#chapter twenty-one

The rush of holiday shoppers pressed the group of teens closer together as they passed. The store had just set up a new display, promising a better deal on the newest Funstation 3 shipment, with a package of games to go with it. Greedy parents, eyes on the prize of finishing gift buying well before Christmas, lunged at the display to grab up the pre-made packages and make use of the coupon. The trio rolled their eyes and their own line barely budged. They were waiting for the kiosk to open up, everyone there waiting for the newest shipment of GameSwitches. A whole shipment had been smashed during the techpocalypse, but with everything settled, the electronics store bustled with the mass of human bodies hungry to replace destroyed technology or upgrade to the newest version. He and Tucker had saved all year, knowing the newest batch releasing around Christmas came with internet capabilities. Sam was here in solidarity. She’d pre-ordered, like she’d warned them to do, months ago. Her GameSwitch sat safely in a box in her room, waiting to be booted up with the newest installment of Mini-Monsters. Mini-Monster Purple had released in Japan and, with a quick swipe of her card on an all Kanji website, she’d snatched up a copy. It was also at her house, having arrived before Thanksgiving. The boys were not so inclined to either preparation or braving foreign websites. “As soon as we get these things, we’ll have to connect them together to go monster hunting.”

“I hear with the online functionality, they’re doing a bunch of timed events with open dungeons. They’re supposed to be specific to your local area, so you can raid them with friends. I can’t wait to transfer my Brontomasher into the newest version.”

“Oooohhh, you can’t do that.”

“What?!” Tucker looked horrified, looking around him to gap at Sam. “Why not? You’re supposed to be able to take your Mini-Monsters with you on all of your future adventures. I worked so hard to train him, how are other people supposed to witness Toxifrog’s wrath without him joining internet dungeons?”

“They changed how the system stores data, so it’ll be more efficient in future games, but that means you can’t transfer them forward. They had to update, or else the internet stuff wouldn’t work.”

“This is an outrage! I demand to speak to the head of the company. They have to fix this.” Tucker pulled out his PDA, already tapping out an anger message, before his fingers slowed down. “Or...I could code a patch.”

“It’s a hardware issue.”

“I’ll just modify my GameSwitch then, upload my code, and transfer my best friend into the new game.”

“You’re gonna corrupt the newest version before you can even play it.”

“That’s what backups are for Sam. Trust me, I’m an expert.”

“That’s what you said right before you bricked your computer trying to get past DRM on Doom 2. ”

“I was but a padawan then, unskilled and uninitiated. Now, I am a Technomage.”

“Are you ever going to let that go? Danny, tell Tucker it’s a stupid idea to brick his new GameSwitch and waste all his birthday cash.” She poked him between his ribs, looking around him to frown at their other friend’s antics. He brushed her hand away, and continued looking at his phone. “Uh, Danny?” Another poke, and this time he pushed her back to continue looking at his new Razor. “Come on, Danny, your new cell is not that cool.”

As we made our way to the bustling London City Centre in a sleek Mercedes, Helena and Alana sat in the front while Rhona and I occupied the back seats. A feeling of discomfort started to wash over me. I wasn't used to being part of such a big group of friends. Despite Bella being my best friend, Angela and Jessica were more like casual acquaintances. And then there was Jessica's jealousy towards Bella and Edward's tight bond, which added an extra layer of tension to the already uneasy atmosphere.

Amidst the turmoil and unpredictability surrounding me, my thoughts couldn't help but drift back to my final evening as a mortal alongside Bella. A wave of memories washed over me, recalling vivid scenes like a flashback in a movie. In that fleeting moment, I found myself whisked away to a time when life was simpler, far removed from the heaviness of eternity and its inevitable repercussions.

As we relaxed in Bella's cozy bedroom, the absence of her father, Charlie, was undeniable. He was busy patrolling the streets as the chief of police, leaving us to our own devices.

"I don't think I'm suited for the whole university scene," I admitted, observing Bella as she gazed longingly out the window. She turned towards me, her expression thoughtful.

"I understand what you mean," she whispered, settling into the chair next to her bed. I sprawled out on the mattress, sensing the weight of her uncertainty.

We sat in silence for a while, with only the gentle hum of the air conditioning breaking the quietness. Finally, I decided to break the silence. "Is something bothering you?"

Bella hesitated for a moment before speaking, her chocolate brown eyes clouded with worry. As I watched her sit down on her chair, I couldn't help but notice the conflicted expression on her face. It was as if she was battling with her own thoughts, trying to make sense of the chaos that was brewing inside her. I lay on her bed, watching her in silence, until I finally spoke up.

"Something's wrong?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Bella shook her head, her eyes still fixed on the window. "No," she replied, barely audible. "Why do you ask?"

I couldn't help but chuckle at her response. "Well, for starters, Edward is always with you," I said, amusement lacing my voice. "And secondly, you keep looking at that window like you're hoping he'll show up in a Mercedes or something."

Bella let out a sigh, her eyes still fixed on the window. "I don't think he has a Mercedes," she whispered softly.

We sat in silence for a brief moment, the tension between us palpable. I could sense that Bella was struggling to open up to me, to share her innermost thoughts and feelings. But I knew that I had to be patient, to wait for her to come to me in her own time.

"That's fine," I finally said, breaking the silence. "You don't have to talk about it."

Bella glanced at me, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and confusion. "It's nothing," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Well, it is, but... Okay, do you remember Jacob Black?"

I leaned my head back and looked at her, my mind racing with a million thoughts and emotions. "Oh, okay," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Edward's jealous."

"You said it as if it's obvious," Bella replied, her voice laced with amusement.

I couldn't help but smile at her response. "Well, it kind of is," I said, my voice laced with playfulness. "Edward has always been a bit possessive when it comes to you." 

Bella let out a small laugh, her eyes finally leaving the window and meeting mine. "I guess you're right," she admitted, a hint of sheepishness in her voice. "But it's not like that with Jacob. We're just friends." 

I raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in my eyes. "Just friends, huh?" I said, my voice filled with mock skepticism. "I've seen the way he looks at you, Bella. And I've seen the way you look at him." 

Bella blushed, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that made her even more beautiful. "Okay, maybe there's a little more than friendship there," she confessed, her voice barely audible. "But it's complicated." 

I nodded, understanding flooding through me. "Love always is," I said, my voice softening. "But Bella, you deserve to be happy. Whether it's with Edward or Jacob or someone else entirely, you deserve to find that happiness." 

Tears welled up in Bella's eyes, her vulnerability shining through. "I know," she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. "But it's hard, you know? To let go of something that feels so right, even if it's not perfect." 

I reached out and took her hand in mine, offering her a comforting squeeze. "I understand," I said, my voice gentle. "But sometimes, we have to take risks and make difficult choices in order to find true happiness. And I'll be here for you, every step of the way." 

Bella smiled, a mixture of gratitude and relief on her face. "Thank you," she said, her voice filled with sincerity. "I'm glad I have you in my life." 

I smiled back at her, feeling a sense of warmth and connection between us.

"I'm glad too, Bella," I replied, my voice filled with affection. "And no matter what happens, I'll always be here for you. Just remember that."

As I concluded my musings, she let out a weary sigh. "You sound like a relationship guru," she quipped. "But you've never experienced it yourself."

I chuckled in response. "I may not have lived it, but I've seen it all on daytime TV," I retorted, and we shared a lighthearted moment.

As I reminisced about that conversation with Bella on my last night as a human, I couldn't help but see the irony in it all. Edward, the love of her life, was a vampire - a creature of the night, not bound by the same mortal limitations as us humans. And yet, she would spend eternity with him, in a way. It was a strange thought, but one that I couldn't shake off.

As I pondered over this, my mind wandered to Jacob Black and how he would be feeling about the upcoming wedding. Was he even invited? If he was, it would undoubtedly be an awkward affair for him. Watching the girl he loved tie the knot with someone else would be a heart-wrenching experience. I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't invited at all.

