#chapter ten

Worse yet, even the thought of what he had said cheerfully dragged along the memory of the last time he’d seen Darkstripe. The brief glimmer of satisfaction he’d experienced brutalizing the tom’s fantasies of being cared for at all looked a lot less shiny compared to the night sky’s worth of shame and regret now that he knew Darkstripe’s ultimate fate.

He didn’t speak a word of this to anyone, and he tried to not let it show on his face. ThunderClan needed him to lead, not to self-pity. He just stood straight and listened to reports about scents on the border that were becoming all too familiar at this point.

It seemed that only a couple nights passed before Brackenfur came running home, his fur bristling, and almost collided with Firestar as he scrambled to slow and stop from his sprint into camp.

“They’re at the bottom of our territory,” he panted, fur puffed out and shaking. “I smelled them. It was so strong, like they were still there…”

Firestar ignored the dread in his gut and turned to the rest of camp. “Is everyone here? Yes? Then let’s all go together and investigate.”

“Figure there’s a whole group waiting for us?” Sandstorm asked, leading Tawnypaw along with a high tail.

Firestar gave her a cheeky look. “That’s why I’ve got all of you with me.”

Bramblepaw’s ears were back nervously, even as he trotted alongside his brother at the head of the party, Dustpelt and Thornclaw on the other side.

No one said a word as they emerged into the forest. Firestar picked up his pace into a steady, if somewhat-relaxed run. He silently marveled at how stealthy and quiet his Clanmates could be, smoothly weaving around bushes and leaping over fallen logs without making a sound.

Brackenfur caught up to Firestar easily and took the lead, still silent, and only slowed down once they reached the northernmost part of the territory, where the corner of the forest and Sunningrocks collided.

“Here,” he whispered. “I smelled them here.”

He had no need to elaborate; rank strangers of a world of concrete were definitely still present, even if Firestar couldn’t see them. A thick patch of brush and bush smelled the worst of them.

They don’t do a very good job of hiding, Firestar thought, and raised his voice, calling, “We know you’re here. Please leave before we—”

As if he’d said a signal word, the brush burst and a wave of the Blood poured out of it. Firestar wasn’t much of a counter, but he knew immediately that this group was much larger than his own.

Still, ThunderClan met them with challenging yowls and flashing claws. The groups collided in a cacophony of screeches and slices.

Firestar didn’t have a moment to think before he was bowled over and landed flat on his back. A black cat slashed white claws at his face, followed by several sharp stings blooming across his muzzle. Firestar rolled and jumped to his feet, turning to face the black cat.

Would he be an idiot to try and convince this cat to leave?

Without hearing a word, the cat answered for him by tackling him again. This time, Firestar managed to scramble away and stay on his feet, swinging wildly and desperately trying to remember any fighting moves he’d learned as an apprentice. The black cat dodged his weak swipes easily, pale eyes narrowed.

“This is the best you have to offer?” he hissed.

“Not really,” Firestar admitted. “Listen, we can—”

A huge grey paw swung from Firestar’s left and slammed into the black cat’s face. The cat flew backwards, having to roll before he could get to his feet. Firestar looked to see an affectionate, if somewhat unimpressed Greystripe.

“Bud,” he said.

“I know,” Firestar sighed. “I just thought—”

Greystripe suddenly fell forward. Firestar shouted in shock; three cats had landed on him and were viciously clawing at his sides and haunches. Under their weight and fighting strength, Greystripe was struggling to get back to his feet. Not thinking, Firestar lunged at the one closest to his size and succeeded in shoving her off of his friend. One of her paws caught his cheek, and new pain dug deep into his face.

New yowls rose over the chaos of battle. Firestar looked over and his insides loosened with relief as RiverClan’s warriors and apprentices came sprinting down the flatlands of Sunningrocks and, as a much fiercer wave, crashed right into the brawl. The massive crowd of rogues suddenly looked a lot less confident, but some let their friends handle the cats they were teaming up on and charged the newcomers.

Someone yanked Firestar’s scruff and pulled him onto his side, dragging him over Greystripe. His friend snarled and kicked violently at the two cats still trying to hold him down, shouting Firestar’s name. Firestar struggled to get loose—he twisted and pawed and pulled despite the pain in his neck—but whoever had him wasn’t letting him go. He reached as far up his neck as he could go, claws out, and scrabbled.

One claw hit something soft and was rewarded with a shriek of pain. Firestar’s head hit the ground as his scruff was released. He jumped back up and turned, flinching. His attacker was stumbling backwards, one paw over her eye.

Firestar didn’t spend any more time watching her; he just turned and went back to help Greystripe, who was in the middle of kicking his bigger attacker right in the gut. The opponent coughed and gasped, loosening his grip just enough for Firestar to shove at him and knock him away. The other looked up, giving Greystripe an opening to grapple her head and start biting and rabbit-kicking. She shrieked and writhed, trying to get away from him.

