“Got ‘em!” You hold up your old goggles triumphantly, finally locating them at the bottom of a long forgotten pack. “Knew I still had these somewhere.”

Peli is already waiting for you at the bottom of the Chimera's ramp. You can see why Din likes her – she feels like a crazy aunt that you only see once a cycle, while also being able to intuit things better than anyone else you know.

“What should I know about her?” Peli asks. You can't help but smile.

Thirty minutes later and you've given her the  rundown of the Chimera's basics. Tex has instructions to share schematics with Peli when needed and is officially given authority over the pit droids. He's not so secretly thrilled by that fact. Knowing that Peli is the mastermind behind the N1 calms any of your bigger anxieties about leaving your baby behind for repairs.

Din is already standing by the speeder bike when you’re done. It’s a bigger model that could probably support a sidecar, but there are none of those in sight. The only option is to sit on the bike with Din. You steel yourself, trying to push down your hurt feelings. There’s no point in lingering on them right now when you’re about to be in very close quarters with him. 

You give Grogu a couple pats goodbye and then shove your bag into one of the saddlebags already attached to the bike. 

“Is it comfortable?” Din asks. You're more than a little lost.

“My bag?”

He chuckles, the low noise just managing to bypass the vocoder. “No, the holster.”

It's the first time you've been able to wear it since he got it for you. Sure, you've worn it around the Chimera a few times, but never out in the world. “It's good.”

If you were in a better mood you might tell him that it fits like a glove – that you can almost forget you have it on. You don't know how he managed to find a holster that feels like it was made for you.

“Good.”

You climb onto the bike, moving yourself forward to make it easier for Din. He turns and says something to Peli you don’t catch before getting onto the bike behind you. It’s tight, but you both fit. 

You’re hyper aware of his body around yours. The firm, cool beskar at your back, the way his legs bracket around yours, his arms caging you in as he reaches up to the handlebars. You barely have enough presence of mind to pull your goggles down before he takes off, launching the two of you into the vast expanse of the desert.

You wish you could enjoy this more. This is the closest and longest you have ever been next to Din and yet you're stuck in a terrible mood. With nothing to distract you, his stupid words are running on a loop in your head. 

Just a pilot.

Even worse is that you're getting upset with yourself as well as Din. You don't know why you can't let it go. Why the words wormed their way into the worst part of your brain, plaguing you and making you feel childish. He probably didn't mean anything by it. You wish you could convince yourself of that.

The speeder bike is doing nothing to improve your mood. While the bike is capable of carrying two, that doesn’t mean it was built for it. Peli was right when she said it was junk – the seat cushion barely offers a modicum of support. 

Din’s position on the bike is so firm you can’t move or readjust at all. It was fine at first, making you feel a bit safer, protected by him on the dangerously fast bike. Now though, your body aches. Your refusal to create any additional points of contact between your bodies beyond what's unavoidable isn't helping either.

Your muscles demand to move, one of your legs half asleep from the position it’s in. Only your hands are free to move but you can’t decide what to do with them, so you settle for relaxing them in your lap until that gets uncomfortable after a while. Logically you know this isn’t actually Din’s fault, but the irrational side of your brain is winning. You feel trapped, stuck in one place on the machine until Din determines that it’s time to stop. You aren’t even sure of a way to signal to him to let him know that you need a quick pause to stretch.

You endure for a bit longer before deciding that you can’t continue. You don’t know how far away Mos Pelgo is and your body feels like it’s being turned into stone from inactivity. Even if it’s only for a few minutes, you need to stretch your legs. You decide to tap Din’s leg and try to look up at him. He gets your message because soon the speeder slows down and comes to a stop.

“What’s wrong?” Din asks.

“I need to stretch. I haven’t moved in too long and I’m way too stiff,” you explain. 

Din gets off of the bike first. You keep your eyes firmly planted forward, unwilling to watch and risk an awkward situation.

You stretch your arms and back first before moving from the seat. Your spine pops and you can feel your muscles rejoice from the new movement. You swing your leg around and go to step off the bike, only to have your legs give out and nearly fall face first into the sand. It appears that your leg was more than half-asleep in its crunched position.

You’re saved by Din’s quick reflexes, catching your arm and holding you up before you fall completely. “You okay, can’gal?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you mumble, pulling your arm from his hold. You do your best to ignore the painful tingles in your leg as blood flow and feeling returns. You scan the landscape as you continue to stretch. It’s desolate, countless dunes of sand as far as the eye can see. Yet the planet is beautiful in its own way – a sterile kind that is unique with its twin suns shining brightly overhead.

After about five minutes of stretching and moving around, you turn back to Din. He’s leaning against the speeder with his arms casually folded over his chest. He looks like he should be on the cover of Speeders Weekly.

“I’m ready. Mind telling me how much farther we have?”

You climb back on and Din follows. “About another hour and a half. Think you can hold on that long?”

You glance up at him behind you. “It would be easier without your giant body blocking me in, but I think I’ll make it.”

Din lets out a distorted chuckle at your barb. He gives your legs a quick squeeze with his own. You ignore the skip in your heartbeat. “You can move if you need to, just don’t fall off.”

“How can I, with you in the way?”

Din laughs again and starts up the speeder. You pull your goggles back down and he takes off, launching you back over the endless sand dunes.

Nearly two hours later, Din’s prediction a little off, you can see Mos Pelgo in the distance. The twin suns hang low in the sky and cast barely enough light to see by. The second half of the speeder ride wasn’t as bad. It was shorter and the suns sinking had alleviated much of the heat. 

You felt a bit more comfortable moving when your body began to stiffen which helped to prevent more pain. At some point you even begin to relax – if you ignored how uncomfortable the seat was beneath you it wasn’t so bad. Din’s chestplate acted as a nice backrest for you and you can tell he tried to position his legs to give yours more room. They didn't start tingling again at least.

Once you see the tiny settlement on the horizon you feel your stomach drop. Your palms are getting sweaty and you know it has nothing to do with the planet’s heat. This town clearly doesn’t have much and you wonder why Din made his way out here before. Did he track a bounty all this way? And who could compel him to return? Whoever they were, they must be pretty to come out here for a visit.

Din slows the speeder bike as you roll into town and you see a few people wandering around Mos Pelgo. You expect them all to stare in wonder or fear like what normally happens when Din comes into a town. Instead, you can hardly believe your eyes as they… wave? Are the people in this town actually waving at the big scary Mandalorian? Maker, what is this place? It’s unlike any experience you’ve ever had with Din at your side before.

Din stops the speeder outside of the cantina. He hops off and offers you a hand. You still feel anxious and a large part of you doesn’t want to take it, but you can’t fully trust your legs at the moment. His hand is firm in yours and you can’t help but feel a small amount of comfort at the touch.

The cantina is as small and cozy as you've ever seen one. The lights are low, half the tables taken up by patrons. There's a comfortable murmur filling the air that mixes with the jizz music coming from a jukebox in the corner.

Din guides you towards one of the rounded booths. You've never seen him this relaxed in a public setting before. His visor is scanning the room but the looseness of his shoulders tells you he’s not looking for a threat.

You figure you'll know this mystery person when you see them. Din might be hidden away under all that armor, but somehow the only the prettiest of people find their way to him. You've seen more than a few brave souls be turned away. Nerves get the better of you and you begin to absentmindedly pick at your fingers.

Moments later, a drawl comes from above you. “Well I'll be.”

You look up and see a tall, lanky but not awkward man standing in front of you and Din. He’s got a sideways grin plastered on his face, which should look more ridiculous than it does. His silver hair looks as though it was nicely styled like his short beard before the desert winds blew through it. His eyes are bright and you’re tempted to describe them as sparkling.

“Mando,” he says in a friendly greeting while sticking his hand out towards Din for a handshake.

“Marshal,” Din shakes the man’s hand. He turns to you and gestures to his acquaintance. “Meet Cobb Vanth, Marshal of Mos Pelgo.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Cobb turns his smile to you and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel yourself melt a little. You already understand why Din would want to come out here for a visit – this man could probably charm just about anyone.

“And just who might you be, darlin’? Don’t tell me you’re somehow that little green kid he had with him before.”

That makes you laugh out loud. “No, I’m not.” You offer up your name along with your hand to shake. Cobb takes your hand and presses a soft kiss against your knuckles. You have to admit, he’s smooth. Din gives a small cough from his side of the booth.

“Sorry there Mando, just couldn’t help myself,” Cobb says, winking at you. Oh, he’s very smooth.

“Sure you couldn’t.”

Cobb sits on your other side, across from Din, and hails the bartender over. He sets down three cups and an entire jug of spotchka. The Marshal must be well liked then, you think, if the bartender is willing to part with a jug so easily. Cobb pours all three glasses, which strikes you as odd, considering that he should know Din doesn’t eat or drink with others. Din doesn’t say anything about it though, so you keep quiet as well.

“What brings you out this way?” Cobb asks as he passes the cups around.

“Had the time. I was told you came back here after your time in the bacta tank.”

Just how many friends does Din have on this backwater rock? You thought you were getting to know one another – two loners who found each other – and here he is with a number of mystery friends he never speaks of. Maybe you had misjudged the closeness of your relationship.

“Nowhere else for me to go,” Cobb says. “Besides, the new arm works for intimidation purposes.”

With a flick of his wrist, a small blaster pops up out of the Marshal's robotic arm. It probably doesn't have any more power than a hold-out blaster, but it gets a message across. Din doesn't even flinch.

As close as you are to each other, you're able to see the gears whirring in his arm and follow the different lines and parts as they travel up towards his shoulder. His mod isn't the fanciest you've ever seen but it's still a work of art.

“Marshal, do you mind if I take a look?” you ask, gesturing towards his arm. He seems proud of it, so you don't think he'll mind the request.

He puts the blaster away, setting his arm down on the table in front of you. “Not at all. Just don't touch with that part there, sends my nerves ablaze if it's messed with.”

This new man is just as much of a mystery to you as the other one at the table. Din took months before he'd let you poke around at his armor’s electronic components and that wasn't even fully attached to his body. Meanwhile Cobb is more than happy to have you take a look while also revealing its biggest weakness.

Din and Cobb's conversation fades away as you look over his arm. This kind of fine mechanical work is always tricky, ten times more when you factor in the biological component. Cobb allows you to move his arm in whatever way you see fit, easily answering the questions that you’re mostly muttering to yourself. You ignore Din’s weighty stare.

“You’ve got a thing of beauty there, Marshal,” you say as you complete your observations.

“Well that's not a word I hear that often,” he defers. “And please, call me Cobb.”

“Somehow I doubt that, Cobb.”

He laughs loudly. “Well shoot. You've got one heck of a girl here, Mando.”

You glance over at Din. He's as stoic as ever. You're left floundering – no longer truly understanding your relationship with him or his relationship to Cobb. Irritation bubbles over.

“Not his girl. Just a pilot.” You throw back the shot of spotchka in front of you, ignoring the burn as it goes down.

“Duly noted,” Cobb says, giving you a small nod. You don’t look over at Din. You don’t want to see his reaction.

The three of you are able to fall into easy conversation from there. You discover the connection between Cobb and Din – You mean you haven’t told her ‘bout me? I’m hurt Mando, real hurt – and you decide you can’t imagine Mandalorian armor on Cobb. There’s just something about him that doesn’t work quite right with your picture. He’s too casual, too comfortable with himself to ever need a second skin over top. He's also too skinny you decide, not nearly broad enough to fill out Mandalorian armor as it should be.

You don't try to hide your fascination as Cobb regales you with the tale of the krayt dragon. "I thought he was a goner for sure, getting eaten like that. Just when I'm thinkin' the worst out he comes, flying out of the beast's mouth like some sorta hero."

You turn to Din, the spotchka in your system removing any embarrassment as you openly gape at him. "Is he telling the truth?" you ask. It's not that you don't trust Cobb, but the whole thing is so remarkable that it's hard to believe.

"He's making it sound like more than it was. I was covered in it's bile, I stunk for weeks after that."

You learn about Mos Pelgo, how Cobb came to be its Marshal, and how the town has been getting on since the dragon's death. He tells you about the run-ins with the Pyke Syndicate and how he came to lose his arm.

Through all the replays of Din and Cobb's greatest hits, you figure that if there are any kind of romantic feelings between the two, it's never elevated beyond some flirtation. It makes you feel foolish for ever getting jealous in the first place. Old habits and ways of thinking die hard, you suppose.

The spotchka goes down easy, a welcome distraction from any unhappy thoughts lingering in the back of your mind. Cobb continues to flirt with you throughout the night, serving as another nice distraction. You know you shouldn't encourage it, but his open attraction and the alcohol make it difficult to resist. Sure, he is a bit skinny, a bit talkative, and his skin isn't as sun-kissed as you preferred, but he could do. 

As the night wears to a close, you can feel sleep begin to pull at the corners of your mind. The long day in the sun combined with the alcohol you consumed start working together to make your body shut down. You hardly register as Din asks Cobb where the two of you can stay for the night.

You pull yourself out of the booth, slapping your cheeks gently to try and clear up the fog in your mind. You regain enough clarity to function without assistance. After Din grabs your bags off the speeder, you both follow Cobb as he leads you both to the single spare room above the cantina.

"Sorry it ain't much, but as you know we don't get many visitors out here," Cobb says as he opens the door.

He's right. It isn't much. Just a tiny square room with a bed and a dresser with a 'fresher attached. You're happy to note that it all looks clean though, devoid of the layer of sand that seems to cover everything on Tatooine.

"It'll be just fine, thank you Marshal," you tell him. Cobb tips an imaginary hat and throws a wink at you. He gives Din a wink too, which makes you snort. He then walks away, throwing a goodnight over his shoulder.

You shake your head, amused, and follow Din into the room. Rather than flounder about the sleeping arrangements, you grab some clothes from your bag and go into the 'fresher, determined to get off at least some of the day's grime. You're disappointed with a sonic shower, although you weren't sure what else you expected, being on a desert planet. Still, it provides some relief and you change into some clean clothes to sleep in. You splash a small amount of water on your face from the sink and gulp some down in your cupped hands.

"All yours," you announce as you walk back into the small room. 

Din doesn't say anything, but he goes into the 'fresher and closes the door just a bit too hard. Was he mad about something, you wonder? Although you've hit your second wind, the alcohol is still playing with your thoughts. Maybe he's just moody from the long day.

He doesn't take long in there, certainly less time than your small tipsy fumbles, and comes back out still fully dressed. You push yourself up onto your elbows in the bed and look him over. "Take off the armor," you tell him.

"You're drunk,” he responds.

“Yeah? And why does that matter?” you ask. Din doesn’t reply. You sigh and drop backwards to stare up at the ceiling. 

“There’s no way you can be comfortable sleeping in all of that metal. So just take it off and get in the bed. I’m obviously not talking about the helmet.”

You stay staring at the ceiling. It’s a fairly comfortable position, head cushioned in the pillows, while you try to not make him uncomfortable. 

You aren’t really sure why this is such a big deal to him tonight. He’s taken off his beskar in front of you plenty of times now. Yet maybe something had changed between the two of you again without you noticing. You were just a pilot to him, maybe that meant some of his walls were coming back up? Desperately, you tried to ignore the stab of pain that thought caused you. You don’t want to lose Din to the cold, distant Mando you met so many months ago, especially not without knowing why. The thought is too much to bear.

You turn on your side, away from Din, offering him extra assurance that you weren’t just trying to perv on him as he removed his armor. You know he's caught you staring more than a few times around the Chimera. Did that bother him? You should have asked.

Part of you knows you should be more nervous about sharing a bed with Din – particularly with this growing gulf between the two of you. This is intimate in a way, isn’t it? Sharing a space to sleep like this? Yet, whether it’s the influence of the alcohol or the exhaustion, you can’t find it within yourself to be flustered over it. It’s practical anyway. You both need sleep and Mos Pelgo only has the one room and bed to offer. One of you sleeping on the floor would be stupid. You try to convince yourself that if only Din would stop being ridiculous and get into the bed, things would be just fine again – right?

After what seems like an eternity, you hear metal pieces begin to clank down together on the dresser. A small smile works its way across your lips and you’re happy that for once it’s your face hidden away from his. He’s hesitant maybe, but not uncomfortable enough to keep the heavy armor on. Knowing that things are okay enough, your eyes shutter closed and a deep sleep carries you away.

Din is surprised to discover that you’re already asleep when he climbs into bed. You seemed so awake a few moments ago when he started taking off his armor. He’s still kicking himself for his reaction. 

Of course you meant for him to take it off to go to sleep, not... anything else. Why would you? You’ve been acting off ever since landing on Tatooine. You wouldn’t suddenly be asking him for that, not now. Not that you would want anything like that with him anyway – Din feels like a monster for thinking that way about you.

Looking down at you, Din ruminates a bit more. Somehow between all of the bounties, long hours, injuries, and repairs, you worked your way into his heart. Part of him doesn’t want to admit it still, that you have such a large effect on him, but it gets harder with every passing day. Touches and stares linger for longer and Din takes notice of your bashfulness every time he calls your name. Until today.

Din hasn’t been able to figure out what has caused the change. Soon after landing in Tatooine you brushed him off, distancing yourself from him. He knew the speeder bike situation wasn’t ideal, but usually you would have handled something like that with more tact, not the brash way you questioned Peli about another bike. You were tense for the longest time on the bike, not relaxing until the small break you took part way through the ride. Were you just upset to be stuck on Tatooine? Bothered by the beating the Chimera took? Or had he done something?

He was leaning towards the idea that he had done something to upset you. Just a pilot. Those words bounced around in his mind. 

He panicked when Peli asked who you were and those had been the first words out of his mouth. He hardly even considered the way they would sound. The way you repeated those words to Cobb, it felt like a slap to the face.

The town marshal wasn't helping anything either. Watching the two of you was making his blood boil. He likes the man, killing a krayt dragon together has that effect, but he has few qualms about punching the Marshal in the face right about now. He stared at you so openly, flirted so shamelessly, and you reciprocated. If Din was a lesser man he would have thrown you over his shoulder and carted you out of the cantina.

His mind continued to swirl and wander. Was it simply being stuck on Tatooine that made you change? Did being stuck here, with no agenda as you put it earlier, make you realize flying around with him was not the life you wanted? 

Of course you didn’t want to be stuck, tied down to a man who couldn’t even show you his face, who couldn’t even admit what you were to him. Cobb was able to make his intentions towards you obvious from the first words he spoke. You deserved that, not the brief, vague moments of intimacy Din had to offer.

Din looks away from you, trying to close his heart off from you, deciding that it’s what's best. He makes himself comfortable, lying on his back, helmet cushioned by the pillow.

He reopens his eyes just as soon as he closes them. You've repositioned yourself in your sleep, turning over and wrapping an arm firmly around his waist, face tucked into his side. 

The touch makes him nervous, unsure of how to react to the foreign embrace. His resolve to give you up quickly crumbles. Din’s never had this. He’s thought of it before, but it was all theoretical. This is real and unlike anything he ever imagined.

Part of him feels perverted for enjoying it as much as he is and so quickly after realizing you deserved more than him. You’re asleep and you fell asleep facing the other direction – you had no control over this, no consent. 

Despite those protests, he can’t help but sink into your touch. He repositions his arm, wrapping it around you, which causes you to shift your head up onto his chest. His breathing stops for a minute, terrified that you’ll wake up and pull away, but you remain lost in blissful dreams. The feeling of your warm body pressed against his, hand fisting into his shirt, the gentle rise and fall of your back against his palm while you breathe, is almost more than he can handle.

Din lies there for a few minutes, trying to commit every sensation, every sound you make to memory. It’s overwhelming and yet he craves more. With the helmet on in this position, he can’t get the right angle to look down at you. A risky idea runs through his mind and once again he ignores his protesting thoughts, following the path your touch has sent him down. 

He calls your name twice, softly, just to test how deeply you’re sleeping. When you don’t do so much as twitch, he decides it’s safe enough. 

Carefully, Din removes his helmet with his hand that isn’t holding onto you. He doesn’t set it down, holding onto it in case he needs to quickly put it back on. Vision unobscured, he looks down at you wrapped around his body. Din finds himself dumbstruck.

That moment secures your position in his mind as the most beautiful thing in the whole of the galaxy. You look so peaceful, any worries wiped clean from your face. Your mouth is slightly open and although Din knows that means you’ll probably drool on him, he can’t bring himself to care. Your hair is a beautiful mess and Din thinks back to the one time he was able to touch it before, back on Rishi with you half-conscious from a concussion. He's really got to stop having these moments while you aren't awake.

Moving more cautiously than he ever has before, Din dips his head down and presses a gentle kiss against the top of your head. He whispers cyar’ika to you and dares to kiss you again. With one final look and a shaky breath, Din slips his helmet back on. He knows he’ll never get to sleep otherwise, far too tempted to spend the rest of his night just staring at you.

No longer using a taglist -- If you want alerts, this fic is available and gets updated on ao3 at the same time, so you can subscribe on there if you want to know when I update!

Another asteroid nears the left side of the Chimera, forcing you into a tight turn that nearly throws him off his feet. You're thankful that he doesn't complain.

It's a mystery where this asteroid belt came from. It's not on any of your maps. You would have never dropped to sublight in this quadrant if it had. Your only stroke of luck is that the belt is relatively small, which greatly increases your chance of getting out alive.

Blaster fire reverberates from below you, turning some of the debris into dust. Not for the first time you’re thankful to have a Mandalorian with you. You’re not sure what you would have done alone or with someone who couldn’t couldn’t hit the broad side of a bantha.

The way out becomes easier with Din clearing a path. Rather than simply reacting, you’re able to press forward through the belt. Still, the Chimera shakes with the effort it’s taking to get through in one piece. Tex beeps wildly back at the center console, adding to the litany of noise going on inside the ship.

“I know buddy, I can see it,” you yell back. A massive asteroid is drawing nearer to the ship, an impossible to miss flash on the radar. 

You’re about to call out to Din when you hear him over the comm. “I’m on it.”

The blasterfire focuses to the right, firing faster than you knew the Chimera’s guns could. The asteroid starts breaking into pieces. Through the rubble a clear path out of the belt finally makes itself apparent. 

“Hold on!” you yell, wildly maneuvering the ship. Somehow, thankfully, Din also sees the path you’re taking and focuses his fire on keeping it clear. With one final hard turn to the right, the Chimera breaks free of the deadly field. 

You slam the controls and launch into hyperspace. There’s no set destination, but anywhere is better than the asteroids. You go over to the main computer, searching for any nearby planets with fully outfitted mechanics. There’s no temporary repairs that will fix the damage both the Chimera and N1 just sustained. Din comes up behind you, peering at the computer screen.

“How’s the ship?” he asks.

“Bad. Main functions are online, but we need to find the nearest spaceport or repair bay.”

"There," Din says, pointing at the map. His finger has landed on some nearby dustbowl planet in the Outer Rim. You look up at him, questioning.

It's only now that you register how close he is to you. You have to practically look straight up make eye contact with the black of his helmet, the chin of which is nearly bumping his chest. Warmth is radiating from his body and you're not sure if that's the vestiges of sleep clinging to him or adrenaline still coursing through his veins. You have no idea if this level of proximity was intentional.

"I have some friends there, one's a mechanic."

Good enough reason for you. "You heard him Tex, set course for Tatooine."

There isn’t much time to prepare for landing. It’s nice to have a secure place to land on a nearby planet, but you have no idea what to expect. Din hadn't really elaborated on his friends.

Discovering that Din has someone that he would even consider a friend, let alone multiple on the same planet, was shocking in and of itself. Could they be Mandalorians? Distant family? Friends in arms? Past lovers? The possibilities make your head swirl.

The descent is relatively easy into Hangar 3-5. At the very least nothing falls off your ship, so things can't be too bad. Grogu also seems to grow in excitement, making you wonder just how much time Din has spent here for the small fry to recognize it.

Even more surprising is the loud and fierce voice that floats into the Chimera. "What did you do to my ship, Mando? She's one-of-a-kind, you can't go smashing her up!"

Stepping down the ramp, you're greeted by a small, wiry haired mechanic bearing down on Din like she's his mother. It's the closest you've ever seen Din come to being cowed by someone. 

"Don't go too hard on him. We were surprised by an unmarked asteroid belt," you call down.

The mechanic's sharp eyes turn toward you, analyzing you in half a second. A wide grin splits across her face. “Got yourself a girlfriend, Mando? Didn’t take you for the type.” You can feel your cheeks burn. 

There's a pause before Din speaks. “No, she’s… she’s just a pilot.” His words feel like knives. You don't let it show.

You step past Din and offer your hand out to her to shake. “And mechanic, occasional babysitter and medic. He forgot those.”

"Sounds about right. Peli Motto." Peli has barely dropped your hand before she's yelling out for her pit droids to start scanning the ships.

Before anything else can be said, you stride back over to the Chimera and start taking in the damage for yourself. At least, that's half of what you're doing. You refuse to let your emotions show before a woman you've just met and a man who apparently thinks of you as just a pilot.

You feel foolish, having heard him brush you off so easily. You thought there had been a change between the two of you. More fleeting touches, more shared looks that lasted just a bit too long, enough that at some point you stopped denying that they happened in the first place. You didn’t consider yourself his girlfriend, the label didn’t feel appropriate, but you were more than just a pilot. Or so you thought.

Peli walks up beside you, Grogu tucked into the crook of her arm. "Let my pit droids worry about this. I'll share their work-up with you."

You appreciate the gesture. There’s no doubt her sharp eyes have already taken note of the Chimera's many modifications. She's clearly a woman who understands the bond between a pilot and their ship. 

She nods her head at you and Din, walking towards the interior of the hangar with the clear implication for you to follow. Din’s long legs allow him to catch up to you quickly and his gloved hand brushes the back of yours as you walk. A couple hours ago a touch like that would have set you aflame, but now it makes your blood run cold. You ignore it, moving your hand away from his. 

Getting to the back of the hangar, you purposely sit across the table from Din. You don’t feel like dealing with any more accidental touches at the moment. Part of you feels childish for it, but your wounded pride is currently in the driver's seat. Just a pilot, what utter banthashit that is.

"Here you go." Peli places a glass of water in front of you and turns to Din. "I'd offer you some, but I know you won't drink it with your Creed and all that."

Din doesn't say anything and you thank her for the drink. You can feel the sweltering heat of the planet even in the shade. Sweat is already causing your clothes to stick to your skin. 

Grogu climbs out of Peli’s arms and sits on top of the table between you and Din. You wonder if he can feel the awkward energy radiating between the two of you. Peli seems oblivious to it, launching into a discussion with Din about current dealings on Tatooine. You tune them out. It’s not that the discussion bores you, normally you would listen with rapt attention to learn anything you can about the world you’ve landed on, but your thoughts are otherwise occupied. 

Why did he touch your hand just then? First he dismisses you, barely even acknowledging the sort of relationship that's built between you over the months, and then he moves for contact? Those aren't games you ever expected him to play. You aren't even asking for all that much, just a genuine acknowledgment of your role. Just a pilot, how dismissive. Even being called a crewmate would have been better than that.

A pit droid walking up distracts you from your sullen thoughts. He speaks to Peli and then immediately turns around, going back to the Chimera.

"Good news and bad news," Peli says. "Bad news for you, these repairs are going to take a few days. Good news, you can pay me to fix it."

"How is that good news?" Din asks.

"Good news for me." Peli stands and walks off, yelling directions at her droids, not giving Din a chance to argue. 

You're not sure what this means for you. Remarkably, you haven’t been fully grounded anywhere in years. There were a handful of close calls, but you always managed to make something work to get the Chimera back off the ground. This is unprecedented. The Chimera grounded and Din with no bounty to chase. What are you going to do?

Din gets up from the table and goes to follow Peli, presumably to talk about the timeline for repairs. You'll talk with her later about what actually needs to be done to your ship. You stay with Grogu at the table, only catching snippets of their conversation from afar.

"-too much."

"Do you know what it costs to-"

"-pay extra credits."

After some more back and forth, Din returns to the small table. Grogu turns his attention from you to his father. He grabs hold of one of Din's fingers and shakes it around a bit, which if the kid's reaction is anything to go off of, is a fascinating thing to do.

"What's our plan?" you ask Din.

"What do you mean?" He keeps his focus on Grogu as he replies, wiggling his other fingers for the child.

