The night that Fin was injured passed in a very hazy blur. The Dwarven moonshine he kept swilling took its toll, blurring his memory at the edges. All he wanted to do was sleep, sleep long enough that when he woke up, he wouldn't be in pain anymore. But Antonia kept pulling him back to consciousness. It seemed like she was there, every second, hovering over him and insisting gently that he wake.

But maybe she wasn't. Maybe Fin dreamt her over and over because he wanted her to be there in the haze of pain and short breath and punctured sleep that was riddled with other faces and voices. Dream, nightmare, and reality were all cut from the same cloth and he was unable to tell them apart. His head throbbed, his side throbbed but there were phantom pains elsewhere, remembering other sessions with Stefin and his...surgeon that used nothing but a finger to slice through flesh and muscle. Had he been stabbed again? Was he bleeding? Fin tried to sit up to check himself but that caused more pain. He tried to move away from the source of the pain, scrabble backwards while whimpering pathetically, but that hurt, too. Everything he did hurt and there was no escape from it. He couldn't even curl up in a ball. Was it the pain that restrained him or was he tied down again? Everything was a muddle and the confusion added to his fear.

This was always Stefin's game. No escape, no relief, nothing except the pain that he was supposed to be feeling, until he was broken and only Stefin could put him back together. He promised that he would bring more, that he wouldn't tell them to stay away or find them another place to sleep, not anymore. Then came the begging. It lacked all dignity or pride; Fin was reduced to a blubbering mess, fighting against hands that tried to comfort or quiet him. There was never any help in the rotting, stinking shit hole that was Stefin's torture room. Only when Antonia's voice filtered through to him, soothing him into stillness, did he truly rest. The voice of an angel bringing him peace when nothing else would, shutting out the sounds and smells of his past, dispelling the twisted faces.

Morning crept closer and eventually exhaustion took over, silencing his dreams altogether. When Antonia tried to rouse him at that point, he would mumble unintelligible things and try to roll over, hissing and groaning until he settled onto his back again, never truly awake. It was nearly noon by the time he was able to gain some form of lucidity in order to discover that everything hurt worse. Antonia gave him a pill - he only half listened to what it was, heard it was from Doctor Eva and that was good enough for him. Must be good for him, right?

Watching Antonia get up and get dressed for the day, Fin let his head loll to the side to track her movements. When he did, the whole room seemed to...tilt in that direction. He knew nothing else was moving or sliding across the floor, he wasn't moving, but nothing felt solid. It felt like he was on the ocean, bobbing on the waves and the pain was less than it was before. It felt good. Really good. Too good. Fin could close his eyes and sink into this forever and that terrified him but the drugs kept him from really being scared. It was just a little tiny part of his brain that was screaming at him, repeating that this wasn't real.

It was easier to breathe but he barely noticed, floating in his little euphoric world. He blinked and Ben had replaced Antonia - how did that happen? It made him smile a dopey smile and beckon Ben closer, babbling things at him that probably didn't make sense. He spoke of Dair, asked after the one eyed Scot and then...did he cry? It wouldn't surprise him later to find out that he did. He cried over Alasdair McRae, cried to Ben about how much he missed his friend. Cried over the little children he was trying to feed so they wouldn't sell themselves into slavery for a crust of bread.

Poor Ben, stuck with a maudlin ex-junkie that was high on pain pills.

By the time Antonia came back, Fin had passed out again, thankfully in a dreamless sleep. No doubt, Ben had quite a story to tell.

It was over.

It was over. It was over. It was over. Itwasoveritwasoveritwasoveritwasoveritwasoveritwas over.

The words...they repeated so many times in his head that they started to lose meaning. Just noise that rushed through his ears with every heartbeat while he stared at the plastic bin that held his things. Things that had been housed in Antonia's apartment. Things that...that he'd shared with her while sharing that space with her. Shared his heart and his life and now she didn't want that anymore.

It was over.

She'd been hurt. Maybe that was the reason? Her face had been bruised when he'd met her here in this room. Fin had drawn close with sweet words, offering to call Doctor Eva, crooning to her before she snapped his attention to her with a near shout of his name. And she hadn't let him touch her. Every time he drew close, reached for her to offer comfort, to ask for understanding, she'd drawn away.

It was over.

Those words had left her lips. With many other words that fluttered against his ears, whispering to him but he just stared dumbly. There was no comprehension, he didn't know why this was happening. They were happy. Weren't they happy? Unbelievably happy. They couldn't wait to see each other at the end of each day, sent each other lovesick text messages like teenagers, it was never enough. But...apparently it was enough. Antonia had her fill and then she left, slipping out the door without a backward glance.

Everyone slipped away from him. No matter how good he was, how clean and sober he was, no matter how tightly he grasped, they all fell through his fingers eventually. His Da, Calum, Dair, Helena, now Antonia. Fin could chase them forever but it would do no good, they all moved away from him. Ultimately, he was left alone with their ghosts, teasing him with memories of things he could no longer have. People that didn't want him anymore.

It was over. Over over over over over.

The waxing moon crawled across the sky while he sat there unmoving. Moving would make it real. Speaking would make it real. His heart would shatter in his chest and he would have to feel it all. As long as he didn't move, time stood still.

