Five Paths. One Choice.

My fingers ache, but I’m grateful to have water running. Gelid and red-brownish as it is. The water flows from the faucet, falls into my hands, swirls and disappears down the drain carrying with it the black foam.  

My hands were never this dirty before leaving the Tower. A mix of ancient rust and grease that didn’t come out when I wiped my palms against the worn-out legs of my jeans. Water, soap and a brush were insufficient as well; dirt remained under the fingernails, and small cuts all over the skin of my fingers and palms were painted black, looking like tiny black rivers in a map. 

My fingers ache because I scrub too hard. The contact of the stiff plastic of the bristles against my bruised skin is painful. The fingerless gloves, essential to conserve the grip, did nothing to protect them from the cold or sharp edges. 

My fingers ache, but I won’t complain. We’re turning the dreaded zombie-infested lodge into a colony. More than that. Olympus is a dream we’re building together, and with our hands we can shape it however we like.  

After many hours working to fix the pipes that connect the water cistern to the pump, my fingers were stiff from adjusting the grip to tools I was never meant to use.  

It’s pointless to spend water, soap, and energy like this. My hands will get dirty again one way or another, but I did it anyway. It gave me something to do, something to focus on other than missing my sister.  

It’s a never-ending struggle to shove those thoughts to the back of my mind.  

When it gets dark, I’m left with my ghosts.  

Not even exhaustion from all the work and lying on a comfortable bed with actual bedcovers led to a nice sleep session... On the contrary.

I toss and turn in the dark, missing having someone hold my hand and tell things will be alright. I miss those first nights sleeping on the floor downstairs beside Troy. He reminds me of what’s important... It’s easy to forget when I’m alone. 

*** 

The lodge has been abandoned for so long; it needs cleaning and repairing. Attacks from zombies left behind broken furniture and doors falling off its hinges. From sunrise to sunset, we focus on turning deserted rooms into living spaces. It keeps us busy. It keeps us going.  

It would be easier if only we could figure out what half the objects in the toolbox were meant for. At the Tower, I trained to be a fighter and nothing more. I pushed myself beyond my limits. If I put my mind to it, I can convert any of those tools into a deadly weapon like a pro zombie-hunter. That would make Brynn so damn proud! However, when it comes to proper use of them and fixing things, my knowledge is basically nonexistent. Most of my companions fall into that same inept category...    

On the other hand, Eli knows all the names and purposes of each of them, and keeps exchanging pliers and drivers from our clumsy hands... I wonder who taught him: a mother, a father or someone else... 

“Thank you,” I say after he teaches me to use a wrench. “We’d be lost without you.” 

For a second, his face was a mix of confusion and surprise. Then his lips quirked slightly into the tiniest smile, and he seemed a little flushed, maybe not expecting recognition for what he does effortlessly.  

“Why having all this trouble?” he asked when I insisted on fixing the faucets in the kitchen. There was no judgement in his voice; he sounded genuinely intrigued. “Life can be much simpler.” 

Eli seemed satisfied with a roof over his head, fresh water nearby, a forest to hunt and gather wood, and a fire burning in the room. It was hard to explain that for those of us who came from the Tower working lights and running water were things we dearly missed. Even more than that, if we could make this place work, maybe we could do everything else, even survive the surge… and that’s the whole point. 

I respected his point of view about a simpler life but argued in favor of the renovation when we gathered around the fireplace that second evening. Fixing the machines to pump the water stored in the reservations back into the pipes of the main building would do good to the morale, especially in case of a prolonged lockdown. Not to mention the use of external lights to help us spot drones in the distance. 

At last, he agreed to teach us. In exchange, I conceded that we block every window and focus on making this building secure as a fortress. Troy’s smile lost a bit of its glow with some of our decisions, and he mourned the loss of windows after being presented with the alternative. 

By the end of the next day, every window was blocked and sealed.  

At the Tower, we lived so long without windows or a view; rooms illuminated exclusively with manmade lights. Except for those mandatory twenty minutes every three days. If it were not raining or snowing, dozens of people would take turns in the patio in the center to bathe in sunlight.  

“It’s good for the bones,” doctors used to say, but we didn’t need much convincing.  

Around us gray walls up to the sky. No trees, no grass. But nature seems to always find its way. Weeds growing from cracks on concrete testifying that... I admired that kind of resilience. 

For years, even in that confined space, anytime Troy and I were in the same group, I have watched his pleased expression with the sun; arms outstretched towards the sky. As if the sunbeams could re-energize him.  

Troy didn’t raise his arms like that when we first came to Red Meadows, but his expression was just the same.  

“It was nice having windows for a change,” Troy mumbled. The hammer hitting the nails almost muffled his voice, as I sealed the window in the room he chose for himself.  

“I know, but –” I said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.  

“We can’t take the risk,” he completed.  

Despite knowing it was the right thing to do, Troy sighed anyway when I hammered the last nail.  

“I’ll get more planks.”  

He threw a last glance at the darkened room and walked away. His despondent face almost made me reconsider and let him have a window. But that’s not how things work when we live in a colony... 

*** 

Despite being quiet and keeping mostly to himself, it’s good working with Eli. He’s a generous teacher. Together we created charts, divided tasks between us all and set rules for working outside: nobody works alone until the perimeter is secure. To every task, at least two people would be assigned. In the case of an attack, it increased the chance of survival. We established codes for whistle communication; one to signal attack, another to ask for help, and Troy created a third one just to call me. It was cute on the first day, but not so much when other people started using it too... I abolished it by day four. 

The rules were not optional, but not everyone showed enthusiasm for abiding them.  

And by “not everyone” it’s mostly Troy. He keeps sneaking around by himself to explore the surrounding area and adjacent buildings whenever an opportunity is presented. I saw him fidgeting with ski equipment and staring at the snowy peaks with such intense desire that it looked almost lustful. 

“That man’s got a death wish or something,” Eli mumbles.  

I know who he was referring to even before spotting Troy careening down the hill and almost hitting a tree. My heart does a somersault. Troy swerves the giant blue saucer he’s sitting on to the left and is out of sight for a long while. I can only breathe again when I see him unscathed carrying the saucer and sprinting back up the hill.  

If I know him (and I do!), he’s practicing on the grass to replicate on the slope. He’s the most reckless man I know. The irresponsibility who could cost us a pair of hands or supplies if he gets hurt should make me angry; yet the feeling in my chest is not anger. There’s something endearing about his thirst for adventure. How many times has he spoken about a place just like this? 

“Actually, it’s the opposite, he’s got an urge to live.”  

“To live a short life, you mean.” 

I chuckled at the quip, and we resumed working on the generator.  

“It looks fun.” 

I see the way Eli glances at Troy, and there’s a hint of melancholy in his eyes. Can he also miss the kind of things we never had a chance to experience? Playing outside and laughter and silliness? How long was he completely alone in that cabin? 

I can’t be certain how many hours of collective work it took, but we succeeded in illuminating the main room on the first floor, the kitchen, and strategic external lights for better surveillance. No more squinting eyes to walk around after sunset. We’ll see each other’s faces. No more worrying about candles. An accomplishment big enough to be celebrated. One I wanted to celebrate with Troy.  

Near the fireplace, Mack and Eli were taking turns with the guitar. Sitting on one of the large couches, Shannon and Cassidy were reading magazines. Dirk was checking the locks. The only one not present was Troy. 

It’s been hours since anybody saw him last. The last time around the time he returned from the adjoining chalet with fuel with Dirk and Eli to start working on wiring the main building’s electricity.  

Eli was tuning the guitar when he heard the question.  

“I brought him back in one piece, my babysitting duty is over.” 

The sun will set soon.  

“Could he have gone outside?” 

Cassidy checked the perimeter and didn’t see him outside.  

“Did you check his room?” she suggested.  

With a small lantern, I climbed the stairs. The steps, marked by time and tragedy, cried. Upstairs, all was silent; Troy’s room, empty. 

Before going back downstairs, a sound of clattering and a thud from something heavy hitting the ground somewhere upstairs caught my attention. I listened to it closely, and couldn’t point it out exactly, but suspected it was coming from the attic.  

Before climbing the narrow staircase, I took the crossbow, even though it was nearly impossible for any drone to have remained concealed until now.  

The attic door was wide open. The warm glow of the candlelight spills out and illuminates the top steps. 

I shouldn’t be surprised that Troy would be there. He probably went through every other room, every drawer and closet on the main floors, and took his investigations to the attic, the only place where time seemed to stand still.  

The first time we came here to check for drones, Eli called that a death trap. A room clattered with boxes, old furniture, and more boxes, with only one way out is the absolute worst if you are under attack. We agreed to let the cluttered space with all the things from the past: posters from old glorious days with the lodge in pristine conditions, the snowy tops behind, people drinking steaming mugs of whatever and smiling in snow gear at the deck.  

Eli called it all garbage; Troy’s eyes glowed with excitement. 

Step after step, I climbed it carefully, and before I crossed the threshold, Troy was already smiling at me, and I forget all about the lights downstairs. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, the glow of a pair of half-burnt candles illuminated his silhouette, cradling something in his arms like a treasure.

The flashlight helped me see the many boxes surrounding him. On the side of one of those boxes, “lost and found” was written in bold black letters and the heads of two teddy bears and a stuffed animal with dark circles around its beady eyes were peeking out. 

“Found anything interesting?” 

The light from the candles flicked when I walked carefully inside. The wooden floor creaked beneath my feet as I avoided tripping on boxes and removed cobwebs from the way.  

“You’ll love this!” 

He pushed a box to the side and patted the now empty place beside him for me to sit. I noticed other large tomes, similar to the one in his lap. 

As soon as I was sitting beside him, I put the crossbow down, and he shoved the big book coated in dust in my hands. Then he held a candle closer, illuminating the yellowed pages with different handwriting.  

“What’s this?”  

“Guest books. People would come here and write their names and impressions of their stay, share stories, compliment the staff... That one has entries from 1972 till the early 1980s. But those over there look even older.” He jerked a thumb to point to a shelf behind us. “There’s another five of those over there, but some of the pages are too damaged to read...” 

We knew the lodge had been here for a while, but to imagine how many decades it lasted before the Old World ended and how many people spent time here over the years is a concept hard to grasp at times.  

“What about the one from 2021? Did you find it?” 

“No. But it was probably downstairs... Considering all the debris we found when we arrived, it was probably lost.” 

“Shame. It could have useful information...”  

“I can only imagine...” he cleared his throat, and started speaking with a high-pitched voice, “Rony got bitten today. Tracy managed to rip the keeper’s arm. Delightful time. We’ll come back next winter. 5 stars.” 

I couldn’t help but laugh too. But Troy soon moved on from that joke, flipping the pages from another book causing dust to swirl in the air. The pages were equally yellowed. 

“This will make you smile.”  

All the entries were from the winter of 1993. Most consisted of people complimenting the staff and promising to return next winter. Almost half the entries mentioned one person by name, praising his beauty and vivacity.  

“Talk about popularity! Everybody loved this Tommy guy!” 

“It’s a dog!” 

“Excuse me?” 

Troy repeated it slowly, and I reread the entries on the page. Suddenly the stories made more sense, but... 

“That’s crazy! Dogs can’t read, right?” 

Troy laughed, satisfied with my reaction.  

“People were weird back then...” I said, but my attention was still focused on the many messages, many lives that inhabited this place once upon a time. 

“It’s kinda of amazing too... All the people who came here. All the stories. Some guests would come here every year... Like the Lees. They even stayed in the same room. 108.” He flipped pages and his eyes perused the different messages and pointed the names to her. 

“Linda and Paul,” she read out loud. “Could they be related to Mr. Lee?” 

“I don’t know... but wouldn’t it be nice?” 

Mr. Lee’s face is lost in the abyss of old memories. But his classes and laughter remain vivid, and it warms my heart that maybe this Paul who had his Linda was that Mr. Lee, and they both had such amazing days here. I wonder if my fathers had trips like that too, and if somewhere there’s a guest book with their names on it. A memento of their existence. Somewhere their love is still alive. 

“Maly,” he called me, bringing me back from my musing, and I looked at his face. His voice was soft, and his gaze never moved away from the book in his lap. “Do you think the world will ever be the same again? With family trips, skiing, birthday parties, weddings?” 

I considered the question for a moment, dwelling between hope and reality. My mind settled on the latter. “I don’t know... Even if there were no more zombies tomorrow, things are so broken... including the people... how could it ever be the same?” 

He sighed, not hiding his disappointment.  

How is it possible to miss a world he never knew?  

“Not being the same doesn’t equal being bad,” I added quickly, and he finally looked at me, perhaps to make sure I’m not saying what I think he needs to hear. Not that I ever do that. We have an unspoken agreement of always being true to each other. Well, most of the time. There are some truths I’d rather not share with him. Not yet...  

“What do you want to do when this is over?” 

“So damn much!” He sighed so deeply that the candlelight flickered. “We got this far and now I can’t stop thinking about what we could do... I see the winter gear and skis and... my mind goes: ‘hey! we could do that!’ There’s a porch outside, we could sit and roast nuts. I want to try hot chocolate. I want to dance and sing and watch the stars...”  

“Nobody is stopping us from eventually doing that. We need to make this place livable and safe –” 

“And survive the surge.” 

I rested my hand on his knee and pressed it gently. “One day we won’t just survive, but live. We’ll have music and art again. And we’ll get to celebrate life. It’ll be greater than in the old days...” 

He placed his hand over mine and squeezed it lightly. A silent thank you.  

“So, is there anything useful in here?”  

“Probably not,” he looked around for a moment, considering the boxes and items surrounding us. “But I’m calling dibs on that lost and found box.” 

I looked at the box, then at his eyes reflecting the golden from the flame of the candle he was holding.  

“Why?” I asked, and before he answered, I was already stretching to reach for it before he had placed the candle back on the floor and launched himself to do the same.  

