Late night, September 22nd..

He always felt guilty when he left Kingsley in the middle of the night. Each time he laid down with her it was a warm, lengthy process of arranging covers and limbs until she was tucked up flush against his side, her head on his chest, her little fist curled around the material of whatever clothes he had on. He stroked and kissed her hair, tangled the chestnut curls around his knuckles, ended up curving his own body around hers in a protective shield that hid her from the rest of the small room. Most times, he fell asleep that way. The infinite hush of the huge church stirred only by the sound of her breathing and the gentle rustle of sheets when either of them moved was like an addictive, silent lullaby. There hadn't been a time when he jerked himself awake that he didn't still feel pleasantly warm and groggy and drugged wanting more.

But not tonight.

He had enough practice slipping away while someone slept nearby to be confident that he wouldn't wake her, but he was careful anyway. It took nearly five minutes alone to uncurl her fingers from him and tuck her arm beneath the covers. He released the breath he'd been holding only when he'd made it to the hall and closed the door securely behind him.

He felt cut off from her immediately, the calm his body drank in when he was in her presence replaced by unyielding tension. He turned sharply away from the door and stalked down the narrow hallway to the room Sera shared with Patrick. He banged the outside of his fist against the door hard enough to make it rattle on its hinges. Sera's panicked face came into view when she opened it.

"T-Toby..! I've j-just gotten L-Liam to sleep, wh-wh-what's the--"

"Where's Patrick," he cut her off.

"P-Patrick?"

"Patrick. Where is he."

An unnatural draft washed over the back of his neck. He whirled around, coming face to face with a pair of unblinking, liquid gold eyes. They flickered like the torches on the walls.

"You know, kid, I don't care if you wake up the whole damn church, city even, with yer tantrums. But if you wake up my son and start scarin' my wifer, yer not gonna have any arms left to pound doors down with. Capiche?"

He felt the power behind his friend's eyes. The air in the hall went still, the flames frozen on their wicks, rendering them nothing more than antique lightbulbs. Toby stared back despite the tightness in his chest, unwilling to blink first.

"We need to talk. Alone."

The silence was palpable, thick and oppressing. It wrapped around him like a wet towel. His skin crawled, awkward shivers danced up and down his spine, his fingertips tingled. He found himself already holding his breath a second time. And still, Patrick merely stared. His young face held nothing. He could have been looking at a blank wall or thin air.

Then, finally, "Alright kid, you got somethin' to say? Sera, stay here with Liam. This shouldn't take too long."

"Patrick," she said carefully. Toby heard the gentle warning in her voice. He could imagine what her face looked like, gently scolding, her grey-green eyes remarkably kind. It was the face you used to correct a child.

He didn't wait and had already marched the rest of the way down the hall by the time Patrick answered.

"Don't worry, Sera. I know the drill, I'll go easy on him."

******

"Alright, kid, what do you want?" Patrick asked the moment he had closed the iron door leading to the cemetery's outside corridor. "Lemme guess. You wanna dent my face in 'cause a certain short Irish chick showed up randomly and--"

Toby snarled and spun on his heel. He seized fistfuls of Patrick's shirt and swung him hard into the thick stone bricks of a support pillar. He felt the impact all the way up into his shoulders. Patrick hadn't even winced.

"What the f*ck were you thinking?" His hard voice rang like a bell in the half enclosure. "You know what's wrong with her, I told you to keep an eye on her not f*cking send her all over the city."

He suddenly doubled over around the fist Patrick sent into his gut. The second strike came harder and faster. His ribs shuddered and strained around his lungs. "First of all," Patrick said, hauling him up by his shoulder. Toby blinked through the tears in his eyes, gritting his teeth around the pain in his gut. He sent the outside of his fist into Patrick's arm, breaking the hold, his other hand fisted in Patrick's shirt collar a second time. He cracked his forehead against his friend's frowning mouth, feeling flesh split and the thick, warm ooze of blood.

His victory was short lived.

"Not bad, kid," Patrick said, testing the split in his lips with his tongue. "But as I was sayin'--" He shoved his hand hard against Toby's face, forcing him away. A large chunk of his own shirt came free. "Don't," the first punch connected with his left eye. "Pick a fight," the second split the left corner of his mouth. "With the guy who's teaching you..!" The third strike dented the curve of his cheekbone as easily as if it was an eggshell. Toby staggered away until his back hit something solid and he gripped the bruised and bleeding half of his face. Patrick blew a puff of air across his knuckles, regarding him with little warmth.

"Seem to remember you sayin' you had somethin' to say to me. Your fists got mouths now, kid?

"Why did you send her to me?" Toby croaked. The rune on his back had already begun to handle the pain in his gut from Patrick's strikes and it became steadily easier to breathe. He felt the weight of Patrick's stare pummeling his shoulders.

"Why'd you think?" he asked, his arms folding nonchalantly over his chest. "You left her here so you didn't get the pleasure of watching her mope around. She clearly didn't wanna be ditched."

"I have to do my job."

"Screw the job, kid." Patrick's eyebrows drew together in a hard scowl. "We both know that ain't why you work so much. Ya push yerself until you can't stand 'cause you think it'll help distract you from what's really goin' on in yer head. Help you deal with it. In the end, yer still runnin'."