"I mean we're stuck here for a few days with nothing on the agenda, so what are we going to do?"

"We can go sightsee." 

Din puts the idea out there so simply and honestly it takes you aback. Din Djarin, the Mandalorian, sightseeing? You thought he was going to say something about finding a bounty, not sound like he was some mudscuffer on vacation in Coruscant. Is there even anything to go sightsee on this dustbowl planet?

"Sorry, what?" you ask.

"There's a little town to the north, Mos Pelgo. We can go there." Din sounds serious. The idea of sightseeing isn't some elaborate joke from him, he actually wants to go.

Peli reappears and must have heard Din mention the northern city because she asks, “Why would you go back out there?”

“There’s someone out there I’d like to check in on," Din says.

Interesting. This must be that other friend Din obliquely mentioned before. Someone close enough that they're worth visiting with your few days to kill. Maybe some paramour from his past? You've never considered that he could have previous romantic interests hidden around the galaxy. It would explain his rude and casual brush off of your relationship earlier if one is here on Tatooine. You try to ignore the pit in your stomach you feel forming while you consider the existence of some lover in Mos Pelgo, waiting for Din's return.

"You're in luck then, I fixed up a speeder bike while you were gone. Piece of junk like the other one you busted, but it should get you there," Peli offers.

Before Din can say anything, you cut in. "Just the one?"

"You’re lucky I fixed up that one."

“There isn’t another bike? Or a landspeeder?” This has to be some kind of cruel joke the galaxy is playing on you. Somehow, in all the piles of scrap Peli had lying around the hangar, she only has one speeder? And it's just a bike? Maker, your luck is terrible.

“Nope.”

“You’re sure you can’t scrounge up another?” you press further.

“Look girlie, I like you but not that much. The one bike is all I’ve got,” Peli says, throwing her hands into the air.

“It’s fine,” Din’s gruff voice breaks up the small debate. “The one bike is fine.”

Din stands up from the table. "Peli, can you look after the kid?"

Peli looks a little shocked to be asked but scrambles to say yes. She picks Grogu up and holds him on her hip, as though she suspects Din might change his mind and take Grogu back. It's settled then. You're heading to Mos Pelgo.

Ashley’s words replayed over in your mind as you traveled, and by the time you parked, you realized that there were tears dripping down your cheeks, your eyes brimming with more. What if he dies? What if he’s gone? What if he… 

Taking a deep breath, you tried to focus, though you only gave yourself a few seconds before you forced yourself out of the car and toward the emergency room’s entrance. You stopped at the front desk and gave them Alec’s name, explaining that you were his cousin and that his fiancee had called you, and the woman directed you to the elevators and the correct floor. 

Even though it was only a short ride up, it felt like it took forever. When the doors opened, you nearly sprinted through them, looking for the woman you’d seen in the picture. You didn’t have far to go - she stood from the chair she was sitting in and rushed toward you, her big, green eyes just as full of tears as yours were. “You made it.” 

With a silent nod of your head, you wrapped your arms around her, the two of you hugging tightly under the fluorescent lighting. When you broke apart, she looked up at you and gave you a watery smile, reaching up to swipe some of her tears away. She looks exhausted. “How is he? Is he -”

“He’s still in surgery.” She led you into the small waiting room, which was empty aside from the two of you. “It …” She winced as she sat, curling up onto one of the larger armchairs, her right hand moving to cradle her stomach. You couldn’t help it, glancing down to look at her swollen belly, the material of a faded t-shirt stretched over it. “It could have been a lot worse, but he’s going to make it.” There was a question you wanted to ask, though you didn’t want to make it seem like an accusation. But before you could open your mouth again, she beat you to it. “He wasn’t bitten.” 

You deflated, relief coursing through your body. That’s one good thing. “That’s a good thing, right?” 

“It is.” She nodded, sighing. “It’s hard enough when you’re born into it, but learning? It’s even harder. And with the baby coming in a few months, it wouldn’t…” She bit her lip, her hand moving slowly over the bump. “I love him, but I can’t handle two newborn wolves right now.” You smiled, despite the severity of the situation, and Ashley continued. “I needed to run, so we found a campground last night as soon as we got here. It was cutting it close, but …” She shrugged. “He likes to come with me, and hang out in the woods. So he brings a second tent and we find a clearing, and …” She sniffled, wiping her cheeks again. “We did that last night. Figured we’d call you this morning and let you know we were here, and …” 

You reached out with one hand, taking hers and squeezing. You felt the edges of her engagement ring digging into your palm, and when you released her hand you looked down at it, eyes widening. “That’s gorgeous. Alec’s got good taste.” 

“He does.” She held up her hand, her smile growing. It was short-lived, though, and only moments later, she squeezed her eyes shut and kept telling the story. “So we hiked out a little ways away from the campground, because we both figured that there was no way if you were right, we’d pick the same place as the other one, you know?” You nodded, waiting. “He set up the tent and then when the sun went down, I changed. As soon as I did, I smelled another wolf. It was far off, but I caught it on the wind.” 

“So there was two.” You sucked in a breath. “We were on the river and heard -”

“I saw the text this morning.” She nodded and then spoke again, her voice lower. “One of the wolves you heard was me.” Ashley leaned in. “But the other one… Alec told me to go, to look for it, and so I took off. I could cover a ton of ground, and I thought … I thought if I could find it, I could do something about it - lead it closer to Alec and injure it somehow so he could take care of it in the morning after he got some answers when it was human, but …” She looked down, more tears forming. “I ran off looking for it, and it came looking for me, but found him.” 

“Oh, shit.” You covered your mouth, not knowing what else to say. So it attacked him while she was gone? 

“When I realized that it had passed me, I turned around and got back as fast as I could. I made it just in time. Alec was holding a gun on it, but he didn’t want to outright kill it in wolf form, and before I could do anything, it lunged.” She shook her head, brow furrowed. “I’ve never just seen one of us attack like that. It was playing with him; clawing at trees and circling, just trying to scare him at first. It knocked the gun out of his hands and then swiped at him.” She moved her hand to her side, pressing on it. “He was huge. Bigger than just about anything I’ve ever seen, and the claws were …” She met your eyes again, her lips pressed together. “I went after it before Alec hit the ground, and I knocked it away. I put myself between them, but it didn’t care.” 

“You what?”

“He’s my mate. What I feel for him is even stronger when I’m …” She gestured at herself, and then pointed at her stomach. “Especially now, since there’s a part of him inside of me. My only thought was to protect him. If I didn’t stand my ground, the other wolf would have…” She stopped talking when a pair of nurses walked into the room, talking quietly, and only started again once they’d disappeared through a set of doors, leaving the two of you alone. “We’ve met unfriendly packs before. But this was different. It was angry. It would have killed him and then come after me, no questions asked. So I attacked it.” 

Your jaw dropped, and you realized you were in awe of the woman; five months pregnant and willingly putting herself in immediate danger to save Alec and their unborn child. “Did you scare it away?” 

“He was bigger but sort of … clumsy. Like he’s still getting used to what the wolf can do?” She shrugged. “Whoever he is, he hasn’t … he was turned. I was able to pin him and then get my …” Ashley licked her lips. “I bit him. Here.” She tapped on her left shoulder, nodding. “Got him good, but he got me, too, on the leg, and then just sort of flung me off of him and ran in the opposite direction. He’ll be feeling that today, just like I am.” She was crying again, and she reached out for you, taking both of your hands in hers. “I could have chased him. I should have. But I didn’t want to leave Alec.” 

“Of course not.” You nodded, understanding completely. “I would have stayed with him, too.” 

“I couldn’t drag him back to the tent or to the campsite. I would have bitten him.” She covered her eyes with one hand. “So all I could do was stay with him and keep him warm until the moon set and I was me again. It was hours, and he was just bleeding everywhere, but as soon as I could, I called 911 and they came and got him, and …”

“What did you tell them? How did you -”

“Location sharing. I told them I woke up in my tent and he was gone, so I followed the trail to where his phone last was. My phone was at the campsite all night, so even if they checked … they would have seen that my story was true.” She sighed. “They got to him quick, and rushed him here and took him back to surgery immediately, and I called you after I finished filling out his paperwork. He’s got some internal bleeding, and needs a transfusion. He’s going to have some nasty scars, but … he’s going to live, and he’s still…” Human. 

The unspoken word was heavy between you. You nodded in reply, taking her hand again and looking directly into her eyes. “I’m glad you were there. I’m glad you were able to protect him. And…” You lowered your head. “And to confirm that I was correct to come here because the Chaos line is … in Florida.” 

“It is.” She blew out a breath. “I’ve seen everything that you’ve sent to Alec, and you … you’re very thorough.” She opened her mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by a male voice saying her name. “Yes? That’s me?”

“I have some news about Alec, if you’d like to come with me -”

“You can tell me right here.” She got to her feet, pointing at you. “She’s his family too. Second on his emergency contact list.” The man - you assumed he was the surgeon, or one of them - nodded twice. “Is Alec -”

“He’s out of surgery right now and going into recovery.” The man held up a hand as Ashley sagged into you, one of your arms winding around her shoulders. “There was some internal bleeding, but once we got in there and cleaned it up, we were able to stop it quickly and take care of a few other issues, too. He got a transfusion, and is currently stitched up. He’ll be on a series of antibiotics. We’ve also checked his vaccination history and brought him up to date on the relevant ones, like we always do with a wild animal bite or scratch.” The man paused, looking down at the floor for a few seconds. “Your fiance was very lucky. We’ll keep him for a day or two just to make sure everything looks good, and to check for signs of infection.” 

“When will he wake up?” She straightened up, taking a deep breath. “Is he -” 

“Within the next hour or so.” The man held up a hand. “I can take you into the room, so you can wait.” He paused, sighing. “But we usually only let one person back, and I’ll warn you, Alec’s going to be very groggy for up to a couple days, so -”

“I can come back.” You nodded immediately, squeezing Ashley’s hand. “You go and be with him now, and I can come back when he’s more awake.” Hearing from the doctor had helped to calm you, and you could tell it had done the same with Ashley, the woman’s breathing normal and her tears mostly stopped. She turned to you and hugged you tightly, whispering thank you into your ear. When she stepped back, she took a deep breath, nodding. 

“I’ll call you later, if that’s alright? If he’s up to it, you can -” 

“That’s fine. I’ll keep my phone on.” You stood in the waiting room until the two of them had disappeared, and once they were gone, you went limp, shoulders sagging. He could have died and I was gloating about being right. 

Taking a few seconds to compose yourself, you headed back for the elevator, reaching into your bag for your phone. I’ll turn the volume on and - 

You weren’t expecting to see ten missed calls from Frankie along with a series of text messages and two voicemails. What the fuck? 

Hurrying toward your car, you waited until you were sitting down to call him back, figuring that you wouldn’t have much time before he had to head out on his first flight. But Frankie answered after the first ring, his tone almost frantic. “Where are you? I’ve been calling you all morning, and you’re not at your apartment and -” 

“How do you know I’m not there?” Frowning, you tapped on the steering wheel. “I -”

“Because I’m siting in your driveway.” What? 

“You should be at the airport.” You scoffed, unsure of what to say next. “You -”

“I called off.” It was the first time he’d ever snapped at you, and you went silent at the tone of his voice, gasping in surprise. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I just … I saw your texts this morning, and then talked to Benny and Pope, and… they’re talking about it on the news. There was another attack, and -” 

“I’m at the hospital, Frankie.” You sagged against the seat, interrupting him as he swore loudly on the other end of the line. “I’m fine. My cousin’s not, though, he -”

“Your cousin? Why is -”

“It’s a long story.” You started your car, sighing. “I’m about a half hour away.”

“I’ll wait.” He paused and then said your name, his voice quiet. “Please be careful.” You assured him you would and started your car, hanging up the phone. 

Frankie being at your apartment was a shock, but not as shocking as the fact that he’d called off. You hoped it wasn’t because he’d been unable to contact you, but you wouldn’t have that answer until you saw him. And I can’t see him until I get back. “Fuck.” You tapped your forehead against the steering wheel, sighing. “What a long fucking morning.” 

— 

Frankie was leaning against the liftgate of his truck when you pulled up, his foot tapping on the ground. You had to admit that he looked worried, but that still didn’t answer any questions for you - and so you hurried to exit your car, not bothering to lock it behind you. “Frankie, you really didn’t -”

“You heard wolves? There aren’t any wolves in Florida. Are you sure you …” He followed you to the door, uncertainty in his tone. “Could it have been something else? Like a coyote or a -”

“Frankie, I know what a fucking wolf sounds like.” You slid your shoes off and then sat down hard on the couch, putting your face into your hands. “We all heard it. Benny and Manny and -”

“What is this?” His tone was entirely different than it had been, and when you raised your head, your mouth fell open in wordless shock. Oh fuck. “What is …” He was holding your open journal, looking between the pages and you. “It …” 

You’d been so exhausted after the hours you’d spent working the previous night that you hadn’t bothered to put anything away before dragging yourself to bed. And after Ashley’s phone call, you’d run out of the apartment before doing anything but putting shoes on and grabbing your bag. How the fuck am I going to explain this? You watched as he looked around the room, his eyes landing on the papers and photos scattered around the space before he looked back at you, confusion clearly written across his features. 

“It’s my research.” He was still standing in front of you, and for the first time, you realized how tired he looked, the man’s face paler than usual, making the dark circles under his eyes stand out. “Frankie, I -” 

“Why are you really here?” He closed your journal, leaning forward to set it down on the table, the man straightening up and crossing his arms. You didn’t miss the wince as he did it, Frankie slowly rolling his shoulders back and shaking his head. “Why were you at the -” He’s hurt. He’s hurt and it’s something to do with his arm, and … 

“My cousin was attacked by something last night in the same fucking swamp where I heard a wolf howling, Frankie.” You rose to your feet, moving slowly. “I was at the hospital because his fiancee called me. She wanted me to know that he was alright.” You took a deep breath, staring at the man and trying to figure out the likelihood of getting past him and into the bedroom before he could catch you. It probably won’t happen. “I got like an hour of sleep last night, and …” You stepped to the side and Frankie followed you with a half step, his eyes never leaving your face. “I need to make coffee, Frankie. I -”

“What is all of this?” He used one hand to gesture to the living room without uncrossing his arms, the man staying still. “The -”

“I’ll tell you everything as soon as I have coffee. Do you want some?” You smiled at him, though you knew he could probably tell it was strained. “I have an extra mug.” You stepped toward the kitchen as you spoke, hoping that you still appeared calm, even though you were anything but. There’s no way. There’s no way it was … “His fiancee’s going to call me when he’s less groggy, but -” 

You broke for it then, abruptly moving through the kitchen and into the bedroom, diving for the bed - and the nightstand where you kept the only weapon you thought would help keep you safe: one of the guns that had been passed down through generations of your family, the chamber loaded with six silver bullets. 

Whipping around, you pointed it at the man, shaking your head. “What the fuck are…” He stopped, holding up both hands at the same time his eyebrows shot up. “Why do you have a gun pointed at me?” You knew that in all reality, the man would be able to disarm you without issue, injured or not. But not before I could get off a shot. Not before… He said your name, shaking his head. “What’s going on?” 

“Who are you, Frankie? What are you?” You took a shaky breath, biting down on your lip to keep yourself from crying. I don’t know if I want the answers to these questions. “Where were you last night?” 

“I was at home.” He stepped closer, shaking his head. “I went to bed early because I had to fly today, and -” He’s lying. 

“Bullshit.” You jerked your chin forward, eyes dropping briefly to his arm. “What’s that scar from, Frankie?”

“I told you, I got hurt in South America a couple years ago.” He wet his lips, tilting his head to the side. “What are you really asking me?” 

You saw it then - emotions like a dark cloud across his face, the look in his eyes going hard, even as the gun wavered slightly in your hands. You didn’t want to clarify. You didn’t want to put the question into words because once you did, you’d have to make a choice. But then you thought of Alec and Ashley, the pair in a hospital room and your cousin in pain, the woman having to come to terms with putting herself and her unborn baby into danger to save the man she loved. 

“How’d you hurt your arm, Frankie?” You blinked, swallowing around a lump in your throat. “You were fine the last time I saw you, and something happened. What was it?”

“I was putting the doors back on yesterday, and I hurt myself lifting one of ‘em. That’s why I called off today.” He let out a steady breath, never looking away from you. “I can barely lift it, see?” He extended his right arm, slowly bringing it upward, but he didn’t get too far before he hissed in pain, his left hand moving to grip the bicep. “Fuckin’ hurts, and… can we please put the gun down? I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t like having a goddamn weapon pointed at me.” 

You struggled to remember which arm Ashley had told you she’d bitten on the wolf. I think it was the right. But maybe … maybe it was the left, and … “Frankie…” 

“Why. Are. You. Here?” He straightened his shoulders, shaking his head. “What is all that in the other room?” You rose from the bed, the gun held steady. “Talk to me. Please.” You stared at him, thinking. You have to ask. You have to know. Planting your feet, you took a deep breath and held it, eyes locked with his. 

“My cousin was attacked last night by a werewolf, Frankie. He was attacked by the same wolf that brought me here.” His eyes widened, uncertainty flashing through them, but you kept going. I’ve already lost him, so what does it matter now? “I’ve been looking for these goddamn wolves since I turned eighteen, and everything led me here, to Florida.” You repositioned your fingers, your index sliding closer to the trigger. “Tell me you’re not the wolf that attacked him. Tell me you’re not a wolf, Frankie, because -”

He stared at you for a few seconds, the look in his eyes softening before he spoke. “I wish I could.” You gasped at his words, your entire body shaking, but you reacted on instinct, finger moving onto the trigger - and that’s when Frankie moved, too. 

He was faster than you thought he would be, his fingers closing around your wrist and squeezing, your grip on the gun going slack. He caught it with his other hand even as you cried out, but Frankie was quick to slip the handgun into the waistband of his jeans before reaching out for your other arm, his fingers closing around your bicep as you uselessly tried to claw at his chest. “Let me go. Let me fucking -”

“I’m not going to hurt you.” You were only inches from his face and staring directly into his eyes, the look in them calm. You caught more of the gold that you’d seen the first night, but you also saw the worry in them, Frankie’s expression softening. “I’d never hurt you. The last thing I want to do is hurt anyone.” 

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to trust what he was saying, even though he’d all but admitted that he was a wolf. And we heard two, so that means he was there, and it had to be him that attacked … “Take off your shirt.” He jerked back, confused. “My cousin’s fiancee attacked the wolf that attacked him. She bit him on the shoulder, and there should be a mark.”

“Your cousin’s fiancee bit a werewolf?” He looked genuinely confused, his frown deepening as his brow furrowed.

“She’s a wolf too. It’s a long fucking story.” Despite your fear and apprehension, you rolled your eyes. “But she said the wolf would be hurt today, and since you’re trying to convince me that you conveniently hurt your arm at work yesterday…” He let you go immediately, reaching down with his right arm and using it to pull his t-shirt over his head, exposing his torso to you. 

There was nothing out of the ordinary, and when Frankie spun around in a slow circle, you paid attention to his shoulders and neck, looking for remnants of a bite mark or bruising. You couldn’t see most of his right one thanks to the tattoo, but it looked completely intact, as did his left, and when Frankie turned to face you again, he sighed. “See? It’s just muscle aches. I’m getting fucking old. I didn’t get attacked by your cousin’s fiancee last night.” 

You were confused - and exhausted, but you still needed him to explain. Frankie must have seen the look on your face because he raised an eyebrow, gesturing with one hand toward the living room. You nodded, sighing, and when he reached for the gun again, holding it out toward you, you took it, though you didn’t grip the handle as tightly you had before - and you didn’t point it at him. Maybe I’m overthinking it.

You carried it with you back into the other room, bypassing the kitchen and sinking down onto the couch, the man standing in front of you and setting one hand on his hip after putting his shirt back on with another wince. “You’re really here looking for a werewolf?” His voice was soft, but you nodded in reply, unsure of whether or not you’d be able to answer in words. “Fucking hell. I don’t … I don’t know where to start.” 

“I know you probably think I’m insane, but -”

“I don’t. Three years ago, yeah. I would have, but …” He glanced up at your ceiling and then back at you, his head shaking back and forth slowly. “I did get hurt in South America. And I did get the tattoo to cover the scars once they healed.” He touched the inside of his arm, looking down. “But it wasn’t from an ambush.” 

“What happened to you, Frankie?” In spite of your uncertainty, you felt for him, watching as he struggled to tell you his story. “You -”

“After we all retired from the Army, we uh… went our separate ways. Pope stayed in Colombia. Tom came back and started with real estate. Benny started fightin’, and Will … he started doing talks for people that were readjusting to civilian life.” He sighed. “I wanted to keep flying, so I took a transport job to keep my license current.” Frankie shook his head. “Lasted a couple years. Me an’ Becca got pregnant, but I was … I wasn’t in a good place mentally. I made some shitty decisions, and I got busted for coke.” 

“What?” He held his hand up again, closing his eyes and shaking his head. 

“I only used occasionally. Helped with my nightmares. But I got popped, and lost my license for a while, and then Pope came back and said he had one more thing for us to do, and … we all agreed. Even though we knew it was bullshit, we all agreed.” He swallowed hard, rubbing at his face. “Long story short, we stole 350 million dollars from a Colombian drug lord and were trying to fly it through the fuckin’ jungle in an old military helicopter and I crashed. I crashed because it was too much fucking weight, and we went down somewhere in the middle of fucking nowhere.” 

You were stunned, your mouth hanging open. Every word that came out of his mouth was more unbelievable than the last, except … Except it makes sense. They’re all so well off, and they shouldn’t be, because they don’t have careers, they had the military, and … 

“We should have died, but we didn’t. We crashed into a farmer’s field, and of course the people there tried to steal the money. We were all disoriented as fuck, and when we were trying to diffuse the situation, one of us fired first on one of the guys in the village, and a kid… a kid lunged at me and attacked me. Redfly shot and killed him, but afterward we realized he bit me. Didn’t look like a regular bite, but everything happened so fast, we didn’t really think about it until later. Ironhead just wrapped it and we put all the money on some mules and got the fuck out of there.” What the fuck? “Everything took longer on foot, and a couple days later, I … it was a full moon, and …” 

“The kid was a wolf?” He nodded, the expression on his face a mixture of sadness and hopelessness. “Jesus, Frankie.” 

“I’m lucky none of the guys shot me right there. But I just … I took off. Scared the hell out of me and it hurt like a bitch, but … I came back the next morning, and they were terrified. They didn’t know what to think. Will was … the only levelheaded one, convinced ‘em to hear me out.” He lowered his head, his foot tapping against the floor. “I -”

“Come sit.” You tapped your hand on the cushion next to you after setting the gun down on the table, your voice soft, even as your brain and heart were at odds. No. He’s not part of the line. He didn’t… he couldn’t have.  “Come sit, Frankie.” He moved slowly but he sat down, leaving space between you. “You can keep going, if you want.” He looked over at you, the man’s eyes filled with gratitude. “I’m listening.” 

“We hauled ass to get to our pickup point. Took a couple weeks to get from the crash to the boat, but we managed to get most of the money with us. It’s all going through an offshore bank, but we’re … we’re set for life. We have to be careful about how we spend it, but …” He shrugged. “No amount of money was able to help me understand what the fuck…” Frankie hung his head, breathing heavily. “The guys are the only ones that know. Becca doesn’t. She’d never let me see Carmen again.” 

“Carmen’s not -” 

“No. She was a couple months old when I left for that last trip. Shit was already bad between me and Becca then, too. And when I got back, it was worse because I couldn’t explain where I was going every month during the full moon, y’know? I also couldn’t tell her any of what happened in South America.” He looked over at you, his eyes brimming with tears. “It was easier to just let her think that I was using again or cheating than it would have been to try to explain this.” He laughed, the sound bitter. “So we broke up for good. She made me drug test before she let me see my daughter, and of course it all came back good, which brought up a bunch of questions, but…it didn’t even matter at that point.” He shrugged. “You’re the first person I’m telling this to in three years.” 

“And I pointed a gun at you.” Pressing the heel of your hand to the bridge of your nose, you sighed. “Fuck, Frankie, I’m -” 

He cautiously reached over and put his hand atop the one between your bodies, letting the weight of it rest there. “I understand. That’s a normal reaction, especially… if you’re here looking for a wolf.” He sighed. “I moved in with Benny for a little while when I got back, just to get on my feet. Pope went to get his girl, and I couldn’t … I didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing, so every month was …” 

“You’ve never talked to another wolf?” He shook his head. “How did you -”

“The guys helped. That’s why we bought the RV?” He actually smiled, the expression lighting up his face for a brief moment. “I was there last night, with Pope. Nowhere near where you were, or where your cousin was attacked. One of the guys comes with me every month and stays in the camper while I’m … out. I’m always exhausted in the morning, so I need someone to drive me back. I’ve done some research online, but …” He shrugged. “Couldn’t exactly go back and talk to anyone that knew he kid who bit me and I didn’t know how to find anyone else, so I just … tried to move on. I knew there were others, but until a couple months ago, I didn’t think they were here.” 

“You knew there was another one here?” You believed him - using Frankie’s pause to think back to the way Benny’s first call had been to Pope, to confirm his and Frankie’s location. They weren’t close. And even as a wolf, it would take an hour to get from where the camper is to where we were, and … thank fuck it wasn’t him. 

“Fuck yeah. As soon as the bodies started showing up? I had a hunch. But it’s…. Even the first time I turned, I never wanted to hurt anyone. I was scared, and confused, but I was still… me. I knew who my friends were, and I didn’t want to hurt them or have one of them hurt me, so I ran. And I’ve done that every time since. So whoever’s doing that is … they’re doing it because they want to.” 

Flipping your hand over, you slid your fingers between his, moving closer on the couch. This is unbelievable. “Thank you for telling me the truth.” 

“Thank you for listening.” He elbowed you gently. “Will you tell me more about why you’re here? I want to -” He was interrupted by the ringing of your phone, and when you pulled it from your bag, you saw Alec’s picture on the screen. 

“Ashley?” The woman spoke after a few seconds, sounding much better than she had the last time you’d seen her. 

“He’s awake, but he’s still really out of it. It might … it might be better if you come tomorrow. He’s been in and out, and I don’t know if he’s going to want someone else in here to see him like this.” You understood - and told her as much, agreeing to call her the following morning. But just as she was about to hang up, you looked over and eyed Frankie, the man staring down at both hands, which were clasped together between his knees. 

“I know that you’ve got a lot going on, Ashley, but I think … there’s someone you need to talk to.” His head whipped toward you, his eyes going wide. You reached out, laying a hand on his knee and squeezing. “There’s more than two of you here, and …” You heard her gasp, the smile reappearing on your face when you next spoke. “I’m sitting next to someone right now that could definitely benefit from having a conversation with you.” 

“You’re joking.” You assured her you weren’t, keeping your eyes on Frankie. “Fucking Florida.” You laughed at that, and she chuckled with you for a few seconds before sighing. “If you can bring him with you tomorrow, I’ll… I’ll talk to him while you’re with Alec.” 

You thanked her and then hung up, setting the phone down. Your hand was still on Frankie’s knee, and when you said his name quietly, he turned his head, staring at you wordlessly. “I really am sorry about the gun.” He nodded. “And I will tell you about why I’m here, but I need … I need to get some sleep. I’m exhausted, and you look like you are, too.” 

“I am.” He moved to stand, but you kept your hand in place, the man going stiff. “Why are -” 

“We should get some rest.” You used your other hand to point to the bedroom, your thumb sweeping over the denim-covered outside of his knee. “I know you live close, but …”

“You want me to stay? Even though -” He seemed genuinely surprised, but you agreed immediately, rising to your feet and holding your hand out to him. 

“I’m looking for a specific line of wolves, Frankie, not trying to get rid of all of them.” You took a deep breath, thinking back to the previous few weeks and how kind Frankie had been to you. And how much I like being around him. “And the last thing I want to do right now is get rid of you.” There was more you’d need to grapple with later, but in that moment, all you could think about was going to sleep - and showing him that his instinct to tell you everything hadn’t been a bad decision.

