let it grow

She looped her arm in his with practiced ease, the action one he wasn’t aware he wanted so much. Perhaps it was how casually she did it or because she was simply touching him, either way, Damon was sure that everything in his life could be cured by her closeness. He sighed and instinctively pulled her closer to him, his once sad smile turning into one that matched her own. It was funny how the world worked out, he thought, never in his wildest dreams would he though a man could smile so much. He wished they could just be swallowed by the earth in live in the own private universe. He wondered what Sabina would think about that.

All her choices seemed impossible to him– how could he even pick between glowing bugs and flowers? He didn’t know this place so how could he know what he should choose. Damon shook his head, his lips tipping downward as he shrugged. “I dunno, Flowers. Anywhere but the Carnival is fine by me.” Just thinking about going back there made a shiver creep up his spine, all the bad things that had happened to him over the last several days had been in between those stalls and he was not going to go back there. Not with her. Especially when he couldn’t be sure whether something bad wouldn’t happen to her. Damon was one thing– but her? Damon was not ready to see her suffer. 

He laughed at the thought of teaching her how to pick a lock, the idea something he would one day like to teach her. Perhaps it would come in use to her, his super power. And besides, he liked the idea of being able to smart and teach her something. It wasn’t every day he could do something like that. He grinned instead thinking about seeing her around gardens. Plus he remembered hearing things about the Silver gardens when he was a child, that and seeing something like that with his own eyes seemed like a dream.

“Hmmmm…..” he hummed, his head cocking to the side, “I think that… we should go to the gardens, don’t you, Flowers? See where you come from, huh? Will i see the flower you were born in?” All ridiculous ideas, he knew that, but it was an amusing thought thinking she burst from a flower and into the world. Although, from all that he knew, she very well could have.

She started them off at a gentle pace, something that would give off no signs that anything was amiss about a girl and a boy linked arm-in-arm. With any luck, if anyone spotted them at all, they might just be an anonymous couple wandering the streets as the carnival wound down. Someone would have to get very close to see his injuries, to recognize her as Governor Welle’s daughter, to find evidence that their blood ran different colors. No matter how flimsy, she lined up all the reasons she might fake a sense of safety and lead them away from Caesar’s Square to the river, or the gardens, or wherever the evening may take them.

Though she might have been a little disappointed he hadn’t opted into teaching her how to pick locks of her own, the idea of showcasing her gardens overpowered all. In this way, she could show him something she loved without expressly having to use her abilities – only show what she’d already done. Perhaps more breaking and entering might be finally pushing what small luck they’d found far too far. “Excellent choice,” she agreed, steering them down a narrow street in a roundabout direction towards the brilliantly illuminated Whitefire Palace peaking over the other buildings. 

She allowed herself a chuckle at the thought of bursting free from a flower. It was strange to think someone saw her that way... but nice, too. There were many times when Sabina herself had thought she was more green than Silver, more like any of her plants than members of her family. Perhaps Damon could sense that as well, even after only knowing her for an afternoon. 

“I’ll show you all my favorites,” she mused, as if she could truly choose favorites. That list would include every seed, sprout, and stem. “Perhaps you might find a bloom that suits you as well,” she added as she pressed her elbow lightly to his side. Even if he couldn’t, Sabina was determined to pick a plant for him before he left. After all, she had done so with everyone she’d ever met. “It’s nothing like the carnival, no bells or whistles or blinking bulbs, but... nice all the same. And quiet at this time of day.” 

Damon knew he was going to have to pinch himself eventually. Surely this was all a dream? If he pinched himself he would wake up in the dumpster from an awful dream….Wait, maybe he’s dead. Maybe the guy with the roots that came from the ground had killed him and Damon had finally made it into the world of the lost. Damon wondered if he should pinch himself at all, then, not wanting the dream to end. Instead Damon decided to accept it and remind himself she was with him and beside him, her delicate fingers wrapped around his wrists. 

“Good plan, Flowers.” He agreed, a smile perched on his cheeky lips. “I always you were the smart one out of the two of us.” He winked and pulled her along, ignoring her plea for him to stay close to her. She may be the smart one but that didn’t mean he had to listen to her. There was no way in hell he would stay close to her, it’s not that he didn’t trust her, it was just more…. he was more equip with dealing with danger than her. It was what it was. He just wished she could understand. 

They slipped down the side of the alleyway, their backs close to the brick wall as they kept their eyes vigilant for others. Damon was confident they would be okay, a calmness settling over him that seemed to be lacking when they were in the shop. He liked being able to be the one to protect, so often he was the one that brought pain and sadness, the one to be protected from…. he liked that she trusted him. Damon thought Kris would be proud of him.

He kept looking over his soldier, making sure there was no one there. Damon didn’t want to think of the things that might happen next. He knew she would be thinking about it to… Where had their time gone? It wasn’t fair that they were painfully reaching the end. All the good things that had happened becoming all but a memory. Damon wished she could touch him one more like she had back at the river, dabbing at his wound, her finger tickling his skin… But he didn’t know how to make it happen again. How could he ask someone he just met to hold him and touch him and never let go? Perhaps he’d just have to be okay with her fingers wrapped around his wrist.