The pitter-patter of raindrops on the car roof snapped me back to reality. It was a scene I knew all too well, one that reminded me of the day the men had picked me up from the airport.

"Have you ever felt like you've been here before?" Rhona's voice broke through my thoughts.

I turned to her, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Deja-vu," she explained. "I was looking through your memories and realized that our positions now are just like they were back then."

I couldn't help but laugh at the coincidence. "You're right, it does feel familiar."

Suddenly, a question popped into my mind. "How old were you all when you were turned?"

The car fell silent as they exchanged glances. It was a topic they rarely discussed, but my curiosity got the best of me. They were my family now, and I wanted to know everything about them.

Helena's answer was unexpected, "I was twenty-seven." Despite her youthful appearance, she was actually two hundred and eighty-two years old.

Rhona didn't hesitate to share her age, "I was twenty-five. Now, I'm eighty-two." There was a sense of pride in her voice, as if she had earned every year of her long life.

Alana chimed in, "I was twenty-four. Just turned eighty-three." Her eyes sparkled mischievously, showing that she still had the spirit of the young woman she once was.

As I absorbed their responses, I couldn't help but be captivated by the proximity of their ages and the timing of their transformation. It felt as though destiny had intertwined their paths, connecting them through the same everlasting curse.

"I'm the youngest," I interjected, feeling a tinge of exclusion. "I'm seventeen and how long have I been a newborn?"

Helena swiftly and accurately replied, "Three months. And you're doing remarkably well with your self-control." Her words carried a touch of maternal fondness, as if she took pride in my progress.

Rhona couldn't resist making a witty remark, "Hey, remembering is my specialty." Laughter erupted, solidifying the bond we shared through our shared journey.

As we arrived at the bustling heart of the city, Helena skillfully maneuvered the Mercedes into a prime parking spot at the shopping center. Excitement filled the air as we stepped out of the car, eager to explore the myriad of stores that lay ahead. Dress 2 Party, Phase Eight, Suzannah - the possibilities seemed endless.

We strolled through the streets, our footsteps synchronized like a marching band in a school.

The rain, despite the forecast, was a mere inconvenience to us vampires. The gentle droplets cascaded from the sky, enveloping the bustling streets in a refreshing mist. The clouds shielded us from the harsh glare of the sun, providing a much-needed respite.

Amidst this tranquil ambiance, Helena's voice pierced through. "What's the deal with dresses these days?" she pondered aloud.

Alana nodded in agreement, her expression reflecting the confusion. "The styles are so perplexing."

Unable to resist, I chimed in with curiosity. "What's wrong with them?"

Helena's tone turned wistful as she continued, reminiscing about a bygone era. "Dresses that barely reach the knees... What has become of women's fashion? I miss the elegance of my time. Shoulders covered, skirts that gracefully swept the floors, a modest chest, and the fan I would delicately wave to signal the men."

In that moment, I realized the stark contrast between our generations.

Rhona interjected, her voice laced with a hint of skepticism. "How far do you want us to regress? Do you still yearn for a time when we couldn't vote or have equality?"

Helena's eyes widened, taken aback by Rhona's response. "No, of course not," she quickly clarified. "I simply long for the grace and sophistication that seemed to accompany those fashion choices. It's not about regressing, but rather embracing a different kind of femininity."

Alana chimed in with a thoughtful perspective. "Fashion is ever-evolving, just like society. Perhaps what we consider elegant and stylish now is simply a reflection of the changing times. It doesn't mean we can't appreciate the beauty of the past, but we should also embrace the freedom to express ourselves in new ways."

I nodded in agreement, understanding both sides of the argument. "Fashion is a form of self-expression, and it's subjective. What may be elegant to one person may be outdated to another. We should celebrate the diversity of styles and choices available to us."

As time slipped away, we meandered through the heart of London, our gazes sweeping across the array of dresses in every boutique. The moments swiftly passed as we indulged in trying on numerous ensembles, each of us on a quest to find the ideal attire for the impending wedding.

Just as despair began to settle in, we chanced upon a store adorned with the most breathtaking dresses, each surpassing the previous one in beauty.

With anticipation in our hearts, we stepped into the boutique, the air inside was filled with a sense of elegance and sophistication, as if we had entered a realm of pure enchantment. The soft lighting cast a warm glow on the racks of dresses, illuminating their intricate details and delicate fabrics. It was as if the dresses themselves were whispering tales of romance and grandeur.

We were greeted by a saleswoman, her smile radiating genuine warmth and excitement. She guided us through the aisles, her expert eye discerning our individual tastes and preferences. After browsing through the racks, we finally found our perfect dresses and shoes.

Helena's choice was a true masterpiece. Her red dress flowed gracefully, its skirt reaching just past her ankles. The daring V-line on her chest and the sleeves that reached her elbows added a touch of allure. To complete the look, she paired it with a stunning pair of red high-heels that elongated her legs, making them appear endless.

Alana's selection was equally breathtaking. Her blue draped satin gown exuded elegance, with its folded off-shoulder neckline and a gathered floor-length skirt. The ensemble was perfectly complemented by her blue heels, adding a final touch of sophistication.

And then there was Rhona, who chose a golden dress that was nothing short of a vision of beauty. The sheen low V-neckline, adjustable rouleau straps, and cross over bodice invisible back zip accentuated her figure flawlessly. The midi length skirt with a front hem split added a hint of allure. With her golden eyes, the dress seemed tailor-made for her. To complete the ensemble, she opted for a pair of golden-like heels that added a touch of glamour.

And as for myself, I discovered the ideal black lace dress that hugged my curves flawlessly, featuring sheer lace sleeves and a flowing skirt that fell well above my knees. The black pumps I purchased to go with it were the perfect finishing touch.

Leaving the store, we felt like goddesses, eagerly anticipating the upcoming wedding. On our way home, the clouds rolled in, casting shadows over the city. Then, there was a buzzing sound coming from Rhona. She took her phone out of her pocket and placed it to her ear.

"Hello, Joseph," she said. "Woah, babe, calm down what you mean... Violet? Why would... Okay, we're coming home right now. Okay, bye."

She hung up her phone and looked over at me. "You got some explanation to do."

I frowned, taken aback. "What do you mean?" I asked, my mind racing to remember if I had done something that might have alarmed Joseph today.

Rhona's eyes were serious, her golden gaze piercing through me. "Joseph says there's been a breach at the forest last night. Saoirse and Adeline both wanted to speak with you specifically. He needs us back immediately."

"We're just wanderers," she said vaguely. "So... wherever the road and the gods take us, I suppose." Ivar gave a little hum as his eyes opened, and he looked up at her. She made a quick decision, to keep their identities secret. "Hello, sleepyhead," she said sweetly to Ivar, and leaned down to kiss his forehead affectionately. The look he gave her was very confused, but the man couldn't see his expression, fortunately. Before he could ask anything, she said, "I was just telling this man here about our travels, how we've turned ourselves over to the gods to see where they'll take us."

Ivar was quick, thankfully, and he nodded. "Ah, of course," he said. "And what else have you been discussing?" In other words, Catch me up, so I know what not to say.

"I told him how you've hurt your leg," she answered. She looked back up at the newcomer, and easily said, "I don't know if you're married, but finding my husband lying there with a broken leg just about broke my heart."

Ivar wanted to look at her with the extreme What?! he'd thought, but he merely hummed and gave her a tight smile.

"Well, if you're just wandering," the man said. "I'm on my way to the Silk Road. I've got some trading to do along it, but I could give you two a ride, if you'd like. Don't want to make a hurt man walk more than he needs."

Immediately, Ivar felt like protesting. But Aethelind saw the opportunity this presented, and so she grinned, nodding eagerly. "You're truly a blessing from the gods, sir," she said. "Thank you." With that, she stood up, and Ivar let out a little sound of protest as if he wanted her to come back. She took his crutch and offered it to him, so he could get to his feet. He wasn't wearing any of his braces, though, and so he gave her a look as if to ask, What do you want me to do with that?