Crows are snitches.

Even without Link passing information along, Benjamin could feel the rise of utter misery from the moment he stepped into his property. Star stood in the corral, quietly switching his tail.

The vanner walked to Benjamin and lowered his big head to his lad's arms. Benjamin scritched Star's head and jaw, then kissed the star on the horse's brow. He whispered soft Welsh to the animal before stepping to the stable.

It explained much. Antonia's battered face, her snarling words which did little to disguise the pain. Fin's absence.

A grimace, and Benjamin detoured to the house. He quietly made a thermos of hot soup, grabbed a bottle of liniment, a blanket, and finally returned to the stables.

For a long moment, he simply gazed at Fin and Ruadh. He silently thanked Thorn for her kindness all over again.

Without a word, he moved quietly in, settled beside Fin. He wrapped the blanked around them both, offering the thermos of soup and herbal moonshine both.

He didn't say anything, not then. He just followed an age old instinct for times of suffering - warmth, comfort, food and drink.

Somehow, Fin made it to Ketch's last night. The apartment he had in the West End, not so far from the place that Fin paid for (but in which he almost never stayed). The weather was stubbornly cold and so Ketch had built a fire but other than the sounds of the snapping and cracking of the wood as it shifted and burned, the apartment had been silent.

Once settled on the couch, Fin had barely moved. He sat listlessly, barely moving except to blink occasionally but internally, his mind was spinning and spinning, faster and faster, out of control. Replaying the same phrases over and over, memories of Antonia he tried so hard to grasp because he was afraid they would be lost if he didn't concentrate. Things he wouldn't hear or see again and the words of others working their way in there.

Ben and Taneth trying so hard to be optimistic for him, letting him know that things would be better. Sabine telling him to stop being so fucking pathetic, hanging outside the window of the Inn. Because he hadn't been able to bring himself to face her in public, not yet. Helena's usual bout of vitriol, blaming him for everything that had passed. And she was probably right. Maybe he deserved it as some sort of karmic payback, maybe he was just worthless to other people and he would never be happy, doomed to repeat this fate over and over. He didn't have the heart for it, Fin was too weak to do this again. To think about doing this again.

But Ketch was quiet. Let him sit there in silence while they both shared some whiskey.

As his thoughts grew in momentum, so did they become darker. His stomach became tighter as more blame and guilt and anger were added to the mix. The emotions were so intense that it actually physically hurt him and he wondered how his body could be sitting here unharmed when it felt like things were trying to claw their way out of him. Couldn't stop them, they swallowed other thoughts until he was stuck in the obsessive whirlpool, sucking him down further and further into the darker parts of himself.

Eyes had closed at some point and when he opened them again, he saw that Ketch wasn't there anymore. Maybe he'd gone to bed, maybe he thought Fin was asleep but Fin was alone in the room lit only by the banked embers of the fire. These thoughts required...something. A sacrifice, something to appease them so they would leave him alone for a little and maybe let him sleep. Dulled nails dug into his palms and it felt good but it wasn't enough. Neither was tugging at his hair. He had to do something now, immediately, or they would want something...bigger. More. There was nothing in sight except his whiskey glass so he put it on the floor, put a worn-out throw pillow over it and smashed the glass with his boot, the sound muffled so as not to alert Ketch that anything was up. A moment was used to decide where to...do something to himself and he decided on his calf. Enough meat that he wouldn't be too afeared of slicing something important. Pulling up the cuff of his jeans, one foot rested on the opposite knee and he stared down at his skin.

Hands shook slightly and he wondered for a moment if this was crazy. This was crazy, right? He saw Sabine's scars and they looked awful, painful. Testaments of pain that shouldn't be glorified. But Sabine said it made things better. That it felt better and it was addictive. Magical words to someone like him, instantly attracting him when he should know better.

A jagged bit of broken glass was in his hand, turning it over and over between callused fingertips while he considered what to do. How to do it. Was there a method? Did it matter? The demons quieted down while he regarded his leg thoughtfully, brows knit and the point of the glass put to his flesh again and again. There had been suicide attempts in the past - obviously foiled - but they had been made in a drug-induced haze or out of desperation and panic and insanity. To do something so carefully deliberate was something else altogether and it gave him pause. And while he thought, the sharp edge trailed along his shin, making him shiver. Seducing him slowly even though it was his own hand moving it.

So he bore down. Let it trail and pressed, hard and then harder until blood appeared in its wake.

The night was cool and velvety up above, the stars twinkling and shining like diamonds despite the lights of the city in which the pair of men were walking. The fair haired figure was walking forward but his chin was tipped up so that he could view the stars, his mind wandering beyond them to places unknown and out of reach, a small smile upon his face. Adrenaline and pinging aches rippled over him, lighting up different spots as sensation traveled through his neural pathways, leaving nothing but clarity in their wake. He'd be hurting in an hour or so but right now, Fin felt good. He felt alert and loose despite the split in his lower lip just at the corner of his mouth, the dried blood in one eyebrow, the tender feeling at his jaw and cheekbones as well as disparate throbbing over his ribcage. On both sides. Fingers would be stiff so he kept flexing them, curling the digits and straightening them again in time to the music wafting through the back of his thoughts unnoticed. A deep breath inhaled, shoulders rolling with the motion and dropping with the exhale so that he had to pluck at his t-shirt again where it still stuck to sweat damp skin. "I do no' even mind I lost," he murmured to no one in particular and then let his gaze drop and swing to his side, lighting upon the brunette that moved with him. "How are ye feelin'?"

