walking or talking or shopping in public, and she relished it with a child's enjoyment, beaming every time Wick bought her a new gift. By the time dark fell she was exhausted but happy, actually happy, and that night she slept beside Wick, feeling safe and secure and content.

The next day, they did it again.

Every day was a new adventure, and with Wick by her side, Kat had the opportunity to do all the things she'd never gotten a chance to experience. They saw movies in an actual theater, went to amusement parks and rode roller coasters and drove Go-Karts and ate ice cream-- after much contemplation, Kat decided rocky road was her favorite, although cookie dough came in a close second-- and had fun. Kat threw herself wholeheartedly into everything they did; at first it was because she could finally stop looking over her shoulder and just enjoy herself, but after the first week it was because she had to. Doing all these new things was the only way to make the days bearable. Wick provided her with the perfect distractions, making each day better than the last, but although Kat appreciated the pampering and did her best to show her gratitude, she knew better, and she knew Wick did too.

While they were out eating or walking or looking around, she always wondered what Mode was doing. While they were laughing or talking or sharing stories, she always wondered what Mode was thinking. She missed him, every moment of every day, no matter what she was doing at the time and regardless of having Wick with her, and it began to show in her eyes, dulling the happiness in her smile. Wick must have known her well enough to keep her out of the house and away from him, and to stay by her side constantly, without giving her a chance to be alone, because otherwise Kat would have haunted his steps during every spare hour she had.

Instead, she realized that Wick was a willing partner and friend, and she took advantage of that. There wasn't a night that she didn't stay in Wick's room; it became comfortable and necessary, sleeping beside Wick, and like their adventures during the day, sharing a bed became the only thing to make each long night endurable. She clung to Wick and, in turn, Wick did all the things Kat needed; petted her curls, let her huddle against her while she slept, and Kat loved her for it, but couldn't stop dreaming of him.

And then, as abruptly as it had started, the little peaceful interlude ended.

The morning came two weeks later when Wick had to return to work; Kat had known it was coming, and Wick even warned her, saying that she'd taken time off just for a few weeks, but it didn't make the separation any easier. Her sister woke her in the morning to say goodbye for the day, and to tell her she'd be home by dinner time, and then, just like that, Kat was alone.

She sat in bed for five minutes, telling herself that she was not dependent upon Wick, that there were plenty of things for her to do by herself and that she was perfectly capable of spending a day on her own. Her resolve to do so lasted only five minutes after that, and soon she was up and wandering the house in her pajamas, desperate for something to do.

Lucy was a life saver, Kat told her, after the other woman cooked her breakfast and even sat down for ten minutes and talked to her. It was a pointless conversation, mostly because Kat had never been good at small talk, but it was ten less minutes that she could be moping, and she was grateful for the company. She told Lucy so, and grinned at her, but soon enough she was done eating and had to go in search of another distraction.

She went to her room, unoccupied for these past two weeks, and started cleaning. She remade the bed. She emptied then organized then reorganized her drawers. She went through all the gifts Wick had bought her and played with them, set them carefully around the room, and then, like her drawers, decided to do it all over again and flitted about, putting an object there, a book here. By the time afternoon came around Kat couldn't possibly organize or clean or decorate anything else, and she sat on the floor, trying to decide what to do next.

Her punching bag was something she hadn't seen in weeks, and once she convinced herself that Mode would be out for his afternoon run, she left for the little gym.

Kat was halfway through the door before she realized he was there; she hadn't been expecting him, and she'd been lost in thought, thinking of him. She froze where she was but she couldn't bring herself to leave, couldn't turn away and walk out the door like he'd done to her. He'd already noticed her, and it had been so long since she'd looked upon him, and so she stared at him, her gaze hungry and afraid.

Yet she was, she was always smiling at the beginning. It was the smile he'd seen on her when he first met her, the smile that was half canine and all feline, and he loved to see it almost as much as he loved taking it away from her.

She was standing at the end of the hallway, the metal and plastic hallways that marked the lower levels of Charybdis, and she always waited for him there, that smile on her face. Then he got closer, close enough for her to see him clearly, and with the same predatory smile on her features she turned and ran.

He sprinted after her, and together they darted through the ill-lit hallways and past the cells. Most were closed, but some were open, and he was always careful to leave room. There were things in the cells, and he didn't want anything slowing him down. He had to catch her. He had to make her stop running away from him, had to make her understand that she didn't have to run away, couldn't, not from him.

It was always the same. He didn't gain on her for a long, long time, and then like a fast forwarded video feed he was overlapping her, and he could reach out and twist a hand into her hair and pull her back against him. She didn't scream - not then - but she hissed, and they tumbled to the cold metal floor, the sounds of their struggle muffled by the thin blue Institute scrubs. He never got her all at once; sometimes she kicked him, sometimes she landed a punch. Tonight she caught him across the face with her nails, and he laughed and struck her back. Her eyes unfocused and he twisted her arms underneath her and held her that way until they cleared.