Aethelind grimaced as she realised this, and looked to the leg braces, still abandoned at the river. He'd risk really breaking a leg, if he stood right now. So, she went and grabbed his arm braces, and brought those to him. While he put those on, she collected his leg braces and put them on the cart.

"What are those?" the man questioned curiously, and Aethelind chuckled softly.

"Oh, these? We stopped back in Kattegat and had them made to help his leg," she lied. "They've done wonders for his mobility while he's hurt, but..." She gave a shrug. "They can only do so much before we still need to rest, hm?"

Ivar blinked a few times as he heard her effortlessly crafting this cover story. She was brilliant, and he wondered where exactly she learned to cover so well. Perhaps it was at court. After all, he'd heard that the English courts had a tendency to be rather... complicated, he supposed one could say. She must have gotten good at covering for her absences, or other various infractions while there.

Once his arm braces were on, Ivar flipped himself over, and crawled up to the cart, which he managed to pull himself up onto with a little of her help in stabilizing the thing. Just to sell the story that he was her husband, she rubbed his leg affectionately, and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. The man gave a small nod, and went to his horse to start her off again. "What are your names?" the man called back.

And, here was the part Aethelind wasn't sure of. The only Norse names she knew were those which would surely be recognized. Ivar, however, was quick to answer the man. "My name is Erik," he said. "My wife is Ingrid." Thankful for the quick thinking on his part, Aethelind reached over and took his hand, giving it a grateful squeeze. He smiled at her a little, prompting her to smile in return.

"Erik and Ingrid," the man said. "My name is Gunnar."

"It's good to meet you, Gunnar," Aethelind replied, and settled in against Ivar. He wrapped his arm around her instinctively, then, which earned a smile from the Shieldmaiden.

For a few weeks, they travelled with Gunnar, who was quite a kind man they both realized. He was older than them both by quite a few years, closer in age perhaps to Ivar's parents. Any question he asked, they were able to come up with an answer for easily between themselves, and so it never came to be suspicious to him, their background.

Each night, the small group would stop, have dinner together- some sort of stew usually prepared off of what they could find around. Aethelind and Gunnar would hunt, and Ivar would get a fire started. They’d come back, put it together with some of the rations Gunnar had brought, and share the meal amongst themselves.

After they would eat, they’d all settle in to sleep, and according to the tale they told, Aethelind would sleep very near to Ivar. As the nights grew colder, Ivar’s legs began to ache more, and it became harder for him to sleep. One night, as he laid there trying to get comfortable- failing to do so- he noticed something different.

Aethelind was shaking in her sleep, the cold seeping into her just as it was him. He chanced a glance down at Gunnar, noticed the man was sleeping still, and so he flipped onto his stomach and crawled to her. Putting his hand over her mouth, he shook her gently, and whispered her name to wake her.

The Shieldmaiden woke with a start, looking at him with wide eyes before she recognized him, and relaxed. “What is it?” she whispered to him. He gestured with his hand for her to follow him, and he crawled back to where he had been laying. She did as he said, and when he laid down, with one arm out, she gave him a confused look.

“You were shaking,” he answered her as softly as he could. “It is cold, and you should not freeze here.”

She smiled softly and nodded, before lying beside him. Ivar wrapped an arm around her, and she gave a soft hum as she settled in. “Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at him in the dark. “For noticing.”

Ivar gave the sort of noncommittal shrug which spoke of his reluctance to accept the gratitude. “I was also cold,” he said, and she chuckled softly.

“Of course,” she teased. “Well, then I’m very glad I was able to assist you.”

He rolled his eyes in an amused sort of way, and reached with his free arm to grab his cloak, covering them both with it. “Go to sleep, Shieldmaiden,” he said. “We have long travels ahead.”

“Very well, Boneless,” she whispered in response. She let her hand come up to cup his cheek briefly. “Sleep well.” Her hand moved down to rest on his chest as she closed her eyes and settled in to sleep, unaware entirely of how that little action had made him stay up, deep in thought, the rest of the night.

Gunnar made no comment about the pair the next morning, about having woken to find them lying together for the first time on their trip. Truthfully, he had been a bit surprised when they slept apart each night, seeing as they were husband and wife. Or, so they said.

He hadn’t told them that he had come from Kattegat. Gunnar was a trader, had meant to set up there, and had arrived mere hours after the battle. Seeing there was no market set up, he left some supplies for the wounded, and moved along. The rest Ivar and Aethelind had taken gave him enough time to catch them, though he hadn’t meant to.

News in the city had been that Ivar the Boneless was on the move, with his Prophet at his side. Gunnar hadn’t ever seen Ivar or the Prophet with his own eyes, but finding a man who had to crawl, or walk with braces on his leg and a crutch, with a woman at his side… He was nearly certain he had stumbled upon Ivar the Boneless and his Prophet.

If he ignored the warning signs of the truth of this matter, pictured the pair as a loving wife with her injured husband, he could lull himself into a false sense of security, and so that was what he tried to do. Most times, it worked. But every once in a while, something would happen to break that illusion. Something such as the pair not sleeping side by side, as a Viking man likely would do with his wife, regardless of company.

As they travelled the next day, something happened which made him unable to pretend any longer.

‘Erik’ and ‘Ingrid’ were sitting on the back of his cart as usual as they went along the Silk Road, and he saw the excitement in the former’s eyes as he looked around at all he saw. They’d stopped at one stand, and the merchant had let a bird walk up his arm. The woman who called herself Ingrid had grinned, told the man who was probably Ivar that he looked quite handsome with that bird on his shoulder, and he had teasingly asked her if that meant he was not normally handsome.

All had been well for a while, until they’d finally come to a stretch of land where there were no merchants, no markets for quite a few miles. Ivar had fallen quiet, and Aethelind noticed this. Taking his hand, she whispered to him, “What’s on your mind, love?”

He gave her hand a small squeeze and looked up at the horizon they seemed to be travelling ever away from. “Freydis would have liked that bird, I think,” he commented.

Aethelind swallowed at the mention of her. “She would have,” she agreed. “Do you remember that blue dress she wore? With the red in it?” Ivar nodded. “Its colors reminded me of that dress.”

Ivar gave a tight lipped smile, and nodded with a quiet, “Hm.”

Things were quiet for a few moments, and Aethelind finally whispered, “Do you think things would have been different if I had come in a few moments sooner?”

At this point, Gunnar was certain they had fought in Kattegat. Whether that meant they were Ivar and the Prophet, he didn’t know just yet. It was possible ‘Erik’s leg had been broken in the battle, and they’d fought for Ivar, and so run from Björn Ironside before the battle ended. Hearing them speak now of a ‘Freydis’, which he knew had been the name of Ivar’s queen, had him certain at least that they’d been on the Boneless King’s side.

“You might have changed nothing,” Ivar said, holding her hand a little tighter. “You’d have had to have gone instead of me.”

She sighed. “Wish I had. I’d rather he separated from her by choice, rather than by death.”

Ivar gave a sigh. “It is by choice,” he said. “We all made choices that have led us to where we are. She chose to betray the King. You chose to let me go to her instead, and she chose to confess to me. I chose to spare her the humiliation of being tried for treason.”

Aethelind huffed at his answer. “You could have chosen to spare her entirely,” she said. His brows lifted as he looked at her, and noticed for the first time the hardness of anger in her eyes.

“You know I loved her,” he began. She laughed bitterly and released his hand, dropping off the still moving cart so she could walk alongside it. Surprise showed on his face. “What? Are you angry with me now, hm?”

She laughed a little louder. “Of course I am angry!” she confirmed. “You didn’t have to do what you did! I chose to save you because I care for you, and because I could not save her. But I loved her too. I sat behind her when she delivered Baldur, I cared for her when he passed. Did you never notice how, some mornings, she and I would appear together? Those were the mornings after the nights she would forego her bed, and come to me.”