“Let her go!” Firestar shouted, but he couldn’t hear himself over the fighting. “Just scare her off, Greystripe!”

Greystripe didn’t hear him either. His teeth closed around the molly’s ear and ripped at it. A chunk peeled off and he spat it out as the cat screamed, which turned into a gagging cough as Greystripe’s back feet socked her in the guts, too. Greystripe let her go to get to his feet and she wasted no time in scrambling to her feet and running.

“You okay?” Greystripe yelled to Firestar, barely audible.

Firestar didn’t get a chance to answer before a yowl sounded off. Just like all the other times, this seemed to be a cue for the Blood cats to drop and release their opponents, turn and sprint away into the open fields beyond the forest. Clan cats chased and slashed and hurled insults at the fleeing enemy, watching them race down and to the left, like they were circling around the Houses to get back to the Aulmir.

“Blasted beasts,” a grey-and-white RiverClanner spat, her white front paw lifted and soaked red. “Good thing we heard you all fighting.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘good’,” Tornface said softly. She was standing over a prone grey tom, nose close to his head. “We lost someone.”

Immediate panic spiked in Firestar’s mind, sending stabs of fright throughout the rest of his body. He tensed himself as tightly as he could, only releasing when some clarity returned to him. Quickly, he trotted over to Tornface, a crowd forming around him.

“Stonefur!” Mistfoot shoved past a few cats and desperately shook at the tom’s shoulder. “Stonefur! Are you alive?!”

Tornface respectfully stepped away, still quiet. “Someone choked him. I thought he was alive, so I came over to help, but—”

Mistfoot made a pained whining noise and sunk to her belly, bracing her head against Stonefur’s neck.

“I’m sorry.” Tornface’s remaining ear was back against her head. “I’m really sorry. I was too late.”

“Not—” Mistfoot gulped and looked up, her eyes wet and dim. “Not your fault, little lady. Thank you… thank you for protecting his body.”

Relief slightly eased Firestar and quickly escaped him when Leopardstar staggered up to Stonefur, grief and fury and pain in her face all at once. She said nothing, just sat down heavily beside Mistfoot and rested a paw on her deputy’s side. Her eyes were tightly shut.

ThunderClanners were entirely silent aside from murmuring condolences to passing RiverClan cats as, a few at a time, they came up to Stonefur and pressed their noses to his body or rested their paws on him for a moment before stepping away. Tornface was quickly joined by Cloudnose, who quietly and sweetly led her away from the mourning and back to her Clanmates.

“I tried,” she whispered to Firestar when she reached him, her voice a bit broken. “I really tried to get to him, I did.”

“It’s not your fault,” Cloudnose said, quietly but firmly, as he leaned against her.

Firestar nodded in agreement. “Take a breath, Tornface. It’s alright. You did your best, and that’s all anyone can ask for.”

He didn’t say what he was aware of out loud in fear of upsetting her further: in her eye was the same dread and pain he’d seen in her when she’d woken up after she and Ashpaw had been torn apart by the dogs.

Cloudnose touched his nose to the scarred side of her face and opened his mouth to say something else, frowned, and tasted the air. To his uncle, he said, “There’s a stranger’s scent still here.”

Leopardstar jerked her head up and snarled, jumping to her feet. “Where?! Another Blood cat thinking they can stick around?”

“Hold on.” Firestar lifted his tail to her and said to Cloudnose, “Find them, please.”

Cloudnose tasted the air again, slowly turning his head, until he pointed with his tail to the bushes the Blood had come out of. “There.”

Several cats growled, and many more bristled or arched their backs. Firestar, his tail level and his head high, approached the bushes silently. He caught a clump of darkness in one of them and stopped when he was close enough to say quietly, “You can come out now.”

A pause, the brush shivering, before a weak, wobbly voice said, “Please don’t kill me.”

“We won’t,” Firestar replied. He turned his head just enough to look back at everyone and narrowed his eyes a bit. “I promise.”

Lips still curled and hackles still raised, but the growling fell silent. Even Leopardstar stayed where she was.

The bush shivered again, and then, awkwardly and slowly, a cat eased his way out from his cover. Firestar’s heart clenched in sorrowful sympathy once he got a good look at the frightened tom—a ruddy-brown, gangly, and young cat, perhaps a year old at best, with big, terrified hazel eyes that edged into yellow in the moonlight. His long legs leaned against each other and tangled up as he half-cowered, half-crept up to Firestar, shaking like a leaf.

“I’m—” The poor little tom gulped and huddled in front of Firestar. “I’m not a Blood cat, I swear. They– they made me fight. I’m from the neighborhood near the forest. Please don’t hurt me, I didn’t attack anyone, I promise, I’m just—”

“Easy, easy,” Firestar said soothingly, purring low in his throat. “What’s your name?”

The little tom blinked his owlish eyes, caught off-guard. “M-my name is Bilberry.”