They came to a corner when Damon finally turned to her. “Where now?” He asked. “We gotta go back to the carnival, yeah?” He sounded sad, a question he hoped she’d disagree too. He wished she’d offer taking him home with her. He wished she would tell him he didn’t have to go away and he could sleep beneath her floor boards indefinitely. But he didn’t know how to ask her that either. He smiled. “I mean, I don’t have to go do I? We can find more adventure, yeah?” He paused, deciding he would regret it if he didn’t say anything. “I-I could just come with you, maybe.”

But she could hear it now, faintly – enthusiastic cheers, bells and whistles, laughter like she hadn’t heard in weeks, all mixed together in a soft, faraway hum that scarcely seemed real. It was real, though. But so was Damon, battered and bruised at her side. How could the world be both: carefree carnivals and broken boys? How could her universe protect and pamper her while sending the boy who had helped her up out of the river to the front lines of an endless war? 

She opened her mouth with a heavy inhale, preparation for the next inevitable answer: yes. Yes, we have to go back. But before she could admit their fate, the one inevitability they might ever share, he continued. Another unfamiliar feeling crept into her chest, a heavy tightness caging her heart, while the breeze felt cooler against her bare arms and the corners of her lips seemed too heavy to lift into her seemingly-permanent smile. 

Sabina had earned the nickname ‘the eternal optimist,’ and took it as a great compliment even when it was intended as a snide insult. Though far removed from the Haven household, she thought of herself able to bend light and shadow in a way: able to find a ray of sunlight on even the darkest days, eager to search for silver linings in heavy storm clouds, just as content to dance in the brilliant sunshine or the pouring rain... but there didn’t seem to be a single thread in their situation that she could spin up into something optimistic. She searched Damon’s face for answers neither of them had, for some reason that they could go along with his plan, but found nothing but the misplaced hope she realized everyone must see in her every single day. She hated to be on the other end, the one to dash dreams and disappoint, but what choice did she have? In what world might they be able to walk freely through the streets, empty as they were now or packed with the Sunday-morning crowds, exactly as they were without judgment? 

“More adventure, then,” she said instead, quirking back into her natural smile as she released his wrist and looped her arm through his. No, she much preferred the world as it was in her head and enjoyed ‘hellos’ far more than any goodbye. Perhaps it was a bad, terrible, horrible idea to continue on, especially after escaping detecting not so long ago, but was it truly more dangerous than anything else they had done so far? “Where would you like to go? If we follow the river, we’re bound to see the first lightning bugs soon.” As she mentally turned her back on the serious dangers they faced, it was easier and easier to settle back into her usual optimism. “Or, the outskirts of the gardens... I’m biased, I know, but they’re quite beautiful at this hour. Or, if you’re really hoping to press our luck, you might teach me that trick with the pin. The lock trick, I mean.”

Any other time, in any other life, Emmett figured he would think the same as she, to let beauty take root everywhere, in every means—but this was not another time and this was not some other life, and Emmett had no desire to play pretend. He saw what he must of the world’s rotting frame, and dealt with it from there: built new supports, better means of transport, distribution of weight, survival. He did not need Sabina to be convinced of flowers only sitting by the long table and nowhere else, he only needed for the matter not to pressed too deeply. For when a Silver, or even a Red with ignorance, pressed too deeply that was when Emmett had to 

She would come to drop the subject, and Emmett, though knowing somehow that the gentle disagreement was not at all settled, only stored, was happy. He did not like having to act as opposition, not with a Silver and especially not with a Silver who demanded such strange caution in his steps. Strange because he caught himself not wanting to bear the caution, like it were the uniform he put on each morning: not entirely a choice to wear but more an action, a superficial change. Below his suit each day, there was still a plain t-shirt; as there was always too, a sense to Emmett around Sabina, beneath his caution, that he could simply be, that he needn’t see her as threat (when of course he did). For this reason, and how tiring it was to be always self-aware, he preferred not to test his caution with disagreements. Conversations of the warmth of the day’s sun, or songs which one had heard, were what Emmett preferred. They were simple, and they were easy.

Noticing Sabina’s persistence at singling out his feelings, Emmett suppressed a grin, eyes crinkling beneath the effort. A soft breath escaped him, close to laughter but not quite, “I am, m’Lady” he said without knowing it to be true or not. Seeing the others happy brought him peace of mind, but was that the same as enjoyment? Or, more importantly: did it overcome the trepidation he felt for Aurelian’s unknown motives? Figuring only an honest answer would quench her curiosity, he then added: “The music reminds me of my home before coming to the palace. It’s a… nice thing to hear sung about the square.”

But perhaps it wasn’t a lie, she thought, when he’d shared a small piece of himself. Though it was a small shred, a sliver of a shard, she held tight to it: his home. That was something that none of the Reds with whom she kept in contact spoke in great length about, their lives before – and beyond – the palace walls. Despite all the other barriers between them, real or imagined, in blood or social standing, Sabina truly cared for one of their differences: experience. Having never been more than a stone’s throw from the Capital River, Sabina was determined, even desperate, to learn more about what was truly out there, yet that seemed to be one thing no one was willing to share. If she had thought it through, she might realize there were good reasons, but she was blinded by her quest for enlightenment.

"Did you dance often, back home?” she asked lightly, hoping to build the conversation, learn more, keep adding to the picture in her head. “Or sing?” she continued, lifting her brows and her voice at the end of the question. That was an image she quite liked.

