Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He kept on rubbing his eyes as if to scrub the sight of her from his memory.  Hell, she wouldn't be surprised if at this point he wanted to forget her altogether.

More than anything she wanted to turn and sprint away, far from him and this place and the ache in her heart.  Alas, anxiety and soured excitement kept her glued to the cobblestone street with one hand still ghosting over her belly.

In the hazy blue dusk, the shadows in his face looked darker.  The alleyway beside his grandparents' house was empty aside from them but she couldn't stop scanning the street to ensure no one bore witness to her embarrassment.

Going there was a mistake.  She knew that now.  But the least she could do was hear what he had to say.

Finally he removed his hands from his face and perched his round framed glasses neatly on his nose.

"Okay," he said evenly as if he hadn't spent the last five minutes staving off a panic attack.  "How are we going to get rid of it?"

The colour drained from her face.  Her palm pressed more insistently on her belly.

"G-get rid of-?" she said, hating how the words got stuck in her throat.  "Zeke, I don't want to-"

"Are you insane?" he hissed, struggling to keep his voice low.  He glanced over her shoulder and saw a barren street.  Seemed like he felt as ashamed as she did.  "You want to bring a baby into all this?"

"Maybe," she said, deflating.  She should have known better.  He made it clear four months ago when they had first started messing around with each other, and a few moments ago when he completely shut down; he didn't want any children.  That was fine by her; it's not like she wanted to settle down with Zeke Jaeger of all people.  But now?  Now that it was actually happening...

She never thought she'd get tangled up with Zeke in the first place.  He was a friend of her sister first, with them both being warrior candidates, and while she didn't hate his company, she didn't actively seek it out.  He was nice during the times Bo would bring fresh cookies or donuts to the trainees after a long day.

Outwardly, he seemed polite, friendly, and witty enough to have the adult adults chuckling.  

Once he inherited the beast titan and became a warrior of Marley, his new status engorged his ego to the size of the moon and everyone calling him Wonderboy really didn't help.  He made his rounds through social groups, different men and women tittering about this and that, and Bo would be a liar if she said she didn't join in.

Her sister Klara said he was amazing on the battlefield.  A regular in the shop Bo worked at complained that he ought to shave his beard and show off his bone structure more.  Whatever that meant.

Bo was surprised when he zeroed in on her, but not aghast.  She was caught up in the gossip and the inflated caricature everyone made him out to be.  And she was taken by his honorary Marleyan status.  He was the talk of the town and she wasn't so stubborn as to not smile back when he winked at her.

But the more time she spent with him, the more she realized that all this Wonderboy gossip was garbage. He was the worst .   He'd pinch her cheeks and visit her shop while she was working just to take up space and claim that he knew a better way to organize the muffin tray.  He was perfectly polite to her parents, but his hand slid to indecent places whenever they weren't looking.  He liked holding things way above her head and making her say please for the stupidest things.

Not only that, but he had a ticking clock over his head.  Why try and settle down with someone who was going to be eaten in ten years anyway?

So she didn't want a kid with Zeke.  But her mother had been so excited when they discovered she was pregnant, and while her father was disgruntled at first, he slowly came around to the idea too.  It wasn't like she was a little kid herself; she was on the cusp of twenty one and had been promoted to a keyholder at her job.

Besides, she was excited too.  Husband or wife or not, she felt like she was ready.

At this point, she just wished she had the good sense to choose someone else to fool around with.

"What, are you gonna work and take care of a baby all by yourself?  Please," he scoffed.  He had a far away look in his eye as he stared at her stomach.  He probably didn't even register the words pouring out of his mouth.  "I can't do this.  I have things I need to do, I swore I- No." He pointed an accusatory finger at her tummy.  "This is not happening."

She batted his hand away and took a step back.  Her mother was right, it was a mistake to go there.  She should have pretended it was someone else's baby, but that didn't feel right.  She reasoned that he had a right to know if she was going to have his child.

"You don't have to be a part of this," she said.  "No one knows that you're the father, and we can keep it like that."

"What?"

"I won't tell anyone if you won't."

His eyebrows furrowed.  "You really want to keep it?"

"I-I mean … why not?" she said, giving her stomach a gentle pat before going to button up her blouse.  She wasn't even showing yet, but her mother already insisted on buying her loose clothes.  Something about the stigma of a single pregnant woman.  "My mom's excited.  I have space in my apartment, so …"

"Your mom isn't the one who's going to raise this thing," he said flatly.  "You shouldn't-"

"I know!  It's not ideal, but I knew one day I'd want a family." She paused and looked up at him with a frown.  "And can you stop calling them a thing?"

"You're fine with me not being involved?" he asked with a quizzical quirk of his brow.  "Babies are a lot of work, you know."

She fought off the urge to roll her eyes back into her skull.  He thought he was so clever saying such commonly known things.  "Of course I know."

He let out a loud sigh.  "Bolina-"

His tone made her angry.  He spoke to her like she was a spooked animal.

"I don't even want you involved," she snapped, her hands shaking with adrenaline as she fastened the last button.  "I don't think you'd be a good father at all.  As a matter of fact, I think me and my baby are going to be way better off without you."

"No need to get nasty," Zeke said sullenly.  "It's not like you can un-fuck me."

Her ears turned beet red at his crass words.  She huffed and puffed to try and think of something to say, to try and get the last word in, while he just stood there scowling.

She didn't know why he looked so hurt, considering he was the one who didn't want to be a father in the first place.  She thought he might have even tried to twist her words into a compliment, because he was annoying like that.  Instead he crossed his arms and sulked.

"Whatever," she managed to spit through gritted teeth.  "Maybe you should check up on everyone you've been messing around with to make sure no one else got knocked up too."

He let out a short, caustic bark of a laugh.  "Maybe I should."

Truth be told she hadn't known whether or not he'd been with anyone else.  It's not like they ever talked about it.  Still, the thought that she was a dime a dozen had her burning in humiliation

"Just get away from me," she said.

"You're at my house."

She gave him one last withering look before storming off.  She really, really hoped that he had gone inside before she tripped and fell to her knees while trying to rush around the corner.

No such luck.

"Are you okay?" He sounded exasperated.

"I'm fine," she said, sucking in a sharp breath before standing up quickly and carefully rounding the corner, leaving the bits of gravel and stone lodged in her knees.  Her pants had ripped and she could feel the sting of blood coming from a cut on her right leg.

Tears welled in her eyes.  It was the pregnancy hormones.  It had to be.

Two months later, a small bump protruded through her swollen abdomen and all at once  the weeks of nausea and morning sickness were worth it.  Her father insisted it wasn't that visible, but it wasn't attached to his body, so what did he know?

She would spend all day patting her little bump if her hands weren't so itchy.  And if she didn't have to work to keep a roof over her head.

Unfortunately between her job and her father's neediness, her mother didn't have much time to visit.  That was okay, Bo assured.  If she needed anything she'd call.

Her sister stopped by whenever she could, dropping off sweets and sharing funny stories that weren't funny unless you were there.  Even so, Bo appreciated the company, but Klara could never stay long.

"Training early tomorrow, sorry," Klara said, lacing her boots and giving Bo a sympathetic smile.  It seemed the warrior candidates never stopped training, even when pickings weren't for another ten or so years, depending on the titan.  She couldn't imagine slaving day after day for a chance to die in thirteen years, but to each their own.  Bo remembered how gross Zeke looked after a long day, sweat matting his hair to his forehead as he bent down and plucked a donut from Bo's box with a polite thank you! "But I mean, I can tell Zeke you're off tomorrow, I'm sure he-"

"No!" Bo blurted before she could rein back her panic.  Klara sat up and fixed her with a puzzled look.  "Don't tell him."

"Right," Klara said, shrugging on her coat with a shake of her head.  Never one to pry or intervene in any kind of altercation, she continued.  "Well, stay safe.  Rest easy."

Time marched along as it always did, making her confused and relieved all at once.  She was still working, still bending over despite her boss nearly having a heart attack every time she did so, and still organizing muffins the way that Zeke had suggested.  

He made himself scarce, so much so that even one of her regulars at the bakery asked why he wasn't visiting anymore.

It was for the best, of course, but she still absent mindedly slipped a glazed donut in a paper bag and put it off to the side in anticipation for when he'd saunter through the door.  Not only that, but walking home alone after closing was much more unnerving without him there to take up space beside her on the sidewalk.

 It was jarring, living life without him, because she didn't realize how much time he took up in her day until he was gone.

Sometimes she'd practice that fancy card trick he taught her, but holding the deck that he'd left at her house made her chest feel hollow.  As if that wasn’t bad enough, even looking at gramophones made her feel oddly melancholic.  Maybe because when he finally saved up enough to get one he invited her over.

He lived alone with his grandma most of the time, with his grandfather going in and out of the hospital due to his declining health.  His grandmother was a sweet woman, and had greeted her with a warm: 

" You must be Bo!  So lovely to finally meet you, darling ."

Zeke blushed to the tip of his nose while his grandma looked between them.  At the time Bo was insanely uncomfortable; were they really going to … while his grandma was in the house?

No, as it turned out, Zeke was too busy gushing over his brand new toy to worry about things as frivolous as sex.  He was so excited to show her the records he got and show her how it worked.

Bo didn't really think anything of it before, because Zeke always loved showing off.  She swore part of the reason he liked having her around was because she'd always ask him so many questions that he was itching to answer.  In retrospect, it was kind of sweet how she was the first one he wanted to share his music with.

She actually had a record on her bookshelf that she kept meaning to bring to him.  She'd heard some songs before and thought he might like it.  So she picked it up when she saw it in a shop one day.  It wasn't really a big deal, to her at least, because she forgot about it the moment she tucked it away on her shelf.

A week or so before the doctor's blood test came back and she found out she was pregnant, he was over as per usual.  She was trying to be a good host and make them some tea, but he preferred poking around her things, looking for new material to pester her with.  That's when he found the record.

"Didn't think you liked Jazz," he said, almost sounding impressed.  "Thought you only danced to that new preppy shit."

"What?" she turned from pouring herself a cup of chai and recognized the label in his hands.  "Oh, I got that for you, actually.  As far as that kind of music goes, it's pretty good, I think."

She turned back around.  He was silent, eerily so.  Not that she wanted him to tease her, but it wasn't like him to miss such a golden opportunity to do so.  After a few beats she firmly put the kettle down and turned to grab the sugar.

"Could you take it back with you?  I keep forgetting to bring it-"

She didn't know how he moved so fast and so quietly.  One second she was by herself, the next he was crowding in her space, tugging her arm and spinning her around.  His expression was one of intense concentration, and she thought he was irritated until he grabbed her face and angled it into a kiss.

He was pulling her up on her tiptoes, crowding her against the counter, needing to be closer.  It was all she could do to hang onto his collar and try to breathe.

The second she took a raspy breath through parted lips, he snuck his tongue into her mouth.

Either his neck was getting tired from the awkward angle he had to keep or he felt like they still weren't close enough, because he broke the kiss and ducked down without warning, picking her up and dropping her unceremoniously onto the counter.

She twisted around and slapped her hand on the top of her mug of tea before it toppled over.  She slowly pushed it away from the edge and from where Zeke stood, now nestled comfortably between her legs.

"Zeke," she breathed trying to sound exasperated.  She noted the impatience on his face as he grabbed her jaw and drew her back into him.

It felt like he was eating her alive.  Her senses were so clouded by him she couldn't tell the difference between his heartbeat and her own.

The muscles in her legs and neck strained as he pushed forward even further.  She raised her knees to keep him caged in and settled her hands on his cheeks.  She pushed him away once, then twice, in which he finally eased back,  but not before taking her bottom lip and gently suctioning it into his mouth.

She was going to fall back into her elbow, but the steadying arm around her torso convinced her to fall forward instead, into him.

He hooked his chin over her shoulder and let out a muted sigh.  She wrapped her hands around his neck and resigned into the hug, letting her eyes lazily slip shut.  She didn't bother thinking about what had driven him to such intensity.  It was nice, and that's all that mattered, right?

She stayed there, buzzing and heady with contentment.  She could have fallen asleep despite the ache of her legs, if the movement in his neck didn't spur her back into the present.

One of his hands had left her waist.  There was that sound again, the sound of…

"Are you drinking my tea?!" Bo said, wriggling in his hold.  He snorted into the brim and continued to down the rest of the glass while holding her flush against him.  "You're evil!  You said you didn't want any!"

"Mm," he said, smacking his lips obnoxiously before setting the mug down.  "Something about it being yours makes it taste better."

Needless to say, he forgot to take the record when he slipped out the next morning.  She contemplated throwing it out, but a small part of her wanted to hang on to it, in case he came back around.  But as the weeks drew on, that seemed less and less likely.

She bought a few wool blankets from the market for the sole reason that they were soft and filled the empty expanse of her bed.  Sometimes she'd catch herself waiting for him after work before remembering that she would have to trek back on her own.

It was stupid to try and convince herself that she didn't miss him.  But he had made his choice, said his piece, and she wouldn't force him to stay if he didn't want to.  Things would be easier if she had some help, but she chose this.  And if she had to do it by herself then so be it.

On one particular night it was too hot and too cold all at once in her room.  She was sick of looking at that damn record on her shelf that served no purpose other than to remind her of him. So she snatched it up, shoved on her shoes, and marched down to the bins in the alleyway.

She kicked the side door of her apartment building open far more violently than she should have, considering it was an ungodly hour in the morning and most of her neighbours were asleep.  She started towards the bins when movement from the mouth of the alley caught her attention.

Despite herself being awake, she jumped almost a foot in the air upon realizing she wasn’t alone; someone was standing upright, crushing a cigarette beneath the heel of his boot.

Zeke's golden hair looked painfully yellow in the reflection of the street lamps.  The other lights threw shadows across his face, arching over high cheekbones and glinting off the red band on his arm.

Bo's blood turned to ice.  She blinked heavily, trying to figure out if he was really there or if this was just part of some hormone induced hallucination.  Everything could always be blamed on the hormones.

But no.  He was there, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other before giving in and fishing through his pockets for his pack of cigarettes.  The light from the small flame brought his face into view for a moment, but it was too far away to matter.  He lit his cigarette with practiced precision and took a long drag.  

She watched him with bleary eyes, messy hair, and the same clothes she had been wearing for the past two days.  The cool night breeze made the layer of sweat on her skin turn ice cold.

He leaned back against the wall and let out a sigh that she could barely hear over the distant murmur of the city at night.

"Is that you, Bunny?" he asked, keeping his face and eyes trained on the sky.  She always lamented how much she hated that stupid nickname, but now it made her knees so weak she nearly collapsed. He sounded somber, but there was a flavour of despondency she'd never heard from him before.  And it might have worked on her too, if she wasn't already in a mood and beyond exhausted.

What, he thinks he can just show up at four in the morning outside of her apartment building, calling her pet names?

Not today.  Not tonight .

If he wanted to fuck somebody so bad, he should  have paid a visit to one of his admirers.  

She snorted and continued her trek to the dumpster, tossed the record inside, then turned back around and marched back into her building.

Her hands were trembling so badly that she missed the lock three times when she finally got back to her room.  By the time she had pushed her way in and locked everything up behind her, she was fully crying.

Despite being warm again, she grabbed every blanket in sight and buried herself beneath them.  Their weight gave her a ridiculous amount of comfort as she slowly shook and cried herself to sleep.

Stupid fucking hormones.

Chapter Text

Misty eyed and confused, Bo woke to a thrumming pain in her pelvis.  As soon as she acknowledged it, her muscles contracted, exacerbating the ache.

She was already dry heaving by the time she reached the bathroom.  Shaky legs barely made it to her bathtub before she vomited what little she had eaten during dinner.

Her knees protested as she dropped to a kneeling position.  Head bowed and tears running down her nose, she coughed weakly while trying in vain to keep her hair out of her face.  She distinctly remembered her mother saying that the morning sickness should have been slowing down by now, yet there she was, the acrid taste of stomach acid stuck to her tongue.  It took a few more minutes for her to register her other senses.

Her pants were wet.

Not just wet; sticky and wet.

Alarmed, she spread her legs to see she had a reddish-brown blotch staining her lap.  Still partly delirious, she stared at her crotch with her mouth hanging open.

The scent of copper hit her like a slap to the face.

"Oh my god," she said, voice hoarse from puking.  " Oh my fucking God !"

She pushed herself upright so quickly she wobbled and nearly toppled over again.  Luckily, she caught herself on the counter and propelled herself to the dial up phone hanging in the hallway.

Her hands were shaking so badly that she missed the 0 button on the dial too many times to count.  By the time she got through to the operator, she was in hysterics.

"P-please send help, I-I’m …” She pressed down on her stomach, as if trying to reach in and plug the lesion herself.  “I’m bleeding!  I’m bleeding and I’m gonna lose my baby!” 

Two sharp knocks at her door made her bolt upright and see stars behind her eyes.

“Bolina?  Bolina, this is Doctor Corbis, I’m here to-” She ripped the door open to see a spindly middle aged man with a five o’clock shadow and a large bag clasped shut by a metal ring.  He blinked in surprise, then gave her a once-over, his eyes widening upon seeing her blood-stained pajama pants.  She hadn't had the foresight to change her clothes or clean up in any capacity.  Whatever dismay he may have possessed he hid behind a courteous smile.  “Hello there, let’s get you checked out, hm?”

The way Doctor Corbis calmly maneuvered through her blood-stained apartment slowed the pace of her racing heart.  He didn’t flinch seeing the vomit on the floor, either, from where she had expelled the few sips of water she dared to take.

He gestured for her to recline back on the couch while reaching into his bag and pulling out a pair of gloves.  “So, Bolina, how far along are you?”

“I-uh.” She cleared her throat.  “Twelve weeks, I think?”

“Just starting your second trimester, then, that’s exciting,” his voice was light and casual.  “Sorry there’s no way to ask this politely, but I’m going to need to check if your cervix is dilating, okay?  We just want to see if you are in fact miscarrying.”

He politely looked away while she kicked off her pants, but her mind was still too cloudy with anxiety to feel the burn of embarrassment.

His gloves were cool on her legs, but his voice pulled her away from the sensation.  “So some bleeding is normal during pregnancy; have you had any other severe cases like this?”

“No, that’s never happened before.”

“No?” he parroted, unable to hide his surprise.  “Well, then.  I’m going to press down on your stomach now …” After a beat he added: “Did your partner go out to get something?  Will they be back soon?”

“No,” she replied, feeling like a broken record.  “There’s no one.  It’s just me.”

He withdrew his hands and started to peel off his gloves with a quiet, “I see.”  She chanced a look at his expression.  He was looking back at her, a mixture of pity and concern donning his face.

Her heart sank.

“As far as I can tell, your cervix isn’t opening, which is a good sign,” he said, turning to discard his gloves in a plastic bag.  “But this amount of blood all at once isn’t.  You said it’s just you, so I assume you’re still working full time, hm?”

She nodded, sitting up on her elbows and hating the way he wouldn’t look her in the eyes.

“My best guess is that your body is overworked and stressed.  All this blood may have been being stored instead of discharged, but I can’t be certain.  I would recommend cutting back on your workload and coming in for a more thorough exam, but the cost of that might-”

“I can’t,” she said, her heartbeat loud in her ears.  “I can’t cut back, I’m working doubles and still can barely make rent.”

Rent, food, the monthly payment to her parents, and the ridiculously expensive supplements her mother insisted she buy loomed.  There was always the option to move back in with her parents, as her father constantly reminded her, but she doubted living with him would decrease her stress levels.  But if it was between that and taking out another loan...

The pity returned to his face.  “Well…” But he was at a loss for words.  They sat there in silence for a few minutes.

The words hurt to say.  “I want to do the thorough exam to make sure.”

He finally met her eyes.  “I wouldn’t-”

“I’ll find a way,” she insisted, more to herself than him.  She'll take up more shifts or something.  Anything but tell her parents, because she couldn't imagine they would ever leave her alone if they knew.  “I’ll have to.”

"Nuh nuh nuh no!"

 Bo didn't flinch as she leaned back on her heels and continued her descent into an awkward squat.  She plucked the dish rag between her index and middle finger and raised herself back upright.  The woman behind the counter swore before demanding:

"To all that is merciful above, are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"I can still bend over, remember?" Bo said with a hint of a smile as she placed the rag beside the sink.  With her ginger hair curled into a tight bun on her head, she knew that her boss, Alice, was likely to notice how haggard she looked.  Not being able to hide her face under a curtain of hair or a hat made her antsy.  Fortunately, their sacred morning routine required complete silence and if Alice had noticed, she hadn't said anything yet.

 It was an unspoken rule; until they were ready to open the store, there was no need for small talk.  Usually it was still dark when Bo unlocked the store at five and started pulling the ingredients out.  Alice showed up around six, and they both basked in the prelude of quiet before the day began while kneading bread and fitting trays of biscuits into the ovens.

By eight o'clock, fifteen minutes before they opened, both of them were usually awake enough to exchange pleasantries.

But today Bo was dead on her feet.  The morning rush was starting to pick up, with people stopping by to grab breakfast before they went off to work, and Bo had only just finished washing the dishes.  The other worker manning the register, Spencer, eased her load, but things could be moving a lot faster.  If Alice wasn't seasoned at this job, she'd be swamped already.

Bo felt awful; she'd already taken four days off to rest at the discretion of Dr. Corbis after her exam, but the buzzing lights in the kitchen were giving her a splitting headache.  No amount of sleep seemed to lessen the bags under her eyes or make her any less exhausted.  At least her baby was okay.

The cruel nagging voice in the back of her mind added: For now .

After peeling off the rubber gloves and washing her hands, Bo joined Alice and Spencer in the storefront, checking their inventory before retreating into the back to grab the new stock that they needed.

Crullers, bran muffins, fritters … she paused, looked beside the oven, and there it was.  A small paper bag that contained the glazed donut she always put aside for Zeke.  She didn't even remember tucking it away, it was so ingrained in her routine.

She plucked it from its hiding spot and added it to the tray.  No point in keeping it there, he hadn't stepped foot in the bakery in months.

Because she had to be at the butt of every cruel joke the universe decided to play, he was next in line by the time Bo had shuffled back out front.  The crowd behind him gave him space, out of respect for that bright red band hanging off of his arm; he was difficult to miss.  

In stark contrast to herself, his skin was clear, his hair looked frustratingly soft, and his uniform was ironed.  He had been taking good care of himself while she had burst into tears upon seeing her reflection in the mirror this morning.

Not only that, but before she noticed him, he had already staring at her from behind those stupid steel rimmed glasses.

It took a lot of effort not to stand there like an idiot or turn tail and run.  She set her jaw and balanced her tray with one hand while bending down to grab the handle on the latch.

Before she could spread her legs and do so, however, Alice swooped in and yanked the latch up, holding it open for her.  It would have been thoughtful and endearing, but with Zeke's eyes burning holes into her head, she felt useless.

Mumbling a thank you, she ducked her head and focused all her attention on the pastries.  Admittedly, she spent longer than necessary adjusting their placements and handing Alice whatever the customer asked for.

After four or so customers came and went, Bo mustered the courage to close the latch.  She didn't hear Zeke order, so he must have left.  Why did he even come if he was going to be a drama queen?

"Hey, Prissy is going to be in any minute, could you go back and see if we need to top up on anything?" Alice said while thumbing through the customer's change.  She then flitted her eyes to Bo's tray, then to something behind her.  "After you're done, of course."

Confused, Bo looked at the tray.  She forgot to take the glazed donut out of the bag, like an idiot.  She turned to see what was behind her, even though she already had a sinking feeling she knew what she would find.

Zeke's favourite place to loiter was at the very end of the counter, beyond the pick up station for large orders.  He normally propped his elbows up on the raised surface and idly flipped through the booklet of cake designs until Bo could spare a moment to go and entertain him.  Lucky for him, Alice was a saint who didn't mind him crowding her counter space.  The fact that he had made a habit of placing large orders to treat the younger warrior candidates didn't hurt either.

Usually he looked like a cat sprawled lazily over its favourite patch of sunshine, and made Bo wait a beat before he acknowledged her. That day, his arms were crossed tightly across his chest as he leaned back against the countertop.  His shoulders were drawn in a tense line and his brows were furrowed.  He stood up immediately when he saw her moving closer out of the corner of his eye.

She could tell by the way he cleared his throat that he had come with a well practiced speech.  It was either an explanation as to why he was skulking outside her house a week and a half ago or something else entirely.  No matter what, she wasn't in the mood to hear it that morning.

He started to say something, but stopped when she plopped the paper bag onto the counter in front of him.

If she were less bone-tired, she would have basked in his fluster.  He cautiously peaked into the bag.

A slight flush invaded his cheeks as he realized that she had prepackaged his favourite treat just for him.  

Looking to save face, or maybe just to do something with his hands, he began digging through the pockets of his coat for his wallet.

If the lights in the bakery were harsh, the hundreds of bulbs in the actual store could constitute as torture.  She sighed and dug her knuckles into her temple, rubbing small circles into her skin in a vain attempt to alleviate the pressure.

"Don't worry about it," Bo said, turning without waiting for an answer.  She gave Alice a strained smile when they met eyes, then she retired to the kitchens, somehow feeling even worse than before.

Alice tried to send her home early that day, and even tried to order her to take the next few days off.  Every protestation was met with a scowl and a disappointed shake of her head.

"You shouldn't even be working, look at you!" Alice said, annoyed.  "What's the point of that boy being a fancy warrior if he's not going to take care of his own?"

Bo had stopped dead.  Alice kept fussing about how she should be sitting back with her feet up, not working doubles and making that treacherous walk home every night.

"And here I was thinking he was a strapping young man," Alice said with a click of her tongue.  Luckily the store was empty in the early afternoon, with Spencer outside sweeping the stoop, so there were no witnesses to the way Bo gaped at her like a dying fish.  "There's no honour in a man who won't help his woman when she's hurting…"

"Alice," Bo said in a deceptively calm voice.  "Me and Zeke aren't together."

The look on Alice's face was stamped onto the back of Bo's eyelids until she fell asleep that night.  Bewilderment; like Bo had pulled the rug out from under her feet.  There was a long, uncomfortable moment of silence.

Alice looked at the door, then back at Bo.  Her eyes flickered over to the end of the counter, where the booklet with the cake designs lay.  All at once her expression melted into sweet sympathy.

Her tone was condolent, as if they were discussing something tragic.

"Oh, hun, I'm so sorry."

When Bo's face scrunched in confusion, Alice just pursed her lips together and softly shook her head.

Bo couldn't get that expression out of her mind.  Even days later, when Klara came by for a visit, it still lingered in the back of her thoughts.  For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to confront the twisted, sad feeling in her gut.

Klara seemed antsy, scanning the apartment over and over like whatever she was looking for would materialize if she thought about it long enough.  Sitting with her elbow propped on her knee, Bo pushed the tea leaves around her cup and waited for Klara to say something.  It had been an agonizing five minutes since they both sat down and by the way Klara was tapping her foot anxiously, it was bound to break.

“So,” Klara said, clearing her throat.  “Uh … when’s the last time- gah , no.”  She angled her body to face Bo head on, looking like she was in physical pain forcing the words out. “How are you and Zeke doing?”

Her heart skipped a beat.  Just the sound of his name rattled her, but she clenched her jaw and forced composure.

Bo looked up.  “What?”

Klara rubbed her chin and tried again.  “I dunno, I thought you might have moved in, or at least started to move by now…”

“ What ?!”

“Can you say something else other than what ?” Klara snapped.  “There’s something going on, just tell me.”

Despite her words, Klara's severe expression voiced just how much she really didn't want to know.

“Nothing’s going on,” Bo said, indignant.

“Then why are you still here?” Klara bit back, casting her gaze around the room again.  “I came by ‘cause I thought you might need help packing…”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.  Had their father said something?

“Why would I need help?  I’m not going anywhere.”

“Well why aren’t you going anywhere?”

“Should I be going somewhere?”

Klara looked at her like she was stupid.

“What is with you?” Bo asked, cocking her head to the side to examine her from a different angle.  “Why did you think I was moving?”

Klara cast her gaze to the side.  She made a sour face, then rolled her eyes all the way back into her head.

"Did you and Zeke break up?" Klara finally said after a pause.  "Do I have to beat his ass?"

"Wah-?" Bo said, chest constricting and throat closing.  "W-we didn't break up, we were never together."

Klara made a face.  "What?"

Bo put down her tea cup, wrestling with the urge to start crying.  "Why do people keep saying that?"

"No idea," Klara said with a mocking lilt to her voice.  "Maybe it's because you two-"

"We are not !" Bo shouted, voice shrill as she pushed to her feet.  "He doesn't give a damn about me or this baby!  He'd rather kill it than have a family with me!" Klara stood to her feet as well, eyes widened in alarm.  "He's a selfish, stupid asshole and I wish I never met him!"

Klara's tone was shaky and uncertain.  "D-did he really say that?  'Cause I don't think-"

"He said it right to my face," Bo said, angrily wiping away a tear that managed to slip out.  When did she start crying? "He said, ' How do we get rid of it ?'.  He didn't even think to ask me, 'cause he d-doesn't give a damn about what I feel!"

"Fair enough," Klara said, watching as Bo deflated and hugged herself tightly.  Hesitant, Klara waited a second before placing a hand on Bo's shoulder and pulling her into a hug. "Okay, okay.  No crying, no more crying."  

Feeling the hand on the back of her head made Bo cry even harder.  She hadn't been held like that in a long time.  

Every ounce of determination she felt died a brutal death the day she got her medical bills back.  Dr. Corbis had warned her, but seeing the long string of numbers on the page sent her into a spiral.

She had called her mother and came clean about everything.  Her mother then told her father, who had said with practiced faux-sympathy:

“ Looks like it’s time to come back home .”

She hated borrowing money from her parents.  She knew every cent would be tallied up in her father’s expenses book filled with every other damned thing they had bought her throughout her whole life.  Books, toys, clothes, all things that she apparently needed to pay back.  Her and Klara both had to designate a percent of their monthly earnings to their father, but Bo had her suspicions that Klara's was less than her own.

Protestations that other parents didn't expect their kids to pay back the cost of their childhood toys raised the interest rate.

Yet at this point, it was either suck it up and settle back under her father’s thumb or be kicked to the streets.

It took her three days to decide which option would be worse.

Her mother was elated, of course, and to celebrate wanted to go out for dinner as a family.  Too tired and hungry to argue, Bo put on a large straw hat, a blue dress, and a plastered smile.

Klara was running late, of course. The rest of them were seated at a nice open concept seafood place despite the smell making Bo nauseous.

"Fish is full of lots of vitamins, honey," her mother said, rubbing the back of Bo's neck in a soothing motion.  As if they chose to eat at this place for Bo, and not because it's what her father was craving. "Which reminds me, have you been taking those tablets I gave you?"

"Where is Klara?" her father wondered aloud.  "There's got to be…" his face split open into a smile as he saw something beyond his wife's head.  "What's this?"

Bo turned in her seat, a small smile on her face.  Klara washed up before she came and looked lovely with her cropped hair pinned back.  Then behind her was…

Her father stood up and offered his hand to shake.  "Mr. Zeke Jaeger himself!  To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Zeke had swapped his beige uniform for a blue collared shirt accented with a deeper blue vest.  His smile lit up the room as he took her father's hand and shook it firmly.

"Klara invited us, I hope you don't mind," Zeke said.  He was using his ass-kissing voice, all light and chipper and Wonderboy -esque.

As her father loudly exclaimed that it was an honour to see him and called a waiter over to push two tables together, a pair of hands landed softly on Bo's shoulders.

Still too shocked to properly react, Bo blinked up at Mrs. Jaeger.  She bent down and greeted her with a friendly, familiar smile.  Bo's responding grin looked more like a wince that soured even more when she realized that Dr. Jaeger, Zeke's grandfather, was also joining them.

Why not invite the local newspaper too, at this point? 

Bo stared at Klara, who tucked herself into the table and studied the tablecloth like it was a captivating painting.  What the hell was she thinking, inviting the Jaegers?!  The longer her sister avoided her gaze, the stronger the urge to leap across the table and tackle her became.

An even more pressing issue rounded its head in the form of Zeke grabbing a chair and sitting down beside her after pushing in his grandmother.

Bo looked at him like he had three heads.  He was listening to something her father was saying.

"Wh-what the hell-?" Bo choked out after everyone was settled in their seats.  Zeke shot her a look out of the corner of his eye.

"Waiter!" Her father snapped his fingers, making everyone except him cringe.  "We're ready to order!"

Looks like she chose the wrong option.

Chapter Text

Bo sat back in her chair, hands twisting in her lap while wishing she would sink through the floor.  The Yeager's were combing through their menus as her father hummed and hawed, asking the waiter a hundred questions that the poor young woman struggled to answer.  How on earth was the serving girl supposed to know when the crabs were caught?!

Even Zeke, despite never missing a chance to suck up, looked like he was trying to find a way to distract himself from her father's embarrassing display.  He didn't even try to spit some cheeky comment to lighten the mood.

Every time she caught him moving out of the corner of her eye she had to physically restrain herself from biting him.  How dare he show up?!  Knowing Klara, he probably indirectly asked to tag along and she agreed in an instant.  There was nothing inherently wrong with Klara bringing people in to act as buffers during family outings: The more people there were, the less attention would be on Bo and Klara.  

Zeke was the problem.  Bo wasn't oblivious to the fact that him showing up to a place where she couldn't easily ignore him was intentional.  First he tried to corner her at work and now this.

The thought of him still trying to insert himself into her life made her grind her teeth.  The bastard definitely got some sick pleasure from watching her squirm; she couldn't think of any other reason for him to keep prowling around her peripheral.

Bo kept her eyes glued to her glass of water.  She could feel Zeke looking at her from time to time, probably wondering why she hadn't  touched her menu.  Or thinking of some new way to push her buttons.

"Alright, well," her father said with a drawn out sigh.  "I guess the four of us will have the grilled octopus."

The serving girl quickly turned to the Yeagers, who each got some other dish that sounded infinitely more appealing than octopus.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to steady her stomach that had already begun to churn.  Why did people even eat octopus?  Who looked at something so disgusting and decided to put it in their mouth?

Bo supposed she didn't have room to judge, considering all the indecent things she had done with Zeke.  She coughed and covered her mouth, desperate to hide her blush.  Now was not the time to be horny - she had to focus all of her attention on ignoring him! Except that had become especially difficult considering he was talking across her, to her mother.  She angled her body away from him and threw her gaze across the restaurant.

The mixture of natural light from the huge windows and the soft glow of the oil lamps was cozy. Fluffy green plants separated sections of tables, contrasting with the homey orange and beige walls and overall injecting life into the room.  It was a nice place; the ceilings were high and the tables were ornate.

"... From across town, right, Bo?"

She stared blankly at her father for a heartbeat before mindlessly saying, "Yeah."

"What street did you see it on?" 

Her mouth opened and then shut again, uselessly.  Across town , what street … what the hell could they be talking about?  The silence stretched a few seconds too long before it all clicked into place.

"Oh, a block away from my apartment.  There were two of them actually." They were really cute, and had even left behind a glossy feather for her to remember them by.

" Two falcons?  That is exciting." Bo's entire body tensed as Zeke spoke.  His tone was eager, like he was entertaining the ramblings of a child.  "Maybe they were in love."

Slowly, she turned her head to look at him.  His elbows were propped up on the table for leverage as he leaned forward to gaze at her over his glasses.  He was looking pretty smug for someone in biting range.

If they were alone she absolutely would have.  For the time being, she settled on giving him a look nothing short of sinister.  He looked away, not bothering to give her a proper reaction.  He was the worst.

It was difficult to fade into the background when her father wouldn't stop talking to Zeke.  All the attention was on their part of the table while Klara got to stew in silence by their father's side.  Bo lost track of who all she should be angry with.

"Bolina, you're looking rather green, is everything alright?"

Her head snapped up to look at Dr. Yeager, whose face was crumpled in concern.  It had been a hot minute since he had last seen her, she imagined her appearance had changed noticeably since then.  However well intentioned his concern was, the last thing she needed was him probing into her business, especially since Zeke very obviously was tuned into the conversation as well.

"I'm okay, thank you," she said, just loud enough to be heard over the chatter of the restaurant.  He wasn't wrong, though; the stress of the past few weeks had caught up to her, leaving her skin sallow and lifeless.

Now that his grandfather pointed it out, Zeke took the opportunity to inspect her as well.  She could see his mouth dip into a frown.  Evidently whatever he saw he didn't like, which made her feel that much worse.

"It looks like you've lost quite a bit of weight as well," Mrs. Yeager mused.  Bo's face ran red hot.  She supposed that Zeke's matter-of-fact bluntness had to come from somewhere, but being picked apart by a sweet old lady cut deep.  "I haven't seen you around lately either, are you sick, darling?"

Her words caught in her throat.  Seemed like Zeke hadn't told them about her being pregnant, which was good, because Bo's mother was insistent on keeping him out of the picture.  In fact, her parents heavily insisted that she tell as few people as possible that she was pregnant, probably for the sake of their own reputations.  They didn't want a whore daughter who got pregnant outside of a relationship, but they also didn't want Bo to find a relationship lest she stop depending on them.