Behind them, soft sighs breezed in Firestar’s ears. He looked back to see everyone relaxing their postures and fur, some of them looking disturbed and saddened to see such a young cat cowering in front of Firestar, of all people.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bilberry,” he said gently, glad for the tension in the air dying. “I’m Firestar. How did you end up working for the Blood?”

“I– I don’t work for them!” Bilberry blurted, shaking all over again. “I was– I was wandering the neighborhood one day, and these strays grabbed me and took me to the town, a-and they said I had to work for them or they’d kill Mi, and…”

“Oh, the poor thing…” The molly with the bloody foot limped up to join Firestar and Bilberry, blinking kindly when Bilberry flinched at her arrival. “How old are you, little one?”

“Um…” Bilberry’s ears swiveled back and forth as he thought, his voice a little calmer. “I- I was born last year, in summer.”

“Still so young,” the molly murmured.

“Where do you and your mother live?” Firestar asked.

Bilberry stared at him, wary and afraid. “A-are you going to make me fight for you, too, or you’ll hurt her?”

“Of course not,” the molly said firmly. “We don’t work like the Blood.”

“We just want to get you home to her,” Firestar agreed. “I’m sure she’s terrified, not knowing where you are.”

“Oh…” Bilberry slowly straightened up, sitting properly now, his tail finally still. “Really? You’ll really take me home?”

“Of course,” Firestar said. “I used to live in that neighborhood—I can take you there with a guard so the Blood don’t come for you again.”

Bilberry seemed to deflate, his knobby front legs sagging as he sighed out the last of his tension. “I-I would really like that. Thank you.”

“Before you do that…” Firestar flinched in surprise as Leopardstar came up on his other side. Her voice, surprisingly, was not angry, or even stern. It was a little awkward, like she had no experience talking to a young and scared cat. “We need whatever information you have about the Blood. How many are there? Where do they live? Things like that.”

“Oh, well, uh…” Bilberry looked a little more afraid of her, but he kept his voice raised. “They took me to this big garage—” (“Part of a house,” Firestar explained) “—and there were a lot of cats like me, like, my age. Some of them were younger or older, and… and these older cats told us that we needed to fight for heaven and earth, and we’d learn how to kill ‘even the fiercest warriors’.” He shivered. “And they’d skin whoever wouldn’t in front of everyone else.”

“That’s horrible,” the molly said softly. Her grey-and-white fur flared for a moment before settling, but her voice was still kind. “Did they teach you to hunt, at least?”

“Hunt?” Bilberry tilted his head at her. “N-no, there wasn’t anything to hunt in town. They just showed us where humans dump their food and said we would have to fight each other for scraps. I-it’d prove how tough we were, and we would be rewarded for our strength.”

Even the molly’s hurt foot flexed its claws. “Did they, now?”

“Lavenderflower,” Leopardstar said. “Tend to your paw. We’ll ask the questions.”

Lavenderflower frowned. “I can’t just let this little lad be interrogated by himself!”

“Let her stay,” Firestar murmured to Leopardstar. “She’s keeping him calmer than we could alone.”

Her ears slid back, but she said nothing, just jerked her chin up and tightened her grimace.

“Do you know how many cats they have working for them?” Firestar asked Bilberry. “As many cats as are here, or more?”

“They have a lot.” Bilberry’s pupils were slits in his fear. “So many. I mean, not– not the whole town, but a lot of them. I don’t think they’d fit in this space.”

“Oh?” Firestar tilted his head. “Not the whole town?”

Bilberry seemed a good deal more relaxed when Lavenderflower sat down next to him and purred. “No, there’s some cats who think they’re crazy and evil and stay away from them. I saw one of the cats watching us try to tell this little group to join, um… ‘The Scourge of Heaven’, I think, and that they’d be saved if they helped take the Clan lands.”

Leopardstar’s teeth-clenching was audible. “So they’re kidnapping kits to throw at us until we run away and let them have our homes.”

“That does seem to be the case.” Firestar sighed. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Bilberry. Is that all you know?”

Sheepishly, Bilberry nodded. “They didn’t let us go anywhere but the garage and a couple alleyways next to it, to eat. And if we asked questions, they’d cut our ears or faces up. I didn’t want to cause trouble, so I didn’t say anything to them.”

“I’ll see if he has any more on the way,” Firestar said quietly to Leopardstar, and to Bilberry, louder, he continued, “Are you able to walk?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Then we’ll get you home by morning.” Firestar stood tall, tail curled over his back. “Let me make sure my Clanmates are alright, and then we’ll go.”

Bilberry’s eyes finally lost their last bits of fright, and shone brighter than the moon. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much. I-I’ll be quiet and I won’t tell anyone about you, I promise.”

“You can promise something better,” Firestar replied.

The young tom stiffened. “What… what’s that?”