Grabbing the box, I ran towards the window, one we hadn’t considered blocking yet. The last rays of sun reflecting on the snow casting a golden glow over the content of the box. My free hand moved around, while I inspected the content. The three stuffed animals covered in dust and cobwebs I saw before, a few books, pens, a small red bag, one flask, two transparent spray bottles with amber liquid, something pink with a lens that looked like the cameras from the Tower but smaller and other strange objects I couldn’t name. 

Troy reached the other side of the box and picked up the pink thing with a lens. 

“This is an instant camera.” 

“Instant camera? What is it?” 

Instead of replying, he fished little paper squares from the box.  

“Look at this!” 

There was at least a dozen faded pictures of people who were probably dead by now. Some of the faces were barely visible, others conserved smiles and plucked lips. I put the box down and held one of them close. A man and a woman in their mid-twenties smiled with the snowy peaks behind them. I turned and read the black captions in the back.  

“Luke & Jules. March, 2020. They look happy...” 

“That’s the face of people who got laid and didn’t have to worry about zombie bites...” 

“Don’t be gross,” I ribbed him. “You don’t even know if they were a couple. They could be siblings. Or friends.” 

“How can you say that?” His question was coated with amusement. “Look at his hand! And how close they are!” 

I couldn’t help but look at us, his shoulders resting against mine, one of his hands on my back... his face was so close to mine, whenever he spoke his breath fanned my hair. 

“We are friends and we’re always this close.”  

“Maybe you’re into me,” Troy teased, and heat spread from my neck to my cheeks. 

“You wish!” I retorted and my heart was pounding so loud, I feared it’d attract drones from a mile away. 

He bit his lower lip, then looked me in the eye. “Keep denying it if you want...” 

I changed the subject before my resolve and brains left me. “It’s strange to think people would just leave this kind of thing behind...” 

“Maybe they left in a hurry,” he said, definitely considering all we left behind at the Tower. “Or maybe people just didn’t care. They could always get new stuff...” 

I examined the device. “Does it work?” 

“There’s only a way to find out...”  

Reading the tiny letters imprinted on the bottom out loud, Troy inserted the batteries that were in the box. Our eyes were fixed in that small device. At last, a faint yellow light turned green. 

“It’s worth the shot.” He smirked. “Got it?” 

I rolled my eyes at the pun, and he stood in front of me, pointing the round lens to my face. I smiled and he pressed the button. Nothing happened at first. But suddenly, it clicked again, then a whirring sound and the familiar white paper came from the bottom. 

We looked at it. It’s completely blank.  

Troy held it and gazed expectantly, until suddenly a image started to show. Very slowly. I gasped. It was me, really me! With my back turned to the window, my face was obscured, and there were uneven vertical streaks across the picture where the gray didn’t match the rest, but it was me. I could recognize my hair. We both held the picture like it was something magical. I laughed, and Troy’s gaze was fixed on my face, not the picture anymore. I can’t remember the last time I felt this kind of joy. 

“Let’s try again!” I said, almost shouting. 

“Together?" Troy asked, and I nodded, positioning myself in a different angle, the last rays of sunlight glowing on my face. I pulled Troy closer, to let his face be bathed in the sun rays too. Troy leaned even closer, wrapping an arm around my middle.  

“So we’ll both fit,” he explained, positioning the camera in front of us, and counted to three.  

Without moving away from each other, we watched the paper exiting the magical box and waited for the image to show. The photo of our frozen smiles also had uneven vertical streaks across the image and a hazy quality, like it was something from a dream. Our faces slowly coming to life were more visible; the gray painting itself into muted colors right before our eyes. Like magic. 

My fingers touched the picture, tracing our faces, and I giggled. Troy’s eyebrows raised questioningly.  

Instead of texting back—something he wasn’t a fan of on the best of days—he hit the redial button.

“Happy Birthday, son!” Alan Ramsey’s voice cheerfully boomed on the other end.

“Thanks, Dad. You never miss,” Ethan added softly, thinking how his father was always the first to wish him, no matter how many years had passed.

“What can I say? It’s a father’s prerogative.” Alan chuckled. “Tell me you have plans tonight to celebrate properly.”

And there it was. The disconnect between how they saw the world. How little Alan understood him at times.

Ethan didn’t celebrate his birthday. His father insisted on him doing so, even though he should have known better.

“I’ll probably be at work late. With Naveen’s resignation, the diagnostics team is short-staffed.”

“I understand, Ethan,” Alan said, not hiding the disappointment in his voice. “Try to do at least one thing for yourself today. Birthdays are special.”

Ethan hummed, pretending agreement, and said his goodbyes.

Five minutes later, he was on the road; his birthday already forgotten. The city was waking around him, but his mind was already on the patients waiting for him at Edenbrook.

It might be a special day, as far as his father was concerned, but Ethan knew it was going to be like all others. In other words, nothing to write home about.

Later that morning, Ethan exited a hospital room on the fifth floor. He felt good about how his patient’s labs were trending, and knew they were ready to go home.

“Have the lab do another CBC panel this afternoon,” he said to Sarah, the nurse accompanying him. Scanning his badge on the mobile workstation, he pulled up the patient file and placed the order. “If the numbers look good, we’ll discharge Mr. Monroe tomorrow.”

“Yes, Dr. Ramsey…” Sarah said, her voice trailing off when Harper Emery marched into view, making a beeline for Ethan.

“There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she called out, nodding at Sarah, who took the hint and scurried off.

“Sarah and I weren’t finished,” Ethan complained, throwing Harper a sour look.

“I’m sure you can catch up later. I need to talk to you.”

“So, talk,” he challenged, crossing his arms.

Harper rolled her eyes. “In private.” She scanned the hallway, then saw a room without a patient name listed outside. “Let’s go in there.”

Keeping his irritation at bay—she was the boss now, after all, and not his lover—Ethan followed her inside. He took a step back as she moved closer, but the hospital bed was behind him, leaving him no space to retreat.

“Ethan, relax.” She grinned, noticing his discomfort. “I’m not trying to seduce you.” Her voice dropped and she cast a furtive glance at the open doorway. “Just don’t want us to be overheard. You know how gossip flows through this place.”

“And what do you think the gossip will be if anyone sees us standing so close?” he said, quirking his brow.

“Whatever. I don’t have time to argue with you. First, happy birthday! And don’t worry, that’s all you’re getting from me,” she added quickly when he groaned. “I remember your stance on birthdays.”

Ethan ignored the chiding tone. “What’s the second?”

“The board and I have been talking about the diagnostics team. With Naveen gone, there’s an open spot. Have you decided what you’re going to do with it?”

“No, but it’s only been a few days,” Ethan said, hating the fact that Naveen wouldn’t be around the table during team meetings. “There are a few external candidates that I think could work. But I haven’t reached out yet.”

“Good. We want to keep this internal, run a competition among this year’s intern cohort to find the next diagnostician,” Harper said, rushing through her plan before he could interrupt. “The top intern at the end of the year gets to be a junior fellow on the diagnostics team for the remainder of their residency.”

The idea was so ludicrous that it took Ethan a moment to realize she was serious. And then he exploded.

“This is preposterous, Harper! They’re not ready.”

“Not today, but they will be by next year.”

Ethan hated how Harper was looking at him. As if what he wanted—what he believed—didn’t matter. He’d often found it patronizing; today was no different.

“You’re wrong,” he said, speaking through gritted teeth. “Diagnostics isn’t child’s play. It takes years of skill and knowledge to do what we do.”

Ethan looked away, staring at the blinds as he tried to gather his thoughts. His eyes narrowed to blue steel at the glimpse of blonde hair on the other side.

Valentine!

But then it disappeared just as quickly, so she must have just been passing by.

“Maybe it’s time to test that theory, Ethan,” Harper said. “We’ll evaluate them daily, put checks in place to ensure fairness.”

When she placed her hand softly on his cheek, forcing him to look at her—the way she used to when she was determined to get her own way—he was tempted to push it away.

“Medicine isn’t a game, Harper,” Ethan retorted, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “Residency is already competitive. Add a competition on top of it, and soon you’ll have interns sabotaging each other. It’s the patients who’ll suffer.”

Harper sighed, dropping her hand. “I’m not asking you, Ethan. I’m telling you.”

“What else is new?” he grumbled. “I know this is your hospital now. Your call. But I’m warning you…” Ethan stared her down, his tone serious. “I’ll fight you every step of the way on this.”

“What else is new?” she smiled triumphantly, giving him a light kiss on the cheek before walking away.

The tenor of the kiss, like the rest of their conversation, confirmed that he’d made the right decision calling off their relationship when she became chief. They were too fundamentally different in how they viewed medicine.

Harper’s need for one-upmanship was ingrained from the moment she began her training to become a neurosurgeon.

Frustrated at one more thing he was helpless to control—Naveen’s illness being another—Ethan started to stomp off, only to come up short at the sight of Cassie Valentine leaning against the wall outside the patient room, seemingly reading a chart.

But Ethan suspected that was just a ruse.

“Were you eavesdropping?” He stood in the doorway, arms folded, and waited for her response.

“Dr. Ramsey, I—”

She at least had the presence of mind to look abashed at being caught. He could practically see her brain trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. But he wasn’t in the mood.

He held up a hand and closed his eyes, snapping them open a second later.

“On second thought, I don’t have time for this,” he said impatiently. “Let’s skip the feeble excuse and get on with our lives, shall we?”

He marched past her, practically brushing against her shoulder.

He had patients waiting and charts that required his attention. But he needed to escape these walls, even if it was just for half an hour, before he took his bad mood out on someone else.

As Ethan left the hospital and cut across the square toward Derry’s coffee shop, he recalled thinking the day would be like any other.

But it wasn’t. The competition would change everything. Not only was he going to have to lead the diagnostics team without Naveen’s guidance, now he’d have to babysit a group of interns determined to win.

Flexing his fingers, he felt a dull ache from when he’d punched the wall last week. He was closer to his breaking point than he’d realized.

No. Today, tomorrow and the days after would never be the same again.

-------------

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I hurry to the him, but so does Shannon. She’s much closer and reaches him before I get the chance to cross the distance to the van.  

“You alright?” I ask staring at his face, the tanned skin looks paler.  

“Stings like hell, but I think it only grazed me.” 

The fact he’s standing and talking should be enough, but it’s not. My heart is still racing, and I need proof he’ll be alright. By the absence of witty remarks, I presume Troy didn’t notice how worried I am. The turmoil might not be visible on the outside or maybe his attention has fully shifted to Shannon, who insists on taking him to the lab. The man grins.  

“If you wanted to get your hands on me, Doc, you just had to ask.” Troy’s tone is openly teasing; Shannon flushes and stutters, but manages to have convince him to go have his injury checked.  

Shannon keeps her head low as they walk, eyes fixed on the ground, but Troy keeps talking to her, until something makes her smile. It’s small, but it’s there. A hint of amusement.  

Jealousy stabs me right in the stomach. It's hardly the first time. Back at the Tower, Troy has been with other people. Plenty of other people, to be exactly... He wouldn’t tell me about it, but it wasn’t a well kept secret the way he rotated from one bed to the next... Maybe the secret was how it bothered that he never visited mine... 

Watching them, I consider for the first time the possibility Troy is attracted to Shannon. 

And why wouldn’t he? She is beautiful, intelligent and kind. It wouldn’t be so odd if he wanted to fuck her. Perhaps he already did and that’s why she was so attentive. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary this kind of thing with Troy, and again I’m the last to know.  

Taking a deep breath, the strong scent of pine and cold washes over me. I have no right to feel this jealousy. We’ve never been anything other than friends. And how selfish could I be to not want people I care about to be happy, if they get the chance in this fucked up world! 

I turn around. I have no time for this kind of pointless shit. The colony needs me, there's so much work to do with the influx of people... 

***

From where we’re standing, we can still see the back of the main building and some people busy replanting the trees brought from Sunflower Creek. Soon the sun will set.  

When it’s my turn with the axe, Eli uses the roots of a pine tree as a makeshift bench. Head bent, he is working on debarking some saplings to prepare more arrows, but his attention is never fully on the task at hand. From time to time, his hand stops and his head whips around, scanning our surroundings for any drones’ activity the sounds from the ax could drown out. 

We always work outside in pairs, sometimes in groups of four or more if the task demands it. When we settled, that was one of Eli’s first recomendations. It’s a precaution, he said. There is strenght in numbers.  

It’s fortunate he was the one to come along this afternoon. Eli is the quiet type of guy who rarely indulges in iddle chatting – which is a much appreciated quality within this growing colony –, but will not shy away from speaking at lenght about which screwdriver is better to each task or the proper use of an axe. He taught me both during the first days renovating the lodge. 

So it’s a good thing Eli is outside with me, and not Angel or Dirk. I wouldn’t want to go through what happened today or be reminded of Troy’s injury. I need to keep my mind focused. Bad news always travel fast around here anyways... 

Whack. The sound of the axe splitting the wood reverberates. Thump. Thump. More splinters fly this time. Flutters of wings and loud calling accompany the flock of birds as they fly away. I don’t look up. The axe descends once more. Whack. It feels good. Sweat drips from my chin. I use my sleeve to wipe it from my face before it get into my eyes. Then I go again. And again. 

“Hey!”   

Whack.  

“Drop that axe.” 

“Why?” I do as he say and the blade bury itself into the large pine trunk in front of me. I look expectantly, he might have sensed approaching drones or worse... 

“We need fire log, not sawdust.” 

I look at the ordinary wood piling around me, and back at Eli.  

“It looks good to me.”  

“Too thin –” He picks one of the pieces I chopped to show me next to one he had. “– Even after drying, it’ll burn quickly.” His words might be blunt, but he doesn’t sound angry, maybe a little too obsessed with proportions... 