Bo's gaze flitted over to her father, who stared back at her with a neutral expression.  Klara looked uncomfortable, but not enough to speak up.

"Grandma, please," Zeke said.  His tone was clipped, annoyed even.  "Not appropriate."

"Oh," Mrs. Yeager looked taken aback.  "I'm sorry, dearie."

"It's okay," Bo said, resisting the urge to crawl under the table and out of sight.  She gave Zeke a look, but his focus was on her father again.  Asking about sales for his business and other boring things that no one but old people cared about.  

He took a sip of his water and Bo found herself staring at his parted lips.  His hair was slightly tousled, but hung pretty as ever just above his brow line.  Who allowed him to look that good?

His tongue darted out of his mouth as he looked at her out of the corner of his eye.  His snake-like smirk made her face forward again, ears burning.  She sat as stiff as a board until he turned away.

Meanwhile, her father was more than happy to re-explain to Dr. Yeager about his career, about how he was merging his business with another one, lauding his accomplishments for everyone to see.

Bo peeked over her shoulder to look out the western-most window, sighing quietly upon realizing that barely any time had passed.  Under her mother's watchful gaze, she once again sat forward in her seat.  She hoped that Zeke's grandparents didn't catch on that she was impatient for the night to be over and done with.

She didn't catch the first part of the sentence, but the sound of her name drew her attention over to Mrs. Yeager.

"And you're still working with Alice down at her bakery, right?" Bo nodded with a shy smile.  "I hear all you've been doing lately is work!  I can talk to Alice to see if we can get you some time off, so you have some time to sort out your things."

What ? Bo took a second to see if she had missed something.  Why did she need to sort anything?

Puzzled, she opened her mouth to ask exactly that, but Zeke was quicker.

He placed his hand on her thigh, almost crossing the line to indecency.  She  let out a soft squeak while he addressed his grandma.

"That's not necessary, we're still figuring things out."

His grandma nodded, then allowed her attention to be swept away by her husband.  Bo struggled to compose herself while still being very aware of Zeke's palm pressing into her leg.

As far as distractions went, this one was begrudgingly effective.  The only thing on her mind was peeling him off of her.  Trying to do so resulted in his palm sliding further up her leg and his fingers digging into the plush of her thigh.

Her hands were clammy as they vainly pushed at his wrist.  She felt like she was suffering a slow death while he nodded and smiled at something her father said.  No one else noticed her suffering, or at least no one paid it any mind.

Even more embarrassing was how undeniably turned on she was.  It had been a while since he had even touched her, and her pregnancy horniness was ramped up to eleven.  She prayed he couldn't feel the slight tremble of her thigh under his fingertips.

He went too far when his pinky wandered further up and grazed the apex of her legs.  The jolt of excitement quickly turned to venom as she delivered a swift, sharp kick to the back of his ankle.

He winced and finally withdrew his hand.  After a beat, he turned to fix her with a dark look.  Her nostrils flared as she responded with an equal amount of vitriol.

When he looked away she grabbed her glass of water with trembling hands and focused on steadying her heartbeat.  Her father and the Yeagers were still prattling on, and for once Bo was thankful for the divertissement.

Inevitably, the topic turned to the warrior program and it was Zeke's turn to boast.  Bo was about to excuse herself to the washroom, unable to sit through Zeke gloating about how fantastic his life was, when her father caught her eye.

"Yes, Klara's told us how you put an end to the uprising in the East.  I'm glad you two could be a part of something so important, it must be such an honour to serve Marley," his tone wavered into something accusatory.  "I'm glad at least half of my legacy decided to do something memorable with her life."

Bo hadn't said anything for the past ten minutes, but he couldn't help but throw her a snide comment.  His mouth curled into a hollow smile as he watched her expectantly.  He was waiting for her to laugh and go along with it, to make it okay for everyone else at the table to laugh too.  He put all the onus on her.

She blinked rapidly and pinned a watery smile on her face.  Her father's smile grew genuine as she complied with his twisted game.

"We're all so very proud of you both," her father said, placing a hand on Klara's chair and smiling at Zeke.

Zeke didn't return the favour.  The pleasant golden boy persona that he had propped up for the night cracked down the middle.  He was looking at her father with a cool, blank expression.  Bo knew what that meant; he was doing all he could to bite back a scathing comment.

Her father squinted at Zeke.  He didn't like that Zeke hadn't agreed; it made him feel like he had done something wrong.  They sized each other up.  The silence weaving between them was pulpy and suffocating.

"Here you are!" The serving girl was back with two other workers, balancing plates of food and placing them in front of each guest.

"Thank goodness, I'm famished," Dr. Yeager exclaimed, placing his napkin carefully on his lap.  The spell was broken as everyone got ready to dig in.

Bo was slow to grab her fork.  The octopus on her plate looked like soggy sewage and her stomach lurched.

She glanced up and saw her father staring daggers back at her.  She swallowed her discomfort and went to take a bite, closing her eyes, trying to pretend it was anything else.

"That looks good."

She jumped, lowering her fork as Zeke leaned in to study her plate.  She stayed silent.  He nodded to himself then gestured to his own meal, some sort of pasta with shrimp.

"Do you want to trade?" He glances from her to her plate then back again.  He pushed his glasses up his nose as he continued, "Last time I had the lemon garlic sauce from here it didn't sit right with me."

He looked sincere, but she couldn't be too careful, in case he was luring her into a trap.  She looked back at his pasta and oh God it looked delicious, but she still felt her father's eyes burning into her skull.

"I don't know…"

"Please?" He said leaning in a little bit more so he could murmur under his breath.  "I've always wanted to try … whatever that is."

Then why didn't he order it?  It wasn't as if someone forced him to … He waited patiently for her to figure it out.  Did he plan this?  Why would he?  He had that look in his eye; the one that he got whenever he was convinced he knew more than her about something.  A spark of annoyance died as quickly as it appeared.  She was far too hungry to protest.  Nerves on fire and her mind hazey with how close he was, she nodded.  "Okay."

With a smug, self-satisfied smile, he effortlessly grabbed her plate and replaced it with his own.

Scooping up a serving, she studied her fork for a second before taking a bite.  It took a lot of effort not to moan; it had been a long time since she'd eaten something so rich.  Too busy shoveling food into her mouth, she didn't notice that her father had become agitated.  

"Good?" Zeke asked, amusement dripping from his tone as he watched her eat.  Flush, content, and too distracted by the heavenly bowl of pasta in front of her, she gave an airy smile and an affirming nod.  She didn't remember food ever tasting so amazing before she became pregnant.

There was some idle chatter between Zeke's grandparents and Bo's mother, but both Zeke and her father were silent.  For his part, Zeke was calm as ever, poking at his dish and chancing a few bites.  Her father watched Bo like a hawk, eye twitching every time her elbows touched the table.

Everyone had come to the point where they were picking at the leftover scraps on their plates while still carrying light conversation.  Everyone, that is, except Zeke, who had barely eaten.  He had his fingers interlaced in front of his mouth, elbows propped up on either side of the plate, while listening to his grandmother talk about what she had seen at the market days ago.

Bo felt terrible for eating his food.  She looked down at her stomach in disgust, wishing she had had some self control.  Wishing she had not been such a pig and … those weren't her words.  Someone was speaking to her.

Finally her father had snapped, leaning forward and glaring at her like she had ruined his life.  The rest of the table, as well as the surrounding ones, looked on in muted horror as he continued.

"And look at that," her father said, pointing at Zeke's plate.  "That's food that you wasted.  That's money you threw away."

Bo pressed her lips into a thin line to stop her lower lip from trembling as she felt dozens of eyes on her.  This wasn't about the food.  This was about humiliation as punishment for something that she hadn't even realized she'd done.

"You're a selfish pig.  All you think about is yourself and all you ever do is waste money."

"It's not an issue, I can-"

"The issue is," Bo's father bulldozed over Zeke's words, continuing his tirade.  He wouldn't be satisfied until she started crying and she was getting close."That she's broke enough to be evicted but thinks she can mooch off of everyone else to-"

" Hang on ."

Zeke's tone was frightening.  She didn't think she'd ever heard him that angry before.  His hands were curled into white knuckle fists while staring down her father.  His composure was hanging on by a thread and she really really didn't want to see what would happen if it snapped.

This was why she'd always tried to keep Zeke and her father's interactions to a minimum.  She knew, from rumours and Klara, that Zeke had endured his own complicated relationship with his parents.  It was a sore spot for him to this day, and a guaranteed way to piss him off.  She had a feeling that her father's behavior would strike a nerve with him, and she was regretful to admit she was right.

His grandparents stayed eerily quiet, looking down and away and trying to avoid the scene unfolding in front of them.  Klara and her mother gaped at Zeke, horrified.

Bo was too, but for a different reason.  She wasn't afraid for Zeke, because she knew her father couldn't do anything to a warrior of Marley.  But she also knew that he would eventually take his rage out on someone.

"It's not a big deal," Zeke said, keeping a deceptively level tone.  "I'm the one who didn't eat it, I'll pay for it."

Locked in a staredown, Zeke and her father didn't even blink.

"I-I guess we should be heading out, now," Dr. Yeager said sheepishly, reaching for his jacket.

"No," Bo's father snapped, making the Yeager's jump and sit up in their seats.  "I want dessert."

Of course he did.  Tears brimmed in Bo's eyes as her father snapped his fingers and beckoned a waiter.  So the torture continues.

Zeke stood up from his chair and without a word, turned and headed for the exit.  The surrounding tables stared on in disbelief as her father put in his order like nothing had happened.

Consequences be damned, Bo stood up and offered a quiet: "I'll go speak to him."

Her father shooed her away without sparing her a glance.  She kept her head down while making for the door, feeling the eyes of curious strangers follow her until she stepped outside and took a deep breath.  Zeke was nowhere in sight, but she had a feeling she knew where he'd be lurking.

The sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting Liberio in a beautiful golden glow.  Families walked by without a care in the world and offered a smile as she headed to the side of the restaurant.  The concrete looked bright blue swathed in the shadows of the building.  It was cooler in that little alcove, away from the sun and the prying eyes of the pedestrians.  She tried not to shiver while approaching a darker blue shape with a lit cigarette hanging from his lips.

She wasn't sure what she was going to say; she was still rattled and shaking, worried that her father would storm out and start a fight.  Undoubtedly Zeke would win, but again, Zeke wouldn't be there when her father took his rage out on her.

"Your father is an asshole," Zeke said.  His voice was low and gravelly as he blew smoke out of the side of his mouth, away from her.  The choking scent of tobacco made her nauseous so she stayed a few steps away, hugging herself.  His eyes were closed as he pulled another deep lungful from his cigarette.

Her mind was rifling through emotions like playing cards.  She wanted to be pissed off at him, remembering that he shouldn't have showed up in the first place.  She was also upset that he was upset, but eventually her gnawing worry won the war.

"You shouldn't have done that," she said.

He cracked an eye open.

In the silence, her worry unmasked itself as anger.  She ground her teeth together.

"You can't just butt your head in where it doesn't-"

"How about a thank you instead?" he said while tilting his head back to stare at the lilac sky.

"How about you go fuck yourself?" she snarled, unable to contain the venom in her voice.  "I didn't ask you to say shit.  And don't act like any of that was for me."

"My mistake, next time I'll let him scream until he's finished," he bit back.  The deep seeded anger and frigid resentment in his expression made her take a half step back, despite her knowing that it wasn't directed towards her.  She didn't even know if it was directed at her father, either.  "People like that shouldn't be allowed to have kids."

She watched him take one last puff before crushing the stub of his light under his heel.  In a heartbeat he had another one perched between his lips.

"And why didn't Klara do anything?" His sudden hostility made her jump.  There was a mixture of disgust and disappointment on his face.  Obviously he expected more out of her, but he didn't understand.  If Klara spoke up then it would be hell for the both of them.  There was no point in dragging her down too.

"Because she knew better."

He choked on his smoke while pushing off the wall.  His expression was incredulous.  " Knew better ?!"

"Look, you can walk away and never think about this again, but you just screwed me over!" she hissed.  He plucked the cigarette from his mouth and squared his shoulders to face her.  "I'll be lucky if I'm not thrown out on the street because you!  So take your fucked up little revenge fantasy and shove it up your-"

"So you were evicted?" He asked.  His sudden composure grated on her nerves.

"I might as well be!  I-"

"You're working doubles every day," he said, a tinge of annoyance entering his voice.  "And you can't make rent?"

She stumbled over her words, clinging to her anger instead of the hurt that panged through her chest.  She knew he looked down on her, with all his arrogance and accolades, but it was worse knowing just how deep his disgust for her went.

"I-it's not just rent anymore," Bo said, not knowing why she felt the need to justify herself to him.  "I have to go to appointments, and make sure I'm not dying every three minutes!" He fell silent, watching her with a pensive expression.  "Wait, how did you know I'm working doubles every day?"

"Klara told me."

"Why the-" she was so flabbergasted she couldn't string a complete sentence together.  "She- she can't…"

"She also said you had to do some exam," he said, glancing down at her abdomen.  "What happened?"

He sounded worried.  For a frightening second, she thought he might actually be concerned for her - his expression certainly didn't disprove that.  Whatever it was, it threw gasoline into her simmering anger, turning it into a boiling inferno.  He had no right to be worried or concerned when he had left her alone to do this by herself.

"It's none of your business!"

His tone was patronizing.  "Well it kind of is, considering I'm the father-"

"Oh no you aren't !"Bo hissed, pointing a finger in his face.  "You didn't want this, remember?  You wanted to kill it, remember ?" He actually seemed shocked by her words.  What an entitled asshole.  "This is my child, not yours!  You don't get to decide your place in their life whenever it's convenient to you!"

He stared straight into her soul while taking another long drag from his cigarette.  Her heart was beating wildly and her fists clenched.  If she had any less self control, she might have tried to swing a punch at him.

Her lips were twitching as she tried to think of the most scathing, heinous thing to say to try and hurt him more than he hurt her.  She was beginning to think that it was an impossible task.

"What if I changed my mind?"

She reared back in disgust.  "What?!"

"I think you should move in with me."

His words hit her like a bucket of ice water.  Shock and confusion washed away her anger and she let its residue pool at her feet.  She was trying to figure out if they were still speaking the same language.

After a long, uncomfortable silence where his cigarette ran out and he made no move to replace it, she uttered a hollow:

"What."

Emboldened by her lack of outrage, he folded his arms and dared to elaborate.

"I moved out recently.  Got a house not too far from here," he cast his gaze to the left, as if searching for it.  "It's nice."

Her eyes had to be larger than dinner plates.  She had no idea he had any plans on moving away from his grandparents anytime soon.  But getting an entire house?  That was real adult stuff.

He cleared his throat before continuing, his gaze fixed on something beyond her.  "I was going to ask you before anyways.  I don't see the harm in asking now, especially since you're planning on moving.  It's kind of perfect, actually."

He was rambling, refusing to look at her face for longer than a few seconds.  So that was why his grandma asked if she needed time off work.  Klara's behavior a week ago also made sense, and gave a reason as to why she had been certain that Bo would be moving.

There were a thousand questions she wanted to ask, but took all of her energy not to let her jaw hang open like a dead fish.

He absently scratched behind his ear.  "I've been thinking it over.  Since it's not a hundred percent your fault, I don't think it's fair to expect you to finish things by yourself.  And moving back in with your demon parents doesn't sound like it's very good for the baby.  And if something happens then I'll be there."

Was he still trying to convince her or himself?  His eyes flitted around as his mind ran a hundred miles a minute.

She took a deep breath and quelled her own emotions to try and say something reasonable.  Responsible, even.

"I don't know if you just feel guilty or what," she said.  "But it's not your problem.  I wanted this, you didn't.  Don't force yourself to-"

"It's not..." he scratched his chin, desperate to think of something else to say.  After a few moments his shoulders slumped.  " Please, bunny."

By the expression on his face, he looked about ready to get down on his knees and grovel.  Earlier she would have basked at the sight, but faced with the raw vulnerability on display, she felt uncomfortable.

She crossed her arms tightly.  "I don't think it's a good idea."

He closed his eyes, removed his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose.  He looked exhausted, not at all like the poised and put together warrior she had seen at the beginning of the night.

Not only that, but it seemed like he had run out of things to say.  Instead of arguing or bringing up more practical reasons, he simply repeated:

"Please."

Chapter Text

One hand resting on the slight swell of her stomach, she carefully stacked her leather-bound journals into a worn briefcase.  The previous few days she had rushed around before and after work trying to pack as much as she could so Klara wasn't stuck doing everything.  Worrying about packing her valuables properly, worrying about her keepsakes and clothes, all she had been doing was worrying.  Her and Klara, who had been kind enough to help shoulder some of the responsibility by sorting things out with her landlord.

Not that Klara seemed to mind.  She was much quieter these days and looked deflated ever since that night at the restaurant; Bo hoped Zeke hadn't given her trouble.

Her apartment was barren.  She wouldn't even be sleeping there tonight; every homely item had been stowed and shipped away, the space they once occupied making each room look bigger than she could maintain.

All that was left were the things that didn't fit with the rest of her worldly possessions.  Her scrapbooking journals, her souvenirs, and other knick knacks that were too delicate for Klara to handle … and stored too high for her to reach.  Hence why she had enlisted help.

Footsteps entered the kitchen and stopped a few feet away.  She turned and looked up into an impassive face.

"These can stay in here," the man said, gesturing towards the box in his arms.  It had until moments before been hidden away in her closet.  "Is that okay?"

"Yeah," Bo said with a small smile.  He placed the box onto the table and slid it closer to her before retreating into a different room.  She had to raise her voice slightly to call after him: "Thanks, Spencer."

She'd worked with Spencer for years but never went out of her way to speak to him.  While a bit standoffish, he was a decent man.  That was evident when he agreed to help her finish packing while both of them had a day off.  He didn't owe her anything, he could have said no, but he nodded absently and uttered a quiet sure between stacking chairs in the bakery.

This was the first time she had been alone with him outside of work and she quickly realized that his shyness didn't end after he clocked out for the day.  He hunched in his shoulders like he didn't want to be seen and kept his eyes down as he maneuvered through her apartment.  

She was grateful for the silence.  Everything was so loud and chaotic the past few days, it was nice to not feel obligated to speak.  They had been at this for a little over an hour now, and Spencer had taken the initiative to start sweeping the floors and tidy up.

Peeking into the box he had brought, she found an old china tea set her mother had given her when she moved.  It was her late grandmother's, if she remembered correctly.  The white porcelain had gold accenting the rims and handles, sparkling like a pearl in the ocean when it caught a glimmer of sunshine.

She plucked the kettle from its place and carefully set it on the table.  Doing so revealed tightly packed wads of tea leaves, begging to be used.  There was even a darling little canister of rosy honey and a tiny spoon to scoop it with.

She never knew much about her grandmother, only that she hated her father with a passion that eventually drove a wedge between her and her daughter.  That was probably why Bo's father didn't want any of her old possessions in his house - it was a wonder her mother had been able to keep the kit hidden for so long.

She had stowed the tea set away for the same reason; she was afraid to have it in her house, haunting her with thoughts she couldn't afford to have.  But now the cool ceramic surface was oddly comforting.  Her father had deprived her of a lot of things, including a relationship with her grandmother.  Yet the kettle in front of her was proof that he couldn't take everything.

"Spencer?" Bo called, digging through the packets before she settled on one labeled Black Chai .  "Would you like some tea?"

He shuffled into the room moments later, studied the kettle in her hands, then agreed with a nod.

"It's black tea, I hope you don't mind," she said, turning on the tap and testing the temperature with her finger.

"I don't know the difference," he said, barely audible above the running water.  Fair enough, she would have to offset the bitterness with some honey if he wasn't used to the acrid taste of tea.  She hoped this one wasn't too stale...

A sharp knock from the front door interrupted her thoughts.  Spencer glanced her way.  She frowned and gave a one shoulder shrug.  He wordlessly changed course and headed toward the door.

She flicked the stove to life and settled her kettle atop the flame, double checking it was well balanced before going to investigate her unexpected visitor.  She heard the door open but no voice uttered a greeting.

She rounded the corner, pausing in the opening to study the sight unfolding in front of her.

Spencer was standing in the doorway, staring at Zeke, who was silently appraising him with hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his overcoat.  The silence that stretched between them was awkward and it became even worse when Bo showed up.

Spencer looked over his shoulder, using his body as a buffer between her and Zeke.  "Do you know him?"

Bo dug her nails into her palms, hoping the pain would offset the laugh threatening to explode from her chest.  Nevermind that Alice gossiped about Zeke all the time at work, the red band on his arm should have demanded at least some degree of respect from a complete stranger.

But this being Spencer, he either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Yeah," Bo said, hiding her smirk behind her knuckles and offering a weak cough.  "Yeah, I do."

While his expression was neutral, she could tell from his knit eyebrows and continued silence that Zeke was annoyed.

"Um, hello," she said, finally addressing Zeke while walking up to the door.  Spencer immediately stepped out of the way and retreated back into the apartment without a word.  Bo watched him go, then turned back to Zeke, who had switched to staring at her instead.  "What are you doing here?"

"I came to help," he said matter of factly, slipping past her.  She closed the door carefully, staring at the lock for a bit too long.  "Didn't realize there was a party going on.  Why wasn't I invited?"

"We're just finishing everything up," she said, purposefully ignoring his impudent tone.  "There's not much to do, really." He surveyed the living room with crossed arms.  "Wait, why aren't you at work?"

He gave her a sidelong look.  "Is that all you think I do?"

"Yes?"

"Ouch."

"Okay," she said under her breath.  "Well, would you like some tea?"

"What kind?"

"Black currant … I think."

"You think ?"

With that she decided to take her leave.  There was no point in talking to him when he was like this.  Besides, her kettle's pitch was steadily rising into a full scream.

Too busy pouring tea and wrestling open the jar of honey, she hadn't realized Zeke had followed her into the kitchen until he appeared beside her with an outstretched hand.

She looked from it, to the honey jar, then back before relenting and handing it over.  He popped it open easily and set it down between them.

"Thank you," she said, but he had already turned and walked away.  She let out a huff of air through her nose while watching him settle himself in front of her shelf of keepsakes.  Picking up where she had left off, he started stacking them into the still open briefcase.

She busied herself rinsing out the kettle, marvelling at it in the late afternoon light creeping through the window.

She could hear Spencer sweeping and making his way down the hall to the kitchen. He came over not too long after, staring at the three identical cups quietly.

"Try this one," she said, tapping the rim of the leftmost glass.

He brought it to his mouth gingerly.  She found herself staring, waiting impatiently for his feedback.  His eyebrows furrowed, then he acquiesced with a nod.

"It's okay?" She asked.  Another nod.  A small smile bloomed on her lips.  "It's not too bitter?"

"It's a bit spicy."

"Spicy?" she parroted, grabbing her own cup and taking a sip.  Ah, the currant had a little bite.  It was surprisingly flavourful for such an old pack, very tangy, but not spicy.  "Oh, that's normal.  Would you like some more honey?"

He took another suspicious sip, then shook his head. She supposed that was the best she could hope for.  She laced her fingers through the handle of the remaining cup and turned around.

Zeke was looking at them over the rims of his glasses, eyelids drooped and lips pursed into an unimpressed line.  He was holding open one of her scrapbooks in one hand, while the other smoothed across the page.  He looked like a teacher glaring at two chattering students.

The thought to dump out his tea raced through her mind, but that would just be too mean.  So she walked over and held it out to him.

"I only had honey," she said.  He made no move to take it from her.  "I, um, hope it's okay."

He turned back to the scrapbook without a word.  She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes before dropping the glass on the table beside him.

Spencer was still staring at his tea, swirling it around the cup trying to figure out if he liked it or not.

Her face softened looking at him.  "You don't have to have it all at once."

He nodded yet again before putting it down and walking back over to the broom.  She buried her nose in her own cup and kept her back to Zeke.

The next fifteen minutes were uncomfortable.  It was quiet, just like before, but Zeke's presence was suffocating.  She kept her eyes glued to the window, drinking her tea and trying to move as little as possible.

Much to her surprise, Spencer broke the silence.

"Do you need another box for that …" his voice trailed off.  Bo realized with a start that she hadn't introduced them.

She spun around to see that Spencer was looking between her and Zeke while Zeke ignored him.

"Oh!  I'm sorry." Her voice caught Zeke's attention.  "Spencer this is Zeke, and Zeke this is Spencer.  Spencer works with me at the bakery and Zeke is …" Oh Lord, what was he?  Klara's friend?  Her friend?  A marleyan warrior?  His eyes burned holes in her skull as she started to sweat.  "He … um …"

" Zeke ?" Spencer echoed, the intonation of his voice let her know that he recognized that name.  He turned back to the man in question and gave him another look, seeing him in a whole new light.  " The Zeke?"

Her face turned bright red as Zeke's mouth curled into a smile.

"That's me," Zeke said, using the ceramic flower in his hand to give him a friendly wave. "And I think this box will do just fine."

"Alright," Spencer said, giving Bo a weird look.  "Maybe I'll start bringing stuff downstairs?"

"Perfect timing," Zeke said after checking his watch. "I asked for someone to come around with a cart and they should be here any minute now."

With one last look sent her way, Spencer left the room, and a few moments later left the apartment.  She didn't dare look at Zeke, keeping all her focus on dumping Spencer's tea down the drain and washing the rest of the cups.

Eventually, all that was left was Zeke's cup.  She eyed it for a moment before taking the leap and going to scoop it up.  Before she could so much as graze its handle, Zeke plucked it up and out of reach.

He looked downright jolly while leering at her and taking the tiniest, most frustratingly slow sips of tea.

After a few seconds she settled her hands on her hips.  "If you have something to say, just-"

" The Zeke," he whistled.  "I like the sound of that."

Somehow her face became even more hot.  She grabbed at his cup, but he held it up and out of reach.

"Ah, use your words," he said with a handsome smile.

"Give me the cup or I'll kill you."

"Hm," he said, furrowing his eyebrows in cartoonish disappointment.  "You're not very nice, you know that?  Or maybe you're just embarrassed your secret is out." Before she could sputter out a coherent sentence, he continued.  "How much do you talk about me to your little friends, Bunny?  I wonder what you've been saying…"

"I'm trying to clean up, can you please just give me the cup," she said, palm outstretched.  He shrugged and lowered it to hover within her reach.  Just as she was about to get it, he pulled it away.  Her glare was murderous.  "Zeke."

Finally he handed it over.  She ignored his upbeat humming while she tidied up and placed the tea set back into the box.  As soon as she was content that nothing would jostle, Zeke scooped it into his arms and walked to the front door.

At this point Spencer was coming back for his third trip.  He knelt down to grab the last few boxes, but Zeke handed him the tea set instead so he could stay with Bo while she tugged on her coat.  Spencer left without protest.

"Ready to go?" Zeke asked her, bending down to lift the two remaining containers into his arms.

"Just give me a second," she said.  Feeling melancholic was ridiculous, but that place had been her home for the past year and she allowed herself a second to reflect.

"Sure," he muttered, fingers drifting to the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket.  He had better not.  Despite her glare, he placed a stick in his mouth and started fishing for a lighter.

She stepped up to him and plucked it from his lips with a scowl.  "Don't smoke inside, you animal."

He was surprised for half a second before something perverse invaded his expression.  He had his eyes trained on her hand that held the cigarette gingerly between her fingers.  "And where do you think you're going with that?"

Face puckering, she dropped it to her feet just to be petty.

"Pick it up," he ordered, his tone snapping through the air like a whip.  She almost bent down on instinct to obey him.  Luckily she was able to shake off the haze before she made a fool of herself.

Planting her feet and crossing her arms in front of her chest, she gave a firm, "No."

He stared at her for a long time, barely even blinking.  Again, the urge to listen to him just to get him to stop looking at her like that was suffocating.

When he realized she really wasn't going to do it, he clicked his tongue against his teeth.  "Always such a brat."

"I'm allowed to be a brat."

"Oh yeah?  Says who."

"Says me.  I'm pregnant and I can be a brat if I want to be." His expression was unreadable.  "So fuck off."

She shouldn't have said that.  She only mouthed off like that if she wanted to be bent over the nearest surface and made into a drooling mess.  Now he was going to get the wrong idea … well, no he wasn't.  But the mixed emotions in her head wouldn't allow her to fall back into him when there were still a lot of things they needed to talk about.

His eyebrows slowly rose.  "Excuse me?"

His tone went straight to her legs and she hoped he didn't notice them wobble. She stayed silent, hands balled into fists by her side as her gaze flitted around the room.

He snapped his fingers beside her face, making her eyes snap back to his.  "You wanna try that again?"

She was about to let all her inhibitions fly when Spencer kicked open the door and bent down to grab the last of the boxes.  Ears pink, she turned away from Zeke and smiled at the other man.

"Thanks, Spencer.  For everything."

"Yes, thank you, Spencer," Zeke said, moving to the door and holding it open.  She kept her head down while slipping past him into the hall, ignoring his smug expression for her own sanity.

Upon reaching the lower level, she was greeted by an airy: "Hi Bo!"

Her mouth fell open upon seeing who she had kept waiting.  Loitering in front of her apartment building was a warrior of Marley, a warrior candidate, and a large wagon with a pulley.  The one who greeted her had a red band on her arm just like Zeke, although hers was unkempt much like the rest of her uniform.  She waved and gestured to the wagon, whose crank she held with her other hand.

"Marley's finest delivery service, at your service!"

"Pieck, I…" Bo said.  "Have you guys been …?"

"Yeah," said a man who finished helping Spencer adjust the last of the boxes on the buggy.  He sported a yellow band that matched Klara's.  Porco Galliard greeted her with a nod.  "You have a lot of stuff."

"You didn't think everything just flew there by itself, did you?" Pieck said with a tiny smile.

Bo blushed.  "I-I don't know, Klara said…"

"Klara and Zeke asked us to help," Porco said.  "You're welcome, by the way."

"Oh, thank you," she said, unable to stop smiling at their thoughtfulness.  "Thank you so much."

"No big deal," Porco mumbled, his ears pink.  He went to take the handle from Pieck, but she held firm.

"It's my turn to pull," she said, to which he shrugged and sidled up to Bo and Zeke.  "Hey Bo, where'd your friend go?"

Spencer had slipped away in the excitement it seemed.  "Home, probably.  It's okay, he does that."

"Leave without saying goodbye?" Pieck clarified, digging her heels into the gravel and yanking the wagon to get it moving.  "What a strange man."

"He likes to stay mysterious, it seems," Zeke said, burrowing his hands into his pockets while trailing after Pieck.

As polite as Porco was, small talk wasn't his forte, and Zeke was comfortable to walk in silence.  So, very few words were exchanged until Pieck asked Porco to take a turn pulling the wagon.

"I told them on the first day," Pieck said, a sleepy smile on her face.  "If they had just let me transform, my titan could carry everything in a single trip."

"And cause mass panic," Zeke added.

"But I would get it done," Pieck said, leaning forward to look at Zeke.  He shook his head with a fond grin on his face.  A grin that vanished when she spoke again.  "It's so strange that Klara was always too busy to make the trip with us."

Pieck was looking at Bo, searching for something on her face.  She continued.

"I don't think she's seen the house at all.  Do you know what she's doing that's so important?"

Bo glanced at Zeke, but he was looking at her.

"No, I … sorry, I don't.  She didn't tell me why and I didn't ask," she said.  Pieck nodded slowly.

"Well, I hope it was a good reason." Pieck's focus was on Zeke.  In a heartbeat her tone was light again.  "So, Bo.  Since we helped you out, could you make us some of those little mini quiches?  I swear no one makes them as good as you."

"Absolutely," Bo said.  "Let me know what flavour you'd like."

"Well, what flavours are there?"

"What have you done," Zeke said, watching Bo straighten, lighting up at the question.

Nestled on the edge of a dead end street sat a cream and darker beige house with pretty black shutters and an elegant sloping roof.  It wasn't large or flashy, or even unique from the other homes arranged down the avenue.  The orange sunlight glinted off the windows that no doubt had a beautiful view of the ocean.  Hell, standing on the stoop in front of the house was gorgeous.

"Pretty, huh?" Zeke said, halfway up the stairs but turned to look at her.

"Yeah," she said.  The street was quiet, raised slightly above the one closer to the beach, but securely fenced off to stop anyone from tripping down the decline.  "Did you really bring all of my stuff here using that wagon?"

She turned her head, watching Porco and Pieck stroll down the road the opposite way, their conversation being carried away by the wind.  They had been kind enough to bring her boxes inside while she explored the front of the property.

But now there was no one but her and Zeke.  Being along with him for such an extended period felt strange.  Some of her movements were jilted and awkward as she struggled to figure out what to do with herself.

He hummed an affirmation while placing a hand on the railing.  Unlike her, he looked perfectly at ease.  "We carried some the first day."

"They really spent their time doing that?"

"Yes?"

"And they … didn't mind?"

"I didn't hear them complaining.  I had them put some of your stuff upstairs, too."

"Oh," was all she could think to say while he unlocked the door and pushed it open.  He flicked on the light and shrugged off his coat.  From what she could see, the walls were a nice neutral green and the floor was covered in panels of wood.  It looked cozy.

"Are you going to run away?" Zeke asked, holding the door open and giving her a look.

She sighed and stepped into the foyer, shy and shaky as she surveyed the room.  It jut out from the rest of the house, but wasn't closed off, allowing her to see a lounge room to the left, a hallway that lead to a kitchen and a bathroom on the right, and a large staircase dead ahead.

He watched her carefully, noting the way she had balled her jacket into her fists but made no move to take it off.  Whatever, he didn't mind if she wore shoes inside.

He rubbed his hands together and marched further in.  "Time for the grand tour."

The house was obviously larger than her apartment, but seemed much more cluttered due to all of the boxes laying around.  She found herself tripping on them more than once.

"Sorry, I haven't had the time to unpack," he had said.  

The kitchen was gorgeous, with lots of counter space and a door that led into a nice little dining room.

"I thought you might appreciate the extra surface area," he said, knocking his knuckles on the counter while she gawked at the sheer amount of cupboards.

The lounge was furnished with his gramophone and a few chairs.

"Maybe we can put a bookshelf in here," he said.  "And fill it with things you're never going to read."

Upstairs was another bathroom and three bedrooms.  The first two had beds while the third had a desk with a mess of paperwork all over it.  She could tell before he even said it that it was his makeshift office.

That was all well and good, until she realized that only one of the bedrooms, the master, had a mess of boxes in it.  She guessed she wasn't hiding her discomfort well enough.

"What?" There was an edge to his voice.

"Are we …" she trailed off, staring pointedly at the king sized bed.

"Do you want to share a bed?" he didn't sound mocking; more genuinely curious.

She looked like she had been shot.

He rolled his eyes.  "Don't worry, Bunny, I'm in the other room.  You'll have to suffer all alone without me."

Lips pursed, she peeked into the bedroom again.  Her stomach chose that moment of silence to omit the loudest, most guttural gurgle that caused her whole body to lurch forward.

"Hungry?" Zeke asked, not bothering to disguise his mocking tone.

"I forgot to eat," she said bitterly.  It was easy to ignore before she had trekked half way across Liberio.  Her feet were swollen, her stomach was gnawing at itself, and she was too tired to decide which issue was more pressing.

"I have leftovers," he said before making his way down the stairs.  He paused at the bottom when he realized she didn't follow him.  "Think I'm gonna poison you?"

She chose to stay silent because she didn't have anything nice to say.  Grumbling under her breath, she wandered after him, stopping at the door to finally tug off her coat and kick away her shoes.

When she walked into the kitchen and stood beside the pot on the stove, he smirked.

"What?" she asked.  He turned away, rummaging through the fridge.  "Fine.  Can I help?"

"No," he said, pointing towards the door with a spoon.  "Go sit down."

He was so embarrassing.  Loudly humming while heating up a pot of spaghetti, maneuvering through the kitchen like he'd been there all his life.  She pointedly kept her gaze down and away, lest she admit he looked adorable.

He set a plate in front of her, leaning in to put the fork directly into her hand, like she was a child.

Turning to give him a disapproving look proved to be a terrible idea; he was hovering so close to her face she could see the bits of blue in his eyes.  She snapped her head forward again, silently cursing him while he snickered to himself.

Once he had given her room to breathe, she shrugged off her bashfulness and dug in.  She had already taken a few bites before she realized that he was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, staring at her.

"What?" she said, mouth full of noodles.

"Well?" he asked.  "How is it?"

She scraped the prongs of her fork across the plate.  "It's okay."

"Just okay?"

"I'm eating it, aren't I?" she said, hiding a small smile behind another fork full.  Apparently she hid her smile a little too well.

He dropped his arms and went back into the kitchen without a word.  Her stomach dropped.

The silence made her heart pang.  Oh God, she had hurt his feelings.  She should have said something, but her body was on autopilot shoving food into her face one scoop after another.

Eventually she ran out of spaghetti and it was time to bring her plate to the kitchen and face him.  He was cleaning the pot he had used to warm up her food in the sink quietly.

Guilt made her stomach lurch.  Her feet moved towards him with a mind of their own.  Before she thought of what she could say to make him feel better, she was hovering beside him as he purposefully ignored her.