"Better," Ketch offered, following the Scot's eyes to the canopy of stars before his gaze descended to trace the rooflines, watchful?and more so lately. The sensations in his body moved as if fast-forwarded in motion: he was still soaked in endorphins but already felt, too, the full onslaught of the blows he'd taken, and the repercussions along his knuckles, elbows, and knees of the ones he'd given in return. What had been an angry red welt curved around the socket of one eye was already transitioning into the deep purple of a fresh bruise, and it'd mottle further, spreading yellow, greens, and blues by morning, likely. Though he was slower to heal lately, given the way he'd been exerting himself. So there might be some aftermath still to contend with before coffee. His t-shirt, too, stuck to him, but he let it cling. The night air moved across them and cooled the pent up heat that had blanketed them in the warehouse. "I take it you do, too?" His flask was in his back pocket, per usual, and as he turned them down an alleyway, he pulled it out and took a sip before offering it over to Fin.

There was a fine, wary sort of watchfulness that still clung to Ketch along with the sweat and his shirt, something that lingered even in the quiet moments that caused Fin some small amount of worry in the past weeks but nothing was ever said about it. Merely noted and filed away. Eyes lit at the appearance of the flask and it was accepted gratefully with a mind to imbibe more once they were home. Would help dull the pain until he could shower and sleep. Or maybe a long bath. And a cold bottle against his face. "Well I canno' say I was feelin' poorly before but aye, I feel clear headed. Refreshed," as odd as that might sound. Fin was an odd sort of man. The flask was handed back over after partaking and then like a Pavlovian response had been triggered, abraded and bruised fingers produced his cigarette case and lighter. "Want a smoke?" he asked as it was levered open like a little book, the papers rolled instead of flat, containing tobacco instead of words. Wouldn't make you smarter but the loss was acceptable.

It didn't sound odd, not by the way Ketch nodded in easy acceptance for what made perfect sense to him. Cleansed by fire or by fist, they ran parallel in his mind. He ducked beneath a fern hanging from a lamp post and ran his fingers through the fronds before snatching up the flask when it was passed back over and taking a longer swallow than he had before. The first had been a preemptive strike just to feel the burn. This next one was for savoring. He nodded when Fin produced his cigarette case, begrimed fingers plucking up one of the tightly rolled cylinders and leaving a smear lost to the wrap of his mouth around it. Out came the zippo Sabine had given him. He lit his first, then offered it over.

They lit up at the same time with their respective lighters - Ketch's engraved and thoughtful, Fin's cheap and plastic, bought at the local corner store where he sometimes purchased beer on the way home from the gallery. The reddish fluid smeared over swollen knuckles was made glaringly apparent as they splashed through a puddle of lamplight, then sliced cleanly back into the darkness that offered no resistance. The familiar warmth at the back of his throat was dulled slightly by the alcohol but the taste burst through his synapses to instantly soothe before white smoke poured from his nostrils, sliding past the broken capillaries with a somewhat cauterizing effect. Yeah sure, this was medicinal. "Anywhere else ye want to go?" It seemed they were heading back in the general direction of their building but that could be changed to suit other whims if necessary.

"Mm," he mulled, indecisive. His drop-offs carried him through every part of the city. In fact, he couldn't think of a sector he hadn't seen today. Crowds and hushed conversations, a little elbow rubbing here and there. He wasn't sure if he was in the mood for more of the same, so at last he shook his head. "Can't think of anywhere else I'd prefer more to my spot on the floor and an actual glass. But I'll tag along if there's something that interests you along the way." Agreeable company promised in the muted smile. "I seem to have run out of ideas for grand plans lately." If he'd ever had them in the first place. He'd not been much of a schemer in recent months, seemed content to feed into whatever current he was caught in. And thus far, that'd kept him busy enough.

That was the answer the Scot had secretly been hoping for because unless it involved food, he knew he would want to be at home when the aftermath settled into his screaming cells, nagging him to stop abusing himself in this way despite the fact that he hadn't fought in some time, wasn't abusing himself like that anymore. Maybe that was it - he was out of practice? Something to think on later. A smile split his face, re-split his lip at the corner and sharpened the aches in his cheeks, stung where the skin oozed a miniscule drop of blood that was licked away by a swipe of his tongue. "Ye no longer favor the chair tha' does no' sit quite right?" The one previously deemed 'the brooding chair', but now listed to the left quite a bit especially when overburdened by the weight of a body. "D'ye want any company?" Fin could piss off and do his own thing if Ketch needed some alone time to decompress.