Placing my hands on my hips, I exhale. I haven’t realized how sore and breathless I am. My hand rubs against my shoulder blade. 

“Alright. I’ll go again.” 

“Let’s go. We have enough wood for now...” 

“I’m not tired.” 

This time it’s Eli who lets out a noticiable sigh, when he takes pieces of wood to a neat pile close to the wall. 

“Your mind is not here, Malia,” he states with no passion or judgement, unlike the words one would hear at the Tower after screwing things up or wasting precious resources and energy. “Go see your boyfriend. You’re clearly worried.” 

“Boyfriend?” I echo, and Eli tilts his head assessing me. I immediately understand what he’s implying. 

“I have no boyfriend!” I answer too quickly, surprising both of us, then clear my throat. “We’re friends. Troy and I. If that’s what you’re talking about... and Shannon is taking care of him. There’s nothing I can do.”  

I take the last of the wood to the pile, and he collects the saplings he had been working on.  

“We have less than an hour of sun, anyway. I’m sure your help is needed somewhere else in an activity that doesn’t involve the risk of injurying yourself.”

My hand hovers over the axe's handle, as I consider if stubbornness is the right answer. Holding Eli's gaze, I wonder if that’s genuine concern. Whatever this is we have, perhaps it’s too soon to call it friendship. However, the need to survive can forge strong bonds. Even if it’s out of necessity, it’s nice to have someone good like Eli in my corner...  

I take the axe from the trunk. Eli follows me close when I walk back. He remains quiet, and so do I.  

I don’t go to Shannon’s lab nor look for Troy.  

There are plenty of things to do. I check with people in the lodge, look at the rotation of watch, then see if we’ll have enough food. The world is bathed in golden light when I finally cross that familiar path. I expect Troy to have left the lab long ago, but it’s Shannon the one I want to talk to anyways. If I learned anything over the years is that Troy has mastered the arts of deflection and sugarcoating inconvenient truths; I’d rather not be left in the dark if something’s wrong. 

When I call Shannon and she takes too long to answer, I fear Troy might be still in there. Either to treat his injure or to get a treaty... My feet are ready to bolt.  

“Malia,” Shannon sounds pleased when she lets me in. Not a sign of distress in her expression. “Troy already left.” 

“How’s he?” 

Her eyebrows knit together, I notice.

“Haven't you talked to him?”

I shake my head, and sink into a bench. My legs are heavy. 

“It was superficial, and the muscle was barely damaged. He wasn’t happy, but I wanted to be sure I cleaned it up thoroughly to not risk infection.”  

“Is there a risk?”  

“It’s low, but we can’t rule out the possibility. I stiched the wound and will check tomorrow for fever, swelling and –” 

Those words knock the air of my lungs and I speak over her, “What do you mean? Can’t you do something to prevent infection? Isn’t there a pill? If he needs something, tell me and I'll go get it!” I spring to my feet, and before I go on, Shannon’s warm hand come to rest on my shoulder.  

“Malia, we have everything we need.” 

I readily apolosise for the outburst, and we sit on the benches facing each other.  

“After what happened to Brynn... when I heard the gunshot and saw the blood... the idea of –” I purse my lips. I won't voice the utmost fear of losing him after the unrealistic promises I made. How can I keep him safe when every aspect of our lives involves danger? 

“It’s unfair to put this pressure on you, when you’re doing your best...”  

“No need to apologise,” Shannon’s words are as gentle as her expression. “You love him. It’s natural to worry.” 

“Of course I love him, we’ve been friends for ages...” 

“Oh!” Her expression shifts into surprise. “That was not what I meant,” she starts, but purses her lips and smiles. “I hope this isn't impertinent, but I was under the impression your affection was of a different nature by the way you act around each other.” 

Now it’s my eyebrows that shoot up, startled as I am by the way she says it and so very eager to learn what it is that she sees. I ask her, but she hesitates. I beg, something I’m not used to, “Tell me, please.” 

Even when it comes to love, Shannon’s observations are of a scientific nature: remarks about the pupils, physical touches, changes in expressions and tiny gestures anyone else including myself might have missed. “You can’t fake that kind of intimacy.” 

I smile at her.  

“I’m suprised, I never told anyone how I felt...” 

“Not even your sister?” 

“Especially her,” I chuckle. “I don’t even know why I haven’t... maybe I was afraid she wouldn’t aprove...”  

“I’m far from an expert...” Shannon starts in a quietter tone, “I don’t know your reasons to keep it a secret, but isn’t it a good thing? I mean to be loved by someone. I think I’d be happy if I was in the receiving end of that love.” 

“It’s complicated,” I say, fidgeting with the hem of my long-sleeved t-shirt. “With the surge coming up and all the work to keep this place safe...” These are sorry excuses, of course. I don’t believe it either. I’m afraid – actually it’s more like terrified – of not being loved back or worse, that he does love me, but we end up ruinning our friendship for good. In which case, I'd lose the most important person in my life... I don’t say it out loud, but maybe she senses it. 

Shannon squeezes my hand lightly, and her voice comes out low and soft. 

“Isn’t it all the more reason to say it? With death chasing us everyday, isn’t it worse to have the words stuck in your throat, missing the chance to say what is truly important?”  

“Does it even matter? To say the words, I mean.” 

“I can’t think of anything more important.” 

“Not even the cure you’re researching?” 

Shannon lets out a laugh, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes. Avoiding my gaze, her eyes fix on her enlaced fingers, and I almost don't expect a reply when she talks again. 

“It’s a different kind of love, I suppose. The puzzle intrigues me, but it’s the helping people part and making a future possible that truly motivates me. If my work can save any of you...” She blushes, as if ashamed of this admission.  

“Have you finished for today?” I ask, and she nods.  

When we get to the door, I look back. 

“Thanks for the girls' talk.” 

“Anytime.”

*** 

I knock at the door twice; there’s no answer.

Perhaps Troy is asleep.

When I walk away to go to my room, there’s a loud bang of something heavy falling to the ground and the door opens slightly. The man peeks through a crack, with messy hair and heavy eyes.  

“Maly?” he calls my name and I approach the door. “Did you knock? Or is it my head again?” 

“I came to see how you were doing,” I say softly. 

“I might be high on painkillers,” he says laughing and bumps his head on the door. “Sorry.” 

“You didn’t bump into me.” 

“I didn’t?” 

“Maybe you should go to bed,” Malia suggests, already helping him. 

“Can you stay a little?” he asks from underneath the covers, already scooting over to make room for me in his bed. “Like old times?” 

I lie down facing him, and he takes one of my hands in his. My heartbeats grow loud as a drum. His hand is cold, and I cover it with my free hand. It reminds me of our first night at Red Meadows – we call it Olympus now. His face was the last one I saw when I feel asleep, and it felt good. 

***  

I woke up alone. I don't even know if Malia was there or I dreamed of her...

The sun is higher in the sky. It’s probably around 10am, and I won’t have to go to the lab for the antibiotics in at last two hours. I should be resting in bed, like Shannon told me to (and I’m pretty sure Malia is the one worrying sick), but I preffer to sit in the deck. I don’t have a fever, and the room without windows is too dark and stuff.

Here I'm surrounded by life. Bugs. Birds. Lots of birds. An occasional squirrel runs to a tree. The Sunflower Creek’s kids are also running around, their laughter like music. The breeze is nice, and if only I pretend the service here is slow and ignore the aching wound in my arm, this could be a perfect vacation. 

For me at least. 

Some people work on the vegetable garden, others are focused on fixing broken furniture. In the shaded area under the trees, Malia and Dirk are busy fixing a water pump - or more likely puzzled by it. Malia waves Eli, and he walks from the garage to examine what they are doing. Eli exchanges some tool in Dirk’s hand for another, and the gesture appears to irritate the man.  

Dirk stomps away, and Eli takes his place. Malia spares a quick glance at Dirk, but resumes working with Eli.  

Dirk is pissed, I know. This has being going on for a while now and has nothing to do with his mechanical inability. He was Brynn’s second in command, but waving whatever title he held back at the Tower means very little out here. Whenever people need guidance, they turn to Malia. And when Malia needs help, she often seeks Eli.  

If I didn’t know any better, I’d be jealous of that kind of attention, but I know mechanics is not my forte. Nor combat. I don't expect her to come to me for that kind of help... Dirk should also come to terms with that and chill. 

“Is that Malia’s boyfriend?” May’s question startles me. She’s standing beside me, but I can’t tell when she got so close. I don’t have to look at who she’s pointing at to know it’s Eli. 

“Why you ask?” 

“Do you think they’ll marry?” 

“Maybe Maly will marry someone else.”  

“Who?” she asks with curiosity, but I won’t indulge her. 

“Where are all these questions coming from?” 

“I want to be a flower girl.”  

Noticing nothing but confusion in my eyes, May talks at lenghty about wedding parties and girls in dresses. And flowers. I pay little attention to what she says; instead I observe Malia and Eli. Even in the distance, I recognize the grin in her face, she’s teasing him. Eli doesn’t look at her, but his lips stretch.

Fuck me! Maly made him smile. What’s next? He’ll laugh?  

*** 

“What's a mechanic's favorite music?” I whisper the question into Malia's ear, and she lifts her head from the table. “Heavy metal.”  

She fails to cover the giggles with one hand, and Eli throws me a less than amused look. His glare is not enough to stop me from thinking of more puns to make her laugh while we’re working together.  

Malia shushes me, like the good student she is. 

“Troy, I’ll lose a finger if you don’t stop.” 

I raise my hands in defeat. “I know my beauty and strong presence are awfully distracting, so I’ll be sitting over there if you need me.” 

Using a saw, Malia starts cutting into some wood plank and Eli turns to help her, but she manages to do it herself. There’s pride in her smile when she looks back at me, the same glow in her face when we trained together.  

At this point, I have no doubt she’ll just manage doing anything she sets her mind to. Malia is just that capable. Unstoppable. Perhaps she’ll build an entire new lodge from the ground up just to accomodate more people.

I don’t have a chance to tell her any of that or use the “saw far, saw good” pun, before Dirk marches into the garage. He barely acknowledges me and Eli. I don’t give a fuck about what he thinks of me, but it angers me the way he mistreats Maly.  

“A word,” he says and nods, “outside.” 

Malia tries to hide her annoyance at the way he speaks, but I can see right through the polite smile she fixes on her face when she follows him. I feel she’s only nice to him because of Brynn...  

My gaze is fixed on them, something Dirk might have noticed. They walk away from the garage until they are out of sight. 

With Maly gone, I decide to give it a try with this whole carpentry thing. Maybe this could be my calling.

The first two attempts with the hammer result in bent nails. I probably shouldn’t have ignored the instructions. Or maybe those were supposed to do this... 

A few feet away from me, Eli works on the planks of wood nailing it together with precise movements. I try to copy what he’s doing, the nails don’t bend, but my work looks like crap, barely holding together.  

Elis is quiet and focused. I can see it now. Back in the Tower, Maly used to hang out with the Scouts all the time, she even dated a few of them... I never got much details of that aspect of her life, and I’d rather not to dwell on it anyways. It’d do nobody any good, but she clearly has a type. 

Judging by his physique and combat abilities, this dude could clearly have been one of them. There’s no way I could beat him in a fight. Not even if I played smart.  

Eli’s hammer goes silent, and the man's face suddenly lift from the handiwork.  

“Is there a reason why you're staring at me instead of hammering the nails?”  

I don’t avert my eyes, trying to establish dominance. But I don’t know if we’re playing this game right... His annoyed expression turns into confusion, and it gets weird too quickly. 

“So... Do you really know all this stuff or you just pretend to know since we clearly don’t?” 

The man gapes, not expecting that question but quickly closes his mouth. No witty remark; he pretends to ignore my question and resumes working. Except for the hammer, silence stretches too long. 

Again I try to get to him.

“For instance, a number of things sound fake... Don’t even get me started on screws and nuts... it just seems like this might be a bad attempt at dity talking... and I’m not sure how comfortable I am with that...”  

He takes a deep breath, and puts the hammer down. 

“What is it really about, Hassan?” 

“Have you considered I just want to get to know you?” 

“Why?” 

“We live together, right?" 

The other man assesses me, apparently considering what I’m saying. That’s at least what I’m expecting him to do. 

“Can’t we be friends?” 

“No.” 

“You’re friends with Malia. Shouldn’t we give friendship a try too?” 

He shakes his head and takes that tool to see if the bench is not crooked. 

“It’s a bench, dude. People are not eggs, they won’t roll off that thing...” 

If Eli’s eyes were a weapon...  

“Are you jealous?” 

“Of a bench?” 

“Of Malia.” 

“Of course not!” I deny it too quickly, and it sounds like the complete lie it is. I try to sound more genuine. “We have been friends our whole lives. We survived many things together. And I care about her. I don’t want to see her get hurt.” 

There’s a huff. Is it annoyance or a laughter?

“For fucks sake, man. I’m not the person you should be talking to.” He gets up and picks up the finished bench. “Grow some balls and be honest with her.” 

He’s gone before I can process what he said. Or finish the bench.  

Does that mean they aren’t an item? A grin splits my face.  

His name was constantly popping up on people’s casual conversations around the building. Everybody had a tale to share about his kindness. 

Even if she still abides by the rule – neighbours are off-limits when it comes to romance –, there’s no rule against friendship. It’s important to meet your neighbours, isn’t it? It strengthens the bonds of a community, right?  

If she wasn’t so shy, she would invite him for a cup of tea or coffee. Whatever he prefers. Not because of fate or romance, of course. Hamid is incredibly nice, capable of charming even the grumpy super of their building. 

“I haven’t realized someone had moved to 3C,” Gloria from 7A remarks while the super was changing a light bulb at the lobby. 

“A charming young man. He travels a lot and has the most fascinating stories,” the woman says and cracks an unexpected smile. “Brought me a thimble from Brussels for my collection.”  