Seaside towns are a penny a plenty. Saltend Wharf was no different. The caravan was parked at the very edge of town, right where the mass of buildings ceased their height, becoming two or single-story structures.

They were being led into town by a man who was ostensibly human. He had massive eyes and not a single hair on his head. His neck was flabby and fat with deep marks that resembled something like gills.

“You have to understand,” said the man, Peter Fairweather. “This is a deeply religious community.”

“We’ve encountered religious communities before, but mostly they shy away from us,” said Glasha.

“You uhh, misunderstand,” said Peter Fairweather. “The Seadwelling Order is very pro-sex…I think to a kind of unhealthy degree, but that’s just me. There’s a sort of sacredness to it.”

“Okay,” said Ailuin, looking down at Jessup as if to wordlessly tell them to take notes.

“Now, we’ve already got you a co-star picked out for you, she’s a bit on the green side…She’s nineteen,” said Peter Fairweather.

Peter Fairweather walked them into a saloon further into the town. A run-down little gin joint whose air was thick with cigar smoke and the stench of pipe weed.

There were men, women, and a motley assortment of others scattered around the inside of the saloon. Some were at tables playing cards. Some of them were huddled at the bar. All of them seemed fishy. Not in the suspicious sense, but in the very literal sense. Some of them had big, bulging eyes like Peter Fairweather. Others had long moustache-like feelers, akin eels or lobsters. One of them even had a long crustacean claw.

The bartender was the most alien of them all. She stood six feet tall. Tall enough to make eye contact with Ailuin, but not tall enough to make eye contact with Glasha. What would have been her hair was a writhing mass of green tentacles that lacked suckers. They were fluttering around and assembling cocktails for the crew as they approached.

“Dolores, love, these are the folks I was telling you about,” said Peter Fairweather.

Dolores extended a hand and shook both Glasha and Ailuin’s hands. She would have shook Jessup’s but she didn’t notice them until they made the mountain climb up the barstool.

“Howdy folks, what can I get you started off with? How about a touch of necromancy?” asked Dolores.

“We don’t drink…liquor,” said Glasha.

“Alright, how about your miniature friend? What does he want?” asked Dolores.

“They,” corrected Ailuin. “Can have whatever. Jessup’s habits mean little in the grand scheme of the universe.”

“It’s eleven in the morning, I think I feel like being necromanced,” said Jessup.

The tentacles thrashed around wildly. She emptied into a glass some sparkling water, some whiskey that was so brown it was nearly black, and brandy bitters. It was served to the goblin in a crystal pedestal chalice that seemed to weigh more than them.

Jessup was very quick to sip the beverage, their eyes widening about being served that much booze in a single drink. They speculated that they didn’t get many goblins in Saltend Wharf.

“Anyways, brass tacks,” said Dolores. “You folks are pornographers. We like that here. It’s approaching the divine.”

“You’re coming off a bit strong,” said Peter Fairweather.

“I’m just speaking honestly,” said Dolores. “What’s more divine than sex? Like when we get right down to it. It’s an act of pure creation. Not just the creation of life but of orgasms and who doesn’t love that?”

Jessup tried to focus on their cocktail and ignore whatever the bartender was saying.

Ailuin shifted around, a touch uncomfortable. Glasha stood firm and smiled. “So, have you ever had the chance to be with two people simultaneously?”

“I’ve never had the opportunity to. Apparently, I’m what the local fellas call ‘an acquired taste’. I think they just can’t stomach what I have to offer,” said Dolores.

A single, long tentacle ceased thrashing and approached Glasha. The tip of it ran down along her cheek and curved along her jawline. Before he could react with protest, another tentacle did the same thing to Ailuin. Though neither one would admit it, the married couple found themselves flustered by how forward the tentacled woman was being with them.

Jessup was ignoring all of this and drained their glass. They upturned it and attempted to siphon a little more liquor out of it, but it remained dry.

---

Vial strutted onto the stage wearing nothing, as was his custom. But unlike every other show he’d been the preamble of, he was carrying a drunk and half awake Jessup over his shoulder like luggage.

“Ignore them, they’re drunk, and I’m supposed to watch them,” said Vial.

During Vial’s act, Jessup kept trying to reach down and grab his rocking cock, and Vial kept having to gently smack their hand away like they were about to grab a hot skillet.

“And without further ado, slaves of the elder gods!” shouted Jessup as he finished up his act and walked the drunk and horny Jessup off stage.

The curtains parted, and Ailuin and Glasha stood in the centre dressed in black robes like virginal monks, but everyone in the audience was painfully aware that these were some well-trained and professional sluts. Battle-hardened, one might say.

“We offer ourselves,” entoned Ailuin.

“We offer our bodies,” shouted Glasha.

“We offer our minds,” continued Ailuin.

“We offer our souls,” concluded Glasha.