That was an interesting question. It showed in the way he tipped his chin to the side to stare at the brickwork beside him until it blurred into a field of dark color, the mortar lines no longer perceived. He'd often split his time between the floor and the chair in the past. The couch was rarely used at all. That seemed to be Fin's territory now, not that he minded in the least. "No," he said, after a few moments of silence. "I still like it. I just mostly sit there when I'm alone. The floor's more conversational." Fin's next question did not require a pause or any further thought before he replied, "Sure." Fin, most of the time, seemed like an extension of the apartment, part of the atmosphere itself, and he because he didn't mind Ketch's silences, felt no need to fill them or inquire after the reasons, if any, he'd always been easy to be around.

Was that the secret to chair time? He had to be alone? That seemed...not in keeping with what Fin experienced but maybe that had something to do with his apparent ability to fade into the background. A certain word caused a chuckle, a snort of white smoke out his nose in stuttered puffs, chest vibrating briefly with the near-to-silent laugh. "Conversational? Did ye want to have a chat?" his tone light with friendly sarcasm because he highly doubted that much conversation was on the agenda tonight, if any at all. That wasn't one of Ketch's habitual practices even in the best of moods and it amused Fin that the word chosen implied an opposing reality. "I will shower an' join ye. Hungry?" If so, pizza was getting ordered while they were still walking so it would arrive very shortly after they did.

He'd meant that lately he'd only frequented the chair when alone, but he didn't bother to correct Fin. He did choose, however, to explain the floor. "I meant in body language. It's a centralized location: couch, the other two chairs around it." He shrugged, cracking a smile. Made sense to him: the conversation could flow around and through him. As far as he was concerned, that was pretty damn sociable. And far more so than the chair set 20 feet beyond and facing only the windows. A right turn had them facing an opening to the harbor and the sounds the filtered in: rambunctious sailors over the lapping of water against boats, a few hoofbeats here and there. "I'd eat some pizza, sure. You find any work prospects yet?" See, look at him being conversational now.

Another soft laugh was chuffed around his cigarette but instead of reply to what he felt was just a little bit of a silly retort, his steps were angled so that he crashed gently into Ketch's shoulder. Silent yet playful, unable to hide the smile yet valiantly trying to pinch his lips around the cig between them. It might strike passerby as a strange face to be making for any reason. At least one woman's voice threaded itself shrilly into the nighttime noises to be found in the harbor and it triggered an answer to Ketch's question even as Fin pulled out his phone. Hit a few buttons and lifted it to his ear. "I was thinkin' o' 'haps workin' on the docks, unloadin' ships as somethin' temporary. Until I figure out somethin' more permanent." Thank Lucy for that suggestion. The conversation between the two men was paused while Fin talked shop with the person on the other end of the line, putting in for two large pizzas (one plain, the other a Meatlover's) and then the call was disconnected. "Wha' d'ye think?"

Ketch swerved to the side when Fin's shoulder bumped against him and kicked up his right heel to catch the man solidly along his hamstrings in sharp reply. He sent his spent smoke sailing over into the gutter and then wrenched Fin's free from his lips and took the last toke before it, too, arced towards the thin runnel of water to vanish beyond the grating. "Oh yeah?" slanting a look to the side for Fin as they approached their building. "Not a bad idea," in fact, he thought he'd suggested it as well, but maybe not. "I did it for awhile when I first came here. Makes the days pass pretty fast, at least. And you're outside." That was always a bonus in the eyes of the Shifter. The door of the building flew open as someone else exited and Ketch caught it on the backswing, sliding through without waiting for Fin. If Fin thought he'd be keeping that Meatlover's all to himself, he was sadly mistaken.

There might be more fighting. Cheese was for the brunette, all the meat was for the red-blooded Scot. There was a grunt of surprise and frustration when his unfinished smoke was ripped from his lips, stolen rudely and then tossed away. There was another shoved to Ketch's shoulder, this time with a busted up hand, blue eyes narrowed. "Have any names I should ask for when I go about it?" He did like being outside, liked the manual labor aspect and felt it would suit him in the short term. The sound of the docks faded somewhat behind them as they turned another corner to find their building.


A stiff breeze ruffled the feathers of the gulls wheeling overhead as they twirled in an intricate dance, somehow never hitting each other as they glided in great wide circles through the air. They made it look so effortless, Fin watched in silent envy while smoking the last of his morning cigarette, leaning in the doorway of a shop that hadn?t opened yet. The stiff breeze also ruffled the hair that was growing down over his ears, whisked away the smoke from his lips as soon as it was exhaled, brought with it the smell of the briny sea and everything that entailed. All in all, it wasn?t bad ? made the Scot feel awake and alive, glad to be facing another day, a feeling that was sorely missed since the forge exploded. It seemed that the authorities hadn?t come up with any answers so far but Fin didn?t know that he was necessarily looking for them. It was all spilled milk at this point, knowing who did it or why wouldn?t bring the forge back. Nothing to do but press forward.

After chatting with a few people about his prospects, moving forward meant ending up at the docks just after dawn to see if he could catch the Harbor Master before the day?s duties began. Fin was skulking across the way, watching to see when the man (or woman) might arrive and pounce on them, all unsuspecting-like. In the meantime, he was soaking up the atmosphere, wondering if he could get used to the feel of salt on his skin (no different from the grime and grit of sweat and ash, really), watching others as they scurried about their day. There had been a certain camaraderie in the Marketplace where Iron Clad used to stand- the proprietors all knew each other, they were a community of shop owners and all that entailed (for better or worse). A family and now Fin didn't have an excuse to be part of that family anymore. Dair had decided to take a sabbatical from the blacksmithing trade and without the means to open a shop on his own, Fin was forced into a new beginning, looking for something to keep him afloat and maybe save some coin, build toward a future where he could be his own boss.