Her smile was gone, and she had blood on her face now as she tried to fight him off. The anger, the hate in her emerald eyes bore lines of solid gold fear, and he moved close so he could catch the scent of her sweat and the blood that trickled from her lip. He kissed her and she fought harder, twisting under him and making him impatient to break her. Sometimes he kept her like this for hours, hurting her in little ways, watching her struggle and fight and hate him, but tonight he wanted it too much to cherish the preliminaries.

The flimsy scrubs ripped, and he took handfuls of her soft red curls to keep her face to his. The first sweet invasion always made her scream, always brought her eyes open wide with shock, and he loved to see it on her face, to feel her renewed struggles beneath him as he proved over and over again that it was useless. Her body moved, her face flushed, and when he knew that he'd won, he took the smile he'd stolen from her and wore it as he slid his hand down over her nose and mouth and pressed down.

Her eyes went wide again, like they always did. The tiny sounds she could manage without breathing moved him, made it fast and hard, and for the final few seconds it felt like he was suffocating, but her body was still fighting him when he broke and buried his face in her hair. The fighting slowed, becoming uncoordinated and weak, stopped altogether, and he closed his eyes and opened them.

She stood at the end of the hallway and smiled at him, and he shivered and woke up.

The panic that always accompanied his waking faded, replaced by tired awareness. He no longer felt relief when he confirmed for himself that it had been only a dream; it was getting worse every night, more vivid than it had been in a long time, and each time he woke he had to face another day that included the possibility that it might come to pass in reality.

I wonder if that would make them stop?

Kat wasn't anywhere in the house. She was always gone by the time he was awake now. Ever since he had pushed her away, she'd had nothing to do with him. Now she spent all her time with Wick.

Wick.

The name didn't really mean anything to him anymore. When he'd been in Charybdis for the first time, that name had summed up all of his anger and hatred, all of his rage at the betrayal he'd suffered from Dante and from the IF. It was all Wick's fault, his juvenile mind had been able to focus on. It was her fault, and she had to pay. The distance, the camera feeds and the training he'd gotten when he was transferred to the IA had given him perspective he would never have been able to gain on his own. Wick wasn't the only one responsible for his trip to Charybdis, not by far. He hadn't been able to stop hating her entirely, but he'd at least gathered that she'd been trying to protect herself - in Command School, anyway - and let it go at that. He hadn't thought about her at all until Kat had mentioned her years later, and even that was a relatively minor disruption.

Later, after Windhaven had beaten her, he'd been confused and threatened by Kat's attachment to her, but it had been faceless fear, something he feared because he didn't understand it, but once she was up and around she left the station and his life, and he'd been content to see her go.

Now here she was again, occupying his wife while he tried to get himself in order, and he didn't know whether to thank her or hate her. He'd seen them lounge against each other, but though it made him jealous it still appeared innocent. He'd listened and watched, and he was almost certain that when they slept together they only slept, but the situation tapped into an old vein of mistrust and fear that had been buried under Wick's name a long time ago, and though his intellect kept his instinct under control it was hard to see them together.

His intellect also told him that it was probably for the best. It kept Katera near, but not too near, and it did give him some time to try to work himself free of his problems, but time only seemed to make them more evident.

He spent those two weeks thinking about Katera and about Jacks. His son figured in his thoughts less frequently; he missed him terribly, but he knew Owen was a good man, and he trusted him to take care of him until they could get him back. Meanwhile, Jacks was safe, and he didn't want to include him in this equation until after he and Katera had sorted things out, which meant until after he had sorted things out. Katera didn't seem to have any problems expressing what it was she wanted. She never had.

What do I want?

He wanted Katera, in every sense of the word. He missed her company and her smile, yes, he missed her sense of humor and her demanding nature, but that wasn't what kept him awake. He wore his body out in the gym as long as he dared every day, and he still went to sleep needing her. Exercise was like drugs should have been; every time he went back he needed more to get the same effect, and even when he ran himself into the ground and fell asleep as soon as he went to bed, it did nothing for the dreams.

"Dreams are just dreams, Nathan. They don't mean anything by themselves. They're sometimes expressions of the unconscious, and sometimes they're just...dreams, Nathan. It doesn't mean you have to act them out."

"I know...but...they feel so real. While I'm dreaming them...I like what I'm doing."

"But you have no desire to do those things when you're awake, and you experience a deep revulsion when you remember them. Nathan, you are the only one who can decide what it is you do. You don't have to be afraid of your dreams. They don't make you evil. They don't make you anything."

"I know."

"You love your wife. You wouldn't do anything to hurt her, would you?"

"Never."

"Then you'll just have to trust yourself like she does."

"I can't."