That’s the second time in almost two years she saw her smiling. Both times because of Hamid. It must be some kind of super-power, she thinks. Elizabeth suspects his charms were the reason behind the flickering lights of the hallway at their floor being fixed at last.  

*****

A few days later, contrary to what the weather forecast predicted, a torrential rain hits London. 

Boots splashing in the puddles, Elizabeth tried to walk as fast as she could, avoiding the fast-paced pedestrians and their umbrellas coming from the opposite direction. The last two blocks seemed to stretch indefinitely. Drenching cold set in. Her hand brushed her face to wipe the moist unsuccessfully. When she turned the corner, she walked into the building’s hallway with the same eagerness of a drowning person reaching for a lifeboat. 

The reflection on the door staring back at her was a mess. Long curls drenched had lost its definition and now sticked to the sides of her face. The mascara running created a cheetah pattern beneath her eyes. What a day to not have an umbrella! 

Pish, posh. Pish, posh. Her boots squelched all the way to the mailbox. The book she ordered for her father’s birthday was supposed to be delivered today; she’d retrieve it and run upstairs. Praying the universe would take pity on her and not let her bump into Hamid looking like this. May he be far far away from London. 

As if merely thinking about his name held some sort of incantation, Hamid waltzed into the hallway.  

Hamid deftly closes the large umbrella and the door behind him. Despite the heavy rain pouring outside, just a few droplets of water glisten in his dark hair and a few strands were tousled by the wind. His fingers deftly comb it back, and he’s ready to a photo-shoot.   

Ugh! Why is he so perfect? 

A wide smile spreads his lips when he sees her, and her breath hitches. Averting her eyes, she clears her throat, before greeting him back. Tucking some curls behind her ears, she watches Hamid crossing the distance to the mailbox. 

“I’ll never get used to this weather,” he quips, while retrieving his own correspondence, thick envelopes that are certainly not bulk mail. When she looks up, Hamid speaks softly, “You’ve got something.” He points at her face, and she’s conflicted between wiping it with a sleeve or simply running and hiding.  

Fishing a handkerchief from his inner pocket with the same print of his celestial blue tie, he offers her. 

Of course he would have one!  

“You don’t have to... it’ll stain.” 

He insists, “Nothing that can’t be solved with a little water.” 

When she doesn’t reach for it, he approaches carefully, attentive to her reaction. A flutter of butterflies in her stomach and her heart is racing so fast, she can't say anything. A single nod is all it takes before the soft tissue touches her face. It seems Hamid focuses on dabbing the path of smudged mascara. Her eyes must be round like saucers, when they meet Hamid’s bright ones. 

“All set,” he says softly, and tucks the handkerchief back into his pocket. 

“T-Thank you,” she stutters. 

“You’re welcome,” he says and asks if she’ll take the lift. His smile doesn’t waver when she says she’d take the stairs. 

She sighs.

The most unexpected con of not using the lift turns out not being able to join her cute neighbour on the quick trips up and down. 

“Would you mind some company?” He asks, letting the door to the lift close. “I could use some exercise.” 

“How long have you been living here?”  

“Since I came to London, about two years ago.” 

“You’re not from here?” 

“I’m from a small town about three hours North from London. Grovershire.” 

“I’ve never heard about it.”  

“No one has.” 

“How’s it like?” 

“Small and cozy. There are a beautiful stream, charming cottages and hilly horizons.” 

“Sounds absolutely lovely.” 

“What about you?” 

“I’m Turkish. Born at Istanbul. I was assigned at a post here at London two years ago.” 

“What kind of post? Military?” 

“Oh, no,” he chuckled. “Diplomatic. I negotiate commercial treaties for my country.”  

Not a spy, then.  

“I worked at Russia and Greece before. And now I’m here. Hopefully, for very long...” 

When her gaze flickers to his face, Hamid is already looking at her, a wide smile. Her cheeks warm at the attention, and she changes the subject to the weather instead.  

They reach the third floor, and Hamid lingers by the door, fishing the keys off his pocket but giving no indication he’d use it any use any time soon.  

“Do you like pancakes?” 

She hesitates, but nods.  

“Maybe you could join me for breakfast one of these days, and I’ll make you some...” 

“I’d love to.” 

The wide smile seems to be a permanent feature in Hamid’s face, but somehow it seems to grow even brighter, crinkling the corners of his eyes and dimpling his cheeks. 

“Good night, Elizabeth.” 

“Good night, Hamid.” 

She closes the door and leans against it. Her heart is racing even faster now. There’s a slight chance that was not a friendly invitation... 

*****

It’s a little past eleven o’clock when Elizabeth spotted Hamid walking into the store. Since it’s Saturday, he’s traded his fancy suit for a casual ensemble of beige trouser, nice fitting blue shirt and a long cardigan in a matching shade. It’s impossible to ignore him, and a few necks turn as he walks by. 

She observed him acting as nice as everyone ever says. First, he smiled and cooed at a baby in a man’s arms. Moments later, she crossed a different aisle to pick up some fruits and caught him reaching cans from an upper shelf and handing them to an elderly woman. Elizabeth smiled to herself, and took her sweet time to collect every item from the tiny list. The thought of finish at the same time then, and walking back home together warms her heart. 

While browsing the shelves for the spices she needed, a soft voice spoke behind her.  

“Hey.” 

She whirled and was gifted with the sight of Hamid’s open smile. The man was standing in front of her, holding two shopping baskets filled almost to the brim.   

“I thought I’ve seen you.” 

Tucking a curl behind her ear, she returned the “Hey” but didn’t confirm or denied that she had also seen him. 

“What a fortunate coincidence! Do you have any food allergy I should be aware of?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I’m buying the ingredients for the pancakes,” he said and lifted the baskets to show the items he already picked. She noticed the different kinds of flours and milk, including almond and coconut milk.  

“No, I have no allergies,” she replied, and her voice carried her amusement.  

“Alah'a şükür!i I hate soy milk!” 

“Here, let me help you.” Not holding her laughter, Elizabeth picked the carton to return to its place.  

As they moved around, returning the unnecessary ingredients, the conversation flowed well, not a moment of awkward silence. And it felt nice. Perhaps, nice enough to consider breaking the rule... 

“May I walk back with you?” 

It’s difficult to not sound as thrilled as she is when Elizabeth replies.  

*****

Once they arrive at the building, Hamid balances the bags and she holds the lift door for him. 

“I can take your bag too, if you’d like, and we’ll meet upstairs.” 

Elizabeth considered the offer and weighted the options: she could be careful, stick to the rules and take the stairs, or she could, just this once, follow her heart...  

Throwing caution to the wind, she got inside. 

Grinning, Hamid moved to the side, allowing her to stand right beside him, and pressed the number three. 

The engine rumbled starting the lift, and Elizabeth’s heart raced with excitement. Hamid’s hand brushed hers lightly when he lowered the bags to the floor. 

The lift moved slowly, and for exact twenty-three seconds all seemed perfectly fine.  

Then a screeching metallic noise resounded, and the lift stopped, jolting them. Elizabeth tried to regain her balance, and Hamid held her elbow.  

“What the flying fudge –” she pressed her lips tight, trapping the hissed words.  

“Everything will be all right,” his voice was low and soothing.  

The lights above them flickered, and Elizabeth closed her eyes. 

“Unbelievable.” 

“You’re claustrophobic, no?” he leaned forward, pressing a hand to her shoulder, concern in his eyes. “How can I help you?” 

“No, I’m not claustrophobic...” she muttered, “Just too stupid to learn from my mistakes.” 

“Don’t panic. I’ll call for help,” he said, already fishing the mobile out of his front pocket. The man stretches his arm from side to side, holds the mobile up in the air 

“Don’t bother. No mobile works in this death trap.” 

“How do you know?” 

She tells about being trapped with Briar after she moved to the building and the way the building was projected to survive bombings. Dismayed by the prospect of not being able to call for help, Hamid throws a last glance at the mobile and shoves it into his pocket. 

“We’ll have to wait. Someone might want to use the lift, and I know Mrs. Whitmore usually checks the lift a few times every day.”  

Hamid rubbed the back of his neck, and sighed. 

“Perhaps now is not a good time to say she’s out of town...” 

“What?” 

“She took the train this morning to visit her niece. She won’t come back until tomorrow evening...” 

This time it was Elizabeth who let out a long and sorrowful sigh. 

“Rest assured, someone will notice our absence soon.” 

“I was going to meet with my friends at the pub later...” 

“Then your friends will definitely notice if you’re missing.” 

“But they might consider alien abduction before me being stuck in this lift,” her words are cut by her laugh. A nervous laughter from the absurdity of the situation. The one time she breaks the rule... Her body sink to the floor, she places the bag beside her and stretches her legs. 

He chuckles, and slides to the floor too. His long legs barely fit, and he angles himself in a diagonal line, minding Elizabeth’s much shorter legs. Now he’s facing her, and she notices how tall he really is compared to her. His expression conveys the pleasure of having her attention.  

“Well, we have two choices:” Hamid starts, and even in this situation, his voice is calm and his smile doesn’t falter, “screaming like your friend did or waiting for rescue.” 

“No screaming, I beg you.” 

Hamid raises his hands apologetically, and Elizabeth taps the side of the shoe against the metallic wall repeatedly. Hamid’s brows raise in clear confusion.   

“What are you doing?” he asks, “Is that Morse code?” 

“No, I’m just making the kind of noise someone might hear close to the lift.” 

“Clever.” 

Placing the bags on his other side, he mimics the movement. His tapping is a bit sharper and louder than hers due to the material of the soles of his shoes, and they agree to take turns. 

When it’s her turn again, Hamid shuffles through the contents of his bags, and grins. 

“Fortunately, I have raw eggs, unsalted butter, bread, room temperature juice and milk. Even better than pancakes. Wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Are you hungry?” she asks. 

“Not really, no.” 

“If you were, I have fresh fruits and yogurt. We can share.” 

“Thank you for offering, you’re very kind.” 

They gaze into each other's eyes, and when her cheeks start to burn, Elizabeth averts her eyes.  

Grinning, he let his head rest against the cold wall of the lift.  

“You know, there’s a common denominator in these situations. The one with your friend, and today, I mean."  

“The lift,” she replied promptly. 

“And you."  

Her brows raise and she stares at his mocking smile for a moment. 

“Are you implying I caused the lift malfunctions?” 

“I would never...” 

“Regretting letting me in?” 

“Not at all. If that’s what it takes for me to enjoy your company a while longer, I would never complain... Perhaps I’d sabotage the lift myself.”  

She lowers her gaze and takes a bottle of water from the bag. “That’s completely unnecessary, the lift breaks on its own.”  

After taking a sip of the water, and licking her lips, her attention returned to him. 

“What about you?” he asked, “Do you regret getting in with me?” 

“Absolutely.”  

Hamid looks mildly offended, with brows furrowed and all, looking so much younger than his years. The sight elicited amusement, and Elizabeth chuckled.  

“I got you trapped in here, Hamid, while I’ve got some nice tea at home. The view is much better too.” She raised her arms, pointing at the narrow metallic space they were confided. 

“I doubt,” his words heavy with suggestion as his dark eyes locked with hers, “But I see what you mean. I, for instance, prefer coffee over tea... and can offer you the best coffee you ever tasted.” 

One hour goes by, then a second one without any indication someone noticed them inside. When they stopped talking to share the strawberries, bread and juice, Elizabeth noticed how silent it was. Inside the lift it was as if they were completely separated from the entire world. Like only the two of them existed. She leans back, resting her head against the cold metal, and munches on a strawberry. She misses the way Hamid can’t avert his eyes from her lips, entranced. 

“May I ask why did you take the lift today?” he asks, breaking the silence. "If that was agsinst your friend's rules?”

She shrugs. “I considered the odds. You always takes it and was never trapped.” 

“Was that all?” 

“What else could it be?” she quips without meeting his gaze.

Hamid snorts a laughter but doesn’t insist on the subject when her shoulders shake with a shiver. 

“Are you cold?” 

“A little.” 

Hamid raises to his feet, takes off his cardigan, and hands it to her.  

“I can’t take it. You’ll be cold, Hamid.” 

“Then we share it.” 

Hamid sits beside her, their shoulders touching, and covers them with the cardigan.

Before she can say anything, Elizabeth is surrounded by Hamid’s luxurious perfume exhaling from the fabric and from the man himself. His arm is warm where it touches hers, and all the hair on her body stands on end. 

“Better?”  

Her tongue is uncooperative now, and she simply hums.  

Underneath the cardigan, Hamid takes her hand in his, a thumb gently caressing it.  

Elizabeth raises her face to look at him, and Hamid is already looking at her. His gaze lowers to her lips. Her eyes mimic his and focus on Hamid’s shapely lips. The curve of the smile is much softer now, and the tip of his tongue is visible for a moment, while it moistens his lips. It’s too tempting. 

Hamid breathes her name, and one hand raises to cup her cheek, “I’ve never met–” whatever he's about to say is cut midsentence by a loud bang and the echo of unfamiliar voices break into this moment. 

Involuntarily, Elizabeth jumps back, distancing from him. Something passes in Hamid’s eyes, before he recomposes his calm expression. Someone called them from above, and he shouts back, “We’re here.” 

After that, everything happens too fast for her mind to register. Someone in the upper floors noticed the malfunction and immediately called the emergency. The fire department arrived and found out it stoppped between floors. They opened the door on the first floor, and helped them out with a stair. Once they free, a few curious residents surround them, asking questions, eager to see if Hamid is well. While he’s talking to them, she smiles at Hamid’s cardigan lying on the floor and picks it up. Catching her gaze, he excuses himself and they walk up the stairs together. Elizabeth carries her much lighter bag and hugs his cardigan. 

All the way up to the third floor, they remain silent. Elizabeth considers what almost happened in the lift; she fears Hamid can hear the loud thumping of her heart against its cage. 