Ivar realized she had mentioned the name of his son, of the son of Ivar the Boneless, in addition to them both freely saying Freydis’s name. He hissed out her false name, trying to get her attention, to warn her, as they walked along. But she took this as him trying to silence her, and so she snapped, “No! No, I get to be angry about this! I spent my nights after Baldur’s death with Freydis in my bed, holding her and comforting her because you could not accept what had happened!”

“Ingrid,” he tried again, his eyes widened and stressed. The cart had stopped moving, and she had simply stopped with it, still continuing to fume.

“I had no idea of what she intended to do,” Aethelind continued on, ignoring his warning once more. “But I do understand why she did it. Instead of coming along beside her, you turned against her and blamed her for his death! I saved you because I couldn’t take losing one more person, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind to your role in her death, Iv-”

“You’re Ivar the Boneless.”

Aethelind froze in the middle of her words, holding Ivar’s gaze for a moment as she suddenly realized what he’d been trying to tell her. His eyes closed and his jaw tensed, and she turned to face Gunnar.

“And you’re the one they call the Prophet,” he said.

She swallowed hard, eyes narrowing. “And if we are?” she questioned. Her hand was on her sword now, in case he caused trouble.

“You are,” Gunnar said. “I had my suspicions when I first picked you up, but my suspicions were weak enough, filled with enough doubt, that I couldn’t be certain. I am now, though.”

Almost in the blink of an eye, Aethelind had drawn her sword and grabbed Gunnar, holding the sword to his throat. “If you breathe a word of this, you’re a dead man,” she hissed. “We’ve come too far now to let a merchant be our downfall.”

Gunnar swallowed hard as he looked down at her sword, and then into her eyes. “I won’t tell,” he promised. Her eyes stared back into his, debating on what he said.

“Ivar,” she called, without turning. “Do you believe this man?”

Ivar hummed from his place on the back of the cart, having turned to see what was happening. Gunnar looked to him, fear evident in his eyes, and Ivar chuckled darkly.

“I believe him for now,” he said. “And there is no one here for him to tell, anyway. Let him live.”

Aethelind pulled her sword away, and sheathed it. “We continue on,” she told Gunnar. 

He nodded and, heart pounding, moved to guide his horse once more. Aethelind returned to her place sitting at Ivar’s side.

“I tried to warn you,” he said.

She replied, “Shut up.”

The first and only warning to Gunnar came that night, as the three were eating dinner as they always did. Aethelind had asked where the nearest town was, acting as if she were merely curious, or hoping to get some better supplies then. Gunnar had, out of fear of what would happen if he lied, answered her honestly.

They finished their meals and settled in for the night, with Aethelind curling up against Ivar’s side as had become habit for the pair.

Once Gunnar had fallen asleep, Ivar turned to whisper to Aethelind, “We need to break off from him. He is a risk now that we cannot take.”

She nodded a little, and rolled up so she was looking down at Ivar. If Gunnar woke, so long as she spoke quietly, it would appear to him that they were merely sharing a moment, that perhaps Ivar and his Prophet had… more than a strictly professional relationship.

“I agree,” she replied. “I’m going to get your braces. Put them on, and get ready to leave with your crutch. We’ll get rid of him and take his money. We can use it for something in the next town.”

Ivar nodded to agree with her plan, though secretly, he was concerned about her willingness to do something like this. Gunnar had never been unkind to them- quite the opposite, in fact. He was a kind man, one who didn’t deserve what was happening to him. But that was the tragedy, wasn’t it? Aethelind hadn’t deserved to lose her closest friend, at his hands.

With his approval, Aethelind silently got up, brought his crutch and the lighter of the braces, and then returned with the heavier. He began to put them on as he watched her go to Gunnar, and kneel beside him. He was sleeping on his back, blissfully unaware, and she swallowed.

Ignoring the twisting in her heart, Aethelind prayed silently for forgiveness before she unsheathed her sword, and slit his throat. His death was mercifully quick, and would have been painless for the most part, assuming he never woke.

She searched his body for money, and found some, which she tucked away on her person before going to his cart. Finding the rest of the money he had stashed away, she put that on the horse, and released the cart from her.

The sound of Ivar’s crutch approaching told her everything she needed to know, and she turned to see him approaching her, on his feet once more. Admittedly, she was glad to see him walking again. It felt good to see.

“Why are you taking the horse?” he asked her, and she answered,

“We’ll sell her. The more money we have, the better.”

Ivar nodded, and they set off down the road once more.

As it turned out, Gunnar’s directions to the next town had been entirely accurate, and once there they easily sold his horse to the first stable they found, and collected quite a large amount for her.

There was an inn in that little town, and so Ivar and Aethelind chose to stop in there for the night. They got warm meals and a cup of ale each with some of the money, but their presence had drawn attention. Even if news of the events in Kattegat hadn’t yet reached this far, people knew who Ivar the Boneless was, knew how to recognize him by the braces he wore on his legs, and the crutch he required to walk. Like Gunnar, they couldn’t be certain of the man in this inn’s identity, but they could have their suspicions, and they could discuss them as such.

Aethelind bought them a room for the night, keeping to the story that they had initially given Gunnar, and they were provided the key along with their meals. She noticed the gazes of many people on them, but one particular group of people caught her eye. It was a group of men, all armed, and they were almost unnerving. Not enough for her to heed Ivar’s warnings not to approach them, but enough to actually make her feel the need to do so.

“So, what are you lot, then?” she asked, stopping at their table and leaning on it. The men sitting there chuckled a little as they looked up at her.

“I can be a king if that’s what you want, sweetheart,” one of them answered, but the glare from her shut him up quickly.

“Met kings. Fought kings. Titles don’t impress,” she said sharply. “I asked what you are, not what you could be. Are you lot sellswords?”

“We are,” one confirmed, and she looked to him then. “You looking to buy?”

Without so much as a word, she put the coin purse she’d pulled from Gunnar’s body on the table, and watched them all look at it.

“Meet me back here in the morning,” she said. “I’ll tell you what we need, and if you choose to let us hire you, I’ll give you half the rest then. The full amount will be paid upon completion of service.”

“See you in the morning then, Princess,” the one who seemed to be their leader almost sneered. Her own sword was pulled and pointed at his throat in a flash.

“Call me that again, and you don’t live to see a coin more,” she threatened, and then returned to Ivar. “Erik, let’s go.”

Ivar got up and followed her to their room, shooting a glare at the man who’d attempted twice to flirt with Aethelind. He took her hand with his free one to make a point.

Finally getting to shave off the beard he’d grown on this journey was something Ivar hadn’t realised he’d looked so forward to, but he really had. He’d done it while Aethelind was getting into bed, so when he came and got in beside her, she laughed and ran her fingers over the freshly smoothed skin.

“Ivar the Boneless,” she quipped. “Welcome back.”

The next morning, they met the sellswords and struck an agreement. They would travel to the end of the Silk Road with Ivar and his Prophet, which Aethelind and Ivar had elected to confirm for them were their identities, and ensure they arrived safely. It ended up being the fame of having served Ivar the Boneless which won them over, and so they set out.

Using some of the money they had left, Aethelind bought something of a rolling seat for Ivar’s use, which they attached to one of the horses the sellswords had. Settled in, they continued their journey north.

One night, as Ivar and Aethelind laid how they always did, he found himself unable to sleep. The past months were replaying in his mind again and again, along with the argument he and Aethelind had had.

He didn’t realise she was awake, when he first began to speak to her. Her face wasn’t visible with the way he was holding her, his chin resting on the top of her head. They hadn’t been this far north yet in their travels, and he was glad for the extra warmth she provided. Unknown to him, she was also glad for the extra warmth he provided.

Aethelind thought, perhaps, he had unknowingly saved her. She hadn’t brought any of her furs from Kattegat, any of the thick dresses she had gained while there. Only her sword hung at her side, and as they travelled, his cloak wrapped around her shoulders. He’d given it to her to wear after the first night they’d shared its warmth. And so throughout the day, it was as if his warmth protected her from falling to the cold. And at night, she knew it may as well have only been his warmth which saved her.