"You'll learn."

But he hadn't, and now the chance was gone.
~~~

He heard her footsteps in the hall and was already on his feet when she burst through the door. He hadn't seen her this close since their evening together weeks ago, and he tried not to stare. Her hair was pulled back, and he'd never seen it pulled back before. It made her look less childlike, heightened the effect of her cheekbones and kept his attention for a full four seconds before he drank in the rest of her in a single guilty glance. He swallowed when she froze and locked eyes with him, but he couldn't look away.

"Hello, Kat," he said at last when she didn't say anything. "Hi, Mode," she said in a soft, shy voice. "How're you?"

Lonely, Kat. I'm lonely and I want you so much I'm losing my fucking mind over it.

How can you just walk away?

He disappeared from view, then, and Kat slowly broke down. First her expression fell, and then her shoulders slumped, and finally she was left looking at the floor, her eyes filled with tears that had nowhere to go.

"I hate you," she whispered, and in the empty room it sounded small and lost. She said it again, and then took off at a run, flying through the house in a random, wild path, avoiding places he might be and trying to find her room. She was tired and breathing heavily when she finally slammed the bedroom doors behind her, but it wasn't until she reached her bed that she stopped and tried to catch her breath.

The edge of the mattress was easy to lift, and from beneath it she pulled the knife she'd hidden there after the rescue at Charybdis. Slowly, she pulled it free, dropped the sheath on the bedspread and lifted the blade, but she could see nothing of her reflection, and retreated to the mirror.

There, she could see herself again, as she had when Lucy braided her hair, but this time she hated the sight of herself. She could only see the tears that made her eyes wet and wavery, the scar on her cheek, the points of her teeth, and she felt hideous, monstrous. "You're ugly," she told her reflection accusingly. "Ugly and a goddamned murdering bitch." Her image had nothing to say to that, and furious at the silence, Kat screamed at herself. "No wonder no one loves you! He hates you! He hates you and you should die!"

The Kat in the mirror started crying at that, and she raised the knife and, in that one movement, saw herself as so many others had. Jax, Zion, Gabriel... even Mode... and she screamed at herself again and slammed the hilt of her dagger against her own reflection. It shattered and rained little shards down over her, and she looked at the drops of blood on her skin and the knife in her hand and felt dirty again.

Then she was off at a sprint, another flight through the house, only this time she left the front door open and leapt down the steps, her footsteps racing across the grass and toward the trees. Mode didn't want her, and neither did Wick, and Kat didn't know where else to go.

I hate you, and you must hate me, to stay around like this when you know how much I want you. You must hate me so much.

At least Jax left, and I could learn to be alone again. If you don't want me, why don't you leave? Maybe I should leave instead.

Kat's room was empty. The mattress was shoved off center and one of the chairs was knocked over, but her things were still there. Clothes were scattered on the floor, and hung in the closet. She wasn't gone, just...out. Relief swept over him, and he leaned against the doorway and was beginning to breathe more easily when something shiny on the carpet nearest the bathroom caught his eye.

He stood straight again, and walked slowly over to the fragment. He kept his eyes on it, refused to look away from it, and even after he stood practically in the bathroom doorway it took him an effort of will for him to turn his head.

The shards of a floor length mirror were scattered across the tile floor, and the remnants that still clung to the frame were too spiderwebbed to reflect anything. There were little drops of blood on the tiles, just a few tiny little drops, and he stared at them as if he could make them go away.

"She's gone."

The voice startled him, and he spun around. Wick was standing in the doorway.

No. She's not gone. She's not, she's still here and you know where.

He walked toward her, but she didn't back away. He wanted to grab her, to hurt her until she told him where Kat was, but her complete lack of intimidation unsettled him, and he brought himself to a halt in front of her.

"Where is she?" he demanded as coldly as he dared.

She said nothing.

He bared his teeth briefly, and his hands balled into fists. She looked down at them and back to his face without a flicker of fear or interest. She looked old and tired, and his hands fell open again. The silence between them stretched another unbearable few seconds, and he was about to speak when she beat him to it.

"She's outside," she said quietly. "In the reserve. I couldn't say where, exactly." He started to relax. Of course. Kat often spent time outside. He knew how much she liked trees.

"...but she's not coming back," Wick concluded, in a dead voice, and he refocused on her face.

"Why not?"

She looked at him then, and he turned away. When he turned back, she was gone, and he looked back at the shiny bits of mirror he could see in the carpet.

I've made that trip, Nathan, and I would take two to one odds that you won't come back intact.

She sat there and looked at the trees for a long time. It was unseasonably cool, and her ankle was bothering her, and after rubbing at it absently with her fingertips she got up to get a blanket and return to her seat.

At least he'd gone after her. That was something, though Wick doubted it would be enough. Everyone had a breaking point, and Nathan had pushed his wife past hers weeks ago, and whatever Wick had tried to delay before had finally come to pass, and there was nothing more she could do.