"That's not the point," he spat, throwing his hand away from his healing face. He'd never gotten used to what it felt like for bones to reform inside of him, the stretching and pulling was enough to make him want to scratch his skin off. "She's safe if she stays here. She's got wards, she's got you guys."

"Tch. Wards ain't gonna do her much good if she wanders around outside them lookin' for you." Patrick tilted his head, his hair dripping over one side of his face, his yellow eyes not quite losing all of their light. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought Patrick was just curious. "What people want and what people actually need rarely ever coincide." He stared at Toby and it made him want to rack his brain to see what he was missing. Before long, the steady golden gaze rolled upward. "Except in this case. She wanted you and she needed you. And you were off bein' yer own damn self. You know, this ain't the first time we've been made to look after one of yer girlfriends. The last time we did it, we all got f*cked over," he growled through the pained grimace tightening his face. "Why don't you drop yer own balls and do it yourself? Or quit pickin' chicks that need all this help and attention. What the hell are you so afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid of anything--"

"Bullsh--"

"--that has to do with this. Or whatever you think it does." Toby scrubbed at the dried blood sticking to his face, his head lowering. "The only thing I'm worried about is her. Whoever that crazy woman was, whatever she did, she only did it to me. She only wanted it from me." He felt his frown up against his own hand. "If I have to keep her here to keep her away from that, I'll do it."

He didn't have to see Patrick to know that his eyes were boring into him again. The pressure made him want to cringe and duck behind the support pillars, but he settled for pacing. The cool stone of the outer corridor was smooth on his bare feet, soothing the lingering desire to hit something.

"You should know that's not how it always work," Patrick said with so much understanding it startled him. "Especially with strong willed people. Or people that don't see the damned point of wastin' their lives hidin' from crap. Not to rain on yer hero parade here, kid, but the more you try to keep someone somewhere, the more they want to bolt."

"Mmph.." Toby pressed his fingers against one side of his nose, closing his eyes on the quiet gravestones nearby. Each one looked lonely in its own way, the less than two foot distance between their neighbors more like miles.

"She cares about you, Toby, you've got to know that."

This time he did flinch, Patrick's words crawling all over his skin like a swarm of bugs. "I know she does."

"Yeah. And you've got to feel somethin' about her if yer willin' to beat the crap out of me for supposedly putting her in danger." Patrick's voice was getting closer. "Whatever it is, it's something." He felt a hand on his shoulder that he shied away from. "So I'll ask you again. What is it that you're afraid of?"

"...She doesn't know about me." He could barely hear his own voice, but Patrick did.

"Not a lot of people do, you think that'll make any difference?"

Toby snorted.

"Alright, bad question. What else you got?"

"Patrick, don't do this."

"Look, yer either gonna tell me now or I'm gonna find out sooner or later, and you know I will."

He was silent and, for once, he found it was because he really didn't know what to say. Maybe Patrick was right and he was scared of something. But until he figured that out..

The light in his friend's eyes was as constant as a new lightbulb, bright and patient. Patrick had all the time in the world. But he would rather not waste it on this, and Toby knew it. He shook his head, again, forgetting how many times he'd done it already. And Patrick blew out a sigh.

"Alright fine, you don't have to answer that one. Let's try this one instead." He dropped his hand. "How many girls have I seen you go through since I met you, kid?"

Toby blinked, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth toward his chin. Patrick's serious expression made him exhale in defeat a moment later. At least it was a change of subject.

"Three. Maybe."

"Mhm." Patrick nodded. "And how many o' those have you had serious feelings for? Or have had serious feelings for you? Ever think about marryin' any of them?"

"What? No, I--"

"No to marriage? 'Kay. What about them with you?"

Toby stared at his friend. "What the hell does this have to do with anything?"

"Just answer the damn question and quit stallin'."

"...I don't know. I d-don't..I don't think so. One of them, maybe. I don't know. I don't know what to even think about her anymore."

Patricks head drew back, his golden eyes glittering like sharp ice. They both knew who he was talking about without ever having to say her name.

The crisp night air passed between them, around them. The angry heat had been sapped from his body, leaving him to fend for himself and fight the shudders that Patrick's scrutiny were trying to bring on.

"Sounds like you ain't got much in the ways of experience, huh? None of 'em meant much to you--"

Toby scowled. "That's not tr--"

"--and you never meant much to any o' them if they ain't here with you now. Right?"

He made a sound low inhis throat. Was Patrick trying to make him feel better again? This had to be the weirdest way he'd ever done it.

The weight of Patrick's hand on his shoulder was as warm as a fire on his cold body. His mismatched eyes jerked up to meet the golden ones gazing at him with so much sympathy that his throat began to ache.

"Then why don't you give this one a shot like you ain't been chewed up, spat out and left for the dogs. It ain't fair to either o' you to be carryin' this crap around. Let it go."

The next moment, the place where Patrick once stood was completely empty save for the cold wind swirling in his absence. Toby closed his eyes and turned his back on the outer corridor.

"Yeah," he said on an exhale. "Let it go."