She grabbed his arm in a hug to get his attention.  He didn't spare her a look.

"There's definitely something there," she said, a nervous smile on her lips.  "A little more practice and you'll be good to go, I just know it."

He tossed her a glance over the frames of his glasses.  She smiled a little wider, as if that would ease the tension.

He basked in the silence, taking the plate from her hand and adding it to the sink.  He turned back around.  She let go of his arm, dejected.

"And who's going to help me practice?" he asked.

"I will," she said without thinking.  "I'll teach you some of my tricks."

She swore she saw the corner of his mouth quirk up before he shut off the water and turned to look at her again.  His fingers were wet and she cringed at their coolness as he rubbed his thumb on the corner of her mouth to clear away a bit of stray sauce.

"I'll keep you to that," he promised with a pointed look, grabbing a tea towel that had been haphazardly thrown over the faucet.  "You should probably go unpack.  Unless you want to sleep on a bare mattress tonight."

She touched the side of her mouth where his thumb had been, gave him a puzzled look, then made her leave.

She was too tired to try and figure out whatever that was.

Chapter Text

Things were awkward for the first few days.  Of course, she didn't see him very much because if he wasn't working he was holed up in the spare room with the door shut.  Honestly, how much work could he possibly have?

She was starting to wonder if he was avoiding her, or if her plans to avoid him were a success.

Their few interactions were civil.  He would politely nod his head when she entered a room and she would initiate some pleasant small talk.  Sometimes he responded in kind, other times he gesticulated his reply without uttering a word.

As aloof and uninterested as he may have outwardly seemed, he always checked on her in the morning before he left for work and at night after he came home.  She was usually asleep, or at least too groggy to react, when he peeked into her room.  He would rap his knuckles against the door then immediately enter because he knew she would still be sleeping and wouldn't answer.

Whether he did it for her sake or for his peace of mind, she appreciated him taking a few moments out of his day to make sure she was okay.

Not only that, but she always caught him sneaking looks at her stomach.  Her work clothes were loose, and form fitting shirts made her feel self conscious, so he couldn't see much.  She was only a bit swollen anyway, her belly button stretching to accommodate the change.  Still, he stared as if expecting a fully grown child to pop out of her at any second.

Thankfully he never outright asked to see it.  That would be a little uncomfortable and a bit too much for her to handle.  The thought of him touching her baby bump with tender palms made her want to cry.

And if he kissed it?  May the powers that be help her.

Okay, maybe she was a little bit touch starved.  All she wanted was to be softly held, was that too much to ask?!  

Yes.  

The thought of propositioning him for a hug made her red in the face with embarrassment.  She was too sensitive and needy to deal with his teasing.

Luckily he controlled himself; not one snarky word since the day she moved in.  That was probably why he sometimes refused to speak; he couldn't physically manage to mind his manners.

She was grateful that he was giving her space.  A few chairs appeared on their porch one day and she had to assume that he had bought them in between his busy work schedule.  Maybe she could coerce him to let her help furnish this place. Or at least try to ease the tension between them.

Her peace offering was to wake up early, earlier than he usually did, and make breakfast.  She noticed after the second day that the cupboards were filled with her supplies as well as some of her favourite snacks that Zeke had stocked up before she moved in.  While that was incredibly sweet, it also made her wonder; what the hell was he eating?

Pancakes sounded nice.  She even whipped up some of his favourite tea, careful to remove the kettle before it screamed, to lure him in.

She had just finished setting the butter and syrup on the table when he came wandering in, bleary eyed and giving her a sleepy frown.

"You're up early," he said, voice raspy and thick with exhaustion.  She placed the frying pan in the sink, watching him poke around the fresh stack of pancakes out of the corner of her eye.

She could have lied and said she was hungry, but something about his appearance changed her mind.  He was sans glasses, hair uncombed with a robe tossed over his shoulders.  She didn't think she'd ever seen him less put together.

"I wanted to make sure you ate something," she said quietly, handing him a plate.

Blinking rapidly, he stared at her face for a moment before taking it and turning back to the pancakes.

"I do," he said.  "You're just not awake to see it."

"That's why I'm making sure," she said, poking his arm.  Maybe it was because he was tired, but his smile was soft and genuine.  It drew one from her as well.

The silence between them was comfortable, being broken only when Zeke coughed behind his hand as Bo set a cup of tea in front of him.  Despite his best attempts, she could see that it was just a ploy to try and hide his smile.

"Thank you," he said, taking a long drink as she settled a few chairs away from him and dug in.  

"I've been meaning to ask," he said after a few minutes of silence.  "You're not still doing doubles every day, are you?"

She tapped her fork on the edge of her plate.  "I haven't had the chance to tell Alice to change my schedule yet, so…"

"You should do that," he said.  "No point in you killing yourself to make bagels."

She averted her eyes.

"What?"

She chewed her bottom lip.  "I still have some bills I need to pay."

"What kind?"

She stared at him.

"Ah.  The baby kind." She furrowed her brows, but didn't correct him.  "Well, let's see them." At her dumbfounded expression, he continued: "I don't know why you're giving me that look, I told you I'm trying to help."

"I-I know," she said.  It was difficult to form the words.  She didn't know how to explain that she needed to give her father a stipend of her monthly revenue, and that that payment had almost doubled once she broke the news that she would be moving in with Zeke and not going back home.  She couldn't articulate how afraid she was that her father would do something dangerous if she disobeyed him again.  "But I still want to do some things myself."

He acquiesced with a one shoulder shrug.  "Suit yourself."

They ate the rest of their meal in silence, with Zeke finishing before her.  He remained sitting, sipping tea at his leisure.

She felt like she was going to explode.  "Zeke?"

"Yes?" he said, seeming to have been expecting her to speak.

"Did you say something to Klara?" His expression was unreadable.  "She's been so nervous and upset lately."

His shoulders tightened.  Any ounce of ease or playfulness evaporated from his expression as he met her eye.

"Do you want the truth?"

She shifted in her seat.  "Yes?"

"I'm warning you; you're not going to change my mind."

She did not like the sound of that.  "Please just tell me."

He set his cup down, clinking it against the saucer as he mulled over his next words.

"I don't want Klara coming here," he said, looking her straight in the eyes.  "Or knowing where you live.  Honestly I'd prefer if she stayed out of our lives completely, but that's not up to me."

She frowned.  "I said I wanted the truth."

"That is the truth."

She still couldn't wrap her head around his words.  "Are you serious?"

His face was a mask of stoicism.  He definitely looked serious.  Hands in her lap, she stared at him with knitted brows.  Zeke and Klara had been friends for almost a decade now.  The only reason Bo had met him at all was because those two stuck together through their warrior candidate training.

"But … it's Klara. "

"I know who she is." His tone was devoid of any emotion.  "And I'd be more than happy to never see her again."

Her heart stopped.  " What ?" 

He shook his head.  "Sorry to be the one to tell you, but she can't be trusted.  She's proven that when it comes down to it, she'll choose your father over you."

"My father-?"

"He is never allowed to step foot in this house," Zeke said, without room for argument.  She sat back in her seat at his intensity.  "I thought that was a given, but just in case."

She stared at him, mouth moving but no words coming out.

"Why?" she finally managed.

He frowned.  He sounded utterly baffled as he echoed: " Why ?"

He stared at her, waiting for her to come to her own conclusion.

"Bolina," he said, leaning forward on his elbows.  "You can't be serious."

"I am serious," she said, hating how petulant she sounded.

Something despicable creeped into his eyes; something akin to pity.

"So you're telling me," he said, threading his fingers together.  "You're okay with how your father speaks to you?"

"No, but it's not his fault," Bo said immediately, the words pouring out of her mouth well practiced.  "He's a bit sick, but he's not always like that..."

"But he is … some of the time? Or most of the time?"

She grew red in the face.  "Stop it."

He was unmoved.

"You can't," she said.  She wished she had the strength to tell him why; that every time she had tried, her father clung to her like a locust.  People would start calling.  People would start asking why she wasn't visiting her parents anymore.  They would wag their fingers and tell her she was being unreasonable; that they were her family, the only one she has, and she would regret it if she pushed them away.  They didn't get it because it was easier to keep everything exactly as it was than to accept the man they knew was a monster.  "You just can't."

His expression fell even further.  His tone was straightforward, not leaving room for misinterpretation or jokes.  "Has he ever hit you?"

"No!" she responded immediately, going red.  "If this is about that night at the restaurant, he-"

"Has he ever hit your mother?"

She fell silent, lips pursed into a thin line.  The lie was teeming in her chest, begging to be let out.  But she couldn't bring herself to set it free.

His face was solemn.  "I'm sorry."

Her mouth twitched, but she couldn't respond.  Bile rose up her throat.

"He shouldn't be around you," he continued.  "Or anyone, but especially not you.  And that's not even considering what he might do to the baby.  Are you really willing to sacrifice it's life to appease your father?"

She spoke, running down her list of emergency responses as she shut down.  "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Trust me when I say I do," Zeke said while tapping his chest.  "I know what kind of man he is."

"But-"

"This isn't a discussion," he said, standing up and taking both of their plates.  "I told you, you can not and will not change my mind."

Tears welled in her eyes.  "That's the man who raised me…"

"I don't care," Zeke said coldly.  "There's something wrong with him.  You said it yourself: he's sick, and Klara enables that behavior." Bo couldn't stop shaking her head.  "Hate me all you want, but I'm right."

"You don't understand," she said.

"I don't have to," he said, and with that he left the room.

She sat staring at the wall for a long time.  Eventually, she had to force herself upright and spur herself to prepare for the day ahead.  But first, there were dishes to do … that and she'd rather not see him before she could get her emotions under control.

He could help.  As grandstanding as her father was in their community, Zeke was at an almost untouchable status.  If he was willing to offer a hand, she would be an idiot not to take it.

But how long would that last?  He could tell her to leave at any moment.  If she turned her back on her father now, she would have nothing if Zeke changed his mind.  And honestly, he didn't have the best track record with sticking around.  Not to mention if he was willing to shun Klara …

She heard footsteps.  A few seconds later he was at the doorway, wearing the same expression he had when he left.  Only now he was fully dressed and ready to take on the day.

After sparing him a glance, Bo turned her back to him, hoping he didn't see how distraught she was.

There was nothing left for her to clean up, so she picked up a tea towel and began to fiddle with it.  His eyes burned into the back of her head.

"Are you alright?" he asked after an uncomfortable minute.

"Yes," she said far too quickly.  "Have a good day."

He let out an embittered sigh.  She shrank in on herself and laced the towel through her fingers just to squeeze it until her knuckles went white.

She jumped when she felt hands settle on her shoulders.  She hadn't heard him close the distance between them.  His palms were warmer than the skin beneath her thin pajama blouse.  He made no move to turn her around.

"I shouldn't have been so harsh," he said in a low voice, leaning forward.  Something brushed against the back of her head; if she wasn't delusional she could have sworn he gave her a feather light kiss.  "I'll see you later."

Then he turned and left her frozen in place, fingers aching and shoulders cool in his absence.  She flinched when he closed the front door behind him.

The next time she saw him was two days later. Recently she'd hear him come in around midnight, heavy footfalls and a quick shower before going directly to bed.  She was expecting him to keep up that routine, so after work she decided it was about time to start unpacking the living room.  It was silly to hide away in her room when the house was empty.

There was a thin layer of dust on most of her things so for her own peace of mind she decided to tidy up first.  She pushed most of the boxes off to the side, dusted the gramophone, and noticed that there was an empty shelf near one of the windows.

Perfect.

But first, she hesitantly approached Zeke's lovely gramophone.  She remembered the day he got it, how shiny and new it looked.  It was still impeccably kept, every surface pristine and inviting.

First she had to apply the turntable break, then wind it up clockwise.  She remarked with some bitterness how easily he had done it while wiping a bead of sweat from her temple.

Picking which record she wanted was easy.  His collection was vast, but her favourite was a greatest hits collection.  It was a gift from his grandmother, but he complained that listening to every song on an album, even the boring ones, made for a better experience.

But that was just him trying to find a reason for why he was better than everyone else.

She picked up the needle between pinched fingers and carefully set it down on the record.  The speaker crackled, complaining and scaring her half to death. She hid behind her hands, aghast: Had she broken it?!

Then from its mouthpiece came a beautiful chorus she recognized.  Delighted, she moved her hands from her face and tapped her fingers together, awarding herself a little round of applause.

There was a smile on her face as she picked up a box of her prettiest keepsakes and pulled a chair over to the shelf.

Her contentment faltered after she pried the package open.  She had so much stuff; little knick-knacks and keepsakes that she just couldn't let go of.  Klara called her a hoarder.  Bo wished she was there to help.

One by one, she positioned them on the smooth wooden surface.  A dewy snow globe, a glass bottle of a beer that was discontinued years before she was born, and a set of pretty bookends in the shape of a bicycle to name a few.  All things she thought were interesting and had once lived in her old display case.  She alternated humming along to the songs and quietly singing along under her breath.

The sound of the door unlocking almost made her drop the framed painting that she was holding.  The chair she stood on wobbled and she slammed her hand against the wall to prevent herself from falling over.

Zeke appeared in the doorway to investigate the commotion.  She went red and turned her back to him, gripping the frame so tightly her fingers ached.  

It was nine o'clock.  He was home three hours earlier than expected.

Suddenly the music was too loud in her ears.  Was he going to be upset that she touched his things?  She waited for him to speak.

Only when his footsteps echoed up the stairs did she feel like she could breathe again.  She scrambled off the chair and rushed to the gramophone, picking up the needle and silencing the music immediately.  Her heart was pounding as she carefully put everything back to the way it had been before.

He would probably just turn in for the night - that had to be the reason he returned so early.

Wrong.

Her heart sank when she heard him coming back down the stairs about fifteen minutes later.  Would she ever know peace?

She didn't turn to look at him when he entered the room, even though she could feel his eyes on her.

Instead of scolding her or mocking her for lovingly adjusting her keepsakes, he moved to one of his boxes and began to rummage through it.

His demeanor was casual.  His hair was wet from a quick shower and his clothes were loose and comfortable.  She tried to move as slowly and quietly as possible so as to not get his attention.

His words and tone from days before were stuck in her head.  She thought she had gotten over it by now, but evidently that wasn't the case.  The only reason she didn't leave the room was because she knew that would attract his attention.

"How many more of those do you have?" he asked, startling her.  His tone was mild.  Curious.

She glanced his way, then stared down at a well worn scrap book in her hands.  She gave a little shrug.

"I don't know," she muttered, angling away from him as far as she could.  "A lot."

He thought before speaking.  "We really should get a proper bookshelf for you, then."

She stared at the windowsill.  She wondered if he was mad at her for cluttering the shelf with her junk  "Sure."

A long, strained moment passed before he spoke again.  "I would need some help, though.  Wouldn't want to slip and get trapped under something trying to carry it inside.  Or break my neck on the porch step."

The mental image of him floundering around, undignified and trapped under a measly bookshelf drew a smile to her lips.  One that she tried to hide from him.  Based on the look in his eye, she was unsuccessful.

Pleased, he continued.  "Maybe you have some ideas?  On how we can actually live in this place comfortably."

"Whatever you want is fine," she said, sounding like a robot.

He made a noise at the back of his throat.  "Sorry, all my sense for interior decorating was pistol whipped out of my head."

She pursed her lips to stop from grinning.  It wasn't even funny, she was just high strung.  That and she really wanted to believe he was making an effort to ease the tension.

"I can start looking," she said.

"Absolutely not," he replied with a jarring amount of firmness.  "You're going to have our house looking like a candy land." He turned back to his box.  "We'll go together."

"Candy land?" she echoed.  She was too frazzled to realize that he had said our house .

"Yes." He pointed at her with the corner of a record seal.  "You're going to see the ugliest couch ever and buy it because it's pink."

"You're wrong," she said, while a little voice in the back of her head protested: a pink couch would be so cute!

"I'm never wrong," he said, abandoning his package to walk over to the gramophone.  She tensed.  "Any requests?"

"No," she said, putting the last glass figurine on the shelf.  The rest wouldn't fit, so she sighed and stepped off the chair.  "I'm sorry for touching it."

The look he gave her was perplexed.  "Did you break something?"

"No," she said quickly.  "I promise I didn't."

He watched her anxiously pick at her fingernails and shift her weight for a second until he turned back to the gramophone.

"No need to apologize, then," he said,  slotting the package in his hand into a free space.   He began thumbing through the rest of his stash while she gathered her wits and made for the door. 

He pulled a record from his meticulously organized collection and plucked it from its packaging.  Slipping it onto the gramophone and placing the needle atop it gently, he turned to judge her reaction.

She was three quarters of the way out of the room, but the first few chords of the song sounded very familiar.  Step faltering, she tilted her head to look at him.  A knowing smirk graced his lips.

Then it clicked.  She spun around and gaped at him.  "Is this … the record that I threw away?!" His smirk grew into a smile, like he was proud of her for putting it together.  "You went through the trash to get it?"

"No," he scoffed.  "You missed the bin and like the good man I am, I picked up after you."

She thought for a moment, then furrowed her brows.  His smile widened.  "You're lying!"

"Me?" He pointed to his chest.  "Never."

She shook her head and padded down to the kitchen, the echoes of the song wafting down the hall through the open doorway.  She grabbed a skillet from the cupboard and saw him lean against the door frame out of the corner of her eye.

"Are you eating dinner now?' " he asked.

"I'm hungry," she said.  "Baby doesn't care what time it is."

Interest piqued, he drew closer as she grabbed the olive oil from the cupboard.  "What are you making?"

"Um…" she stared at the pepper shaker in her hand.  After a second of contemplation she moved her free hand to her stomach.  "What are we feeling tonight?"

Zeke looked on, fixated on her tummy.

"We want pasta," she said after another thoughtful minute.

"You always want pasta."

"I love pasta."

"I'm well aware."

She let out a puff of air through her nose and shot the back of his head with an annoyed look.  He had the irritating ability to make her feel stupid with just the inclination of his voice.

She trot over to the fridge while he squatted down in front of a corner cupboard and pulled out a package of Bucatini.  Slowing, she watched as he then grabbed a pot and filled it up with water.

"How much?" he asked over his shoulder.

"You wanna help?" she asked.  Something about her tone made him smile.

"You said you'd teach me."

She did say that, didn't she?

"Okay," she said, gathering ingredients into her arms.  "I'm starving, so …"

He put the pot on the stove then turned to see she was handing him two huge white onions.

"Could you mince these for me?"

"How?"

"You-?" He was giving her that look.

"You said you'd teach me ," he repeated.

She shook her head, deposited the rest of the ingredients near the skillet, then marched over to a very pleased Zeke.  She placed an onion on the cutting board he had brought out.

"Pass me a knife, please," she said.

"Which one?"

"Any one." Then after a second.  "Okay, anything but that one, we don't need a cleaver  to mince an onion."

"You said any one ."

"Give me a steak knife.  The ones on the bottom." With a flourish, he did so.  "Thank you."

After slicing the onion in half, she picked at the flaky skin.  She decided to humour him:

"We gotta peel this outer layer off, then-"

"Woah woah," he said, feigning shock.  "Slow down, how am I supposed to get the technique right if you're rushing like that?"

She stared at him blankly.

"Here," he said, settling behind her and draping his hands over her own.  It was a cheap trick to get as physically close to her as possible, but damn if it didn't take her breath away.  With her back flush to his chest, she could feel every exhale against her neck.  " Now keep going."

There was no way he didn't notice the tremble in her hands or how hard she was blushing.  Still, she cleared her throat and pretended her heart wasn't beating out of her ribs.

"Sh-shouldn't I be the one guiding you?" she asked, attempting to wiggle free.  "Let me be on the outside."

"No." He gently guided her hands back to the cutting board.  "This is the best way for me to learn, trust me."

Even if that was true, she couldn't work in these conditions.  If he kept on touching her like that, her brain would get fuzzy and she'd do something stupid, like lean into him.

"You're gonna lose a finger like this," she stated.

His hands slipped down to wrap around her palms, leaving her fingers free to pick up the knife and do whatever she needed to do.

"Perks of being a warrior of Marley," he said.  His voice rumbled through her and she fought to keep standing upright as her knees weakened.  "Titan abilities include being able to regenerate limbs."

"Zeke," she said firmly.  "I am not eating one of your fingers."

"I thought you were an expert?" He dipped his head to float next to her face.  "Why are you so certain you'll-"

"Okay, okay," she grumbled.  She had to get him to stop talking or at least stop whispering into her ear and give her some space. He did neither.  "Just shut up already."

He tightened his grip on her palms.  "Watch your mouth."

She paused.  Took a deep breath and let it out through her nose.  Only then did she trust herself enough to chop the onion instead of using the knife to cut off his tongue.

Thankfully she was good enough to mince while he was on top of her.   She didn't bother to talk him through the process because apparently holding her hands was the best way to learn.  Though by the end of her demonstration his arms had come to rest folded on her torso.  While her eyes were watering from the onion, he was hugging her without a care in the world.

She was embarrassed to admit that she had slowed down in order to stay in his embrace a bit longer.  Hell, she minced both onions instead of pushing him away and making him do it. He was so warm and sturdy.  His palm lay flat against the swell of her stomach.  She felt safe, though she'd never admit it.

"See?  All done," she said, wincing at how her voice trilled.  Feeling him rest his cheek on her hair made her ridiculously nervous.  "I need to put on the noodles."

"Okay, wait," he said, straightening.  "I think I understand.  Except I wasn't paying attention and you need to do it again."

Instead of responding, she picked up the knife and mimed jabbing it at his face.

"Oh, I get it now," he said, leaning over to reach for another knife.

"Wait!" she tried to twist away, but his other arm was locked around her waist.  He plucked another knife from the rack as she desperately wriggled in his grasp.  She let out a little shriek as he trapped her between the counter and his chest. "Zeke, do not put that thing near me!"

"What's the matter?" he asked, sounding shocked.  She clutched her own knife in both hands and held it up, preparing to parry an attack.  "Isn't this part of the lesson?  Because you wouldn't ever pretend to hurt me, right?"

She was giggling so hard she couldn't reply.  All she could manage were a few frantic no's whenever his hand holding the knife edged closer to her.  He squeezed her tight and she made a desperate shushing sound while she kept on laughing.  All of the pent up emotions in her chest erupted and she couldn't seem to stop.

"I think you're the first person to laugh with a knife pointed at you," Zeke said, letting out a chuckle of his own as she pushed his blade away from her with unsteady hands.  She seemed to be imitating a swordsman at a tournament, desperate to keep her opponent at bay.  "You're going to stab yourself."

He put his knife back into its rightful place.  At that point, he could have released her, or told her to put down her knife before she stabbed herself in the eye, but no.  Instead he wrapped his palm around the blade, its sharp edge digging into flesh and drawing blood.

She let out a haggard gasp, watching him yank the knife out of her hand.  His skin ripped and crimson drops of blood  beaded between his fingers and dripped onto the floor.  He then put the knife on the counter, his expression never changing.

" Zeke! " she hollered, breaking free of her initial shock and grabbing his injured hand.  "What the hell did you do that for?!"

After peeling back his fingers and seeing the damaged nerves and tendons, her breathing became erratic.  She dragged him over to the sink and held his hand under the water.

"Why do you always have to do this?  You take things way too far every time and..." 

Her voice trailed off.  She didn't think the water was that hot, but a rush of steam wafted off of his skin.  Horrified, she shut off the tap and held him up for inspection, hoping she hadn't accidentally burned him.

 She rubbed her thumb over his palm.  Every single cut was gone.  His hand was blemish free and clean too, after she had washed the blood away.  Speechless, she stared at his healed fingers, then looked up to his face.

The smile curling his lips was rotten.  She was so lost, glancing from his hand to his face then back again.

"I told you titan shifters can heal their limbs," he said, letting her in on what was so damn funny.  "Did you not believe me?"

She dropped his hand and took a step away, struggling to decide if she should scream at him or wallow in her confusion.

She watched with huge eyes as he laughed at her distress.  The sound rang in her ears.  He had let her panic and get worked up because he thought it was funny.  He probably had cut his hand open just to get that exact reaction from her.

Humiliated and hurt, she crossed her arms and spun around so he wouldn't see her desperately trying to hold back her tears.  Just when she thought things were going well he had to find a way to make her feel stupid.

"Aw, you're so sweet," he cooed, wrapping his arms around her from behind.  If he noticed how she shrank away from him, he didn't say anything.  "Getting all shy on me."

When he turned her around she didn't try to stop him.  She crossed her arms and glowered.  Since he was an asshole, his smile widened seeing her brood.

His thumbs dug into her cheeks and pushed back the skin by her lips, ripping apart her scowl.  She let out an indignant sound as he pinched her face and softly shook it back and forth.

"Were you worried about me, Bunny?" His sickly sweet tone made her cringe.  "You act all big and tough and treat me like a stranger - I never knew you cared!"

He then squished her cheeks together, making her lips pucker and causing her responding nuh-uh to sound even more unconvincing.

He took a few seconds more to scan her face, smile never faltering even as he leaned forward and pressed their noses together.  She could feel her face get hot and she prayed he couldn't hear her heartbeat thumping like crazy.

Finally he released her, giving her cheek a light pat before withdrawing.  She cupped her face as it screwed up in anger.  Unaffected by her chagrin, he turned around and headed for the door with a pep in his step.

"Going for a smoke," he said as he turned the corner and vanished from sight.  She stared at the doorway, rubbing her cheeks and frowning.

" Asshole, " she muttered bitterly, deciding to clean the blood on the floor before she continued cooking.

When he came back inside she put Zeke on sauce duty so she could make a call.

"This late?" he had asked, raising a brow.  "To whom?  Bolina, are you trying to sneak in boys …"

She was glad that a wall separated them now as she hit the phone's headset against her forehead.  He was so stupid.  But he was really stupid whenever he said dumb things that she didn't know how to respond to.

After getting past the operator and a receptionist, a familiar voice came through the other end.

"Dr. Corbis speaking, how may I help you?"

"Yes, uh, hello," she said, shifting from foot to foot.  Where did these nerves come from?  "I'm not sure if you remember me, we met two weeks ago at a house call and I was just wondering if you got the letters I gave to your receptionist." She rushed out all the information she needed to tell, then facepalmed and added: "Oh, I'm uh… My name is Bolina Holschbach."

"Bolina!" Dr. Corbis was unfazed by her incoherence.  "It's lovely to hear from you!  I did receive your letters, yes.  I suppose my replies got lost in the mail." She chewed her bottom lip.  "But the long and short of it is that I would love to take you on."

She let out a sigh of relief and sagged against the wall.  Sorting out the paperwork to request him as her practitioner was tedious; especially with his strange hours and the fact that he was on call for emergencies two days in the week.  But since she'd met him, she honestly didn't feel comfortable seeing anyone else.  Twirling the wire between her forefinger and thumb, she listened to him hum and shuffle through some papers.

"I'm so glad you reached out, the operator couldn't seem to put you through." Oh, right.  She had changed houses since she had last seen him.  "We can sort out all that malarkey at your checkup.  I was thinking you should come in within the next week or so, depending on your schedule.  Let's see how that baby's doing, hm?"

"That sounds great!" she said, smiling and leaning her forehead against the wall.  "I think it'd be better if we work around your schedule, actually."

"Alrighty, let's see.  I have a nice cozy spot four days from now and another even cozier spot in a week and a half."

"Uh … the second one would be best.  So I can get time off."

"You got it!  How does seven o'clock in the PM suit you?"

"That's great!  I can go right after work."

"Good, good," he said, then paused.  "Oh, but before you come in, you need to pay your outstanding bills, or at least start some kind of payment plan.  To pay off the exam you took, remember?"

"I remember," she said, stomach dropping.

"Will that be an issue?"

She took the phone away from her face and cradled it to her collar.  That was a lot of money; she would need to pick up even more shifts to start chipping away at that debt.  At least now she didn't have to worry about rent.

"No," she said, bringing the phone back to her mouth.  "No, it'll be fine."

And with that it was all done and sorted.  She'd been procrastinating this call for days only for it to be less than ten minutes and the easiest thing she'd done all week.  After hanging up she took a second to fiddle with the phone, trying to figure out how she was going to take care of that bill.  Maybe she could ask...

"You got an appointment?"

Bo just about jumped out of her skin upon noticing Zeke was hovering in the doorway, staring at her.  Had he left her sauce unattended?!

"It's done, by the way," he said, reading her expression like an open book.  Before she could reply he continued.  "Did you schedule an appointment?  When is it?"

His interest made her bashful.  "Yeah, in like a week or so."

"When?"

She started playing with her hands.  "Seven at night."

He looked to the side, jaw tightened and brows furrowed; a picture of concentration.  After a beat he nodded and turned back to her.

"I can make that work," he said, then continued, more to himself than her.  "If I switch my meeting to Wednesday I should be free."

Oh.  She stared at him, bewildered.  "You don't have to come.  It's not a big deal."

The stretch of silence that followed was unnerving.  His face was impassive but his whole body went rigid.  

Obviously she had offended him.  She hadn't meant to; she had been going to appointments alone for the past three months and didn't think it necessary for him to rearrange his life just to go with her.  She didn't want to be more of a burden than she already was.

Her eyes darted around the hall, desperate to avoid his deep and fathomless gaze.  Her anxiety was heightened by the haunting croon of the record in the next room.  The muffled violins reminded her of nails raking across slate stone.

When it became too much she tried to rectify whatever she had done wrong: "I mean, it's-"

"You don't want me to come."

He spoke with such a matter of fact bluntness.  Even if she protested it would fall on deaf ears.  Words escaped her as he continued to give her that hollowed out stare.

All of a sudden the tension snapped.  He shrugged and walked past her down the hall, towards the front door.

"That's fine," he said.  And if she didn't witness what had just happened she might have believed him based on his tone.  "Tell me how it goes."

With that he left, shrugging on his coat and tugging on his boots.  Slamming the door behind him, offering no explanation as to where he was going or when he'd be back.  Staring at the door in disbelief, she half expected him to walk right back in and reveal that he was joking.  She stood in the hallway for a while, wondering if she ought to chase after him.

She decided against it.  She didn't know what she would say to him that wouldn't end in an argument or him talking down to her condescendingly.

He still wasn't back by the time she finished eating and turned off the gramophone.  No sign of him after she washed the dishes and put away the leftovers.  He hadn't returned after she retired to her room and pulled out a scrapbook to read, nor when her eyelids drooped and sleep slowly enveloped her.

She tried her best to stay awake despite having to work the next day.  Her ears strained to hear the front door open, to indicate that he had come home.

But he never did.

Chapter Text

Bo woke up hours later clutching a pillow to her chest with a blanket tucked under her chin.  Her lights had been turned off and the scrapbook she had strewn out on the bed was put away.

She couldn't recall doing either of those things.  Groggy, she lifted her head and squinted at the door.  It was ajar.

So Zeke had come back and tucked her in?  That was sweet.  Disgustingly sweet.  In fact, she felt like she was going to vomit just thinking about it…

Her stomach lurched.  As soon as she brought attention to it, the nausea writhing in her gut became overwhelming.

She kicked off the blanket and rushed to the bathroom, barely noticing that there was a sliver of light peeking out from under his office door.  She collapsed near the tub and emptied her stomach onto the pristine tiled basin.  In the frenzy, she got some in her hair

Eyes blurry with tears, she fumbled reaching for the faucet lever.  Water gushed from the tap, sweeping away her mess as she bent down and rinsed off the filthy lock of hair.

Acting on its own accord, her body slumped forward and positioned her mouth under the spray to get rid of the stinging taste of stomach acid on her tongue.  

Struggling to keep her eyes open, she clutched the side of the tub and watched the water wash away her mess.

Distantly she felt something shift at her side.  Movements lethargic, she turned her head just as her hair was swept out of her face.

The light of the bathroom made her eyes prickle, but she could still make out his face.  Zeke was unmistakably kneeling beside her, his hand knotted in her hair to keep it out of the way.

He said something to her but she was too dazed to decipher what he wanted.  Through cracked lips she stated:

"You're back."

Shame settled in his expression and stayed there.  He turned off the faucet so they didn't have to speak over the running water.

"I am," he said after a moment.  "What happened?"

Her head lolled forward to stare at the tub.  "Just morning sickness."

"Morning sickness?" he parroted.  "That's supposed to stop after the first trimester, isn't it?"

She gave him a puzzled look.  He not so subtly rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I did my research." She might have smiled if she wasn't busy gagging and throwing up the rest of her dinner.  When she lifted her head to take a breath, he switched the water back on again so she could rinse her mouth.  "Does your doctor know about this?  Is this normal?"

She thought about Dr. Corbis' words from a few weeks ago.  About how her body was prone to do strange things when it was at its limits.

"Maybe," she muttered after a moment.

"What do you mean maybe ?"

His tone was sharp and commanding and it did not help ease her mounting anxiety.  Distantly she assumed he was worried and that was why he sounded so angry, but at the moment she didn't have the emotional capacity to be sympathetic.

"I don't know," she croaked, looking at him with watery eyes.  "I told him and he said these things could happen!  It's not my fault."

There he was looking contrite again.  "I know it isn't."

The next few minutes were spent in silence as she dry heaved, trying to expel something from her empty stomach.  He sat with her quietly, choosing his words carefully before he spoke.

"We should call someone," he said.  Cheek against the cool edge of the tub, she stared up at him, watching the gears turn in his head.  "Have them come out and check up on you."

Her brows knitted together.  "We can't."

"Why not?" Came his immediate snapping reply.

"Because," she said, words slurring in her exhaustion.  She was far too tired to lie.  "They won't see me until I pay my other bills."

He was staring at her like she had said something awful.  Anger and frustration tightened his jaw as he stood to his feet.

"This is ridiculous," he said, making for the door.  She knew in her heart he was going to call anyway.  The thought of going through all that trouble made her cringe.

"I said I'm fine ," she called after him, twisting around to see if she could tug on his pant leg.  "It's just morning sickness; nothing I haven't been through before."

He stopped and looked at her.  She was huddled near the tub, curled in on herself and shivering.  Was this really how she spent the last few months?  Shaking and sick and all alone?

Fresh guilt bloomed in his expression.  He walked back to her and took a seat perched on the ledge near where her hand weakly gripped the porcelain.

"Are you being honest with me?" he asked after a few beats.  "Is this normal?  Are you okay?"

She hesitated.  "I'll live."

He scratched behind his ear, frustration leaking into his voice.  "That's not what I asked and you know it."

Bo sighed and closed her eyes.  She was too tired to lift her head.

"I'm fine.  I've made it this far."

Already well on her way to sleep, she was too far gone to notice another wave of bitter guilt flood his expression.  

The next time she woke, she felt more rested than she had in a very long time.  Swathed in blankets and pillows, stretching, and then noticing a cup of tea on her nightstand, she swore she was in heaven.

Propped up on her elbows, she downed the tea in one go.  It was lukewarm and probably had been sitting there for a while.  The sun glittered through her curtains and left speckled patterns all over the bed sheets.  She rubbed her stomach and looked to the door, which was wide open.  Had Zeke carried her to bed last night?  And these blankets didn't look familiar, did he bring out extras for her?  That was nice …

Alarmed, she sat bolt upright and stared out the window.  The sun was up.  She whipped her head to the side to read the clock face: 

Five fifty two.

Five fifty two .

She shot out of bed and flew downstairs, sliding to a halt in front of the phone.  She was shaking and on the verge of a panic attack.  She had been late to work, but this was worse than showing up a few minutes after Alice opened; she had slept through more than half of her shift!  Oh God, why hadn't her alarm went off?! She couldn't afford to lose her job.

Before the operator picked up, someone else entered the hallway.  Bo let out a shriek of surprise and dropped the phone receiver, leaving it to dangle from the machine.

"I'm sorry, darling," Mrs. Jaeger's withered face creased in concern as she approached the younger woman.  "I thought you heard me say hello."

Bo's mouth fell open as she stood frozen in place.

"I'm so glad you're finally awake!  I was really starting to worry."

"What are you …?" 

Mrs. Jaeger offered a smile, looking down at the dish cloth and wet whisk in her hands.

"Zeke came by this morning and asked me to come over because you weren't feeling well," she explained, reaching out a damp hand to press against Bo's forehead.  "He also went and stopped by Alice's to let her know you wouldn't be in today.  He told me to just let you sleep, and … oh dear, you are running a bit hot."

Still speechless, Bo watched Mrs. Jaeger continue to babble on and dry the whisk.

"You haven't been sleeping very good?  Well, no worries.  I called up Alice and she's going to stop putting you in for double shifts so you can rest.  She said she's happy you and Zeke made up - I didn't even realize there was something wrong!  Tch, that boy.  He never tells me anything."

Finally Bo found her voice.  "Mrs. Jaeger…"

"Hmm?" she said, smiling brightly.  "Are you hungry?  I brought over a roast and some pie, but I just finished making some soup for when you woke up.  Do you think you can keep that down?  Or would you just like some crackers?  How about I dish out a small bowl of soup and a plate of crackers and you can have whatever you want?"

This was a lot for her to handle.  As much as she wanted to be irritated with the older woman, Bo's will crumbled the longer she looked at her sweet face.

Besides, she knew that if she tried to explain her financial situation that half of Liberio would know by the end of the week.