The floor opened up, and from the rising platform emerged the naked form of Dolores, the tentacled horror. Dolores wasted no time. She immediately seized the two of them and tore their robes, freeing their bare bodies from uncomfortable black burlap. She then seized their arms, raising the two of them up so that their legs and arms were spread and restrained to keep them from fighting back or touching themselves. More tentacles emerged from her, and she grabbed the length of Ailuin’s limp cock, a writing mass pumped up and down along his length. She was more gentle with Glasha. A pair of tentacles rubbed her labia and the tips gently probed inside before forcing their way in. It was with this that Dolores realized that there was a secondary means of pleasure for the vampiric elf as well. She parted his ass cheeks and worked the length of a thick, lubricated tentacle inside him. She mirrored this action with Glasha as well and silenced the moans of both parties with tentacles forcing their way into their mouths.

All the while, other, lesser tentacles were free to explore their bodies, tracing scars and muscle tone of Glasha and examining the slender form of Ailuin.

One of the town’s sad wizards placed a light enchantment on Dolores’s tentacles so that it looked as though white, sticky cum was spraying from their tips as they toyed with the couple. The audience likes cum, you understand. What they didn’t quite grasp is that Dolores’s tentacles didn’t quite function like penises in that sense. Sure, they were highly sensitive, and stimulation led to Dolores having repeated orgasms as she penetrated the couple, but they weren’t capable of producing semen.

Dolores released her grasp on Ailuin’s thick, monstrous cock and slid her tentacles free from Glasha’s dripping cunt. She repositioned them so that the elf was on top of Glasha, both of them being roughly used as the tentacled woman guided Ailuin inside of his wife. He needed no further prompting and started rolling and bucking his hips with reckless abandon. He tried to pull his hand free from one of the tentacled bonds, but he couldn’t. He just wanted to toy with Glasha’s clit while he pounded into her.

Dolores seemed aware of what he wanted, and a smaller tentacle wrapped around Glasha’s clit, tightening, loosening, and overall encircling her as she produced choked moans on Dolores’s tentacle.

*

TUESDAY, JANUARY 30

Manhattan — Langford House

06:45 AM

Alexis hadn't set foot here in weeks.

The familiar shape of the Langford's home stood before her like something from a different life. It felt both the same and utterly new, like stepping back into a dream you weren't sure was real anymore. Her boots thudded softly against the sidewalk as she dragged one of her military-issue duffels behind her, the other slung over her shoulder, heavy with gear and sand and months of dust.

The Manhattan streets were still cloaked in the quiet hush of early morning, a thin veil of frost coating the pavement and car windshields. The house sat quietly beneath the indigo sky, soft golden light spilling from the living room window like a beacon against dawn. The commander could already picture the scene inside–Miles half-asleep, probably in the middle of his first sip of coffee. His wife in the kitchen, wrapped in her robe, already planning breakfast.

She reached the porch and rang the bell. Then, for good measure, gave two short knocks. The wood beneath her knuckles was cold, and the early morning air stung her cheeks. Her silhouette was unmistakable–strong shoulders under the olive green of her combat uniform, face a blend of exhaustion and quiet resolve. Her hair, usually neatly pulled back, had loosened during transit, the bun slightly crooked at the nape of her neck. Still, there was something about her presence–steady, grounded, unshaken–that hadn't changed despite months away.

She waited.

Nothing at first. Just a low hum of silence. Then she heard the telltale shuffle–footsteps. Cautious. Purposeful.

She could practically hear the quiet rustle of movement on the other side, imagining the instant tension in Miles' shoulders. Of course he'd go for the drawer. Of course he'd have the safety off already.

—Miles, she called through the door. It's me. You can lower the weapon. Unless you're planning to shoot me for coming home unannounced.

A beat. Then another.

The lock turned.

And there he was.

Miles Langford stood in the doorway, bleary-eyed, dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, his expression somewhere between disbelief and awe.

—Lexi?

His voice was a rasp of disbelief. She gave him a crooked smile. Her uniform was wrinkled from travel, the bun at the back of her head had come loose, and she smelled like desert air and jet fuel. But there was no mistaking her.

—Hey sunshine.

He pulled her into a hug without hesitation. It was tight and full of unspoken things–relief, frustration, affection. When he finally stepped back, he was shaking his head like he still couldn't believe she was standing there.

—I thought you weren't back for another few days. What the hell, Lex?

—I missed my dog. And you. Maybe. A little.

Behind him, Ava appeared in the doorway, one hand wrapped around her robe, the other holding her phone like she'd just been checking the weather. Her eyes softened instantly at the sight of Alexis standing in the entryway.

—Holy crap. You're home.

The woman didn't wait for permission. She crossed the space in three long strides, nudging her husband aside, and wrapped Alexis up in a hug that felt more like a tether than a greeting. The kind of embrace that said I worried, I missed you, and Thank God all in one.