He stood slowly, but didn’t take your hand. Instead, he cautiously reached up with his uninjured arm, his hand sliding around to the back of your head while he leaned in. The man’s lips found - and rested against - your forehead, just at your hairline. Slipping your arms around his body, you hugged him tightly, the two of you standing silently in your living room. 

He finally spoke up, stepping back even though he was hesitant to pull his hand away. “Good. Because I’m really fucking tired. And even though I did hurt my arm at work, running around on all fours last night didn’t help.” 

You laughed at his words - you couldn’t help yourself - and let Frankie lead you back into the bedroom. He closed the door behind the two of you, the room getting darker. “Do you need to be up at any specific time? I don’t want to keep you from -”

“No.” He shook his head. “Is it alright if I take my jeans off? I don’t want you to think I’m trying to… hint at anything.” 

“You could take all of your clothes off right now, and I think I’d be too tired to do anything about it.” You yawned then, as though your body was trying to prove a point. “Get comfortable. Whatever you need.” 

He hesitated but then undid the button on his jeans, sliding them down his legs. You followed suit, changing from the outfit you’d put on to go to the hospital back into pajamas. Only a minute or so later, the two of you were in bed, Frankie laying on his left side and you in front of him, facing the man. 

It was quiet for a few minutes, both of you relaxing into the bedding. What a fucking morning. When you felt him running a hand over your arm, you opened your eyes and met his, Frankie’s face only inches away. “I was really worried today, when Pope told me what happened?” He wet his lips, tongue visible for a split second. “He told me as soon as I came back. And then you didn’t answer when I called, and …” 

You believed him - and because you believed him, it made you feel worse about your overreaction earlier. How could I have thought he… “I’m fine. I’m right here, and now that I know I’m in the right place, I can …” You sighed. “I’m going to be alright, Frankie. I’m going to figure this out.” 

“Yeah, you will.” He leaned closer, brushing his lips against yours. “Because now you’ve got me around.” 

—  

You woke up late afternoon, the rumble of your stomach loud and almost painful. But Frankie still slept beside you, his face relaxed and smooth. 

He smelled like the forest - like cedar and the cypress trees and the dirt that he’d been running through the previous night, and you realized that he hadn’t even showered before coming to see you. That despite his fatigue, he’d gotten into his truck to come find you immediately after being dropped off by Pope and before doing anything else. Oh, Frankie.

You watched him silently, his breathing deep and even, and you tried to figure out how you’d missed everything pointing toward the fact that he was a wolf - and that his friends knew. 

There’d been signs - the scarring on his arm, the things that the guys had said and done in your presence, Frankie’s own admission that he needed to be careful when it came to his behavior with you. You wondered if your attraction to him had just blinded you to the truth, or if the fact that you’d never actually encountered a wolf before was the issue - and you’d just assumed, despite knowing better - that all of them would be like the ones you hunted, even as humans. 

You’d only known him for a month, but Frankie seemed absolutely normal in all the ways that mattered, and that was especially true after learning how much he’d been through since getting bitten. And he had no one. He did this on his own, and … 

“Your stomach is going to eat itself.” His voice thick with sleep, you watched the man’s lips lift into a smile, his eyelids opening halfway. “You should do something about that.” 

“Are you hungry?” He nodded almost immediately, humming with the motion. “I can make breakfast. I know it’s late, but it’s quick.” 

“That’s fine.” He opened his eyes fully then, staring at you. “I haven’t eaten since last night.” Frankie sighed. “When I’m… out there, I have to eat something. I usually do it at the beginning of the night, and then by the end I’m exhausted and hungry again, so…”

“I didn’t even think of that.” I definitely don’t want to know what he’s eating out there. Biting your lip, you frowned. “Doesn’t that fuck with your human digestion?” 

“It did. That’s why I do it when I first shift over. Gives me more time to get it out of my system before I change back.” 

“Does it hurt?” You reached over, taking a deep breath as you placed your hand on his arm. “Changing? How does -”

“It’s not comfortable.” He raised and lowered his shoulders in a shrug, never looking away from you. “I’m not sure what it’s supposed to feel like, because I’ve never …” He paused. “I’ve never had anyone to ask.”

“Tomorrow.” You nodded, eyes on him. “You’ll talk to Ashley tomorrow, and then you won’t be alone anymore, Frankie.” 

“I want to kiss you.” You heard the emotion in his voice, Frankie shifting on the mattress. “But I don’t -”

“Did you at least brush your teeth this morning?” It wasn’t the time for jokes, but you felt it was a legitimate question, especially since you’d just talked about him eating as a wolf. But Frankie’s reaction was with a genuine smile - the man’s eyes widening.

“Yes. First thing I do when I get back every time. It -”

You moved before he could finish the sentence, closing what little space was left between you. 

When your mouths met, you weren’t thinking of anything but Frankie - of the fact that he was right there, in front of you - that he’d been worried about you, and that he trusted you enough to bare so many important parts of himself even after he had an idea that you might have come to Florida to harm him. 

You kissed him hard, trying to pour everything into it - understanding and concern and emotion, and by the time he’d parted his lips, waiting for you to take initiative to deepen the kiss, you were crying, tears leaking down your cheeks and likely dropping onto his face.  

His eyes were wet, too, and when you separated and opened yours, you reached up to swipe beneath one of his with your thumb. “Why are you crying?” 

“Because it feels good to be honest with someone.” He laughed, turning his face toward the pillow. “After three fucking years, I can finally… be myself with someone that wasn’t there.” 

“It’s going to feel good to tell you too, Frankie.” You closed your eyes. “For as long as I can remember, it’s just been me and Alec and his mom that were in on the whole thing, and it’s been so goddamn lonely.” 

“Well why don’t we get up?” He pushed up onto one elbow, looking down at you. You stared at him, eyes locked on the way this unruly curls fell over his forehead and his eyes warmed, the man’s stubbled cheeks going round when he smiled. He looks so much better now. Not as tired. Not as … upset. “And you can tell me more about yourself and what brought you here?” 

“How do you like your eggs, Frankie?” You sat up and stretched, yawning. “And how many do you want?”

“As long as they’re not raw, I honestly don’t care right now.” He reached over, running his hand slowly up and down your back. “And I could probably eat a full dozen, but we’ll stick with … six - as long as that’s alright.” 

Assuring him that it was, you climbed out of bed and made your way into the kitchen. Frankie followed, but moved past you and into the living room. “You can look through my notes if you want. It might help you understand a little more.” 

“Can you talk while you cook?” He picked up a stack of pictures, flipping through them. “Seems like you’ve got a lot to say.” 

“I do. And yes.” You pulled eggs and butter from the fridge, reaching for one of the pans in the cupboard next to the stove. “I can talk while I cook, Frankie.” 

— 

A little under two hours later, you’d finished eating, and you were most of the way through explaining your family’s history - and your search for the Chaos line. It had been an interesting conversation, because despite the fact that Frankie was a wolf, he knew nothing about the line, the history of it - or your family. 

He’d listened intently, the man interjecting and asking questions in a few places, waiting for your patient answers. He was shocked that there were so many people that knew of the existence of wolves, and that the networks ran so deep, especially since he and his friends had searched for answers for so long, and came up with nothing. 

“It helps that we’ve been at it for so many years, I’ll be honest.” Sipping your second cup of coffee, you sighed. “We have contacts. We had information. And even though the wolves weren’t willing to work with us anymore, they were aware of us, and sometimes … they reached out to tell us we were way off base or that they’d gotten wind of something. They just didn’t want to be involved.”

“Until Ashley.” He swallowed the last of his coffee, standing and walking into your kitchen. “And Alec.” 

“Yes. I had no idea about them being together until the day before our first flight, which is when I found out everything.” You stood, too, carrying your plate into the kitchen and setting it in the sink. “I’ve gotten so used to the cover story, Frankie, that it’s … it’s easier to stick with that when I meet people. Who’s going to believe me if I tell the truth? I’m usually only in a city for a couple months at a time and then I’m gone. It doesn’t matter who I am or what I’m doing, and even when I meet someone I’m interested in, it’s just casual, so …”

“You don’t have to explain that to me.” He leaned against the counter, holding his injured arm. “I obviously don’t tell anyone either. And that’s one of the reasons starting something with you was … perfect.” Was? “A couple months? Hooking up? It’s not serious, we can have fun, and then go our separate ways. I never lied about who I was, I just … left part of it out. I didn’t like doing it, but… it made sense.” 

“You’re not mad?” 

“I was pretty goddamn upset when you were pointing a gun at me, yeah. But I understand, especially now. And I understand why you had to lie to me, too. This line has been causing you problems, and it sounds like they’re causing other people problems, too. And here?” He wrinkled his nose, annoyance flashing across his face. “Whoever this other wolf is is causing me problems now. I have to be way more careful when I’m running because even though it’s being downplayed as gators or panthers … the police are looking for something else.” 

That was news to you. Even with all of your research and reaching out to contacts, you hadn’t been able to find out much in the way of what Tampa’s law enforcement and animal control were doing in the wake of the attacks. “Seriously?” 

“Yes. Will and Benny get a lot of ‘em in the bar, and you know Benny … he talks to everyone. They hear a lot of what civilians don’t.” Frankie shook his head, absently reaching up to push his hair back and away from his face. “I’ve been trying to figure out who it could be, too. Been trying to catch the wolf during the full moon, but so far … they haven’t come to the area where we camp. And there’s no fucking pattern, so it -” 

“It’s a male wolf.” You crossed your arms, too. “Ashley was clear about that. Said he was huge and kind of clumsy, like he’s new at it.” You winced. “And that’s another reason why I thought you, especially paired with the scar, which meant you hadn’t been born into it, and …” 

“Makes sense.” He swallowed, eyeing you. “I’ve never hurt a human as the wolf. And like I said, someone goes with me every month. I know it’s them. I know their scents. I’ve never wanted to go after someone, except this other wolf.” He straightened up, squaring his shoulders. “I killed enough people while I was deployed and then after, I’m done. I’ve already told the guys that if I ever fuck up, one of ‘em needs to make sure I never do it again.” No. Not him. 

“Frankie -”

“No. This,” he pointed at his arm, his expression angry. “This doesn’t get to change who I am and who I want to be. I can’t help what happened to me, but I can make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else, and that I don’t fucking hurt anyone else because of it.” You stepped forward, laying a hand on  his chest. His heartbeat pounded beneath it, and when you murmured his name, you closed your eyes, breathing slowly. It won’t come to that.

“I believe you. I… don’t want to think about that, but …” He raised a hand and covered yours with it, squeezing. “So what do we do now? Do we tell the guys that it’s not a secret anymore? I can quit the shit with the book now, but if we don’t let them in on the fact that I know …” 

“We can, if you want. Pope’s been trying to tell me that I shouldn’t lie to you, but …” He laughed. “Would you have believed me?”

“I would have. But anyone else? No.” You leaned in, grinning. “Luckily for you, I’m me. And I believe you, and I’m so glad that I know, because now I can … do what I need to do without worrying about hiding anything from you.” 

“Now you know why I had to be so careful with you. Why that night, when I bit your neck?” He moved his hand to your throat, fingertips circling over your skin. “I was worried I broke skin. I don’t know what the rules are, or if I can transmit this when I’m human, but I’ve been so careful about biting, and I just…”

“The person that bit you was human when it happened, right?” 

“I’m not sure. I thought … when he launched himself forward, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. His eyes looked yellow and his face just looked strange, but it was the middle of the day, and … I figured it was just stress.” He stepped back, shaking his head. “Makes no sense.”

“Some wolves can change at will.” Your heart ached for Frankie - and for the years he’d spent feeling alone in the changes he was experiencing. “Maybe he was one of them. Ashley can tell you more, I don’t … I don’t know specifics, but I think it’s more common in the wolves that are born into it.” You shrugged. “I could be wrong.” 

“Seriously?” He glanced down at himself, frowning. “A couple times, when I’ve gotten really worked up, it’s felt … I’ve thought that maybe I might be feeling …” He looked back up at you. “There was a bar fight once, at one of Benny’s matches? And even though I wasn’t involved, it was like I could feel myself changing. Pope said my eyes flashed, too, looked like they were gold.”

“They did that the first night we met. And then the day of my first flight, and then again this morning. They turned gold, Frankie. I thought it was just a trick of the light, but …” Three times? With me? After he said it happened before when he was worked up? “Maybe you’re one of the ones that can change, too.” 

“Maybe.” He smiled, his expression growing hopeful. “And now we have a month to figure shit out.” 

— 

Frankie left a little while later, telling you that he needed to go home and shower, but that you were more than welcome to come over later that night. You declined, though, reminding him that he needed to work the following day, and that getting more sleep wasn’t a bad thing. 

He seemed disappointed but had agreed, the man kissing you goodbye before he walked out of your apartment, his good arm wound around you and your fingers threaded through his hair for the entire length of it. 

It felt good to be honest with someone, to have someone equally willing to confide in you and share the biggest secret they had. But that didn’t mean you were any closer to your goal of finding the other wolf. And that’s why I’m here. I can’t forget that. 

You showered and slept straight through that night, waking up early the next day and reaching out to Ashley to make sure it was still alright that you came by later that afternoon with Frankie. She confirmed that it was and so you sent him a message, telling him that he could stop at your place on his way home from the airport if he wanted, so that he didn’t have to backtrack twice.

That left the entire day for you to work - and you did, taking some of your pictures and papers outside and into the yard, letting the sunlight warm your skin while you pored over what you already knew.

The only pattern you could see was that the wolf wasn’t returning to previous sites. You crossed off all of the ones he’d already been to on the map, noticing that even though they weren’t in any specific order, they seemed to be circling the city of Tampa. There aren’t many new ones left that have campsites. You frowned, tapping your pen on the map. 

A quick Google search told you that one green space that had been skipped was simply a forest, with nothing running through it aside from a highway. That’s out. So you looked elsewhere, nodding as your finger followed the map. 

Hillsborough had been on your shortlist for the 5th full moon, and the other two that remained seemed much more likely for the upcoming month. Upper Hillsborough was the least likely, because even though it had hiking trails, there were no real campgrounds within it. Hilochee had a few options, but it was small, meaning that there was little room to hide. But there is water. And plenty of trees. 

The final option was Green Swamp, and that’s where the RV was parked. But there are so many campsites. And so much ground to cover. And … It seemed almost hopeless, because even if Frankie helped, he could only be in one place at a time. And if we’re in two places, he can’t exactly … fuck. 

He wouldn’t be able to call you and tell you if he found anything. If Ashley wasn’t pregnant, then Alec and I could split up and go to two different places and … But you stopped that thought there, reminding yourself that Alec was injured, and wouldn’t be doing any sort of hunting for the foreseeable future. So it’s just me. And if this lead slips away, then … I’m back to square one. 

You made a few more notes and circled some things on the maps, but by the time you decided to break for lunch, you were frustrated - and worried about Alec… and what Frankie meeting Ashley would mean. 

So you took the afternoon off, trying to distract yourself with a movie. 

It worked - until Frankie texted you and said he was on his way. You replied with a thumbs up and then messaged Ashley to let her know you’d be leaving soon, asking if you could bring anything. 

She said no, so you gathered up your stuff and went outside to wait for Frankie, locking your front door behind you. He pulled up a little while later, the man leaning out the driver’s side window and waving, his eyes hidden by a pair of sunglasses and the ballcap pulled low over his brow. “Good afternoon.” 

“Hey, you.” Opening the passenger side door, you slid into the seat and reached over, laying your hand on his leg. “How’s the arm? How were your flights?”

“It’s better. Still sore, but I’ll be alright.” He put the truck in reverse, reaching behind you to brace himself while he turned his head to look out the back window. “And flights were fuckin’ great. The weather was perfect today.” Once he was in motion again, Frankie squeezed the back of your neck briefly and then returned his hand to the steering wheel. “I thought I’d feel like shit today. But I feel… lighter.” Glancing over, he nodded. “ Feels good.” 

“I’m happy.” You were - genuinely, and when you rolled the window down and let the breeze in on your side, you nodded too. “And I’m excited for you to meet Ashley, Frankie. I hope she has answers.” 

That time, when he reached for your hand and brought your knuckles to his lips, he didn’t stop himself from kissing them … and he didn’t let go of your hand afterward, either. 

— 

Wednesday hadn’t worked out for Tom, but on the first Thursday you spent in Tampa, you were sitting in his office, signing your lease. It felt like a step in the right direction, and as you scanned the page before sliding it back toward him, you grinned. “That’s it?” 

“Yeah. You already gave me the cashier’s check, and the owners will forward over the utility bills to you every month as they come in.” He shrugged. “All I need to do is hand you the keys, and you can get out of here.” He rubbed at his chin, eyeing you. “Got someone to help you move in?”

“I have three suitcases and a duffle bag, Tom. I don’t exactly travel with a lot.” He chuckled, holding one of his hands out toward you. 

“Alright. I’ll go get the key, be right back.” He left you at the desk, giving you a few seconds to stare through the partially opened blinds and into the parking lot. It was early enough in the day that you’d be able to take care of your errands and still have time to get out and visit one of the places on your list if you chose to, which made you happy. Because I’m on a roll, especially after the last two days. “Here you go.” 

Tom dropped a set of three keys on front of you, continuing to circle around to the other side of the desk. “Thank you. I -”

“And this is for you, too.” He slid a bottle of wine toward you, a big red bow tied around the neck of the bottle. “Usually I save these for people that close on houses, but since you’re looking for local things to write about …” 

At the sight of the label, you froze, breath catching. How does he know? There’s no way that he … “Thank you, Tom.” You pulled the bottle closer, fingers wrapped around the neck. This can’t be a coincidence, can it? “The winery’s local?”

“Kind of. It’s about an hour away.” He leaned back in his chair, smiling. “My wife’s a big fan. She and her friends go every couple months, and she brings me back a a case or two, so I can hand them out.” He pointed. “That’s one of her favorites.” 

“Howl At The Moon?” You arched a brow, shaking your head. “Interesting name.”

“All of their wines have names like that, and labels to match.” Tom shrugged. “Look the winery up, and you’ll see.” You believed him, letting out the breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding. “I think I’ve got a bottle or two of their white wines back there, if -”

“No. This is perfect, Tom.” Standing, you picked the bottle up by the neck, looking down at the label. More perfect than you know. “Thank you. And now I’m going to go and buy groceries and fill up that refrigerator because let me tell you … living out of that mini fridge in the hotel was a nightmare.” 

Tom’s smile widened, the man clasping his hands together on the desktop. “I’m sure it was. And I hope it goes well for you. Maybe I’ll see you around?” 

“Maybe.” Tucking the wine bottle under one arm, you reached for the keys. “Still waiting to hear back from Frankie about the helicopter, but now that I’m going to be further south, heading back to Ironhead’s is definitely an option.” 

He opened his mouth to speak, but the phone on his desk rang before he could, Tom averting his eyes to look at it. Waving, you backed slowly out of the office, listening as the man answered the call just before you closed the door behind you. 

You did plan on going to the store and buying what you needed for the apartment, but more than that, you were looking forward to unpacking all of your research. You needed to see everything laid out - pictures and charts and maps, the lists you’d made in your journals and on loose sheets of paper. It helped you think, and after the discoveries you’d made in the previous few days, you needed every advantage that you could get. 

“Groceries first.” Mumbling the words as you set the bottle of wine down in the back seat, your eyes lingered on the silhouette of the wolf on the label. “And then work.”

— 

Three hours later, you were chewing on the last bites of a sandwich and staring down at the mess on your floor. It was chaotic - papers overlapping, pictures in small stacks, post it notes stuck to everything - but as you eyed each piece, things came together .

You were convinced that what was happening in Florida was what you were looking for. You’d visited two of the murder sites in the previous two days, images from the crime scene photos helping you to find the exact locations where the bodies had been found. It surprised you that the locations were so close to the trails and roads that led through the park spaces. But that had worked in your favor, because it meant that you poking around with your camera wasn’t suspicious. 

The first thing you’d noticed were the gouges in trees nearby. To anyone that wasn’t looking, they didn’t stand out - the marred surfaces of the tree trunks simply looked like breaks in the bark or the marks of bear or big cat claws. But you’d seen the same marks at roughly the same height in both Cypress Creek and Hillsborough River - the marks matching photos that had been passed down from other relatives in other locations throughout the years. 

The second thing was your biggest clue, and you’d dropped to your knees with a gasp at the sight of it, one hand covering your mouth. It was a pawprint, half-hidden beneath a stack of rocks, and you’d only seen it because you were taking a short break, resting on a downed tree stump. 

But when you’d cleared the rocks away - carefully - so that you could see the whole thing, you knew. It was larger than a dog’s paw, and shaped differently than a bear or a panther’s would have been. The toes were elongated, almost like fingers, and the impression of the nail was deep and wide - entirely different from any other animal print than you’d ever seen. 

You’d taken photos - multiple photos, and then printed them up as soon as you were back in the hotel, comparing them to ones that your grandfather had taken … and they matched. 

The print told you a wolf was in the area, but the marks on the trees told you it was the Chaos line … and that meant that finally, you were in the right place. 

Seeing everything together was overwhelming. You’d never been so close before, and even though you knew that you still had a long way to go, it was encouraging. Because I still have weeks before the full moon, and that means I have time. 

You contemplated opening the bottle of wine that Tom had given you, marking the discovery and confirmation with some celebration, but before you could decide one way or the other, your phone rang - and it was Frankie’s name on the screen. 

Grabbing for the device, you took it to the couch and sunk onto it, answering. “Hello?”

“Hey. It’s Frankie, what’s up?”

“Not much. Just …” You looked around. “Just relaxing in my new apartment.” There was a pause and then you heard him swear, a quick laugh reaching your ear moments later. “You?”

“So we’re neighbors now?” He didn’t give you a chance to answer, the man continuing. “Nice. I just finished my last flight for the day, and wanted to let you know that I got approval for a couple of the routes I mapped out. I’ll need to file ‘em the day before we go to finalize everything, but I was wonderin’ if you wanted to meet up to pick the ones you like best so we can figure out some dates.” 

“Yes.” Grinning, you leaned forward. “Yes, Frankie. When and where?”

“If you’re in Tampa Heights, you’re on my way home. I’ve got my laptop, so I can bring it there and we can go over … shit, are you even unpacked? I don’t want to - “

“I live out of suitcases, Frankie. I’m unpacked.” Eyeing the mess on the floor, you wrinkled your nose. I will need to put that away though. “How long would it take you to get here?” 

“Donno. I have a couple things to do here before I head out, so maybe a half hour? Forty five minutes?” That was plenty of time - and you told him as much, letting him know that  you’d send over the address as soon as you hung up the phone. “Alright. Sounds good. I’ll see you in a little while.” 

He hung up first and then you texted him the address, telling him he could park behind your car. You got a thumbs up response a few seconds later, and at his confirmation, you started to clean up your research. 

You’d done it so often that packing it away was second nature to you, everything stuffed back into binders and then put into one of your suitcases. You scanned the room one final time to make sure you hadn’t missed anything before replacing the padlock on the zipper tabs, and then you headed out onto the living room again, taking a seat on the couch and chewing on your lower lip. 

You didn’t know how you’d feel seeing Frankie again, but you hoped that you wouldn’t overreact. He’d texted you twice in the previous days - once to ask a question about a list of sites you’d mentioned wanting to see via email, and again to confirm that he’d gotten the reply, but aside from that, there’d been nothing. 

And there shouldn’t have been. We don’t even know each other, and … But part of you had been disappointed, even though he’d warned you that it might be a little while before you heard from him. And that meant that you needed to be careful when he knocked, keeping your expression even and not acting like seeing him was a big deal. Even though it is, because … I want to see him. 

“Get your shit together and keep it there,” you grumbled as you put your head in your hands, taking a deep breath. “He’s just a guy. He’s just a -”

A sharp knock at the door distracted you, and without pause, you were on your feat and heading to answer it. Frankie stood on the front step with a laptop bag slung over one shoulder, a dark green polo shirt covering the upper half of his body and snug-fitting khakis on the bottom. I’m fucked. Look at him. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” He grinned at you, eyes glittering from beneath the pushed-back brim of his hat. “I brought you a housewarming present.” 

“You didn’t have to -” But you laughed when you saw what he was holding, his fingers tightly wrapped around the handle of a travel coffee mug similar to the one you’d taken from his house. Oh, that’s perfect. Reaching out, you took it from his hand. “Thank you, Frankie. Now I don’t have to pretend I forgot where yours is so that I can keep it.” 

“I knew it.” He shook his head. “Thief.” Snorting, you stepped to the side and motioned for him to come in. He busied himself with removing his boots and then entered the room fully, turning around in a circle. “This place is a rental? Nice.” 

“Yeah, it was my favorite of the three.” Gesturing for him to sit, you inhaled. “Can I get you anything to drink? I have a six pack, or some Coke, and there’s bottled water, too. Tom also gave me a bottle of wine, but I’m not sure if there’s a corkscrew in here.”

“Oh, you got one of those?” He leaned back against the cushions, hands resting on his lap. “Which one’d you get? He’s real partial to the chardonnay, but -”

“No, it’s a red.” Reaching for the bottle, you picked it up and held it out to him. “I didn’t look it up or anything, but -” Frankie’s jaw twitched at the sight of the bottle, and you watched his fingers curl, the man making a quick fist before he relaxed. Over a bottle of wine? “It looks like it might be good, so I thought I’d ask.” 

He took the bottle from you, casting his gaze down at the label as he spun it between his fingers. “He picked this for you?” Frankie glanced up, waiting for your nod before he spoke again. “His wife drinks this one. He usually doesn’t hand bottles of this out so I’m kinda surprised.” 

“Well that must mean it’s good.” Reaching out, you took the bottle back from him, eyeing the label. “Did you want me to see if -”

“I’m not really a wine guy.” He wrinkled his nose, clearing his throat. “But thanks. I’ll take a Coke if you don’t mind. Could use the caffeine.” Telling him to give you a minute, you went back and into the kitchen, pulling two cups from the stack in the cupboard, and then turning to the refrigerator. “I’ll drink it from the can, don’t need anything fancy.” 

Of course you don’t. Grabbing both cans, you headed for where he sat, eyeing the man’s open laptop. “Oh, is that Carmen?” He nodded, looking over at you when you sat down, though you kept your eyes on the screen - a picture of Frankie sitting on a beach with a little girl in his lap taking up the whole thing. “She looks just like you, Frankie. Has your eyes and your nose and -”

“And her mother’s attitude.” He bumped you with his shoulder, laughing. “That was this summer. She loves the beach.” 

“I don’t blame her.” You kept your eyes on him, watching as Frankie opened a spreadsheet and what looked like a flight planning software. “You look like you love it, too.”

“I do.” He smiled then, nodding. “So, if you take a look at these …” 

For the next twenty minutes, you and Frankie talked over different options for flights, both along the coast and inland. He explained what each would allow you to see, and when you compared his explanation to your notes, you realized that if you went on two or three of the tours, you’d be able to see most of the places you wanted to, even in the short amount of time you’d be in the air. And anything else, I could always circle back to.

“What are you thinking?” He leaned back, reaching up to resituate his hat, and you couldn’t take your eyes off of his arm, the inked skin pulled taut over the muscle beneath it. “Any of these look good?” 

“They all do.” You pressed your lips together, nodding. “You took my lists, and just …” Gesturing at the screen, you shrugged. “You made it work. I’m impressed.” 

“It’s what I do for a living.” He shrugged. “Just tryin’ to make sure my clients get what they want.” Because that’s what I am, just another client, so … of course. “Where do you want to start?”

“What are we looking at cost wise, Frankie? I’ve got a decent budget, but since these are custom flight plans, I -”

“I think I can give you the friends and family discount.” He smiled, shifting so that he could look at you. “And instead of booking things separately, we can do a multi-flight package, either based on the number of flights or overall minutes.” He waved his hand in the air. “Cost isn’t the important thing right now. We’ll make it work.” We will? 

“Are we friends, Frankie?” You sipped your drink, never looking away from him. “I didn’t want to assu-”

“Friends and Family Discount looks much better on the invoice sheet than the ‘We Fucked On The Rug In Front of My Fireplace The First Night We Met Discount’ would, right?” He took a breath, opening his mouth to speak again, but you beat him to it, laughter tumbling from your lips. “What? What did I say?” 

“You know exactly what you said, Catfish.” Briefly lowering your head, you took a deep breath. “But yeah, I guess I agree that one of those memo lines is going to raise a lot fewer eyebrows.”  