Hamid places the bags in front of the door and Elizabeth hands him the cardigan.  

“That was –” 

“Maybe –” 

They speak at the same time, and they laugh.  

“Ladies first,” he says and her throat is suddenly too tight to speak.  

“I’ll see you later, Hamid.” 

He nods but lingers by the door, watching her unlock the door, then he does the same. 

Closing the door behind her, Elizabeth leans back and rests her head on the wood. Why didn’t I say something? 

The moment she closes the door, she regrets it. Her stomach sinks with the realization. Perhaps she should just march there and ask him out. What’s the worst that could happen? He wouldn’t reject her, would he? She thinks about the almost kiss, and her hand encircle the doorknob with determination. Before she can turn it, there’s a soft knock on the wood. Then a second one. Her heart is beating so fast, she might be sick. She looks around, making sure she’s alone this time. Carefully, she slightly opened the door and Hamid was there staring at her. 

“Did you knock?” she breaths the question in awe, and he nods. 

“I couldn’t go back home just yet." His eyes are even brighter now, and she can’t look away. 

“And why is that?" 

His breathing is so close to her face now.  

“I didn’t want that moment... that perfect moment... to end.” 

She opens the door wider, letting him in. As soon as she closes the door his hands are already cupping her face. He leans, breathes her name, and their lips meet tentatively. Then she presses her lips to his, gliding ever so lightly. One of his hands encircle her waist, pulling her closer. Standing on tiptoes, Elizabeth’s hands rest on his shoulder, and he sighs. These kisses are followed by others, gentle and filled with loving promises, then more urgent and greedier. His fingers glide upwards her spine, and she moans. Hamid captures it with another kiss, and his hand comes to rest on the back of her neck. 

When they finally part, breathless, Hamid is looking at her in awe. Something passes in his eyes she cannot name, but she hopes is the same kind of joy that fills her heart. He places a kiss on the tip of her nose, and she can’t help but giggle. His smile dimples his cheeks.  

Taking a deep breath, she caresses his cheek with the tips of her fingers. Tracing his handsome face until reaching his shapely lips. They part with a sigh, and she realises he’ll kiss her again.  

There’s something she must know, and she asks before he dips, "Why did you knock?” 

“I wanted to see you;” 

“Why didn’t you use the doorbell?” 

“I...” he hesitated, and it was so unlike him. “I didn’t want to startle you.” 

She contemplates his face, and his smile doesn’t reach the eyes. And it dawns on her! 

“I knew it! You heard us, didn’t you?” 

Hamid clears his throat but doesn’t deny it; she steps away, covering her face.  

“Oh, my god! This is so embarrassing!" 

“It was unintentional. I only overheard bits,” he explains, while his hands caress her arms so gently, and pull them down so she’d look back at him. “I didn’t plan on falling on your lap. That was an accident. I promise. I really wasn’t --” 

“Then you decided to pretend it was fate, to fool me.” 

“I was planning on saying something charming that evening and asking your number.” 

“You were?” 

“The moment I saw you, I was just... mesmerized by your beauty. I couldn’t take my eyes off you, in case you didn’t notice then. To be completely honest, I still can’t and I don’t think I’ll ever tire of looking at you.” 

She stared at him, considering his sweet words. 

“And who would say this is not the universe bringing us together? If your date had gone well, or if I hadn’t decided on a whim to come see the flat, our paths might've never crossed. I’ve never took that bus before or after that evening... What were the odds? I say it’s fate. And even if it’s not, I’d still choose to believe it. I’d still choose you.” 

Elizabeth stood on her tiptoes and threw herself at Hamid. Her lips were not so gentle this time, and he held her by the waist, like he’d never let her go again.  

Breaking the rules never felt this good. 

Notes:

“The pizzas are from that horrible place beside the laundry...” Briar frowned disgusted.  

“Maybe they like it there...”  

“They probably don’t know better...”  

Soon the characteristics sounds of moving in, like the ripping of adhesive tape from boxes, the clinking of silverware filling a drawer and the opening and closing of cabinet doors, were replaced by an upbeat music and indistinct conversation.  

“We could offer better food! A proper welcome to the building kind of gift...” Briar mused, “I could make more sandwiches... And we could say you prepared the lemon mayonnaise and –”  

From the couch, without stopping folding her dry clothes, Elizabeth cut her off, “We’re not going over there uninvited.”  

“We could ask for sugar, to make a pie… and maybe we’d be invited…”  

Elizabeth merely shook her head, without meeting her friend’s gaze.  

Once every brilliant suggestion was refused by her headstrong friend, Briar decided it was time to go.  

As much as Elizabeth loves Briar and having her over, while she went to the bedroom to gather her belongings, a content sigh left her lungs. After spending the entire weekend together, she was looking forward to the return of quietude to the little haven she calls home, where she can embrace the solitude – or the pleasure of her own company, as she prefers to call it.   

By the door, Briar leaned closer and spoke in a low conspiratorial tone, “Remember: if your hot neighbour comes over, ring me immediately.” Raising one hand, she paused and mulled over her own words for a second. “Actually, ring me afterwards. Enjoy the moment. No hurry.”   

Elizabeth laughed and held the door open for her. “You’re a hopeless romantic…”  

“I’m a hopeful romantic. That’s quite different. And a bit naughty, so, I expect you to share all the juicy details... don’t hold anything back.” She winked and pressed a kiss to Elizabeth’s cheek. “Ring me!”   

“Text me when you get home.”  

“Sure, mum.” Briar waved on her way out and slowed her pace in front of the lift’s red metallic door, before sighing and dragging her feet towards the stairs.  

Cute neighbour wouldn’t show up that evening either. However, Elizabeth already suspected that. Judging by the soft jazz music playing next door and the faint sound of conversations. Clearly, he was too entertained. Most likely very much not-single judging by the feminine laughter ringing on the other side of the wall. No matter how much Briar insists destiny will arrange everything, she doubts this man will become more than an acquaintance she greets while walking by the hallway.  

After completing the last errand of the day, Elizabeth was binge-watching the last two episodes of Desire & Decorum before Briar gives away too many spoilers. Sitting cross-legged on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, she cannot wait to find out who will propose to Lady Clara, though it is not a secret that the Ottoman prince is her personal favourite amongst the eligible bachelors courting the lady.   

Halfway through the second to last episode, her mind drifted. She hadn't listened to a word from the dialogues for the past fifteen minutes and rewinds for the third time. The series couldn’t hold her attention anymore. How could it compete with the noises coming through the vents? Even the lowest and most mundane clinking of silverware or water running in the kitchen next door would be enough to steal her attention.   

Turning off the television, she gave up on the series and welcomed sleep in her bed.   

It would be a bad idea any way to date a neighbour. She reminds herself. I definitely don’t need that kind of drama...  

However, she spares one last thought to her new neighbour’s smile before she falls sleep that night.  

***** 

Next morning, like every business day, the alarm rings at 6:30, even though her biological clock never fails to wake her up. Then a second one rings at a quarter past 7 o’clock. Elizabeth finished the last stretches after her routine exercises and went to the kitchen to fill the electric kettle with water and the infuser with Earl Grey.  

The steam in the kettle whooshed and it beeped once before turning itself off; she had already showered and was standing in the bathroom wrapped in the towel. Sprinting to the kitchen, she poured the hot water into the mug almost to the brim. The water gradually changing colour with black tea infusion.   

Next time she returned to the kitchen, the tea was ready and so was she, sporting the grey suit Briar claims to be too boring and unflattering to her skin tone.   

Sitting by the window cradling the steaming mug, it didn’t surprise the kitchen next door was absolutely silent. Considering there was still a soft jazz music playing and a faint sound of voices when she went to bed last night, it would surprise her if it was the other way around. Cute guy might not be an early bird or was enjoying a day-off to recover from the moving. Perhaps he could be one of those lucky ones who doesn’t have to wake up so early to work or not an adept to a 9-5 routine.  

Twenty minutes later, with her hair tied in a bun and soft neutral makeup, she left to run some errands before work. Starting a brand-new week, hopeful to bump into her cute neighbour later – not quite literally this time.  

A bit of silly romanticism can’t be that bad... as long as I don’t break the rule. She reasons going down the stairs. And it doesn’t hurt to look at him, on the contrary...   

***** 

The days went by. Cute guy did not come nor knocked on her door.   

Actually, mostly of that first week after he moved in, Elizabeth didn’t see or hear him at all. Something not that unusual at buildings when neighbours share different routines.  

On Friday, when she returned from work, noises indicating his presence were overheard. A joyful conversation with feminine voices in a foreign language she couldn’t understand and laughter. Plenty of laughter. It was quite endearing. Later, there was also singing, but not from the same kind that often came though the ventilation when Miss Thompson played the piano while composing a new song.  

While brushing her teeth before bed, she heard it.   

At first, it was low and almost completely muted by the sound of running water, then it grew louder and more enthusiastic and unmistakable: the lyrics from ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. And so was her cute neighbour’s voice.   

She smiled and listened while he sang every verse, changing the pitch to match every voice in what she can only call an overly enthusiastic performance.   

The last verses were muffled by the sound of a hairdryer. Turning the lights off, she went to bed, and before falling asleep, she wondered if he would be embarrassed knowing she heard him. Probably not. That was the kind of concern that stopped her from enjoying things...  

The next evening, Elizabeth does not mind, when a different Queen song was chosen.   

“You know,” Briar whispered to her when they were listening to him at the wee hours of another Saturday, “He is completely naked in there... have you wondered what his cock looks like?”  

“Briar!” Elizabeth spit the tea and almost dropped the cup.   

"Please,” she replied, with a mocking smile. “Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered!”  

Elizabeth’s face reddened at the insinuation, and she walked away with one certainty: she would be wondering from now on...  

*****  

Another week went by with deafening silence next door.

She missed the singing.  

On Wednesday, when she stopped to get her mail, Elizabeth overheard Mrs. Whitmore, the super, talking about him. With unseen solicitude, she almost snatched from the postman’s hands a package and a couple of large, elegant envelopes that were certainly not bulk mail when he announced it belonged to 3C.  

“I’ll take those.”   

While signing the receipt, she shared a bit more. Elizabeth’s curiosity slowed the pace of the going through her own pile of junk mail and bills, and she lingered by, assuming the others would be too engrossed in their conversation to notice her eavesdropping.  

“The new tenant travels a lot for work and asked me to collect his packages...” Mrs. Whitmore explained with undisguised pride.  

Donna Bowman from 1D and her friend Theresa Sutton apparently we’re at the lobby exclusively to collect information.  

“I haven’t met him yet,” Donna said, “What’s he like?”  

“A charming young man.”  

Elizabeth’s jaw almost dropped to the floor at the sight of the sincere smile that crackled the middle-aged woman’s usual stern expression.  

“Handsome?” Theresa asked with great interest, sharing a look with her friend, and the woman whispered something that made the trio giggle.   

“Single?”  

“He’s not married. That’s for sure. I’ve seen the form...” she paused and scratched her chin. “But there was a woman at his flat Sunday evening... and a few gents... it’s hard to tell.”  

The excitement of the other two seemed to dwindle down at that last information, but not enough to stop the line of questioning. 

When her friends came over Saturday evening, they were eager to learn what she learned. 

“With all the traveling, I think he is a spy! It’s the perfect explanation!” Briar said while sipping the wine.  

“Many people travel for work,” Annabelle countered. “Pilots, photographers, interpreters… It’s not that unusual.”   

“Mail. Suit. Sexy accent. Those looks.” Briar enumerated raising her fingers. “It’s just like the movies.”  

“First, I don’t think secret service agents would get mail these days...”  

“Maybe they do. How would they avoid being spied online?” Briar raises her brows.  

“That’s actually a good point...”  

“Alright... I don’t know that much about espionage... Can any of you see Bond living in a place like this?”  

“Hey, I live here too!” Elizabeth protested, and refilled her glass.  

“Liz, no one can have a private conversation without all your neighbours listening and the mobile reception is horrible!” Annabelle explained her point, and Elizabeth couldn’t refute them.  

“It’s because of those freakishly thick walls… I thought Miss Thompson was joking, but it actually broke the drilling machine… Rule number twelve, always uses adhesive...”  

“So we agree, he is not a spy,” Annabelle asked.  

“Not so fast... maybe he is here to listen to someone specifically. Maybe it’s Lizzy… That would explain the bus, the moving in...”  

“Then he’s doing an awful job as a spy if the three of us could uncover him so quickly…” Elizabeth said, an amused smile curling her lips.  

“Maybe he’s bad, maybe we’re that good... Who knows?”  

The rap of knuckles on the door breaks the silence that follows the question. Elizabeth’s face snaps to the door and then to her friends, who raise their hands. 

"I wasn't even near any wood," Briar defends herself from the accusatory glare.

When Elizabeth opens the door, it was her brother Harry holding two pizza boxes. A mischievous grin on his lips.

"I can't believe you!" Elizabeth punches his arm playfully, and Harry whines, telling her to mind the pizza.

"Pizza. Pizza. Pizza." Briar and Annabelle chant.

***** 

If not for the peculiar noises coming from next door at unusual hours, and Briar’s constant reminders about his existence, she would assume the man was not there at all and was a figment of her imagination.  

They could be living in parallel universes for all that she knows – but she would not dare saying that out loud, or Briar would chide her for watching too much sci-fi. There are noises coming from 3C almost everyday this week. But she never sees him...

***** 

At the park, the leaves changed its colours; many already piling underneath the trees. Fall is Elizabeth’s favourite season. 

It’s early in the morning when they start jogging. The sun shines without warming the air around them. Briar pants and Elizabeth slowers her pace, so she can finally catch up.  

“Why are we doing this anyway?”   