He felt bad about snapping at her like he did when she’d done nothing put help and protect him. She didn’t deserve it. She was smart and bright and warm in his foggy grey world, he shouldn’t be so stupid. She was worth every moment. She still saw him as that kicked puppy by the dumpster, cowering at his closeness– hell, he was surprised she hadn’t run away when she realised what a fucking nutcase he was. He longed for her touch again but he didn’t want to push it, not wanting to come off as creepy or pathetic like so many already probably think. He wanted to be the guy she thought he was. There was something nice in that thought that seemed to settle the nerves in Damon stomach.

But the thing was, her anger didn’t last. Her clouded eyes cleared and a bright, warm smile spread across her lips once more. Damon wondered briefly for a moment how she did that, how she stopped herself from being so irritated, how she just let it fizzle out to nothing. He wondered if that was just who she was or because she was born Silver without much trouble in her life. Damon, however, decided he wouldn’t decide that about her, not when he’d known her for only little more than an hour. Instead he made a mental to note to ask her one day.

He sighed, knowing she was right, despite the fact he didn’t feel completely in danger. He bit his lip for a moment, trying to think of a way that the could stay together forever without either of them sacrificing their lives. Unfortunately his plans still hadn’t extended past throwing rocks at her window while he slept in an alleyway next door. Damon breifly considered kidnapping her but he knew Aurora could only just deal with one Silver in their walls, let alone two. Plus, he was sure he would be the one to blame if he did, spouting nonsense of him finally loosing it and kidnapping another victim for him to abuse without thought. No, she had to stay in her world. She had so much to lose if she left compared to him. Sure, all he would have to do was avoid returning to the Choke and he could live happily with her. Huh, what a dream.

“Fine,” he sighed. “You’re probably right.” He moved, peaking his head over the counter once more. It looked as if the drunks had settled down for the sunset, their limbs sprawled out around them as the took in the last rays of warmth. “You crawl to the door, i’ll get a shirt, then we can go, yeah?” Before she had time to answer he stood up in full view of the window, darting for his old shirt without little thought to the matter. He didn’t need a new shirt anyway. It was probably better in the end. 

He didn’t bother checking to see if she’d moved, knowing she knew that it was all or nothing now. Slipping on his shirt and grabbing his jacket on the way, he darted back to the door the arrived through, reminding himself to keep low. “You ready, Flowers?” He asked, a small cheeky smile on his face again. “This might not be pretty so prepare yourself.” More a dig at himself and what might happen to him than their actual hurried escape. He put one hand on the door nob, looking to her for confirmation.

She reached out instinctively again when he moved too look back over the counter, but with the voices so much further away she wasn’t nearly as afraid of immediate capture and didn’t actually touch him this time. It was all but unfathomable to her how readily he put himself in harm’s way. She couldn’t make it through a luncheon without weighing the odds of every innocuous comment that filtered through her mind, without the underlying urge to protect her family and herself as much as she could without compromising her true opinions; Damon, however, faced quite considerable consequences and didn’t seem to care. At all. He must be a soldier, she thought again. How else could he so easily throw himself to the front lines?

Damon was up and across the room before she truly had a chance to process his plan. Crawl to the door? Her mother would be horrified. But that was silly, Sabina realized, when there wasn’t even a worse that could begin to describe her mother’s outrage if she were to find out how Sabina had spent the rest of her afternoon. Soaking the silk of her dress, bounding around barefoot, creeping on hands and knees across the hardwood... Those were the least of Sabina’s worries now. 

But Sabina crawled, as instructed, even though Damon had popped up into full view of the front window. She could only hope the mannequins and hand painted lettering obscured him from view. Before the front counter was out of reach, however, she tucked back into her tiny drawstring bag, still somehow hidden at her shoulder, and shook a few coins free. She exchanged them for the extra scraps of the gauzy cotton she’d pulled and a roll of the fabric tape, doing her best to line them up on the counter from her crouched position at the floor before heading towards the door once more.

“We’ll be fine,” she countered when he met her at the door, mirroring his smile with one of her own and even believing the words a bit more now. “We’ll be together.” She punctuated with a nod, indicating it was time, and held her breath as Damon opened the door. She let him out into the alley first and was sure to lock the door from the inside before she shut it silently behind them, locking them back out onto the streets stretched with long, dark shadows. It was getting later and cooler already. She was reminded of the old adage: time flies... 

She didn’t remember reaching out to grasp his wrist, but she realized she had, noticing a faint pulse under her thumb while she scanned the street ahead and listened for approaching footsteps. “We ought to take side streets, alleys, ‘roads less traveled,’” she quoted in a low voice from a poem she adored as she finally let him go. “Less chance of surprises that way, I should think.” Now outside, the sudden surge of confidence she’d found seemed to be fading away into the late afternoon. Even now, she could hear faint, echoing laughter from the group that had passed them earlier. Everything she had done this afternoon had seemed like such a good idea – until now. Now it only seemed foolish, naive, dangerous. “Stay close to me?”

Sabina was right about the stand with sweet treats–among which were the famous fruit tarts–not being far away, because by the time Claudius had finished explaining himself, they arrived at the spot. Everything that was displayed looked absolutely heavenly, and it took Claud a few moments of contemplating before he decided on a fruit tart with various berries on top. Once Sabina had made her choice as well, he paid for both their treats, and didn’t waste any time into trying his as soon as it was in his hands. “Gods, this is amazing.” he nodded, talking with his mouth full. “How about you, though,” Claud returned to their previous topic, nudging Sabina gently. “Is there anyone you’ve grown close to?”