It surprised you that he’d been the one to bring the previous night up first, but Frankie had seemed direct - so it wasn’t a shock. “I want to pay you fairly, Frankie. This is your job and I’m basically a stranger, so you tell me what you think is fair, and we’ll go from there.” 

He watched you for a little while, the man’s eyes searching your face, but he stayed quiet. 

In a different situation, you would have leaned in, winding a hand around the back of his head and pulling him closer to kiss him before moving even closer to him on the couch. He would have reached out, fingers running along your throat and then tilting your chin to find just the right angle, the laptop and flight plans forgotten as you utilized the comfort of the cushions beneath you. But that’s not happening. 

Frankie looked away first, releasing a deep sigh and returning his gaze to his computer. “Uh, alright. Yeah. I think we can make that happen.” He closed his eyes, reaching up to remove the hat and set it on the table next to his computer. “Let’s open my schedule and see what I’ve got free.” 

It took another half hour, but you scheduled the first three flights with Frankie - one for that Saturday, one for the following Thursday and then another the following Wednesday - both of you entering them into your calendars so that you didn’t forget. By the time you set your phone down, you were almost giddy with excitement at the prospect of going up in the air with him. 

“Do I need to bring anything? Does it get cold? Should I eat before, or -” 

He laughed - and that time he was laughing at you, but it wasn’t unkind. You liked the way his face looked when he was amused - a dimple on one cheek, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening with the rise of his cheeks, teeth bared in a grin. He’s handsome. And he’s sitting on my couch and … shit. “Bring yourself. I’ll send over a list of stuff that you can and can’t bring with you - and what you should wear, but rule of thumb is just be comfortable.” He wet his lips, his smile turning into a more subdued one. “We’ll do a doors on flight for your first one.” 

“You do flights without the doors?” Leaning in, you widened your eyes. “Well that’s terrifying.” He reached over then, settling his hand on top of yours and squeezing. You dropped your gaze at his touch, mouth opening in shock at the heat and weight of his hand - and how much you’d been wanting to feel it. 

“You’re strapped in real tight.” He said your name, pausing until you’d looked up again. “I check the belts before every takeoff.” That’s something to think about another time, because right now, I … I can’t. “If after 3 trips, you want to schedule more, we can. But it’s harder to plan for weather and all that so far out, especially in hurricane season.” He squeezed your hand again and then released it, glancing down at the watch he wore. “Shit. It’s already late. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stay so long.”

“Are you hungry, Frankie?” You spoke without giving yourself a chance to second guess it, pulling your hands back into your lap. “Because I am. And I’m sure there are some great places to eat around here. I’m also sure you know all about them.” 

“You asking me to dinner?” Tilting his head to the side, he arched a brow, smiling at you. “Because if you are, the answer’s yes, and I know the perfect place, as long as you’re looking for cold beer and good pizza.” 

“Sounds perfect.”

— 

“So Benny was in the ring with this guy for a big fight, and we were all terrified he was going to get his ass handed to him.” Frankie picked up his glass, head shaking back and forth as he sipped from it. “Not because he was bigger or anything, but because the guy’s eyes were wild. He was ready to beat the shit out of Ben just because he’d have the opportunity, and all we could do was sit and watch.” 

He’d been regaling you with stories about himself and his friends while you ordered, waited for and then started eating your pizza, and if there was one thing you were learning about Frankie, it was that he liked talking them up. More them than himself, but … still. You liked hearing him talk - liked the way he’d pushed the professional aspect of your connection to the side in order to treat you like a friend, and you wondered if the admission from earlier had sped things along. Seems like it. 

“Did he?” You leaned in, a piece of pizza held in one hand while you eyed him. “Get his ass -”

“No. The power surged and went out, and it threw the other guy way off, so when they finally fought that night, Benny knocked him out before the end of the first round.” Frankie grinned, shrugging. “He used that prize money as part of the bar’s startup with Will, and hasn’t stepped foot into the octagon again since.” Frankie took another drink, his gaze locked on your face. “Took him a couple years to start earnin’ anything, and then when he finally did… he got the fuck outta there while his face still looked pretty enough.” 

“It is a very pretty face.” Arching a brow, you shrugged. “Can’t say I blame him for wanting to keep it that way.” Frankie laughed at that, finally looking away and down at his plate, a few small pieces of crust left there. “What about yours?” He looked back up, frowning. “There’s a scar on your cheek, but aside from that, nothing. I noticed it the other night. Did you get that the same day as your arm?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his expression clearing. “Deep cut.” Reaching up, he ran his fingertips over the thin line on his cheekbone. “It also didn’t heal right, but it’s a little harder to hide that one. Can’t exactly tattoo over it.” 

“I didn’t mean to call attention to it, Frankie. I just -” You idiot. “You mentioned punching, and… we were talking about facial injuries and … I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” He reached out, laying a hand over yours and squeezing. “You can see it, it’s fair game.” 

“It shouldn’t be -”

“Stop it.” He squeezed again and then let go, leaning back in the booth and swiping a hand through the unruly curls on the top of his head. “There’s nothing to apologize for. I mean it.” He winked at you, clearing his throat. “I’ve heard scars are sexy, anyway. So maybe I’ve got that goin’ for me.”

“Definitely.” Nodding as you schooled your expression into a serious one, you winked back at him, “Very sexy, Frankie.” 

That broke the slight tension that you’d created, and for the next ten minutes, conversation drifted back to the easy banter you’d established throughout the rest of the meal. But it’s getting late, and he’s got flights tomorrow… so I need to cut this short. “I know you’re going to have to head out soon, but I do have a question for you.” 

Frankie nodded, finishing his beer and leaning back in, lacing his fingers together on the tabletop. “Shoot.” 

“I need to do a couple hikes and some exploring the area, but I like to do that at different times of the day.” Spinning the straw in your water cup, you paused, taking a deep breath. “I know that realistically I’m not going to get eaten by an alligator as long as I stay on the hiking trails and don’t try to swim in random lakes and rivers, but …” You have to do it. Just do it now. “Frankie, I’ve seen the articles. I know it happens, but there’s been pretty consistent animal attacks in this general vicinity for the last couple month, and I need to do my job, but -”

“But you want to know if it’s safe.” He sighed, the sound heavy, and for the first time, you saw actual concern in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re taking it seriously, to be honest. A lot of people don’t, and they think they can just wander around and it’ll be fine.” Well in most cases it is. But most places don’t have werewolves running around, either. “If you’re hiking during the day, there’s really nothin’ to worry about. The gators are around, but you can see them. And the big cats stay pretty well hidden.” 

“What about at night? Or close to -”

“I wouldn’t do anything alone at night if you’re not familiar with the area.” His tone was even, though the intensity in his eyes was anything but. “Walking around the neighborhood is one thing, but not trails. I wouldn’t camp by myself. I wouldn’t go near any water at night.” He wet his lips, sighing. “Unless you were with someone.” 

“Well unluckily for me, I only know about five people in Tampa, so -”

“Pope’s not workin’ right now. And even Will and Benny take time off.” His smile returned, Frankie’s eyes warming, too. “And I know that I’d personally love to hang out with you more. So if you ever need a buddy, you can ask one of us, and I’m sure we’ll be around.” 

“You don’t even know me, Frankie. Neither do they. It -”

“Bullshit.” He narrowed his eyes briefly, his eyes moving up and down over your face. “I know enough. And if I vouch for you … it’s good enough for them.” Frankie’s declaration made you feel warm, your heartbeat thumping against the inside of your ribcage as you wordlessly stared at him. That would solve a lot of my problems, but it seems to good to be true. I just stumble on a group of guys that are ready and willing to help me out? “No pressure. I’d just hate thinking of you wandering around alone in a place you don’t know when we’re all right here.” 

“Do you think I could convince Pope or Benny to camp with me?” Closing your eyes, you winced. “Probably not Pope because he’s got a girlfriend and that would be weird, but -”

“What about me?” He took a deep breath and held it, staring at you. “We’ve already spent the night together once, so you know there’s no other woman for you to worry about.” Does that mean he wants to spend the night together again? Is he hinting at it? Does he - “Unless you want to get to know Benny better.” 

“No. That’s not it.” You looked away from him, taking a few seconds to scan the crowd before you spoke again. “You have to get up so early for your flights, and I didn’t think a night of sleeping on the ground would be good for your back.” Go for it. Flirt back. Hint. “Even though it didn’t seem to bother you when we were on your floor.” 

You watched his expression change, his eyes darkening at the same time his lips curved upward and into a sly smile. But there was nothing alarming about it - it was just desire written on his features, the man looking at you like he had the other night. Like he wants me. Like that was the right thing to say. “Can I tell you something?” The smile softened, and Frankie reached up, scratching at the side of his head. “We’ve got a camper. None of us use it enough to own one outright but …” He nodded, head cocked to the right. “The bed’s pretty damn comfortable and I think you’d agree.” 

You knew in that moment that you and Frankie would end up in bed together again - and likely not just in a way that meant only sleeping next to each other. And I’m alright with that. I’m very alright with that. “Well that changes things.”  You paused, still eyeing him. “I might have to take you up on that.” 

“Good. That’s why I suggested it.” He glanced down, checking his watch. “I hate to cut this short, but I need to get home.” Frankie chewed on the inside of his cheek for a few moments and then grinned, flattening his hands on the table. “I have to get up early for my flights tomorrow.” Both of you laughed, Frankie reaching for the check that had been folded and set on the edge of your table. “Dinner’s on me.” 

You opened your mouth to tell him that he didn’t need to worry about it, but decided against it, watching as he opened his wallet and pulled out cash. He wouldn’t have offered if he didn’t want to. “Thank you.” You finished your water, following his lead when he stood up. “I’m sorry I didn’t drive myself, now you have to take me back before you can go home.” 

“It’s a couple extra minutes. No big deal.” You started walking toward the exit, Frankie a half step behind you. “And I’m the one that suggested me driving.” I know, but … He reached past you to open the door, and when you walked by, thanking him, you felt the press of his hand against your back, the touch sending a shockwave through you. 

You hadn’t previously had the kind of reaction to anyone that you were having to Frankie, and even though it alarmed you, it felt right. Remember that this is temporary. If everything went well, you’d be done with your hunt within a few weeks - and able to leave Florida immediately after. But I could stay, and finish the research for the book here. Frowning as you crossed the parking lot, you tried to think ahead. 

If you found the wolf in Florida, it would allow you to close another link between the lower-level wolves and the ones at the head of the Chaos line. But just because I get rid of this one, that doesn’t mean the problem is solved. It was a never ending quest, and you realistically knew that your search for the end of the line would never be realized. But what I do now will help people in the future. Alec, too. And - 

“You alright?” Frankie’s hand was still on you, the man standing much closer than he had been as you approached the truck. “You look like you’re spacing out.” I am. 

“Yeah. Just thinking.” You stopped next to the passenger door, turning back to face Frankie. “I’ve only been here a week, and it feels like everything’s falling into place a little too easily, Frankie.” He nodded, his silhouette backlit by the overhead lampposts. “It’s a lot of work, and I’m a little overwhelmed, but it shouldn’t be anything new to me, because …” Because this has been my life since I turned eighteen, but this is the first time there’s been a you involved. “I don’t want to trust it.” 

“Take it one day at a time.” He moved closer, his arms crossed over his chest. “That’s all you can do, right?” I guess. “You’ve got time. You’re renting that apartment for what, three months?” You nodded in agreement, and Frankie mirrored the movement. “Now that you’ve got a place to stay, you can settle. Get comfortable.” He was right - and you knew it, nodding again as you raised a hand to cover your face. 

“Frankie Morales, the voice of reason.” He snorted, stifling a laugh. 

“Don’t let any of my friends hear you say that.” He reached up, pulling the hat from his head and tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans before rubbing at his eyes. “I could stand here talking to you all night, but …” Shit. Right. 

You winced, reaching behind you for the door handle, but froze when you saw the look on Frankie’s face. He was watching you intently, eyes locked with yours - and for a brief second, you thought he was going to lean in and kiss you. And I want him to. I really want him to. It had been simmering between you the entire night - thinly veiled innuendos, flirtatious comments, the casual touching - and in some ways, you thought that maybe breaking the ice with a kiss in the parking lot would have made things easier. Especially if he does it this time. 

But Frankie didn’t lean in.

Instead, you watched as his jaw tightened before he stepped away, circling around to the other side of the truck and leaving you next to the passenger side, your eyes wide and your lips parted in surprise. Well, alright then. 

You climbed into the cab of the truck and settled in, fastening your seatbelt and then closing your eyes. The two of you had established a boundary and he was only sticking to it - you couldn’t blame him. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt. 

“What’ve you got going on tomorrow?” He spoke as he pulled onto the main road, eyes on the windshield. “Anything important?” 

“I might actually go to the beach.” You hummed, staring out the passenger window for a few seconds. “Clearwater, I think. The weather’s supposed to be good, so I might as well take advantage of it.” 

“You should.” He nodded, the movement catching your attention. “It’s nice. I really like St. Pete Beach, too, but Clearwater’s a good place to start.” 

“Well then maybe when I go to St. Pete, you should come with me.” You froze even as you were speaking, closing your eyes and wrinkling your nose. Shit. Shit, that sounds … 

“Alright.” He turned his head to look at you, a small smile on his lips. “I’m gonna hold you to that.” Murmuring an agreement, you didn’t say anything else until he was pulling into your driveway, his headlights sweeping over the front of your apartment.

“Thanks for tonight. Nothing like a couple beers and some pizza with adequate company.” 

“Adequate? That all I am?” He nudged you with his elbow, laughter apparent in his voice. “I’m wounded.” 

“You know what I mean.” Shifting in your seat to unbuckle your seatbelt, you laughed. “Seriously, though. Thank you. I think one of the worst parts of this job is how temporary everything feels. Doesn’t matter how much I like a place, I know it’s not going to be forever and I have no real connection to it. This … you are helping it not feel like that this time.” 

“You’re welcome.” He nodded, still watching you. “Anytime.” Do you mean that? “I’ll send over that list for your flight prep tomorrow morning. Look for it when you wake up.” 

“Will do. Goodnight, Frankie.” You paused, taking a breath. “Fly safe tomorrow.” 

“Always do.” His smile widened - and then to your surprise, he leaned in, wrapping one arm around you in a hug. It surprised you but you welcomed it, one of your hands settling against his side as you inhaled again, the scent of his cologne filling your nostrils. God he smells good. “Have fun at the beach.” He backed away, straightening up, though his hand trailed slowly down your arm, the tips of his fingers dragging over your knuckles. “See you Saturday afternoon.” 

Assuring him that you’d be there, you tore yourself away from him and opened the door, heading for the apartment and putting your hand on the doorknob before you looked back. Frankie was watching you, the light in the cab on so that you could see him clearly. Fuck he’s handsome. Raising your free hand in a quick wave, you waited for his nod before turning back to the front door and pushing the key into the lock and twisting. 

The interior space was dark and quiet, but the scent of Frankie lingered. No, maybe that’s wishful thinking. Rolling your eyes, you locked the door and then headed for the bedroom, deciding that there was no point in pulling your research out again that night, even though it was before 10. I won’t get anything done. 

Instead, you changed into pajamas and got a beach bag ready for the next day, dropping it next to the front door and then climbing into bed. 

You turned the TV on, counting on the glow to help you wind down … but not even fifteen minutes later, you were sound asleep. 

— 

By the time you were shaking the sand off and packing your stuff back into the car the following day, you’d put things into perspective - not only in terms of Frankie, but in terms of the time you were spending in Florida, too. 

The sun and sand had been exactly what you needed to relax and get your thoughts together. It hadn’t been too crowded on the beach, and you’d found a place to stretch out without difficulty, spreading an oversized towel on the sand and sinking onto it. 

You’d drifted off more than a few times, the sound of the waves and gulf breeze lulling you to sleep. But when you were awake you were thinking, your mind working overtime to organize everything going on inside of it. 

Frankie keeping things professional was smart. You’d had your fun with him, and he was easy to flirt with - but it couldn’t be more than that. You still thought that at some point, you’d end up in bed with him again, but it didn’t need to be immediately. There was a physical connection as well as an emotional one - at least on some level - but you were more than capable of keeping things professional, especially if it got you the information and access you needed. 

You’d also considered the locations of the first three cases in Florida, and decided that you needed to focus on alternate choices. You didn’t think the wolf would return to a former site, even though to you, that would have made sense - a single territorial animal defending its habitat was less likely to raise eyebrows than seemingly random attacks throughout the area. But he wouldn’t change the pattern of behavior now. And there are so many other places to choose from. 

It narrowed things down and expanded the list of sites you needed to consider at the same time - but you were confident in your assessment. And once you had the maps in front of you again, you could start to formulate your plan of attack. 

You had a little under 3 weeks to figure things out, and wanted to use as much of the time as possible without working yourself too hard. Because it won’t do me any good to exhaust myself before the full moon. 

Stuffing your bag and the towel into the backseat and giving your legs one final brush off with the palm of your hand, you turned back toward the water, smiling. The sun was beginning set, and you decided to stop somewhere and grab dinner on your way home, leaving one less thing between you and more research. It’s going to be a late night. My flight tomorrow isn’t until the afternoon, so … 

The list from Frankie had been no-nonsense, and you could tell that it was a standard one that he sent out to all clients. But it had still made you smile as you read it, the instructions making it clear that Frankie had rules you needed to follow if you wanted the ride to go smoothly. And I do. 

Before you could get any deeper in thought, you felt your phone vibrating in your back pocket, one hand reaching for it while you opened the car door with the other. The name on the screen shocked you, though - both eyes widening as you scrambled to answer it. “Alec? Hey! It’s been so long, how are you?” 

“I know. I’m sorry.“ He paused, the familiar voice filled with amusement. “And I’m great, how are you?” 

“Busy.” Closing the door, you put the key into the ignition so you could open the window, letting the salt air in. “But good. This is a real … I feel sure about this one, Alec.” 

“Seems like it from the pictures.” He cleared his throat, saying your name. “Are you being careful? I worry about you, y’know?”

“I am. I made a couple friends here and they think I’m just working on the book, but …” You smiled as you thought of the group at the bar, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel. “But it’s nice to have company. I got an apartment, too. So I’m not in a hotel anymore and that’s great.” He hummed in agreement, but didn’t say anything else. Weird. “Where are you? You should come here. Work this with me. I know we haven’t been in the same place in a while, but it would -”

“I’m actually going to see my mom in the next couple days.” He paused, taking a breath. “I’m in Texas right now. Odessa.” 

“Is there something going on in Texas?” You chewed on your lip, eyes narrowed. “I can’t think of anything that -”

“There’s something going on, but it has nothing to do with …” He trailed off and then sighed. “Nothing to do with what you think it does.” It wasn’t like Alec to be so cagey, and it immediately put you on edge, but you didn’t want to push if he had no interest in telling you what was going on. “I wanted to do this in person, but I don’t think there’s time. Fuck.” 

“Alec? Is everything alright?” Your fingers curled around the wheel, heart rate increasing. “You sound -” 

“I’ve been lying to you. And I hate it, but …” Lying? What - “I’m not working on instinct or just using the information we already have.” He paused again, and you could picture the expression on his face, brow furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m… I’m working with a wolf, the same way our relatives used to. I have been for almost two years.” 

It didn’t surprise you as much as you thought it would, but you still felt a slight sting of betrayal at his lie, your grip on the device tightening. “Just one, or -”

“A pack.” Closing your eyes, you let out a breath. “They’re spread out over western Texas and Mexico and New Mexico, but yeah, they’ve been pretty helpful. They know who I am and what I’m… we’re doing and … they understand.” Of course they do. 

“Good. I’m glad, Alec. I’m glad you have -”

“One of them, Ashley … she’s been with me on a few of my more recent stakeouts. She’s come to different locations with me and has … helped.” 

“Helped?” 

“Some of them can turn at will, depending on the control they have over themselves. She’s one of them. And she… wanted to come. She wanted to help, because she can cover more ground.” It hit you then. The hesitation in his voice wasn’t because he was afraid to tell you about Ashley and the wolves he was working with - it was because there was something else he wasn’t saying. Wait a minute. 

“Are you sleeping with her, Alec? You -”

“I’m marrying her.” You froze, the sound that was coming through the open car window fading as you tried to process his words. Marrying her? He … that … “She’s pregnant. Due at the end of December. And I need to be there with her when she has the baby, because ….”

“Because it might be a wolf.” He agreed, but didn’t say anything else, and for a few long seconds, both of you were entirely silent. I was not expecting that. “Was she … was she born into it, or -”

“She was. So there’s a good chance that the baby will be, too. I think …” He repeated your name, giving you a few moments to think. “I think I might be out after this.” 

It would leave you alone - continuing to look for the source of the Chaos line without any backup, Alec giving up the nomad lifestyle to stick with his family. I can’t blame him. It makes sense. “Congratulations, Alec.” You meant it - your tone only wavering slightly. “You must be excited. Does your mom know?” 

“She knows I’m with Ashley. And mom knows Ashley’s family history, but we’re …. Going to tell her about the baby when we’re home.” 

“So you’re going to Nevada now, and then?”

“She’s going to have the baby in Texas. It makes sense just in case. Mom’s… they’ve already said she can be here with us. I don’t know how it works, but there’s been a couple full moons since we found out, and everything looks good. We had to find a doctor that understands, but …” 

It put things into perspective for you - the fact that there were medical professionals that not only knew of the existence of wolves, but actively treated them, too - and that gave you something else to consider as you moved forward. “If you don’t want me to meet either of them, I understand, Alec.” Swallowing hard, you closed your eyes and gripped the steering wheel with one hand. “Once you’re out of this, it’ll be harder, and you’ll need to focus on them and not on -”

“Of course I want you to meet them.” He laughed, the tension easing slightly. “And if your leads play out in Florida, maybe you’ll have some time free afterward.” 

“Maybe.” You watched as a man and a woman walked in front of your car, their fingers linked tightly together. “Maybe you’re right.” There was silence for a few seconds and then Alec cleared his throat before speaking again. 

“Maybe after we see my mom, maybe … maybe we’ll come to Florida. Ashley might be able to make some connections, and if I can help you close this one out, it’ll…. It’ll be a good way to end my involvement, you know? One more before the kid comes? And you can meet Ash, and …”

“I’ll be here.” You knew that telling him it was unnecessarily dangerous wouldn’t accomplish anything. Alec made his own decisions, and from the sound of it, so did Ashley. “I only have one bedroom in my place, though. Might be a tight fit, even for a couple days.” 

“We’ll let you know.” You heard someone talking in the background on his end, and then Alec sighed again, the sound turning into a quiet laugh. “And that means we’ll probably see you in a couple weeks, just before the full moon.” 

“Keep me updated, alright?” He assured you he would, but before you could begin to say goodbye, your phone vibrated in your hand. Who could that be? Pulling the device away from your ear, you thumbed at the screen, blinking in shock at the sight of Frankie’s name and a new text. “Take care of yourselves, though. We both know how your mom gets when she’s blindsided by news.” 

Alec laughed again and told you he would, the man saying goodbye and hanging up before you did. And then you opened Frankie’s text, chewing on the inside of your lip as you read it. 

We still on for tomorrow? 

“You bet your ass we are, Morales.” You mumbled the words out loud as you typed, assuring him that you wouldn’t miss it. It only took a few seconds for the bubbles to appear as he answered you, his message short and to the point. 

Good. I’m looking forward 

The text was followed by another one moments later, and at the correction - “looking forward to it***”, you actually laughed out loud, leaning forward and resting your forehead on the steering wheel. Oh, Frankie. 

You had a lot to think about, and Alec’s news, though exciting for him, didn’t solve any problems. In fact, it created new ones for you, and meant that for the first time in your adult life, you’d be alone in your search. But he’s not abandoning me. He’s doing it for his family. There’s a difference. 

Eyeing Frankie’s messages one final time, you darkened the screen and then set the navigation to take you back to your new apartment. I don’t need to worry about that now. All I have to worry about is tomorrow. 

— 

When you showed up at Peter O. Knight airport the following afternoon, your mood was less than great. 

It had nothing to do with Frankie and everything to do with the sudden change in the status quo with Alec. You’d lain awake for hours the previous night, running through scenarios in your head and come to only one conclusion: once your cousin left the search, you’d be more alone - and in more danger - than you’d ever been in before. 

Throughout the history of your family’s search, there’d never only been one person looking at a time. Your relatives had started out in pairs, and then as communication opportunities improved, solo searches had become less uncommon, though there was always someone waiting in the wings to back them up if necessary. 

You and Alec had been that for each other since you’d turned eighteen, and the fact that everything would be changing almost overnight was troubling. It was one thing for someone to take a step back because of a relationship or a family - that had happened plenty of times before, but always with adequate warning. And he blindsided me. He blindsided me with a marriage and a pregnancy. 

It wasn’t even that Ashley was a wolf. That fact surprised you, sure, but you knew that if they’d been working together for years, he knew the woman and her family well enough to make an educated decision. She’s not part of the line we’re looking for. Sighing, you shook your head back and forth, eyes landing on Frankie’s truck, which was parked off to the side of a small office-like building. But that doesn’t mean we can stop looking entirely, because they’re out there. 

Taking two deep breaths, you grabbed your bag and then got out of the car, heading for the building. As you got closer, you smiled at the sight of the lettering on the door’s glass, Fly With Fish affixed in big, bold font. 

He was waiting for you inside, the man’s face breaking into a grin as he stood up behind a small wooden desk, extending a hand. “Hey! You’re early, it’s -” But he paused mid-sentence, the smile turning into a frown. “Everything alright?”

You could have lied to him - brushed it off as something that happened in traffic on the way over, or something that had gone wrong with your book research. What came out of your mouth instead surprised even you. 

“Family bullshit, Frankie. My cousin called me last night and broke some news, and it’s just … the more I think about it, the more it sucks.” He rounded the desk without saying anything, and before you knew what was happening, his arms were around you and pulling you closer so that your cheek was pressed to his chest. Oh, he… 

There was no hesitation on his part that day - no attempt to keep himself from being close to you, and Frankie’s hug lingered, both of his hands pressed flat against your back, and yours settled low on his hips. “I’m sorry.” He spoke quietly, but you heard them nonetheless, his hold on you tightening. “Family shit sucks.” 

“It does.” More than you know. Squeezing your eyes shut, you took a deep breath and savored the scent of him - some sort of woodsy cologne with a little bit of spiciness to it - and then you backed away enough to meet his eyes, forcing a smile. “But knowing I had something to look forward to today helped.” 

The man’s lips twitched into a small smile, and you had to fight with yourself not to reach up and tuck a wayward curl behind his ear. But when he winked at you, you couldn’t stop your own grin, your fingers curling briefly before you dropped your hands, Frankie’s following soon after when he released you. 

“Well then, let’s get you up in the air, hmm?” He nodded when you did, holding eye contact for a little longer and letting you watch as the excitement crept into his, the brown warming to a beautiful golden hue as his pupils dilated. “I can’t promise to make everything better, but I can promise you the best damn view of Tampa from above that you could ask for.” 

You were thrilled at the thought of seeing the city - and the coastline - from above, but a larger part of you was much more excited to spend the time with Frankie, getting a better idea of how he looked at everything. And being stuck right next to him for half an hour will make things a hell of a lot better, too.

—

"Alli, you can't be serious?" Nearly clutching the dress that she brought over for you to borrow in two shaky hands, you look over the skimpy black number with trepidation. This is your fault. You know that. You're the one who went to the cheese shop at the end of her shift this afternoon to get some advice. She had sent you home to pull out your most comfortable pair of dancing shoes and swore to provide the perfect dress if you just promised to trust her. And you do trust her. She has never given you any reason not to. But this dress is short.

“Come on, it’s perfect!” She’s grinning from ear to ear, ecstatic for you and your date. It makes perfect sense now why Max had been hovering around you as a bat. You’re his soulmate. It’s so romantic, she wants to cry. “You’ll look amazing and Max will be panting to get under it!”

“It’s just the first date,” You remind her, nervous at even the mention of any kind of intimacy. Not because you don’t want Max — but maybe instead because you do and you haven’t felt that in so many years.