"That …" Bo sighed.  "That would be lovely, thank you."

She learned quite a few things via Mrs. Jaeger's loose lips that afternoon, including that the reason Zeke had been working so late was because he was asked to help lead a raid on an enemy of Marley in the coming weeks.  Apparently his superiors had entrusted him with a lot of responsibility after his exemplary work in the past.

It sure sounded like he was making his way up in the world.

She wondered why he never mentioned it.  He was humble only outwardly; she thought he would have waved his successes in her face after gaining them.

In fact, neither Klara nor Zeke ever really talked about their work or the missions they went on.  Even when they were kids, Klara in particular hated answering Bo's questions about training.

It always made her feel left out.  Like she was the dumb little sister who tagged along because no one else would play with her.  Klara and Zeke were as thick as thieves, making their way up the ranks of the military.  Klara and Bo stuck together outside of school and at home.  But Bo and Zeke?

He always treated her differently than how he treated Klara.  They just never really fit together as well as Klara and Zeke did.  Not for a lack of trying; Bo just felt like he was a habitual liar and struggled to believe a single word that came out of his mouth.

But his grandmother seemed like a lovely woman.  While she was a bit overbearing, Bo welcomed the attention.

They were sorting through the rest of the boxes in the kitchen and living room, putting away the last bits and bobs that Bo hadn't before had the energy to unpack.  She had to admit; after they were almost done, the rooms started looking far more homely.

Time flew by.  She sat on the porch with Zeke's grandmother and watched the sunset while the older woman told stories about how she had to remove all the carpets in their house because Zeke wouldn't stop spilling things.  Him being clumsy?  Now that's something Bo needed to experience.

Every bout of silence abruptly ended with Mrs. Jaeger telling a different tale or gossiping about some regulars of Alice's Bakery.

Bo was adjusting a portrait hung above a smooth dais when the sound of the lock turning interrupted Mrs. Jaeger mid sentence.

"Oh, Zeke!" Bo turned in time to see his face contort in surprise.  He probably figured his grandmother would have gone home by then, considering it was close to midnight.  "Darling, we were so worried about you!  You don't always come home this late, do you?"

He glanced over his grandmother's head and met Bo's eye.

"No, I don't," Zeke lied, gathering his grandmother into a hug.  "I lost track of time, I'm sorry."

Bo looked to the side, clambering off of the chair she was on and reaching for a cloth to wipe her hands.  Distantly she heard Mrs. Jaeger insist that she warm up the roast she had brought for him.  No matter how much Zeke protested that he ought to walk her home, she dutifully marched to the kitchen and began to rummage through the fridge.

Bo only turned around when his footsteps paused a pace away from her.  She didn't recognize the expression on his face.

He pressed his knuckles to her forehead, as if he would be able to discern how feverish she was with his clammy hands.  If he had chosen to stay silent, she might have even given him a smile.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.  His voice was different when he spoke to her compared to how he talked to his grandmother.  He was far more clipped and apathetic, like he was speaking to a total stranger.  Fine.

"You turned off my alarm this morning," she said, brushing off his hand.  "You could have cost me my job."

"I spoke to Alice, she understands."

"That's not your place to decide," she said coldly.  "I'm not a child. I am fully aware of my own capabilities, Mr. Jaeger."

His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.  As if she was the audacious one for speaking to him in such an unfamiliar way.  After a day of being doted on, she didn't have the patience to accommodate his bullshit.  She wanted to hear what he was really thinking and what he really meant, or she didn't want to hear him at all.

"Is that so?" he said barely above a whisper.

"It is," she said, turning to the side to focus on cleaning off her hands, effectively dismissing him.  "Why don't you go help your grandmother?"

The sigh he let out was harrowing.  She didn't bother to hide her eye roll before further turning away.

He shoved his hands in his pockets.  She just now noticed that he hadn't taken off his coat or his shoes.

"I'm worried about you," he forced out, as if the words burned his lips.  That was music to her ears.  "Can you stop being a brat and turn around?"

She supposed she could do that.  Slowly she spun around to stare at him through her lashes.  After taking a moment to relish in his frustration, of course.

"I'm okay," she said, folding the cloth and putting it to the side.  "Catching up on sleep actually did make me feel better, but you could have at least written me a note."

His mouth twisted as if he were going to say something scathing but thought better of it.

"Let me see the doctor's bills."

She frowned.  "I said-"

"I remember." He bulldozed her protests with an even tone.  "And I know you think keeping this from me is a good way to hold something over my head, but I'm not asking.  I'm telling you to hand them over."

Her face went red.  "You-"

"Bolina," he warned.  " Now ."

"You're being a control freak."

"If you took better care of yourself I wouldn't have to be."

"I don't need you to look after me."

"Really?" he sounded bored.  "Then hand it over.  Prove me wrong."

She gritted her teeth and went up on her tiptoes to get in his face.  "And if I don't?"

His eyes went impossibly dark.  Now that was an expression she was very familiar with, but she had never seen him so vitriolic.  She swallowed heavily.

"Zeke," Mrs. Jaeger appeared in the doorway and Bo immediately leaned back, face flush with embarrassment as Zeke refused to lift his glare.  "It's ready, darling.  I should probably get going before it gets too late."

"I'll walk you home," Zeke said.  "Bolina just needs to show me some forms I need to fill out." She went pale.  "Isn't that right, sweetheart ?"

She glanced over to his grandma, who was leaning in, a fond smile on her face.  The woman seemed to be caught up in Zeke saying sweetheart while ignoring the very clear omen in his tone.

"I … uh, it can wait until tomorrow." Bo was shaking and beet red under Zeke's unfathomable glare and his grandmother's curious gaze.

"No," Zeke said, tilting his chin.  "It can't ."

She crossed her arms tightly.  "Well I don't have them ready."

"Then go get them."

"I don't know where they are."

She thought he might start cussing, or at least trade his neutral mask for one of anger.  Instead he turned around as if looking at her hurt his eyes.

"Have them ready for when I get back," he said, making for the closet to help his grandma put on her coat.

"Zeke, your dinner…" his grandmother lamented.

"It can wait a bit longer," he said.  She thought he might toss her another angry look, but he went the extra mile to avoid even glancing in her direction.  After a quick goodbye they were gone and she was alone.

She stayed in the center of the room for a long moment, wondering what exactly she was supposed to do now.

If her mother could see her now, she'd be furious; a wealthy, high-status man who was willing - maybe a little bit too willing - to pay for her lifestyle?!  And she was denying him?!  Had she hit her head and hurt her brain?

Maybe.  Or maybe Bo had grown to expect everyone to state a price after doing a good deed, because her mother had chosen that life.  If her father taught her anything, it was that anyone who was willing to lend a hand had their other one in your wallet.  The more Zeke helped, the more indebted to him she became.  And while he might not need money, he could want other things.

Despite all of these nagging worries tugging at her heart, she wanted so very badly to believe it was all in her head.  She never sought out to see the worst in people, but she didn't believe all of his charity came without a caveat.  She wouldn't believe it.

He was too good to be true.  He certainly could be nicer, but maybe she expected that from him because she fondly remembered how sweet he had been as a child.  He was kind enough to let her play catch with him and Klara, but he was always so withdrawn.  Of course Klara didn't mind, because she was the same.  Those two could sit in silence for hours, comforted in their shared experiences and communicating with a few vague gestures.  Klara laughed when he teased her and poked fun at her missteps.

Bo was far more sensitive.  She never liked when he made jokes at her expense - she heard enough of them at home.  Eventually he only spoke to her in a mild, cautious tone, like he was afraid she would shatter if he spoke too loud.  He was polite enough, of course, but it was obvious he kept her at arm's length.

Finally when she was fourteen years old, she decided to step away.  She figured that Zeke and Klara had outgrown her company, so she left them be.

She made new friends.  Found a boyfriend too, that stuck around for a few years before she moved on.  She had a little life all to herself instead of trailing, lost, after her sister.

When Zeke had acquired the beast titan, apparently he became hedonistic, wringing out life to soak up its fleeting pleasures.  She'd heard all of this from Klara, who had a falling out with him when she realized she couldn't keep up.

Zeke outgrew both of them.  While Bo understood him forgetting about her, she was angry that he had tossed Klara aside.  What kind of man had he become that he would do such a thing?

So just like that, he was gone.  Too important for either of them, too busy indulging as much as a fresh young man could indulge when the world was ready to give him whatever he wanted.

Bo moved out of her parents house.  Klara did soon after.  She got a job at Alice's Bakery and Fresh Goods and picked up scrapbooking to fill her empty bookshelves.  She walked around Liberio and picked up leaves and feathers and trinkets to pin to jagged pages.

It felt like a lifetime ago: last year she took her usual winding route home, stopping on a destitute bridge overlooking the boardwalk.

She propped her elbow up on the railing and delicately placed her chin atop it.  Fishing boats and military vessels chugged across the rolling expanse of the ocean.  The sun drifted closer to the horizon, tapering the colours of Liberio to a warm orange and yellow.  She always made it a habit to stop and admire the sunset after work; she swore that spot was the best place to experience it.

"Do you think one day something is going to change?"

She jumped and spun around to stare at whoever had disturbed her.  No one really took this path, with it being so tedious and out of the way.  It was far easier to just visit the boardwalk.

The man ambling closer had his hands stuffed deep into a tan trench coat.  The wire spectacles on his nose caught the sunlight and reflected right into her eye.  He had tousled blonde hair parted down the middle and a matching beard adorning his face.

"Um … pardon?" she managed, looking away as the reflected light blinded her.

"What if you come up here for the millionth time and the sun just starts rising again," he continued, slowing as he neared.  "Is that why you always stop to watch?  Are you making sure everything stays the same?"

Brows furrowed, she searched for an answer in her frazzled mind.  That was when she noticed the bright red band on his arm.

Eyes widening, she glanced at his face, then stared at the sun, praying it would give her an answer.  Why was a warrior of Marley coming up to her of all people?  What exactly did he want?  Was he mocking her?  She shrank in on herself.

"I don't know," she said, loud enough so that he could hear.  "I just think it's pretty."

Silence.

His voice was dripping in amusement.  "Do you not recognize me?"

She stared at him as he settled beside her, throwing his gaze onto the boardwalk and letting her take a good, long look at his profile.  Their elbows were touching but she was too focused on the curve of his cheek bones to acknowledge it.

All at once it hit her.  " Zeke ?!"

He turned and gave her a dazzling smile.  She could see it, then, hiding behind the beard, glasses, and crow's feet; Zeke Jaeger, the little boy kind enough to let her tag along for the fun.

She didn't know what to say.  He smirked to himself, basking in her bewilderment while pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and sliding it between his lips.  His disposition was far more dry than she remembered; he moved with languid certainty and a confidence of someone far beyond his years.

"Would you like an autograph?" He asked, peering at her through his lashes.  

That brought a smile to her lips.  "No, I'm just surprised to see you."

"And why's that?"

"I haven't seen you in years," she said, gripping the railing with both hands.  "What have… I mean, why did … I …" She slumped forward, planting her chin on her palm.  "I don't even know what to say."

"Hm," was his only reply.  He puckered his lips and blew a cloud of smoke from his mouth.  The smell got in her head and she wrinkled her nose.

"Why are you here?" she said after a moment.  Her heart was beating erratically in her chest and her palms were clammy.

He gestured vaguely to somewhere over his shoulder.  "I keep seeing you hike all the way down here.  I thought I'd see for myself what the fuss is about."

"Oh," she nervously picked at her fingernails.  Now that they had been standing together for a few minutes she was very aware that their arms were still touching.  He was basically a stranger, but he was acting so familiar.

"Especially since this is so out of your way," Zeke continued, pausing to take a long drag.

She gave him a strange look.

"Klara told me you moved out to an apartment near the port," he explained.

Her eyebrows shot up. "You and Klara-?"

"Yes," he said, offering another smile.  "All we need is you, then the gang's back together."

She cocked her head to the side, puzzled.  Apparently her confusion was amusing, because he let out a low chuckle.  After rifling through his pocket he offered her a cigarette.  She shook her head, frown deepening.

Of course he noticed her barely concealed disgust.  "Is that judgement I see, Bolina?"

She thought about being coy, about matching his nonchalance and faking a smile, but she didn't want to.

"Why?" she asked.

"Why not?" he shot back without missing a beat.  "I only have so much time left, why not  indulge a little?"

"Because they'll hurt you," she said, incredulous.  His hand froze bringing the light up to his lips.  His expression made her uncomfortable because of how intensely he was staring at her.

He leaned in on his elbow, shifting to peer at her over his glasses.  She hadn't known he needed glasses.

"Some things are worth it," he said, still giving her that look that gave her goosebumps.  It was like he was proud of her for something, but she didn't exactly do anything worth praising.

She looked out to the ocean, realizing with a sigh that she had missed the sunset.  She pushed off of the railing, lamenting the fact that she would need to find a new place to watch the sunset in order to avoid seeing Zeke again.

"I should get going," she said, voice trailing off as he stood up and crushed his cigarette beneath his boot.  "I … I don't think I'll see you around, so..."

He cocked a brow.  "Oh?  Why not?"

"Well, I haven't seen you in years," she said, tossing a glance over her shoulder.  "I doubt that will change."

Again with that strange look.  He took a second to study her face before shrugging.

"Let me walk you home." It was less of a question and more of an order.

"Oh, you don't have to do that-"

"I know I don't," he said, closing the distance between them.  "But what kind of man would I be to let you walk home alone after dark?"

What kind of man indeed.

He was a hero.  A star.  And yet there he was, walking her home, asking mundane questions about her life, and burrowing into her mind.  As withdrawn as he was when he was younger, now he filled every inch of her lungs.  

He made a habit of hanging outside of her work, waiting to walk with her back to her apartment, insisting it was on the way back to his house.  He even came to visit with Klara, who looked at him with shining eyes.

He was nice, at times at least.  Far more jaded and far older, his quips came fast and biting.  But as innocent and pleasant as he seemed, she knew better.

She recalled the night he had knocked on her door.  An impromptu visit wherein she had let him in and made dinner for the both of them.

Afterwards she had poured some wine at his request and was going to top up his glass when his presence became oppressive.  He was standing far too close and staring with far too much intensity.  Feeling his chest press against her back, she whipped her head to look at him, alarmed.

His face was unreadable but his eyes were dark.  He was inches away and slowly moving closer.  It was then she realized what he had done.

All of the niceties.  All of the polite gestures and flowery words just so he could get her like this: stuck in his arms and warm with his attention.

She turned away quickly before he could meld their lips together.  She could feel his stubble rake against her cheek as she careened forward, resting her weight on the heels of her palms.

Undeterred, he swept her hair off of her neck and ghosted his mouth over her skin, blowing teasing puffs of air past his teeth.  He let up only when she shivered and cringed away.

His hand was heavy on her waist.  A thumb slid under the hem of the shirt she wore and hiked it up ever so slowly.

She closed her eyes.  "What are you doing?"

"You know exactly what I'm doing."

She felt like an idiot.  All this time she'd thought he was genuinely trying to mend what had been broken in his friendship with Klara, but no.  He didn't see her as just an accessory to her sister: She was just another conquest.  Looking back, it was humiliating how easily he had trapped her in his embrace.

Maybe that's why he'd done it; because he figured she would be easy.  Or maybe he didn't like that she had never indicated that she was interested in him in that way.  Perhaps having her like this was a boost to his ego and nothing more.

That sounded just like him.  He would be precisely the kind of man to lie for as long as it took to get what he wanted.

He suctioned his lips against her throat, moving and tasting her skin and sweat.  She huffed, eyelids cracking open.  Feeling his hands wander to indecent places made her fingernails scrape across the counter.  

Then he cupped her and dragged her to be flush against him so she could feel every aching, straining muscle begging to be let free.

"Oh, fuck," she huffed, abandoning the counter and digging her nails into every part of him she could reach; his arms, his thighs.  She even reached up and yanked at his hair.  As she shook and leaned on him to remain upright, she could feel him smile against her throat.

"There's my girl," he rumbled, smoothing his hands along her body before spinning her around to face him.  

There was a hunger behind his eyes, one that made every touch burn.  He cupped her jaw with his palms, watching the blush creep onto her face.

He hummed, a self-satisfied sound that buzzed in her ears and made her eyebrows knit together.

He kissed her properly, then, leaving her scrambling to cling to him while he pushed deeper and deeper into her mouth.  His tongue slipped past her lips, scorching and earnest to taste.  By the way he was pressing against her, she could tell he had been vying for this moment for some time now.

He crowded her against the counter, one hand on her upper back while the other held her chin.  Meanwhile she dug her fingers into his shirt and struggled to keep up with his intensity.

He smelled like smoke and wine.  When he finally drew back, a thick strand of saliva connected their swollen lips.  At least now he was blushing too.

He carded his fingers through her hair then knotted them against her scalp, anchoring her in place.

"Say you want me," he ordered, voice thick with lust.

She looked between his eyes.  "Why?"

He gave her roots a sharp tug, making her head crane back even more.  He was staring at her with frightening severity.

" Say it ."

She pursed her lips and blinked up at him.  Wasn't it enough that he had her like this?  He needed to fully consume her?

The indignation was clear on her face.  In response he softened and moved to once again cup her face in his hands.

"Please?" he added with a teasing lilt in his voice.  She couldn't stay strong against his pleading expression for very long.  She slipped her eyes shut.

"I want you," she breathed.

He swiped his thumb across her chin.  "Open your eyes."

She did so.

"Now say it again."

Her lips turned down in a sulky frown.  Why was he being so needy?  After a few moments spent scanning his expression, she obliged.

"I want you."

His face split into a devilish smile.  He was always so guarded and coy, up until he managed to reach into her chest and pull out every ugly part of her.  Only when she was at his mercy, completely vulnerable and his for the breaking, did he seem genuine.

" Good girl." He said, pinching her chin and dragging her back to him.  " My good girl."

She couldn't get those words out of her head.  Perhaps it was just in the heat of the moment, but it tugged on every little doubt in her mind; that he didn't think she was just easy, he thought he could turn her into whatever he wanted.  That he could chew her up and spit her out without stopping to think about how she felt.

And he could, honestly.  Who would stop him?  He was a warrior and she was a nobody.  She could die tomorrow and it wouldn't matter.  Some people thought she ought to be thankful for his attention.

She didn't think so.  In her mind, the reason he 'chose' her was because he didn't want to be lonely and he knew more about her than most.  She didn't think he loved her, or even really cared about her.  With his nonchalant and apathetic attitude, she swore she was just a means to an end.  She swore he tolerated her only because one day he decided that he wanted someone like her around.

And as for the debt she owed him, well.  Maybe his price for saving her was consuming her mind, body, and heart.  He frequently goaded her into saying how much she wanted him and how good he made her feel.  Maybe he would receive some sick pleasure in convincing her to love him without returning the favour.

Sure, he'd given her sweet words, a roof over her head, and put food on the table, but was it really too much for Bo to want him to love her, too?  Her mother sacrificed love to have that security, so was she being selfish?

She still didn't have an answer to that question about an hour after he'd left.  Dredging through such thoughts made her heart and head hurt, so she tidied up the lounge and headed into the kitchen to get a snack.

He would be back soon, so she ought to hurry up and hide in her room to psyche herself up for the fight that would no doubt take place when he got home.

She cursed him and his unreasonably long legs - he'd put the chips she wanted on the top shelf.  With a sigh she hoisted herself up onto the counter, kneeling near the sink.  Being precariously balanced on the edge of the counter, she knew to move slowly and carefully.

Unfortunately, she had forgotten how her body had already begun to change.  Her joints were looser, shifting to accommodate the baby bump that was to come.  So when she readjusted her position only slightly, her knee buckled without warning.

What was only half a second felt much longer.  She panicked, fingers scrambling to grab hold of the edge of the sink.  Bending over threw her off kilter and made her bottom half slip.

She landed on her feet none too gently.  A flare of pain spiked up both legs, the shock making her let go of the counter and crash to the ground on her pelvis.

The pain was excruciating.  Adrenaline pumped through her veins, making her head foggy and her ears start to ring.  She slowly propped herself up against the sink, face screwed up in discomfort.

Trying to push herself upright was a lost cause.  She figured she had to resign herself to sit on the floor like an idiot until the pain subsided.  

Zeke came back five minutes later.

Eyes wide, she stared at the doorway, praying to whatever almighty being that may be watching that he wouldn't notice the kitchen light was on.

Hearing his footsteps traverse down the hall towards her, she wished she would die before he reached her.

No luck.  He walked through the threshold and noticed her immediately.  His expression was a concoction of confusion and annoyance.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Her face heated up.  "Sitting."

"On the floor?" he asked, cocking a brow.

She nodded.

"And why exactly are you on the floor?"

She gave a half hearted shrug while staring at the ground in front of him.  He looked from her to the still open cupboard.

"You couldn't reach something." It wasn't a question.  She refused to meet his gaze.  He closed his eyes and shook his head while moving closer.  "Come on, get up.  You have something to show me, remember ?"

He was so condescending.  The plea to ask him for help got stuck in her throat.  He grabbed the bag of chips that she wanted and placed them on the counter, then fixed her with a level glare.

"Get up," he ordered.

She pursed her lips.  "I can't."

"You can't ?"

"I fell and sprained my ankle," she said in a tiny voice as her face turned into a tomato. The words stung going past her lips.  "Just … just give me a few minutes, it still hurts."

"You fell ?" he asked, crouching down beside her.  One hand reached for her calves while the other held her arm.  His demeanor instantly changed.  "How?  Which ankle?  When?"

Instead of letting her answer, he reached down and lightly squeezed each foot.  Her knee jerked up when he touched her right leg.  The sigh he let out was long and exasperated.

"I can't leave for an hour without you killing yourself," he grumbled, sliding his arm under her shoulders and hoisting her upright.  She scowled, ego bruised.

"I can walk," she said, putting a palm on his shoulder and attempting to shove him away.  "It's fine."

Her knees knocked together.  Thankfully he didn't say anything.  Instead he snorted and bent down to scoop her up and hold her in a princess carry.  Her heart stopped beating.

"You okay, Bunny?" Zeke asked, smirking at her distress.  "You look a little pale."

"I said I could walk," she whispered.  She was staring straight ahead, fearing that if she looked up and saw his face she might pass out.

"Oh, of course," he mocked.  "Grab your snack, we're going upstairs."

The thought to refuse crossed her mind, but she had really wanted those chips.  So she reached out and held them tight.

"Anything else?"

She shook her head.

Another eye roll as he turned around and exited the room. "I really don't understand why you're like this.  I mean, you do remember how I got you pregnant, right?"

She elected to ignore that.  "Wait, what about your dinner?"

"I already ate," he said, sidestepping through the doorway to avoid hitting her head on the frame.

Damn it.  "It's not safe to go up the stairs like this, I can-"

"If I can wipe out naval fleets and neutralize a tank, I'm pretty sure I can carry you up the stairs."

Disregarding the fact that neither of those things indicated that he would have any prowess in ascending a staircase with a pregnant lady, she looked up at him with huge eyes.

"Is that what you do?" she asked quietly, like she was afraid of his answer.  She knew he hadn't gone through all of that training to sit in an office and drink tea all day, but she couldn't imagine him hurting anyone, much less killing people.

His eyes flicked down to her face.  Once he noticed her anxious expression he put on a mask of indifference.

"No," he said.  She knew he was lying.  For her sake or his, she'd never know.

He didn't say anything else until he set her down on her bed.

"I'm going to go have a shower," he stated.

Brimming with nervous anxiety, she couldn't help but say the cheesiest thing that came to her mind first.

"I wasn't going to say anything, but …"

He fixed her with a heavy-lidded look.  He was not impressed, but that just made it funny.  She pursed her lips together and chewed her cheek, watching him watch her try not to laugh.

"You think being cute is going to make me forget about the bills?" he asked in a deadpan manner.  "I'm coming back."

Her eyebrows scrunched together to form a comically earnest pout.  She tried to school her expression to be more serious, but the way he was looking at her with zero emotion made her laugh.

She covered her eyes with her hands in an attempt to block him out, but his face was still there in the front of her mind.

He flicked her shoulder then stood up and left the room, leaving her to giggle quietly to herself and release some of the tension from her body.

***

About ten minutes later, her ankle was doing far better.  She kept on pinching the swollen skin to distract herself from what was to come.

From her vantage point sitting cross legged on her bed, she watched him step into the hallway.  His hair was wet but not dripping and his loungewear was loose and light grey.  Each step was taken with a heavy gait.  He was exhausted.

Not that exhausted, since he had the energy to walk up to her doorway and fix her with a look.  He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the trim.  She distantly wondered if this stoic posture was how he presented himself when he was working.

She wondered if this was how he was going to start treating her all the time.

She broke their eye contact, reached under her pillow, and pulled out an envelope.  Head bowed in shame, she held it out to him.

He pushed off the door and much to her surprise, perched on the edge of her mattress.  The stress drained from his body as he plucked the envelope from her hands and made quick work of pulling out the billing papers.

Her heart was pounding in her throat.  His expression never changed.  Until he read the second page, which was an itemized list.  Then his mouth curved into a frown.

She jumped when he spoke.

"What happened?" he asked, reading the list over and over again.  She knew she ought to be honest and tell him, but the thought of reliving that night made tears prick her eyes.  He would probably insist she stop working altogether and then she would be completely at his mercy.  "This exam is very in depth."

He looked at her.  She was staring at him with wide eyes and knitted lips.

"Did you miscarry?"

She didn't know how he said those words without sobbing.  Even hearing him say them made her anxiety spike.

"They wanted to check," she said, trying her best to speak around the lump in her throat.  "To see if the baby was okay."

"And?"

"It's fine."

"So what prompted this?"

She opened her mouth but nothing came out.  He rolled his eyes.

"Fine, don't tell me," he said, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice as he gestured with the envelope. "I guess if you're prone to falling and hurting yourself, that's all the answer I need."

He gathered the papers and stood, not sparing her a glance.  

Instead of walking away, he froze.  He slowly turned to look at her.

She followed his gaze to the hem of his shirt, where her fist was clenched in the fabric, anchoring him in place and trembling with the effort to hang on.  Without realizing, she had reached out for him.

Horror and embarrassment washed away her shock, but she didn't let go.  She looked back up at his face.

There was no way he didn't catch how her lower lip began to tremble.  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Slowly, as if it pained her to do so, she let go of his shirt and stared at her hand.  She didn't even know why she was crying, or if there was a reason at all.

The mattress dipped beside her as he sat back down on the bed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He had set his glasses and the envelope on her bedside table, leaving his hands free so he could scoop up her legs and deposit them onto his lap.

This just made her cry harder.  Forehead pressed to his neck, hands looped under his arms and curved over his shoulders, this was probably the most intimate she had been with anyone since … well, since Zeke had last held her.

The comfortable warmth of his embrace was a high she clung to.  Both of his hands came to rest on different places on her thigh, but the heat from his palms seemed to travel right through her.  The stubble on his neck scraped her skin, but she welcomed the familiar sensation.  This felt different from how he carried her upstairs.  This was more like he was giving her a long, smothering hug.

"Now, why are you crying?" he muttered, sweeping her hair from her cheek.  His tone was light.  Comforting.  "You're the one making my life difficult.  I should be crying."

Even if she could sputter out a reply through her tears, she wouldn't know what to say.  Apologize, maybe?

"Kidding," he added, like he could read her mind.  "I'm kidding.  Why are you crying?"

She buried her nose in his neck.  "Do you hate me?"

He shifted.  "I'm not answering that."

"Why?"

"Because it's a stupid question."

"You have to."

"And why's that?"

"Because …" she frowned.  "Because I'm pregnant."

"Oh? I didn't know that," he said flatly.  "That changes everything."

She made a big deal out of sniffing and curling in on herself.

His tone was much softer now.  "Of course I don't.  Quit being a baby."

She weakly thumped her fist against his shoulder.  "I'm not a baby!"

"Sure."

"I'm not useless."

"No one said you were."

"You act like I am."

"How?"

She crossed her arms and furrowed her brows.  "You're an asshole."

"Well you're not exactly the easiest to be nice to," he shot back, noting her pout with a tsk .  When she didn't respond, he used his forefinger and thumb to pinch her nose shut.  "If you would talk to me instead of being a brat we'd actually get somewhere."

She snarled, batting his hand away and furiously blinking to stave off another round of tears.  She dug her palms into her eyes and did a terrible job at suppressing a whimper.

He sighed and held her tighter.  "I know, I should be nicer.  I'm sorry."

She curled her hand into his shirt.  "I don't want to cry all the time."

"It's not your fault," he said, moving to tap his fingers on her stomach.  "I doubt it's easy growing a whole other person inside of you."

She closed her eyes and rested her ear against his collarbone.  She could sleep soundly like this for the rest of eternity.

She felt him prod her ankle.  "We should get you a stool, though.  So you don't have to climb the counters and break yourself again."

Something clicked in her head; a moment of clarity, if you will.  She held him tighter.

"I want you to come to the appointment with me."

He stiffened, then dipped his head to look at her face.

"Why?"

She cracked her eyes open to unleash a fresh set of tears.  "Please don't make me go alone."

The look in his eye let her know that that wasn't exactly what he was hoping to hear, but his expression softened regardless.

"I wanna change it to this week," she said, relaxing as he wiped the tears from her cheek with his thumb.  "If … if that's okay…"

"That would be better," he murmured, looking down at her cradled in his arms like she was something precious.  "You tell me when and I'll make it work."

And that was perhaps the best thing she'd heard all day.

Chapter Text

The next few days were fairly boring.  Zeke supervised a phone call to Alice to inform her that she sprained her ankle and would need some time to rest.  In the end he didn't seem happy that Bo would be going back in two days, but he kept that to himself.

He sent his grandmother to check on her sporadically throughout the day.  Whenever she left, she ensured the fridge was full and Bo had enough water in arms reach to douse a house fire.  

Bo felt guilty, especially since she remembered that his grandmother didn't know she was pregnant.  Every time she tried to stealthily sneak downstairs to grab a snack, Mrs. Jaeger would shoot her away, insisting she get it instead.

That woman truly was a saint.  She didn't even blink when Bo asked her for pickles and tuna sandwiches.

But it did beg the question; when, exactly, was Zeke planning on telling his grandmother?

She debated asking him directly, but knew he wouldn't give her a straight answer.  Either he would shrug or counter with a why ?

So she resigned to wait until he was ready to tell her.  After all, he did end up letting her know why he was so busy lately, except he did it in the most offhand and infuriating way.

He came in to check on her, ask about her day, then he stood up and left the room.  From the hallway, a hand already on his office door, he called to her:

"I'm going to be leaving next Friday." She sat up in bed and leaned forward on her hands and knees to catch a glimpse of his silhouette.  "You can decide if you want to stay here and have my grandma come over, or if you want to go to her place.  It's up to you."

Then he opened his office door and walked through the threshold.  He really dropped that on her then ran away.

"Zeke!" she hollered, scrambling off the bed to chase after him.  "What do you mean you're leaving?"

She knew what he meant.  He was leading a raid on an enemy of Marley.  His career was dependent on how smoothly this mission played out.  That was all what his grandmother had told her, but she wanted to hear what he was going to say.

He turned just in time to see her swing her legs off the bed.

"Stop," he ordered.  She froze, startled by the sharpness in his tone.  He shook his head and retreated back to her doorway.  "I'm coming, sit down."

She watched him lean against the door frame and fix her with a carefully manufactured mask of indifference.  If this was really no big deal, he wouldn't have waited so long to tell her then immediately run away.

The frown on her face deepened.  "What do you mean you're leaving?"

"It's top secret Marley business," he said.  "If I told you, I'd have to kill you." She looked to the side, to her shuttered and drawn window.  The pit in her stomach grew larger the more she mulled it over in her mind.  "So think about where you'd like to stay."

Still looking to the side, she asked: "Does she really have to come over?  For the whole time?"

He let the silence stretch between them until she dragged her focus back to his face.

"You almost killed yourself trying to get chips, and you're asking me why you can't be left alone for a few weeks?"

She reeled back as if she had been hit.  "A few weeks ?!"

"That's what I said." She didn't like the way he was looking at her.  He was still so cold and apathetic.  If she had to guess, it was because he really didn't want to talk about this with her, or he was dreading those weeks and couldn't hide his anxiety.

Well, if that was all she was going to get from him, she sighed and fell back on her pillows.

"I want to stay here," she said.  This place wasn't as homey as she would like, but it was getting there.  Boxes littered her room, stacked on top of each other as makeshift end tables and shelves.  It was barren aside from her bed and a chair by the window, but it was nice and spacious.  Damn it all, she liked this place and it's boring cream coloured walls.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, turning to leave.  "I'll be back before you know it."

She doubted that.  The thought of not waking up to her door cracked open each morning made her unreasonably sad.  Watching him disappear into his office, she let out a long breath from her nose.  She stared at the ray of light pouring under the door for a long time.

A few days later she could walk properly without a limp, so she went back to work.  It was strange; knowing that in ten minutes or so she would leave for the day while the sun was still up. 

 It was two in the afternoon, the lunch rush lulled and the bakery was mostly empty.  The last blueberry muffin in the display case was looking more appetizing every second.  Her replacement ought to be there any minute, so Alice told her to just wipe down the tables then hit the road.

Her hair net was already thrown out and her apron was folded nicely in her carry out bag.  While she rang out her washcloth she hummed a song that Zeke had been playing on repeat lately.

"Bo," Alice called, settling behind the cash register.  "Would you like anything for the road, Honey?"

"Yes please!" she said through a grin.  "Could I have that blueberry muffin, please?"

"Absolutely," Alice said, her gaze flickering to the door as the bell chimed.  A bright smile split her face.  "And how about you, Mr. Jaeger?  Would you like something to go?"

Bo turned around, shock painted on her expression as Zeke greeted Alice.  He said he would meet her at Dr. Corbis' office at the appointment time, in about four hours.  At first she was happy, until she remembered that someone else was supposed to be picking her up after work…

She tucked the bucket and cloth into the cleaning cupboard and washed her hands while Zeke ambled over to his designated spot near the cake pickup.

After grabbing her bag from the back room and bidding farewell to her coworkers, she slipped around the counter and stood beside Zeke as he thumbed through the design book.

"This one's new," he said, not bothering to sit up.  "I like the colours."

"Yeah, Spencer made it," Bo said, going on her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder at the page.  "But what are you-"

"Ah, Spencer," he said, flipping the book shut and scanning the shop.  "The one that dubbed me The Zeke .  Where is he?"

"He doesn't work today," she said, reaching out to tug on his sleeve.  "But you …"

"I thought we could go and get the rest of the furniture we need," he said, standing up straight and finally facing her.  "So we can stop sitting on boxes and you can finish unpacking while I'm gone."

"You could have…" She saw a familiar flash of ginger out of the corner of her eye.  "Oh no."

The person peered through the window, saw who was inside, then promptly spun on their heel to make a quick escape.  Bo raced out of the front door after them, her shoes clacking loudly against the cobblestone street.

"Klara!" Bo shouted as she gained on her.  "Klara, please don't go!"

Klara slowed to a stop, but took a few beats to turn around.  Her expression was one of caution.

"It's okay," Klara said, voice tight. "You can come over another time, it's no big deal."

Except it was; the warrior unit was gearing up to leave Marley to go and attack the rebellious sect out west.  It was crunch time and people were in a flurry to prepare for the fight, including Klara.  She had had to work overtime to free up an afternoon to spend it with Bo.

"I didn't know Zeke was going to be here," Bo said.  She would never try and set them up to force an interaction.  "I promise, I'm just as surprised as you are…"

Klara's eyes glanced over Bo's head, then she quickly looked to the side.  Bo knew what that meant.

"I take it I intruded on something?" Zeke said, planting his feet shoulder width apart with his hands dug firmly into his pockets.  The look he was giving Klara was cold and unfamiliar.  "My apologies."

Bo glanced between them, panic rising.  It didn't help that she was physically much shorter than both of them, so they could ignore her and glare over her head.  She knew Klara wouldn't want to pick a fight, but her sister also wouldn't walk away lest she cause more problems later.  However, Zeke seemed more than willing to poke the bear.

"It's okay," Klara said, still looking to the side.  "We can reschedule."

"I think that would be best."

"Then I'll do it."

"Good for you."

Grinding her teeth together, Klara forced herself to look at Bo. "I'll see you later."

"Please just stop," Bo said, tears welling up in her eyes.  She felt bad for weaponizing her own emotions against them, but she didn't know what else to do. She turned to face Zeke. "You don't have to be so mean."

Immediately, Klara said: "You're right, I'm sorry."

That irritated Bo.  Klara wasn't the one being rude, Zeke was.  He needed to apologize.  The glare she sent his way was deadly.  He analyzed her expression then let out a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry, Klara." And he actually sounded like he meant it.  Of course he did, Bo knew he loved Klara deep down, which is why his grudge was so stupid.  They had been through too much to stop being friends now.

She pointed at both of them.  "No more fighting.  Do what you need to do, but be nice about it." She gave Zeke a pointed look.  "Okay?"

"Yes ma'am," he said with a fake salute.  Her ears burned as she turned back to Klara.  She still looked a little crestfallen.

"Are you okay?" Bo asked.