After accepting the treat with skirts held in one hand and a fruit tart in the other, she expressed her thanks in a half-curtsy. While she was glad he’d extended the initial offer, she was delighted she made the right recommendation and only half-tried to stifle the chuckle that came as a result of Claud’s apparent pleasure. She traced a finger through the sugary sweet glaze on top of the treat before poking the finger in her mouth, face fixed in concentration. She glanced at Claudius in a sideways sort of way, attempting to estimate his reaction if she chose to be honest. “I think I’ve grown closest to Emmett, as of late,” she stated matter-of-factly, pulling a strawberry free from the tart and popping it on her tongue, chewing, swallowing. She then allowed herself a light chuckle, wondering if she had perhaps pressed her luck too far. “Though I’m much like you, at least in that regard. Mother knows best, after all, and plans to prove it.”

It hurt a little when she ignored his joke, hoping that they could just sit together for a while or forever and then both escape together. What was the point of them splitting up? She may be able to draw them away…but then what? What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just run away while they zeroed in on her. No. He wouldn’t let her be in the line of fire. He’d spent plenty of time on the front lines to know what it can to do a person. Although this wasn’t war, it certainly felt like it. It was Sabina and him against them. It was them against the world. Red and Silver hand in hand. Damon with his scarred imperfect body and her with her perfect one. They would definitely make headlines.

“Are you nuts?” He asked, the irony most likely lost on her. “You’re not going out there. We’re staying her. Together.” He spoke definitely, his own stubbornness matching hers. Besides, if they just squatted for a while the Drunk would either go to sleep or leave, then they both had a safe exist. No one needed to get hurt. Yet she still insisted he needed it more than she did, that he was more vulnerable for whatever stupid reason. He had been through enough that one more bruise 

“Who gives a fucking rats ass if i’m safe or not, Sab! ” His voice much louder than it should have been.  It felt strange to have her real name come from him, even if it was a shortened version. He could feel his his annoyance setting in, carving a place on his brow as he looked at her with a frown. Damon hoped it was nothing more than being annoyed, that he wouldn’t turn into the monster that she can’t see lurking beneath the surface.

Damon took a moment, closing his eyes as if to reset his brain and counteract her stubbornness. “All i’m saying is… I don’t want you to go out there. You’ve done plenty for me today.” He shook his head and took a concentrated breath in and out. “Either we stay in here and wait for them to leave, or we both sneak outta that door together. I don’t want you to be takin’ the blame for anything. Besides,” he said with a shrug, “I should be the one ownin’ you my life, patchin’ me up like this.”

Surely he had to understand all of that. No matter what game they had played this afternoon, no matter how much she'd enjoyed it, no matter how much either of them wanted there to be no discernible divide between them, there was. There always would be. They would always be different, too, with different lives and different consequences. It was the ugly reality of their world, but he had to see it. So why was he being so stubborn? 

Who would care if he got hurt? I would, she thought, the answer so obvious. Couldn't he see that too? When he raised his voice, it was her turn to sharply shush him now.

The warm, tight pulse that she still couldn't place clawed up the back of her throat... and suddenly she realized what it was. Irritation. Annoyance. Defiance. All of them foreign, and all of them intermixed with fear. She didn't like how any of them felt, pulsing in her temples and coursing hot metallic blood through her veins. Most of all, she didn't like how ready Damon was to put himself in harm's way and on her behalf, no less. Single-handedly, she had put him in a dangerously precarious position and he returned by intending to take the blame. There weren't many things she hated, but this feeling was one of them. Did Aurelian, their king, feel this way at the thought of his armies on the front lines of the Lakelander war, risking and losing their lives to keep him, his family, and his country safe? Did Domitus suffer to think that his guards would do the same for him? 

She didn't care how they felt, for she was singularly determined to shield Damon from the danger she'd placed him in. No one would risk harm to protect her, least of all the one she’d unintentionally positioned in harm’s way. Once they'd both allowed a moment of silence to pass, punctuated by the distant but still present voices drifting down the street, Sabina softened considerably. Anger at any level was an emotion she couldn't sustain for long and, in addition, he seemed less inclined to run straight into a sure fight now.

"And you helped me up out of the river, only for me to repay you by placing you in danger," she whispered. "I think that evens the scales between us a bit." A small smile turned up at the corners of her lips now. "But alright, then. We'll stay together." This way, she realized, she would be able to oversee his escape and perhaps stand a chance at ensuring his safety. "I think we ought to get out of here, though. It will get harder to get away undetected as it gets later, especially if some are already starting to leave."

He could see the ugly long shadows on the wall as the stretched before the two of them, their voices carrying like there was absolutely nothing keeping them hidden. Damon thought it was silly how scared he was. He was a soldier, a fighter, a rebel. He had no reason to be scared of some drunken Silvers. God, they should be the one’s fearing him. He didn’t like to think of the horrible things he could do to a perfect Silver face with just his fists despite the fact he had dreamt about it. He could see her trying to protect her new broken flower, his wellbeing being more than hers, he could see her try. But it felt like a secret he knew when she didn’t. She didn’t know what he was made of. She didn’t know he had fangs instead of teeth and a monster instead of a human soul.