The SEAL stood still for half a second, caught off guard by the sudden warmth, then allowed herself to lean in. Her arms curled around Ava's back, not too tightly–it had been months of sand, adrenaline, noise, and orders–too many nights without softness, too many days without a single human touch that wasn't tactical or necessary. This? This was grounding.

But then, behind them, a low whine sounded. A shuffle of claws on hardwood.

Alexis lifted her head just as Champ bounded forward from the hallway, tail thumping against the wall as he rushed her with all the unfiltered joy of a dog who'd waited far too long.

Ava let her go with a soft laugh, stepping aside as Gray dropped to her knees without hesitation.

—Hey buddy. Hey! Look at you!

Champ threw his weight at her, licking her cheek, nudging into her chest, tail wagging like a metronome gone haywire. Alexis laughed into his fur, arms wrapping around his thick neck as he tried to climb half into her lap.

—God, I missed you, she whispered into his fur, scratching behind his ears like muscle memory. You've been good?

Miles leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Had he been a little reluctant to keep the dog in the first place–years ago–he now found it hard to imagine him returning home again.

—He's been great. But don't let him fool you–he moped around for weeks. Acted like you abandoned him.

Alexis looked up, her chin resting on the top of Champ's head.

—I mean, technically, I did. But I sent him to the best co-parents out there.

As the man of the house finally closed the front door behind them, his wife reached for their friend's chin. She cupped it gently, tilting Alexis' face toward the morning light filtering through the living room windows.

Ava didn't say anything at first, but her brows knit slightly, her gaze taking in every mark—every faint bruise still fading beneath the surface, the shadow of a healing cut near Alexis's temple, the hollow under her eyes that no amount of coffee could disguise. The once-over wasn't invasive, but it held the kind of silent worry only someone who truly cared could carry without speaking it aloud.

—You look like hell.

Alexis laughed under her breath, reaching up to rub the back of her neck.

—I feel like it, too. Thirty-seven hours, six time zones, and one broken zipper later.

—God, you haven't slept, have you? Ava turned toward the kitchen already. Coffee. You're getting coffee and something to eat before you even think about collapsing somewhere.

—I missed you, too.

She followed the familiar path into the kitchen, where the soft clink of mugs and the hum of the coffee machine filled the silence. The smells, the warmth, even the subtle light seeping through the window above the sink–it all felt achingly ordinary. And right. Like something sacred in its simplicity. The kind of quiet you didn't realize you were starving for until it settled over you like a second skin.

The brunette pulled out a chair and sat without ceremony, her legs grateful for the relief. The heaviness of her boots echoed on the floor, and for a second, she felt like an intruder in her own life. The uniform, the dust still clinging to her sleeves, the desert air still clinging to her lungs–none of it belonged here, and yet, here she was.

Miles sat down opposite her, where he usually ate breakfast every morning. His plate from earlier had barely been touched, now pushed to the side in favor of giving her his full attention. No badge, no case files. Just him. The friend, not the agent.

He folded his hands together, elbows braced on the table, watching her in that measured way of his. Quiet but not distant. Present in the kind of way she never had to second-guess.

—I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but you really do know how to make an entrance.

Alexis arched an eyebrow as she leaned down to give Champ another greeting letting the big dog press against her lap and sniff every corner of her uniform like he was cataloguing where she'd been.

—What can I say? I've got a flair for the dramatic.

—You know you could've called, right?

—And ruin the fun of seeing you in full 'home defense mode'? she teased without looking up. Pretty sure you were two seconds from grabbing the shotgun.

Miles snorted, but she saw the tension release from his shoulders all the same. There'd been worry in his eyes–of course there had. She hadn't told them when she'd be back, mostly because she didn't know until the very last minute. Now, seeing her alive and right there, even with the dark circles and exhaustion on her face, was enough to bring them both a little peace.

Ava returned with a mug in hand and passed it over.

—Black, no sugar, right?

Alexis accepted it like it was gold.

—You're a damn saint.

—You need a shower and about fifteen hours of sleep. But we'll start with caffeine.

She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She cradled the mug in both hands, grounding herself in the heat. For a second, she didn't say anything. Just took a long sip of coffee and let it settle her. She hadn't realized how badly she missed the taste. Real coffee. Not instant powder. Not canteen sludge.

Home.

*

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 01

Manhattan — SVU Bullpen

01:16 PM

Olivia was buried in paperwork, a half-finished report on her screen, half a cup of coffee gone cold beside her. The bullpen was buzzing with its usual chaos–phones ringing, keyboard tapping, detectives murmuring about interviews and warrants, coffee machines sputtering in the break room.

She sat in her office, its glass walls giving her just enough separation from the noise to think, though not enough to truly escape it. Her eyes were fixed on the report in front of her, but her focus was drifting. Too many things had piled up lately–cases, court dates, Noah's new class schedule, the silence that followed Ed walking out the door. She hadn't allowed herself to feel any of it, really. She'd just kept going.

That was when she felt it.