"Yeah," Klara said, giving her best reassuring smile.  She was already walking backwards to make her escape. "He's leaving sooner anyway, so…"

Of course he was.  Klara's mouth thinned to a grim smile before she picked up her pace and made for the nearest side street.

Naturally, Bo was the last one to find out about something like this.  She waved to Klara until her sister disappeared behind the side of a building before turning to send Zeke a dirty look.

"Do you want to go home?" he asked.

"No, I…" A frustrated noise tore out of her throat while she stormed up to him.  "How come I never hear these things from you?  And stop being rude to my sister or I'll kill you."

"Because you never ask.  And I already said I would, what else do you want from me?"

Klara would be annoyed if Bo became any more involved.  She avoided gossip and butting into where she didn't belong, and expected everyone around her to extend the same courtesy.  Therefore there was nothing Bo could do while also respecting Klara's boundaries.

Bo ground her teeth together.  "Nothing.  Let's just go."

She could tell Zeke was about to say something either stupid or irritating by the look on his face.  Electing to ignore the signs, she looped her arm around his and tucked herself into his side.

"Where are we going, anyway?" she mused, tilting her head forward to sneak a peek at his expression.

To her immense satisfaction, his cheeks were tinted pink as he blinked down at her.  This had to be how he felt whenever he toyed with her.  She couldn't ignore the thrill that zipped up her spine; knowing that maybe she got to him as much as he got to her.

She squished her cheek against his arm and asked again in a softer voice: "Where are we going?"

"Don't be cute with me," he muttered, but made no move to peel her off.  "It's a surprise."

She sighed.  "Just don't drag me all across Liberio, okay?"

His silence wasn't reassuring.

It was strange, being out and about with him.  Sure, it wasn't unheard of for them to go places together, even going places together alone wasn't too unorthodox.  But it was still … strange.

Zeke wasn't bothered.  He mocked her little legs, said something self-congratulatory about how much he had to slow down to keep pace with her, but as per usual, nothing fazed him.

Not even the double takes they received.  Maybe it was because she had never clung to his arm while they had walked together.  It was new and she decidedly did not like the attention it garnered.

So she slipped her hands into her pockets and put a breath of space between them.  Hopefully now they wouldn't be so conspicuous.

No dice.

Zeke stopped walking and turned to her, eyebrows wrinkling together.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said quickly.

"Have we walked too far?"

"No, I … no."

"Do you want to take a break?"

"I'm fine," she hissed, taking a step closer to him so she didn't have to speak above a whisper.  "Let's just go."

"Okay," he said, looking unconvinced.  He gingerly grabbed her wrist and guided it back to his crooked arm.  "Let's go, then."

She admitted defeat and threaded her hand through his elbow.  When he didn't start walking right away she pressed her forehead into his arm to hide her pout.

"You okay down there, Bunny?"

Instead of responding she marched forward, trying to drag him along with her.  Without even trying, he remained immobilized and thus she went nowhere.  He was looking at her with the faintest trace of delight in his expression.

She used both of her hands to grab his bicep.  She then leaned back, digging her heels into the earth to get him moving.

"You're blocking the road," she complained.  "And I don't know where we're going."

His posture gave, causing her to jerk back and almost fall.  It was lucky she was holding him so firmly.

"My, my, aren't you clumsy," he snickered, looping a hand under her lower back and helping her stand up straight.  If looks could kill, he'd be six feet under. "You'd better hold on tight to make sure you don't slip, Darling Dearest."

If they weren't in a public place, she'd probably pretend to actually fall and hurt herself just to make him feel bad.  Or at least that's what she told herself while her face ran hot.

"Don't call me that," she grumbled, taking his offered elbow.  She heard him scoff before they continued on.

The service workers at each of the three shops they visited doted on Zeke as if he were royalty.  His red arm band alerted them that he was important, thus he most likely had money to spend.  And if they could get him to make a few sizable sales, their commissions would be fantastic.

None of them really gave Bo a second glance.  To be fair, she did virtually none of the talking, but the man in the second store literally almost tripped on her because he forgot she was there.  That would be an honest mistake, except for the fact that he didn't apologize and even had the gall to give her a nasty look, like her mere existence was cumbersome.

She'll admit she wanted to leave after that, but Zeke had other ideas.  After putting a hand on her upper back and asking if she was okay, he wandered off and refused to speak with the worker directly.  He forced the man to give Bo the same respect that he had received.

To his credit, the salesman took it in stride and started to talk her through the different fabrics and wood types and their longevity benefits.

"So how would we clean it?" Bo asked, leaning down to examine a couch whose main draw was that the pillows and cushions were permanently stuck in their places.

"The way you would clean any other couch, of course," the salesman said.

"But for any other couch I'd take off the cushions and clean them one at a time," she replied.  "That wouldn't be possible for this one."

The man was at a temporary loss for words, and glanced at Zeke, maybe hoping to find some support.  After all, cleaning wasn't his responsibility, so it wasn't fair for her to ask.  

Zeke, who had shuffled a few paces away to fiddle with a clock decoration, stared at him blankly.  The salesman turned back to Bo, flustered.

"I'm not sure," he said after a beat.  "But if that's a deal breaker, maybe you'd prefer this style instead…"

Bo glanced at Zeke.  He smiled back at her.

The flood gates had been opened.  Bo began asking a million questions about the frames, upholstery, and display cases.  The salesman forced a smile on his face while she poked and prodded.  He didn't want to leave them lest he lose a sale, but every time he ignored one of her questions Zeke gave him a withering glare.

Eventually, though, he reached his limit and excused himself to help another customer.  Only then did Zeke stop playing with the ornaments and actually pay attention.

Zeke had written down the measurements of each room in a little green notebook, including subsets of how big he'd like each piece of furniture to be.  And of course, he wrote a list of what they might need.  He came prepared.

Still, he asked her for her opinion before agreeing with anything that the salesmen from the other stores said.  That was nice.

"But why do we need two desks?" Bo asked, stretching up on her tiptoes to see over his shoulder.  He bent his knees and eased back so she didn't have to struggle.

"One's for you," he said.

"Why?  I don't need it."

"Are you going to ruin the floors while you do your silly little crafts?"

Shame made her stiffen and stare at his face, searching for any traces of anger.  Sensing her panic, he took a moment to find his words.

"If you really want to ruin the floors, that's fine by me," he said, catching and holding her gaze.  "They could use a little character anyway.  I just figured it would be more practical for you to sit at a desk."

She looked down and to the side, gingerly kicking the ground with her work boots.  She didn't care about the floors, she cared that he thought the things she did were stupid.  Whatever, there was no point starting an argument over something so silly. "That would be nice, thank you."

Time ticked on and they placed their orders, managing to find everything on their list.  In two to three weeks they would be the proud owners of a fully furnished home.

After getting something to eat they spent the last half hour before the appointment across the street at a much smaller home decor shop just to browse.  It was quaint, with low ceilings and wide aisles brimming with an assortment of things - she struggled to find anything that was two of a kind.

They were heading down an aisle when Zeke suddenly planted his hands on her shoulders and steered her to the left.

"We're not going that way," he stated.

"What? Why?" she craned her neck to peek at what he was trying to avoid.  Her whole face brightened once she saw it.  "Are those pink flowers?!"

"No, they're not," he said, still pushing her in the opposite direction.

"Wait!" she said, digging her heels into the ground to no avail.  "Wait, wait! They're so pretty-"

He shot a look over his shoulder then gave her an unimpressed look.  "Those are the ugliest fake flowers I've ever seen."

"But-!"

"No buts," he tsked, giving her a gentle shove.  "You only think they're pretty because they're pink."

She crossed her arms and sulked, but let him guide her to the next aisle over.  They spent forever in the candle section, ranking each one based on how obnoxious it reeked.

Zeke insisted that the one that reminded her of burnt waffles smelled like her.  She bit back and asserted the candle labeled schnitzel with noodles resembled him.

This devolved into them finding the most weird and ugly objects in the shop that tangentially looked like faces only to point at them and declare: "that's you."

Unfortunately, he was winning, but only because he tacked on a stupid explanation to go with each one.

For instance, he picked up a ceramic toad with an eerily human face contorted in shock and held it up to her.  He said in the most deadpan voice:

"This is you when someone puts you in boiling water and also you're a frog."

"That's not funny," she said, struggling to school her growing smile.  He guided the frog up to her face to boop her nose with it's cold, webbed finger.  "Zeke, that poor little guy doesn't deserve this."

A self-satisfied smirk graced his face while he slid the frog back where he found it.  When he turned back around he pinched her cheek.

She slapped his hand away, then pointed to a red and orange painting of a chimpanzee.  "That's you."

He followed her gaze, then scoffed.  "I'll gladly take that compliment."

"Compliment?!"

"He is a beautiful young man," Zeke announced.  "And I won't hear any slander towards him."

" Zeke ," Bo said in a wheezing laugh.  "It's a monkey!"

"So?" The hint of indignation in his tone made her gasp.

"Wait,"  she said.  "Don't tell me …"

"Tell you what?" He wasn't laughing anymore.  

"You like monkeys?"

"Who doesn't?"

She lit up, open mouth curling into a smile.

"Zeke!" she said, lunging forward to grab his arm.  "That is the cutest thing I've ever heard in my entire life."

" Cute ?!" he echoed, mouth dipping into a frown.  However, he couldn't hide the dusting of pink on his cheekbones.

"I didn't know you had a favourite animal!" she said, squeezing his arm.

"Everybody does," he said, trying his best not to sound defensive.

"I know they do, but … " She trailed off, then gasped again, this one far louder than the previous.  "Zeke, we should get stuffies!"

"Stuffies?" he parotted.  "Are you three?"

She brushed off his biting tone, too focused on the image in her head.  "We should get a monkey for you and a bunny for me!  Holy shit, that would be so adorable I'm…" she fanned her face.  "I'm tearing up!  I'm gonna cry."

He watched her meltdown with widened eyes and a neutral expression, like she was a wild animal.  That made sense, to a degree; he hadn't seen her this excited since she was ten years old.

"We have to!" she insisted.  "We can put them on top of the dais or the bookshelf, or…"

"I'm not putting stuffed animals on the mantelpiece," he said flatly.

"But we have to !"

"We really don't."

"But Zeke…"

"Not happening."

Okay, now it was time to pull out the big guns.  She clasped her hands together and planted her elbows on his chest while she peered up at him with huge, weepy eyes.

"Please please please ?" she begged, jutting out her bottom lip as he remained unfazed.  " Please , Zekey?"

He narrowed his eyes and slowly removed her elbows.

"No," he stated, watching her face fall without his expression changing.  "We should get going, too."

She began to mope.  "Fine, be like that … Monkey Man."

He froze.  Her face split into a smile.  He shot her a dangerous look that had her hiding behind her hands to stifle a giggle.

"I will leave you here," he warned, turning towards the exit.  Damn him for being such a good actor, because she believed him.

She sobered up a second later.  A flair of panic erupted in her chest and it took a while for it to ebb away - he was joking.  Even if it wasn't funny, he was joking.

"You're mean," she huffed, flicking her hair over her shoulder and turning away to try and hide the sudden change in her mood.  Unfortunately, he hooked his hand under her elbow before she could go too far.

"I never said I wasn't," he stated, dragging her back to his chest.  Angling her to the side with his head floating over her shoulder, he nodded ahead towards a foggy mirror propped up on the wall.  In the reflection, she watched as he pressed his forefingers into the corners of her mouth.  His fingertips dug into the flesh of her face and twisted her expression into an unhinged smile.  His voice was as tantalizing as his expression.  "Now, you're gonna be a good girl for me, aren't you?  No tantrums in the doctor's office."

Bold of him to talk to her like that while his fingers were practically in her mouth, but before she could act, he smoothed his hands down her arms, holding her still as his lips ghosted over the shell of her ear.

" Right ?"

The lower half of her body pulsed.  Her eyelids fluttered.  Fuck pregnancy horniness and fuck him for talking to her like that.  She knew he was just trying to get a rise out of her.

She smacked his thigh and cringed away from him.  "Pervert."

"Whatever you say," was his unbothered reply before he started for the exit, leaving her no time to gather her wits before racing after him.

The office was tucked between two larger buildings, their sloping roofs making an arrow pointed down at a quaint beige building.  The windows were large, but tinted.  From the outside, it looked like a haven from the sun that deluged Liberio in orange heat.  Or perhaps even a building whose purpose was to hide the dastardly dealings that took place within it.

The only indication that they were at the right place was a tiny white sign nailed to the top of the doorway spelling out Physician's Practice .

At this point in the afternoon the place was empty, but there were a decent amount of chairs and space that suggested a reasonable amount of traffic filtered by throughout the day.  She couldn't imagine how, considering how out of the way they were, so she chalked it up to people making the extra effort to see Dr. Corbis and the other four physicians whose offices were under the same edifice.

The air was stale and the tiles underfoot were in desperate need of a wash, but otherwise the room was as sterile as any other doctor's office.  The receptionist was such a lovely lady; content to scribble away on notepads writing who knows what and greet everyone with a sugary smile.  Bo liked the tune she was humming.

Unfortunately, tapping along didn't help her nerves.  It wasn't like Zeke was being obnoxious or anything, but his mere presence demanded attention.  Not only did he sport an enviable red band on his arm, he was imposing and handsome and a recognizable figure.  Why did it just now hit her that Zeke Jaeger had gotten her pregnant?!

He noticed her staring and frowned.

"What am I going to say?" she whispered.  There was no need since they were the only ones in the clinic and the receptionist wasn't paying attention, but she refused to speak louder.

"To whom?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"Who do you think?" She turned towards the door with the sign Doctor Harold Corbis scrawled on the note line.

"You don't need to say anything." Then he cast his gaze to the side, as if that one sentence should have cured her anxieties.

"I told him I wasn't with anyone," she said, digging her fingers into his coat and tugging like an impatient child.  "You can't just walk in with me, that … that would be weird, right?"

"I'm going to assume that he doesn't believe this is the product of immaculate conception," Zeke said.  "He has to know someone else was involved in-"

"That's not what …" She rubbed her eyes and groaned.  "He's going to think you're a deadbeat!"

"And why should I care what some stranger thinks of me?"

Dr. Corbis wasn't some stranger; he was going to be her primary practitioner from now on!  There was no way the two of them wouldn't have to hold at least one civil conversation during the duration of her pregnancy.  If she were in Dr. Corbis' shoes, she would turn her nose up at Zeke for him seemingly abandoning the woman who he impregnated.

"I just want you two to get along," she admitted, still hanging onto his coat.

"This isn't grade school, Bolina," he said in that infuriatingly condescending way.  "Not everyone has to hold hands and sing nursery rhymes."

She mumbled a few scathing words under her breath while letting his coat fall from her fingertips.  Something switched in his expression.  His eyelids drooped and he slowly sat up in his seat.

His voice was oozing with glee.  "Unless you're trying to defend my honour?"

She wished he would stop looking at her like that, because it was impossible for her to not turn pink.  She also wished her brain didn't short circuit as he inched closer.

"I-I'm just saying…" she said, glancing over to the receptionist, who was oblivious to what was going on.

He pinched her chin with his forefinger and thumb while putting on the most humiliating faux-sympathetic voice in his arsenal.

"My little Bunny." He pinched her harder, making her wince.  "You don't have to worry about me."

Alright, that was enough.  What, he thought she had risen above retaliation?

She lowered her chin and popped his thumb into her mouth.  Once she had him, she chomped down hard .

He yanked his hand away, swearing quietly and examining his fingers.  Much to her satisfaction, there were indented teeth marks dotting his flesh.

Her victory lasted all of three seconds before the hand she had bit wrapped around the nape of her neck.  He might as well have just pulled her into his lap, but having her dangle between the chairs with her palms braced on his thighs was far more humiliating.  He slowly lowered his mouth to her ear and breathed out.

Her heart was thumping against her ribcage so loudly she swore the vendors down the street could hear it.  His beard tickled the skin of her cheek.

" Behave ," he ordered, voice an octave lower than it had been before.  She stared out into the room, eyes watering with the effort it took to stay completely still.  Under her fingers, his pants drew taut.

She wasn't quivering because she was afraid; Zeke wouldn't ever force her into something that she didn't want.  All she ever had to do was say the magic word, her safe word, and he would back off.  While not without his faults, he took her boundaries in those kinds of situations very seriously.

So it went; he would say or do something aggravating and she could either ignore it or rise to the challenge.  Then he'd bite back, then she would retaliate.  They would keep escalating, fighting to get the last word in before it all became too much and they began yanking at each other's clothes.

To say she didn't want that would be a lie.  In that moment she wanted nothing more than to throw her leg over his lap and take what she needed from him.  She doubted Zeke would protest; he hadn't been able to keep his hands to himself one way or another the whole day.

But she wasn't totally gone.  Not only were they in public and it would be horrible to do such a thing in front of the receptionist (though she couldn't see Zeke minding much), crossing that line with him filled her stomach with dread.  

She placed her hand on his shoulder and pushed.  His hand disappeared from her neck and he retreated back to reclining in his chair, but not before double checking her expression.

Then it was over.  She awkwardly hoisted herself back into her seat, staring at the receptionist who was still humming and scribbling away.

A calloused palm smoothed over her knuckles before deft fingers scooped her hand into an embrace.

Zeke was looking away, like he couldn't bear to see her bewildered expression as he held her hand.

She stared at their joined hands, then to his face.  Somehow this felt more intimate than when his voice was laced with a heady promise.  He was frozen in a kind of awkward position, like he lost his nerve part way through the act.

Without pause, she twisted her palm around and laced their fingers together.  Following his lead, she turned away to evade his response.  Luckily, none came.  They just sat there, holding hands, looking in opposite directions like lovesick middle schoolers who couldn't bear the thought of pulling away.

The rest of the wait was blissfully silent, enough so that it lulled her into a nap.  She wasn't normally one to fall asleep in strange parts of Liberio, but she wasn't concerned.

After all, if Zeke was with her, what was the worst that could happen?

The tranquility was interrupted by Dr. Corbis, who bustled into the room, apologies already spilling out of his mouth.  Jolting upright, she jerked her hand away from Zeke's to rub at her eyes.

"I thought I would set up before I brought you in and realized I had misplaced my notes," he said, waving hello to his receptionist before finally facing Bo.  He looked like he wanted to say something else, but his attention zeroed in on the man beside her.  "Ah, hello, my apologies, I didn't know Miss. Bolina had a plus one, else I would have brought back another chair."

Zeke stood to his feet and approached Corbis as if every square inch of the room was his domain.  He extended a hand to shake.

"I'm sure we can improvise," Zeke said.  As Bo rose to her feet to join them, she noted that he was using his Wonderboy tone to make a good first impression.  So much for not caring.  "My name is Zeke Jaeger. Pleased to meet you."

Corbis' eyes locked onto the band on his arm.  "The pleasure is all mine.  I've heard of the great things you've done for Marley."

Dr. Corbis sent her a sidelong glance.  There was an unspoken question in his eyes, but she didn't know how to address it.

"Um," she said with a cough.  "Zeke is, uh …"

"The father," Zeke finished.  He tilted his chin up and straightened while placing a hand on the small of her back.  He looked … proud?  No.  Why would he be?

Dr. Corbis gave her another look, that contained a healthy mixture of surprise and skepticism.  When she didn't object, he turned back to Zeke with a smile.

"Well then, we're grateful to have you here," he said, propping open the door with the heel of his boot.  "Right this way."

Getting set up was easy.  Dr. Corbis made every part of adjusting the ultrasound seamless.  He spoke aloud as he worked, explaining every step to Zeke, who was hovering over them, a breath away from impropriety.

"You know," Corbis said, pausing in buttering her stomach with a special kind of gel.  He looked at Bo with a fond smile.  "I'm very happy you have someone helping you through this."

Her responding grin was automatic.  She wasn't fast enough to stop the words from slipping out: "Me too."

After a few beats she glanced at Zeke, her mind catching up to the fact that she had said those words aloud … in front of him.  Much to her chagrin, he was fiddling with his glasses and hiding behind his hands.  If he would stop fidgeting she would be able to discern if the blush on his cheeks was just her imagination.

The appointment flew by without a hitch.  Nothing but good news after careful prodding at all angles.  She seemed to be okay, if a little bruised from her fall, and the baby was still in one piece.

When discussing how she fell, Zeke was quick to interject and ensure it wouldn't happen again.  Precautions had been taken, and snack food was now on the bottom shelf.  She burned with embarrassment, but Dr. Corbis didn't press any further.

After everything was done and sorted, Dr. Corbis' face hardened.  He crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the patient's table as Bo reorientated herself.

"So, have you cut back on working?" Bo froze.  "You're looking much healthier, but I think we'd all rather avoid another close call."

"A close call ?" Zeke said sharply.  She looked between the two men, who looked back at her with equal amounts of confusion and suspicion.

Face red, she chose to settle her attention on Dr. Corbis.  There was no denying it; she was scared to tell Zeke about what had happened because she knew he'd be upset.  Not only that, but she dreaded him becoming even more overbearing.

But, there was no avoiding it.  Not now that it had been brought up, at least.

"I, uh," Bo said, mouth impossibly dry.  "I … I don't … can't … "

She pursed her lips and focused all of her energy on trying not to cry.  Instantly, Dr. Corbis' expression flooded with understanding.  Resting a comforting hand on her shoulder, he offered a reassuring smile.

"You haven't told him?" Dr. Corbis asked, mirroring her responding nod.  "Have you told anybody?"

A single tear slipped out of her eye.  She couldn't wipe it away fast enough. 

"Would you like me to?" he asked quietly, as if Zeke wasn't hanging on to every word.  She barely managed to cough out a weak: please .

He nodded again, then turned to Zeke, his voice holding the strength she couldn't find.

"Four weeks ago when I first met Bolina, we were afraid that she miscarried."

Daring to glance over at Zeke, her heart skipped a beat.  His arms were crossed firmly over his chest and he was staring at Dr. Corbis with a deep-seated frown.  She swore he wasn't even blinking.

"Discharge is normal for pregnancies, but the amount of blood she lost that night was not normal.  In fact, if it weren't for the extensive tests we did, I would have concluded that she had lost the baby."

As soon as the word blood passed the doctor's lips, Zeke tensed.  Thankfully his focus was glued to Dr. Corbis so maybe he didn't see how choked up she was.

As if hearing her thoughts, Corbis looked to her and patted her upper back.  "That was a hard night, I'm not surprised you haven't wanted to relive it." Then, after a pause: "You look much healthier now, thank goodness, but please stay careful."

"How did it happen?" Zeke finally managed to ask.  Everything about him was coiled and tight, ready to snap at any second.

Dr. Corbis frowned.  "Her body was at its limit.  Malnutrition and overworking yourself is bad enough, but a baby will suck the life out of you even if you're the healthiest person in the world."

 There may have been an accusation buried deep inside of his words - Bo could only speculate that Corbis blamed Zeke more than he blamed her.

"However, lots of rest does wonders to help heal the body." Another pat on the shoulder. 

 Zeke's silence made the room claustrophobic.  How strange it was that she now wished he would look at her so she could try and gauge his reaction.  Was he angry?  Who was he upset with?

After a long moment, he fixed Corbis with another hard glare:

"Is she going to be okay?"

His voice made fresh tears well in her eyes.  While his expression didn't change, she could hear the edge in his tone, as well as how his voice cracked at the end.  He tried to swallow down the panic that poisoned his words, but it was too late.

Dr. Corbis hesitated, then set his jaw.  "I'm not one for fear mongering, but there's no guarantee that if something like that happens again, we could lose Bo and the baby."

For once, her and Zeke were on the same page.  Dread saturated the space between them, settling over her skin like a misting of rain.  She placed a hand on her stomach and watched Zeke begin to fire off question after question.  What are the long term effects?  Did her fall earlier that week change anything?  What could they do to make sure nothing like this ever happened again?

Bo couldn't speak even if she wanted to.  She was barely even listening, too engrossed in securely holding the swell of her stomach - the baby she had almost lost.  The baby she could still so easily lose.

Lots of sleep, more frequent check ups, lots of nutrients.  They set up another appointment on the spot, and after Dr. Corbis gave them a list of warning signs to look out for, they were off.

Zeke kept his head down, handling her gently while ushering her through the front door and out onto the street.  Though after they were outside he withdrew himself, turning his head away from her, pointedly keeping his attention elsewhere.

Liberio was beautiful in that she had to find beauty in it lest she go insane.  Being that sunset was her favourite time of day, it was easy to find the bricked towers and edifices gallant as they captured the glow of dusk.

But not even admiring the beauty of the world around her could escape the thunderstorm a half step ahead.

Zeke was pissed .

As much as she wanted to pour apologies and explanations at him right away, she knew causing a scene in public would only prove to make him angrier.  So she had to bite their tongue until they were able to go somewhere secluded.

She knew he was furious.  She knew he stepped away purposefully, but she still reached out for him.

Quickening her pace, she gently tucked her hand into his palm and held on for dear life.

He glanced at her.  For a dreadful moment, she was afraid he was going to shake her off.

With a huff and a roll of his eyes, he laced their fingers together and tugged her closer by their joined hands.

He still wouldn't look at her, still scowled and grit his teeth, but his hand in hers was reassuring; a guide that led her home.

Chapter Text

She didn't know who carried the brunt of his frustration. She knew he was upset that she had downplayed how serious her condition was, but she hoped he was also irritated with their situation; the fact that he was leaving so soon wasn't ideal. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on her part.

He was so angry he couldn't even look at her. The hand holding hers was gentle as he steered her down the winding roads of Liberio, but the rest of him was cold. He may as well have been walking by himself for all the acknowledgement he gave her.

There was still a bustle of people heading home after a day's work or meeting up with friends. Their eyes followed Zeke as he marched down the pathways, but his eyes were unfocused as he stared straight through them. They looked upon him like he was a hero.

 An eternity later the house they shared came into sight and she began to slow. Their fingers fell apart. He walked on, seemingly oblivious, not caring that she lingered at the bottom of the steps while he unlocked the front door. Their closest neighbours weren't home. The sounds of the city seemed muted. It felt like it was only the two of them left in the whole world 

When she made no move to join him in the threshold, he finally turned to face her.

"Get inside," he ordered, voice potent and black as tar. She put a foot on the stairs, her body automatically moving to obey, but the unreadable look on his face made her pause.

It was stupid, but it was the only thing she could think to say. "Please don't be mad."

He didn't answer. Of course he didn't; he couldn't oblige even if he wanted to. But after all the pestering and worrying he'd done, she accepted that his simmering rage was justified. She hadn't been honest with him after everything he had done for her.

Every time she opened her mouth, no words came out. It was like her body knew arguing was useless before her mind could clue in.

So, she gave up trying to think of a way to defend herself. "I'm sorry."

He looked at her like she was a stranger that had stepped on his new boots.

She swallowed thickly, hating how deeply his silence was cutting her. She thought it would be easier to keep him at arm's length, to hold out on his generosity lest he change his mind, but this hurt. It was a suffocating hurt that made her ears ring and her heart ache.

"I didn't-"

"Didn't what?"

It was so difficult trying to find her words while he loomed above her, blocking out the light and standing like a malevolent shadow in the doorway. For a brief second she wondered if running would do any good.

"I-I didn't know how to tell you," she said, hands twisting in her shirt. "I haven't even-"

"How about answering me when I ask?" he said, seething. She swore she could hear the wood of the door creak under his rigid grip. "But apparently being honest is far too difficult for you."

His tone made her heart pound in her throat. "I'll be better, I promise."

That only proved to irk him further. He looked insulted; like her trying to grovel was an invective to his character.

"Get," he said, pretending that he wasn't furious by putting on a placid tone. "Inside."

Her feet moved without further prompting. She ducked her head and walked up the stairs, across the porch, and fought off tears as she brushed by him in the doorway.

Her nerves were on end. He shut the door a little too forcefully than he should have.

She lurched forward, full-body flinching away from the sound.

She turned to face him, eyes wide. The day had exhausted her enough that she moved on instinct alone, but taking a deep breath and grounding herself in the present, her heart stopped beating a frantic melody against her chest.

She was with Zeke. As angry as he was, he wouldn't hurt her. He just wouldn't.

That didn't stop guilt and shame from settling on his expression. He released the doorknob like it burned him, his hands trembling ever so slightly.

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding just as tired as she felt. It was startling to watch the curtains roll back to reveal what was hiding behind all of that anger - despondency."I shouldn't have done that, I didn't mean to scare you."

He was frazzled; flip-flopping between giving her bleak looks and scowling at the floor. The entryway was claustrophobic as he fidgeted, hands itching to grab something and snap it in two.

She wondered if slamming doors was something reminiscent of what his parents did when he was young. If that was the case, she could only imagine the roiling self hate below the surface.

She wondered if that was one of his worst fears; becoming his father.

Words still escaped her, so instead of trying to convince him that she knew he didn't mean to scare her, she just shook her head and walked forward.

"I-" Whatever he was going to say was cut off as she wrapped her arms around his torso and pressed her cheek to his chest. He let out a deep breath to expel the excess tension in his body, then reciprocated the hug.

A tear slipped off of her lashes as she closed her eyes. She lost herself in the distant creaking of the house and his steady heartbeat. Cigarette smoke clung to his clothes and filled her senses with the rancid taste of a bad habit. He was absently stroking his fingers through her hair. This didn't fix things, but at least it gave her time to calm her frazzled nerves.

When she finally pulled away, unsticking her cheek to his shirt and shrugging off her coat, they were both silent. She rubbed her eyes and kicked off her shoes.

Before her jacket could slip off of her elbows and onto the floor, he caught it and hung it up beside his coat in the closet. She watched him move, deft fingers hooking strings onto wooden clasps.

They met eyes for only a second. He didn't look angry anymore, just tired.

"Zeke," she said, but didn't have a plan beyond that. It didn't matter; he didn't even spare her a glance.

Without a word, he slipped upstairs. Shocked, she watched him disappear into the dark second level, cringing upon hearing his bedroom door softly open and shut.  

Was he really going to drop this? Did he really just walk away when by all accounts, he was in the right? Maybe that was a good thing. Another altercation sounded exhausting, but it pained her to know he was suffering. Worse even that she was the reason.

She gnawed on her nails, listening to the floors creak as he moved around upstairs. She should probably just let him sleep.

So she decided to instead rejuvenate her energy and head down to the kitchen. None of her ready to go snacks would do. She needed food that would embrace her like a warm hug, she decided while crouching down to rummage through the cupboards. Where on earth had she put those macadamia nuts?

It was no use; the anticipation was killing her and she couldn't wait until morning.

Swallowing her pride, she followed the path up to his room and quickly rapped her knuckles on the door before she lost her nerve.

He opened the door far more quickly than she expected. Was he standing on the other side? 

No - his hair was mussed and he was wearing lounge pants and no shirt, which would lead her to assume that he was trying to go to sleep. Was he hoping she would come after him? It had been almost an hour, why hadn't he just gone to bed?

Her eyes never deviated from his face. As tempting as it was to sneak a peek at his bare chest, now wasn't the time.

"Yes?" he asked, eyes probing every square inch of her he could see. He noted her hands behind her back with a cocked brow.

His expression combined with the dying light pouring through the window at the end of the hall made the air around them taste somber. It was as if they were running out of time for something, but neither of them would acknowledge what exactly they were fighting for.

But now that she was face to face with him, it was difficult to pretend she didn't care.

She produced a plate from behind her back that was stacked with three macadamia nut cookies. As she gestured for him to take them, she ducked her head into her shrugging shoulders, desperate to hide.

"I was wrong not to tell you," she said. "I'm really sorry, Zeke."

He looked at her offering, then back to her face. Why hadn't he taken the plate yet?

"So you've said."

What, he didn't believe her? She lowered the plate and fixed him with huge, weepy eyes.

"Are you going to just stand there and cry at me?" he asked. One of his hands was still gripping the door, ready to slam it in her face.

Before she realized what she was doing, she shifted the plate to one hand then used the other to grab a hold of his arm.

"Please," she said as he looked from her hand to her face. She never wanted him to look at her like that ever again. "What can I do to make this right? I didn't mean to hurt you…"

"Oh really?" The snark in his tone made her sigh. "Then what exactly were you trying to do?"

"I …" she was never good with words even when her head was screwed on properly, but now every nuanced lie she could tell slipped from her mind. Was there really no way to get out of this other than telling the honest truth?

Bile rose in her throat at the thought. She wanted to run and hide, but her hands wouldn't let go of him. The longer she stared at his face the harder it was not to cry.

Why did it have to be like this? Why did she have to be so terrified of him, but crave him simultaneously? The festering feeling of need made her ill.

But the thought of losing him, unfortunately, was worse.

"I thought I could do this," she said, squeezing her fingers around his wrist. "I wanted to … I wanted to do this by myself."

His eye twitched. "Why?"

Her throat was closing. Why couldn't she string a coherent thought together? A sheen of cold sweat coated the back of her neck. The sun continued sinking below the horizon as she struggled to remember how to speak.

"I had to." She resigned to just spitting out the first thought that crossed her mind and hoped that he would understand. "Everyone said I couldn't, but I wanted this. I want to have this baby and … well, I …"

"You wanted to prove them wrong?" he finished. She didn't know why he was saying them. She very distinctly remembered that he spoke down to her when she first revealed that she wanted to keep the baby. "Is this some kind of competition? Is this a game to you?"

"No! I'm just saying-"

"Let me guess; you think letting me help you is cheating?"

"No, Zeke."

"Then why didn't you say anything?" he asked. She shot him a look, silently begging him not to say it. He ignored her. "Why didn't you tell me you almost miscarried?"

It was a wonder she could speak around the lump in her throat. Her stomach churned and she was suddenly hyper aware of the bump on her abdomen. She was fighting off the ridiculous instinct to cover it with both hands and hide.

"I didn't want you to worry," she said, then bit her tongue hard enough to hurt. Didn't want him to worry and she didn't think he would be able to handle it. She was terrified that if he found out she almost miscarried he would try to convince her to kill it, or maybe decide this was too much work and send her away.

"Well you did a shit job," he informed her while peeling her hand off of him. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait!" She contemplated throwing herself at his feet to stop him from turning around, but instead she pushed her way into the room.  

The space was barren and far smaller than hers. Four blank grey walls and a few books stacked on the dresser were really the only decorative items to speak of. It reminded her of a prison cell. She carefully set the plate of cookies down on his bedside table, beside his glasses, then turned to face him.

He scratched behind his ear and held the door open. "Can you please leave? I'm not in the mood for this right now."

"Zeke, I can't …" She flinched at the morose sound of her quivering voice. At least that got his attention. She took a deep breath, as if speaking was a grueling task. "I can't lose you again."

For a few moments she wondered if she even said the words aloud, because he didn't even react. Then when he did, he only walked away from the door and stood a pace away, arms crossed and expression unchanged. Shame made her skin hot and her limbs restless.

But now that she had made the leap, it was impossible to hold back the rest of her thoughts.

"I can't do this alone," she admitted, her pride withering and dying at her feet. "I don't want to. But I … I'm afraid you're going to change your mind …"

His face went slack. He looked more irritated than anything, which only made her shrink more.

"Change my mind?" he echoed. "Really?"

Her lower lip trembled. He forged ahead, not noticing or not caring.

"What haven't I already done for you?" He wondered aloud. "What the hell else could you possibly want from me?"

Her response was immediate, venom shooting past her lips. Her pride wasn't dead yet, it seemed. "I don't want anything from you."

"Yeah, I'm starting to see that," he sneered.

His mocking cadence rejuvenated her enough to snap: "You're really surprised that I'm worried?"

He said nothing.

"Seriously? You don't exactly have the best track record for sticking around."

He narrowed his eyes. "Are you going to hold that over my head for the rest of my life?"

If he kept that tone with her she just might. "How am I supposed to move past it when we haven't even talked about it? Hell, I don't even know why you're doing this!"

He cocked his head to the side like she was being stupid. She could have exploded.

"You said you never wanted kids," she said through gritted teeth. "You said you wanted to kill it. Then, what, you just change your mind? Why?" His face hosted no emotion. "Why, Zeke?"

The silence put her on edge.

"Say something!" she ordered.

He didn't.

"You're so-!" She pursed her lips together, reining in her fury so she wouldn't scream until her voice was hoarse. "This is why I didn't tell you. You don't care that your child could have died, you're just upset that I didn't do what you wanted! You think you own me-"

"You are so unbelievably fucked up," Zeke interrupted, appraising her like an intriguing art piece left on the curb, waterlogged and fraying.

She hated how he made her feel. His words made her light up and burn with embarrassment for simply existing. Her throat went dry and her fists clenched.

"Don't talk to me like that," she demanded, cringing as her voice broke.

"Like what?"

He was purposefully patronizing her at this point. "Like you're better than me!"

"Really?"

"Yes really." It was her turn to mock him. "You walk around like you're so much better than everybody else. Like Klara and I should be honoured to be in your presence."

"Klara?" he said, lips curling back. "What does she have to do with anything?"

"You know."

"I don't."

She ground her teeth. "You left her."

He said stiffened. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Klara," she said. "I know you care about her more than you pretend to care about me, and you abandoned her!"

He was eerily silent, watching her work herself up.