“I know, I know…” He whispered back, thankful for her quite whispers of reassurance in his ears, even if he would have to be the scapegoat. And Damon was okay with that. Knowing indefinitely his life was not worth hers, that there are plenty of other people like Damon in the world, ravaged by a soulless beast, unholy forever…. But there was only very few with the heart and soul of Sabina. And that was something he was okay with.

Her grip tightened and his tightened back, his breathing short and shallow as the shadows on the wall moved with the sun, moving around until he wasn’t exactly sure where they were. He could still hear them talking but he couldn’t make out whether they were gone or just…moved. Damon wanted to be the bigger man for once. His dreams of being the hero slowly trickling into his mind as his arms released around hers, fingers creeping to the top of the counter. “I’m just going to have a quick look, okay. Just stay low.” He whispered, his voice full of confidence. 

Peaking over the counter, he could see them in the middle of the street crashing into each other, falling over. Damn, they were still within seeing distance. Damon wanted to draw them away, and elaborate planning involving his ability to run faster than them. But he knew that would be for nothing. He ducked back down and looked at her worried face trying to be strong. “Okay. Good news and bad news.” He sat back against the counter. “Bad news: I need to go to take a piss and they’re still out there. Good news…” He paused, thinking. “You’re stuck here with me for a little bit.” He grinned and pushed the hair out of his eyes. Hopefully they never left. Hopefully he could sit with her forever.

She suddenly found her voice again, in the most emphatic whisper she could manage: “No!” He seemed undeterred, as if something had come over him, as if the very real, very present, and very near danger didn’t bother him at all. She was reminded of the river, how he’d slid to the water despite all his injuries, how she’d thought him a little unstable. This wasn’t simply instability though, this was akin to attempting suicide. 

“No no no no no,” she repeated with more urgency now, eyes widening in sheer panic and tugging at his wrist until he’d finally slipped up out of her grasp. She froze again under the counter, eyes to the wall in search of shadows, hands out stretched to him or whatever plant life she could reach, depending on how the next few seconds played out.

When he settled back to the ground, she waited for some indication he he wasn’t crazy, that he realized he’d made a mistake and was lucky to still be breathing, that he was going to perhaps listen to her insistent pleas next time, but none of that came. Instead, he looked quite pleased with himself while Sabina could only stare on in bewildered horror. From the way he still stood tall with the assorted injuries criss-crossing his body, she suspected his pain tolerance was higher than most, but the way he could joke after the very real possibility of being caught shirtless in a closed Silver store was evidence that perhaps he didn’t feel fear either – at least not in a way she could understand.

“Don’t do that again,” she insisted softly, unable to return one of his jokes for the first time. She hadn’t realized how hard her heart had been pounding, but she could feel it in her ears now; hadn’t noticed the searing tightness in her chest until he’d sunk back into her sight and she’d remembered to breathe again. 

If he had gotten caught, it would have been entirely her fault and even if he didn’t care, she did. Who was he to risk his life so that she might escape undetected? What did he possibly have to gain from assuming the hero role in the face of four strangers who might be able to rip him apart in an instant? Why on earth would he risk capture and torture for her, the girl who had dragged him reluctantly into this situation? The thought of him taking the fall scared her more than getting caught on her own.

“I can lead them away,” she whispered instead of playing along. “It’s not entirely uncharacteristic of me to wander the streets alone and...” No harm will befall be for doing so, she wanted to say, but did not. “Well, I’ll go one way, you go the other.” When she said the words aloud, she realized what she had suggested: the end of their afternoon. She didn’t want it to end, but she was also quite aware she’d gotten far more time with him than she could have ever imagined. And he’d almost paid the price for it. “You’ll be safer that way.”

It was nice to see someone have a backbone, especially when that someone knew how to approach the subject in a manner that would not offend. Yes, Vita knew she should cultivate Sabina that much more.

“Another point of view?” she asked, her voice deceptively curious. “I am certain that they could provide another point of view,” she agreed. “But I’m not sure that their point of view would be one on which I could agree.”

“It might not always be about agreeing,” Sabina offered, eyes straight ahead. “They’ve seen places I’ve never been, had experiences I’ll never know... There must be something edifying in that. Why else preserve literature through countless wars? Or invite the Reds today?” The way Sabina had asked, it wasn’t a rhetorical question.

Ten years of Feats hadn’t been won by hope or luck, though, nor had Octavian had either on his side when Gerard’s fall eventually came. Perhaps that- aside from the consequences that came from his defeat, including the loss of his pillars of support, of stability- was why Gerard couldn’t control his emotions about Octavian Carros. The man put effort into everything he did, in the same way Gerard had trained for years, every day, his every hour planned. Octavian had beat him on skill, and they would not fight again until the stoneskin knew he could go in there wanting to draw blood and end up succeeding. 

For so long he’d thought that Sabina Welle simply smiled too much and looked for good where there was none, but maybe there was this as well: maybe she saw the world through a framework he didn’t believe existed, and he simply could not understand her as a person. How she existed in this world where wars could last for hundreds of years and sixteen years of an engagement could be dissolved by the swing of a broadsword glinting in the sunlight. 

“I’d hate to think that I’ve given you reason to believe hoping actually works,” Gerard told her, though her next words kept him in his place by her side. His urge to leave her and this conversation behind had been growing since he’d agreed to spend time with her, but in the same way he couldn’t stand to admit defeat to Helene, he could not stand to allow Sabina to win this- whatever it was. 