But, it was also her warmth which saved him. The way her eyes had pleaded with him to go, to escape from the longhouse, and to escape Kattegat before his brothers came, was incredible. He had always remembered the softness in her eyes when she said goodbye to him, when they were still children in Wessex. This was the first time he had seen such softness reflected in her eyes again. That day, she had promised to miss him. And then, years later, she promised not to lose him.

Ivar couldn’t understand why. She had seen the worst of him, as King of Kattegat. Everything he did there, those he killed for no purpose, those he’d had killed, what he’d done to his own son…

He swallowed hard as he tried to shut out the memories of Baldur’s quiet cries in the forest, and later still the dead silence when his cries of hunger and thirst finally ceased, until it was broken by Freydis’s sobs at the loss of their son.

As if the closeness to her could chase these thoughts away, Ivar pressed his face into her hair, before taking a deep breath. The way she shifted, as if to accommodate his movement, made him swallow hard.

It was so like her to silently accommodate, to do what needed doing without a word, and it was just the right thing to push Ivar over the edge.

Silent tears rolled down his cheeks as he held her tighter to himself, and he would never know the way her heart ached as she felt him let out that first sob. Nor would he know how she hated the pain in the words that spilled from his lips.

“Why did you do this?” His words were barely a whisper, and yet so clear to her, as clear as ice. “After all I have done, why do you stay, hm? I killed your closest friend. She died by my hands, her blood stains my hands, and yet you choose to follow me into the cold and dark?” His voice was rough, and cracking, under the emotion, and just slightly irritated, as if he felt weak for the display. She knew his voice well enough now, just as well as she knew him, to know he was not angry with her, but himself, at the regret in his chest.

He continued, “I cannot understand you. You came to me disheveled, having struggled to be at my side, after the pain I caused you. You think I missed the betrayal in your eyes, when you came to my side. So why do you stay? I called you a prophet, but I begin to believe you truly must be so. What do you know that has not yet come to pass? What have you seen?” She swallowed back the tears that wanted to fall at his broken pleas for answers, the strangled confessions that only barely escaped.

“Why do you gift me with your loyalty? I don’t deserve it… I don’t deserve you, my sweet Shieldmaiden. My Asta, I don’t deserve you.”

That one word, Aethelind had not yet learned. Asta. Her mind pondered its meaning even as Ivar fell asleep beneath her finally, until the steady rise and fall of his chest eventually lulled her to sleep as well. But until then, no thought filled her mind other than what that word might have meant, and why he had called her by it.

Asta- from the Old Norse ást (n.) meaning, “love”.

--

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @wilhelmyna, @katfett, @fangirl-nonsense, @zuzus-sun, @heavenly1927, @pomegranates-and-blood

They started cleaning the basement that day, but Elizabeth had to work so it was pretty late. She also had to pick up a few crates so they could pack the stuff up first. Michael didn't have to use his powers for that at all, because nothing was too heavy.

Elizabeth was surprised by some of the stuff she found down there – like clothes she'd thought she'd left at home or lost during the move there, but also books from when she was younger and a few photo albums, mostly of her friends and some of her sister – and decided she would go through some of the stuff later. There were even a few boardgames. She'd brought them with her because she'd liked them, not really because she'd had any real thought of playing them.

Maybe now that Michael was living with her, she could teach him to play some of them. He'd probably like them. He actually put a box of games to the side when he found the one that contained boards for checkers and chess, the pieces in a bag along with them. She could play checkers okay, but she sucked at chess. She didn't have the patience for it.

"We can put the games in the closet in your room," she told Michael. "Just go through the ones that you want. Maybe we can give the rest away or something."

They continued going through the basement until around seven, and then they stopped to have dinner, which was frozen pizza. It was something easy and she knew Michael would eat it.

They watched an older movie called Monster Squad about a bunch of kids saving the world from monsters. It was one of Elizabeth's favorites from when she was a kid. Michael liked it but not as much as Harry Potter. Speaking of which, they were almost done with the third book and could soon watch the third movie.

The third movie was Elizabeth's favorite, so she hoped Michael enjoyed it. ---------- Later that night, after Elizabeth was done reading their nightly chapter, Michael brought up something he'd been wondering about since he'd agreed they should ask Langdon to stay with them.

"You won't forget about me if he says yes, will you?"

"What?"

"Well, he will need your help too. Maybe even more than me because he didn't have you to help him before and he's not used to it."

"Michael, I can help you both at the same time. And I could never forget about you."

"You'll still read to me every night?"

"Of course. We still have four books to go. We can't just stop in the middle," she teased. "We'll still talk and play games, and you'll still learn to do new things. The only thing that will be different is that Langdon will be here . . . if he decides to stay."

They had finished the last chapter of the third Harry Potter book. It had been even more drama-filled than the other two, Michael thought. Harry had found out he had a godfather, had found out that said godfather had been the reason his parents had died, and then had found out that that wasn't true at all. His friend, Ron, had had a pet rat named Scabbers, who was actually a wizard that could turn into an animal, and he had been the reason Harry's parents had been killed. It had been interesting, to say the least.

Michael still didn't like Snape or the Dursley's.

Hermione was probably his favorite. She reminded him of Elizabeth a little bit. He could see her being a Hermione when she'd gone to school, smart and clever, resourceful. So of course Hermione was his favorite.

"What's the next book about?" he asked as she got up to put the third one on his shelf.

"Well, I don't want to give anything away, but it's mostly about a tournament that's being held at Hogwarts. There are dragons and mermaids, a maze near the end."

"Dragons are awesome," Michael said. "They can shoot fire out of their mouth."

Elizabeth smiled. "I think I'll stick to dogs and cats. With my luck, I'd be the one it was shooting fire at."

Michael settled more into his bed. "What're we doing tomorrow? The basement still?"

"Probably a little bit. Not all day. We might could drop some of the stuff off at a Goodwill or something, just to get out of the house a little bit."

"That would be good."

"Okay. Good night, Michael."

"Night, Miss Elizabeth." ---------- Once Elizabeth got to her room, she read a few chapters of the Bible, a habit she had formed ever since she'd first begun to read it. It had become part of her routine to read a chapter of the current Harry Potter book to Michael and then go to her room to read the Bible to herself. Now that she knew Michael really was the Anti-Christ – or had been branded as such – she wasn't so sure him hearing the words and having them burn his ears had been in his head at all; the words might actually hurt him.

All she'd gotten from the Bible so far was that there had been just as much if not more war back in Biblical times than there was even now. It was pretty much God's people against everyone else. The wars were mostly about land matters.

There was nothing about how to defeat the entity in her house. There was also nothing about how to help Michael or Langdon. There was, however, a rule about not using witchcraft.

She wasn't sure what Michal was doing was witchcraft. He wasn't casting spells or lighting candles or doing anything outside the abilities he had been born with. It wasn't his fault he could do things other people couldn't.

What Langdon did, however, was probably witchcraft – rituals, summoning the devil – or trying to – time-traveling . . . definitely witchcraft.

It wasn't until after she'd finished reading for the night and was in the bathroom actually getting ready for bed that she began to feel the strange oppressive force that she'd come to know as the entity in her house. It wasn't with her exactly, but she could feel that it was going to become active. It wanted its presence known.

She heard a few thumps coming from near the kitchen so she went to check after she was done with her nightly routine. There was nothing wrong in the kitchen, so she wasn't sure what it was that she had heard.

"Let's not start this again," she said. "I'll even say please if it'll make you go away."

Honestly, it was late and she just wanted to sleep. She didn't receive a reply and nothing seemed out of place, so she went back to her room. She wasn't going to invite trouble in by actually challenging the thing that was haunting her house when it didn't seem to be threatening her or Michael. ---------- The next morning everything seemed normal. Elizabeth got up, fixed breakfast, waking Michael up with the smell of bacon frying. He came in, bed hair all over the place. He plopped into one of the chairs and began rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked.

"I kept hearing things."

"Me too. But no one was attacked, so that's a step up."

Michael gave her a small smile that was interrupted by a fresh-out-of-bed yawn.