She wrinkled her nose and took a half step towards him. "I thought you'd never push her away, but you did. Twice. If you'll do it to her, then you'll do it to anyone."

He didn't even dignify her with a response. She pointed at his face.

"You have nothing to say because you know it's true," she said. "So forgive me for not rushing at the chance to be your bitch for the rest of my life."

The laugh he let out was quick and mean. It cracked through the air and made her flinch.

"You really aren't living in the same reality as everyone else," he said, disbelief and amusement soaked through every word. "I can't tell if it's funny or sad."

She couldn't take it anymore. "Stop it! God, you're just like him!"

"Who?"

She rambled on, not hearing the edge in his voice. "If you're just going to talk to me like I'm worthless, why can't you just leave me alone? I should have never come here! I'd be better off dead than living with either of you!"

He cocked an eyebrow, miffed but unimpressed. She ramped it up a notch, desperate for a reaction.

"I hate you!"

Finally his stoicism cracked. He sighed and uncrossed his arms. Damn him and damn whatever he was rearing up to say. She tried to storm past him, furious tears making her vision blurry as she scrubbed her eyes.

Unfortunately, Zeke beat her to the door and shut it quickly, standing in front of the handle before she could wrench it open again.

Her jaw hurt from clenching it so hard. "Move!"

His hands landed on her shoulders, keeping her firmly in place. He ducked his head so she could see his tenacious expression.

"No one's going anywhere." His voice was even, placating, and authoritative. "Not you, not me, or that baby."

She wondered how he would react if she spit on him. Well, she ought to wait for him to finish first, at least.

"I'm not saying I'm better than you," he said. "I asked you if you were okay and you lied."

Her responding frown was almost comical. It distracted him so much that he lost his train of thought.

"What?" he demanded.

"What could you do?"

"What?"

"You can't help me, it's too late," she said. "It already happened."

"You-" he cut himself off, schooling his tone into something more calm. "Well, we can stop exacerbating your condition, for starters." His expression mellowed after he scanned her face again. "You know I'll do whatever I can."

"What if you can't?" she asked, searching his face. For what, she wasn't entirely sure. "Or what if you're the reason?"

He stared at her blankly for a long moment. "How am I supposed to stop hurting you if you won't tell me that you're hurt?"

Another pouty frown bloomed on her face. "But why would you?"

Did she not hear what just came out of her mouth? His grip on her arms relaxed.

"Because I'm here to help you, not make your life worse," he said, then added: "As much as you apparently think I am."

She swallowed thickly, watching him mull over his next words before allowing them to reach her ears.

"No one's losing anyone. I'm not leaving you, Bolina. I'm here and I'm going to help you through this. Do you hear me?"

She nodded sullenly.

"And what's this nonsense about me being like your father?" A not so subtle hint of acerbity entered his tone. That obviously struck a nerve. "I am not him."

While that may be true, she was still too caught up in herself to say otherwise. "I just don't understand."

"Understand what?"

"If I'm so fucked up, why would you want to help me?"

His face was unreadable.

She was the first one to crack. "Please say something."

His face softened a fraction but the pent up frustration of the evening remained evident in his scowl.

"It's not your fault," he said. She wasn't sure when his hands had moved to cup her face, but his palms were warm against her tear stained cheeks. "I know it's hard for you to wrap your head around things because you think there's a stipulation attached to every good deed."

She watched him slowly exhale, his eyes lazily tracing the curve of her cheekbones and the fluttering of her lashes.

"You and I are going to see this through together," he said. "Whether you really do hate me or not."

Her lips moved to form nonsensical words; her brain couldn't cook up something tangible. Why the hell wouldn't he just give her a straight answer?!

His grip on her face tightened a fraction, making her lips pucker. Annoyance gave his tone an edge.

"Bolina, why am I upset with you?"

She felt like a disobedient student trapped under the baleful gaze of her teacher. She stared back at him with wide eyes and said nothing.

"You are impossible," he said, which was rich coming from him. "I'm not angry that something happened to you and the baby, that can't be helped. I'm upset that you haven't been honest with me."

That didn't make her feel any less foolish.

He continued. "I'm upset that you would rather hurt and nearly kill yourself than talk to me."

Oh.

"But, what - you're scared that if you let me help you I'll make you pay for it?" He raised his brows as she reddened. "Seriously? You're smarter than that."

"Then what do you want?" she asked, looking between his eyes. He pursed his lips. "Why are you doing this?"

"If you can't trust me, why won't you at least let me help you?" he asked, eyebrows furrowing, ignoring her words. "Stop killing yourself and let me help you."

Why wouldn't he just answer the question? How was it fair that he could sift through her feelings but wouldn't even reveal what was hiding up his sleeve? They were just chasing each other around in circles. It made her dizzy.

She didn't want to speak up; her tongue was heavy and her throat was dry, but this was stupid. Prying herself open, she was bound to get hurt, but she wasn't better off trapped in a cage of self doubt and what-ifs. Besides, maybe if she softened her tone, he would too.

So she put on her best shiny-eyed expression and gently rested her palms over his hands.

"I don't want that," she said, voice heavy with a million different words she could say.

"Then what exactly do you want?"

"I don't know, I just …" Her heart was heavy. "I wish I could trust you."

"And what's stopping you?"

"I can never tell when you're being honest or not." Was that really her fault? At the back of her mind a little voice nagged that he was always lying. Or at least never telling the full truth.

"If you don't trust me, trust my actions."

And hadn't he been kind? Hadn't he given her a place to stay? Hadn't he respected her boundaries?

"But …" At some point her hands drifted to loosely hold his wrists while he continued to cup her face. "But what-"

"I'm going to tell my grandmother that we're expecting tomorrow," he said, an air of finality about him. She distantly wondered if he practiced this speech a hundred times before this. "Then all of Liberio will know that I'm the father of your child and we'll be stuck together. I'm partial to having our business aired, but I won't be able to walk away anymore … if that will help you sleep better at night."

Her shoulders relaxed and she untensed her jaw. We are expecting. The proud look he wore while introducing himself as the father to Dr. Corbis flashed across her mind.

"Please answer my question," she said in a soft voice. "Why are you doing this?" What changed your mind?

"You answer mine first," he said, his hands slipping down to lightly cup her neck. "What exactly do you want?"

Oh, because that was fair. She wanted to scream. The answer writhed in her chest, refusing to escape. It shrieked and flailed and protested, but she couldn't fight it forever.

He ducked his head to keep a hold of her gaze. She lost the battle.

She closed her eyes. "I want you. I want us to do this together."

"Open your eyes."

She did so.

His gaze was sharp and probing. Now that she was talking he wasn't going to relent until he was satisfied. She shied away, but there was nowhere to go except his palm, which she subtly nuzzled into.

"Now say it again," he ordered, a glint of something hungry in his expression.

Her hold on his wrists tightened. "I want you, Zeke."

Relief and something incredibly soft washed away the frustration of the night. The corners of his mouth lifted in a semi smile as he leaned down and pressed their foreheads together.

"I'm here, I'm doing this, because it's you," he said in a near whisper, as if hoping she wouldn't catch his words. "Why can't you see that?"

It was as if something exploded in her chest. Excitement and a coil of happiness replaced the bitter writhing beast that had thrashed within her. Now all that remained was a gentle hum of golden glee that raced through her bloodstream.

She braced her hands on his chest. They were so close that she could taste his every exhale. Her senses were on high alert and her mind was riding off of the high she had received from his words.

When her eyes drifted down to his mouth, she was a goner. She couldn't have resisted even if she tried.

It had been a while since she'd kissed him - or anyone, really. His lips were chapped and she was sure hers were too, but who cared? Her breaths became unsteady as she braced her hands on his shoulders and held tight.

Zeke wasted no time threading his hands through her hair to hold her still. With a tilt of his head their mouths were perfectly slotted against each other.

Oxytocin rushed through her body, lighting up her nerves and making her melt into him. The fact that her fingers skimmed over his bare skin made her knees weak.

She had missed him so much; the scrape of his beard on her upper lip, the sloppy sounds of their feverish breaths mixed with the smack of saliva. She needed him - good God she needed him so badly.

She gripped his biceps as if he was trying to slip away. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth and she let out a languid moan, high on him and the feeling of his hand wrapped around her waist.

She could taste the smile on his lips as he pushed his tongue into her mouth. Honestly, she couldn't find it in herself to care how she stroked his ego - he could be as smug as he wanted so long as he kept on kissing her like that.

There was a quick heartbeat pulsing between her legs. The blissful sensation of being held combined with his tongue pressing against her own sent liquid fire hurtling through her veins.

Without separating from her mouth, Zeke guided them to the bed. Hands on her hips, he followed her down as she sat on the mattress. His knee slid between her legs, supporting his weight and pushing into where she needed him

Another moan tore from her chest, louder this time. He untangled his tongue from her mouth to nuzzle his nose into the junction of her neck.

She was panting, mind hazy, nails scraping against his scalp. He shifted forward, grinding his thigh against her.

Her head lolled to the side, an incentive for him to continue giving her neck open mouthed kisses. Maybe if she was thinking clearly she would be embarrassed by how sticky and wet she was; she was surprised she hadn't saturated his pants already.

"Oh, Zeke," she hissed, eyes half closed.

His responding growl combined with the sudden suction on her neck coaxed a whine from her lips. Her ears started ringing

Her hands were trembling as she scrambled for the hem of his pants. Why in hell were they wearing so many clothes?

He nibbled at her throat with blunt teeth and she jolted forward. The planes of him burned up under her touch, but she needed more. She needed him...

Wait, her ears weren't ringing. Something else was ringing.

Zeke seemed to notice a half second later, his head perking up. They both listened, straining to decipher what on earth they were hearing.

He sighed, pressing his forehead to her temple. "Phone."

"Wh-who's calling this late?" Bo asked, glancing at the clock on his bedside. It was a quarter to eight at night.

"Probably my commander." She turned her head to look at him, but he had already built a mask to hide whatever he was really thinking.

She didn't bother concealing her concern. His face softened.

"Don't wait up," he said. She must have looked pitiful, because he touched her cheek and gave her lips a lingering kiss.

And just like that, it was over. She could have gotten whiplash; he just stood up and left the room. He was very obviously still affected - he couldn't easily hide how his body reacted - but he walked away like it was nothing.

How on earth did he do it? She could barely stand up and shuffle to the bathroom. She needed a thorough shower to wash away the sticky evidence that trickled down her thighs. A glance into the mirror made her flushed; swollen lips, mussed hair, and a glazed expression. An angry purple hickey bloomed on her neck. It took a long time to settle her nerves and scrub her skin until it stung.

When she was clean and level headed again, she took a peek into his room. He wasn't there.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, she heard his voice and froze half way through her descent. His tone was severe, but dolled up to be stern and attentive. She heard a lot of "yes"s and "of course"s drifting down the hall. So it was his commander, or some Marleyan official. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

She turned and went back up the stairs. Interrupting sounded like an awful idea.

Fifteen minutes later Zeke pushed his way into his room, scratching behind his ear and staring off into nothing. That is, until he realized he wasn't alone.

Concentration broken, his face morphed into a displeased frown.

"I thought I told you not to wait up," he said, leaving the door open as he continued into the room. She was cross legged on his bed, which she had obviously straightened out before she sat down.

Bo fidgeted, her hair half braided as she nervously looked to the side. She hadn't even spoken and was already embarrassed. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

He sighed. "I am."

Her brows furrowed. He stood quietly a pace away, arms folded, staring at the ground.

"What happened?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. Maybe if she spoke quietly, he would be convinced to give her a straight answer.

No luck. He fixed her with a cold look and while it made her uncomfortable, she got the feeling it wasn't directed at her. At least, she hoped so.

She had resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to answer, so she focused on untangling her hair; pulling the damp strands through her fingers to mimic being busy.

"I'm leaving tomorrow."

His expression hadn't changed. Her eyes went wide.

His tone was clipped. "Around noon. And I won't be back for at least two weeks. Maybe more."

Her fingers froze, still ensnared in her hair. Whatever he saw on her face, he didn't like. He shut his eyes and turned away.

It took a moment to find her voice. "Why?"

He didn't bother to respond. Of course he didn't; trying to get information about what he did for Marley was like pulling teeth. It was like he hoped she would forget if he never brought it up.

She could only guess as to why. Marley wasn't kind to Eldians, even esteemed warriors like Zeke. And whoever they were going to neutralize absolutely didn't see Eldians as human beings. If that was the case, she couldn't blame him for not wanting to mull over what was to come.

A lot of death. Maybe even his own life was on the line.

If she were him, she would want to forget, or at least pretend for a little while.

A shiver of nervous energy raced through her, but her heart thumped painfully against her ribs watching him retreat into his own mind. Was this how he felt whenever she shut him out?

"Zeke?" she said, urging him to glance her way. "Can I stay with you tonight?"

It took a few beats for her words to sink in and when they did, he openly stared at her. She burned through a lot of strength to purse her lips and hold his gaze.

His eyes swept over her once, twice, then a final time before he nodded.

Her shoulders slumped in relief and she let out a slow whistle breath. Wordlessly he turned off the light, then headed towards the bed. She stood up quickly so he could settle himself first. The corner of his mouth quirked up at how jittery she was.

She watched him recline onto the pillows, not sure if she ought to circle around to the other side or file in after him. Her question was answered in the form of Zeke shutting his eyes then raising the sheet, waiting for her to join him.

Don't overthink it, she chanted, slipping under the covers and rolling over to him. Now this was territory she was familiar with. She was a pro - squishing her cheek into his shoulder and tossing her arm over his chest.  

He tensed for a second, then muttered something under his breath while dropping his arm and tucking them both in.

For her, the change was instantaneous; she relaxed and burrowed into the warmth of his chest, grateful that she didn't need a mountain of blankets to replicate his embrace. She shut her eyes and surrendered to sleep.

Unfortunately, she was pulled out of her descent to unconsciousness by Zeke incessantly poking her cheek.

"You didn't hear me, did you?" he mused, tugging on a lock of her hair.

She gave a half hearted hum as a reply, reluctant to lift her head.

"I said if you really are sorry, I'm going to need a few things from you."

That got her attention. She sat up on her elbows, not caring that they dug into his stomach. Concern and suspicion were written across her furrowed brows.

"Ow, calm down," he complained, pushing on her shoulder to stop her elbow from bruising his sternum. "Can you stop stabbing me with your bony-ass arms?"

She relented only so he could spit out whatever he was going to say quicker.

"Thank you," he grumbled, absently rubbing his chest. "Now: I need you to promise to agree to my terms."

"What are they?" she asked, wide awake.

"Ah-ah, I need you to agree with them."

She wanted to strangle him. "Please just tell me."

His fingers wandered to her neck. His thumb stroked the purple flesh of the hickey he had bestowed upon her earlier.

"No more hiding diagnoses," he said, expression turning stern. "No hoarding medical bills, and no more lying."

Instead of relenting or accepting defeat, she turned it back on him. "What about you? You lie all the time."

"Name one lie I've told you."

That wasn't fair! "You never tell me the truth."

"Is that me lying?"

"Yes!" She poked his cheek with her fingernail, digging into the flesh and making it jiggle. "Half truths are lies! You never tell me anything, how am I supposed to be honest when you're a liar?"

"Fine," he said, grabbing her hand and pushing it from his face. "Keep your secrets, but at least tell me when you're hurt, okay?"

Would he really rather keep her at arm's length than be honest with her?

"Okay?"

"How about you stop pushing me away and treating me like I'm dead weight?" she countered, threading her fingers through their interlocked hands and squeezing tight. "Then I won't be afraid to tell you when I'm not okay."

She hated how she couldn't tell what he was thinking.

She made her voice comically deep to try and mimic his cadence: "Okay?"

His mask slipped, giving her a glimpse of an expression that was so unbelievably fond it made her mouth dry. His free hand smoothed over her cheek, gently caressing her brow before snaking behind her head.

"Deal," he said. And he sounded like he meant it. A triumphant grin lit up her face.

Using his hand at the back of her head as leverage, he pulled her face to his chest and kept her there.

"Now go to sleep."

Her response was to let out a huff and a half hearted grunt before relaxing against him. 

 In no time at all, exhaustion washed away her will to keep arguing. All the while he threaded his fingers through her hair and readjusted his grip on their interlocked hands.

It felt as though she would never untangle herself from him; that thought eased her into a peaceful, deep sleep.

Chapter Text

She woke hours later, her bladder bursting. She would have made it to the bathroom in record time if she wasn't in her current predicament:

They hadn't moved much. Zeke's arm was draped over her back, keeping her close. His mouth was parted as he softly snored. He was so warm; the heat that radiated from his body kept her glued to his side.

She didn't know how she survived without this. Furthermore, she didn't know how she was going to survive with him gone for the next few weeks.

Nature called louder than her petty ruefulness. She peeled herself off of him and hurried out of the room.

When she finally wandered back in, she was alarmed to see that Zeke had sat up in bed and was munching on one of the cookies that had been abandoned on his nightstand. In the nearly absolute darkness of the room, he had to squint to gauge her expression, causing his face to screw up in concentration. That act alone was unfairly cute. Her legs carried her back to his embrace before her mind could give the command.

Propping one knee on the bed beside his hips while the other landed between his spread legs, she perched on his thigh. After a beat she slowly fell forward into the warmth of his chest. He shoved the rest of the cookie into his mouth, then wrapped both arms around her.

She didn't know how much time passed sitting there with her cheek pressed into his collar. What she did know was that her breathing had started to grow heavy.

His voice was a low rumble. Her eyes blinked open.

"You okay?" 

"Mhm."

"Let's lay down, then," he said, shifting beneath her.

"'Kay," she murmured, sliding off of him so he could slip under the covers and settle.

Then it was her turn. By the time she stopped fidgeting she was almost on top of him, hand curved possessively under his shoulder to draw him closer.

"Comfy?" he asked, voice dripping with amusement.

Her hum of affirmation made him smile.

"Almost forgot you were like this," he mused, his palm running up and down her arm. "Feels like forever since …"

She couldn't catch the rest of his sentence as his words dwindled into a throaty rumble. Her eyes cracked open, but he was silent for two long minutes.

"I need to move my stuff into the office," he mused. "To make room for my grandma."

Right, because she was staying over while he was gone. Hopefully they wouldn't have to explain why they were sleeping in separate rooms like codependent divorcees. Her nails pressed lightly into his shoulder.

"Maybe she can help you get all the furniture set up," he said. "Or maybe not. You could just wait and I'll do it."

And stare at boxes for weeks? Hell no. She was fairly sure she could assemble a chair … and if not she could always ask Alice or Spencer.

"I should go to sleep," he said aloud, as if she were begging him to stay awake instead of lying motionless on top of him. "But maybe I can sleep in a bit tomorrow. Indulge a bit before I'm shipped off."

"Hey," Bo said, shifting to prop her chin onto his pectoral. Obviously he was goading her into a conversation, but she didn't mind taking the bait. "Why do you normally get up so early? There's no way they make you go into work before I have to."

One hand was tucked behind his neck while the other absently pet her head as if she were a cat.

"I wake up early, then sleep in my office until I need to get moving."

Her brows furrowed. Had he really just said that as if it was normal to do? "But … why?"

His fingertips pressed into her skull. "Aren't you nosy?"

"Am not, I'm just curious."

"What do you think nosy means, Bunny?"

"You can't distract me from your weird sleeping habits," Bo said, reaching up to poke him in the neck. "What is it? Is your couch comfier? Or is it so you can avoid …"

… me, Bo finished her thought internally, face falling as Zeke stared pointedly at the ceiling. He really got up before 4:30 in the morning just to avoid running into her?

She stared at his face for a few moments, hoping he would contradict her, but he didn't. Slowly, she pressed her cheek against his chest and listened to the steady thump of his heart.

"I didn't hear you complaining." He broke the silence with a matter-of-fact tone that made her tense. "In fact, I seem to recall you actively avoiding me whenever we were in this house together."

"Stop being mean," she said in a small voice. In her tired state she couldn't bring herself to be angry. The thought of another argument with him made her want to start sobbing. "I was avoiding you because you're mean and you make me sad."

He was quiet. Evidently, he wasn't expecting such a response. Her chest tightened as anxiety rushed through her system. Silence was never a good response.

"I-I mean …" she stammered, unsticking herself from his skin. "Not all the time, but-"

"But most of the time?" he finished, untangling his fingers from her hair. His knuckles brushed against the hickey on her neck while letting out a weathered sigh. "Look, Bolina…"

She pressed the pad of her index finger to the tip of his nose.

"Don't look, Bolina me," she scolded. "You never say anything nice after that."

"Do we need nice or do we need honesty?"

"You can't just be an asshole and then call it honesty," she said, pressing her finger harder against him, making the cartilage in his nose crease. Then, much softer: "You remember, right? I said I needed you. All of you, even if you're kind of an asshole."

His eyebrows shot up as he slowly pushed her hand from his face. She could feel herself burning under his searing gaze.

"You didn't say that," he drawled. True, the exact words were I want you, but it all meant the same thing!

He smiled, giving her knuckles a quick kiss while she sputtered and thought of something to say.

"What's the difference?" she said, squirming as he held her snugly against him.

"There's a difference," he affirmed, but as always, wouldn't directly answer her question. Without warning, he shifted, sitting up on his elbow so he could see her better. "Get up here."

Grumbling, she obliged, crawling up his chest so that they were face to face. She didn't know when his hand snuck behind her head, but the way he lightly scratched her scalp was oddly soothing. Her eyes drifted shut like a content feline.

She could feel his lips against hers as he whispered: "I need you, too."

Then he gave her a tender kiss to seal the deal.  

It was over in a few seconds, but it left her tingling and wanton. She opened her eyes to see that he was looking at her with a startling amount of affection.

He was muttering something under his breath: 

"There's my sweet girl, there's my pretty girl…"

Her eyelids were impossibly heavy.

"I should let you go back to sleep, shouldn't I?" he mused, watching her fight to stay awake. Because he was greedy, he took one more kiss from her lips before gently turning her around on her side so he was facing her back.

From this vantage point he could more easily slot himself against her in a tight spoon. One of his hands smoothed over her stomach and pressed into the swelling baby bump.

"Sweet dreams," he breathed, then gave the shell of her ear an open mouthed kiss. As if he had uttered a spell, she slipped into the loving embrace of unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

They drifted apart during the night, which was probably for the best because she would be sweating up an entire lake if he had slept beside her with his 1000 degree base temperature.

In the morning, her natural clock woke her up around the time she ought to have gotten up for work for an afternoon shift.  She was on her side, hand sprawled in a loose fist next to her head on the pillow.  

Oh right, she had work that day.  The bed shifted behind her as she rubbed her eyes.

As if he could tell she was just thinking about how unbelievably warm he was, Zeke slotted himself against her back, looping an arm around her torso to keep her from wiggling away.

"Ngh?" She grunted, cringing away from the scrape of his beard against her jaw.

"Oh, hello," he rasped, the baritone of his voice vibrating through her chest.  When she didn't reply right away he pulled back and began to blow air on her face.

She tried burying her face into the pillow, but that only convinced him to target her ear which was far worse.

"Stop it," she grumbled, pushing his head away using the palm of her hand.  Unfortunately, he was more coherent than she, so he easily dodged her attack and resumed his pestering.

"So you are awake, hm?" he said.

"Nuh-uh."

"Time to get serious, then."

Her eyes flew open when she felt his hand slither to her ribs.  Leave it to him to play dirty.

Almost immediately she started to giggle.  He mercilessly tickled her, keeping her sandwiched between the bed and his chest.  No matter how she wriggled or thrashed, he wouldn't stop.

"Ze-ee-key!" she curled up in a vain attempt to shield herself.  Trying to be lithe and slip out of his grasp was difficult with a swollen bump on her stomach.  "Cut it out!"

Finally he relented, watching her go limp and struggle to catch her breath.  A moment later he turned her face so he could plant a few messy kisses on her lips.

When he pulled away, finally her attention was on him.  He grinned.

"Good morning," he said, starting from the top.

"Good morning," she grumbled, pawing at his hand to get it away from her face.  "Can you let me breathe?"

"No," he said, booping her nose before rolling away to stare at the ceiling and stretch out his arms.  "Don't you have work today?"

When she didn't immediately reply, he sat up and loomed over her.

"'m awake," she whined, cringing away from him and forcing herself upright.  "I go in just before noon."

She arched her back, twisting this way and that to dispel the stiffness in her joints.  He was weirdly quiet, so she turned to see what he was doing.

Staring.  With a placid look on his face he watched her with rapt attention.

"What?" she asked, idly scratching her nose.  He took his time conjuring up an answer.

"Would it mean anything to you if I said you look nice?"

What, with her bed head and dazed expression?  Or maybe it was the way she cocked her head to the side as if her skull was too heavy to hold up?

Yeah, it meant a hell of a lot.

She went red, but managed to stammer out: "I think you look pretty, too "

He rolled his eyes in faux scorn while reaching out to pull her closer.  "I didn't say you look pretty, Bunny.  But now that you mention it…"

A grin split her face.  She gave a drunken little giggle before leaning forward to nuzzle her head into his shoulder.  Immediately his hand lifted to hold her there.  Was the position uncomfortable?  Yes, but the urge to touch him outweighed the discomfort.

After dotting a few kisses on the back of her head, he gently sat her upright.  Despite her grumbling protests, he stood up and began to rifle through his closet.

As if they were opposing magnetic forces, she found herself being drawn to him.  He had to stop sifting through his collared shirts when she wrapped her arms around him from behind and pressed her cheek against his shoulder blade.

"Come on, Bunny," he chided, but didn't sound very upset.  "You're looking a little desperate."

She decided she wasn't a magnet; she was a zombie.  She stood up on her tiptoes and pressed her teeth against the flesh of his neck.

He jumped, then held her wrists in a firm grip.

"Don't," he warned.  She let it roll off of her with another bite closer to his shoulder.  "Don't be a brat.  We have things to do today, don't we?"

"Mmm, so warm," she mumbled, rubbing her cheek against the nape of his neck.  But wasn't she just complaining about how unbearably heated his skin was?  Yes, but that didn't mean she wanted to lose it so soon.

"Last warning," he said, an edge entering his voice.

Her arms tightened around him, keeping him close.  "Can't you wait a few more minutes?"

"No," he said firmly, leaving no room for an argument.  "I need to get ready.  Let go."

She scoffed, slipping her arms from around his waist.  "Mean."

He spun around so quickly she nearly lost her balance simply by standing too close.  Luckily, he snatched her forearm and held on tight.  He was oozing hubris and irritation in a way that made her knees weak.

His expression let her know that if she didn't cut it out, she wouldn't be able to sit properly for a long time.

Her tone was akin to a whiny toddler: "I stopped, okay?"

Ignoring her entirely, he stated: "You've got one hell of an attitude, Bunny."

Oh no, oh shit.  He was using his authoritative bedroom voice.  Hearing it was like being submerged in warm water.  As if she were a well trained dog, her body immediately relaxed, leaning into him.  Trusting that he wouldn't do wrong by her.

However, her mind always fought against submitting to him.  So she began struggling against his grip, but it was no use; his eyes burned with a fire that set her nerves ablaze.  He wouldn't let go even if she paid him to.

So, she stooped to groveling.

She loosely wrapped her free hand around his wrist while putting on a sorrowful pout.  She relaxed her limbs and made sure to meet his eye before continuing.

"Zekey, no," she said, studying his expression for any sign of weakness.  "You can't be mad at me.  You're leaving , being mad isn't allowed."

His resolve waned.  Usually he wouldn't fall for her "silly little tricks", but the looming promise of being separated worked in her favour.

Normally he would fix her with a cold look and shake her off.  This time, his expression softened.

"I want to walk you to work," he admitted, sliding his hand up her arm in a soothing caress.  "I need to leave soon to get my grandma so I can be back in time."

Oh.

Her heart thumped loudly in her ears.  She must have looked like an awestruck teenager, because he gave her a knowing smile.

"But I need you to let me go.  Can you do that for me?" he asked, ducking his head.

Damn it! He was using her own trick against her and it was working.  As if under a spell, all of her stubbornness washed away under his sweet gaze.

The biting, cold part of her was tempted to hold tight to incur his wrath and see what he would do to her as a result.  Yet the stronger, softer side melted into a gooey mess at the prospect of him hustling just to be able to walk her to work.

Reluctantly, she let go of his wrist.

He rewarded her with a nice smile and a kiss between the eyes.

"Good girl."

It was sloppy work, but at least it was something.  Eggs and tomatoes and bacon strips that were a bit too crispy, but she was just in time.  Zeke entered the kitchen, shrugging on his coat and eyeing the mess in front of the stove.

"Where's mine?" he said with a teasing lilt, sidling up to her as she wrapped the sandwich in cellophane.

"This is yours," she said, carefully cutting it in half.  She turned and held it out to him with a smile.  "So you won't get hungry on the way."

He stared at her for a beat, then covered his mouth with lazy splayed fingers.  Too bad for him; his blush travelled all the way up to his ears.

After a few moments spent reigning in his emotions, he held out his hand to accept the offering.  She placed each half gently in his palm.  She had cut the bread diagonally, as she always did.  Because it gave the sandwich handles she always said.

His free hand snaked behind her head, so he could more easily press his mouth to her temple.  To make up for his still-rosy cheeks or maybe just to be annoying, he made sure to make it extra wet and sloppy.

"Ew, don't lick me!" Bo said, trying to wiggle out of his grip.

Naturally, he responded by licking a wet stripe up her cheek, like he was some kind of dog.  Staying true to the scene, Bo let out a noise akin to that of a wounded animal.

"Gross!" She finally wrenched herself free, patting her cheek and pursing her lips when he laughed.  "Get out of here."

"What did I say about manners, Bunny?" he said, while giving her forehead a gentle flick.  It was kind of cute how she went cross eyed trying to follow the path of his finger.  Ignoring her snarl of outrage, he continued: "So.  We're going to tell my grandma.  Do you want to be there?"

She blinked, then blinked again.  A hand drifted to her stomach.

"Um," she glanced to the side.  "No … no thank you."

"Okay," he said.  "Any particular reason why not?"

She began to twist her pajama shirt between her fingers.  "No?"

"Alright," he said with a shrug.  He didn't bother to face her as he exited the room and made for the front door.  "I'll tell her when I'm out so you have some time to prepare yourself for what's to come."

"Uh oh," she said, trailing after him.  He grabbed his arm band with his ring and index fingers, shuffling the sandwich in his hand to try and slip it on.

Without thinking, she gently plucked it from his fingers and slipped it onto his bicep.  Before letting go, she made a display out of fussing and straightening it out so it was perfect.

She held onto his arm, lightly pressing her thumbs into his beige coat.  She chanced a look at his face and was relieved to see that for once, they were on the same page.  He wore a soft expression that harmonised with the butterflies in her stomach.

She gave him a shy little smile.  "Can you bend down, please?"

He did so immediately and without question.  Poor Zeke - he was probably expecting a kiss.

Instead, she stuck out her tongue and licked him from his cheekbone to his temple, slightly displacing his glasses with her nose.  His skin was all prickly and warm and made her tongue feel weird.

Zeke was not impressed.  He gave her an unreadable look as she smacked her lips.

"Was that worth it?" he asked, straightening and readjusting his glasses.

Her smile was as bright as the sun streaming through the nearest window curtains.  Dust danced in the air, making the scene far more picturesque than it ought to have been.

"Yes," she said proudly.

He couldn't turn away to hide his smirk quick enough.  "Be good."

"You too," she said, stepping back so the door wouldn't hit her toes.  She positioned her hands behind her back to hide how she had begun to nervously pick at her nails.

Once he was gone she let out a sigh.

Should she have gone with him?  She had the silly urge to chase him down the street just to walk with him a little longer.  Instead, she trudged back to the kitchen and started to make something for her and her intense appetite to devour.

As she woke up more, she began to think.  Was it wrong of them to act like that?  As if those past few months never happened?  As if yesterday she hadn't sworn she had finally pushed him away for good?

I can't lose you … I want you … I need you…

She cringed at the memory.  How could she have said that to him?

Because it's the truth.

Well, too bad.  He was leaving and there was nothing she could do to make him stay.  His time and title belonged to Marley first and foremost.  She was little more than a side story in his life to occupy his free time.

She stared at her tea.  Her stupid hands and evil heart had made tea the way Zeke liked it.  Drinking it burned her tongue and made her throat close … though that may not have been from the tea.

After eating she trudged upstairs and peeked into his room.  He had cleared it out and changed the linens for his grandma.  For how neat and tidy he left that room, his office was a disaster of haphazard clothes and books tossed onto any free surface.

Well, that just wouldn't do.

Not only had she finished her business upstairs, but she had gotten ready for work and prepared another cup of tea for Mrs. Jaeger when they finally returned.  What had taken them so long?

Her curiosity was swept away by nervous excitement as she heard Mrs. Jaeger's animated voice echoing down the hallway.  Bo wiped her palms on her work dress and stepped into the hallway.

Almost immediately she met Zeke's gaze.  He already had a small, content smile on his face that grew when they locked eyes.  His grandmother noticed his diverted attention and spun around.

She clapped her hands together before rushing forward, arms outstretched.  The excitement and happiness she exuded was a bit overwhelming, but Bo didn't have the heart to recoil from Mrs. Jaeger's near shout:

"Congratulations!  Oh my goodness, look at you!" Mrs. Jaeger gently cupped Bo's face, looking upon her like she had just won the lottery.  "Oh my, how did I not see it before?  You're glowing my dear!"

Well, Bo was certain that she was now glowing red under Mrs. Jaeger's enthusiasm.  Taking in Bo's embarrassment with a little laugh, Mrs. Jaeger pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek then pulled her into a tight hug.  She was talking about how Zeke had broken the news; by just casually mentioning it while she fetched her suitcase.  She had been so surprised she nearly tripped and fell down the stairs.

That sounded like Zeke.  Bo glanced up over Mrs. Jaeger's shoulder while still stuck in her embrace.

He was smiling.  He looked so pleased, and Bo couldn't help but blush an even deeper shade of red.

The hug went on for longer than was socially acceptable, but Bo didn't mind.  Her own parents hadn't been nearly this enthusiastic upon receiving the news, and it was nice to bask in Zeke's grandmother's attention.

Bo mentioned that she had prepared some tea, and Mrs. Jaeger was equal parts grateful and admonishing as Bo helped her out of her coat.  She insisted that Bo was supposed to be resting, not flitting around like a "buzzing bee".

In any case, she was grateful.  Bo expected Zeke to have brought his grandmother's luggage up the stairs by then, but she caught sight of him in the living room. 

He had some kind of bag in his hand, crinkled and empty.  His focus was on the protruding shelf above the fireplace, where he had carefully shifted some of her knick knacks to the side to make room for something.

Two things.  Two things sitting side by side looking as adorable as could be; an older, worn monkey stuffed animal and a newer rabbit plushie.  Zeke was readjusting the monkey's arm so that it draped over the bunny.

Her heart skipped a beat.  Had he …?  Had he gone and bought stuffed animals to decorate their living room?!  A monkey and a bunny, just like she had wanted ...

She felt warm.  Too warm.  Her heartbeat was thunderously loud, pounding against her ribcage.  Was she falling in love with him?  Was she already in love with him?!

Once he was finished he threw a glance over his shoulder and caught her awestruck expression.  He looked awfully smug, but she couldn't focus on much with her head spinning and her blood roaring in her ears.

He pinched the monkey's free hand between his forefinger and thumb and used it to wave hello to her.  "I've had this since I was … hm, eight?  Nine?  It's good to see him out of the attic."

Her tongue felt heavy, but she managed a weak: "They're perfect."

He hummed, gently releasing his monkey's paw.  "I wish they had a pink rabbit, but I suppose white will do."

He had some nerve standing over there like that, saying things like that.  She couldn't take it anymore.  She closed the distance between them and grabbed his face with both hands before pulling him into a deep, thankful kiss.  

Well, it was that or she got down on one knee and begged him to marry her.  She was glad she had enough self control left in her body to keep some of her dignity, at least.

She didn't want to separate from him, but she needed a full breath of air.  Reluctantly, she pulled back and gave his lips a parting peck.

"Thank you," she whispered, before leaning back.  His lips were swollen and there was a faint flush on his cheeks.  He looked so good.

Apparently the sentiment was returned because he had a death grip on her hips as he leaned in again.

His mouth hovered near her own, but he left a sliver of space so he could say:

"What I wouldn't give to fuck you up against the window right now."

And there she was, thinking she couldn't get any more red.  He was ridiculous, but damn if it didn't make her weak in the knees.

"Y-your grandma's in the other room," she said, struggling not to whine as he dipped his head to her neck.

He gave an indignant hmph before laving his tongue over the hickey on her throat.  She was going to die if he kept this up.

"... But I won't mind if you can't, that's …" Speak of the devil, because Zeke's grandma rounded the corner just as Bo returned his tight embrace.  She stiffened, but Zeke didn't share in her mortification.  He finished giving her skin a slow, sweet kiss before raising his head to acknowledge his grandma.  Bo was glad she couldn't see the poor woman's face.

For what it was worth, she didn't sound scandalized.  "Well, I guess I can bring up my luggage by myself."