“Because I went clubbing with you, and you promised you’d go jogging with me…”  

“I definitely should stop promising this sort of thing… It’s Saturday, we should be sleeping...” Briar complains, and takes a large gulp from the water bottle. Her voice raises to a dramatic tone. “This is not good for my hangover. I need to lie down...”   

Elizabeth teases her a little, but agrees to go to the nice café, the one the barista fancies Briar and always doubles her lattes. The cashier greets them, and she places their orders.  

Cheking the messages on her mobile, Elizabeth barely listens when Briar whispers something into her ear.  

“Sorry?” 

“Isn’t that Adonis?” Briar whispers, indicating with a manicured finger a table at the back of the café.  

It’s definitely him. Her cute neightbour is sitting with a group of people. His dark hair perfectly coiffed, and all eyes entranced by his enthusiastic narrative.  

“You should go say hi.” 

The universe has a strange sense of humour after all. Elizabeth looks at her reflection in the mobile’s screen, her hair falling from the bun and sticking to the sides of her redenned face, sweat dripping and staining her t-shirt.  

“I’m disgusting.” 

Briar throws her an assessing look, but doesn’t protest.  

“Some other time, then...” 

They take their order and leave. Elizabeth throws one final glance over her shoulder, hoping a better opportunity would present.

***** 

When you live on the third floor and choose not to use the lift there are pros and cons. 

The most obvious pro is all the exercising you get to do – even though Briar opposes vehemently to this, constantly pointing out that if one must exercise and sweat, it should be at the gym surrounded by hot guys in tight tops and short shorts. But minimizing unnecessary going up and down four flights of stairs also boost one’s organization skills, and since planning is one of Elizabeth’s skills, she does not mind adjusting her schedule or balancing a few extra bags to do as many things as possible in one go.  

After the third time you forget your mobile or the umbrella at home, your memory becomes a lot better. You have two choices: do not forget or go back up. And when it comes to the umbrella, Elizabeth discovered a third one: instead of going upstairs, you start gambling. The forecast predicts rain, so you check on your mobile, anything under 40% is worth not going back up. And that’s how she happily lives without risking getting trapped in the lift again. And her legs never looked this toned. 

Until today, at least, she was absolutely happy doing without it. 

This Monday morning, taking a final look at herself on the mirror, Elizabeth checks if there are any loosen curls falling from the bun and hops to the front door. After going over a mental checklist, she puts on the red heels – the sprinkle of colour she needs to take off a little of the formality of her working attire – and she’s almost ready to go. 

Balancing on one shoulder the heavy bag, and on the other one a large tote with clothes for dry cleaning, Elizabeth manages to open the door and steps outside.  

The sound attracts the attention of the person standing in front of the lift; when she meets his eyes, the man is already looking at her.  

With his dark hair neatly coifed back, a navy-blue suit that fits him perfectly, and a bright smile stands in all his glory the neighbour who currently lives in 3C – or Adonis like Briar decided to call him until Elizabeth finds out his real name.  

“Good morning!” he greets her with such enthusiasm that his smile seems to almost reach his ears, so warm and enchanting. Her heart skips a beat, as if it has forgotten for a moment what it was supposed to do, and the strap of the tote slips from her shoulder, almost collapsing to the floor.  

It should be illegal to look that handsome so early in the morning… 

Fidgeting with the keychain in her hand, she fights her shyness and replies the greeting, but hers lacks the same passion and is barely above a whisper.  

“I’m your new neighbour. From 3 C.” He reintroduces himself in case she’s confused about his presence in the hallway or forgot about him, like if forgetting about someone with such presence was even possible. 

“I believe it’s time for a proper introduction, no?” The man moves in her direction, closing the gap between them and extends his hand. She tilts her chin up, meeting his dark eyes. They look completely black under the flickering lights, but she remembers them being of a deep warm brown. He’s much taller than her, maybe 1,80m, maybe more.  

“My name is Hamid.” 

She pulls the strap of her bag up her shoulder, then takes his hand. “Elizabeth,” she says firmly. 

“Nice to meet you, Elizabeth,” he says still holding her hand and her gaze, And she allows him to do it, for as long as he wants, while she revels in the warmth and softness of his large hand enveloping hers and in the fresh perfume that reach her nostrils, as inviting as the summer breeze on the beach. Then, he slowly raises it to his lips, eyes unwavering from hers, and press a soft but lingering kiss to the back of her hand. His warm breath fans her skin and the way he gazes at her eyes raised all the hair in the back of her neck. It is so unexpected, like something from old movies and books, that for a moment Elizabeth considered she could be dreaming.  

“I hope we’ll have the chance to get to know each other better. And maybe any bad impression from our first meeting we’ll be forgotten...” 

That kiss chases away every single word from the English language and any other she ever learned...

First meeting? Does he mean he remembers? 

Before she translates the questioning in her eyes to words, a beep announces the lift reached the floor. The man reluctantly releases her hand, the same persistent smile on his lips, and he marches to the lift.  

Her hand raises to her face, chasing the flow of blood she fears tinted her cheeks darker than the makeup applied earlier, and she discreetly follows him with her eyes.  

Holding the lift’s door open for her, he motions with a small flourish. “After you, Elizabeth.”  

She freezes in place.  

Is there any way to tell him about the lift without it sounding like a line? 

She clears her throat. “Thank you, but I’m taking the stairs.” 

His smile fades, and he seems taken aback by the answer, like a child who watched someone snatch a favourite toy off their hands. She almost regrets it and tries to remediate it as much as possible.  

“Have a nice day, Hamid,” she said. Mustering all the courage she can find inside and flashing a tight-lipped smile, she added, struggling to keep her knees steady, “I hope I’ll see you around.”  

His expression softened. “Likewise,” he replied and a wide grin curled his lips. 

The lift door closed, and she stayed there a moment longer. Hamid looks so nice, smells so good and appears nothing like a screamer that it almost felt worth the risk of being trapped inside the lift with him.

The flash of the cameras danced around her, each lens begging for her attention. Camera shutters echoed in her ear. This was the moment she'd dreamed of—imagined a thousand and one times. She tilted her chin and turned her shoulder.

Everything was perfect.

It should have been enough.

It wasn't.

Her practiced smile didn't quite reach her eyes. For a moment, she almost turned, as if someone had called—though no one had. They'd never noticed. The studio had been sure she was media-ready for today. Nothing would challenge her their big moment.

Not even him.

i. chance

Her heart fluttered as her fingers delicately traced the golden Art Deco door handle. She was finally here. Inhaling deeply, she lifted her head, straightening her shoulders, before opening the studio door.

The space was dark except for a few soft stage lights, the set not yet reset for the day. She lingered near the door, her gaze tracing over the space. If these walls could talk. She inched closer, a typewritten script held in her arms.

He walked swiftly across the stage. He paused only long enough to retrieve his blazer from the director's chair, then continued on.

The sound of footsteps pulled her attention. She caught only the silhouette of a man retreating. The echo of his step faded, leaving the space emptier than it had been before.

ii. thread

Muffled voices seeped through the wood-paneled walls as he navigated the narrow hallway. He passed Studio A on the way to the next. He’d always thought interviews were little more than promotion—advertisements for the latest picture, disguised as a conversation.

The on-air light was dim. He reached for the silver door handle. A soft laugh sounded from the other side, light and honest. He opened it slowly. A brunette woman met him. He stepped aside, holding it open for her.

"Thank you."

She stepped past him.

He let the door close behind her.

He almost looked back.

iii. glance

Her fingers curled around the white porcelain cup. The familiar notes of the freshly brewed coffee brought a smile to her lips. She listened to the quiet hum of the cafe. Her days had been filled with rehearsals and filming. Unscripted moments had become rare.

Her gaze lifted.

He sat at a table opposite hers. His pen scratched across the surface of the pages in front of him.

He looked up.

For a moment, their eyes met. She smiled over the rim of her cup, taking another sip before looking away. Her gaze turned out the window, watching those walking by. His reflection lingered faintly in the glass as he returned to his work.

iv. interruption

He moved with purpose through the lot. A call for quiet from a nearby set drew his attention. He turned toward the set. A familiar face caught his eye. She moved gracefully across the scene. Her voice was light, touched with optimism.

"Cut."

Her gaze met his as she turned away from the production.

Recognition flashed in her eyes. A slow smile spread on her lips.

He took a step forward.

"Alexandra."

A production assistant guided her back to her mark.

He lingered a moment longer before continuing on his way.

Alexandra.

v. choice

The scent of stale tobacco mixed with the sharp coffee aroma as she entered the cafe. She glanced around the space, making her way to an empty table. She took a seat and opened a small black appointment book, reading through the notes for the day.

She turned her attention out the window. A familiar reflection caught her eye, drawing her gaze to the table across from her.

He sat still, a book perched in his hands. His face gave little away, his expression unreadable.

She almost turned back to the busy street.

But she didn't.

Not today.

"Hello," she greeted.

His gaze lifted from the page, over the top of the book.

His eyes met hers.

vi. pull

"Alexandra, is it?" He closed the book and set it on the table.

"Should I be impressed Thomas Hunt knows my name?"

His eyes narrowed, the corner of his lip lifting slightly. "Many would be."

"You'll find I'm not," she challenged.

He studied her for a moment. She was more direct than he anticipated, her smile still unguarded. That was rare enough. "Indeed."

"My apologies if that disappoints."

The book remained closed beneath his hand. His attention no longer on it, his gaze fixed on her. "I'm not certain you could disappoint."

vii. bond

It had become effortless, spending time like this. The placid lake stretched out before them. Strands of golden sun kissed the water, scattering like diamonds across the surface.

Her fingers brushed over the soft fabric of the picnic blanket. The wind shifted, lifting a strand of her hair. He reached up, brushing it back.

"I like it here," she decided.

"It's quiet," he agreed.

"It's easier out here." Her gaze fell to the sandy shore.

His hand settled over hers.

"It's easier with you," she added.

"I've found the same."

“Careful, Thomas... You almost sound agreeable.”

The smile that tugged at his lips reached his eyes. His gaze drifted back over the lake.

viii. dream

The ballroom glowed beneath the ornate chandeliers. Voices around them blurred into the music.

She rested her head on his shoulder, his hand warm against her lower back. Her silk dress shifted with each gentle movement as they swayed slowly together. Nothing beyond them seemed to exist. When she lifted her head, her eyes met his. The smile that greeted her was unlike any the public ever saw. It was entirely hers.

"Alex." His voice was tender.

"I know."

As the song quieted, neither of them moved. He drew her closer, the distance between them fading. His lips found hers in a soft, almost fragile kiss.

The final notes faded into applause, but she didn't move.

Neither of them did.

ix. interference

"Miss Spencer." The steady voice stopped her before she could go further. "A word, if you please."

She drew in a deep breath, her body reluctant to follow. "Of course."

"Have a seat." The studio executive gestured toward an emerald green leather chair.

"You're still new to all of this, Miss Spencer, so I'll be quite clear. There are expectations that come with representing the studio. The image you present is not solely yours—it belongs to us. Personal associations are not without consequence. If and when changes are required, they will be made in accordance with the studio's interests. I trust you understand."

"But—" Her mouth opened, though the expression that met her across the desk gave her pause. Her hands tightened. "I understand."

"I trust you'll attend the premiere of your upcoming picture in a manner consistent with these expectations."

She rose to her feet, smoothing the fabric of her dress before turning away.

x. destiny

Her smile never wavered. Each step down the red carpet had been choreographed for her. Who to talk with, who to pose for, when to hesitate, when to move on. It was another scene for her to play, far from the empowerment she thought it would bring. She was their Alexandra. She hadn't thought she'd miss being Alex.

With careful precision, she executed every look they wanted. The bright lights of the cameras started to dim as she neared the theater.

"Thank you!" She waved, posing once more for a final display.

The doors opened, welcoming her into the screening of her picture. She ascended the steps of the theater, slipping her gloves off. She'd been offered a private box. The first thing that had gone right. At least there, she would be free from the performance.

She paused outside of it. Her fingers caressed the green velvet curtains separating her space from the hall. Quietly, she slipped in, disappearing from the world outside.

She stilled, her eyes not trusting what they saw.

It was him.

Of course, it was him.

"How?"

"Does it matter?"

He stood to meet her, guiding her down into the seat beside him. He drew her in, and this time, he kissed her without hesitation. Nothing could pull them apart.

A/N: Initially I was going to do a kismet mini series on this but readership is so low in the fandom that I didn't think anyone would follow that long. So I compromised and tried to write 100 word drabbles for each "chapter" and make a mosiac one-shot instead.

If you read this, I hope you enjoyed it! It was a lot of fun to write. It's very different than my normal fluffy writing style. It's much more controlled and restrained. It was very hard especially when the finally got together not to revert back lol

But the girls’ sleep schedule seemed to be normalizing now. At least, they’d started doing five-to-six hour-stretches through the night. While that was a relief (literally and figuratively), it also meant planning the day with surgical precision to get everything done.

His wife had been partially right. Forget bonding. They needed the time off to figure out the mysteries of parenting.

“The driver is waiting downstairs.”

He turned away from the windows as Cassie stepped out of the walk-in closet.

The dress caught his eye first, the fabric flaring gently around her knees beneath the camel-colored coat. The color matched the green of her eyes. Her blonde hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail. Low-heeled pumps, a pearl necklace, and pearl-drop earrings completed the look.

Ethan found his mouth going dry at the sight of her. It had been a long couple of months since they'd enjoyed any sort of true intimacy.

The thought lingered longer than it should have, before he remembered that she had a few weeks of recovery ahead of her. He forced the lecherous thoughts out of his head and tried to speak in a neutral tone.

“It’s a pea soup outside,” he said, tilting his head towards the view outside.

She shrugged, adjusting the scarf around her neck. “It shouldn’t be too bad on the city streets. Besides, I won’t be long.”

He smirked. “You and I both know, brunch with your friends is never that quick.”