"What was it?" he asked.

"I don't know. I got up to check in here, but I didn't see anything that would've caused the noise."

She quickly fried up some eggs as well so they could have bacon and egg sandwiches and then put them on plates after fixing them up. She placed one of the plates in front of Michael and then one at the place she would be sitting.

"You still want to go to Good Will today?"

"Sure." He took a bite of his sandwich and began chewing. After he swallowed, he asked if they could watch the third Harry Potter movie while eating dinner that night.

"Of course," she said. "That's my favorite one."

"I like the second one the best so far," Michael said.

"Wait until you see the hippogriff. It's great."

After breakfast Elizabeth went out just to see what the weather was going to be like. There was a pretty strong breeze going, so it was a little chilly, but nothing major. She'd probably go for a jog later, once they got back from Good Will.

She went back inside, told Michael to go get dressed to go out, and then headed to the basement so she could figure out what exactly they could donate that day. When she opened the door, however, it didn't take long for her to figure out what exactly she'd been hearing the night before.

All the boxes she and Michael had filled up and set up so they could get to them easily were now toppled over and the items had been strown across the floor.

She sighed, feeling only vaguely irritated, and said, "Seriously? Why?"

Didn't the Devil have something better to do with his time? Something other than wrecking her house.

When Michael made his way downstairs, he stopped at the bottom and said, "What happened?"

"Our uninvited guest has made his presence known once again." She shook her head. "You wanna help? You can probably do it faster with your powers than if we did it by hand."

Michael nodded and grinned before stopping and scrunching up his nose. "You don't think it'll make him mad?"

"Do it because it might make him mad."

"I'm not the one he hurts when he gets mad," Michael said softly. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "We can at least get rid of this stuff today and then he won't be able to make a mess out of it again."

There was still plenty that could be made a mess of, but at least the basement wouldn't have so much clutter once some of it was gone. ---------- Elizabeth and Michael dropped the boxes off as they had planned but they went to a nearby park instead of going straight back home. They hadn't gotten out of the house just to get out in a while – mostly because they didn't think it would be allowed, but Elizabeth was willing to test boundaries because she was pretty sure the entity in her house had already learned that Michael would never do what he wanted if she was ever actually seriously hurt by it.

There was a baseball game going on when they got to the park, but instead of sitting on the bleachers to watch they walked outside the fenced-in area. They paid attention enough to make sure a stray ball wasn't going to come over and hit one of them, but that was it.

They mostly talked about the holiday coming up. She'd already told Michael that she had never really been big on celebrating because her family had never been. Michael had only had a few Christmases to pull memories from, but he remembered presents and food but no real change of atmosphere at Constance's house.

"Did you have a Christmas tree?"

"Yeah. She put the hooks on the ornaments and helped put them on."

"Do you want a tree this year?"

Christmas was only a few days away, so it might be hard finding one, but maybe they could get a smaller one.

"I mean, it might be fun," Michael said. "But we don't have to."

She told him her idea about getting a smaller tree and he seemed okay with it, so once they'd made their way around the fence and back to the parking lot, the got in the car and started off for the store.

Elizabeth was the one who turned the radio on. Michael had never seemed to take an interest in music, but he didn't mind listening to it with her in the car.

A song by Queen came on and she began singing along with it. Michael didn't sing with her – he probably didn't know the song, to be fair – but a big smile formed on his face as he listened and watched her trying to hit notes that she couldn't.

Singing badly was worth it if it made him smile like that. ---------- Michael stuck by Elizabeth when they got to the store. He normally did that anyway, but it was busier than normal, so he stayed as close as he could get to her. Even though he got out more with Elizabeth than he had with his gramma, he still didn't like crowds. Too many people made him nervous and he wasn't sure if it had to do with his age or if he just didn't like being around all the commotion crowds usually brought.

Elizabeth seemed to know exactly where she was going, though, so at least they probably wouldn't have to be there long. The aisles were packed with people, and not all of them had the decency to park their carts on the sides. A lot of people were blocking the middle, so it was like a maze trying to make it to where they wanted to be.

They finally made it to the Christmas tree section and Elizabeth pointed out that they needed just a small tree. There were bigger ones, but Michael pointed out one that was only six feet tall and it had white lights that came with it, already attached. It wouldn't take that much work to decorate it.

Speaking of decorating, Elizabeth let him pick out a few boxes other than the normal baubles that would go on. He picked out a box of bells, a box of candy canes – real ones so they could eat them after they took them back off – and a box of Christmas themed ornaments that came with a few Santa Clauses and a few reindeer.

"Okay, so star or angel?"

Elizabeth was holding one in each hand and Michael pointed to the star. He guessed it didn't really matter. The angel kind of looked like a doll, anyway.

Elizabeth picked up a box of hooks for the ornaments once they had what they wanted.

Having everything they needed, they made their way to the front of the store so Elizabeth could pay for their things. One of the workers helped them with the tree, which was nice, and then once they had been checked through the register Michael helped her take it to the car.

Michael was surprised they didn't have a problem putting the tree box in the car, but it fit in without a problem and then the boxes of ornaments were placed on the floorboard.

"How about we decorate tonight? After dinner and the movie."

He nodded enthusiastically as he agreed that would be the perfect thing for them to do that night.

Dear Ms. Beale:

Congratulations! Please consider this your formal acceptance to the Brooklyn Animal Care Veterinary Internship program!

We were impressed by your attention to detail in your application, as well as your optimistic attitude and record of community service. What most made you stand apart from other applicants was your impressive amount of leadership experience; we believe this experience makes you uniquely qualified for a potential Intern Manager position with our staff during the duration of your time here.

Though your training will not begin until September 1st, we had several other highly-qualified candidates and would appreciate notice of your acceptance or denial of our offer no later than August 8th.

Please don’t hesitate to reach out should you have any questions about the position or the hiring process.

Sincerely,

Brooklyn Animal Care Staff

 She’s read it end-to-end seven times, the meaning sinking in slowly. She glances at the date in the corner of her laptop screen: August 4th. That gives her four days to decide.

It’s not like she really has to consider other offers. Though she’d applied all over the country, the Brooklyn program had been her top choice; their program is the best of those she applied to, and the idea of living in New York sends a thrill of excitement shooting through her. It’s novel and ensnaring and something she’s wanted for herself for a while.

The only thing that’s keeping her from immediately accepting is Beca. Or, more exactly, the relationship she has with Beca and how much it means to her.

Beca has heard back from exactly one of her many job applications so far. Two days ago, a music producer based in Houston, Texas, offered her a position with an acceptance deadline of August 10th.

How far away is Houston from New York? A thousand miles? More?

Chloe pulls up Maps online; the distance from Brooklyn to the center of Houston is 1,419 miles.

It’s too far.

Chloe pulls her lower lip between her teeth and opens a new internet tab: veterinary internships Houston TX. There are more than 60 results. She could do it. She could fill out an application right now.

Her hands twitch on the laptop keyboard, and for an instant, she seriously considers it. It wouldn't take long. She just has to copy and paste a lot of the information from her other applications.

Chloe leans forward with a groan to rest her head in her hands.

It would never work. Even with her application materials prepared, there’s no way she could complete multiple applications, the subsequent phone interviews, and hear back from them in the span of the four days she has to either accept or decline the position in Brooklyn.

Chloe groans again, frustrated. She’s fully aware that the rational thing to do in this situation is for her and Beca both to accept their offers, as long as no one else contacts either of them in the next few days. They need jobs, and their lease is about to end. The “adult” thing to do would be to say yes to the offers.

And yet.

They do still have some time before they have to decide, and it’s possible that they might actually manage to get offers from within the same city. Maybe. If the aca-gods are in their favor.

Chloe’s eyes prickle and sting. It’s not fair. They should have all the time in the world to be together, rather than potentially having to live across the country from one another. Chloe knows that in reality, Beca’s job prospects are much more limited than hers; every city needs veterinarians, and those veterinarians need internships. Big-name music production jobs are much less common. If she really doesn’t want to live apart from Beca, then it makes the most sense to follow Beca to wherever she goes.