Ignoring her words about his cat- adorable, he thought with irritation. He’d just wanted a cat, really, there was no need to insult him. One defeat in the Feats and suddenly the Welle girl thought he had a heart. 

Never mind that the cat elicited the first smile Gerard had given to anyone but Alessa since losing, or the sense of peace he’d felt as he curled her up close to him on his way back to the Palace to make a home for her in his apartment. Never mind that she was already named Princess ( it was a coincidence, but he liked to think it in honor of what Alessa would be after Queenstrial- he had no doubt she would win, after all. 

The Red woman who had sold the kitten to him, Andy, he remembered her introducing himself, had been all too kind. He hadn’t taken well to it, but she’d lit up at the offer of him buying Princess, not that he would have taken a ‘no’ from her. She’d seemed more happy at the thought that he wanted a cat than at the ten tetrarchs he’d handed over for Princess, but Reds were interesting like that.

Not everything was about money or standing. He couldn’t say he was jealous of their life, no, but they had their perks. Few, but present. 

“I don’t cheat,” Gerard answered, insulted. “This isn’t something romantic, Sabina, I’m not looking for an excuse to win you a prize.” 

Didn’t he see it? Hope had worked. She’d hoped she’d be able to roam free from the palace again, and the doors had opened wide just this morning. She’d hoped that one day Emmett and Lake might take part in one of the parties she so often enjoyed, and they’d been invited to this one. She’d hoped Gerard might humor her just once, and here he was. How else could explain his presence? Not out of some buried fondness for her or a desire to partake in a silly little game, she was sure.

But, even beyond that, couldn’t he see that in a world where their abilities were bestowed by the singularity of their father’s blood, where children were forced to fight the wars of their fathers, where all their peers would all eventually be divided into the most genetically viable pairs with no regard for their own opinions, couldn’t he see that sometimes hope was all they had?

How strange, she realized, that Gerard didn’t see it her way at all. Perhaps he couldn’t, in a way that Sabina sometimes wished she couldn’t – maybe in the same way she couldn’t help but see the sun peeking through the clouds, Gerard could only see bright light shrinking behind ominous darkness; where her goblet was always half full and his was regrettably half gone. She couldn’t fathom wearing the perpetually disinterested look he always seemed to have upon his face, yet he surely felt the same way about the smile that stretched across her features, wrinkled the corners of her eyes. They were opposites, perhaps, but somehow here, together side by side, and products of the same Silver society.

“Then I suggest you don’t lose,” she offered in retort, quite amused with herself now. As if she cared for winning, but this was one of her more favored booths. Nothing wasteful like shattering flatware, nothing dangerous like tossing around blunted metal pins, nothing unkind like dunking unsuspecting victims into icy water, just a simple game, and just what she liked. 

She aimed the first ring between forefinger and thumb, a swift flick of her wrist, both eyes open and fixed forward — and landed her first throw around the neck of a bottle. The rattling plastic against glass was a satisfying sound and she might have almost squealed in delight if she wasn’t sure it would cause Gerard to immediately flee. “I’d like a plush animal, I think, if I win,” she added with eyes still looking forward as she lined up her next toss, launched it, and hooked the ring around another bottleneck. Her smile grew. “And what about you?”

She rubbed his collar to feel the fabric, watching her face every second she did so, every little movement it made. Every blink. Every breath. He couldn’t help but be mesmerised by everything she did. Perhaps it was because she was sunny and vibrant in his flawed world, or perhaps it was because she was so different to the people of the Guard, different to Kris and Adri and Andy…. Perhaps it was both. He felt happy with his life when he was close to her, happy and content to be Damon Ivers in a world of pain and suffering. She was like nothing he knew. Damon thought he might want to tell her about it, but he would no idea how to start. She didn’t need to know, not yet.

“Sure thing, boss. Whatever you say.” He began unbuttoning his shirt, the feeling of clean cotton something he didn’t particularly enjoy the itching feeling of. The silence around them didn’t seem suffocating either, instead it sat over them in comfort. Knowing that the silence met safety. Knowing it meant they were well away from the action of the carnival, sitting in their own little world. He wanted to stay in it forever. With his shirt half unbuttoned, he pushed a piece of hair off his face without thinking. Luckily it felt like his clothes were much dryer now, the warmth of the room soaking up the moisture in his dark pants, so much so that he had almost forgotten they had gone for an impromptu dip.

“So will linen be less itchy?” He asked, continuing with the rest of his buttons. Pacing the room without thought, he was glad that they had been conveniently close to a clothes place. It seemed stupid they had been out in the open at all. Swinging the shirt off his body, he placed it on the counter in a thoughtless ball. “Ya know, I sometimes i wonder why silvers have–” then he heard it. Laughing. Joyous laughing. A whole group of it. No. “Shhh… don’t move for a second…Just stay there.” He approached the display window by the front of the shop, doing his best to look out the window and down the street in search of the noise. It was okay if he was found– but her? With him? Damon wouldn’t allow that, not for a second.

In the near distance he could see them. Drunk silvers. Four of them. Obviously they had decided that it was a good idea to get out of the Carnival too. “FUCK., Fuck, fuck, fuck, they’re fucking coming down the street.” He rushed back to her, wrapping his arms around he shoulders and pulling her down with him behind the counter. “Shit, Flowers.” He didn’t think about his cursing in front of her, the words spoken in panic and urgency. 