“The first date with your soulmate.” She reminds you with a smirk. “He’s supposed to be your perfect match, so it’s okay to put out on the first date.” She teases.

“He’s also my housemate, so if I do and that’s all he wanted from me it’s going to be awkward as hell.” It’s not that you think that of Max. It’s that the voice of doubt in your head is still loud and clear over everything else. “I’m just... I’m nervous.”

“Do you honestly think he would have joined a coven of witches at a Mabon celebration if all he wanted was the good-good?” She asks, arching a brow curiously.

“Well…no.” You snort, shaking your head at Allison. “And if you ever call it that again I won’t tell you if it actually happens.”

Laughing, Allison waggles her brows. The term was meant to disarm you and it worked. “Fine.” She huffs. “But I want details. Vampires are supposed to be incredible lovers.”

“You could always find out for yourself.” Aware of what Max had mentioned about their superior hearing, and unsure if Eddie is at home at the moment, you lower your voice measurably. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Eddie lately.”

"What?" Her lip immediately goes between her teeth and she blushes furiously. "We are just — you know — uh, collaborating for the masquerade."

“Mmhmm.” Drawing out the sound incredulously, you grin again and eye the dress in her hands. “Tell me everything and I will try the dress on. Just to see.”

"He's nice." She hands you the dress in exchange for information. "I like talking to him. He's — well, he's just so...human."

“He is very nice.” The short dress has a beautiful, flowy skirt that will be great for dancing and you disappear into your dressing room with it with trepidation. “And he likes you! It’s even obvious to me and my observation skills suck.”

"Please...." She rolls her eyes, even if you can't see her. "I think he's just being nice because he wants to join the coven."

“If that was the case, he’d be making nice with everyone, not meeting you in town to take you out for coffee.” Having found out that that was where Eddie was on the night that you and Max had been left to eat dinner together, you found that there was no possible way to be upset about it. Things with Max are…they’re moving forward in a way that makes you nervous and giddy. And whatever is growing between Eddie and Allison is obviously mutual.

She huffs and bites her lip again. "We have a lot in common and I enjoy talking with him. Even though he's been in college forever, he's still enthusiastic about learning. He's even talking about coming out to the farm."

“That sounds like fun!” Finding the zipper on Allison’s strappy black dress takes a second, but you’re able to exchange the one you’ve been wearing all day today for the one she brought for you to borrow. The deep v-neckline and cutouts in the back are more skin than you’ve shown in years but you know instinctively that it’s the kind of thing Max will love. Fashionable and daring. The kind of girl he deserves even if it’s not the kind of girl you feel like. “Okay…um…I’m coming out.”

Allison gasps as you emerge from your dressing room, nodding immediately. "It's perfect, you can't convince me otherwise. Look at yourself!" She squeals as she guides you towards a mirror.

"Kind of weird that we're the exact same size..." Even standing directly in front of the mirror you can't bring yourself to look up. To look at yourself in any kind of positive way whatsoever. It's like it's been beaten out of you as if you were a stray dog. "It fits well."

"I'd be lucky if I still fit in it." She huffs. "Too much cheese. But you, you've got such a perfect figure to pull this off."

"No such thing as 'too much cheese'," you gripe, shuffling slightly in front of the full—length mirror. You're just staring at your shoes and fighting with yourself to figure out if you're brave enough to look up. "Do you...think he'll like it?" If he does, it doesn't matter what you think anyway. Max's opinion is the only one that matters.

"I think he will love it." She assures you, reaching up and touching your shoulders. "It will restart his non-beating heart."

"Apparently only one thing can actually do that." Digging into your armoire for a sweater, you come out with one that is midnight blue and black with little gold stars stitched all over it. It's still cold out, after all, and this will help you to feel a little less exposed.

"What is that?" She's always been interested in the dynamics of vampirism but she's too polite to ask Eddie to answer her questions.

"Apparently..." Clearing your throat slightly and pulling your sweater tight around your shoulders, you glance up and meet Allison's eyes in the mirror. "A kiss from their soulmate."

"Ohhhh now that's the most romantic thing that I've ever heard." She moans, softening visibility and looking amost wistful at the thought. "Come on, Dolly, that's just so romantic."

"I told Max that it sounded like something out of a romance novel." Which is a sentiment that you stand by very firmly. "Who knows how true it is. But it's sweet to imagine."

"Maybe you will find out tonight." She offers with a sincere smile, not wanting to tease you. "I really think he likes you, Dolly. All that time as a bat, visiting you? Being near you. He was drawn to you."

"I still can't believe that was him." She knows all about those nighttime visits of course. You hadn't thought it was a big deal to tell her about the little bat that visited you, but now you see that it was all so much more important than you realized. And she had known the entire time, but never made you feel silly for not guessing. How could you?

"It's sweet." She hums, smiling again. "I want to see him again like a bat. It was so cute to see him on your shoulder, cuddling into your neck."

“He said he didn’t mind transforming again sometimes if I wanted him to.” Suddenly you feel like you should be busy again, and you move to your jewelry box out of nerves. “He knows that I found it…comfortable. But we might get a pet for the house.”

"Okay, so Max would change into a bat to comfort you, and you still wonder if he likes you?" After spending time with you, she's learned of your ex and she understands your trepidation. "I don't think you should."

“I just…” You sigh, feeling your shoulders start to curl, and you take two long breaths in and out to prevent it. “I hope I’m more than a novelty to him, that’s all. His life is so long. It’s forever and I’m not saying he has to propose or anything crazy. I just…I would like to think a person should feel important to their soulmate. I haven’t been important to anybody since my parents died.”

"You know how long Cookie lived." Allison reminds you. "You could do the same. She—" She pauses for a moment. "Her decision to no longer prolong her life was a very serious one. But until she stopped taking her soulmate's blood, she looked no older than forty."

“Why did she stop?” That has never truly made sense to you. If someone was happy with their eternal life, why on earth would they give it up?

She sighs softly. "It— a very power spell was cast. Meant to last through time until death." She explains quietly. "It was the only way to break it and it was important enough to her to break it."

“What sort of a witch would cast something that depends on life or death?” The idea strikes you as positively cruel, but of course you can’t know what the spell was or the circumstances.

"One that knew that her soulmate could provide her with immortality." Allison explains. "It was...done in anger. Hopefully regretted, but nothing I could find could break it. Cookie spent years trying to break it."

“That’s awful.” As angry as you had ever been in your life at certain people or certain circumstances, you can’t ever imagine that type of anger. Not to mention you’ve never done much spell work beyond lighting a candle or floating an object across a room. And you’re woefully out of practice at even those.

"It was...complicated." Allison hums, "from what I've heard. I never got to meet the person." She knows more of the story, Cookie confided in her in an effort to find a way to break the spell, but she wouldn't betray the woman's confidence, even in death. Especially when it was his place to explain.

“I hope that everything worked out the way she wanted it to, then. Even if she isn’t here to see it.” Concentrating on your jewelry box is the best you can do and not get upset for no reason — but something about the whole situation just makes you overwhelmingly sad.

Allison bites her lip but just makes a non-committal sound. “So where is Max taking you for dinner?” Wanting to change the subject, but also genuinely curious as to your first date details.

“He said there was a vampire-owned restaurant on the island that was really nice.” When you had insisted that dinner wasn’t necessary because he didn’t need to eat food, he had come back with the alternative of a restaurant that also discreetly served blood to discerning patrons. That had been enough to make you agree. “It’s…a tavern? The White Horse Tavern?”

She’s impressed. Whistling lowly, she nods. “It’s only the oldest tavern in the country.” She tells you with a grin. “Super swanky, so it sounds like Max is wanting to do things right. Dinner, dancing….” She sighs. “Sounds incredibly romantic for a first date.”

“He really…he doesn’t have to make a big deal out of it.” And you had told Max that, but he had only shaken his head and told you the restaurant would be perfect. “It’s very romantic, but I guess I’m just…a little worried I won’t live up to it. And I would hate to disappoint him.”

“Why would you disappoint him?” She asks. “He knows you. This isn’t a blind date.”

The irony of that observation makes you laugh dryly, and you turn to look at her instead of searching for earrings. "It was supposed to be," you tell her honestly. "We were supposed to go on a blind date. In college."

“Really?” Her eyes widen. “What happened? Why didn’t you go? You mean you could have known Max this entire time?”

“He had an emergency that night. He couldn’t come.” There is such an ache in your heart realizing that — if things had been different — he could have graduated as a human and you could have been together for ten years already. “Everything could have been so different.”

“Do you—” she pauses for a moment. “Do you resent him for that? Because of being with your ex?”

“No.” Surprisingly enough, that answer is easy. It isn’t Max’s fault that Derek was in that bar that night. He had his life turned upside down in a completely different way. “I just wonder what the second chance will be like.”

“While Max can be cocky, he’s also more mature than he would have been ten years ago.” Allison tells you. “So I think it will be very good for both of you.”

"I hope so." That hope is a long buried feeling for you, and while you feel silly for admitting it...Allison has never been anything but welcoming, friendly, and supportive with you. She's the friend you had dearly missed having for all these years. "I'm different than I used to be, too. I just hope we're not too different."

“Eddie told me that Max, uh, he had a second chance.” Allison admits. “That he lost all his scars? So if you had changed too much, wouldn’t your birthmark never reappear?”

Startled by the solid logic of that thought, you almost reel backward, standing up a little straighter in surprise. "I guess...I never thought of it like that."

She smiles, happy that she could reassure you in some small way. “Then remember that the universe chose you as his soulmate, twice.”

"What about your soulmate?" She's never talked about it before but you feel like this is the time to ask if there is ever going to be one.

“I don’t think I have one.” She admits quietly. “I’ve never had scars, birthmarks or anything.” She shrugs. “Some people don’t.”

"Maybe your soulmate just didn't want to mark you up because they already know you're perfect just as you are." Of course, Allison is right. Some people just don't have soulmates. But that kind of loneliness is not something you would ever wish on anyone as kind as she is.

“Who knows?” She’s very doubtful of that, but it’s sweet that you would want to comfort her. “It just means that I get to enjoy everyone else finding their soulmates.”

“And you can make your own decision for your life. Whatever that decision turns out to be.” There is a matching set of jewelry in your box — a necklace and earrings that all bear golden crescent moon pendants with a little blue stone hanging like a star inside it — and you pick those out to wear tonight. “My parents weren’t soulmates, you know. They just loved each other. Fiercely and with everything they had. Just because someone isn’t your soulmate doesn’t mean they’re not going to be good for you.”

“They weren’t?” She asks curiously, tilting her head in shock.

“No.” The earrings slide into place easily and the matching necklace is a comfort, making you feel a little less exposed in the outfit you’re wearing. Makeup is the last touch. “They met at my mother’s work. She was a librarian and Dad was doing research for his doctoral thesis. She dropped a book that she was trying to get off a high shelf and he picked it up for her. That was that. They were inseparable for the rest of their lives.”

“That’s so sweet. They were both witches too?” She remembers you talking about being raised a witch, but didn’t want to assume.

“My dad was a Bishop on his mother’s side.” It was always a point of pride for him, to be descended from one of the Salem witches, and so it is for you as well. “Mom didn’t know her family, but she was a witch by her own devices, I guess.”

“Was she adopted?” She wonders, asking delicately.

“She never really talked about it.” Which had always struck you as strange, and then was downright inconvenient later in life. “She used to call Dad’s parents her adoptive family and stuff like that. We weren’t close to them, though. I guess they didn’t like that he moved away from Massachusetts, but they liked Mom well enough. They were everything I had and then…they were gone.”

“That’s so horrible. I’m so sorry. I know that it’s hard to lose a parent.” She murmurs softly. “Even worse to lose both at the same time.”

“That’s…kind of why this has been so nice,” you admit, turning to look at Allison again. “I know I didn’t know Cookie. And that we were only loosely related. But it’s kind of like getting my family back. Or as close to it as I’ll ever come, anyway.”

Allison reaches out and takes your hand. "I hope that you know that we will happily be your family. Found family is the ones that you love the most."

The sincerity of the moment cracks something tight in your chest, and before you know it you’re pulling Allison in and hugging her tightly, just willing yourself not to shed tears into her oversized sweater. “Thank you.” Two shattered words, but they are the best you can do at first. Until you manage a deep breath and huff out a half—laugh before pulling away again. “You’ve been so kind to me right from the start. All of you have. And I can’t possibly say how grateful I am. It’s…well, it’s been years since I’ve had a close friend and you’re just…you’re the sweetest woman in the whole world.”

"I felt that you had the kindest energy." She admits, "just that you were...lost. But now it seems that you have found yourself. You are finding yourself, who you are meant to be."

“Whoever that ends up being,” you squeeze her shoulder gently. “I owe her, at least in part, to you.”

"No." She shakes her head, smiling at you as if you were the most precious thing. "You have done this all on your own. You just let are letting her shine through."

“You’re the sweetest person in the whole world.” And she’s yet one more unexpected part of this whole wonderful situation, which you find yourself grateful for all over again. “You should go see if Eddie is home, honey. No sense in letting him sit at home alone while Max and I are out, right?”

She bites her lip again, a habit of hers when you mention Eddie. "I think I will." She decides with a small grin. "Wish me luck."

“Good luck.” Although you don’t think she’s going to need it. Not when it comes to Eddie.

"Do you want me to help you finish getting ready?" She offers, tilting her head playfully.

“It’s just my makeup left, and I can manage that.” The vintage purse you’ll be taking is already packed, and a moment alone to remind your reflection that this is a good thing, not something to be afraid of would probably be good. “Go and have your own fun night, honey. I want to hear all about it tomorrow.”

She turns to walk slowly to the door. Turning at the entryway and watching you as you admire or maybe critique your looks in the mirror. "You look amazing and I know tonight will be perfect." She predicts with a wink. "Let me know if you are still up for brunch tomorrow or if you need some recovery time."

“There will be nothing to recover from.” Still, you shoo her toward the door playfully and smile when she worries her bottom lip between her teeth again but makes her way straight across the second floor hall, through the shortcut to Eddie’s room.

******

Max checks his suit, feeling slightly guilty that you are so worked up. Maybe he should have eased you into this. Maybe something more low key was what you are interested in. The flowers he had bought are already sitting in a vase, at Mrs. Taylor’s insistence, and he wonders if he should even give them to you.

Sitting down at your vanity, the clock says five minutes until you promised Max you would be ready and you line up your makeup and brushes with practiced precision. Nothing can or will go wrong tonight, you have told yourself over and over all day long. It is far too important. But the moment you look up at your mirror, your eyes connect with the carnival photo booth snapshot of you and your mother from when you were twelve years old, and you breathe a soft sigh. “You’d like him,” you promise your mother out loud. “He’s sweet. And doesn’t like it when I get in my own way. Which is…it’s a relief.”

Max decides that he will bring you the flowers. Every woman deserves romance, especially from her soulmate. He gives you another minute before he’s knocking on the door, not wanting to rush you, there’s plenty of time built into the night.

The knock is a nice gesture, given that you both know what tonight is and he knows you’re inside. Still, you exhale slowly and open your bedroom door exactly the same as if it had been the front door of your house that he was picking you up at. The suit he picked out is immaculate, with a crisp, clean shirt and no tie to make it a little less formal. And you had meant to compliment him when you opened the door. You really had. But all the comes out is a soft “Wow…” instead.

He chuckles, charmed by your honest reaction. “Is that for me or the flowers?” He asks, holding them up for you to see properly.

“Can it be both?” You ask, embarrassed to admit that you hadn’t even noticed the flowers until he held them up.

“I’ll take that.” He flashes you a grin before he slowly peruses your dress with appraisal.

“If you don’t like it, I can change.” The offer is immediate, unable to read his expression and figure out whether or not he approves of your borrowed dress.

"Don't you dare." He insists, frowning at the mere idea of you changing. "You look...stunning. I don't know if I should change. Make myself more presentable."

“More presentable?” Huffing at him even as you step aside to let him into your room for a moment, you just shake your head. “That suit would make Frank Sinatra jealous. You couldn’t possibly look more presentable.”

“I don’t know, sweetheart, have you looked in the mirror tonight?” He asks as he sets the flowers down and turns to you to take your hands and holds them wide to get a better look. “You are breathtaking and that’s saying something, coming from a vampire.”

“Allison let me borrow it,” you admit, feeling your cheeks heat almost uncontrollably at the compliment. “She, um…she helped me get ready. Now she’s going to spend some time with Eddie while we’re out.” It makes you feel less guilty to know neither of them will be lonely. The idea that your happiness comes last has been pervasive for a long time, but you’re trying to be cognizant of it. To shake it.

“Well, she needs to help you spend some of that money buying flirty, fun dresses like this to wear.” He hums. “Because I can see having regular dinner and dancing dates with you.”

“I’ll have to tell her you approve. And the flowers are beautiful, by the way.” The burst of red, orange, and yellow that now sits on your nightstand is brilliant, and you pick up your purse from beside it. “Are you ready to go?”

“Whenever you are, Queenie.” His hand hovers for a split second before resting on your lower back. Guiding you towards the door of your rooms. The door that he had left open to make sure you were comfortable. Just because he lives here doesn’t mean he will impose.

Shutting the door behind you and heading for the stairs, you can hear the soft sound of laughter from Eddie's room. It sounds like they're going to have a wonderful night ahead of them and you note with interest that even though you don't feel any warmth from Max's hand on our back there is still a solid presence there beside you. "How was work today?" Instead of dwelling, you turn all of your attention to Max, wanting to hear anything and everything he has to tell you about his workday.

“It was pretty good, I have a new line on another business deal. Hopefully it will pan out. What did you do besides worry about tonight?” He asks curiously.

He does have a point. You went panicking to Allison, after all. But you smile at the question anyway. "Mrs. Taylor and I nailed down the menu for the masquerade this morning."

“Oh really?” His brow shoots up and he grins. “And what will we be feasting on during the masquerade?”

"The menus that she had mocked up were seven, ten, and twelve courses." As much as you had respected the dedication to the Gilded Age theme, it had seemed a little too much to you and eventually you and your vampiric housekeeper had whittled the ideas down to the best of four courses. "It will be potato leek soup, a fish course with asparagus and hollandaise, chicken...something or other...I think she said it's called Lyonnaise? With mashed potatoes as the main course, and then champagne and strawberry cake for dessert that she said was Cookie's favourite. It felt like a nice way to pay tribute to her." Of course there was discussion of vegetarian options being needed, but when tickets are bought people will have the chance to indicate that they don't eat meat and then that bridge will be crossed when necessary.

“And I am assuming that there is an assortment of finger foods that will be served between dances?” He asks, amused by the dedication.

"According to Mrs. Taylor, it should be several different kinds of drinks and a few sweets to choose from on a buffet table in the dining room." The immense amount of work had shocked you when Mrs. Taylor had laid the whole thing out, but she assured you that she and Renee had everything in hand with just a little extra help from Mr. Taylor and Mr. Finchley. "Then, of course, there's the breakfast for whoever is still left at sunrise."

“This is going to be an amazing night for Newport.” He predicts. “Like nothing they’ve seen for years. I bet they will be clamoring for it to become an annual event.”

"Hopefully it's not too much on Mrs. Taylor and Renee. They're both very excited but it sounds like a whole lot of work to me." At the bottom of the stairs, Max opens the door for you and ushers you through with a smile. "If it becomes something annual I'm going to insist on having extra help for her next year. I know they're both...superhuman, but they shouldn't have to overdo it."

“You know they don’t even break a sweat, right?” He asks as he moves his hand from your back to offer his arm to escort you down the steps.

"They can still only do one thing at a time. Four people cooking for that many guests is a tall order for anyone." He acts like it's the most natural thing in the world to escort you down the front steps and out the front door like a perfect gentleman. Meanwhile you are all but swooning at his side over just the simple act of having an arm offered to you.

“That woman loves to care for people.” He reminds you with a chuckle. “I would say she lives for it, but we both know that’s not true.”

"She exists for it?" You offer with a soft chuckle.

“That’s the way to put it.” Max chuckles and opens the front door to show that his car has been brought forward. Waiting for you.

So far all you've done is walk to his car together but already you feel like a princess. Maybe the bar is set a little too low, or maybe he's doing all the right things — you really can't tell. What you do know, as Max closes the passenger side door and rounds the hood of his car in less than the blink of an eye to get in beside you, is that this is definitely how you always dreamed of dates starting out.

Max buckles his seatbelt and looks over at you with a slight smile. “Are you ready, Queenie?” He asks softly. “If you want to go home at any time, you let me know.”

He's being so gentle with you that it's heartbreaking and heartwarming all at once. The idea that you need to be handled with such a soft touch is a little embarrassing, but the fact that he is being so caring without any kind of request or even indication on your part is just...well, it's just about the sweetest thing you've ever heard in your life. "I'm okay," you promise him, reaching out to put your hand softly over his on the gear shift. "I know you heard me being anxious earlier, but I've been looking forward to this since you asked." And more than that, you've been looking forward to a first date with your soulmate for your entire life.

“Good.” Max hums, turning his hand so you can slide your fingers through his if you want. “I want you to enjoy yourself. There’s no expectations for tonight. No pressure. I just want you to have a night that we should have had ten years ago.”

"Ten years ago it would have been chicken wings and a jukebox in a bar." Which isn't a bad thing, but it isn't what you dreamed of. What you've dreamed of is much closer to this: your fingers fitting neatly through his as he pulls away from the house on your way to a beautiful dinner and a night of dancing. "Let's call tonight the...grown up version."

“The grown up version.” Max hums as he pulls out onto the street. “Well, it’s a good thing then. I wouldn’t have known how to dance then.” He reminds you. “Now I can waltz with you properly.”

“To be honest I never assumed my soulmate would be a dancer.” It’s a perk, obviously. And one that you hold very dear after so many years without dance in your life. But never something you considered mandatory. “It’s like the icing on a cake I already know I like.”

“I think that it’s complementary.” He agrees. “It’s something that we can do together. And neither one of us has to pretend to like it.”

“What else do you like to do?” Other than his work, and having a few things in common like reading and dancing, it occurs to you that you don’t know much about him.

Max smirks. “I like to play poker.” He admits. “There’s this monthly game I’m in. High stakes, pretty much a two day event.”

“High risk, high reward.” Just like his sales deals, you note. He’s mentioned some of them being for upwards of a few million dollars. “I can’t say I’ve ever been great at cards but I do like to play sometimes.”

“Maybe we can play sometime?” He offers. “There’s some lower stakes games, just for fun.”

“I used to play poker for M&Ms with my Dad,” you admit, smiling at the memory. “Any game can be lower stakes if you let it.”

He chuckles, knowing that is true and refrains from offering to play strip poker. “What else did you do with your dad?”

“He liked to paint.” It’s been a long time since you’ve talked about your parents to anyone, but since coming to Newport your family and your past has seemed more relevant than ever. Almost like they had gone on a terribly long vacation instead of being violently ripped from you the summer before you started college. “He would take me to art museums and was the only Dad in my Mommy and Me Painting Class when I was little. We’d play card games and board games and plan all the trips around the world that we would take when I got older.” The last memory makes you shrug, eyes cast down at the floor of Max’s sports car. “We never got to take any of the trips we planned, but it was a fun way to pass a rainy day. It made me think for a while that I could be a travel agent when I grew up.”

“I’m sorry that you didn’t get to travel.” Max tells you quietly, wishing he had some memories like that with his parents. Maybe it would have made it easier when he was alone. But he doubts it. “You should travel.” He tells you. “Go all the places you planned with him. A remembrance trip once a year maybe.”

“I’m not very good at being alone.” Maybe it’s why you stayed with Derek so long. Maybe it isn’t. You can’t be too sure either way, but you know that being lonely is one of your least favourite feelings in the world. “But maybe I’ll try. If…there isn’t someone to come with me, I mean.”

“You don’t have to be alone, Queenie.” Max promises. “There’s your coven, I’m sure any one of them would love to go on a trip with you. Eddie loves to travel and of course, I will go wherever you wanted anytime.”

"You say 'of course' like it's the easiest thing in the world." Your fingers curl around his palm instinctively, afraid to let go of him now that you're allowed to be close in any small way. "But it...it means everything."

“You are my soulmate.” He stresses quietly. “Even if platonic soulmates was all you wanted, I would want to spend time with you.”

"It's not." He's pulled up to a stoplight on Bellevue, and even though your voice is quiet, it's sure. You're just not quite strong enough to look up at him while you say it. "It's...not at all what I want. I just need you to be patient with me. While I...I don't know...figure out how to not be so scared anymore."

“I have eternity.” He reminds you with a grin, wishing he could banish the sadness and fear in your eyes. “And you can have that too.”

"That's a very big offering considering it's only our first date." Trying for a little bit of humor — to lift your own spirits as well as his — you squeeze his hand again when the light turns and he pulls through the intersection. "Let's see how we feel about living in the same house and dancing together and maybe we'll talk about eternity after that. Sound good?"

He squeezes your hand gently. “That sounds like a good idea. Sometimes I get ahead of myself.” He winks before he looks back at the road.

******

It takes a whole six minutes to get from the front gate of Chateau-sur-Mer to the White Horse Tavern, according to the clock on the dashboard of Max's Lexus, and when he pulls into the parking lot the place seems to be completely full to the brim. There's no loud music or bright lights like you might have expected at some place called a tavern, but instead there are people in very smart clothes streaming in and out of the building alternately — and once you're inside there are white tablecloths and lovely candles on every table.

“Now you see why I thought of this place.” He murmurs in your ear, his hand on your back again. Not possessive, but protective. Guiding you up to the host stand. “Reservation for Phillips, table for two.” He responds slightly smug when asked for his name. He is smug about having you here, proud that this date is happening. Eager to learn more about his pretty soulmate.

"Right this way." The hostess smiles politely and leads the way, bringing the two of you to a table in the corner surrounded by other chattering couples on dates enjoying the warm glow of romantic candlelight.

As soon as you are seated, the sommelier comes over. “Good evening.” He smiles charmingly. “May I interest you in our vast selection of reds?” He asks, aware that this reservation includes a vampire who would be wanting a glass of their blood infused wine. Without even looking at you, Max shakes his head. “No thank you.” He hums. “My soulmate and I do not drink.” Even if you had said you are okay with it, Max is aware that anything resembling alcohol could stress you and that’s the last thing he wants tonight.

"Max." His hand is on the table and you put yours on top of it, giving it a squeeze like you did in the car. "It's okay. I promise." What he needs to sustain him and what you need are two vastly different things, and you are not going to be the reason that he skips having blood with this meal and ends up...weak or sick or whatever happens to vampires when they don't get enough blood.

He shakes his head seriously. “I was an asshole at the beginning about it.” He admits. “I didn’t know and there are are options here, just like Mrs. Taylor’s menus for us.”

“…very sweet of you.” Only the end of the sentence is really audible, mostly because you’re so dumbfounded by the idea that he is putting you before and above himself. In your whole life, maybe only your parents have ever done that for you.

The sommelier just gives a confused smile and nods, drifting away from the table. “I didn’t embarrass you, did I?” Max asks, frowning at the shock on your face. He had hoped you would appreciate his gesture, and he wasn’t doing it to show off, he genuinely wanted you to feel comfortable tonight with him.

“Not at all.” The slightly misty look on your face is from how touched you are at the gesture. “I just…you know I’m not used to anyone doing things for me. Emotionally, I mean. Or any other way. I still feel like apologizing every time Mrs. Taylor makes a meal or Renee makes clean clothes magically appear in my room. But you…” With a soft sigh and shake of your head, you offer him a smile. One where you actually manage to look him in the eyes. “I always thought I would be the one taking care of my soulmate with whatever he needed. But you’re the one taking care of me.”

He wants to chuckle, but he can’t. Now when your eyes practically hypnotize him. He’s never felt a pull like that and he shakes his head slowly. “We take care of each other.” He reminds you, “head scratches?”

“Are you asking or reminding?” Either way, the smile on your face gets broader and you can feel that growing familiar feeling of warmth in your cheeks.

“Reminding you.” He grins back at you and winks. “It’s probably the most relaxed I’ve ever gotten as a vampire.”

“Then we’ll have to make it a regular thing.” You can promise him that. The seemingly little promises mean so much when they all stack up together.

“That would be nice, but only if you enjoy it as well.” He knows that you might just agree to keep him happy and that’s the last thing he wants.