This place had been Lucy's suggestion originally but it had been mentioned by a few others, as well. While it was surprising to Fin at first, he couldn't deny the practicality of it. Didn't need experience to be able to lift things and move them from one place to another. He was strong and fit, had a good work ethic and enjoyed working with his hands, even if it was just as a glorified mover.

There were other prospects on the table, as well, thanks to a flyer that caught his eye one day at the Red Dragon. Charlie's Bar, it had read. Now Hiring. That seemed like it might be interesting and while it wasn't the type of labor that he enjoyed, at least he would be able to work with people, meet new faces and get to know others as he had at the Red Dragon. Madison Rye, the proprietor, met with Fin and they'd gotten on surprisingly well. Surprising, it seemed, to the both of them. She was warm and genuine and Fin wanted so very much to believe that there were people still out there who didn't craft lies out of smiles. He had high hopes for his position there but even if one didn't work out, he could always supplement it with the other; days on the docks and nights at the bar. It was hard to deny that working two jobs was a good way to keep himself out of trouble. The kind that seemed to follow him when he wasn't looking.

A distinguished-looking albeit portly man started to climb the steps up to the Harbor Master's door, fishing a key out of his pocket. Pushing off from the building against which he leaned, Fin flicked the butt of his cigarette into the soggy street and crossed the road.

Heat licked at the bed sheets, hovering at the edge of the fabric before climbing quickly, gobbling everything up in its path. That included the two bodies on top of it, one dead and one very much alive. Alive and aware, watching helplessly as the blood left his body and the fire slithered ever closer until it touched at his hand, his foot and he tried to scream again. A gag across his mouth prevented any screams from reaching the hallway, his body pinned to the bed by five blades: one at each shoulder, one in each hand and one low in the belly to keep him still. They had been plunged in to the hilt, some slowly and some quickly by the very man that stood against the wall, watching with dead and hollowed eyes.

Flash forward and the assassin was down in the very lowest depths of the estate, unlocking barred doors, allowing them to swing open though the bodies inside didn?t move. Games like this had been played before - Stefin was a master of them, ensuring a complete lack of trust between the product and the ?staff?.

?Go or stay. The house is on fire.? The assassin left them there, knowing some would die thinking to their very last breath that it was a trick and a more grisly torture awaited them in the guise of freedom.

Screams and crackling and the sound of stone falling inward, wood splitting and crashing through the floor filled the night. The assassin watched dispassionately from afar, just long enough to make sure that there would be no help until it was too late. And then he turned his back on the ash and ruin, turned and walked away.

*****

A gasp forced him awake, body covered in a drenching sweat that soaked through his sheets and pillow. Hot and cold at the same time, heart pounding in his ears, Fin lay there for an eternity while trying to convince himself that he wasn?t there anymore. Those days were behind him, no matter how real the dream felt. Fingers twitched and he hissed at the sting just below his collarbone, knowing without having to look that he?d scratched a raw spot. Fuck.

Trembling hands threw back the sheets just before he rolled to a sitting position. Feet on the cool floor helped to ground him while he doubled over and scrubbed at his face, head pounding and feeling as if it weighed two or three stone. He sat alone, smothered in a blanket of silence that was as suffocating as it was deafening and Fin was certain that his heartbeat must be echoing in the dim silence, taunting him.

Padding to the bathroom, he had to lean a hand against the wall while taking a piss, knees threatening to buckle; a grown man reduced to a fumbling fawn on new legs, swiping at the lever on the toilet a few times before making contact, allowing him to push off the wall and stumble his way into the kitchen. The fridge was opened and he squinted, shielding his eyes with one hand while the other blindly reached for anything to drink, coming away with a beer. Twisting the cap off and enjoying the sharp digs of pain into the sides of his fingers from the crenellated metal, the beer was guzzled with a desperation that spoke to the fear still running rampant through his veins, sending shockwaves through his muscles that jumped and leapt against his will. Gritting his teeth against the sharp pain, the cold beer bottle was held against the abrasion on his chest - anything to distract him from how empty the apartment felt. How empty and alone he felt.

Saturday, March 5th
(Leap Week)


She kept thinking she should probably stop at home, but she was already in Little Elfhame, and it didn't make sense to go all the way home to New Haven to change her clothes when she was so eager to see Fin. She took the elevator up to his floor, though she wasn't a huge fan of it, and then moved to the apartment door. She knocked and called out. "Fin? Are you home?"

There was a knocking sound. Why was there a knocking sound? Had the footsteps stopped? Realizing that he'd fallen asleep (was it sleep?) in a slant of sunlight in front of the bank of windows, Fin glanced out the window though that still wasn't helping to determine where he was or why. Or if he was even really awake. Glancing around and rubbing at one eye with a fist, he crawled to the leather chair and peered behind it but no one was there. Looked to the available doorways but he didn't see a figure. The whispers whispers whispers set in, trying to tell him what to do but he didn't want to hear any of it. Sliced a hand through the air to silence them. It didn't work. "Hello?" he called out, crawling up into the chair and curling into a ball there, wondering if the voice would answer back.