A shift in the air. A subtle stillness against the usual noise. Like the calm before something important.

She looked up, and her breath caught in her throat.

Alexis Gray was leaning against the doorframe, not saying a word. Dressed in a black raincoat that still held the memory of colder months, the collar turned up slightly. Her hair was down, half-swollen by her coat, and she looked... different. Not because of anything obvious, but in the way someone carries themselves when they've seen something they can't yet talk about.

She'd changed, and yet she hadn't.

Her arms were folded loosely across her chest, one boot crossed over the other, just watching Olivia with the kind of quiet confidence that could only come from someone who knew her far too well. Someone who knew the way she pretended to be okay. Knew what to look for when she wasn't.

Olivia stood slowly, her hand still on the edge of her desk.

—Am I interrupting?

The lieutenant didn't answer right away. Her gaze lingered on Alexis like she needed a few more seconds to believe she wasn't an hallucination conjured by fatigue or wishful thinking. The last time they'd spoken–really spoken–the agent had been in some undisclosed location halfway across the world, under harsh sun and foreign silence. And now, she was here. Just across the room. In a raincoat that smelled like February, in clothes that made her look less like a Navy SEAL and more like someone who had stepped out of a daydream Olivia hadn't known she was having.

The question lingered in the space between them. Am I interrupting?

—No, Olivia said quietly, her voice steadier than she felt. You're not.

Alexis pushed off the doorframe with the kind of effortless grace that had always annoyed and impressed Olivia in equal measure. She stepped inside slowly, letting the door ease shut behind her. Her eyes swept across the office–briefly touching the files, the evidence boards, the badge on the desk–before returning to Olivia.

—I know it's the middle of the day and you're probably drowning in a dozen cases, she said, voice lower now, more careful. I shouldn't have just shown up like this. I almost didn't.

—But you did.

The youngest gave a small shrug, though her hands stayed tucked in the pockets of her coat.

—Yeah. I did.

There was something different in her eyes. A weight. Not from deployment–it wasn't the hardened stare of a soldier who'd seen too much in too short a time. No, this was something else. A tiredness Olivia recognized in herself. The kind that came from emotional distance, from stretching a connection too thin and not knowing if it would hold.

The SVU lieutenant gestured to the chair across from her desk.

—Sit. Please.

Alexis hesitated for only a moment, then walked over and took the seat, crossing one leg over the other with practiced ease. She let out a breath, like she'd been holding it since she walked in.

—I thought maybe I'd feel better once I saw you.

Olivia blinked, surprised by the honesty.

—And... do you?

The SEAL tilted her head, a faint smirk teasing at the corner of her lips.

—I'm still working on it.

That made Olivia smile, faint but real. It was strange, this feeling blooming in her chest—unexpected warmth tangled up in a knot of uncertainty. She'd missed this. Missed her. In ways she hadn't allowed herself to examine too closely.

She leaned back against her desk, her arms loosely folded, though it felt less like a defense and more like a way to keep her thoughts from spilling out too quickly. Alexis had always had a way of doing that–unraveling her without trying, like a knot she hadn't realized she'd tightened herself into. It had been months since they'd stood in the same room, and yet the rhythm between them hadn't vanished. It had only gone quiet.

Alexis shifted slightly in her seat, fingers threading together in her lap. Her eyes scanned the office again, then settled on her friend.

—You look tired, she said, her voice gentler now, less teasing.

—I am. But it's not just the job. It's everything. Ed... the cases we had in the last few weeks. Life.

Gray nodded, like she understood more than Olivia could say out loud.

—I saw your name in some reports. About a shooting. She didn't ask for details. Didn't press. You okay?

—I keep saying I am, Olivia said, her voice low, honest. So maybe one day I will be.

Silence stretched between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was that kind of quiet where things had room to breathe, to settle. The kind that hummed with all the things neither had said aloud yet, but were hovering just beneath the surface. Alexis leaned back a little, her posture relaxed but alert, her gaze softening as she studied Olivia in that way she had—like she was reading a page she already knew by heart.

—You could've called, she said after a moment. Anytime.

Olivia looked down at her hands for a beat, then back up. There was a rawness in her expression she didn't bother hiding, not with Lexi.

—I thought about it. Every day, honestly. But you were gone. I didn't want to... get in your head while you were out there.

Alexis exhaled slowly, the breath catching just enough to give her away. She wished she could say she hadn't thought about Olivia, not once. That the desert heat, the operations, the adrenaline had pushed every trace of the lieutenant out of her mind. But the opposite was true. She'd thought about her more than she should've. More than was safe. At night, in the quiet between briefings. In the harsh light of a transport bay, trying to tune out the sound of rotors and heartbeats. Olivia had stayed with her, like a pulse she couldn't ignore.

—That's not how it works. You don't get in the way, Liv.