Cassie laughed, stepped up to press her lips against his, and then she was gone, leaving a faint, lingering trail of scent in the air behind her.

Finding himself alone again (and a little distracted by the scent), Ethan grabbed the baby monitor off the bedside table and stuffed it in his back pocket. He moved towards his office, determined to make use of the quiet while it lasted.

The sabbatical had given him an opportunity to catch up on research, which had further sparked an idea for his next book. Between feedings, diaper changes and sleepless nights, he’d managed to complete an outline he felt had possibilities.

A hour later, Ethan leaned back in his chair and took off his glasses. Rubbing his eyes, he reached for the mug, only to pull back when he realized the coffee had long gone cold.

He started for the kitchen to make a fresh pot when twin cries echoed from the baby monitor in his hand.

Quiet time was over. He sighed, and changed directions to head to the nursery.

Cassie let herself in the front door, her ears automatically tuning to the stillness in the air. She checked her wristwatch. The girls should be up by now, according to the sleep schedule she and Ethan had devised.

Curious, she peeked into the living room first. Nothing. Then the nursery and main bedroom next. Those were empty too.

She took the stairs to the second level and Ethan’s office. She knew he was planning to get work done this morning. Maybe he’d moved the girls there to keep an eye on them.

The office door was ajar but there was no sign of her family. A flicker of concern tightened her chest. Cassie reached for her phone to call Ethan.

Lately, they’d found that a drive around the block (or two) seemed to work when the girls were feeling particularly restless.

She heard the call connect and then two sets of ringing sounds reverberated in the air—one from the phone next to her ear and the other from somewhere close by.

Pulling the phone away, Cassie cocked her head. There.

She padded down the hall to the family room, gently pushing the door open. And paused at the sight.

Ethan was sprawled on the couch, one leg dangling to the floor, the other bent at the knee. His breathing was steady and even. The sound of the ringing phone was clearly not enough to wake him from his stupor.

She disconnected the call, the silence returning just as quickly as the fog dissipating outside.

Cassie traced his features. He hadn’t shaved today, and the stubble darkened the killer jawline the nurses at Edenbrook swooned over. The tousled dark hair flopped across his forehead. His features softened when he was asleep, a contrast to the intensity that was so inherent to his personality.

Lips partially open, his warm breath tickled the hair of the twins who lay sleeping atop him. His arms cradled them securely against his chest; hands spread flat against their small bodies, almost as if he’d fallen asleep patting them.

Her heart melted when one of the girls mewled, the other tensed, and Ethan’s hold tightened. Even in sleep, he knew exactly what they needed. His palms rubbed their backs, gently, up, then down, then up again.

No doubt feeling their father’s presence, the girls stilled. Their small heads rubbed against his shirt and settled into the crook on either side of his neck.

Sometimes Cassie couldn’t believe this was the same man who’d told her kids weren’t in the cards for him.

“I don't think I'd be able to be there for them, at least not the way they would need.”

He’d said those words to her when they tested the fMRI machine when she was still an intern—back when she’d been crushing on him, hard.

And then he’d said, “Besides, I've seen too many horror stories firsthand.”

His tone wistful, maybe a little sad. She remembered feeling a vague disquiet she couldn’t (or didn’t want to) name.

Later when she’d learned about his mother, she surmised the horror stories might have been more personal than simply anecdotes. That memory lingered, reshaped now by everything that had come after.

There was a time during their relationship when she wondered if their family would always be just the two of them. And they had been content, building their careers, traveling, living their lives. But then expectations changed.

First the realization that they both wanted more. Then, the grief from the miscarriage. And finally, the surprise pregnancy almost a year to the day since they’d agreed to start trying the first time.

Ethan was a wonderful father, as she’d known he would be. He might not always be comfortable in the role—his default mode was still hesitation—but she knew everything he’d been afraid of before was nothing in comparison to the love he already gave to their children.

Cassie wasn’t sure how long she stood leaning against the doorway watching her three favorite people, until her phone pinged with a text message.

She gently closed the door, leaving just a sliver open, and quietly made her way downstairs.

The silence followed her, now soft and full. Some moments were simply too precious to disturb.

--------------

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @jerzwriter @josiesopenheart @kyra75 @lady-calypso @potionsprefect @quixoticdreamer16 @snoopdogcone @tessa-liam

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Pairings: Mal Volari x Daenarya with Rayden (OC), Lydo (OC) Book: Blades of Light & Shadow (Book 1 AU) Word Count: < 700 Rating/Warnings: General, no warnings

Synopsis: The map that sent them on their latest adventure has brought them home. This is part two of "The Hidden Path" mini series.

Background: This is the final chapter in The Hidden Path series. It also comes after previous attempts at Mal proposing: A Proposal (of sorts) and To Have and To Lose.

Her pulse quickened as she lifted the key, questions racing through her mind. She carefully traced the dark metal of the lock, the corner of her lip tugging upward at the familiar design.

For a moment, all she could think about was her family—her boys... and Mal.

Her hand shook as she slid the key in place, twisting it until she heard a faint click. She chewed her lower lip, not sure what waited on the other side. The wooden gate eased forward with a comforting soft squeak.

She stepped forward, her breath catching.

Red rose petals were scattered delicately at her feet. Candlelight flickered on either side of her, inviting her to follow their light. She took a slow step forward, the petals shifting softly beneath her feet.

The yard was quiet except for the giggles and excited squeals from the boys trailing just behind her.

"Mal." His name was a wordless whisper on her lips as she approached a floral arch illuminated with lanterns at the center of the space.

He held his hand out, guiding her forward. His other hand rested on her swollen stomach. "I love you both." His voice was quiet, just for her. "I'm sorry things fell apart today."

Rayden and Lydo moved behind him, checking their mark to make sure everything was perfect.

Mal leaned forward, brushing a lingering kiss on her forehead before lowering to one knee in front of her.

"Daenarya—" his voice cracked as he said her name. He opened his mouth, but his words failed. He shook his head. "I practiced this so many times, but with you, I lose what I thought I knew."

"There hasn't been a moment since I met you that I've wanted to be anywhere other than by your side," he continued. "When you paused this morning outside of the city, talking about home, I had to fight against myself to propose on the spot. That moment may have been beautiful, but it wasn't our home. When the rain fell, and you were once again in my arms, I was reminded how far we'd come since that first dance and how I never want that dance to end. I thought about asking you then, but it wasn't where I wanted to grow old together. But then—" his gaze fell, his head shaking. "—Then I hurt you... I never meant to make you feel like I didn't trust you. It took everything in me not to tell you. To know I hurt you today—Daenarya." Tears filled his eyes, slipping down his face. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she mouthed, her eyes glistening. She offered a gentle nod. "It's okay."

"If I had, I could have spared you so much pain. I'm sorry... but it's not just about us anymore. It's about our children and the home we share. It's not just about where we are now, but where we've been and where we're going. There is no greater treasure in this world or the next that compares with you.

Daenarya, will you marry me?"

Her breath hitched at the question hanging between them, her hands clasping over her mouth. A soft laugh broke through her tears. "Mal..." Her gaze flickered between him and the boys bouncing excitedly behind him. Her heart swelled. She nodded before she could answer. "Yes!" Her voice trembled, but her smile never faltered. "Of course, yes! I'll marry you!"

Mal slipped the golden ring onto her finger, his hands steady and sure.

He rose swiftly, pulling her into a kiss, his arms wrapping around her as he held her close, never wanting to let her go.

The boys' cheer broke their embrace. Their small hands tugged at them, waiting for their time to celebrate. The newly engaged couple fell to their knees, gathering their boys into their arms. Their shared laughter broke through the last of the tears as they held their family close.

This was just the beginning of their greatest adventure. 

The colors of the buildings in White Tower, vibrant in the morning rays, now dimmed beneath the setting sun. Even the gold that glimmered on the restored buildings, marking how far the slums had come, seemed dull.

It hadn't even been a full day.

She hadn't known how long this adventure would take them, but sunup to sundown hadn't been a consideration. Her thoughts drifted; it might have been longer if it weren't for him. Then again, she really couldn't be sure of that either. There was little about the day she could confidently say she understood now.

A low sigh slipped from her lips, her shoulders slumping.

She knew one thing.

One undeniable truth.

He loved her.

Despite everything—despite keeping something from her—he loved her.

And, she loved him.

This didn't change that.

But it did raise an issue of trust, and that wouldn't disappear just because they were home.

She needed answers. If not today, then soon.

Her gaze lifted to the front steps of the orphanage. They'd returned.

She wasn't sure how long it had taken. The sky had darkened, though a faint warmth still lingered along the horizon.

Mal continued up the steps, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

Daenarya stayed at the bottom of the steps.

"I promise I'll never lie to you," he broke the silence that had settled over them for the past couple of hours. "When you understand, I hope you can forgive me."

Her lips parted, but the words to reply caught in her throat. She nodded. It was all she could manage.

He disappeared behind the opening door.

She sat on the steps, resting her face in her hands.

"Mama?" A quiet voice called to her a few minutes later. "Why are you outside?" Rayden hopped down the steps, sitting beside her. "What's wrong?"

Her eyes softened, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him into her. "I missed you." She brushed his hair away from his face, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead. "How was your day?"

His eyes widened. "It was so exciting. We had so much to do. Me and Beary even got to help Miss Nia with a really important job. I'm a little tired now."

"We should get you ready for bed, shouldn't we?"

"Not yet, please!"

"Rayden?" His brother called. "Oh—" he paused, finding him on the steps. "There you are. We're ready."

"Ready for what?" he asked curiously.

"For the thing!" The older boy's gaze narrowed on him.

Rayden's face lit up. "Oh! I almost forgot!"

"What's going on?" Daenarya questioned, her gaze shifting between them.

"We can't tell you. It's a secret. Shhh—" Rayden pressed his finger to his lips.

"A secret?" A smile tugged on her lips. She thought she would've had enough of secrets today, but somehow, with the boys, it was different. "Do I get to play too? I'm really good at keeping secrets!"

"We can't tell you," Rayden decided. "That's my job!" He nodded confidently. "To remember not to tell you!"

"And my job—" Lydo interrupted, trying to guide the conversation, "—is to get you where you need to be."

"And where do I need to go?" she pondered, her attention focusing on the older boy.

He extended his hand to her. "I'll show you."

"Me too!" Rayden jumped up, taking her other hand.

"Alright, then!" Her smile grew with her boys by her side. "Where to?"

"This way." Lydo led her around the side of the orphanage. "Do you have the key?"

The question startled her. "What key?"

"The one from Mr. Mal's adventure."

"How do you know—" Her mind raced with questions and memories of the day. Her fingers dug through her satchel, pulling out the key she had retrieved from the hollow of the tree earlier. "This?"

"Mmhmm." The boys nodded.

"Why do I need this? How do you know about it?" She questioned quickly.

"It's part of the secret." Rayden pressed his finger to his lips once more, shushing her.

Lydo led her to the gate of the backyard, leading to the garden. A new lock hung on the latch. "It's for you."

Her pulse quickened as she lifted the key. She wasn't sure what to expect, but she needed to know. Somehow, it was all connected.

The map, once a constant guide since leaving the orphanage, now sat abandoned in her bag. Whatever certainty it once held had slipped away.

Her feet dragged her forward, one step and then the next. 

The sound of their footsteps on the forest floor was amplified by their silence. Each leaf that crunched beneath their steps, each twig that snapped, each rustle of the leaves echoed through the stillness between them.

She let the rhythmic sounds of their trek consume her.

Moving forward.

One foot in front of the other. 

It was all she could do.

If she stopped. If she let her thoughts even whisper to her, it would thunder into a cacophony, drowning her under the weight of the questions.

This was better. The steady rhythm of the forest around her. 

"Daeny—" His step paused.

Hers didn't. 

"I'm sorry." His words were soft, his chest tightening as he watched her continue. 

She slowed but didn't stop. 

"Daenarya."

"I know," her voice cracked. 

"Can we talk?" He reached for her hand, but she kept it just out of reach.

She glanced at him for a moment, unable to stay away. But seeing him just reminded her of the secret he was keeping. Her head shook to the sides. "I can't."

"I know, I did this." His head hung low, his hand fidgeted at his side. "I want to tell you."

"What's stopping you?" Her lip quivered.

"I wish you knew..." His jaw tightened. "If you did, you'd understand. I just—" He shook his head, his lips pressed together. "Please, Daenarya. Just a little longer. It wasn't... It wasn't supposed to end like this."

"But that's the thing, it's one more question. One more thing that I don't know. How was ‘what’ supposed to end?" 

He sighed heavily. "Our day."

"Really? You planned to deceive me and hoped it'd go well?" 

"I never wanted to deceive you, just make the day special."

"Why?" She pleaded. But her question lingered without a response. "Where are we even going?"

"Home." 

I promise the angst is almost over! This section was supposed to be a bit longer, but I feel like this does everything it needs to without stretching it out too much.

Thank you for reading! I hope you like the last sections!

Reggie was too young to remember that time, but he’d heard his boss complain about the changes often enough that sometimes he felt he’d been there to witness it. Donahue hadn’t always been easy to work for, but he was fair and paid on time.

When he decided to retire and move to Ireland, he’d been happy to sell the bar to Reggie. Not long after, posters of Guinness and shamrocks found themselves keeping company with signed memorabilia from the occasional basketball player who stumbled in after a game at The Garden, and neon signs of various liquor brands.

He kept the name, the dark wood décor and red pleather booths. The jukebox full of classics. But everything else, from the drinks menu to the pool tables and darts in the back, reflected what his clientele expected.

Despite all the changes, Reggie’s most loyal customers were the people who worked at the hospital—from the crop of new residents who started on the first day of July like clockwork, to the attendings who stayed long after their training ended, to the nursing staff who fed him all the gossip.

He glanced at the large wall clock facing the bar and took one more look around his domain, nodding in satisfaction.