Lucy frowned at the door, shifting her weight on her heels. She pounded on the door again. Knock-knock-knock! "Fin! It's Lucy!"

There was a rattling at the door and Fin whimpered softly, scrabbling backward off the chair to crouch behind it, peering from behind the arm at the door. Lucy Lucy Lucy they whispered like it should mean something but he didn't know the word. "Hello?" he said again but his voice was a thin, wan thing, thready under the weight of the trepidation it carried. If Lucy tried the knob, she would find it unlocked.

She shifted her weight again. "Fin?" What the hell was going on in there? She thought she heard movement. Was that just Liadh? Why would the dog be here alone? It was a last resort. She tried the doorknob, practically stumbling when the door opened to let her in. She frowned at it. Huffed. After that long lecture she'd endured from Shae after Fin had told her about the break-in. The hypocrite. She shut the door behind her and moved farther inside, looking for the source of the noise. "Fin? Ketch? Is anyone home?"

As an aside: Fin and Ketch had wards, first of all, so no one intending them harm could barge in, door locked or unlocked. Not to mention they had lots of weapons. But that had no bearing on this moment because Fin wasn't fit for much. The doorknob rattled and he ducked back behind the chair, waiting and waiting until a light and soft voice reached him. They knew his name but it could still be a trick so he peeked only to have his eyes dazzled. There was light emanating from the woman in pinks and golds so bright he had to squint and look away, fingers shielding his gaze as he gasped softly.

"Fin?" Lucy's heels click-clacked across the hardwood floor, leaving her handbag on the kitchen island. "What's the matter?" She moved around the couch, moving towards the chair. She wasn't getting it. At all.

The Scot shuffled backward on his knees, eyes still averted as she moved closer. "Who are ye?" he whispered, afraid of offending the shining being but wondering what she could want with a lowly soul such as himself.

Lucy frowned. She kept her distance, reluctantly, since he seemed so skittish. "It's Lucy." She knelt down to bring herself to his eye level, and she searched his eyes for recognition. And dilation. How high was he, exactly? "I'm your friend. Remember?"

He shook his head and turned away, crawling for the windows again to kneel and stare out of them again with a frustrated furrow of thick brows. One hand pressed to the glass, touching his brow against it but then jerking back when he thought he might fall out of it and down into the moving mass. Spent a few moments tentatively touching the glass with a fingertip before he spoke again. "How d'ye know me?" he murmured, scratching at his shirt that had a few days worth of food bits and sweat on it.

"We're friends." She took in the state of him, her blue eyes sweeping from head to foot. It was wrong. It was just all wrong. "My name is Lucy. And I'm your friend." She'd seen this sort of thing only once. With Jamie. Her eyes welled with tears at the thought of it, and the thought of seeing Fin this way. "You don't have to remember me. But can you--can you believe that I'm your friend?"

The heels of his hands dug against his eyes, trying to rub out the things he saw crawling behind lids that were squeezed shut, the memories and the visions that danced in his head, switching places at a moment's notice until he didn't know what was real anymore. "But how can I know tha' we be friends if I do no' remember?" he shouted, banging a fist on the floor.

Lucy jumped when he shouted and banged the floor, but she took a breath, steadying herself and just continued with a quiet, calm voice. "You don't have to know it. I'm just--I'm telling you I'm your friend, and--and I'd like to help you."

The whispers countered her words, running off in different directions with possible alternatives, lies, the ways she worked for Stefin. But in all his time under the man's thumb, he'd never met one that shined like her. Even now, when he twisted to glance back at her, he could barely make out her facial features for the shafts of light piercing her chest, going through her body though she remained unharmed. There was no blood dotting the floor around her. Chewing on the inside of his cheek a moment, he asked in a hoarse whisper, "How would ye help me?"

"I'd like to get you something to drink. Some water." She shifted, uncomfortable kneeling in her heels, but she just set a hand on the floor to help with her balance. "Would you like a little water?"

Water. It was a paltry offer, it wouldn't fix his broken thoughts, but...he did feel a little parched. Mouth dry and smacking his lips slowly, the Scot nodded to her before turning his attention back to the window.

"Okay. Water." Lucy rose. She watched him a moment and finally turned. Where was Ketch? Should she call the doctor? She wasn't sure what to do. But for now, she could get him a cool glass of water. She took her coat off, tossing it over an arm of the couch, then continued to the kitchen. She got a plastic cup, actually. Filled it from the tap. Then she returned to him. Steps slowing as she neared. She stopped short of him, kneeling again. She held the cup out, in both hands. "Fin."

The angel drifted away and then back, a wave on the ocean floating out to sea and back to the shore of the Scot bearing...water. It made sense to him, if anything did. He was hesitant but the cup of water was taken with a phrase murmured in his native tongue before quaffing it greedily. Rivulets escaped at the corners of his mouth and ran down his cheek to dampen his shirt but he didn't notice, just gasped for air at the end of it and swiped at his mouth with the back of a wrist. Then offered the cup back because it was only polite.