"No," Zeke said firmly, but took his sweet time untangling himself from Bo.  "Give me a second."

"Alrighty then," she said in a singsong voice.  Bo strained to hear footsteps retreating because she didn't have the nerve to look for herself.

"I told you," Bo said through her teeth.

Bo hoped Mrs. Jaeger had at least turned away before Zeke wrapped his hand around her neck and pulled her flush against him.  He curved his tongue to play with her earlobe.

If she wasn't already clenching her jaw, she would have let out a very loud and very embarrassing moan.  She shrugged her shoulders in shame at the theoretical of Mrs. Jaeger hearing that kind of sound.

"She knows," he whispered.  "No need to be embarrassed."

"Yeah, but … " she sputtered for a second, having a difficult time finding her words when he pulled back to study her expression.  "But she doesn't need a … you know.  A demonstration…"

His eyebrows shot up.  She could see him mulling over the idea in his head.  

At first she thought he was going to say something idiotic, like "that's a good idea" but his face split into a grin.  He gave a short, sincere laugh that was over before it started, but she basked in it all the same.  Until, that is, he brought his hands up to pinch her cheeks.

"That's a big word, Bunny," he said with a facetious smile.  "That must be my influence, hm?"

He never learned.  If he put his fingers near her face while he was being a dick, he was going to get bitten.  She was about to pull back her teeth and chomp down on his nearest thumb when she saw the little monkey plushie out of the corner of her eye.

All of her indignant blustering melted into a warm, shapeless blob in her chest.  She gave him a genuine smile.

Caught off guard, his grip on her cheeks relaxed, allowing her to guide his hands from her face.  He watched with wide eyes as she leaned up and gave his temple a smooch.

"Of course," she cooed, petting his hair and reveling in the shock that slackened his jaw.  It was nice to see him short circuit for once.  "You're the smartest person I know, Zekey."

He stared at her for a moment, expression askew with bewilderment, before loudly clearing his throat and standing upright.  His forefinger was shaking as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"I've got to take her stuff upstairs …" he said, attempting to sound unbothered despite his ears turning crimson.

Bo's smile was nothing short of despicable as she rocked back and forth on her heels.  "I'll just wait here for you."

He tossed her a sideways glance before disappearing into the foyer.  She couldn't help but let out a conspiratorial giggle behind her palm; she hated when he messed with her, but she was starting to understand the appeal.

After freshening up and bidding a quick farewell to Zeke's grandmother, they were off.  Bo looped her arm around Zeke's elbow after he stuffed his hands into his pockets and they made their way down the street at a decent pace.

The morning was warming up as the sun rose across Liberio.  Other people were already up and working or on their way to their workplace.  The hum of idle chatter and carts being rolled along stone streets was rejuvenating.  Not even the chill in the breeze could break their stride.

The silence between them was broken by Zeke.  "So."

She dipped her head to see his face.  "So?"

"I noticed you moved my stuff into the master bedroom."

Oh … right.  She had taken the liberty to integrate his belongings into her room when Zeke had fetched his grandmother.  At the time it seemed like the right thing to do, but she had been hoping that he would just roll with it instead of bringing it up.  Sheepish, she absently played with his armband.

"Yeah, I did," she admitted, as if that was what he was pressing her for.

"Care to elaborate on why?"

No, she would not care to elaborate.  However, the morning had been going so well and she didn't want to sour the mood by refusing to answer.

Still, it didn't make her words any less evasive. This was all so stupid; she didn't have an issue playing nice in the present.  But what - she didn't want to admit that this wasn't a fleeting peculiarity?  Or maybe she was just tired of Zeke forcing her to admit things.

Well, he wasn't going to force her this time.  This time she would tell him willingly.  So there.

"W-well," she started, tucking in closer to him to avoid stepping on the toes of a woman trekking the opposite direction on the sidewalk.  "I think it'd be nice if we stayed together from now on." She could already hear him rearing up to probe her further, so she hastily continued.  "Because I thought last night was nice and I would like to sleep with you forever."

What?!  What did that mean?!  Why was she starting to ramble and why was he looking at her like that?!

"Well, I- I mean…"  She could feel her panic rising.  "Not like … like actually sleeping forever.  Wait - yes actually sleeping!  I like being with you.  When I'm sleeping.  And when I'm awake!" She was too busy floundering to notice that Zeke had slowed to a stop after maneuvering them out of the current of people walking down the road.  They ducked into a path between buildings that lead to a small park.  "It's nice and I feel warm and safe and … wait.  Not like I'm in danger, I just …"

He gently removed his arm from her grip and put his hands firmly on her shoulders.

"Hey," he said, cutting off whatever she was going to stammer out next.  "Relax, Bunny.  Take a deep breath."

Why did they stop?  She was okay!

His thumb caught a wayward tear just before it could spill down her cheek.  Maybe she wasn't completely okay.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and did as he asked.  Why was she such a crybaby?  Did her pregnancy hormones mess with her that badly?!  

While Zeke's voice was stern, he didn't seem upset.  In fact, he looked rather pleased.

"I'll sleep with you forever if you want," he said with a tiny smile on his face.  "In any sense of the word."

Oh.  She cast her gaze to the side to avoid kissing him again.  They were still in public and it would be boorish to lick his lips with such an audience. 

Something caught her attention and her eyes went impossibly wide.  "Zeke, look!"

He whipped around at her sudden outburst, extending a hand to shield her from what was attacking them.

Fortunately, there was no attacker in sight.  The thing that had gotten her so riled up was a little league team tossing a ball around at the park.  Their tiny cleats shone with morning dew as they chased each other around in the grass.

"They're playing baseball!"

She clapped her hands together in excitement, too caught up in herself to notice his haggard sigh of relief.

"When you get back we should go and watch one of their games!" she said, reaching for his arm.

She watched him frown and squint at the tikes shrieking and struggling to hold up a baseball bat.  No doubt he was thinking about how terrible their form was.

"They only play little league in Liberio," he said flatly.  "And didn't you say that baseball was the worst sport?"

"Um, maybe?" That did sound like something she would say to get on his nerves.  "But so long as I go with you, it's gotta be great, right?"

He fixed her with an unreadable look.  "Oh, really?"

She was on a roll that day, because she shrugged off the twinge of doubt she felt upon hearing his tone and gave him a smile.  "Yeah!"

She had managed to shock him speechless for the second time that morning.  His mouth fell open at her earnestness and she grinned as his quick wit failed him yet again.

For a second, before he turned away, she could have sworn she saw his eyes get a bit misty.

No sooner had she computed the sight did he mask his restless emotions behind a smug half-grin.

"That would be nice, Bunny," he said, brandishing his arm for her to take.  Slowly, she did so and allowed herself to be led back into the throng of people.  "But since it was your idea, I assume you're going to organize everything, hm?"

"You're not going to help?" she asked, not knowing what to do other than to let him carry her through the conversation.  Subconsciously, she gripped his arm tighter, allowing him to lead the way.

"Of course I will …" he said, then bent his head to the side.  "... Not.  But maybe if you ask me nicely enough, I'll remind you what a pitcher is …"

The next hour had been the longest of her life.

She loved her job.  She loved her coworkers and her regulars were so kind.  But that day, refilling the display case had never felt so arduous.  Sweeping the stoop and kneading bread took far more energy than usual.  Instead of losing herself in a rhythm and letting it chaperone her through her tasks, all she could hear was the ticking clock.

She checked it constantly.  Five minutes after arriving.  Six.  Seven.  Ten.  Fifteen.  She chewed on her lip and played with her hairnet.  Her knuckles were dry from how frequently she had to rewash her hands.  She didn't care.  There was only one thing on her mind:

Had Zeke left yet?  Was he already gone?

Maybe he had departed at noon on the dot.  In that case, he would have tuned everything out in order to focus on his task ahead.  As much as that thought hurt, the other option made her restless:

He might have still been in Liberio.  He was waiting around.  Still in reach.  And there Bo was, stuck in Alice's Bakery, putting tarts in the ovens instead of being with him.

Is this what it was like?  She remembered Alice's stories about her late husband; how he used to wake up early and stay up late so they could spend as much time together as they could.  Bo could have sworn she turned up her nose at the idea of hanging onto someone else like that; she would never want to want someone like that.

If that was still the truth, why couldn't she let him go?  He was coming back. 

 But that wasn't enough.

Their goodbye gave her pause.  They had stared awkwardly at each other, suddenly faced with the reality that he really was leaving.  She had wanted to hug him at least, but her feet were cemented in place.  And they had remained that way as he waved and turned and disappeared into the crowd.

At least - at least - this time when he left, she knew he would return.  Eventually.

Bo sighed and pressed her wrist against her forehead as if that would stop her treacherous mind from overthinking. What was she doing?  What had happened to her?

"Bo?" Alice's sweet voice felt like a tether yanking her back to her skin; she jumped and turned to her, wide-eyed.  "What's wrong, darling?"

It was embarrassing to think that she was so gloomy that she was affecting the rest of the people there.  She opened her mouth to apologize when she caught sight of Alice's wedding ring hanging off of a chain around her neck.

A lump formed in her throat.  She must not have hidden her thoughts well enough, because Alice was gentle as she led Bo from the dough station and towards the huge, industrial sink.

"Wash up, hun," she said, turning on the warm water and offering a soap dispenser.  "Rolling can wait.  We'll set you up at a table with a nice blueberry muffin - how does that sound?"

It was a lovely sentiment, but Bo doubted it would help.  Still, Alice's comforting hand on her shoulder was enough for her to take a deep breath and try.

Just as she removed her hairnet and made for the exit of the kitchen, the door chimed and a recognizable voice called into the store.

"Bo!" Her feet carried her out of the kitchens and into the front of the house without waiting for her frazzled mind to catch up.  "Is Bo here?  Bo!"

Once she saw that familiar tangled black hair and those sleepy eyes, a spark of excitement lit up her chest.

Pieck grinned.  "Hey, you!  Glad I found you in time!"

Dumbstruck, Bo blinked and moved her lips silently.  Alice came up from the kitchens as well and fixed Pieck with a quizzical look.

"Found her?  What's going on?" Alice asked.

"Sorry Mrs. Alice, but I'm going to have to steal Bo from you for a bit," she said, giving a shrug.  "Zeke's train is leaving soon - she can't miss it!"

Bo was fit to burst with butterflies.  He hadn't left yet!  He was still there!  A smile split her face as Alice sputtered and looked between them.

"Zeke-?!" She managed, then rounded on Bo with a hand on her hip.  "Bolina Holschbach!  You have some nerve coming to work when your man's being shipped off!"

Bo couldn't stop smiling as Alice fussed and pulled off her apron.

"Get!  Get going!" Alice shooed Bo out from behind the counter, but even she couldn't hide a gleeful grin as she said: "Your butter tarts can wait!"

"Thank you," Bo managed to whisper before Pieck seized her arm and dragged her from the store.  Alice gave her another faux angry look and dismissed her by frantically sweeping her wrists towards the door.

One she stepped outside, she felt like she could breathe again.  After filling her lungs with fresh air, she noticed one of her co-workers changing the signage on the windows.

"Where are you gals headed?" Priscilla or Prissy as Alice liked to call her, paused what she was doing to give them an appraising once over.

"To the station," Pieck responded, tugging Bo to urge her along.  "We're off to say goodbye!"

Priscilla's face split into a crooked grin.  "Oh!  Zeke's leavin'?  Give him a kiss for me, Missus Bo."

Bo could do little more than nod and wave before Pieck set a brisk pace down the street.  As quick as they were going, Bo wished she could abandon common decency and sprint to their destination.  A jolt went up her body every time her feet hit the ground, adding an overlay to the frantic rhythm of her heart.

They made it after what seemed like forever.  There weren't many people on the loading bay, probably because not many people knew that Zeke and a small squadron were headed out that day.  There was one other familiar face already waiting for them, though:

Porco turned at the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.  His expression was severe, but it rarely wasn't.  He gave Bo a polite nod.

"Guess it's a good thing Pieck stopped by to get you," he said, hands stuffed deep into his pockets.  "Otherwise you might've missed it."

The train let out a puff of ashy smoke just as a few carriages pulled up through the side entrance.  Out poured a gaggle of Marleyan officials, talking and busying themselves with trying to seem more important than everyone else.  Bo stood on her tip toes, as if that would help her see the man she was looking for.

A glint of golden hair and a shimmer of steel rimmed glasses made her mouth run dry.  Zeke stepped out of a carriage that was separate from everyone else's, and stood alone amongst the crowd of Marleyans.  They were mulling about, waiting for the train's doors to open, and Zeke took the opportunity to step away from the group and rifle through his pockets.  Bo would bet all of her treasured knick-knacks that he was searching for a cigarette.

Pieck let out a giggle.  "Should we say something or wait for him to notice us?"

They didn't have to wait long.  As he threw his gaze across the platform, he caught sight of Pieck and Porco first.  His expression transformed from impassive to fondly exasperated.  He had a smirk playing on his lips as he started towards them.

Then he noticed Bo.

She was standing off to the side, staring at him with huge eyes.  His pace faltered.  Three for three on surprising him for that day.

She offered a shy smile and waved with both of her hands.  That broke the spell.

As he got closer, she noticed how soft his face had become.  She bunched up her dress in her fists and pursed her lips to stop smiling - her cheeks were beginning to hurt.

He offered Porco and Pieck a greeting to be polite, but Bo hoped she wasn't imagining his eagerness to turn to her and ask:

"Now, what are you doing here?"

She gave a shrug, twisting the fabric of her sleeve around her fingers.  "I'm here to see you."

"Duh," Pieck said, giving Porco a conspiratorial look.  As the mastermind behind this plot, Bo admitted that she had a right to be self-righteous.

Then he just kind of looked at her.  Up and down, with those pretty grey eyes of his.  He looked so sweet and happy, but his attention was making her nervous.

She tittered anxiously, regarding the distance between them with an appraising look.  The silence between them was weird, but it was also … oddly nice.  For them, at least.

Pieck quickly grew bored, and jostled Zeke's arm with her own to try and spur him into closing the distance.  Bo took advantage of the distraction to rush forward and give him a hug that would have bowled him over was he not almost twice her size.

Wasting no time, he reciprocated.  One hand on the back of her neck while the other hooked around her waist.

She could faintly hear Pieck clapping and offering a few tongue-in-cheek words of encouragement, but Bo was too busy trying to commit the feeling of him to memory to care.  She nuzzled her nose into his neck and let out a happy little sigh.  He gave her head a gentle pat.

"I'll be back in a few weeks, okay?" It probably would have been a good time to untwist from the embrace, but neither of them seemed eager to let go.

"Before it was oh, I might not come back," Porco said, not so subtly hiding the roll of his eyes.  "Now it's: See you soon!"

"Don't be difficult, Galliard," Zeke rumbled.  "I can give you a kiss goodbye, too."

"I get it, I'm the least favourite," Pieck said.

Reluctantly, Bo loosened her hold on Zeke and while he gave her one final squeeze, he stepped back to regain his composure.  Likely, he was loading up a retort before he glanced over Bo's head and froze.

The final surprise of the day.  Bo turned around to see a lanky woman with a messy red comb over and fidgety hands.

Bo's face broke into a smile.  "Klara!"

"Hi," she offered quietly to her sister, before dipping her chin and looking up at Zeke.

The pause that followed was tense.  Bo stepped back, nervously looking between the two, hoping against hope that Zeke wouldn't say something mean…

Klara spoke first.  "Uh.  I just wanted to say … good luck."

Zeke nodded stiffly, but after his initial surprise his expression settled onto something fond.  Bo allowed herself to get her hopes up.

"Thank you, Klara," he said.  His tone was warm and said a thousand different things that she didn't understand - but Klara did.  She straightened up and nodded back at him.

Well, if that was the best they could do, that was all Bo could ask for.  She sent Zeke a beaming smile.

Time continued to trod along and a cloud cast a shadow over the world.  The train whistle blew and some Marleyan official hollered Zeke's name.

Before he turned to go, he caught Bo's eye and sent her a wink.  When he walked away that time, she didn't feel regret.  She felt excited.  He would be back in a few weeks, just like he promised.

"All of these reunions have made me hungry," Pieck said, one hand grabbing Porco's elbow while the other touched Bo's shoulder.  "We should go get some lunch!"

"Doesn't she have to go back to work?" Porco asked.

"Eating is part of the process," Pieck explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.  "Mrs. Alice will understand.  Come on, I want pizza …"

Zeke stepped onto the train.  Bo couldn't tell thanks to the shadows, but she wondered if he turned back to look one last time.

Just in case he did, she gave him another two handed wave until the doors shut.

"Klara!  Pizza?" Pieck said, and was gracious enough not to comment on how Klara blushed a deep shade of rouge when she grabbed her hand.  She was playing dirty; Pieck knew Klara had a ridiculous crush on her and she would never dream of saying no.

"Sounds good," Klara mumbled, looking to Porco for help.  He rubbed the back of his neck and looked to the side, pretending to be oblivious.  Pieck tossed an arm around Klara's back to lead her off of the platform and Bo could have sworn she heard her sister's heart skip a beat.

"C'mon," Porco said to Bo, gesturing towards Klara and Pieck.  "Guess we're third and fourth wheeling."

She grinned and nodded.  Just for a moment, and maybe many more afterwards, everything was okay.  Everyone was alright, and Zeke would be too.

There was no reason for her not to smile.

Chapter Text

He was dead last again .  The haze of the afternoon combined with the dust kicked up on the track clogged his lungs and stung his eyes.  The rifle in his hands slipped through trembling fingers.

There were some spectators who no doubt made snide remarks as he keeled over and scrambled to pick up his weapon.  Sweat dripped down his hair and blurred his vision, making the task next to impossible.  Worse even, the humiliation made tears well up in his eyes.

Someone cast a shadow over his kneeling form.  He cringed, expecting a barking command or a scathing insult from Commander Magath.

Instead the person grabbed his backpack straps and hauled him upright.  Once he was steady on his feet, they brandished his rifle.

"Here," they said between shallow breaths.  "We're almost done."

He stared at the other warrior candidate in front of him like they were undead.  She was a lanky girl a bit taller than him with cropped ginger hair plastered to her forehead.  Her face was filthy with dirt and streaked with sweat.  Her own rifle was tucked under her arm as she lightly tapped his shoulder with the one in her hands.  His rifle.

Too out of breath to respond, he wiped off his palms and took back his weapon.  Without another word the girl turned around and continued running.

He took a second to watch her go.  She was fast - fast enough to rejoin the pack of other candidates and even get a good rank in the race.  Yet when she was about ten meters ahead of him, she slowed and began jogging slowly.  She was exactly in the middle between him and the rest of the class.

A shout from a nearby Marleyan soldier spurred him to keep pushing forward, fixed on the finish line.

By the time he finally crossed it, everyone else was already unloading their packs and greeting their parents.  Promises of cool lemonade and a warm dinner floated through the air.  Praises of how well their little candidates had done during training that day hurt to hear.

He was thankful that his parents always showed up late, so they didn't have to see how utterly pathetic he looked.

The girl with the messy ginger hair was nowhere in sight.

The next time he saw her was in the mess hall days later, picking at her plate of slop and sitting by herself in the corner of the room.  That table was far more worn than the rest, so everyone avoided it.

Normally he sat at a table with some kids who were nice enough to include him in their conversations.  But after miserably failing this morning's agility test, he didn't feel like listening to them congratulate each other.

So he headed to the back of the room and sat down across from the girl.  She paused poking her soggy sandwich to look up at him.

"Hello," he said.  His mom always told him it was the polite thing to do to acknowledge the people around him.  "My name's Zeke.  Zeke Jaeger."

The girl continued to stare.

"What's yours?" he asked after a beat.

She looked to the side.  He'd given up on waiting for a reply when she finally said:

"Klara Holschbach."

He visibly brightened.  "It's nice to meet you, Klara."

She withdrew her hands to fold them on her lap.  The table complained when she shifted her weight.  They both cringed.

"This table is really bad," Zeke stated matter-of-factly.  "I've never seen anyone sit here before."

Klara stared at him blankly.  He bowed his head and resigned to eating his sandwich in silence.

"I don't usually eat in this place," Klara said.  Her voice was barely above a whisper, as if she didn't want to be caught speaking.  "My sister always brings me lunch, but she's sick today, so…"

She prodded her sandwich, watching with a blank expression as the bread slid to the side.

"Oh, that's nice," he said, putting his elbows on the table.  "Is she your older sister?"

"No, we're twins." Then after a pause: "I was born first."

"I wish I had a twin," Zeke said without thinking.  He could only imagine having someone to talk to who would understand his mission.  Someone to share his burden with.  "Or even a little brother or something."

"That's a weird thing to say," Klara said with a frown.  "Why would you want to share your stuff with someone else?"

"I don't mind sharing, so long as they're nice about it."

"My little sister always breaks my stuff."

He blinked.  "That's not very nice."

Klara shrugged, then picked up her sandwich and took a huge bite.  Her face twisted up as she tasted the grotesque and stale ingredients, but she ate it at the very least.

After that day he started seeing Klara a lot more.  She took a seat beside him during classes and hovered near him whenever they needed to be split into pairs.  He even noticed that when they ran the track, she was only a  stone's throw ahead of him, in second last place.  He couldn't decide if she was actively hanging around him now or if she was always close by, but he had been too focused on himself to realize.

Whatever the case, he quickly noticed that everything she did was deliberate.  She hung back during training, stared out the window during classes, and put in little to no effort during sparring.  Not for a lack of skill, Klara ranked near the bottom of the class and was content to stay there.

It was frustrating sometimes, because there wasn't a thing Zeke wouldn't do to be good at assembling rifles or hand to hand combat.  And there Klara was, standing with her hands in her pockets, putting in just enough effort not to be kicked from the warrior candidate program entirely.  It was like she didn't care if she improved or not.

He also noticed that people avoided her like the plague.  Zeke seemed to be the only one willing to be paired with her or even speak to her, including their instructors.  He couldn't understand why until his father caught him waving goodbye to her after a long day. 

Both of their parents tended to take a long time to come and pick them up, and sometimes Zeke was expected to walk home by himself.  He had taken to hanging back with Klara until one of her parents arrived.  She always had ideas for what games they could play to pass the time and it was a nice interlude in his hectic life.

"Is that a friend of yours, Zeke?" his father asked, watching Klara's mother gather her into her arms before darting across the street with her head down.

"Yeah," Zeke replied, following his father's gaze.  "That's Klara."

"Klara Finreich?"

"No?" Zeke said as his father placed a protective hand on his upper back.  "Her name is Klara Holschbach."

His father's face was sullen.  "And do you know who she is?"

Zeke's chest tightened.  "No?"

His father gave him a slight push to spur him into walking. He didn't speak again until they were in the safety of their home, away from prying eyes and straining ears.  Only then did he kneel in front of his son, hands on both of his shoulders.

"Her aunt was Amelie Finreich," his father said, expression grim.  "She and her husband were devout Eldian restorationists."

Zeke's eyes widened.  Eldian restorationists?! His parents were Eldian Restorationists!  But he had never heard of Amelie before from his parents or otherwise.  And Zeke would surely remember if someone around his age was mentioned as being in the know of his father's plan.

"They were captured and murdered," his father said, face still swathed in shadows.  Zeke's stomach dropped.  "It's by sheer luck alone that Marley spared her sister's family.  It would be best if you avoid them altogether."

"But …" 

"They are pariahs , Zeke. You have to stay focused ..."

From then on, his friendship with Klara became an indulgent rebellion from his father's wishes.  Not only that, but he found a sense of peace when he was with her.  She didn't pry or ask incessantly for the reason he was upset; she offered him silent company on and off the training field.  She even offered to help him practice assembling rifles when they had time to spare.

Still, her refusal to put more effort than the bare minimum got under his skin.  Everything came to a head one morning during break.  They were sitting off to the side in the shade, playing the Category Game by writing in the dirt with their fingers.  Zeke was winning by a long shot, so he sat patiently watching Klara struggle to think of another kind of bird.

The words tumbled out of his mouth without warning.  "Klara?  Why are you here?"

She blinked, sitting back on her heels and cocking her head to the side.  She took a few moments to respond.

"Here?  With you?" Klara asked, rapping her knuckles on the earth.  "Do you want to play something else?"

"Not here here," Zeke said, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment.  "Here as in the Warrior Program.  Do you even want to be here?"

Klara looked down at her hands.  The other young candidates were starting to migrate back towards the entrance building as break drew to a close.  Zeke sighed and stood up.

"I'm sorry," he said, offering her a hand.  "I didn't mean to make you upset, I just think-"

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Yeah," Zeke said immediately.  "Of course you can."

He watched her rise to her feet, gangly limbs and knotted elbows covered in bruises and scrapes from training.  She needed a haircut; her eyes just barely peeked out from under her bangs.  But he didn't need to see them to know that she was tearing up.  He could tell by the quiver in her voice.

"I have to," she whispered, bending down and almost knocking their heads together.  "I need to."

His throat constricted.  He'd seen that look before one too many times staring back at him in the mirror.

"My aunt was evil," she rasped.  "I have to save our family from what she did, I have to … I have to…"

Even if she couldn't continue her train of thought, he understood what she was saying.  The Warrior Program was held in high esteem; the families of young warriors were praised  (as much as the Marleyans would stoop to praise them) for their sacrifices.  After all, the end goal was becoming a titan shifter then dying after thirteen years.  Yet they somehow glamorized the entire process with wealth and status.

Klara's family was disgraced, and she had to put herself onto the chopping block in order to remove the black stain on their legacy.  He knew from personal experience that that was too much for a child to bear all on their own.

"But … why don't you try?" he asked, flinching as the commander whistled, heralding the end of break.

"I don't want to die," Klara whispered hoarsely.  "I don't want to become a titan, I don't want to die !"

So she would linger near the bottom of the pecking order her entire life?  Surely she knew that a warrior candidate wouldn't bring esteem to her family like a warrior of Marley would.   

Maybe she didn't care.  Maybe this was her own deserved selfishness kicking in - she would waste her life training, but at least she would still have a life.  However bleak and miserable that would be…

Before he could think of something to say, their commander barked their names, shouting them over with the promise of extra cleaning duties if they didn't start running.

Still, Zeke hesitated.  He ought to say something to comfort her, right?  But before he knew it, she was wiping her eyes and sprinting towards the gaggle of other candidates.

There was nothing he could say to make it better, anyway.

Three months later, he met her .

It was a remarkably disgusting day; overcast skies spewing sheets of sleet that came from every direction.  The wind was cold and exacerbated the chill of the wet uniform.

Klara was ahead of him, as she always was.  Far, far ahead of them were the rest of the trainees, or at least that's what he assumed.  It was difficult to see more than five feet ahead through the onslaught.

Even though the drills were the same as they always were, he was falling behind even more than usual.  It felt like he was on another planet.  He could barely breathe with all of his heavy equipment on a good day - now it was impossible.

Klara turned around for the millionth time, her cropped ginger hair spiked and bent from the wind.  Her lips were blue and she looked exhausted, but she was still fairing better than him.

"Zeke?" She had to shout to be heard over the wind.  "Let me carry your rifle."

He was too tired to argue.  He just handed it over and let her shoulder his load.  All of that talk about him being special and having a mission and he was going to die on a training course during a storm.

Luckily, that didn't happen.  They saw floating lights where they knew the ending point would be and Klara hastily gave back his rifle.

They crossed the finish line where a few Marleyan soldiers were waiting, glowering and unimpressed that they had to wait for the two runts of the pack to arrive.  Klara had to drag him to the barracks so they could remove their uniforms, or at least put on sweaters to stave off the freezing cold.

People quickly collected their children, desperate to get out of the storm.  As per usual, Zeke and Klara were the only ones left.  The Marleyans kicked them from the barracks, forcing them to seek shelter under the first empty nook they could find.

They were huddled together, teeth chattering and backs to the wind, too tired to speak.  He wondered if he was going to have to walk home alone in this weather.  

Zeke noticed a tiny red raincoat approaching.  At first he thought it was one of their fellow trainees, until the person rushed into the nook and pulled off their hood.

The little girl underneath looked almost exactly like Klara, except her face was split into a jubilant grin.  It was strange; a face he recognized looked entirely alien only because he had never seen Klara look so happy.

"There you are!" she said, stomping closer and squatting down in front of them.  Her thumbs were hooked under the straps of her tarp-covered backpack.  A few unruly locks of hair escaped from her hood, dangling just past her shoulders.  "I was looking everywhere for you guys!"

Even if he wasn't too cold to speak, Zeke wouldn't know what to say.  He watched on in awe as the girl looked between them, grin never faltering.

"Bo," Klara managed after a moment.  Her teeth were chattering.  "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"Mama said I could come and bring you home," the little girl named Bo replied.  She shrugged off her backpack and set it down in front of her.  "Father didn't want her to leave, so here I am!"

"But you're still-"

"I'm not that sick anymore!" Bo said hotly, shooting her sister a glare before rummaging through her bag.  Something clicked in his head.  He recalled Klara mentioning more than a dozen times about her sister Bo.  "Besides, I wanted to meet Zeke!"

Zeke turned to look at Klara, who was already staring back at him.  She looked properly embarrassed.   Unaffected, Bo chattered on.

"Klara talks all about you, I couldn't wait any longer!  She says you're the nicest."  Klara and Zeke turned a similar shade of pink.  Bo stood, unravelling a wool blanket from her arms.  "I brought this to sit on, but you can wear it, since you guys look so cold."

She then unceremoniously tossed the blanket over Zeke and Klara's heads.  Zeke's mind was still so slow, and it took a few beats for his hands to reach up and pull the blanket away from his face.  By that time, Bo was sitting with her legs on either side of the bag, pulling out colourful containers and setting them to the side.

"I thought we could have a picnic to wait for it to stop raining so hard," Bo said, holding three containers towards him.  When he didn't take them right away, she stacked them onto his knees.  Klara received identical containers. "Because I don't want to go home yet.  And I'm hungry."

Hands quivering, Zeke peeled off the first container's lid.  Inside lay crackers and cheese.  Within the other two were sliced fruit and then a baked square treat sitting lonely and delicious.

After picking up a cracker and staring at it for a long moment, he looked up at Bo.  She had crumbs on her face as she happily munched away.  She wiggled her feet back and forth, as if her body was unable to contain all of her excitement.

When she noticed him staring, she swallowed thickly and said: 

"I like dried fruit better, but I couldn't bring any because I ate it all, sorry," she said, not sounding very sorry at all.  "By the way, your hair is sticking up."

He hastily patted it down then took a bite of the treat.  It was a golden brownie and it was delicious.

When he said as much, she gave him a grin that brightened the gloomy sky.

Soon enough, he was joining Klara at lunch to sit underneath a tree near the mess hall to hang out with Bo until they had to return to their training.  It only took a few days until she started bringing him lunch, too.

He gawked at the pristine sandwich in a colourful container as if it were solid gold.  Bo clapped her hands together while babbling on about how he must tell her what his favourite lunch meat is so she can ask their mom to buy it for him.  That was a lot for him to process.

Luckily, Bo didn't seem interested in letting him speak.  She was content to talk and talk and talk while he and Klara ate.  This was not a strange occurrence, judging by Klara's absent expression.  She had mastered tuning her sister out and enjoying the food.

Bo talked a lot .  She asked a million questions and clapped her hands excitedly when he gave her a good answer.  It was almost impressive how she could say so much but none of it had any substance.  If allowed, she would talk about nothing until her voice went hoarse.

"You guys run so fast, I wish I was that fast!"

"How many steps do you think you've taken in your whole life?"

"Mama said she's going to teach me to make banana bread today! I'll bring some for you to try tomorrow!"

"What if I fall on my face and all of my teeth fall out?  Will I grow more?  How many more?"

It was exhausting.

Eventually he too began to tune her out, answering her questions politely and nodding whenever she tossed a compliment his way.  He understood now why Klara was so quiet - he doubted she ever had the chance to speak.

He began to recognize her voice cheering them on during their track practice.  Others gave her filthy looks and gave her a wide berth, but she was too absorbed in Klara and Zeke and telling them that they were doing such a good job.

In fact, Bo was always there at the finish line too, to give them a bottle of water and a cookie.  She talked so much that she drowned out the praises of everyone else around them.

Of course he was jealous that Klara had someone who always showed up to support her no matter what.  Even if she messed up, Bo was still in awe at how amazing she was.  Envy gnawed at his heart despite him knowing Klara's parents never showed up.  They were the same in that regard.

And who was he to complain when Bo had enough excitement and encouragement to go around?  After all, when she waved hello, she wiggled both hands back and forth; one for Klara and one for Zeke.

"You were so much faster this time, Zeke!" Bo said, bouncing on the palms of her feet and clapping her hands.  "You went through the obstacle course so quickly!"

He couldn't respond with a mouth full of cookies, but he offered a wonky smile nonetheless.  This must have been why Klara was content at the bottom of the class; no matter what she did, Bo was there to praise her.  Having some of that praise directed at him was intoxicating.

It was an exciting day when his grandfather took him to the nearby playground and he saw that Bo and Klara were already there.  Klara was kicking her legs and enjoying the swings while Bo sat beside a large man who he assumed was their father.  They shared his bright hazel eyes and Nubian nose.

He sat with Klara for a while, marveling at how different she looked without her training uniform.  After a while he couldn't ignore it any more; Bo was still sitting quietly beside her father, staring at Zeke and Klara with huge eyes.

"Does she not feel like playing?" Zeke asked, toeing the dirt while rotating on the swing.  Klara took a long moment to reply.

"No," Klara said.  "She thinks playgrounds are too dirty."

And that was that.  Zeke had trouble ignoring Bo's envious gaze while he and Klara had fun, but he was too afraid of their glowering father to approach her.

It was only after he saw her at the market with her mother that he got the full picture.

His grandmother was alright with him going to play with his friend while she shopped, so long as they didn't go too far.  He was much more confident approaching Klara and Bo's mother than their father; she seemed like a nice lady.

Bo clung to her mother's skirt, peering around the swath of fabric to stare at Zeke as he asked her if she wanted to go to the park with him.  Her mother smiled.  It looked exactly like Bo's.

"What do you think, Bolina?" her mother asked while patting her daughter's head.  "Would you like to go play?"

Bo offered a sheepish nod and slowly peeled herself away from her mother.  Before he could turn and lead her away from the crowd, she reached out and snatched his hand.

He stiffened.  She looked at him with such open trust and admiration that it made him blush.  She would follow him anywhere .

This time he led her to the makeshift playground tucked between two low traffic buildings.  The towers were made of old boardwalk pieces and the swings were fraying tires, but those who played there filled in the blanks. 

There were some older kids there already on the swings, and as older children do, they got up and moved away when Zeke and Bo arrived.  Zeke hardly even noticed, too busy clambering onto the lowest tower.

Bo noticed.  She stopped dead, fists clenched and eyes trained on the group of kids who barely even gave her a second look.  Her face was screwed up in rage.

He was taken aback, but still hopped back onto the ground to see what was wrong.  When he was close enough, he noted how her eyelashes glittered with tiny little tears.

When she turned to him, trembling with rage and a sadness she couldn't articulate, he could do nothing but watch.

"There's nothing wrong with us," she said, staring at him as if he were the cause of her anger.  "How come everybody treats us like that?"

He knew what she was talking about, but his mouth was moving before he could stop it.  "Like what?"

Instantly, her anger vanished.  Her eyes welled up with tears and when they spilled onto her cheeks, she used her clumsy fists to scrub them away.

Zeke stood there dumbly, not sure what to say.  Certainly she wasn't just talking about the group of kids who had made room for them on the playground.  She was thinking about how the Marleyans brushed by her without sparing a glance and how they were forced to play on garbage while coming across photos of Marleyan children swinging from brand new monkey bars.

His father might have used this moment to preach about the honour and glory of Eldia.  One of his teachers might regurgitate that story about how Eldians deserved to suffer because of their cursed history.

But Zeke?  Zeke didn't know what to say.

And as he stood there dumbly, hands lax and useless at his sides, she took it upon herself to reach her arms around his torso and pull him into a crushing hug.

It was weird, hugging someone shorter than him.  Around his family he felt like the smallest thing in existence.  Tentatively, he hugged her back.

Her crying had subsided, fading into a glorious pout that made her chubby little cheeks droop.  She held him for a long moment, but he couldn't bring himself to mind.

She gasped loudly, startling him as she pulled away and ran over to the nearest wall.  Zeke was left with his arms out in a phantom embrace, watching her squat down and pluck something from the earth.

She returned with a ripe flower, holding the stem with two hands and brandishing it under his nose.  She was grinning with tears still shining on her cheeks; the change gave him whiplash.

"Look at this!  It's purple!" she said, smiling at it as if it were worth a million dollars.  Glancing over to the wall, he noticed a tangled mass of identical plants that were being strangled by a heap of trash.  How she had spotted a perfect flower amongst a bunch of junk was beyond him.  "I'd bet it'd look pretty on you.  Can I put it in your hair?  Can I?"

What was he supposed to do?  Refuse her when she was jumping on the balls of her feet in excitement?

He tilted his head forward in a nod, then again so she could properly see his head.

After a second of tugging, she gently pushed him upright by his shoulders so she could see her handiwork.