“It’s showtime, people,” he called out as the clock struck five.

The office workers rolled in first—cocktails, wine, the odd draft beer. Halfway through happy hour, the vibe changed as the day shift at the hospital ended. Scrubs and jeans replaced suits and skirts. And orders turned to beer pitchers and tequila shots.

Around quarter to seven, Ethan Ramsey strolled in and parked himself on his usual seat at the end of the bar. His timing was impeccable as always, thought Reggie with a grin—missing the rush of bodies that flooded the bar just after shift change, but arriving just in time to people-watch.

He was here most nights. Slowly sipping his scotch. Pretending indifference. But Reggie had seen the way Ethan’s gaze drifted across the bar, taking everything in.

Of course, Ethan would scoff at the notion. But bartenders (like a certain diagnostician) were trained observers. They saw all, heard all, and locked that knowledge away in a vault.

Even when he and Dr. Emery had been… whatever they were, Ethan would sit and enjoy his drink in silence. One drink, always—except when he’d been a young resident. Back then, his tastes had been discerning even if his wallet hadn’t been. So he often settled for a couple of Sam Adams.

“Looks like tonight’s a two-finger occasion,” Reggie grinned, reaching for the bottle he kept behind the bar.

“Might even be three fingers,” Ethan muttered, running one hand absently through his hair and sighing deeply. “But better make it two. I’ve got rounds in the morning.”

“Rough day?” Reggie asked, pouring the drink.

“Not particularly…,” Ethan said, uncharacteristically tapping his fingers on the bar. “Just a strange one.”

That’s new, thought Reggie. He couldn’t remember the other man looking so discombobulated—ever.

“Well, hopefully this helps,” he said, raising a finger in a be-there-with-you gesture when another patron stepped up to the bar. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Reggie got busy as a group of surgeons—he could always recognize them—ordered a round of beers before commandeering the darts. He and his assistant worked quickly and efficiently, filling one order after another, including a large one of tequila shots someone had managed to slip in before the buzzer.

Things started to settle down shortly after that, and he sent the other bartender on a short break. Figuring he’d given his favorite customer enough time to brood, Reggie started to make his way to the other side of the bar.

He stopped short. An unfamiliar face (must be an intern) slid into the seat beside Ethan. Reggie grinned, all too familiar with how Ethan handled residents pestering him off the clock. And the aftermath—everything from tears to tight-lipped frustration—was entertaining, that was for sure.

So he moved closer, practically within earshot. Two seconds later, he almost dropped the glass he was wiping when he saw how Ethan was watching her from the corner of his eye.

“Something wrong, Dr. Ramsey?” the woman asked.

“Just noticing how… different you look out in the real world.”

Reggie’s eyes goggled at the tone (almost flirtatious) and the words. Who was this man, and would the real Ethan Ramsey please stand up?

Unable to help himself—and his curiosity—Reggie approached them.

“What’ll it be?” he asked the woman.

She eyed Ethan’s empty glass as if trying to guess what he drank. Then he saw recognition dawn in her green eyes.

“We’ll have two scotches, neat.”

Impressed, Reggie reached for a bottle of Ethan’s favored brand, setting two neat scotches in front of her.

More amused now by Ethan’s reaction than the woman’s actions, Reggie shamelessly eavesdropped on whatever was happening here.

She slid one glass over, and Ethan took it, smiling with approval as he sniffed it. “Why neat instead of on the rocks?”

“The ice changes the flavor,” she said.

“Right answer,” Ethan grinned rakishly, and Reggie understood why the nursing staff often gossiped about the young doctor.

That smile was lethal.

“You know I can’t be bribed into favoring you, right?” Ethan commented, raising one brow as if to discourage the resident.

“I think you already favor me,” the woman said, smiling, confident in her assertion.

Reggie expected Ethan to shoot her down, as he’d done with other residents over the years who thought flirting would get him to soften his stance toward them.

Instead, Ethan just smiled and shook his head. “You keep believing that.”

Reggie was dying of curiosity now, wondering who this woman was. Why was Ethan not behaving like himself?

He got his chance when Ethan downed the drink in one long gulp and signaled him.

“Two specials. Thanks, Reggie.”

“Only for you, Ethan,” Reggie said, inwardly grinning at the goldmine of gossip he was mining tonight.

He couldn’t wait for Naveen Banerji to drop in for their weekly tea, literal and figurative. The older doctor was Ethan’s mentor and loved nothing more than hearing how his mentee was doing, along with other hospital gossip.

Reggie kept one ear cocked as he turned away to mix the special cocktail he and Ethan had devised. Someone turned up the jukebox, so he missed part of the conversation. But what he did hear was scintillating.

“You don’t have anyone waiting at home?”

“I’ll come here even when I do. I need some buffer between the hospital and the world. An airlock,” Ethan said, his tone hesitant at first before turning serious. “Don’t take the job home with you, Valentine.”

Valentine. Now Reggie had a name to go with the face of the only woman who’d managed to chip through Ethan’s armor. He didn’t think even Harper Emery had managed to do that.

Feeling like a voyeur, he turned around with their freshly mixed drinks, determined to set them down and walk away. He noticed how close the two of them were standing now, as if inside a private bubble.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her eyes locked with his. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“No,” Ethan hesitated, his voice dropping to a whisper as if in confession. “Nobody waiting at home tonight.”

For the first time tonight, Reggie felt that he was watching the start of something new—maybe even something special. And he wondered if his friend was ready for it.

-----------

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @jerzwriter @josiesopenheart @kyra75 @lady-calypso @potionsprefect @quixoticdreamer16 @snoopdogcone @tessa-liam

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

You found me in my darkest hour.

Beaten down but not broken.

The world was cruel to both of us. It should never have been that way.

Yet that path so dark brought us here—

You and I, together.

Your grace, your light, your nurturing heart—

my silent companion, my guiding light.

The path behind us, and the path ahead, show a world threatened by darkness.

Yet, you stay, by my side.

And I— forever yours.

A bond of love, a promise to protect, a loyalty without end.

I choose you now— and every day, my guiding light in those darkest skies.

LunaRose, my faithful friend, my companion till the end.

Background: There’s no single direct callback in this chapter (aside from a brief Contessa reference). It’s more a culmination of the smaller moments that have built up throughout the series, things Daenarya is now starting to question. I considered tying it back to my fic “It’s About Trust,” but the tone felt too different, so this part stands on its own in a way the other parts don't.

The trail ahead divided in two. 

Daenarya slowed. 

Mal didn't. 

"Where are you going?" She called to him. 

He glanced over his shoulder, finding her stopped. "Following the path."

"How? You didn't even look at the map?"

"The path goes this way." Mal offered, retreating back to her. "Why, what's the map say?"

She traced the faded ink on the parchment, her finger stopping where she estimated they should be. "This doesn't make sense." Her gaze shifted around her, analyzing the terrain.  

"What's wrong?"

"This—" she pointed to a large rock shaped like a heart on the map. "We passed it a while back... We should've just followed this path until we hit the tree bridge." 

"Then let's keep moving." He gestured in the direction he had been heading. 

"The map doesn't show a trail split here. How do we know that's the way to go?" Daenarya pondered, studying the map. "Did we miss something? Maybe we should backtrack for a bit."

"I don't think that's a good idea," he offered, barely letting her complete her suggestion. Mal glanced down the pair of paths, his fingers tapping at his side. "I'm sure it's this one." 

"How? How can you be sure?"

"Uh—" His fingers raked through his hair. "Call it adventurer's intuition. Sometimes you just know."

Her gaze lingered on him, unconvinced. "I don't know. Something's off with this map... Where did you say you got it from?"

"Uhh.. I don't remember."

"Mal, you remember every map and treasure you've ever found." Her eyes narrowed on him.

His hands slid in his pockets as he took a step back. "Does it really matter where I got it?"

"If it's from some Contessa from back in the day, I don't care." She took a step closer, her gaze softening. "Knowing where it came from could help us understand what we're missing." 

He licked his lips, nodding in consideration. "You got me... It's just— I  know how much you hate hearing those stories."

"And yet you’ve never had a problem telling them before,” she murmured. “Why now?” 

"Trying to be more considerate, I guess," he said with a shrug, his words falling flat. 

"What aren't you telling me?" Her voice was soft. "Where did you really get this map?"

"I don't think it makes a difference where it's from. It's gotten us this far." He glanced between the openings in the treetops, then to the shadows on the ground. Worry pulled on his features. "Can we please keep going?"

“You keep doing that!" She folded her arms across her chest. “You keep changing the subject, pushing forward. Why? How long have you really had this map?”

"Can't you just trust me?"

"I do trust you, but why won't you tell me what's going on?"

Mal wore a path on the ground beside her. His hand ran over his satchel, his fingers teasing the latch. "Daenarya, please."

"Please, what? What aren't you telling me?" 

"I just need you to keep going."

"Why? Why do you need me to keep going? Why can't you tell me what's going on? Did you want me to walk in on you playing with the map? Did you know I'd insist on coming? Do you know where it leads? Why won't you tell me?" Her voice cracked as the questions snowballed in her mind, tumbling out of her lips. The lips that not long ago were warmly against his. 

“I need you to know how much—" The words slipped out before he could stop them. His hand reached into his satchel, grasping at something inside. His jaw tightened, his hand falling from the bag. "I can't... not yet. Not here. Not like this."

"Not like what? Mal, please." Her eyes filled with unshed tears. 

He reached to cradle her face, but she pulled away. 

"I love you, Daenarya. More than I could ever hope to say." He reached down to gather the bouquet of flowers she had set down when she stopped to examine the map. "I just need you to trust me. Just a little longer."

"I know you love me," she breathed, accepting the flowers, trying to shake back the tears threatening to fall. "I only wish you'd trust me enough to let me in."

"Daenarya." Her name was a whisper on his lips, the only word he could mutter. 

Her name. 

Daenarya.

"Lead the way." 

Her voice pulled him from his thoughts. 

"It seems like you have been since this all began anyway."

She didn't wait for him; she stepped down the path he'd suggested. For the first time in a long time, the silence that settled between them was anything but comfortable. 

This section definitely gave me the most trouble to write. I took 5 days to get this much written. This was supposed to be split into two sections but I struggled enough with this that I couldn't imagine making it two. Plus, two shorter ones would fragment the growing tension, so I hope this works. I don't usually write angst. This was very unusual and uncomfortable.

Background: This fic references one of my favorite early Mal/Daenarya fics, "Join Me".

She adjusted the map in her hand, eyes flicking between it and the path ahead. They hadn’t missed a single mark so far—not one. Everything had been clear, easy. The thought lingered longer than she liked.

"Looks like we're getting closer." Mal pointed through the thinning trees.

Daenarya nodded, already moving toward the faint sound of water ahead.

The trickle grew louder with each step until the trees gave way to a quiet stretch of river. The sun hung just past its peak, warm against their skin, glistening on the gently flowing water.

She looked around the open space, unable to enjoy its beauty, instead searching for the reason the map had led them here. "Do you see anything?"

"Let's keep looking," Mal offered, starting upstream.

She turned to follow him, a light breeze dancing in her hair and tickling across her face. She tucked the loose strand back behind her ear, the corner of her lips pulling up at the scent of something sweet, something familiar. Her feet carried her along the riverbank, the breeze drawing her toward the scent of sweet peas until a small field of wildflowers came into view.

Mal's gaze settled on her, following her focus. "See something you like?"

Her step paused. The words caught her off guard, an old memory flashing before her. A quiet chuckle left her lips. What were the chances?

"In fact, I do," she decided.

Not needing an invitation, Mal knelt down, using his blade to free several flowers from their roots. After gathering enough to make a small bouquet, he cut a few blades of long grass to tie a wrap around them.

"For you." He offered her the freshly picked flowers. "Don't say I never got you anything."

"What, no attempt to pretend you stole them?" She teased, bringing the sweet peas closer to her face, letting their scent overwhelm her.

"Oh, you want to talk about me?" His brow arched in challenge, stepping closer. "If I remember correctly, the first time I went to get those flowers for you by a river, you stole my clothes!"

"What can I say? You're a bad influence." Her finger curled under his chin, guiding his face to meet hers. "But, I guess I'll forgive you... this time!"

She brushed a tender kiss on his lips before stepping back to admire the flowers again.

Her smile faltered.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, they're beautiful... It's just, why did the map lead us here? I don't see anything."

"We'll figure it out. Why don't you refill our water, clear your head for a minute, then we'll look at the map again, together!"

"Sure, that's a good idea," she agreed, turning toward the river as the quiet rush of water filled the space between them.

She knelt on the soft grass, letting it support her as she dipped one of the canteens beneath the surface. The cool water tugged gently on her wrist as she let the bottle fill. Her thoughts drifted; it was truly beautiful here. They could spend the day, maybe more... if it weren't for the burning question that plagued her thoughts. Where did the map lead?

A faint scraping noise pulled her attention. She glanced over her shoulder.

Mal crouched a few paces back, the tip of his blade dragging through the dirt. His gaze shifted between the earth and the sun. "At this rate—" he muttered under his breath, the rest of his words too low to make out.

"Everything okay?"

"What? Oh yeah." He used his boot to scuff out the marks he'd made. "It's nothing."

"Didn't sound like 'nothing'." She moved to him, glancing down at the ground. "Why are you tracking the time?"

"No reason." His hand raked through his hair, settling on the back of his neck as he rubbed it.

"Mal!"

He pulled the map from her pack. "You know, I was thinking. Maybe we're not supposed to find another clue here, but just refuel for the—uh, journey ahead."

Her head tipped to the side, her eyes narrowing on him, unease settling quietly in her chest. "Maybe..."

"Let's see where it points next."

This moment is definitely quieter than some of the previous parts, but I hope it still captured the depth of their relationship and how far they've come.

If you've made it this far, I can't tell you how much your support means. I hope the payoff in the last part will be worth it!