His bare arms still held her tightly as they ducked behind the counter, the sound getting closer and closer until he could hear them in front of the window. “Just our luck.” He whispered into her ear, their faces so close together he could feel the breath on his.

For a moment, the tailor shop was entirely silent. She could hear nothing, now that he wasn’t dropping his nickname for her and she wasn’t rustling through folded fabrics and hung shirts, nothing but her own heartbeat, that is. Until she caught a snippet of what had caught his attention just seconds before: laughter, sloppy shuffling steps, and it was getting louder. If she had simply paused before, she was frozen now.

Before she could even process the severity of the situation, contemplate exactly the magnitude of their doom, fathom that she and she alone had put them in this position, Damon was upon her, him reaching out to her instead of her reaching out to him for the first time this afternoon. She might have yelped in surprise if the initial shock hadn’t stolen the air from her lungs. The nickname reminded her to breathe, though, and she did, shallowly and quietly, eyes wide and alert and desperately scanning what she could see from their place behind the counter. With no ideas of her own, she had nowhere to look but at Damon.

“We’ll be fine,” she breathed, emphasizing with a barely-there nod. For the first time this afternoon, she was suddenly not so sure that was true and the slight shake in her voice betrayed her. As if to somehow steady herself or convince Damon she could protect him, she lifted her hands to touch him, his skin warm and dry now. She stared into his face, nowhere else to look, searching for a sign that he believed her now, trusted her now. Did he? And on the off chance that he did, should he?

Shadows moved against the back wall, pulling her gaze from his. She counted four of them shifting among those cast by the mannequins, distorted by the glass between them but no less terrifying. In fact, the way the sun had sank towards the horizon only stretched them out longer, turning four Silvers of normal stature into long, distorted monsters with thin curved knives in place of fingers, ready to draw blood both Red and Silver. The thin barrier between the two of them huddled beneath the counter and the four others outside muffled their conversation, but not enough to give her any sense of security. Every word of their conversation that she could pick out despite their lazy slurred speech was a reminder of just how little there was between them. Every laugh that rippled through their crowd reverberated down the otherwise empty streets. If they wanted to crash through the glass, it wouldn’t be hard, no matter their abilities. And, that in mind, being a greenwarden hardly gave her any advantage at all if they were to be discovered, if they were meant to fight, if she was to protect Damon from the danger in which she’d coaxed him into. 

But she had to. She could, if it came to that. She had trained her entire life, but had performed poorly since she could never truly give the exercises her full effort. Sabina couldn’t bring herself to harm another person even in a controlled situation, but if provoked, if necessary, if it meant protecting him, she would. 

She tightened her grip on him when another contagious and boisterous laugh rumbled behind the glass. “They’ll be on their way soon,” she whispered, attempting to sound more sure than her anxious motion and voice made her out to be.

“I hope she finds a peaceful future. Without war or strife. I think we all deserve that.” He looked up and caught sight of the tent, covered in pale blue, velvety fabric, white stars and crescent moons scattered throughout. Someone opened the flap to exit, leaving the path clear for Graham and Sabina to enter. “Yourself?”

She caught the flap of the fabric tent before their opening vanished, sneaking in herself while holding the makeshift door open for Graham. Inside, the tent was warm from the sun beating down outside and heavily scented candles from within. She suddenly felt the need to whisper. “Well said,” she offered, entirely genuine. A world without war? From the mouth of a general? Sabina wanted that too, more than she could say. “I’d like to be surprised,” she decided with a deft nod. “In a good way, of course,” she chuckled, still quietly, “but I... I don’t mind so much, not knowing. If I knew my future, I’d hardly feel in control of it.”

He enjoyed watching her waltz around the room, her eyes obviously searching for something in particular. He wondered whether they were going to end up with matching flowers, matching colours, a huge part of him wished they could be just for the fact it would be funny, but he knew better. She’d already mentioned he had to hide whatever it was under his jacket. He wished he could have the shirt and not worry about it, but the though had already perched itself in the back of his mind alongside the little voice that whispered. He supposed he would just have to ignore both now. Besides, it was easier to ignore the pain and voices when he was staring into her big bright eyes. How did he end up with her?

When she pulled out the green shirt, he perked up a little, his shoulders squaring as he nodded over and over again. “Oh yeah, I think that would work,” he said with a cheeky lopsided grin. Just the fact she’d picked a colour that reminded him of her, of her little aloe vera plants growing in the cracks of the pavement, of her generosity and kindness, was enough to make him have that warm and fuzzy feeling inside again. Damon wished she could put the shirt on him so he could get the graze of her fingertips on his skin once again, but that was selfish indulgent and wishful thinking. “You picked a good colour, Flowers.”

He gently took the shirt from her and turned to look into a mirror that was close by, his lopsided grin still plastered on his face. At home, and through life, Damon hadn’t worried about his appearance ever, never choosing to look into a mirror and see the monster staring back. Sometime he caught a reflection in a window and regretted it immediately.  So often he thought if he did, he’d covered head to toe in blood, thick red blood staining his cheek bones and sunken eyes. He didn’t need to see the face of a killer. The face of someone hideous. 