She missed her husband. He always seemed to know better when it came to guessing Kat's moods. Maybe Jordan could have talked to Nathan, or distracted Kat more completely.

Like a child she giggled, but her expression didn't match the laugh, and both quickly faded to tired resignation. Her movements were slow and almost lethargic as she kicked her feet in the running water one last time and then dried them in the grass and sat down to put on her shoes. It was unreasonably difficult to tie her laces for some reason, her fingers stiff and cold, but eventually she finished and then stood to look up at the trees above her and sigh.

I'm going to miss this.

She'd spent the first hour running, and the second lying exhausted in a clearing, staring up at a sky as grey as Mode's eyes. The treetops swayed with a wind that she couldn't feel, and everything felt surreal-- the past few years, his cold indifference and her final decision-- and she wondered if any of it had been real. She wondered if she were real, and then decided that she was, that this time she couldn't change what had happened or what soon would, and the tumult of emotions inside her finally grew peaceful.

I'm going to miss you.

Her decision made, she got up and smiled, and took off running again. It was like a deadline, the approach of dark, and there was a sad frantic energy to her as she romped through the woods. She took off her shoes and jumped in creeks and rolled in the grass and picked flowers by the handful, trying to do everything at once, because she had to. She tried to keep that same calm, peaceful state of mind, but the longer she stayed away the harder it became, and when night began to fall it was replaced with the same angry indecision she'd first left the house with.

She sighed again and leaned over to yank on her bootlaces with an unnecessary gesture. It was just another thing to do to stall, and she knew it, because dark had come and she was still standing here, avoiding what she'd decided to do.

I won't stay here if you don't want me. I could leave, but the IF will find me eventually, and I won't go back to Charybdis. I'd rather give in on my own terms.

I'd rather finish what I started, after the first time you left.

The dagger was tucked into her waistband. She'd been studiously ignoring its presence for the last few hours, if such a thing were even possible, because it only reminded her of what she was going to do. Now she could do nothing but be reminded of it, and she pulled it free, looked at the shining steel and felt such a surge of fury at herself, at him, at everyone. It was worse than when she'd shattered her reflection, worse than all the times she'd ever been hurt or abandoned or angry at anything, and she screamed her hate for him.

Then everything went silent, and she saw the light.

It was far away at first, just a little twinkle between the trees, and her eyebrows drew down in confusion. Silently she slipped out of sight, and then began to move through the forest, her eyes never leaving the light. It grew closer, bobbing this way and that, accompanied by the cracking of branches and leaves underfoot, and she was ready to scream at Wick to leave her alone when Mode came into view.

She stopped breathing, then, stopped doing anything that might draw his attention, but she couldn't stop staring at him. He was moving slowly, looking all around and flashing the light, and her expression grew dark. She didn't want him here, not anymore, she told herself, and it was too late. He'd come weeks too late, months too late, and nothing he did now would make up for it. Nothing would make her forgive him, not this time, and she wanted to disappear forever right then, but couldn't bring herself to, not without one last word.

He spun, playing the light over the trees behind him, and then made himself do it more slowly. The leaves were thick and cast their own shadows when he shined the light at them, and he tried to keep the light steady and trained on areas where someone could conceivably be.

"I'm not going to come back."

He turned again. Branches and leaves stood out in stark relief in the beam of the flashlight, but he could only see the first layer of foliage and nothing beyond.

"Just go away."

He brought the light back toward the sound and caught a glint of metal before it disappeared. He searched the dim circle of light for another hint that she was there, but there was no sound and no movement to prove it had been anything but his imagination.

"Katera?"

He said her name in a hesitant voice, and she hissed quietly between her teeth, angrier now for a reason she couldn't define. She couldn't have withstood it if he'd called her Kitten, or any affectionate name for her, but she was just as furious that he hadn't, that he could stand there and just call her Katera. Her hatred was unable to find a place to land, and for lack of any new, certain misdeed, she just remembered the times he'd pushed her away and narrowed her eyes at him.

He had a general idea of where she was now, and he used the light to keep looking for her exact position. His terror was beginning to subside. He even felt alittle comfortable irritation. She was still here, and she was alright. There was still time. She was angry, but the important thing now was to get her back to the house.

He took a single step in her direction and then stopped. Kat had to be coaxed, not forced, and advancing on her would only make her run away.

"That's not true," he said forcefully as he tried to pick her out between the leaves. Nothing could be farther from the truth, Kat. Nothing. She didn't respond, and he started talking again to keep her from leaving. "So that's it? You're leaving?" He sounded frustrated even to himself, and made an effort to make his next statement less harsh. "What about Wick? What about Jacks?" She still said nothing, and he stared at the bushes that concealed her and offered one final plea.