"Do I enjoy sitting with my soulmate's head in my lap, seeing him terribly relaxed while I read a book or we watch tv together?" This time when you laugh it's just one huffed chuckle, and it's in near disbelief. "Honestly? It might be the closest to bliss I've been in years."

He smiles at that, squeezing your hand again. “Good.” He hums, nodding towards your menu. “Take a look and see what you want to eat, Queenie, we have dancing later on.”

You don't even have to ask to know that he'll be ordering steak tonight, and as rare as possible. The habit makes perfect sense to you now and you'll never say another word about it. The menu is high-end gourmet and apparently all locally sourced from the list of farms on the bottom of the menu, and for a moment you feel tremendously out of place again until you glance up to find Max smiling at you. And that one little act, that seemingly coincidental timing and easy gesture, has another layer of anxiety and fear slipping away from your heart as easily as water drips down a window. "I've discovered I like duck," you confide after a few minutes of looking over the options. "I had never had it before, but Mrs. Taylor is a miracle worker. Do you think theirs will be as good as hers?"

“Doubtful.” He snorts, shaking his head. “Not unless Mrs. Taylor is moonlighting as the chef here.” He jokes. “She has been to practically every chef’s school in the world in her lifetime.”

“She should be teaching at them. Or opening one of her own.” You know, though, that she would never be as happy teaching as she is taking care of people. It’s a lovely thought, though.

“Never happen.” He promises. “Mrs. Taylor is vowed, willingly—” he adds because he knows you might think otherwise. “— to serve your family line for eternity.”

“She’ll be free to do whatever she wants soon enough, then,” you remind him gently. “We’re not exactly going to be populating that house with little half-vamps.”

“Except you can have an absurdly long life, even as a human.” He points out, sure you haven’t even thought about it.

“I—” Technically, he’s correct. You could have as long a life as Cookie did or even longer. But you can’t even fathom that he would want to spend months or years with you, let along decades or centuries. “That is…something we’ll talk about together. You and I.”

“Okay.” He won’t push, it’s just the first date, after all. Instead of continuing on the same vein, he looks around the tavern. “So, who do you think is a vampire?” He asks playfully.

“Hmmm.” A game is definitely something you can get behind, and you look around the crowded dining room full of well dressed patrons with the air of someone who knows exactly what they’re looking for instead of just being the clueless little human that you are. “I’m going to say…” your eyes fall on an impeccably well-dressed man in an elaborate suit and his pale dinner companion in her lace dress. “Those two. Aaand…the table of four over by the fireplace. I think the girl is introducing her new beau to her sires.”

Max lifts a brow, impressed by the fact that you have clock that correctly. “Good eyes.” He chuckles. “The two are, she’s a baby vamp, too.”

“It turns out that once I realized I was surrounded by vamps, it got easier to see the differences.” There is also a particular, peculiar way that they hold themselves — that all vampires seem to hold themselves. As if they have innumerable secrets. And the older they are, the more secrets they accumulate. Which, you suppose, must be true after a point.

“Really?” That makes him sit up slightly. “What differences?”

“I don’t know if I can describe it properly.” For a moment you pause, when the waiter arrives to bring you both water and ask if you’d like an appetizer. Max orders the specialty charcuterie board and you have to imagine that there are raw things involved for him as well as the regular cheeses and spreads for humans. “It’s like…your shoulders are always a little straighter. Your gaze is more direct. And there’s something…I dunno…elegant? Maybe? In the way you all move. Like it takes so much less effort or you’ve maximized the economy of all of those movements somehow. I can’t describe it properly.”

He smirks slightly and leans in. “We are elegant?” He asks, intrigued by the fact that you are not scared. Perhaps even enjoying that he is a vampire.

“Of course you are elegant, but I didn’t notice until after that you all sort of…have a certain grace.” Shrugging self-consciously, you do notice that he doesn’t let your hand slip away from his on the table. “It probably sounds funny,” you murmur in defeat.

“It doesn’t. It’s actually— I think it might be the best compliment I’ve ever gotten.” He confesses. “People always say ‘you’re hot’ or ‘I want you’ but no one ever tells me I’m elegant.”

“You are hot.” The admission comes with screaming hot cheeks and eyes trained back down at the table, but it’s true. “I thought so the first time I saw you…”

There’s a hint of heat in his smirk, not nearly as play—boyish as it might have once been. “Glad you thought I was hot.” He hums proudly. “Sexual attraction is key to a healthy romantic relationship.”

“And you’ll always look that way.” It’s not a fun thought to have, but you’ve had it twice already. He will always be young and handsome, and you will inevitably get old — even if you choose long life it will still happen eventually.

He snorts. “We age just not as fast as humans do.” He admits.

“So slowly that it’s imperceptible?” It’s a guess, but you nod your head in understanding. “I’ll get everything down eventually, I promise. This is all still…just days’ old information to me.”

“I don’t expect you to be an expert, sweetheart.” Max tuts. “Hell, I’m still learning about vampires.” He flashes you a grin. “And I’ve been one a lot longer than days.”

"What do you like about it?" You ask, looking at your connected hands before you look back up at him. "There must be something you like about the change."

“Smell is better, hearing is better.” Max shrugs slightly. “I’m a better version of myself.” He snort slightly. “The no need for sleep helped when getting my MBA.”

“It certainly gives you more time to get things done.” Thinking on it for even a second though, you laugh a little. “If I had had that in college I think I would’ve done twice as many competitions and probably added a second major, just because I could.”

He chuckles and winks at you, “That’s my girl.” He hums fondly, not even thinking about it until it comes out of his mouth, but you are his girl.

Finding it fond instead of possessive — as the comment would have been from the last person who might have bothered to call you such a thing — hearing it from Max actually makes you proud. Maybe neither of you is perfect, but you seem to fit together in all the right ways. Maybe that's all that soulmates are, ultimately. Just two people — or in this case a witch and a vampire — who fit together just right.

The meal is ordered and it’s a delightful surprise that there’s no lull in the conversation. Beyond ballroom dancing, at your core, your values match up. At least, Max’s values now, after the incident with Evan. Shockingly enough, he tells you about it.

"I can't believe that's even possible." The ordeal with his former friend, roommate, and coworker aside, the way Max describes what was basically his return from complete obliteration is just wild. "It sounds like...like magic...if I'm honest. Your sire managed to bring you back from...nothing." From his description, he was less than a undead body at that point. Something terrifying to imagine and terrible to contemplate. The idea that your soulmate could have been completely lost to you isn't exactly knew considering you thought it was dead, but knowing the truth makes it feel even more terrible. "If I ever meet your sire, I'm going to have to thank him."

“I have no doubt you will.” Max wonders when the old man will reveal himself to you. What his end game is. He always had one, that’s certain. “I am starting to figure out why I was brought back.”

"You think he had an ulterior motive?" You would think it would be enough just to be able to save his family, but you don't really know how loyal vampiric families are to each other.

“Absolutely.” His answer is instantaneous. Resolute. While he doesn’t know the details of why he was brought back, he had been for one reason.

"You're very certain of that." Which does, you admit, surprise you. "I take it he's not a sharing kind of guy? He didn't clue you in on why?"

“My sire is…an enigma.” Max admits, almost fondly. He has often been envious of the elder vampire’s flair and mystique. “He is legendary among vampires and I’m not so certain he doesn’t divulge information because it is his nature or as a way to play into his reputation.”

"Maybe it's both?" The two of you are still sitting at the table with intertwined hands even after your demolished appetizer has been cleared away. It's so unexpectedly sweet that it makes you feel a little bit...gooey. Like you might melt right into your plush upholstered seat. "Maybe the reputation came because he has a little flair for the dramatic, and now he just likes to play into it and keep it going? You said he's quite old now, right? Maybe it amuses him."

“Yes. That is probably a lot of it.” He agrees. “You will like him I think.”

"Are you saying I have a flair for the dramatic?" Raising one eyebrow and shooting him a grin, you can't help but smile along with him. You did, once, have a wicked dramatic side. Inherited from your mother and dearly cherished. It was an endless source of amusement.

“You ballroom dance and you love reality tv shows.” He snorts playfully. “Of course you have a flair for the dramatic. I can’t wait to see you show out at the masquerade.”

"If you think I'm bad with Dancing with the Stars, wait until you see me on a 90 Day Fiancé binge." That really only happens when you hit your cycle, but it's still a sight to see — you tucked up in your bed under three blankets with a bowl of popcorn and a box of tissues crying about love is just...a side of you that you normally keep hidden. But somehow you have a feeling that Max would understand.

“Yeah? Who’s your favorite couple?” Max asks curiously. “I like Angela and Mike, but sometimes she’s toooo much, you know what I mean?” He spends a lot of nights binge watching things, since it’s not like he sleeps and unfortunately, not many human businessmen work after midnight.

The way you just stare at him is nearly comical, like your brain hasn’t quite caught up with you yet, and when it finally goes you realize your mouth has been open and you snap it shut like the little boy from Mary Poppins. “I guess I really shouldn’t be surprised,” you huff, laughing softly at your own reaction. “We should have things in comments. Soulmates and all that…”

“Babe, I’m also a little dramatic shit.” He confesses with a chuckle. “I mean, who really changes into a bat to spend time with someone because your over-the-top douchbaggery has made them uncomfortable, but you’re intrigued by them?” He asks, making it seem like he is the total asshole he believes he is.

“That’s…pretty true.” And it draws another laugh from you just imagining the thought process he went through to even think of doing it in the first place. “I have to admit, though. It made me feel like the missing goth Disney Princess and I kind of loved that.”

“I’m happy to make that secret fantasy come true.” He grins, nearly beaming proudly at the idea of sparking some inner desire. “And as a bat, I can actually sleep?”

“Compacting a big vampire into a tiny bat body must take a lot of effort.” Or, at least, you imagine it does. It’s more or less breaking the known laws of physics, after all.

“It does.” Max admits with a slight shrug. He will minimize the idea of the energy it expels because he doesn’t want you to ever feel bad for wanting the bat to cuddle.

“Well, you only need to worry about all that energy when you want to, now,” you insist, being respectfully nonspecific because you can see the waiter approaching your table with your dinners. “You never need to be anything besides yourself with me.”

“I appreciate that.” He wonders if you are so accepting and accommodating because of the past relationship or if it was just you. “I hope you’re hungry, this place is supposed to have amazing food.”

It would be cheesy or clingy or just too much to tell him that you’re actually disappointed the food is here because you have to stop holding his hand. You sit back though, politely thanking the waiter and letting your mouth water over how good everything looks and smells when your plates are set down. “Thank you for this,” you murmur when the waiter has gone again, looking tentatively back toward Max’s face. “We didn’t have to do anything at all and knowing you’re my soulmate would have already made the time we spend together special. But this is…it’s really beautiful. And I’ll never forget it.”

“We haven’t even gotten to the best part of the night.” He promises with a small wink. “Before I’m through with you, your body will be sore and you’ll be breathless.” It sounds dirty, but he’s talking about dancing.

“Max.” Your cheeks burn at the innuendo but you can’t even pretend to dislike the feeling. For the first time in…maybe years, you’re free to let yourself enjoy life. And that’s all thanks to him. Let night really might be the first time you’ve considered masturbating in longer than you would like to admit. And that is thanks to Max, too.

“What?” He tuts playfully, fully aware that your heartbeat has sped up. “Dancing should make you sore and breathless if you’re doing it right.”

“Sure.” But the thought is there, and the playful, bubbly, flirtatious woman that you used to be a long time ago floats the surface unchecked. “Dancing definitely does that,” you agree, tucking a smirk into the corner of your mouth.

“So many dances.” He likes that you are flirting back. Your eyes are practically sparkling with mischief and it’s miles apart from the scared mouse he had met when you arrived. “Tango, waltz, horizontal hustle, foxtrot.” He ticks them off on his fingers like he’s doing down a list.

The mention of horizontal hustle warms you through with a flush of embarrassment and — admittedly — arousal and you pick up your fork very properly without the smirk ever leaving your face. “The girls I danced with always called it ‘getting a new tango partner’ when they started seeing someone new. Slightly more discreet of them, considering our teachers were mostly prim middle-aged ladies.”

He hums, amused by the phrase and he runs his tongue over his teeth, toying with his incisor. “It’s allllll in the hips.”

It shouldn’t be sexy, the way you know for a fact that his teeth are certified weapons and he is just casually running his tongue over them…it makes you wonder just what his tongue might feel like running over other things. “Hips,” you hum, watching him lick his lips subtly. You can’t tell if he did it on purpose or not but it’s distracting as all hell. “I’ll remember that.”

“You do that, Queenie.” He winks at you and scoops up his fork to steal a bite of your food from your plate. He’s not going to eat it. God no, it’s too cooked for his liking, but he turns the fork around and offers you the bite. “Tell me how it tastes.” Despite not liking human food now, he misses the tastes of things.

He can absolutely hear your pulse, there’s no way he can’t when it’s pounding in your ears like a hammer. But putting your lips around his fork is perilously close to put your lips around something else of his and you close your eyes against just how tantalizing that thought is when you’re seemingly getting your sex drive back all at once.

He bites his lip when you moan, taking the bite of food. Sure that you are completely unaware of how erotic it sounds. Knowing that you aren’t trying to entice him, but just like that natural curiosity to know more about you, that attraction is something he’s helpless against. All he can do is control his reaction.

“I know you’re not big on this kind of food anymore, but that’s fantastic.” You tell him, letting the flavour linger on your tastebuds happily. Truly good food is such a luxury that you have a hard time imagining giving it up, but that’s just you.

“I used to love all kinds of food.” Max admits with a guilty grin. “Favorite thing was trying new restaurants. New foods.”

“I hate that that isn’t fun for you anymore.” To lose one of life’s simple pleasures is a shame, even if the tradeoff has many more benefits.

“It’s okay.” Max hums slightly. “I can taste what the human donor has eaten through their blood.” He admits with a grin. “Although it’s a little muted since the blood is chilled and reheated.”

“So…if it was warm from the source…it would be better?” Trying to understand the logistics of his vampirism is going to be key for you, and that means even the parts that don’t seem very savory to talk about.

“Yeah.” He shrugs slightly. “I don’t look for donors anymore.” He explains. “If someone were to offer? I might would have taken them up on it before the other night, but I wouldn’t now.”

“Is it…” As the two of you start to eat in earnest, it almost feels like the conversation should have trended this way. You are, after all, talking about his survival. “Is it a very…meaningful connection? Is that why?”

“It’s….” He pauses for a moment. “Intimate. Almost sensual to the point of turning sexual.” He looks at you intently, his eyes drilling into yours and he hopes that doesn’t offend you. “There’s nothing more intimate than taking a part of someone into your own body, right?”

“I suppose I never thought of it like that before.” Before a few days ago you had honestly never given it much thought at all, but knowing what you know now? You spend almost all of your thoughts on the subject.

“It doesn’t hurt much.” He promises, thinking you might be worried about donors. “Just a sharp pinch and then it feels good. But I won’t be drinking from anyone, I think that’s not fair when you have a soulmate.”

“It’s really that intimate?” From what he’s said, it suddenly makes much more sense to you why people would succumb to the feeling quickly, and you nod when he looks at you meaningfully. “If it’s something I’m ever going to consider, I want to know about it,” you explain. “That’s all.”

“I would never ask.” He doesn’t want you to feel like he expecting you to become his meal plan. “I hope you know that.”

******

Dinner passes with slightly lighter conversation, where you learn that you both like fall and winter better than spring and summer, and that Max used to love cookies more than anything other dessert.

The dance studio that you go to is run by a very sweet woman called Miss Valerie — who apparently named the studio for herself — and is full of all sorts of different people when you and Max are ushered into the main studio for free dancing. A laptop in the corner is playing a personalized playlist and there is a card table with drinks and snacks in a different corner which looked like some people had added to upon their arrivals. It was a night of chit chat — as soon as people heard about the masquerade they instantly wanted to know every detail — but it was fun, too. Max stayed by your side, talking up the masquerade and excusing you from conversation to dance a little more when he sensed you getting nervous.

Dancing with Max might be even better now that you know he’s your soul mate. His gentleness and steady presence leading you through every dance is mixed with so much care that you could just about cry, but there is a mounting otherness in every touch that can only be compared to the first time you allowed yourself to explore any kind of sexuality. Like you’re waking up, and instead of curiosity being what drives your own fingers in the night, it will be the memory of hearing Max’s voice in your ear or feeling his touch on your skin. He had even lifted you a few times in certain dances and it was the most literal sweeping off your feet you could ever possibly contemplate. By the time he pulls into the driveway it’s so late that you’ve lost track of the hour completely but you know you’re going to keep holding his hand until the very last second.

“I think I’ve kept Cinderella out past midnight.” Max teases as he cuts the engine. “But lucky me, you haven’t turned into a pumpkin yet.”

“No.” There’s a note of bashfulness in the way you shake your head, even though you feel bolder tonight than you have in years. “I wouldn’t dare. How could I dance with you again if I was a pumpkin?”

He grins, his teeth flashing white in the darkness of the car. “That would be such a shame, Queenie.”

“It really would be.” Dancing with Max had been like floating on water, and your face burns with pleasure and embarrassment remembering even half an hour ago.

“Would you like to keep dancing?” He asks, bringing your hand to his lips. Anyone else, it would be an innuendo for something else, but with you, he’s asking if you want him to take you to the ballroom. He had loved every second of you being in his arms and of dancing was the only way, he would dance all night.

“Am I a sissy if I admit I’m tired?” Still, your fingers tingle under the press of his lips, and knowing what you now do about his exceptional hearing means you’re sure he heard you hold your breath. “I haven’t danced that much in years and my feet aren’t as calloused as they used to be. But—” The thought is there. The intent. But you can’t quite bring yourself to form the words right away. It’s like you don’t trust yourself. Which, to be fair, you don’t.

“Not a sissy,” he huffs slightly at your ease of insulting yourself. “Human.” He reminds you that he might have the ability to stay up indefinitely, but you do not. “But?”

“I was…” It feels silly to admit it, but you would be horribly sad if the night ended here. Having him close feels like a missing piece of yourself has slid into place. “Going to ask if you wanted to come upstairs,” you admit quietly. “But that’s silly. You live here. Hell…your room is right next to mine.”

Max tilts his head, tsking slightly. “Queenie, you never need to feel silly talking to me. You meant come to your room, didn’t you?” He asks quietly, squeezing your hand gently.

“I don’t want tonight to be over yet.” His hand around yours is cool and comforting, but there’s an electricity in it that is so old that it must have been called something far different before it was called a spark.

“It doesn’t have to be.” Max smiles at the shyness in your tone, the mere embarrassment. “How about this? Why don’t I make you a cup of my famous hot chocolate while you change into something causal, and I’ll meet you upstairs?” He asks, lifting a brow.

His knack for the exact right gesture is something you’re learning isn’t accidental. The effort he is putting into spending time with you is very intentional, and makes you feel like the single most special person in the entire world. “I’ll find a book that is less than a hundred years old, just in case. How about that?”

“Whatever you want to read, sweetheart.” He promises, happy that he had phrased it correctly. He doesn’t want you thinking he assumes you’re going to sleep with him. “But first, I need to walk you to the door.” In the blink of an eye, he’s out of the car and around to your side, opening it up for you to climb out.

“I’ll never get used to that.” You’ve seen him do it now five or six times and it takes your breath away without fail. This time, though, the thing taking your breath might also be the soft smile on his face as you put your hand in his and let him lift you effortlessly out of the car.

“It’s handy.” He admits with a chuckle, closing the door behind you and turning to walk up the front steps. “I’ll be able to change into some sweats after making your hot chocolate too.”

“Does this count as post-gaming our own date?” Leaving his car behind to walk up to the house, your hand stays in his and you lean slightly into his side just on instinct. He feels so safe and you can’t possibly put into words how grateful you are for that.

“More like a casual continuation. The wind down, if you will.” He enjoys your warmth, humming softly at the feeling. You have seemed more comfortable around him as the night has gone on and Max deserve brownie points for ignoring the whiffs of arousal he’s detected.

"I like that." You also like the way he almost sounds like he's purring when he hums, but maybe that's your imagination. Remembering the little sounds he would make in bat form. "I like the idea of being able to share all the versions of ourselves."

Max opens the door to the house, hearing a sound from Eddie’s room that makes him smirk. “If you can’t share everything with your soulmate, who can you share them with?”

"What is it?" His question was rhetorical, you know that, but he looks amused and his eyes darted away from you for a second before coming back.

“Allison is still here.” He tells you, putting his finger to his lips like it’s a secret.

"And she claimed Eddie wasn't as interested as she is." You shake your head at that as if the two of you were some wise old mentors finding out your protégés had finally taken your advice. "I guess tonight was a good date night for everyone in the house, then."

Max winks at you as he closes the door behind the two of you. “Like to think ours was better.” He teases. “Now, go take those shoes off, Queenie and I’ll make your hot chocolate. If you’re lucky, I might even be talked into a foot rub for your dance sore feet.”

"I would never make you do that." More than half your life in ballet, ballroom, and jazz classes means that your feet are...not exactly going to end up in shoe ads any time soon. But it's sweet of him to offer, and you squeeze his hand before you let it go. "I'm going to go up and change. You can just come on in when you're ready."

“I’ll knock, just to make sure you aren’t still changing.” He promises with a wink before he zips off to the kitchen.

You deftly avoid Eddie's room as you go upstairs, going the long way to your room all the way across the house before you hang your sweater and release yourself from your shoes — much to the relief of your aching feet. Despite the small pain, though, you wouldn't change anything about tonight. Your dress is exchanged for a favourite t-shirt, worn thin from constant use and sporting the logo of a theme park that you went to with a bunch of friends in college when you all decided that you just needed to get away for the weekend. It hangs long on your torso, skimming past the edge of your yoga pants, and you wipe off your makeup before getting into bed with a copy of a murder mystery by Alyssa Maxwell that was most definitely published in the twenty-first century.

Max hears you settle down and is at your door in an instant. He had made the hot chocolate quickly and of course changed before you had finished your nightly routine, waiting until you were done. Two light taps on the door is the knock he gives, waiting for you to answer before he turns the knob.

"Come in." The door is just feet from your bed, and when he cracks it open he's dressed in a plain t-shirt and sweatpants with a steaming mug in his hands. "Hey." As soft as it is on your lips, it's mostly out of surprise. Max is always immaculately dressed, and the revelation that he even owns a t-shirt is a pretty big deal. Not to mention the way his broad shoulders stretch the faric, or the way his gray sweatpants (bearing a small embossed collegiate logo near the pocket) hang onto his trim hips, which is wickedly distracting.

“Hey you.” He slips inside and closes the door with a grin. “You look comfy as can be in that bed.” He teases. “Is there room for me?”

"It's a big bed." Knowing that he won't pressure you gives you an immense feeling of relief, and the boldness to actually invite him in like this. You haven't even kissed yet. There is no way you would go all the way to sex tonight. But this closeness? You're craving it. "I'm pretty sure I can fit you in here. Might have to cuddle, though."

“I’ve been told I’m pretty good at cuddling.” He hands you the mug of hot chocolate and barely resists the urge to jump into the bed.

“I’m going to be spoiled forever if you keep making me this cocoa,” you warn him, ready to take the first sip despite the steam still pouring off the mug from underneath the perfect swirl of whipped cream. “That coffeeshop should be crying over losing you, if this is what you were doing as a barista.”

“I learned that girls love a perfect hot chocolate, but also, I loved one.” He laughs as he settles down beside you. “I’ll make you one every night if you want. I actually kind of miss making coffees and things like that. It was fun and easy.”

"I would have been in that shop every single day," you admit. The first sip of cocoa is just cool enough to take, and it rolls through you like a warm hug in the very best way. "For..." Bubbling just beneath the surface, a smile spreads across your lips that you just can't contain. "For more than just the cocoa."

“I knew it.” He crows, leaning in with a triumphant look on his face. He puts his lips just a bare millimeter away from your ear. “A whipped cream junky.”

Your breath catches like it always does when he gets so close to you, and your eyes flick up to his as you all but hide your face behind the mug in your hands. "Right..." you nod slightly in agreement, but when the smile returns to your lips it morphs into shaking your head 'no' and your tone dips to teasing. "Whipped cream. That's it."

“Indulgent, creamy….” He’s teasing you, maybe himself a little as well, but he loves the way your heart skitters slightly. It reminds him of a bird being startled, except this is a joyful thing. “Satisfying. What’s not to love?”

"You're incorrigible," you observe with a pleased grin, knowing full well that you have done nothing but encourage him tonight. It's the best night — let alone best date — you've had in ages. And that's so much of why you're not ready for it to end. This is the side of Max that you always want to have with you.

“Confident.” He corrects you with a grin of his own. “Cocky, maybe even a little conceited.”

"Filling in the gaps where I have no self-confidence of my own." In many ways you really are a balancing point to each other. He lifts you up and you ground him. It keeps you interested to see what he'll do next and you can only hope that it gives him a place to feel relaxed with you. Like he can let down his guard with you. "I think...if you want to...we should go back to that studio again next week." They had invited you both eagerly, and Miss Valerie herself had loudly mentioned having a spot on their competition team for another couple if they ever found anyone who was interested. If you were ever going to pin a number onto your dress again, you would want it to be with him. His over-confidence seems to be rubbing off on you, at least a little, and giving you another nudge toward boldness. "I really loved dancing with you tonight."

“It would be unfair really,” Max hums. “To deprive them of our presence. Our talent from the dance floor.” Part of it is an adopted act of confidence, but there is something magical about dancing with you. It’s easier than any other partner he’s ever had. “So I don’t think we should. Deprive them. Give the couples something to aspire to.”

The giggle that he pulls out of you is probably the closest to effervescent that you've ever managed. There is something about the way you feel when his attention is on you that is undeniable. When Max's focus is on you, the rest of the world falls away. "I wouldn't be surprised if it's more jealousy than aspiration," you tell him honestly, taking another sip of your drink. "I'll have the most handsome partner in the room."

He can’t help but preen slightly. “It helps when your partner is the most gorgeous creature you’ve ever laid eyes on.” He murmurs sincerely. Since meeting you, getting to know you, you’ve gone from pretty to stunning in his eyes.

"That's sweet of you." As much as you want to believe that he's telling you what he believes to be the truth, it's so hard to wrap your head around. There has been far too much of your life spent being told all the things that were wrong with you that it feels impossible to believe that someone like Max could find you beautiful. But gods...you want to.

He groans quietly, closing his eyes and dropping his forehead to your shoulder. He should pull away, but your warmth is too intoxicating. “Queenie, I have a confession to make.” He whispers.

Here it is. Steeling yourself for the inevitable rejection you know that you deserve, you put your mug on the table beside your bed without unsettling his forehead. You'll make yourself the smallest presence possible in his life. You'll stop the formal dinners and just let him forget you even live in the same house if he doesn't decide to move out altogether. And you'll sure as fuck wait until he's gone to cry the tears that are already pressing at the back of your eyes. "What is it?" You don't want to ask the question, but you have to. The way your heart is already sinking tells you right away how much this is going to hurt.

He hates that your tone has changed, your body has shifted slightly. He wonders if he should have even opened his mouth, but he wanted to be honest with you. Pulling back slightly, he looks at you with a sense of anger at himself for being so unable to control himself. “I want to kiss you.”

"What?" Pushed out on a single breath, it feels like all the air has been knocked out of you all at once and your eyes blow wide when you look up at him.

“I told myself I wouldn’t push you, and I’m not.” He promises quickly. “I would never push you for anything you aren’t ready for, but I can’t help but think about it and if you want me to leave or move to the chair so I don’t make you uncomfortable, I will.”

"Please don't." Immediately reaching for him, your hand lands on his arm and your fingers squeeze, keeping him close even when you feel like your heart is going to pound out of your chest and you might forget how to breathe. "Don't like don't move away from me. Not don't like don't kiss me. I—" You might vibrate straight out of the bed in disbelief. "I really want to kiss you, too."

“You do?” Despite flirting, Max hadn’t considered that you might actually want to kiss him.

"I was getting ready for you to tell me that you wanted to end this before it started." Which feels terrible to admit, but you want to be honest with him. "Honestly, I...sort of figured you would have been able to...to smell how much I want to kiss you?"