So now, as his grin still remained firmly intact, he felt strange. Looking into his own eyes as if to say– how did this happen? He was confronted by the bruises and breaks on his skin, finally seeing what she had seen down at the river for the first time. He was a mess of blue, green and red, his shoulder bandaged to hide the inevitable truth of who he was. He shouldn’t have surprised that he was uncomfortable looking at himself, only he was more surprised that she hadn’t turned away in horror. He was truly a mess. Why was she sticking around? Especially around him who was all but showing her the harsh reality of what it meant to be a Red.

“It totally brings out the colour of my eyes, Flowers.” He unbuttoned the shirt, and slid it on his body, the uncomfortable wince furrowing his brow inwards. Once he’d done up the buttons, he turned to face her, his arms outstretched as if to say done. “What do ya think? Am I a beautiful Silver man yet?” He scratched his neck, “damn, this is itchy though, are all your clothes like this?”

“My favorite, actually,” she offered as an aside while she tucked the empty hanger back in place. Still chuckling, she padded behind him, looking over his shoulder in the mirror. He looked so different now, not just because he was bare chested or clean or sporting crisp bandages, but because he was smiling. When he’d been cowering by the dumpster, he had been terrified, no doubt, and for good reason. Her Silver peers had turned him into one of their training dummies, aiming punches and flame and gods knew what else, and she’d approached him with the same blood in her veins. And he’d still accepted her help. And now here they were.

As he started to redress, she hopped up to sit on one of the counters, looking elsewhere even still. She realized they’d passed that point long ago – she’d already seen and touched him shirtless, he’d lifted her from the water in her soaking white dress – but she sill felt as if she owed him some privacy in the small way that she could. When he announced that he was done, however, she was happy to look his way again with a wide smile. Not a bad fit for her first guess. “Very handsome, Damon,” she agreed enthusiastically, popping down from the counter to get a better look, easily ignoring the lame comparison to a ‘beautiful Silver man.’ Too many of the Silver men she knew were far from beautiful, scowls carved seemingly permanently on their faces: Gerard, Augustus, her own brother, even Caius rarely smiled. There was no beauty in something cold, in harsh angles or unsettling symmetry, not in anything unmoving or unfeeling, at least not to her. “Ooh, and it does bring out your eyes.” She tugged at a stray thread poking out from a sleeve, admiring her choice and the way her wore it, feeling quite proud of herself.

Well, until she realized she could do better. “Is it that bad?” she asked, wrinkling her nose, then taking a step forward to pinch the point of the collar between forefinger and thumb to inspect. The crisp fabric at his neck was undoubtedly starched stiff, to hold up against whatever powers the true owner possessed, no doubt. She didn’t envy the men in her life for their shirts buttoned tight to their throats or the collars chafing at their necks; she much preferred things that breathed and flowed, allowed the sunlight to touch her skin. “We can do better,” she decided immediately, releasing the collar and turning back into the aisles. “It’s just a little too warm for cashmere and silk would be far too hard to sneak past anyone, I think, but linen,” she decided, “linen might work.” 

“Thanks,” she said, lips parted in a smile of surprise. “I dunno if I ever had anything so pretty.”. It wasn’t to elicit sympathy or make anyone feel bad for her lot; it was just a fact. Kris had never had time for pretty things before. Reaching up to touch the soft, velvety petals, she felt as though she might crush them with her heavy handedness. Fragile things were foreign to her, foreign as the Silvers’ concept of family. To Kris, family was a thing you chose yourself. You cobbled it together out of the best parts of your life, like a patchwork quilt. It was strange to think that to the Silvers, family was just a name, a vine on which newborns unfurled like buds without hope of ever moving. If you’re a Welle, you’re a Greenwarden. If you’re a Macanthos or a Carros, you’re strong.

Didn’t it make them uncomfortable, to be so powerless, so unable to choose a life of their own?

“D’you mind? Bein’ who you are? It sounds shit gettin’ born into a family you never chose. My sisters ain’t related to me by blood or nothin’, but I chose ‘em anyhow. What if you guys get born into a family you don’t like so much, you just gotta deal with it?”. On the whole Kris avoided asking Silvers questions like that, because she didn’t want to get to know them. If she began to humanise them, she began to sympathise, and that made raids difficult. But Sabina had been kind to her, and though the war ran in Kris’ veins, she tried not to hurt people that had done nothing to deserve it.

With another question to catch her off-guard, Sabina could only pause, holding unnaturally still since this time she had no flowers with which to busy her hands. In other company, she might have answered the question another way. If they weren’t in such an open location, just meters from the crowd that may or may not mishear her words, she might have spoken more openly. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t. “I don’t think of it like that,” light words with a deferential shrug. “I don’t mind it, I– I actually feel quite fortunate with the family I’ve got.” She ignored the voice in the back of her mind that wondered if Cavan would say the same of her. “They know me, they understand the silly little things that come with this,” she gestured to the flora around them, realizing her words only truly described her father, half-captured her brother, and excluded her mother entirely. She wanted to say that she could choose her family as well, but that was a lie. She would be bargained and traded to whomever her mother deemed the most appropriate match and she would have children with her husband’s abilities rather than her own and... 

“I’ve always wanted a sister,” she admitted, opting instead to redirect the conversation than allow any negative thoughts to develop further. “Sisters, even, that sounds lovely. Are they here, at the party?”