Lucy took the cup and set it down beside her. "Is that better?" There was fear gripping her heart. Squeezing tight. It wasn't normal. This wasn't normal. Everything she thought to do was just fixing up something wrong to try to make it look right. But it might look right, but it wouldn't be right.

Another glance to the window and then his head hung low, shaking pendulously back and forth. "No," he whispered because he didn't feel right. Nothing made sense between what he was experiencing and what he remembered and the people that came in and out of this room. His body crumpled slowly forward, curling in on itself until forearms touched the floor and he rolled to his side in the fetal position. The sunlight cut a beam just above him and he reached up to touch it, to let it wash over his hand with a warmth he could understand. "Am I dead?" he asked the angel without looking at her.

"No, no you're not dead." She couldn't call the doctor. Not while he was in this state. It would just upset him more. She'd probably draw blood or give him a shot and the last thing Fin needed was that sort of thing. She frowned with worry as she watched him. As he curled up, she shifted forward slightly, reaching a hand towards him. Her fingers just barely touching his temple, wanting to to brush his hair back from his forehead.

He didn't notice the light touch at his temple, didn't see that she leaned toward him because she melded with the sunlight until he couldn't tell them apart anymore. "Warm an' soft," he whispered. "I forgo' the sun. Warm an' soft. Sea birds an' heather." Once again, he lapsed into Gaelic, fell back into a memory from long, long ago. "I want to go to the cliffs, Da. I can climb an' get the eggs."

Lucy sat beside him, and she stroked his forehead. The light touch enough for her to assess his temperature. She wished she'd learned more Gaelic from Dair so that she might say something comforting to him in his native tongue. Maybe she should call Dair and have him come. But it would hurt if he wouldn't come. For both of them. And she didn't want to leave his side. As far as she could tell, Fin was in a deep drug-induced haze, and the best she could do was to stay with him and make sure he didn't hurt himself as he came down. "Would you like a blanket? I can find a soft one for you."

The echoing footsteps grew softer as she stroked his brow, the whispers becoming almost musical but still he could hear the child crying from far away. "Do no' cry," he murmured and started to hum a tune, as if that would help to shush it. He hated the sound of the wee ones crying, it was carried by the stone walls until he couldn't hear anything else, knowing he caused their misery. Her words passed over him like a soft puff of air, unnoticed, a backdrop to his humming. He didn't realize the song he chose was Blackbird.

Tears rushed to her eyes again. She hadn't realized when she'd started to think of it as their song, but she did. It was hers and Fin's. She drew in a shaky breath, and sang along with his humming, joining the middle of the song. "You were only waiting for this moment to arise..." Her hand steadily stroking his brow, shifting closer to him when it didn't seem to frighten him, just sitting beside him and watching over him, singing softly, trying to give him as much comfort as her company would allow.

The song came to an end. While drawing a breath, perhaps to start it over or move on to another song, he became aware of a warm presence there but didn't want to look, didn't want to see if it was a lie because that would be too painful to bear. So he lay still and closed his eyes, feeling the feather-light pressure across his brow. "Are ye m'mum?" he mumbled through lips that barely moved, wondering if that was why this angel had decided to visit.

"No, Fin. I'm your friend." She would repeat that until the end of time. She kept up her rhythmic stroking of his brow, scooting ever closer. "It's alright. I won't leave you." She hummed the song again, since the melody seemed to calm him some.

"Sing to me," he breathed while relaxing into something like sleep.

"We talked about why I'm here a little while ago. That amulet you have," said Salome, twirling a claw at him.

Hopping up to sit on the counter, feet swung idly from side to side. "Oh, eh...aye. I remember. Ye think somethin' may be wrong wit' it?" Bending one leg, he revealed a chain wrapped a few times around his ankle, the amulet hanging from it on the inside of his leg. "Why would ye think tha'?"

"No, not wrong. Not really. That Booze Fest thing was insane. A town like this, it's pretty feasible they'd put some extra stuff into their food and drink. Usually, that's a faerie thing." She reached for his ankle, turned the trinket with the tip of her claw. "Lucy had me make it to guard against outside magic forcefully thrown at you. And it's worked pretty good so far. Back home, it'd be stellar, but we're not home."

Fin shifted as her claw tickled him. "But I do no' think there was any magic in the drinks else everyone else would ha' been affected, aye?"

"Can't be too careful. Mundies," she shrugged, tucking her hair back, still moving the chain to find the clasp. "That's what I thought too. But you got hit really hard, Fin." Dropping her claws from his ankle, she looked up. "Hit harder than just being super drunk. You were hallucinating, name dropping people I've never heard of, acting like somebody was after you." She hadn't wanted to tell him, and it was there in her face. The scrunch of her brow, ribbon twist of her lips. "That's what I mean----we're not home, here. There's shit that goes on here that I've never seen or didn't think existed either. My magic isn't the strongest by far. Something could have affected you worse because you're a mundane. I don't know, that?s my point. I don't know. I'd feel better. Better safe than sorry, right? I'd rather have you safer than sorrier."