Biting his lip, he considers lying to you, but he nods. “Just because you’re body is telling me yes, doesn’t mean your mind is.” He murmurs quietly, laying a hand on your arm and rubbing it gently. “I was a fucking horndog in the past, but I know boundaries.”

"I don't know how much else I'm ready for." Your hand covers his on your arm long enough to feel the difference between your burning skin and his cooler body, before your hand moves tentatively up his arm. Being allowed to touch him while you're dancing is so very different from touching him in your bed. "But I know I'm ready for this."

Max slides an arm under your body to pull you closer, shifting slightly so both of you are laying on your sides facing each other. “Queenie,” he leans in and nudges his nose against yours, eyes watching you closely. “May I kiss you?”

"Yes. Please." As far as enthusiastic consent goes, you really can't be more explicit and you don't want to just jump the gun and kiss him without answering. Lying in his arms in your bed is the last place you expected this to happen, but now that you're here it's like a dream.

He licks his lips, wetting them as his eyes flicker down to yours. Somewhere between your first sip and now, your cocoa has been pushed onto the nightstand and he can hold you without fear of spilling something hot all over you. “Good.” He murmurs, leaning in to take in your scent, mouthwatering and thick like ambrosia, before he lowers his mouth to yours.

______

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A red, searing spark slices through the darkness, a fleeting flash from a blaster. The acrid scent of burnt air mingles with the sound of splintering bark, a tree beside you left scarred in its wake. Instinctively, you tuck into a tight roll, narrowly evading the next shot.

A bead of sweat trickles down your forehead, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. The fine line between life and death stretches taut before you, and you refuse to grant him the satisfaction of being the one to sever it. 

You’re back up on your feet as another surge of raw energy courses through your veins. Each stride is a calculated leap, nimble and agile, clearing any obstacles that threaten to halt you in your tracks. The thicket becomes denser, the branches clawing at your flesh with renewed vengeance, as if conspiring to slow your progress and grant him the upper hand. Yet, you continue in silence, the wave of adrenaline numbing your senses, shielding you from the pain of their grip.

Finally, when your feet clear an uprooted tree, you deliberately drop to the ground. Fingers gripping your blaster tightly, the safety disengaged, you force your racing breaths to slow. 

In the stillness that envelops the darkened forest, you listen intently, attuning your senses to the silence around you. You push beyond the pounding of your heart, further still, and that’s where you notice it. An absence of sound. The weighty silence settles like a suffocating blanket, shrouding both predator and prey. The thunderous thud of his heavy boots has ceased, mirroring the stillness of your own. 

Pressing your back against the rough bark of a fallen tree, you draw a deep breath, steeling yourself. This is who you are, a fighter, a survivor. You’re equipped with the skills to get out of this situation—you had been taught well under the Empire.

For a fleeting moment, you close your eyes. The world around you teems with vibrant life; pulsates with an energy you can’t resist. You tap into it, harnessing the power that had gotten you into this whole mess. 

Given the situation, it’s difficult to focus, but still, you try. You reach out in an attempt to grasp any help the Force has to offer. Despite the struggle, you find what you’re looking for—a flickering presence that doesn’t belong here—The Mandalorian. 

Suddenly, a sound breaks the silence—a rustle, a snapping twig—your gaze darts toward the opposite direction from where you had sensed him. It seems too distant to be him. Could the Force have misguided you? Was it possible for the Force to be wrong? It had been so long since you were able to use it properly, to truly call upon your connection to it…maybe you weren’t interpreting it correctly. 

You ignore the guidance offered to you through the Force and place your trust solely in your surroundings. Deep down, you know he’s close. Yet, you dismiss the pull of your gut instinct and opt to slip away. 

It’s now or never. 

Your body presses low to the ground while you move silently. Damp leaves and thick mud cling to your front. Every sense in your body sharpens—the scent of the mossy ground beneath you, the sting of sweat mingling with the scrapes on your skin. Your entire being fixates on survival, pausing for a second to reach out to the Force again to check your surroundings. 

Nothing. There are no sounds that don’t belong to the eerie symphony of the darkened forest—no thundering beskar, no trace of movement or breath. Absolute stillness. Slowly, you rise, surveying the moonlit area for a moment before you propel yourself toward a narrow gap between two gnarled trees. 

Freedom beckons, so tantalizingly close. Just a few more strides, and it would be right there, within your grasp. 

Then, it happens. 

It hits you with the force of a cataclysmic collision, expelling all of the air from your lungs. The Mandalorian emerges from behind the tree, anticipating the impact, his solid frame poised to absorb the force of your body hurtling toward him. For just a split second, there’s a feeling of complete weightlessness before you collide with the ground. You’re down, but not defeated. Swiftly shifting your weight to the left, you avoid his grasp and deliver a quick kick to his knee, causing him to crash down beside you. 

Synchronized movement unfolds, an intricate dance of opponents keenly aware of each other’s every move. You fire first, only for him to dart out of the way with a lightning-quick dodge, your shot barely grazing the corner of his chest plate. The ricochet momentarily shatters your focus, panic creeping into your core as you begin to grapple with the consequences of your misjudged shot, while the Mandalorian seems to register surprise at your near hit. 

Undeterred, he launches once more, but you’re too quick. You take evasive action, executing a roll, your fist connecting flawlessly with the side of his ribs as you raise again. He’s winded. His modulated groan reverberates in the air and allows you a second to recover. But he’s not far behind. Now back on your feet, you parry his relentless attacks, the rhythm of the battle pulsating between you. 

Neither relenting nor yielding, every fibre of your being fights for your survival while he fights for credits that will no doubt buy his next meal. This can’t be how it ends for you. You’ve endured too much to be taken down by a mere bounty hunter. 

Grunts and groans puncture the air as blows land on both sides. His attacks are measured and deliberate, his reach surpassing yours. But you’re much quicker. Amidst the chaos, you sidestep his lunging assault, seizing his arm and leveraging the momentum to hurl his heavy frame to the ground. You’re almost proud of yourself until he retaliates and sweeps your legs from beneath you. Gravity pulls you down once more, your head colliding with his armour and causing an explosive burst of light to engulf your vision. 

Your focus wanes, slipping from your grasp. You blink, once, twice, and then he has you. 

“Stop fighting,” he demands, breathless yet commanding, as he pins you to the ground and traps your arms with his knees. 

At that moment, you note the stark contrast between his voice and your expectations. He sounds different. His voice is devoid of emotion, yet soft. Distorted, yet strangely velvety. Gasping for air to desperately refill your lungs, you both engage in a silent struggle, your eyes fixating on the impenetrable visor of his helmet. It reveals nothing and yet you can sense it, the energy radiating from within. He holds no satisfaction in completing this job. After the relentless chase, you expected a triumphant gloat to be concealed within that mental shell. But it’s not. 

Tilting your head away from his gaze, your fingers strain where they’re pinned to your sides. You have a vibroblade, nestled securely in the strap around your thigh. The tips of your trembling fingers brush the handle, its coldness a stark contrast against your clammy palm. 

“Fuck you,” your words escape in a breathy whisper as you launch your next desperate attack, but it’s anticipated and effortlessly countered. The last thing you see is his helmet descending upon you, followed by a resounding thud. Darkness falls, consuming all your senses. 

The cat has caught the mouse.

***

A gentle swaying motion and a caressing breeze coax you back to consciousness. In that fleeting moment, you could be anywhere–weightless atop the tranquil surface of a serene lake, bathed in the warmth of the sun. It kisses your skin, filling you with a sense of serenity you rarely experience these days. It has been an eternity since you felt such freedom, devoid of burdens. In this relaxed, suspended state, you are liberated, free. If you were to extend your fingertips, you could almost feel the cool water cascading over them, your body gently rocking in its embrace. 

And so, you reach out, anticipating the familiar sensation. But instead, an icy chill seizes your hand, a sudden heaviness grips your being, and your limbs refuse to respond. Panic surges, robbing you of the tranquil calm that had momentarily embraced you. A searing pain lances through your side, jolting you awake. 

Gasping, your eyes snap open as you struggle to make sense of your disorientated surroundings. Gone is the water, the lake, the radiant sunlight. Instead, you find yourself suspended upside down, a tattered cape fluttering behind the imposing figure of heavy boots. 

Thud. Thud. Thud. 

Fuck. 

You’re alive, but your freedom is gone. Your hands are bound, your body hoisted unceremoniously over a rigid shoulder. You have a choice to make: do you submit and face your fate or continue the fight? You’re exhausted, your body bruised and aching…do you have anything left in you to fight? 

This can’t be the end. 

With gritted teeth, you clasp your hands together, summoning every ounce of strength you have left. They fall upon the man’s back with a resounding force, a desperate attempt to break free from his grip. Yet, his armoured form barely registers the impact, beskar shielding him from the brunt of your attack. 

“Put me down!” Your voice is cracked and dry but overflowing with defiance as you writhe and strain against his strong grip. 

He tightens against your struggles. It’s the only response you get and you find it ignites a new flame of determination from your darkest depths. You shift your weight, aiming to unbalance him. For a moment, you think it works. He staggers, offset by your attempt but whether through your own effort or his loss of patience, he eventually drops you to the ground in a graceless heap. 

It’s then that the full extent of your exhaustion becomes clear: muscles ache, bones protest, and the pulsating throb in your head spreads outwards to the point you find yourself closing your eyes and applying pressure to the area where the Mandalorian had headbutted you. 

The asshole. If you were to survive this night, you knew there would be a shining bruise there come the morning. 

You attempt to push yourself up to your knees, hoping to make it to your feet. It’s not to be. A mud-coated boot gives you the smallest shove and you end up rolling onto your back, defeated once again. 

You close your eyes, attempting to steady your breathing amidst the waves of pain. When you open them once more, you find him standing above you, his head slightly tilted against the backdrop of twinkling stars. This isn’t the time for distractions, but you can’t help noticing the way his beskar illuminates beneath the reflective glow of the moonlight. 

“I can bring you in warm…” his voice breaks the silence, presenting the first option to you before taking a deliberate pause. “Or I can bring you in cold.” 

His hand gestures toward the ominous presence of his blaster, and right beside it, tucked into his belt, is your own. Moments tick by, and he remains motionless above you, an enigmatic statue frozen in time. 

Without a single word, your decision is made evident as you sit up. The Mandalorian reaches down, his gloved hand gripping your wrist restraints, and effortlessly hoists you to your feet. He leads the way, his strides pulling you along until you fall into step beside him, surveying your surroundings. The forest is now all but gone from sight in the darkness, and you see that you’re closer to the outskirts of town. 

You trudge across the uneven terrain, contemplating the different outcomes that await you. None of them are hopeful. One thing is clear in every scenario: you can’t outrun or outfight this bounty hunter. So where does that leave you? A surge of frustration courses through you, angered by the situation you have allowed yourself to fall into. Anger bubbles beneath the surface, and so, you unleash your next attack with words instead of actions. 

“Did they send you to do the job the others couldn’t?” you ask. “How many did it take before they brought you out? Five? Six? I lose count of how many I’ve had to kill.” 

Still, he remains silent as your steady voice taunts, probing for a reaction. He refuses to give you the satisfaction of acknowledgement. His message is clear: you’re wasting your breath. 

Undeterred, you press on, uncaring whether he answers or not, “Did they have families? Were they your friends?” 

Nothing. Resolute silence. 

It only angers you more. You twist your arms, attempting to free your restraints from his grasp as you pull away from him in a bid for freedom. The man follows, his muscles tensing beneath the armour to keep his grip on you as you fight against him and finally show the first cracks of panic. 

“I swear to the Maker and all the Gods above, as soon as I get out of these restraints, I’ll make you regret every second of this. Do you hear me?” 

If he does, he doesn’t answer you, so you raise your voice, “I said do you fucking hear me?” 

“Yes, I fucking hear you,” he grits and pulls your body closer to prevent you from flailing around. 

He’s frustrated, you can feel it. It oozes from him like a thick, suffocating smog. There’s a moment of silence between you and he chooses to wait, allowing you a few seconds to calm down before he speaks again. 

“I’m not the only one looking for you, but I am the only one willing to take you in alive. So are you going to let me get us out of here, or are you betting on your survival against the other hunters with your hands bound and no weapons?” 

You despise the way his voice calms you. You want to fight, want to pull free and run in any direction possible. But there’s something that keeps you there, your eyes trained on his visor as you look for any hint of the man beneath the opaque glass. This is about survival, and being captured alive gives you a lot more options than being brought in dead. 

You hate to admit it, but he’s your best option right now.

No more words are exchanged for the remainder of the journey. The crunch of gravel beneath your boots announces your arrival at the town’s entrance. A palpable silence blankets the air, unsettling in its weight. The energy shifts inexplicably, and both you and the Mandalorian tense in response. His grip on your restraints tightens, his hidden gaze scouring the surroundings, mirroring your own vigilance as you search every corner, every shadow. 

With each step you take through the small town, windows shutter and people retreat from the streets. You swallow, feeling a sense of warning through the Force. And then you see it—the swift leap from one rooftop to another. This time, you’re the fortunate one, reacting swiftly. Your hands twist, seizing the bounty hunter’s wrist and yanking him out of harm's way as blaster bolts rain down upon you. 

Why are you saving his life when he is so willing to hand you over for someone to sacrifice yours? It’s a clear calculation—he needs you alive, fighting with him instead of against him. This is how you both get out of here, alive. It’s a mutual understanding as you drag him to safety between two buildings. 

Everything seems to happen in a blur, time accelerating rather than decelerating as it had in the forest. He releases his hold on you, shielding your defenceless form with his own body as a blaster bolt ricochets off his armour. Before you have a chance to react, his blaster is in his hand and he shoots down the attacker from the roof. 

You turn, catching sight of another hunter charging toward you. With your hands bound, your only option is to rely on your perfect timing as you deliver a swift kick to the front of his knee and destabilize him with a sickening crunch of bone. It’s followed by a loud scream of agony as he doubles over, right into an uppercut from your restraints which sends him crashing to the ground, unconscious. 

With a quick glance over your shoulder, you see the Mandalorian occupied with three other hunters. Now is the moment, and without any hesitation, you flee in the opposite direction. 

Your footsteps echo loudly between the tall buildings, alerting those close by of your location. It’s not a smart move, goes against all of your training, but desperation propels you forward. Your path weaves through the labyrinth of twisting streets and finally, you pause, finding a temporary hiding place to catch your breath. 

The pain continues to pound inside of your head, everything becoming so loud; blaster shots across the street; the yells of the pursuers being taken down by the Mandalorian. If they’ve found you this easily, you know those who work at Moff Gideon’s command won’t be far behind. Up until now, you’ve been able to play it smart, always staying one step ahead of them all. But your first mistake is proving likely to be your last.

You need to calm down. Breathe. Focus. 

Every nerve ending in your body seems to come alive–you have to go, you have to run. The Force all but screams it at you, encouraging you to slip out into the street once more and take off in a slightly different direction. Swiftly taking a right turn, you hear the resounding crack of a blaster shot pierce the air. You veer left, evading two more shots. A body plummets from a nearby building, their weapon sliding along the ground. You react on instinct as you thrust out your bound hands and use your pull through the Force to snatch it into your grasp in one fluid motion. Though you’re not at the best advantage to aim, you find a way to make it work. 

Gunfire and thudding sound through the streets as you engage in a fierce battle, skillfully manoeuvring through the chaos, instinctively ducking and sprinting at precisely the right moments. This isn’t a mere stroke of luck or chance–it’s a testament to your abilities, the Force, a result of countless encounters you’ve faced throughout your life. 

Once again, silence descends, and you become acutely aware of your ragged breaths as you struggle against your burning lungs. You don’t have long. Seconds, maybe. You sense the Mandalorian’s energy drawing nearer. You sense him to your right, searching the street parallel to your own. Pushing a little further through the Force, you should be able to pinpoint the precise source of his energy, but you don’t have time. He seems close enough for this to work.

You step out, blaster aimed, expecting to come face-to-face with him at the exact moment you both step out into the open. 

Except, he’s not there. 

“What…” you breathe. 

Confusion clouds your focus as your eyes dart around, desperately trying to calculate how you got it wrong. You were so sure you had the advantage, so certain of his location and the speed at which he was moving. Not once had it occurred to you that he may have also known your exact location, waiting for you to make the first move. 

“No…” one simple whisper slips from you, laced heavily with dread as the beskar-clad figure emerges from the shadows. 

He quickly disarms you, throwing your new-found blaster aside as his chest rises and falls in sync with your own accelerated breaths. 

“Nice try,” his voice holds a hint of smugness at your apparent disbelief. 

He readjusts his grip on your restraints, tugging forcefully and causing you to stumble as you dig your heels in, desperately attempting to resist his pull. Undeterred, he continues striding forward. 

“I saved your life,” you try. “You owe me.” 

Silence. 

The rhythmic thudding of his boots is your only reply. 

“I’ll take you to other bounties. I know where to find them,” you try bargaining. “You’ll get payment for food and fuel, and you’ll have more credits than you’ll ever be able to spend.”

He doesn’t appear to be interested. Your attempts are a complete waste of time. 

“Please…” Your tone softens in your attempt to appeal to him without the bullshit. “Please don’t take me in. You have no idea what they do to people like me.” 

He says nothing. 

***

Underneath the scorching sun, a day of silence stretches out before you. Mando, as you have taken to calling him, pauses only briefly at a roadside vendor to buy a drink for you, his caution preventing him from staying any longer than necessary. Now that other hunters have caught wind of your whereabouts, he insists on keeping a low profile…as low as a shiny tin-can-of-a-man is able to. 

As the day wears on, the sun gradually descends towards the horizon, casting elongated shadows across the landscape. With each agonizing step, the fatigue in your feet intensifies, while the searing pain in your wrists serves as a constant reminder that you need to find a way out of your restraints. If Mando harbours any concerns for your well-being, he conceals it well. But then again, why would he care? To him, you’re nothing more than a contract that promises credits. 

Throughout the day, you find your thoughts wandering to who exactly he will be delivering you to. Will it be the New Republic? The notorious Bounty Hunters’ Guild? Or perhaps he would hand deliver you to Moff Gideon himself. 

Somehow, you doubt the latter. 

You walk together until the land becomes vast and barren with very few discernable landmarks in sight. It’s here that Mando comes to an abrupt halt, catching you off guard. Towering boulders provide convenient cover, but more importantly, smaller rocks offer a place to sit and rest after hours of relentless walking. He turns his head slowly, surveying the area and once satisfied there are no immediate threats, he finally turns to look at you. Despite not being able to see his eyes, you feel his gaze from behind the inky-black visor. His eyes fix you in place while he decides his next move carefully.

“We’ll wait it out here until dark.” 

It’s a logical decision and one that resonates with familiarity. You understand it far too well, slipping away under the cover of darkness, hoping to evade detection. With a slight nod of your head, you silently show your understanding. 

Exhaustion weighs heavily on you as you finally ease yourself down to rest on one of the weathered rocks. Every muscle protests, throbbing with aches in places you never knew existed. The events of the past day have taken an undeniable toll on you, leaving you feeling as though decades have been added to your battered and bruised body. 

“Do you think you could remove these for a little while?” you ask, a touch of vulnerability lacing your words. 

Mando subtly shifts his weight. It offers a glimmer of hope, a sign of the smallest crack in his resolve. You maintain the helpless facade, testing the waters a little more.

“Where would I go? We’re in the middle of nowhere and I’m too exhausted to fight you. Even if I tried to run, you’d catch me before I took a single step away from this rock.” 

You feel his conflict, and while your lips desperately long to curl into a smirk, you force yourself to frown deeply and wince while flexing your fingers slowly. There’s no faking the hiss of discomfort that follows when the metal bites a little deeper into the raw skin beneath the bindings. 

“Fine,” he sighs. “But try anything and you’ll be back in these until I hand you over…got it?” 

You nod. Mando doesn’t move. He’s waiting for you to say it. You find yourself gritting your teeth as you bite back any snide remark that begs to claw its way out: he won’t be able to get you back in these things once you are out of them. But you play along, letting him feel as though he has the upper hand here while you bide your time. 

“I understand.” 

Mando steps close enough to you to work on releasing the binders from your wrists. His presence becomes palpable. You smell the scent of the forest intertwined within the threads of fabric beneath his armour; the subtle fragrance of the well-worn leather of his gloves, a testament to the countless battles he must have fought. Beneath his flack vest, a faint musk clings to his skin, a lingering trace of his relentless pursuit. In a different situation, this combination of smells would be alluring, drawing you closer with a desire for familiarity and comfort. But in your current predicament, they serve only as a reminder of your capture. 

A prickling sensation tingles across the broken skin that had been hidden beneath the unforgiving grip of the binders. The gentle touch of the evening breeze carries a coolness that both soothes and aggravates the tender area. As Mando stands before you, there’s an unexpected pause, almost as though he contemplates the discomfort that has been his doing. His gaze lingers for a fleeting moment, revealing a flicker of empathy. You watch him with interest, seeing a glimpse into the depths of his guarded nature. And then he remembers himself: he retreats into his stoic demeanour and turns away from you to settle onto a rock across from yours.

Only slivers of daylight remain as the final light of the day starts to give way to night. You know you’re on very limited time: once the sun completely descends and darkness falls, you’ll be on the move again. You have to do what you can to make yourself valuable enough to save. This isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself captured; you know how this works. 

“So, you’re a Mandalorian?” you begin.

Your question carries across to Mando and you watch the way his helmet tilts ever so slightly, showing that you have his attention. 

“It’s not often you see Mandalorians these days…I’ve only ever met one before. Very different to you, though. Whew, she was a talker.” 

“You’ve met others like me?” Mando asks, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

Hook, line and sinker. 

“Only once…” you trail off, observing the way he hangs on your every word. “At one time, she was very powerful. She had a whole following of Mandalorians. But…things happened and her followers found a new leader–don’t worry, she was still alive when I left…a great fighter, though. You Mandalorians sure are equipped with some fancy accessories.” 

“Who is she?” 

At this, you simply smile at him and shrug a little before turning your head away, pretending to lose interest in the conversation that he has fully immersed himself into. 

“I’m afraid that information stays with me,” you confirm and then glance back over at him with your follow-up. “Whether I take it with me to my grave is up to you.” 

***

They had found you. 

Following a brief respite and hours of relentless travel shrouded in darkness, the hunters had, at last, closed in on your location as the first faint glimmers of daybreak began to paint the horizon. 

Your boots pound through the dew-covered grass as Mando’s footfalls echo in sync with yours, an urgent rhythm as you both try to put as much distance as possible between yourselves and the chaos that unfurls behind you. The ship is so close. A beacon of hope in the early morning sunlight, its gleaming exterior promising escape.   

A rapid beeping pierces the air, growing in intensity with each passing second. You know exactly what that is, and so does Mando. There’s a split second of shared recognition of the impending danger, and in a swift, instinctive motion, he propels his body towards yours. The impact takes you down to the ground, his sturdy frame protecting you just in time as the explosion reverberates through the air and unleashes a powerful shockwave. Mando’s armour absorbs the brunt of the debris, shielding you from it. As soon as it passes, his body is gone, allowing you to regain your bearings. 

It’s hard to focus. Your ears ring, your head swims. Somewhere amidst the muffled chaos, you hear Mando’s voice, urgent and commanding. Time seems to stretch on, distorting reality as you blink and shake your head in a desperate attempt to clear your brain and focus.

“Come on!” Mando yells. 

With a determined effort, you push yourself up onto your knees, only to feel a firm grip on your hand. One of Mando’s gloved hands clasps yours, pulling you upright again. The strength of his grip steadies you, allowing you to find your balance. 

“Take this,” Mando pushes something cold and heavy into your hand. You drop your eyes to see your blaster and even in your disorientated state, it’s a surprise. “Now run for the ship. Run!” 

One last burst of energy, that’s all you have to give. With a nod, you wrap your hand securely around your blaster and start your sprint for safety. Blaster bolts pierce the air around you, crackling and pinging on impact with the ship as they ricochet in every direction. 

The Mandalorian follows your trail of disturbed grass. His pace is slower–hindered by the shots he turns to fire at the hunters–but he’s not too far behind. He’s close enough to deploy the ramp, within distance to shout for you to take cover and as he thunders up behind you, he fires a few more shots to slow them down. 

“Take down as many as you can,” he gets out between his ragged breaths. “Then hit this button when I say—it will close the ramp as we take off.” 

With that, he’s gone, leaving you alone, staring at the button for the ramp. 

Time seems to slow as you stand there, torn between the decisions you have to make: do you stay and trust this man to help you, or do you jump out as you close the ramp? He wouldn’t be able to stop you during take-off. 

A heavy frown clouds your features, intertwined deeply with conflicting emotions. The Mandalorian has gotten you this far. He has kept his word of protecting you. Were you going to betray him after he had quite literally put his life on the line to save yours? 

Your trembling fingers rest against the button, ready for your cue to press it. 

Who were you kidding? You’re not going to press it. 

You’re not conflicted. You owe this man nothing. 

A third plan forms in your head and you draw in a slow breath as a flicker of determination sparks a new fire deep inside of you. This is self-preservation. It isn’t personal. 

His command travels through the hatch from the cockpit, his instruction clear as the engines rumble their signal of take-off. 

“Press it now!” 

You don’t. 

You stand and watch the hunters approaching, almost close enough for you to execute this plan. 

“It’s not working!” you lie, edging your words with a beautiful act of panic. “I’m pressing it, and nothing is happening!” 

Within seconds, boots thud overhead and then a blur of beskar jumps down through the hatch. Mando makes no use of the ladder in his hurry. 

“What do you mean, it’s not working?” 

The stakes are high. You have one shot at this and you can’t fuck it up. 

“I’m pressing it and nothing is happening!” 

Mando steps closer to the panel as you take a small step to the side, creating the perfect line-up of his body with the ramp. Your decision has been made, fueled by desperation and the hope that, in the end, this would all be worth it. 

You draw in another steady breath and let it out slowly, focusing on the hunters as they approach, waiting for just the right moment as Mando’s thumb hovers over the button. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur quietly. 

His helmet snaps around to face you. You don’t need to see beneath his visor to understand the exact moment the disbelief hits him. 

He has no time to react. With the hardest kick you can manage, you send him tumbling down the ramp and into the clutches of the hunters below. 

***

It doesn’t take long before you bring the ship down into a controlled landing. The hisses and whirs are accompanied by your muttered curse as you sigh and rest your head back against the pilot’s chair. There’s a sense of regret forcing its way in. You know deep down that returning to the room you have spent weeks hiding out in is a gamble. You’re risking everything to come back here. But you can’t leave without what little belongings you have left. Their worth outweighs the danger. They hold more than material value; they hold the key to your survival, the last traces of your past. They’re all you have left of your life before and the risk to retrieve them will always seem worthwhile. 

With closed eyes, you reach out for the Force, seeking solace and insight. You search for a glimpse of the path that lies ahead, for a warning of any danger that awaits you if you leave the safety of the ship. But as the Force welcomes you, it withholds the answers you need. Instead, it offers something different, something unexpected. A current pulses through your connection, a bright energy that has been absent for so long. It seems as though the Force has chosen to reveal a different path to you and you push further in an attempt to see more. 

Another Force user, closer in proximity than you’ve felt since you were a child. Their light is pure, untarnished by the pull of the darkside. Hesitantly, you push yourself up from the chair and look around the cockpit. For now, you’re alone, but there’s a persistent pull that beckons you to search further through the ship. 

You don’t have time for this, you remind yourself as you climb down into the hull. There is a very angry Mandalorian looking for you. He would find you and when he did, he would no doubt kill you for what you had done: you crossed him, stole his ship. 

No, you were becoming distracted, your connection to the Force seeming to drop like radio static on an out-of-tune channel. You breathe slowly, regaining your focus and allowing the pull to guide you as you come to a set of small doors. Whatever it is you’re able to feel is on the other side, alert and waiting, aware of your presence. 

You’re not entirely sure what you’re expecting when you hit the button, but you’re taken aback by the large, glossy orb-like eyes that stare up at you. It’s something small, green, and rather peculiar-looking. Large ears perk up and it tilts a small head, curious at the sight of you. You’re not the Mandalorian that owns this ship. You’re not supposed to be here. 

The realisation happens like the toppling of dominos and your stomach plummets: a Mandalorian, a Force-sensitive child. 