It’s just. Brooklyn’s program is really the best, and Chloe knows Beca would want her to follow her dreams and go there.

They haven’t been dating long, but already, Chloe can’t imagine a future without Beca. She thinks it might have to do with how long they’ve known each other, or maybe even that she’d stayed at Barden all this time to be with Beca. Either way, she’d never liked the thought of leaving Beca, and now that Beca has made her into the happiest person in the world, the thought of separating from her is borderline unendurable.

The words “Beca” and “forever” are linked in her mind, no matter how impractical that may be this early in their dating relationship. Chloe knows it should probably scare her – being this dedicated to someone so soon – but it doesn’t.

It has all become alarmingly simple.

Chloe and Beca, Beca and Chloe, Chloe and Beca, Beca and Chloe.

***************

Telling Aubrey is probably the worst part about not graduating the second time.

“What do you mean you ‘failed again?’” Aubrey practically screams over Skype.

“It’s fine,” Chloe says, trying not to wince at Aubrey’s volume; if Aubrey senses weakness, she’ll pounce. “I’ll just try again next year.”

Aubrey groans, the computer mic distorting her voice and making it crackle. “Chloe. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“I don’t –”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Aubrey insists, looking at Chloe seriously through the camera. “You know exactly what you’re doing. You’re too smart to have actually failed anything, much less – what was it?”

“Russian Lit,” Chloe mumbles guiltily.

“Russian Lit?!” Aubrey repeats loudly. “Chloe, seriously? I know for a fact you have Anna Karenina almost memorized. Don’t pretend you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I mean, Dr. Zhivago is really a hard novel to analyze –”

“You’ve read it three times,” Aubrey says, sounding exasperated. “Be honest. It’s the same reason as last year, isn’t it? The Bellas?”

“They’re my family, Bree,” admits Chloe, dropping all pretense. “I don’t want to leave her – them. Them,” she says firmly, kicking herself a little and hoping Aubrey won’t notice the slip-up.

Unfortunately, Aubrey always has been too astute; even through Skype, Chloe can see her eyebrows lift and expression turn satisfied.

“Mhmm. So how is the little goblin?”

“I’ve asked you not to call her that,” Chloe snaps, more defensively than she’d meant to.

It makes Aubrey’s sly grin widen, and Chloe knows she’s given herself away.

“But you still know who I mean, even when I call her things like that,” Aubrey replies with a dismissive shrug. “Does she know you’re purposely failing to stay with her?”

Chloe feels herself flush, and stutters out, “That’s not – I don’t – you’re –”

“Why don’t you move on, Chloe?” Aubrey interrupts, shifting at her desk to lean closer to her laptop. “She’s still with Jesse and – unless you haven’t told me something – she’s still straight.”

Chloe looks away from the screen, stung. She doesn’t need Aubrey to tell her these things. She already knows them, painfully well.

“I – you never know, okay?” she manages after a moment, still unable to look back at Aubrey.

“Chloe,” Aubrey sighs after a moment, her tone softening so that Chloe’s able to look at her again. “I – I’m sorry, but... you have to know how unhealthy this is. You do see that, right?” she speaks delicately, as if worried Chloe’s going to start yelling at her.

Chloe’s stomach plummets and she looks away again.

“I mean… you just… Chloe, if she’s straight, there’s no point in continuing to feel like this. It’s a little – well, it’s unfair to both of you, really.”

Chloe swallows hard, Aubrey’s unspoken words screaming in her ears. She can read between the lines. She knows Aubrey is calling her creepy and obsessive.

On Skype, Aubrey starts to backtrack. “Okay, maybe unhealthy was a little –”

“Let’s talk about something else,” interrupts Chloe, not really listening. “Have you heard anything from your dad?”

Aubrey stares at her disapprovingly at the blatant subject change but doesn’t comment on it. Chloe breathes a little sigh of relief when Aubrey goes along with it, albeit reluctantly, and starts detailing some of the last postcard she’d gotten from her father concerning probably confidential military operations.

As she half-listens, nodding and smiling in all the right places, Chloe tries very hard to ignore the faint stirring of guilt in her stomach.

Aubrey doesn’t need to know she’s already planning on graduating with Beca. She’d probably think that was totally crazy.

***************

Beca and Chloe forever. At least, that’s how Chloe sees it.

In a few days, though, separation might be their new reality.

A light knock on her door breaks her concentration. It’s okay, though; she can tell by the knock it’s Beca. Smile already spreading over her face, Chloe calls, “Come in!” As she does, though, she minimizes her email, not wanting to ruin Beca’s mood by bringing that whole mess up. She’ll tell Beca, just, not yet, at least if she can avoid it.

The door opens and Beca slips in, leaving it cracked open behind her. Chloe relaxes at the familiar sight of Beca’s crooked grin and giggles at the dramatic way she throws herself on Chloe’s bed, bouncing against the mattress before sitting upright.

“Hey,” Beca says, “you busy?”

“Not really,” Chloe shrugs, careful to keep her tone light and casual. “What’s up?”

“Not a lot. Just got off the phone with my dad,” Beca answers, rolling her eyes, but without menace. “He’s been taking every chance he gets to ask about you and – and us,” she adds, suddenly looking nervous.

“How’s that going?” Chloe asks tentatively.

Beca shrugs, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s… not bad,” she says slowly. “I mean, we’ve been talking for a little bit, since your parents came over, and he’s kinda getting it?” Beca says, her voice rising like it’s a question.

“That’s good, though, right?”

“Yeah. It’s – he’s been slowly getting better about it. He didn’t say anything totally offensive this time, anyway,” Beca huffs.

“That’s good. Uh, and…?” Chloe trails off, uncertain.

“Sheila?” Beca asks, and Chloe nods. A corner of Beca’s mouth lifts contemplatively. “I mean, she’s – radio silence,” she says grimly. “It’s like my dad said – she’s just kinda like that, and I’m not sure she’ll change. He’s trying to talk to her, though, a little at a time. We’ll see,” Beca finishes in a tone that tells Chloe she’s done talking about it.

“Okay,” Chloe says. “So, we’ll, uh, we’ll work with that.”

“Yep,” Beca says, tracing her fingers over Chloe’s bedspread. Chloe has to suppress a smile and ignore the natural swoop in her stomach at seeing Beca on her bed; Beca’s been spending most nights in her bed lately.

“But, anyway,” Beca clears her throat, and Chloe hauls her mind out of the gutter so she can listen. “Was also wondering if you wanted to come shopping with me,” Beca asks. “Just to the mall or something, maybe.”

“Did you have something in mind?” Chloe asks, pushing away from her desk and moving to sit next to Beca at the end of her bed. It’s not often that Beca willingly goes to a place involving large amounts of other people.

“Well,” Beca tilts her head and reclines back to an elbow, her torso twisted toward Chloe. “Mostly I want to check out what they have for, like, uh, parting gifts? I guess? For the Bellas.”

“... Oh my god.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

Chloe can’t stop the huge smile she feels spreading over her face. Chloe wants more than anything to tease Beca (and mercilessly) for being such a softie but decides to take pity on her pinkened cheeks and stubbornly set jaw.

“We can do that,” she says. “It’s a great idea. Did you have anything in mind?”

“Nah, I just want to see what they had, you know?”

“Oh, uh, okay, yeah, we can probably –”

“Are you okay?” Beca interrupts, leaning forward, her eyebrows drawing together in concern.

“Hmm?” Chloe feigns innocence while panicking internally.

Beca’s frown deepens and her eyes flick between both of Chloe’s intently. “You seem a little… I don’t know. Not quite here, I guess. Just kinda off.”

“I mean, it’s nothing.”

Beca shrugs. “If you don’t want to talk, it’s okay, I just want to make sure everything is, you know, chill, or whatever.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I just, um…” Chloe hesitates. She hadn’t planned on telling Beca quite like this, but she doesn’t like the idea of keeping anything a secret from her. “I’m… I was accepted to the Brooklyn internship,” she finally expels in a rush.