The words landed softly, but with weight, catching Olivia off guard. She blinked, as if the air shifted just slightly between them, tightening her throat before she could respond. She wasn't used to hearing things like that–not from anyone, not in that tone. No hesitation, no deflection. Just truth. Alexis had always been a woman of few words, but when she spoke like this, it meant something. It carried purpose.

—I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was coming back, she said, voice quieter now. She took a slow breath, her eyes scanning Olivia's face like she was reading for changes–some subtitles shift in emotion, some flicker of what had been and what might still be. I didn't know what version of me would be stepping off that plane. Or what version of you would be waiting.

There was something deeply human in that confession. A vulnerability the SEAL rarely let show. Olivia looked down for a moment, her thumb brushing lightly across the edge of her desk as if grounding herself with the familiar texture.

—I wasn't sure either.

—But I'm here. And you don't have to do this alone. You never did.

That silenced Olivia more than anything. For years, she had carried it all–the weight of her squad, the heartbreak of the job, the responsibility of motherhood, the bruises that never showed on the surface. She'd become so used to being the strong one that it felt unnatural to imagine herself leaning on anyone else. The offer Alexis made wasn't loud or dramatic, but it hit deeper than most declarations ever could. You don't have to do this alone. That wasn't something people usually said to her. Not sincerely. Not without expecting something in return.

Alexis never offered empty comfort. She didn't waste breath trying to say the right thing. If she showed up, if she stayed — she meant it. And Olivia knew, deep down, that the woman standing in her office wasn't just there out of curiosity or to kill time. Alexis had flown under the radar, arrived unannounced, and stood in front of her like a lighthouse cutting through the fog. It meant something.

Before either of them could speak again, a knock tapped lightly at the glass wall behind them. They both turned, and Fin poked his head in with a curious tilt of his brows. His expression shifted when he spotted Alexis.

—Well damn, he said, letting himself grin a little as he stepped inside. Didn't think I'd see you around here again so soon.

The commander lifted an eyebrow and straightened with a quiet chuckle, hands sliding into the pockets of her coat.

—Thought I'd swing by and make sure you hadn't scared off the whole precinct, Fin.

—Still working on it, he shot back, giving her a mock-salute before glancing back at his boss. You got that witness coming in fifteen.

—Thanks, Olivia nodded.

Fin lingered just long enough to glance between the two women, like he could sense the air was heavier than it looked. But he didn't press, just gave them a final nod and stepped out again, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

The moment shifted–subtly, but enough. The outside world was back, tapping at the windows. Reminding them that the clock kept ticking.

Alexis looked toward the door, then back at Olivia. Her gaze lingered, as if she wanted to say something else but wasn't sure how far to push. Instead, she gave a half-turn, one hand still in her pocket, her voice lighter but not empty.

—Dinner sometime?

Olivia hesitated, and Gray watched her with something that wasn't quite hope but wasn't far from it either. The kind of look that said, I'll take what you're ready to give.

—Yeah, the oldest said, the answer quiet but genuine. I'd like that.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Alexis's mouth.

—Good.

She gave a familiar flick of her fingers, the same little wave she used when she left rooms she knew she'd return to. Then she slipped out the door with that steady, unhurried walk of hers.

Olivia stood still for a moment. The space felt different. Not fuller. Not empty. Just... softer. Like something had cracked open inside her without pain. She sat back down slowly, letting her hand brush the edge of her desk where Alexis had leaned moments ago. There was no trace of her, and yet something remained.

The warmth lingered—quiet and stubborn. Like sunlight through a half-open window. Like a door left unlocked, in case someone came back.

Like hope, settling in again.

*

when i first listened to formidable by twenty one pilots (i implore you to do the same) and heard the verse:

"Fast-forward thirteen years now Don't know what it was, but somehow we played it out in reverse I'm afraid of you now, more than I was at first And I know you just left, but can I take you everywhere we've ever been? I wanna see it all, no surprises (Yeah)"

i KNEW i needed to not only write this fic but include a jump to dan leaving for his world tour because HELLO ????? THIRTEEN YEARS ????? YOU JUST LEFT ?????? the timeline is just too perfect i couldn't pass it up !!!!

so when writing the outline the ending was the first part of the fic i finished, and then it went through several different versions before becoming what it is today !!!

every time i take on a big writing project i am humbly reminded that i cannot force what is not meant to happen !!! this fic was originally going to be much longer with several more time jumps going through this entire journey of self acceptance regarding depression and identity but i was really struggling to get the right words out and eventually i realised this fic just did not want to be written that way !!! it was meant to be a sweet tumultuous story of falling in love and then a bittersweet goodbye and as soon as i realised that, it came together so much easier and i could not be happier about the completed story we have today !!!

and so the formidable fic has been born !! thank y'all again for the love and support for this fic, i love it with my entire soul and i so so appreciate the lovely reception, all y'all lovelies genuinely made me cry with your amazing words <333 i love writing and sharing and i greatly look forward to writing and sharing more :D