He thought he'd had a flashback, but what if it was magic? Would he know the difference? "Aye, I do no' know anythin' about magic so if tha' be the cause, I would no' know it. Better to check, as ye said."

"Well, let me say that knowing about magic isn't all there is to it, but I know enough. Look, Fin," she smoothed her hair back first, then looked at the amulet. Two beats there, then two beats on him. "We'll figure it out, okay?"

He took a deep breath and then forced a tight smile, nodding to her. "I know ye will, lass. I trust ye."



The trinket was gone but Fin felt its loss keenly. Thought maybe his foot was even lighter without it though the weight was negligible. Something he rarely thought about, took its protection for granted most days but now he was even more vulnerable than before.

It had him reflecting on his continued existence here in RhyDin. Was it truly wise to stay here, even though there was nothing left for him back on Earth? There was no guarantee it would lengthen his lifespan for he could be killed just as easily by a human as he could some magical creature in the streets of this fantastical place.

There were methods to reach Earth, that he knew since several of his friends and acquaintances did so regularly. However, Fin didn?t think of it as his world, not really, because it was ?modern?, too many centuries passed for him to feel truly comfortable. He would forever be out of his element, as he was here.

Also, there was the forge to consider, his little band of friends that made up the only family he had left in the world. Could he leave all of that behind after working to build it for two years? For what?

Too many questions, not enough answers. Didn?t matter much, anyway, this was only temporary. Salome would fix whatever she thought was wrong with the necklace and give it back straight away. This feeling would go away and he?d be relatively safe again.




(Posted with the wonderful assistance of Salome!)

The night of Lucy?s party, Fin passed out on one of the swinging benches on the porch. He loved those benches and often let the sound of the waves lull him to sleep while the breeze rocked him as gently as a babe, especially after a night of drinking and smoking.

Normally he didn?t crack open his eyes until the sun forced it but this night, he found himself tossing and turning restlessly, never fully asleep but never fully awake, caught in a limbo that offered him no respite. Just beyond the edge of consciousness, it sounded as if someone was whispering; there was a rhythm to it, almost like a song but he couldn?t make out the lyrics or the melody.

It felt as if he?d only gotten a few minutes of sleep when he finally sat up and rubbed at his eyes. They were gritty and itchy, but he knew that if he lay back down he wouldn?t find sleep. With a huff, he rose to his feet and headed for the stairs that led to the beach. The two moons above were thin waxing slivers, providing just enough light so that he didn?t face plant on the steep stairs. They gave way to soft sand that still held the warmth of summer in each grain, comfortable under his feet.

Signs of the party still littered the beach though there wasn?t another soul down here. That couldn?t be right, he remembered some people celebrating even after he?d gone to lie down so this must be a dream. That would explain the whispering that, in retrospect, was even louder down here. He thought the sound of the waves would drown it out but it was more intense, clearer. Fin had been right - it was a song and now he could hear the faint tune as it lilted through his mind. Each step he took closer to the water caused the song to swell until seafoam touched his toes and the song burst to life inside his head.

This had to be a dream. That right there clinched it.

Realizing this couldn?t be real gave him courage to stare mesmerized at the waves that raced toward him. Rooted to the spot, he reached out a hand and the water actually rose in a thin column to meet it, brushing his palm with dampness before he gasped and snatched it back. The column fell down abruptly to the sand, collapsing and splashing over his feet, but the song never stopped.

On a whim, the Scot stripped from his clothing and lay on the wet sand, the ocean washing slowly over him as it climbed higher on the beach. Closing his eyes, the warm water gradually engulfed him until he felt as if it were tugging at him, pulling him from the protected cove of Lucy?s beach and bearing him on the waves out to the open sea. Instead of inspiring fear, it only made him smile and when he opened his eyes again, there was nothing above him but the vastness of the night sky. He was alone in the middle of the sea, no landmarks in sight, nothing and no one to save him if needed.

Fin wasn?t afraid, though. The sea cradled him, sheltered him, sustained him on its surface while he watched the stars move slowly overhead. The water moved around him, lapped at his ribs and neck, moved through him as it sang to his blood. He knew deep in his bones that the sea would watch over him, deliver him safely home before dawn. Closing his eyes, he sank into this dream and finally slept.




The next morning, Fin woke on the beach, Liath curled next to him. His clothes were in a pile in the sand, no one else around to see him in all his glory. Dry as a bone, he sat up and looked down at his dog. That...had been a dream, right?

Then why, when he closed his eyes, did he still hear that song?

Before dawn was a whisper on the horizon, the last vestiges of night saw the Scottish blacksmith leaving his home. A large grey hound was at his side, wagging her tail as she followed along willingly, hopping up into the open door of the pickup truck at Fin?s gesture.

A bag was slung over his shoulder, stuffed full with both hope and regret, hindsight and a longing for a better future. The stars twinkled overhead and whispered their advice but his head was too full of memories to listen. The car door slammed shut, loud in the sleeping streets. They did not wake but slumbered on.

Resting on the dashboard in front of Fin was a manila envelope, still sealed, the pale color reflected in the windshield. His attention was drawn to it again and again all the way up to the cabin, fearing what he might find inside.