Beca’s eyes fly wide and her mouth pops open in what Chloe knows is excitement. “Dude, you got in!” she exclaims, bolting upright.

“Yeah,” Chloe says and grins despite herself.

“Dude! That’s awesome, congrats!”

Beca lunges forward, reaching for Chloe’s face, and pulls her into an excited and somewhat sloppy kiss. Through it, Chloe can tell Beca is genuinely happy for her, and that both invigorates and saddens her. It makes her decision that much harder.

Beca pulls back first, her hands still cupping Chloe’s cheeks.

“I’m so proud of you, Chlo,” she says sincerely.

“Thanks, it’s really… I’m excited,” Chloe says, then winces internally at the obvious strain in her tone.

Beca’s smile falls slowly and she pulls away, dropping her hands from Chloe’s face to she can study her more closely.

“Are you?” Beca asks, softly this time. “Excited, I mean?”

“Yeah, it’s just…” Chloe half-shrugs, and looks away from Beca and toward her desk, where her open laptop almost seems to mock her. “It’s kinda far from Houston.”

Beca stills next to her, and Chloe glances over to see her looking down at the bedspread between them.

“Why does that matter?” she asks carefully.

“Beca, you know why it matters,” Chloe says.

Beca’s hands twitch in her lap.

“I mean… it – yeah. Brooklyn kinda is far away from Houston, yeah,” Beca agrees after a second.

“I could turn it down, maybe try for something closer,” Chloe’s quick to say, but Beca’s already shaking her head seriously.

“No way, Chloe,” she says firmly. “No way. I thought you’d always wanted to go to that program, right? You said it has a super high vet school acceptance rate.”

“Yeah, it – it does…” Chloe admits slowly, grateful Beca had remembered that detail about her program search.

“Okay, so you should go there, right? So you can get into vet school later?”

“Beca –”

“Look,” Beca cuts her off gently, “Chlo, I don’t want to be that couple that holds each other back from doing what they really want to do.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Baby, I’m worried I would,” Beca says, staring down at her lap. “You’ve been talking about their program for a while. Isn’t it what you want?”

“Yeah, but I want you, too.”

“You can have both, Chlo.”

“Beca –”

“What if we were switched?” Beca asks suddenly, looking back up. “What if I had wanted to go to LA and gotten an offer there?”

Chloe refuses to look at her. “That’s not the same,” she says.

“Yes, it is.”

“I…” Chloe sighs and rubs a hand over her face. She knows exactly what Beca’s doing, and she knows she’s right.  “I’d tell you to go,” she finally concedes.

“Yeah,” Beca nods, reaching for Chloe’s hand to pull into her lap. “So this is me, telling you that you should follow what you’ve been working for.”

Chloe pulls her lower lip into her mouth, worrying at it with her teeth. When she doesn’t say anything, Beca runs her thumb over the back of her hand.

“What is it?” she asks softly.

“I just...” Chloe starts, then has to pause to swallow the lump in her throat before she can continue. “It’s not fair.”

She knows it’s childish – life isn’t fair to anyone – but she wants to complain, at least a little bit.

“What isn’t fair?”

“This!” Chloe exclaims, finally looking up at Beca. “This whole stupid thing! We just got together and now we might be pulled apart! It’s not fair!” she finishes, her voice cracking.

Beca stares at her for a long moment, eyes wide. “I – yeah, I know,” she finally starts, and Chloe watches as determination take over her features. “It’s not fair. But, listen – having a long-distance relationship is not the end of the world.”

“I didn’t –”

“I know it’s not ideal, but it’s not the end of the world,” Beca repeats, speaking louder. “We don’t have to end just because we’re not living together, okay? There’s – there’s text, and calls, and Skype, and – we have options,” Beca says. “And, you know, lots of people make it work. We can too, okay, if we have to. And it won’t be forever.”

Chloe shrugs, then nods slowly. A trickle of hope moves into her chest.

“And,” Beca continues, “I still haven’t heard back from, like, a ton of jobs. I’m not gonna go to Houston if I can help it, okay?”

“Okay,” Chloe whispers, squeezing Beca’s hand.

She’s right. If anyone can do it, it’s them. It’s not ideal, but it wouldn’t be forever.

“Besides,” Beca adds a second later, her tone lighter as she nudges their shoulders together playfully, “Houston gets, like, super hot in the summer, and you know I don’t do well in the heat.”

Chloe snorts at that, and a small smile grows on Beca’s face. Chloe doesn’t say anything, but Beca’s still watching her, her expression tender.

Reaching forward to push a strand of Chloe’s hair behind her ear, Beca says, “And, um, if you’re really not sure… think on it for a bit, maybe, and we’ll go from there? I might even hear back from some places by… when do you have to tell them?”

“The 8th.”

Beca’s eyebrows lift, but then her expression arranges itself into something more neutral.

“Okay, so, the 8th,” she says, and Chloe can tell she’s forcing her casual tone. “That’s… yeah. I still think you should do it, though, because it’s what you’ve been wanting for a while.”

It sounds so simple coming from her mouth. Chloe knows Beca is just as terrified by the looming moves as she is, but she sounds so confident and assured in that moment that Chloe instantly relaxes.

“Sounds good,” she breathes, some of the tension lifting from her chest.

“Good,” Beca says, then stands from the bed, still tugging on Chloe’s hand. “And, in the meantime, would you like to dance with me?”

“What?” Chloe blinks up at her, surprised.

Beca’s grin only widens. “We need to celebrate this, and I don’t have any cake with me, so… dance?”

“You’re so weird,” Chloe says, but then she allows Beca to pull her to her feet and into a quick kiss. Beca’s lips move languidly against her own, their familiar taste reminding Chloe of crackling campfires and warm movie nights and exhilarating performances and home.

After a moment, Chloe has to pull back, slightly breathless. “Do you have music?” she asks.

Beca tilts her head, mock offended. “Duh, who do you think I am?” she asks incredulously.

Chloe smiles as Beca waggles her eyebrows overdramatically and pulls her phone from her pocket. She scrolls for a second, then taps on the screen, turns up the volume, and La Roux’s “Bulletproof” fills the room.

Chloe’s lips lift at song choice – even though at one time, it had nearly torn the Bellas apart – and Beca sets down her phone face-down on Chloe’s desk so that the music can full the room. Beca takes both of Chloe’s hands in her own, and with one more crooked grin, Beca starts dancing.

She leads them in a kind of jerky swing dance that doesn’t really match the song, but Chloe doesn’t mind; all she can think about is Beca’s hands in hers, guiding her back and forth and side to side in the middle of the bedroom.

They take turns spinning each other, Chloe’s eyes following the trails Beca’s whirling hair makes in the air. Beca backs her into her bed once, and Chloe wobbles dangerously, but Beca tugs her back with a glint in her eye that tells Chloe it might not have been an accident, but an excuse to pull their bodies closer together. As the music ends, Chloe spins Beca one final time and tugs her close to rest their foreheads together, breath mingling and hearts beating in tandem. Beca’s hands slide up her arms to loop around her shoulders, and Chloe rests her hands around Beca’s waist.

Even though the music is over, they revolve slowly on the spot, Chloe’s mind calming and heart racing. Beca nudges forward to brush her lips against Chloe’s, even that barest touch between them sending sparks cascading through Chloe’s entire body. She hums into the kiss, pressing forward just enough to add pressure before easing away again.

“Say yes to New York, Chloe.”

It’s quiet, whispered against her lips, but it still shakes Chloe’s world.

“I’ll need a roommate,” she breathes back.

“Ask the group chat.”

It’s a smart idea. Most of their futures are so up in the air that one of the Bellas is bound to be willing to move to New York with her.

(She wishes it could be Beca. More than anything, she wants it to be Beca.)

But she has to think practically.

“Okay,” Chloe agrees. “I’ll ask them.”

“Okay,” Beca smiles, then pecks Chloe’s lips again. “So… about that shopping trip?”