These were the two Moff Gideon had been looking for. They had to be. 

What were the chances of finding another Mandalorian bounty hunter with a Force-sensitive child in his care? 

You step back, head reeling and heart pounding. This discovery, this child, could be your ticket to redemption, a chance to be welcomed home by Gideon. You can’t deny yourself a moment of envisioning what that would look like, offering the innocent life you’ve stumbled upon as a testament to your unwavering loyalty. You can almost hear his praise, see the way his lips curl into a knowing smile as he opens his arms to you…no. 

 You would never go back there. You couldn’t.

Panic sets in as the last fragments of your control slip through your fingers. All that’s left is vulnerability, exposed like a raw nerve. You sever your connection to the Force and this child, knowing that nothing good would come of it. You’re losing—the odds are stacked against you and in your panic, you slam your hand repeatedly against the control panel to seal the doors to the cot once more. 

You have to go. You have to get as far away from this child as possible, you have to leave behind the last flickering chance of reconciliation with Gideon. The safety of this child outweighs any opportunity for absolution, you know that deep down. It doesn’t make the choice any easier though. It bares down upon you as you flee from the ship, having already wasted too much time.

In the cover of your room, dried mud cracks from your boots, crumbling and joining the tapestry of unidentifiable stains on the floor. You had paid over double the credits for this dismal sanctuary, the owner’s vow of silence now a hollow promise in hindsight. The bounty hunter had tracked you down regardless. 

As you pace, the floorboards groan underfoot, protesting the burden of their existence, while the peeling paint on the walls reveals grime and more stains below. You could have chosen a more upscale haven, a place where unsavoury memories weren’t woven into the current lodgings, but anonymity was your greatest ally. 

You need to calm down. You have to think about this carefully. 

Amidst the storm of panic threatening to engulf you, you have to remind yourself of the important facts. A single close call had shaken your resolve, but you were still clinging to your advantage, a precarious lead in this deadly chase. 

Drawing in a deep, measured breath, you quiet the clamour of thoughts echoing through your mind. You sift through the chaos, grasping only those that will serve your survival right now. Everything else, you would deal with later, once safely away from the bounty hunter. 

Your pacing ceases. Your hands find solace braced against the small table before you. As you lower your head, your gaze studies the small collection of possessions resting there–a few additional blasters, a clean outfit, and a meticulously crafted helmet. It was a gift, given to you by someone you had cherished deeply; someone you had respected and looked up to. 

What would he say if he could see you now? 

He had given everything for you. He had taught you, trained you, tried to guide you, and for what? Since his passing, you had chosen every wrong path that strayed so far from his teachings that you could barely recall them these days. 

A soft, ragged breath escapes your lips, carrying with it the weight of the situation as you move one of your bruised and blooded hands to rest against your helmet. Oh, how you long for his counsel. You would give anything to hear his wisdom and witness his ability to navigate even the biggest problems with unerring precision. Deep down, you know what he would say. Keep fighting. 

A swift shake of your head brings your focus back into sight and you begin to gather up your belongings. Methodically, they find their place within your bag, which you wear with a wince as it settles into a tender area of your shoulder. Everything you hold dear now fits within a single bag, not counting the arsenal of weaponry you securely fasten into their rightful place. Some had been lost during the chase, but you still had more than enough for another encounter, if one should arise. 

With everything you own in tow, you stride toward the door, prepared and determined to escape from the planet and continue your life of being on the run. However, your journey is abruptly halted within a second of the door sliding open. Cold beskar collides with you, knocking the breath from your lungs as you’re unceremoniously pinned against the opposite wall, belongings now strewn across the stained floor. Your hands desperately grapple his arm in an attempt to ease some of the pressure restricting your airways. But he doesn’t budge. Mando has learned the hard way, and he refuses to allow you even an inch of movement. 

One of his strong arms presses across your collarbones, keeping you in place while the end of his blaster jabs underneath your jaw, causing a cold stillness to settle across your writhing body. 

“If you’ve laid even one finger on him…” 

The limited space between you is fraught with tension, disturbed only by the sound of the safety catch being disengaged. It’s a noise you’ve heard countless times, but this time, you find yourself beginning to panic as you hear the tone of his voice. It’s devoid of the stoicism you had become familiar with, and instead, it carries an undertone of desperation, an element of urgency that cuts through you and warns you of Mando’s intentions if he doesn’t get the answers he wants. 

Your lips part as you try to struggle again, gasping for air so that you can answer him. 

“I…I…I can’t…” your voice is strained in your attempt to draw in a breath. 

Mando’s arm is suddenly gone, and so is the support of the wall as you’re hurled away from it. Aching bones are met with the abrupt, unwelcoming force of the table as you stumble against the edge of it. Pain explodes from your hip, sending a shockwave through your body and you finally crumple to the floor. 

Every muscle tenses, every instinct screams at you to react, but your limbs feel strangely unresponsive as you drink in the precious air, your lungs greedily accepting the offering. 

What you first perceived as aggression now takes on an entirely new face as he advances toward you. Fear, palpable and potent. It’s a fear of losing something precious, something that he holds most dear: the child. 

“I didn’t touch him!” Your words erupt from you, your own panic saturating your words. 

You scramble backward, your hand instinctively extending as a feeble barricade against his approach. 

“I didn’t touch him,” you repeat. “He’s safe, I swear. He’s on the ship.” 

A heavy silence descends upon the room, tense and thick with contemplation. From behind the visor, you feel Mando’s gaze fixed on you, unwavering and inscrutable. You sense his hesitation and observe the way the tight ball of his first slowly unfurls. This isn’t a man easily deceived, but you think he believes you. He accepts your truth. 

He bends and retrieves your helmet from the floor, silently studying it as he turns it in his hands. You wonder if he understands it, if he can sense the triumphs and losses it has seen. His gloved fingers run along the helmet’s contours, feeling the subtle grooves and indentations that give the dark metal its distinctive character. 

“Who are you?” Mando finally asks. 

His helmet tilts fractionally and you know his eyes are now on you again. 

“I’m someone who can take you to Moff Gideon.” 

Every muscle in his body freezes at that name. You have him right where you need him, and when all you’re met with is silence, you continue. 

“I’ll come with you. I won’t fight you. Then you can decide if you’re going to turn me over…or let me help you. We have a common enemy, Mando, and—”

“Stop talking,” he cuts you off. 

“Instead of fighting each other, we can help each other. You want to find him, and we can–”

“There is no we,” his voice is firm. 

He leaves no room for misinterpretation as he closes in on you again. 

“Give me your hands.” 

With a heavy sigh, you hold them out and close your eyes as the binders pinch at the raw skin around your wrists. What did you think he was going to do? You had crossed him, fed him to the wolves and stolen his ship. 

He picks your bag up from the floor and hoists it over his shoulder then takes hold of your helmet in one hand, your restraints in the other, and walks you out of the room. 

You needed a new plan.

***

The tranquil azure light of hyperspace dances through the hatch from the cockpit, bathing you in the smooth glow. Since your return to the ship, the bounty hunter had spent most of his time up in the cockpit and you welcomed the silence that had settled in his absence. It gave you the space you needed to reflect on the chaotic sequence of events that had led to this moment; you, sitting on the cold, metal floor of the hold with your back against the sealed cargo crates. 

There was a lot to think about. 

Occasionally, a terse command from the cockpit breaks the silence of the ship. You pick up on words such as “no” and “stop that”, which only seem to be met with coos and soft babbling. The child’s voice, innocent and almost oblivious to the tension that lingers in the air. 

During the hours that follow, you drift in and out of uneasy sleep. Each time, fragmented dreams are interrupted by the vessel’s subtle tremors and the soft cadence of Mando’s footsteps as he periodically checks on you. The rhythmic thuds of his boots become almost imperceptible until, at last, he descends from the cockpit once more. With the child asleep above, you can only assume he has time to focus his attention on you again. 

You blink, focusing your gaze through the dimly lit hold as you watch him take a seat on the crate across from you. 

“Here,” he murmurs and extends a flask toward you. 

Bound hands make it challenging, but you manage to take it and consume nearly its entirety in desperate gulps. The cold liquid caresses down your parched throat and helps to soothe the dry, scratchy sensation. You contemplate wiping your mouth on the back of your dirty hands, but upon closer inspection, you pause with the realisation that they are still stained with dirt and blood. Much like your torn and tattered clothes, they bore witness to the battles you’ve endured with the man sitting opposite you. 

“Thank you,” you finally speak, voice croaking with the lingering dryness the water hadn’t been able to soothe.

He offers a brief nod and maintains a steady gaze through his visor. You have piqued his interest, despite the way he fights against it. 

“Do you have a name?” you ask after a prolonged silence. 

“Mando is fine,” comes his reply. “Where did you learn to fight like that?” 

For the first time since he joined you, you avert your eyes and focus on the wall behind him. By now, you have mastered the art of silence and elusive answers as a way to reveal very little of yourself under interrogation.

“I’ve worked for many people,” you reply flatly. 

Mando sighs at the lack of depth to your answer, as if he had expected something a little more from you. 

“How did you find other Mandalorians?” 

Your gaze returns to him as he asks his next question. He tries to hide his desire for knowledge, and his yearning to discover others of his kind. It resonates with you on a deep level. You understand his desperation, having experienced it yourself. The longing to connect with those who share your story, your origins, your essence. Yet, you’re aware of the harsh reality; the Jedi had mostly been killed and any who survived had vanished. Mandalorians were but a scattered few, their presence so sparse in the galaxy that they barely existed at all. 

“As I said,” you shrug and immediately regret it when a sharp pain jolts through your shoulder and upper arm. You desperately try to hide the wince, but it flashes across your face quicker than you’re able to fight it. “I’ve worked for many people.” 

He sighs heavily. You know this man is smart enough to know when he is fighting a losing battle. You’re tired, you’re hungry and there’s not an area of your body that doesn’t ache. You’re in no mood for his questions. 

Mando moves to stand, his own groan of discomfort audible through the static of his modulator. You’ve both taken quite the beating and you can’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction that you’re not the only one struggling. 

“Do you…” He begins and then trails off as though still processing his next question. “Do you want to get cleaned up?”  

That was quite unexpected. 

You raise your eyebrows slowly, suspicious of his endgame. It’s almost as if he picks up on your hesitation because he quickly clarifies. 

“I’ll go back up into the cockpit. You can use this area…and the fresher is right there,” he nods in the direction of a small opening in the corner. 

“I…uh,” your eyes dart back over to him, still somewhat suspicious. “That would be great…thank you?” 

You’re not entirely sure why it comes out as a question. With an edge of hesitation, you twist yourself just enough to hook your arm over the top of the crate so you can use it to pull yourself back up to your feet. 

“Could you take these off?” 

You hold up your hands, bringing your binders into view. This time, it’s Mando who hesitates. His helmet has a subtle tilt while he considers your question and your previous actions. 

“No,” he states firmly. 

“No? How do you expect me to clean up when I can’t use my hands?” 

He shrugs. He stares straight at you and shrugs. 

“I warned you not to make me regret taking them off last time.”

Your stare hardens into a glare so fierce, you’re almost sure it could melt his precious beskar armour. The tension in your jaw sets your teeth into a tight clench as your fingers unintentionally begin to curl into fists. He sees your festering frustration and chooses to defuse it. 

“You see that?” Mando asks and points to something over your shoulder. You turn your head slowly, spotting the carbonite chamber over the far side of the hold. “That’s where you’ll end up if you so much as think about pulling another stunt like you did earlier. Consider yourself lucky you’re standing here with your wrists bound. Get cleaned up or don’t, the choice is yours.” 

You say nothing. It takes every fraction of your control not to laugh at that. Lucky? You’re far from lucky right now. 

You want to get cleaned up, you really do. But your stubbornness keeps you rooted to the spot, your eyes continuing to burn a hole through the front of his visor to keep him on edge. You’re unpredictable, he knows that. It’s how you have managed to slip through so many attempted captures. So while you understand his need to protect himself and the child while you’re on his ship, it doesn’t stop you from being pissed off about it. 

Still holding your silence, you cross to the fresher and turn to close the door. There is no door. All that sits on the wall is a broken control panel, the functional buttons long gone. 

You sense his heavy gaze lingering on you as you turn on the water and watch the way it cascades over your fingers, a brief respite to wash away the layers of dirt and dried blood caking your skin. Glancing up, you meet your reflection in the small mirror, and a heavy sigh escapes your lips. The evidence of the gruelling confrontation is marked across your skin in the form of vivid, darkening bruises. Scratches, trophies of your frantic battle amongst the branches, streak across your cheeks. 

You try to cup the water, attempting to bring some relief to your battered face, but each attempt fails. The water slips through the gaps in your bound hands, unable to keep hold of it in their limited position. Your frustration snaps as you slam your hands down against the small sink. Simultaneously, an agonising surge of pain courses through your arm, causing a small cry to escape you before you’re able to muffle it. Everything about this is humiliating. He stands watching you, a silent witness to your struggle. 

You should have fought harder. To the death, if you had to. You had given in too easily and allowed yourself to be captured. What would Gideon say if he could see you now? Something tells you that you won’t need to wait long to find out. Once Mando hands you over, he will find you. 

“Here, let me help,” Mando’s voice–albeit softer now–startles you from the small doorway. 

“Why?” you snap. “So you can feel better about yourself? So I can thank you for taking care of me after you fucking captured me?” 

You don’t give him time to answer. His silences are too long and you’re done with them. 

“You did this,” you shove him with your other arm, causing him to stumble back a couple of steps from the doorway. “You did this. You asshole. You fucking asshole. You should have put me in carbonite and been done with it! You…You…” 

You reach to shove his chest again but this time, he grabs hold of your hands and keeps them pressed against his chestplate. 

“You asshole,” your voice cracks. 

The wind has been taken out of your sails and your head lowers, defeated.

“Are you done?” he asks, his voice still calm and quiet. 

Your silence is the only answer he gets and when you don’t pull away from him, he lowers your hands and releases your binders. Not for the first time that day, your senses are filled with him. You think you would be able to identify his smell anywhere now; well-worn leather, polished armour, a musk on his skin. It takes you back to hours earlier, when he had first removed your binders and stood so close to you. 

“Can I see your shoulder?”

You nod and help him with removing your shoulder pauldrons. He takes each one in his gloved hands and places them down carefully, treating them with the respect he would show the pieces of his own armour. Each time, he waits for you. He keeps his hands at a respectful distance while you unclasp your shirt. He turns his helmet to allow you some modesty as you slowly slip your arm free so he’s able to feel around the area when you tell him he can. 

No further words are exchanged. He simply follows your lead, as though he is beginning to learn your movements. He has studied you, memorised your fighting pattern, and watched your decision-making processes. In the hours you have spent together, both in and out of combat, he has started piecing together the parts of you he has seen.

He removes his dirty gloves and sets them down beside your pauldrons. With your eyes still lowered, you note the inky tones of his bruised knuckles and the way his fingers flex almost nervously at being exposed under your gaze. It’s the first part of him that you have seen, the first glimpse of the person beneath all of his armour. 

“Turn around,” he instructs. 

Very slowly, he moves his hands toward your shoulder and it catches you off guard. It’s not his actions that surprise you but rather the warmth of his touch as his fingers gently seek out the tender area he had seen you struggling with earlier. Everything about him had been cold and frigid; his voice, his posture, his overall demeanour…yet his warmth, unexpectedly coursing through his touch, reminds you of his humanity. 

A hiss escapes your lips as your breath catches when his thumb applies pressure to the most sensitive point, coaxing an involuntary flinch from you. 

“Sorry,” he’s quick to apologise. “Try and keep still. I need to feel around this area.” 

The cold that radiates from his beskar is a stark contrast to the warmth of his hands and despite the discomfort they cause when he moves your arm slowly to assess the movement you have, his touch is not unwelcome on your skin. 

No. You have to stop that thought right there. 

“I can’t say for sure, but it doesn’t seem like anything is broken. Could be a torn muscle. It’s probably going to be tender for a few days.” 

You nod, signalling your understanding as he helps you to slip your arm back into your shirt. Your mind bounces between the way his hands felt, the warmth they brought to your skin, and the way he had mentioned a ‘few days’ so casually in his assessment of your shoulder. 

Did that mean there was still a chance for you to make yourself valuable enough to not hand over?

“I’ll leave you to get cleaned up. Do you…do you want some soup?” 

You can’t help yourself. You lift your gaze, unable to hide the half-amused, half-confused expression from your face. This is a funny little dynamic you have going on, one of threatening violence and offering soup. At this, you begin to smile. 

Serves you right for keeping both containers right next to each other, you suppose. You learned that lesson at home the hard way, too—that’s why you own two coffee mugs that read “Paint Water” and “Not Paint Water,” respectively.

“These stupid strudels are never going to get made,” you grumble to yourself as you grab another apple from the sink.

“Why are you off in the clouds, anyway?” Sam asks. “Marcus isn’t due for another hour and a half.”

“It’s not that,” you protest.

Sam raises their eyebrow as if to say, Really?

“Okay, it’s not exactly that,” you amend.

They hop up onto the counter beside you. “Spill.”

“I… I really can’t,” you say hesitantly, feeling guilty that you’re keeping a huge development in your life from your closest friend and supporter.

“Now you’re worrying me,” Sam remarks, frowning.

“Please don’t worry. It’s really nothing, it’s…” you trail off, unsure how you can effectively dance around the elephant in the room without giving Sam any actual details.

Sorry I’m distracted, I can’t stop thinking about the fake art exhibition I’m putting on tonight with the help of my FBI Agent boyfriend and his entire team in order to catch an art thief.

Sam looks troubled, regarding you with concern etched into their expression, but drops the issue. The two of you return to baking in companionable silence, and you try your best not to waste any more apples.

When Marcus arrives, as you could have probably predicted, Sam accosts him immediately.

“I’m gonna need you to tell me what’s going on with your girlfriend,” they say, clicking a pair of plastic serving tongs in his direction.

Marcus holds up his hands in surrender, amused surprise flashing across his features as he steps up to the counter.

“Is this a hold-up?” he jokes. “I’d have to ask her myself, since I just got here.” He turns to you, his eyes warming and smile widening as though he can’t help but do it when he looks at you. “Hello there.”

“Hey,” you grin, ducking your head shyly.

“Sam says there’s something wrong with you,” he says, raising his eyebrows playfully.

You return his smile and shake your head rapidly back and forth. “I’m great,” you insist, although you know Marcus can see the nervousness dancing behind your purposefully-cool demeanor.

Sam hands Marcus his lavender latte and one of the apple strudels—still warm from the oven. When they retreat to the back room for more supplies, Marcus is ready.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, sotto voce. “I hate to think I’ve put you in a situation that you’re uncomfortable with. Listen, the ball is in your court. If you’re nervous about any of this, I can pull the plug on this in an instant—”

“It’s not that,” you answer quietly. “It’s—okay, it is that a little bit, but it’s just hard to keep this from Sam. They’ve supported me for so long, and this is my first art show, even if it’s fake—”

“It’s not fake,” Marcus says insistently. “It might be a convenient front for an operation, but you’ll have very real buyers there, I promise you.”

It’s a reassurance he’s offered more than once over the last month that you’ve spent preparing for this show.

“I’m sorry to make you keep this from Sam,” Marcus adds softly. “We’ll tell them as soon as we can, okay? If everything goes well, you could tell them as early as tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” you whisper gratefully.

“You’re gonna be incredible,” Marcus smiles. “You’ve put in so much work for this, and it shows.”

You smile, remembering the countless nights Marcus stayed up with you until the wee hours of the morning as you painted. Usually half-dressed, he’d sit quietly in an armchair he had pulled over to your “studio” from the other side of the living room. Sometimes he’d read, other times he worked, but most of the time he simply… watched. You lost count of the times you’d glanced in his direction and found him already looking at you, a small, serene smile on his face as he watched.

You’re so comfortable with each other, and it’s barely been over a month that you’ve been together. God. Sometimes—mostly late at night on the scant days Marcus isn’t warming the bed beside you—it spirals you into a panic. How devastating it would be if this ended. You aren’t supposed to get attached. You aren’t supposed to become emotionally invested. Your heart isn’t supposed to beat for one person, your entire body shouldn’t soar with happiness whenever you see their smiling face.

But it does. Oh, it does.

You’ve come close to blurting out the uncomfortable truth several times. After he brings you flowers at work “just because”—I love you. When the two of you make breakfast after sleeping in, using up every dish in the house to make the most elaborate crepes recipe you can find—I love you. In the dark of night, when your chest still heaves with exertion and he’s still softening inside of you, and his kisses are so gentle and unhurried—I love you.

“I’ve gotta run,” Marcus announces. He briefly places his palm over yours—never one to cause a scene while you’re working—before pulling back and giving you a meaningful look. “I’ll see you when you get off work, okay?”

“Okay.”

He gives Sam a little wave, grabs his breakfast, and leaves. Just before he disappears from view, his eyes meet yours for one last look in the cafe window.

I love you.

You wonder if the words will always be right at the tip of your tongue.

— — — — — —

After your shift, you only dither for a little while—okay, maybe the better part of an hour—over what you’re going to wear to your first exhibition. Too casual. Too dressy. Trying too hard. Too old. Too young. The pile on your bed is growing when you get a text from Marcus.

The team is ready for you whenever you are :)

Exhaling shakily, you grab a simple pair of slacks and a colorful blouse, dressing hastily, throwing on some makeup, and hurrying out of the door.

Even if your boyfriend is the team leader, it doesn’t seem smart to keep the FBI waiting.

You aren’t sure what to expect. Will he introduce you as his girlfriend? Will he hug you? Will he treat you like a colleague? Will he pretend you’re nothing to him? Will you mess everything up somehow? Will everyone at the gallery—including Marcus’s art thief—know you’re a plant?

As planned, Marcus meets you at the entrance to the building—to help you get signed in, get your visitor’s pass, and escort you up to the art crimes department. He smiles the same way he always does when he sees you—in that way that lights up his entire face—and gives you a quick kiss on the temple.

“I haven’t thanked you enough for doing this,” he says by way of greeting.

“I feel like I should be saying the same,” you comment as he gently guides you through the glass doors with a hand at your lower back.

So much for being worried if he’ll be cold and distant at work.

He walks with you to the visitor’s kiosk, and in no time at all, you’re outfitted with a real, actual building pass that reads ‘CONSULTANT’ in large, black letters. You focus on not freaking out as you follow Marcus up two flights of stairs and through a frosted glass door emblazoned with the words “Art Crimes.”

Heart hammering in your chest, you let him lead you to a large, open conference room where a dozen people are busying about. When you enter, every head turns to you, and you fight the urge to will yourself to sink into the floor. But then—a large, broad bear of a man in a tac vest cheers.

“This must be the girl!”

The entire room erupts in applause.

You blanch.

Marcus immediately turns a deep shade of red.

“Guys, I… I told you not to do that,” he says weakly, but the corners of his mouth are pulling upward in an exasperated smile.

“But it’s her!” someone shouts.

“Give her a kiss!”

“Out of line,” Marcus scolds, although the small quirk of his lips remains. “This is our consulting artist for the case. She is, for all intents and purposes, a member of this team and her contributions will be treated with all the respect and importance that the position affords. You already know how seriously I take the safety of every member of the team, and that our consultants’ and partners’ safety is the utmost priority.” He hesitates, looking down at the floor and grinning to himself. “And besides, she’s my girlfriend.”

“There it is!”

The team cheers again as you sheepishly butt your head into Marcus’s shoulder. You feel him press a soft kiss just at your hairline before straightening. “And that’s the only discussion we’re going to have about that,” he says, ears still tinged pink.

You listen carefully as plans are discussed. Most of Marcus’s team will be posing as waitstaff, carrying around h’ors d’ouevres on little trays through the gallery as they survey the room. There will be a backup team in an unmarked van in the alley one block from the gallery, where all the tech required for surveillance will be housed. And of course, Marcus will be by your side, playing the role of the gracious, dutiful boyfriend.

Caterers have been booked—all thoroughly vetted and background-checked—and are already in place at the venue. Your art was collected early this morning while you were already at work and displayed according to rough sketches you had provided to the team.

All that’s left is you.

Your heart is in your throat as you watch the agents get outfitted with invisible earpieces, unable to take your eyes off the way Marcus seems to naturally lead his team. He has the same earnest, open expression that endeared you to him the first morning he wandered into Common Grounds, but there’s also something… more. He’s effortlessly commanding, exerting authority without ever being domineering. He carries himself with ease, in his element as he goes over final preparations. He grins easily as he talks over directions with the head of the surveillance team, and when he looks up and locks eyes with you, the feeling hits you again.

I love you.

— — — — — —

Marcus’s team take several unmarked SUVs to the art gallery.

You take the subway.

Marcus’s arm is warm and solid around you, but you can tell he’s distracted; he’s staring somewhere into the middle distance with a somewhat vacant expression.

“Are you okay?” you ask, nudging him gently.

“Hmm? Oh, sorry. I’ve got twenty different voices in my ear tonight, you might have to be a little patient with me,” he says apologetically. “I promise I’ll look the part when we get inside—I’m just listening to everyone’s reports as they get in position.”

“Oh! Of course,” you laugh, feeling silly. Look the part. Right.

As if he can read your mind, Marcus gently runs the backs of his fingers across your cheekbone. “I know this isn't an ideal first exhibition, but I really hope you’re as proud of yourself as I am,” he says quietly. “And no matter how the op goes tonight, I want you to know that your success is just as important to me as catching the guy, okay?”

“What if it’s a flop?” you ask, grimacing at your own insecurity.

Marcus shakes his head fondly as his smile widens. “I genuinely don’t think it will be. You’re truly talented—I mean that, I’m not just saying it because we’re together, or because we needed an artist for this to work. All you need is an audience, and well—” he grins crookedly, “—we’ve got that covered, I think. Half the budget for this case went to advertising this show. We won’t just get the thief to show up—we’ll get half of D.C.”

You nod, awed, as always, by the man’s earnestness. As your stop is announced, he waggles his eyebrows playfully, making you laugh.

“You—you’re gonna be safe, right?” you ask in a small voice. “Like, I know there’s gonna be security and stuff around me, but like… what about you?”

Marcus chuckles. “I am the security detail. Try not to worry too much, okay? This is a highly competent team, and I’d trust every single agent here with my life.” He suddenly rolls his eyes, confusing you until he murmurs, “I knew you’d have a damn field day with that. Stop flooding the channel.”

“This is gonna be a confusing night,” you remark lightly as you step off the metro.

“Just focus on you.” Marcus squeezes your hand reassuringly. “The other stuff doesn’t exist anymore. Just you and me at your first exhibition.”

You and me.

You squeeze his hand right back.

Marcus plays his part outstandingly well. He hovers at your shoulder, a gracious smile pasted on his face as you greet guests and answer questions about your art. He lets you do most of the talking, keeping his responses to smiles and handshakes as more and more people approach you. It’s the perfect cover—you know he’s listening intently to the chatter in his earpiece as the agents canvas the spacious gallery, looking for their suspect.

You start to lose yourself in the whirlwind of the event. You hand out business cards in a haze of disbelief, shake an endless parade of hands, and watch in amazement as people look appreciatively at your paintings on the walls. Marcus was right—people are actually buying your art. You almost forget the real purpose behind the event.

“This is amazing,” you murmur to Marcus as you stroll through the gallery, taking it all in.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Amazing—I really do mean that.” He gives you a warm, if slightly strained smile as he balances his dual responsibilities. You beam back at him. He’s so brilliant. When the night is over—whatever happens—you really should tell him how you feel. Another patron approaches you, congratulating you on your success, and Marcus shoots you a wink before stepping back and letting you have the limelight.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t sweet cheeks and her Fed boyfriend.”

You whirl around. That fucking voice. It cuts through your contentment and makes your shoulders tense with anxiety. You swallow thickly around the bad taste in your mouth, and spit out your response.

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20 (Tentatively Epilogue for BTY and Prologue for sequel Close To Home) - Hopefully on BTY birthday, August 15th!

TBD…. (Just in case….)

|||| Drabbles ||||

Dincember 2022 Masterlist

|||| Artwork ||||

Commission by the lovely @aesnawan​​!!!

Back To You Playlist (These Idiots Mix)

Back To You Playlist (Story Mix)