"You look so pretty!" Bo exclaimed, as genuine as could be.  "Purple looks nice with your yellow hair!"

He could feel his face burn red hot as he tentatively reached up a hand to fondle the weed in his hair.  Having her smile up at him like that was embarrassing, so he plucked it from where it peeked out from his bangs.

"I think it'd look prettier on you," he rushed, pushing the stem under a lock of ginger hair.

Her mouth formed a silent " oh " as she gently raised her hand to touch the violet bud.  When her shock subsided, a blindingly bright smile took its place.

She clasped her hands together and spoke with the earnesty and honesty of a prayer.

"I think you're the nicest person in the whole world, Zeke," Bo said, that same goofy smile on her face.  "I'm so happy you're my friend."

So she wasn't naturally loud and annoying; she was that way just for Klara and him, because they were special.

Zeke blushed.  "Okay, well … Move over a bit so I can climb up…"

"Me next, me next!  Can I try please - ple-ease? "

Klara snatched the red cartridge carrier away from Bo's curious reach and fixed her with a scowl: "No!  Hands off!  They're for training.  You're not a trainee so you don't need to train."

"But they're not real ," Bo whined, leaning forward on both hands to survey the disassembled rifle.  It was all red and rubbery, but was accurate to the detail of the real thing.  Klara had borrowed it from the supply room to help Zeke practice.

He had been put on errand duty for the past week or so, tasked with cleaning up after the other trainees instead of working the obstacle course which was bad news .  How was he supposed to become a warrior of Marley if he was on mess duty?!

Bo had come to visit during lunch, but lingered longer than usual despite her needing to return to grade school.  She was fascinated by the sight of the blood red weapon strewn across the grass and had been hovering over Zeke's shoulder while he assembled it under Klara's watchful eye.

"They're gonna get mad if they see we let you touch it," Klara said.  "Besides, you're getting your dress dirty in the grass."

"But no one's around to see, so it's okay!" Bo said, absently brushing off her skirts.

"You're not allowed ."

"I'm not gonna break it, I promise!"

"You're gonna get us in trouble," Klara said, cupping her hands to gather all of the loose parts into a haphazard pile.  Zeke watched in confused silence.  What was the big deal?  Why was Klara so cagey about this?

"Just once!" Bo begged, threading her fingers together and shaking them in the direction of her sister.  "I want to try just once!  Pretty, pretty please!"

"No!  Go away !" Klara snapped, the volume of her voice making both Zeke and Bo flinch.  

There was a few tense moments of silence.  The laughter of the other trainees within the cafeteria wafted through the air.  The tree that provided them shade was restless, allowing speckled sunlight to blemish their little sanctuary.

Bo's face crumpled.  She hid her ears behind raised shoulders and lowered her eyes to the ground.  She made to stand up, furiously rubbing her eyes while turning away.

Zeke reacted first, his hand darting out to snag her dress and keep her still just as shame and guilt washed away Klara's anger.

"You can try," Zeke said, nodding in reassurance when Bo glanced to his face.  "It's hard, but you can try if you want."

Uncertain, Bo looked to her sister.  Klara had sat back on her heels, meekly twisting her thumb into the dirt.  Zeke pulled on her dress again, coaxing her to sit down.

His hands were shaky as he gathered up all of the parts and deposited them in front of Bo.  He played with the hand guard until she had finished scrubbing the tears from her eyes.

"Do you know any parts?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, suppressing a hiccup between pursed lips.  "I watched Father quiz Klara on it a few times."

"Oh …" Zeke shot Klara a look.  She was watching them from under her eyelashes, still fiddling with the grass and weeds around her knees.  "Okay, well  … first you take the bolt carrier." He handed her the part she needed before sifting through the pile for the next one.  "And then the handle.  Then you put it into the upper receiver…"

Zeke watched Bo flick her wrist and cause a small metal barb to slide out from the bolt carrier.  He stared for a long moment.

"Father said you have to do this to make it go in properly," Bo said, sweeping her gaze across Zeke's dumbfounded expression.  "Is that wrong."

"Klara told me …" he said, then dwindled off as he saw Klara's face: she was beet red and frowning.  Had she … been lying to him?  No.  That wouldn't make sense.  Why would she purposefully sabotage his training?

Before he could rationalize this new tidbit of information, Klara pushed to her feet and stood over them, eyes hidden behind the shadows of her bangs.

"Why do you even need to be a warrior?" She demanded.  Wide eyed, he watched her hands tighten into shaking fists.  "What's the point?  Why do you want to be a titan so badly?!"

Bo stood up on shaky legs, whipping her head around and reached out for her sister.  " Shh!  Not so loud, what if someone hears you-"

Klara barreled on, too incensed to listen or calm her breathing.  This was the most intense and angry he had ever seen her be, and it frightened him.  All he could do was remain on the ground, trying to keep up with each rapid fire question she sent his way.

"Why do you need to kill yourself?  Why can't you just stay human?" she asked.  "We don't need them!  We don't need anybody !  Why do you care so much about becoming a stupid titan and going on stupid missions with stupid -"

"Klara!" Bo said, raising her voice to be heard over her sister.  "Don't call people stupid, that's not nice!"

She sputtered for a moment before saying: "I-I didn't call him stupid, I just … I don't get it!"

"Don't get what?" Zeke finally stood as well.  Klara somehow turned an even deeper shade of red under the scrutiny of him and Bo.

For a moment, he wondered if Klara would start screaming to release the tension in her posture.  He was surprised steam wasn't coming out of her ears.  He wondered how long she had been mulling this over.

"Why would you want to die?" she muttered, eyes darting off to the side.  "I don't get it.  I don't want you to become a titan and die.  I don't want Bo to be a warrior and die, but you guys want to.  I just don't get it."

There were a million thoughts racing through his head.  The urge to spill all of his secrets was stronger than ever; to explain exactly why he had to.  His mission.  His parents.  Eldia.  His royal blood.  The weight of all the people around him.

But … would saying all of that change her mind?  More than anything, he hoped it wouldn't.  He hoped she would never stop sabotaging him and his mission, so that he didn't have to go through with it and it wasn't his fault.

When he finally returned from his hurricane of thoughts, he realized that Bo was holding his hand and pulling him closer so she could grab a hold of Klara too.

A stark contrast to her sadness not ten minutes prior, she looked so soft and happy.  Klara was right to want to keep her far, far away from Marley and the warrior program; he didn't even know of he was capable of being that happy anymore.

"It's okay, Klara," Bo said, squeezing her hand.  "No dying and no titans.  I promise."

Klara remained uncomfortable and unconvinced until she noticed Zeke nod in affirmation.  He couldn't bring himself to repeat those words, but he wanted to bring Klara peace of mind.

No matter how guilty lying made him feel, watching her smile with relief was worth it.

In a way, he was glad she was so opposed to becoming a titan; otherwise he would have to find a way to convince her to abandon the warrior program and live a long, happy life.

Then it all came crashing down.

Mr. Ksaver.  His parents.  The trajectory he thought his life was going flipped on its axis after he turned his parents in to the Marleyan officials.  They and every other person in the Eldian Restoration movement was apprehended and killed.

Suddenly everyone looked at him not because he was failing, but because his parents were traitors.  While he and his grandparents were given mercy thanks to him outing his parents, obviously people still had their suspicions.  They stared him down like he was a ticking time bomb - bound to break any second.

At least he had Mr. Ksaver.  He was always willing to lend an ear, a baseball mitt, and a nice game of catch to let Zeke unload the stress of recent events.

And then when Mr. Ksaver was busy with his research, he still had Klara.

Now they were both in the same boat; their families were pariahs in Liberio, leaving the hope for a better life on their shoulders.

He didn't know how she dealt with all of the sideways glances and suspicious double takes.  She told him to ignore it, but that never helped.

All of his fear and anxieties bubbled to the surface one day after training.  A mother had seen him unloading his gear and took her child by the shoulders and pushed them away from him.  As if he were a plague and his misfortune would spread if they got too close.

His heart lurched.  He barely managed to shrug off the rest of his gear and stumble out of the barracks before he buried his face into his hands and began to cry.

It wasn't fair.  He had done the right thing!  Why did the world still hate him?  It's not his fault his parents betrayed Marley, so why was he being punished again and again?

He angrily wiped his eyes, keeping his head down so no lingering Marleyan warriors would see his puffy, tear stained face.  He held his cross-body bag tight and hurried down a side street, determined to find Mr. Ksaver.

"Zeke!" A familiar voice screeched his name, making him flinch and turn around, eyes wide.  Sure enough, there was Bo, running as fast as her little legs could carry her while holding a lunch bag and wearing a poofy dress.  She was grinning and out of breath.  "We were looking everywhere for you!  Me and Klara split up, she's…"

Bo froze when she saw his face.  Her expression changed from jubilant to horrified in the blink of an eye.

"Oh no," she gasped, hands rising up to cover her gawking mouth.  "Oh no !"

He took a step back, fresh tears pricking his eyes.  His half sputtered excuse to leave was cut short as Bo unceremoniously dropped her lunch bag to the ground and rushed forward.

She barreled into him, almost knocking the both of them over as she initiated the most forceful hug Zeke had ever received in his life.  She planted her cheek next to his and gave him a squeeze.

Her voice was a barely audible warble.  "Why are you sad?"

After the shock wore off, a large lump formed in his throat.  He felt pathetic and embarrassed; he couldn't believe she had caught him crying.

Her shoulders and chest had begun to shake with muffled sobs.  For a brief moment confusion eclipsed all of his other emotions.

"Seeing you sad makes m-me sad," she cried, clasping her hands around his back.  "Don't be sad!"

He sniveled, getting snot and tears all over her dress.  At some point, he had resumed crying.  Despite being in the middle of the street, he was weeping like a pathetic, worthless baby, and leaning most of his weight onto her.

She was too distressed to notice.

"You're okay," Bo said, not even convincing herself.  She was just trying to imitate a much wiser, much calmer adult and failing miserably.

"It's not fair," he mumbled.  "It's not fair !"

"But you're okay," she said, patting his back.  "Parents are evil, that's not your fault."

Did her words make him feel better?  Not really, but there was something validating about having someone cry for him - to acknowledge his pain even if she couldn't understand.

So he kept on holding her, hoping that feeling she gave him would never go away. 

Things started changing quickly, some faster than he could keep up with.  Ksaver's term was coming to an end, the next warriors were to be chosen soon, and at the ripe age of sixteen, he had changed too.

Ksaver had put in a good word for him, and he was all but confirmed to be inheriting the beast titan within the year.  He dreaded the day he would have to say goodbye to Mr. Ksaver, but also knew that it was for the best for the future they both wanted.

He longed to talk to confide in someone about everything; he felt awful burdening Ksaver with all of his worries, but the only other person he felt he could trust he couldn't speak to.

When Klara had hear the rumours about him inheriting the beast titan, she had come to him with a blasé attitude, but he knew it was a test.  He could see that she was nervous.  She had made it clear on multiple different occasions that she hoped he would remove himself from consideration.

Zeke didn't want her to worry.  He didn't want her to try and talk him out of his new mission, so he lied straight to her face and told her that those rumours were the product of jealous candidates who were envious of Ksaver's obvious fondness for him.

She had let out a sigh of relief, then asked him about something entirely different.  He tried not to feel guilty, but it was difficult.  Every time he saw her face he was reminded of that lie.  Knowing that some day soon he would be faced with the consequences of his actions made him start to avoid her in hopes that she would grow tired of his company.

No luck.  She was annoyingly understanding and gave him his space.  Something about how it was expected for people to change around this age.

Right.  That.

It felt far too personal to bring it up to Ksaver, so when he had to speak on it, he went to Klara.  Her typical response was to turn a deep shade of red, then mumble under her breath that it was normal.

So, she felt it too.  Though her change included staring and stuttering at the pretty maintenance lady who cleaned up the mess hall after all of the trainees had left.  Honestly, she was hopeless.  He didn't even try to hide his laughter at how depraved she became whenever an attractive woman walked into her line of sight.

At least he was far more subtle about it.

Sure, a smooth patch of skin or a coquettish smile coming from an attractive person made blood rush to indecent places, but he had control over himself.  He didn't blush and trip and forget how to speak when a lady touched his shoulder.  He prided himself in rising above such carnal reactions.

Unless it came to her .

He wasn't blind to how Bo had grown.  She no longer had awkward edges and too large features.  He could even admit as an objective observer that she was pretty.  So was Klara, but that was Klara .

It was different with Bo.  If she were anyone else he would admit he found her pleasant to look at then move on.  It wasn't like she was the only decently attractive girl his age he had met.

However, due to his friendship with Klara, he felt like Bo was off-limits.  Pursuing a good friend's sister would certainly double the headaches that came with navigating the realm of relationships, including the repercussions if things didn't work out.  Not to mention Klara  became upset whenever she was tangled up in any flavour of drama.  As her friend, it was the respectful thing to do to not cross that line.

Except in making such a line, the thought of crossing it became that much more enticing.  The knowledge that he shouldn't stare made his eyes linger.  Whenever she stood too close or gave a smile just for him, his heartbeat quickened.

There weren't many constants in his life aside from Klara and Bo.  Mr. Ksaver was going to be gone soon, and while people didn't glare at him anymore, no one really gave him second looks, either.  No matter what happened after Mr. Ksaver's term was up or how he pushed them away, he could count on Klara and Bo to still be there if he needed them.

And of course, Bo was nice.  Sure, she could be annoying and was a little strange, but he couldn't bring himself to care.  Objectively, it was weird how she picked up abnormal twigs and junk then called them souvenirs , but she always smelled like fresh bread and cookies.

Oftentimes, he would think about stealing a kiss when no one was looking.  Or maybe one day he would find a shiny marble to give her and she would be so overcome with gratitude she would throw herself into his arms.

His daydreams included her waiting around corners for him, so desperate to see him that the dangerous game they played became so much more bewitching.  She would hold his hand and let him lead her anywhere.

She would probably blush if he kissed her.  He wondered which shade of red she would become.  He wondered how far that blush would reach, and if she would let him see for himself.

Sometimes he imagined he would be able to taste the sugar from a cupcake she just ate.  Or maybe her lips would be even sweeter…

" Zeke !"

He reflectively jerked his arm up, catching the baseball before it broke his nose.  Even after that, it took him a few seconds to return to his body.  Oh, right, he was playing catch with Mr. Ksaver, who was looking at him with a curious expression.

"Is everything alright?" Ksaver asked, watching as Zeke shifted from foot to foot, still half absorbed in his own world.

"Yeah." Zeke cleared his throat then wound his arm back and threw the ball.  "The sun was in my eyes."

Ksaver caught it with a breathless grunt.  He was getting too old to keep up with Zeke's growing strength.  So he took a moment to spin the ball in his hand and watch Zeke look to the side, still very much distracted.

Suddenly Zeke was alert.  He stood up straight and angled his chin upwards.

"Bo!" he called out, giving a happy wave with his free hand.  All at once, Ksaver understood.

Bo was all dressed up in her baker's uniform, which meant she was most likely just stopping by to see Klara before going to work.  She snapped her head up upon hearing her name, then relaxed when she recognized him.

"Hello!" she called back, waving at him with both of her hands.  Two times the enthusiasm, all for him.  Her smile faltered.  "What are you doing out here?"

"It's break, I'm just …" he masked his pause with a careless shrug.  "Playing baseball."

Her grin returned full-force.  "That's exciting!" After looking towards the path in front of her, she continued walking.  "I have to go to work - I'll see you later!"

Zeke didn't bother to reply, an awfully smug smile on his face as he watched her go.  He absently dug his fist into the baseball mitt for a few moments before turning back to Ksaver.

His face fell.  "What?"

Ksaver tossed the ball up into the air, then caught it again.  "Who was that?"

"Nobody," Zeke said immediately.  "Come on, toss it back."

Ksaver nodded and gave an over exaggerated frown of approval.  "She sounds nice."

Zeke punched his mitt more insistently.  Ksaver smiled fondly and pretended he didn't see the embarrassed flush that decorated the younger boy's cheeks.  Finally he threw the ball.

Zeke caught it, rotated his hips, then pitched a gnarly fast ball that left Ksaver's wrist aching upon impact.  Ksaver wheezed and held his poor hand.

"You okay, old man?" Zeke called, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Ksaver shook his head.  He struck a nerve in Zeke and out came the sass.  "I'd love to meet her some time.  Would that be okay?"

For a split second, shock drowned out every other emotion.  Bashfulness replaced it a few beats later.

"She's busy," he replied, digging his shoe into the dirt.  Indeed she was: throughout the past few years she had been pulling away from Klara and Zeke.  She started hanging out with people from her classes at school instead of waiting around for candidate training to end.  She got new friends and while she was never rude, she didn't go out of her way to sing his praises anymore.

Granted, she wasn't a little kid anymore, either.

Still, he noted that she had begun to mature and leave her exuberance in the past.  She no longer monopolized conversations or held someone's hand when they made her smile.  At least she hadn't stopped baking sweets for her friends.  Sometimes Klara would bring him one, stating that Bo had made it just for him.  At times like those he wanted to reach out again, to talk and try to mend the space between them.  After all, he felt like it was mostly his fault for the distance between him and Bo, just like he created the space between him and Klara.

"Well," Ksaver said, winding his arm back.  "There's no harm in asking."

Zeke extended his arm, caught the baseball with practiced ease, then cast his gaze to the side to where she had disappeared.

He supposed there wasn't.

A week or so later he had conjured up the nerve to do it.  He hung around the front gate, waiting for her to return from visiting Klara during lunch.  The sun was out, beating down on him as he fiddled with the baseball in his hands.

He brought it to throw it against the wall, but he was filled with too much nervous energy and he didn't want to embarrass himself.  So instead he spun it around his palms with his fingers, trying not to let the obnoxious walloping of a nearby group of teens dampen his mood.

Finally she turned a corner and started towards the gate.  Just as he planned, she noticed him right away.  Her face split into a smile and she deviated from the path to see him.  It was show time.

He pushed off the wall, tossing the ball between his hands, trying too hard to look untroubled.

"Hi Zeke!" Bo said, slowing to a stop when she was a few paces away.  "I was hoping to see you!"

His heart skipped a beat.  "Y-you were?"

"Yeah," she said, rummaging through her satchel to find a white paper bag with the letter Z adorning it.  "I made macadamia nut cookies!"

She held out the package, an excited gleam in her eye.  He had to stop toying with the baseball to accept it.  He cleared his throat before he lost his nerve.

"I was hoping to see you too," he said, finding it near impossible to meet her eye.  Her mouth formed a silent oh .

"Is something wrong?" she asked, eyebrows knitted in concern.

"No," he said quickly.  "No.  I was just wondering if sometime you'd like to-"

" Bo! "

Both of them jumped and turned to look at the group of teens that were openly staring at them.  The loudest of the bunch was the one who yelled; he was a disheveled looking hooligan with mussed brown hair.  He cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Come on, we're leaving," he hollered.  Zeke frowned; he hadn't realized that gaggle of teenagers were waiting for her.

"Give me a minute!" Bo shouted back, shaking her head before giving Zeke an apologetic look.  He must not have been hiding his disapproval well enough.  "Sorry, he doesn't like it when I talk to other guys."

Zeke's face twisted in confusion.  "Why?"

She gave a bashful shrug.  "He just gets jealous, I guess.  He thinks 'cause he's my boyfriend he's the only guy I can talk to, but that's stupid."

Boyfriend .  That word made him sit back on his heels.  He stared at her with a blank expression, then looked over to the group.  Her boyfriend was giving him a nasty look, pacing around and glaring like he was itching for a fight.

"Sorry, what did you want to say?" 

Slowly, Zeke turned back to her.  His chest was tight and he couldn't hide his disappointment as well as he would have liked.  He wished he hadn't decided to do this.  He wished he had known he was too late before he went out and asked if she wanted to spend tomorrow afternoon with him.

"Uh," he looked at the paper bag crumpled in his fist.  "I haven't seen Klara around.  Can you let her know I need to speak to her?"

Bo nodded.  "Of course!  She was near the training arena a few minutes ago, she's probably still there."

"Yeah," he said, scratching behind his ear.  "Thanks."

"Well, I'll see you later," she said, giving him a parting grin and a two-hand wave.  Seeing it tied his throat into knots.  He watched her hurry over to her group of friends and embrace the boy with the brown hair.

That was enough.  He spun around and walked away, holding the baseball in a white-knuckle grip.

Later in the day, it didn't sting any less.  On one hand he wanted to grouse to someone, but he also balked at the thought of anyone finding out that he had nearly made a complete fool of himself.

He was with Klara, their elbows nearly touching as they leaned over a railing and ate their ice cream in silence.  The view of the port was nice, but they had seen it a million times.  Still, it was the best place to people-watch.  Klara's ice cream was dripping all over the place because she was hopeless.

"So," he said, watching her lick her thumb.  "Bo has a boyfriend."

Klara froze, tongue half way out of her mouth.  She straightened and propped her arm on the banister.

"Have you met him?" she sounded earnest and his stomach dropped.  He really didn't want to hear about how amazing this other guy was.

"No," Zeke said curtly.

"He's such a punk," Klara said.  "And he thinks he's cool because he wears dirty, ripped clothes."

Zeke paused.  "Seriously?"

"Yeah." Klara sounded as if she had been waiting ages to complain.  "He thinks he's so funny, but he's just rude.  My mom and dad don't like him at all.  They say he's a pompous trashbag."

"Huh," Zeke said, a frown growing on his face.  He couldn't understand how someone like Bo wanted to be with someone like that.  But at the end of the day, it wasn't his problem.  She could date whoever she wanted and it wasn't his place to judge.

Instead he relished in Klara complaining and shoved down his frustration and jealousy so it would never see the light of day.

Saying goodbye to Mr. Ksaver and inheriting his beast titan was a lot to handle at the age of seventeen.  Alien memories plagued his brain and made him feel like a stranger in his own skin.

Then there was the training.  Experiments.  He was a lab rat for Marleyan scientists to prod at until he fell apart.  Sometimes he wondered how he was ever going to be put back together.

Klara hadn't been picked to become a titan shifter.  He knew that was what she had wanted, blah blah a long life, but … she had wanted that for him, too.

It didn't help that he avoided telling her until a week or so before.  He told her that he was going to inherit the beast titan.  That everything was already ready, and there was no backing out now.

The look on her face ... He wished he could forget it.  Confusion.  Betrayal.  Hurt.  She was silent for a long, long time.

It was better this way, he thought.  She had made herself scarce in the days leading up to the ceremony.

The night before, he received a visitor.  They knocked on the door softly, as if afraid to be heard.

He had expected the general, or perhaps one of his fellow future brothers-in-arms or whatever he was supposed to call the other titan shifters.

The one who stood in the doorway of his room had cropped ginger hair and knobby knees.  She looked sheepish.

"Hi," Klara said.  "Can I come in?"

Wordlessly, he stepped to the side.  He was set to go to sleep hours ago, but was filled with too much nervous energy.  He had been pacing the short length of his room back and forth, tossing paperweights from hand to hand and resisting the urge to run and find Mr. Ksaver.

His current room was tiny already, but with Klara standing in it, it was downright claustrophobic.  The next day he would be moved to the warrior wing, but that night he was stuck with bleak grey walls and all of his worldly possessions stuffed in old suitcases.

She surveyed the room before pressing her fingertips together and taking a deep breath.  He hoped she was there to scream and throw things at him.

"I'm sorry," was what she had said.  He stiffened.  "I shouldn't have left you these past few days.  This is an important time, and … I don't … I don't get why you lied, but I'm still here for you." She met his eye, looking at him through her lashes.  "No matter what."

And that was the worst thing she could have said.

But, sure enough, she was there to bring him sweets from Bo, or to keep him company while he adjusted to his new life.

It drove him insane.

Why couldn't she just hate him?  Even after he explained that he had lied deliberately because he didn't want her to be a part of this, all she did was give him a sad look and accept it with a nod.  She didn't deserve that.

So, as much as he didn't want to, he decided to stop being a coward and tell her up front that he couldn't be around her anymore.  He was busy and she had other things to worry about.  In reality, his guilt multiplied every time he caught her staring forlornly out the window.  He couldn't do what was expected of him when all he wanted was to fix what he had broken.

She would move on and be fine, he reassured himself.  It was difficult to wrap his head around the fact that in thirteen years he was going to be dead and Klara would live on without him.  He'd be no more than a distant memory at the back of her mind.

He surrounded himself with the only people who really understood; his fellow titan shifters.  Pieck was too clever for her own good and caring to a fault.  Seeing how lonely he had become, she made the extra effort to reach out to him.

Of course he was grateful and of course he enjoyed her company.  He didn't know how he would get out of bed most days if not for the knowledge that he wouldn't have to do this alone.

But what he thought he had done by pushing Klara away backfired.  He knew it was pragmatic to leave her alone, to let their friendship die in order to save her from hurting when he died.  Not only that, but he didn't want her seeing Marley rip him apart.  Blood tests, spinal fluid extractions, bone marrow samples, all the procedures left him trembling and crying in empty rooms and closets, hoping no one would have to see him.  It was embarrassing.

But if Klara knew?  Despite how badly he had hurt her by shutting her out of his life, he knew she would get angry on his behalf.  He knew she would seethe and despise Marley more than she already did.  As much as he so desperately wanted to see her tear those suited scientists to shreds, it was better if she kept her head down as she always had.  If she began standing up for him, that would paint a huge target on her back, and he couldn't let her do that.  Not for him.

That didn't stop regret from stabbing his heart every time he saw her in the halls.  She could never look him in the eye.  She always left the room whenever he entered it.

Still, he kept her out.  Months turned into years, but the loss never hurt any less.  Sometimes he wondered if he would ever rid himself of that hurt.  No matter who threw themselves at him or how he indulged himself, when he woke up the next day he could still feel that guilt nagging at the back of his mind.

Why did he have to torture himself to save her?  Why couldn't his life be fair?

One particularly bad day, his meetings kept on running late.  He hadn't slept well and boasted a splitting headache sitting through the final task on his schedule: He was in a briefing with Pieck and a few commanding officers when someone knocked on the door then promptly let themselves in.

Naturally, it was Klara.  She stared at his desk and made sure her tone was devoid of emotion.

"Jaeger, Commander Magath wants a summary of this briefing by the end of the day to send to the Tybur foundation."

Her tone hit like a punch to the teeth.  Now, he was just another snotty superior for her to detest.  He swept aside his ruefulness with a nod.  Without another word she left.

There was a pregnant pause.  He picked up a pencil on his desk and twirled it around his fingers.  

With a look towards the nearest officer, he said: "Please continue."

They did so without mentioning the awkward interaction.  But Pieck wouldn't stop giving him that knowing look.

After the meeting was adjourned and the other officers filed out of the room, she lingered by his desk.

"You only have so much time left, you know," she said, not bothering to waste her time disclosing what she was talking about.  "You're going to regret not enjoying it."

He reclined in his seat and stayed there long after she left.  As always, she was right.

He never travelled through this exit and that was precisely why he assumed that's where he would find her.  Under the guise of smoking a cigarette, he waited by the door, watching the sun dip lower and lower over the horizon.

His patience paid off when he caught sight of her trailing behind a group of trainees leaving for the day.  She had her head down and her shoulders taut.

"Do you always leave this late?" he called out.  A few of the trainees shot him a look, but after realizing they didn't have his attention they continued on.

She stiffened, then turned and gave him a look.  She was terrible at pretending she wasn't uncomfortable.

"I was helping Porco with mess duty," she said, walking away again.   "Thanks for the concern."

"It wasn't a concern, it was an observation."

Her stride stuttered.  "Well, thanks for that."

Her pace quickened.  As his chance slipped through his fingers, panic flared in his chest.  He massaged his temple and dropped the coy act.  "Klara, can I talk to you?"

She looked at him like a prey animal about to be eaten.  Still, she hesitantly approached as he stomped out his cigarette and shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

She still kept her hair short and neat, and there was a lingering hint of baby fat on her cheeks. She looked the same, but also so incredibly different.  He supposed he did as well. 

"How have you been?" he asked, going pink at how lame that was.

"Fine," she said.  "You?"

"Excellent."

There was an uncomfortable stretch of silence.  She still wouldn't look him in the eye.

"I hear lots of good things about you," she said to his shoes.  "They call you Wonder Boy."

"Yeah, I've heard."

"Uh, okay," Klara said, taking a half step back.  "If that's all, I should be getting home before dark.  Thanks for the talk."

Seeing her cower away from him broke his heart.  "I'm sorry, Klara."

She looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed.  "For what?"

He shook his head.  "For everything."

If he wasn't such a coward he would come out and say it; he missed her.  She hadn't done anything wrong to make him shun her.  He loved her with every bit of him that he could manage and he wished she would get angry with him instead of shrinking away.  She'd been through everything with him.  She was his family.  

And he repaid her by pushing her away.  It killed him every time she looked at him with that sad, confused expression.

He was a piece of shit and was sorry .

"No need to apologize," she said.  "Things happen."

He briefly wondered if reaching out and shaking her would do the trick.

"That's no excuse," he said flatly.  "I was wrong to treat you like that.  And I'm sorry."

Finally she chanced a look at his face.

"I don't want to spend the rest of my life regretting my actions," he said.  A weight, one he'd been carrying for too long, lifted off of his shoulders.  "I'd like to make it up to you, if that's alright."

She said nothing for a long moment.  As the sun cast a shadow across her face, it was difficult to tell what she was thinking.

"I'd heard you'd become a real uptight asshole, but this is ridiculous," she said.  " I don't want to spend the rest of my life regretting my actions - are you fifty?"

A relieved smile graced his face.  "I was trying to be sincere, I forgot I have to dumb things down for you to understand."

"Well I'd prefer it if you'd just put your money where your mouth is," she said, angling away from him.  "I'm starving and you're using that nice Wonder Boy paycheck to cover the bill."

He reached out and smacked the back of her head.  Watching her wind up to punch him back, he felt sixteen again, and he supposed that was the best he could ask for.

Pieck's words replayed in his mind whenever he had a quiet moment.  Rebuilding with Klara was one of the best decisions he had ever made, but there was something missing.  Someone missing.

He paid it no mind, really, until one lazy afternoon spent lounging in Klara's dinky little apartment.

He was reaching for another cookie that she'd brought out for him when her voice made him stop short.

"Bo's single, by the way."

Why would she say that?  Why wasn't she looking at him?  The smile that curved her lips was annoying.

"So?" he challenged, taming his irritation and forcing himself to sound unmoved.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, then shrugged into her coffee mug.

"Just letting you know," she said.  It took a while for her smirk to fade.

He wished she had kept that to herself, because now he couldn't get the thought out of his head.

In his mind, Bo had changed the most out of all of them; she was independent, living on her own away from her family and had a steady career.  Anyone could tell that she was content with her life.

He couldn't stay away.

There wasn't a reason - none that he could produce, in any case.  They had both grown up and started separate lives.  At first she invaded fleeting moments of his day, but Klara started to bring her up more and more.  It was as if she were trying to urge him to speak to her dear sister.

Which was what she was doing.  She obviously had the idea in her head that he was a perfect suitor for Bolina.  The fact that he agreed didn't matter; Klara was pissing him off and distracting him from what needed to be done.

Though he begrudgingly admitted that it worked.  

He ended up on a different side of town that he didn't usually visit.  Perched up against a wall, smoking a cigarette, waiting.

Fortunately, he didn't have to wait very long.

She rounded the corner onto the street he stood on.  Her burgundy apron spattered with batter, boots dragging against the ground signalling that she had just survived an arduous day.

Her hair was a mess and she looked exhausted, but kept on looking up at the clouds instead of where she was walking.  The saturated orange sky spurred something in her to walk faster.  Was she late for something?

Why the hell wasn't she watching the ground in front of her?  She was going to collide with the edge of an unevenly laid brick if she wasn't careful.  God she looked so stupid...

Surprising no one, she tripped and just barely caught herself before slamming face first onto the street.  Still, it took her a few staggering steps to regain her composure.

Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed her arm before she could slip and faceplant.  His strength easily beat her momentum and she came to a jarring halt, heels digging into the ground.

Panic and embarrassment flushed her face as she glanced up at him.  Before he could conjure up a witty hello, she used her free hand to pat his knuckles.

"Thank you," she said, giving a shy smile as his fingers slipped away.  Then she just continued on, keeping a careful eye on the ground to ensure she wouldn't trip again.

She hadn't recognized him.  He stared after her, not noticing that his cigarette had long since flickered out.  She hadn't recognized him.

Did he look that different?  No, she must not have gotten a good look at his face.

He found himself tossing aside his cigarette and following her.  What the hell was she doing that was so time sensitive?

Instead of continuing down to where Klara had said her apartment stood, Bolina veered off of the street and began her descent to the docks.

He propped his elbows up on the guard rail, deciding to hang back on the street to see what she would do next.  Was she meeting someone?  Was she hanging around with more unsavoury characters?

Her path was practiced.  She skipped over sharp bends and trotted down a dirt path towards a set of stairs he hadn't paid much mind to until then.  After hopping onto a little platform, she placed two hands on the railing and leaned out to face the sea.

And just stood there.

The sun caught on his glasses and blinded him until he turned away.  Had she really just rushed all the way there just to see the sunset?

Of course she did.

It was such a secluded spot; someone with ill intentions would crow at the opportunity to ambush her with no witnesses.  But she never thought about that , did she?

Of course she didn't.

It was equally frustrating and, if he was being honest, endearing.  She seemed to live in a totally different world - one where there was nothing but her bakery job, the trinkets she found on the beach, and the sunset.  Blissfully ignorant to Marley and the atrocities it committed against the rest of the world; he was envious.

It seemed nice.  Peaceful.  

The longer he stared at her watching the sunset, the more he wanted to join her in that little world.  

Chapter Text

On the second day, she stirred from sleep before sunrise.  Still exhausted, she waited.  What was she waiting for?

Her eyes stung with the effort to remain open, to remain staring at the door handle.  When would he be coming?  Did he sleep in?  He always came to check on her around this time …

There were no approaching footsteps.  Only the creaking of a settling house and the hazy rush of blood in her ears.

Right.  He was gone.  He wasn't coming to check on her.  She rolled over to face the wall beyond the expanse of an empty bed.

Things were going to be okay.  Things were different this time; he was coming back.  He promised he would come back.

Eyes already blurring with tears, she sat up and winced as a muscle in her thigh contracted.  She was all out of sorts; tired and aching and alone.

The room was still so bare, even with a scattering of Zeke's knick knacks perched atop of every available surface.  She thought about the desk that they had bought; about how she'd like to put it under the window.  Or maybe he would share his office with her, so they could sit together and work separately.  She liked the sound of that a lot.

But at that moment she had neither Zeke nor a desk, so she stood up on shaky legs and walked over to the closet that had always seemed too big for only her things.  Sifting through hangers for half a second, she found what she was looking for: a big, fluffy flannel shirt that was far too big on, but was perfect on him.

He'd worn it when he showed her that stupid card trick.  With broad shoulders and a suffocating ego, the armchair he sat on in her old apartment had looked tiny in comparison.  Glasses set to the side, he had grinned up at her and waved a worn deck of cards under her nose.

"You should be honoured that I'm willing to share my secrets with you," he had said.  She remembered crossing her arms.  That was during the time she had realised that his Wonderboy persona was a farce.  He had relaxed in her presence and started to speak to her in a lofty leer. "So sit down and turn that frown upside down."

If she didn't know better, she would have thought that he had been puffing out his chest at an opportunity to show off and impress her.  As it was, she was suspicious that he was setting up some kind of nasty trick.  

After a moment of grumbling, she obliged and sat across from him on the dingy old futon.  That day he had appeared on her doorstep for an impromptu afternoon visit and she hadn't had any time to tidy up.  Regardless of the pleasant sunshine streaming through the window, she was in a testy mood.  It had been his fault; he had teased her over the empty candy wrappers scattered across the very table they sat at.

Ignoring her sour expression, he began to rearrange the deck.  

“Is that what you’re going to show me?” she asked, interest piqued.  She had always wanted to be able to shuffle a pack of cards as gracefully as he did.

“No,” he said, not bothering to look up.

Sitting back in her seat, she began to sulk. So she wasn't going to learn anything practical, huh?

After straightening out the deck he flipped over the top card and showed it to her.  The two of hearts.

"That's your card," he had said.  "Remember it."

"Okay." She watched him flip it over again without checking its face.  He did another fancy shuffle then told her to stop the deck as he rifled through it.  She did so.

He split the deck and flipped over the top card.  "Is this it?"

The two of hearts.  Her eyebrows shot up.  "Yeah, that's my card!  How'd you do that?  Are all the cards the same thing?"

"No, but that would be hilarious," he said with a grin.  She couldn't help but mirror the expression.  "It's a little sleight of hand, that's all.  I kept tabs on your card the whole time."

"Like, you made sure it stayed apart from the rest?" She was craning her neck and leaning forward in her seat, as if that would reveal a secret pocket up his sleeve.  "How?  Did you take it out and put it back?"

"Not at all," he said, absently shuffling the deck.  A pang of annoyance went through her; she wanted to see him do the trick again!  "It's all about hiding in plain sight.  I can shuffle these cards around all I want, I can let you choose when to stop, but I'll always win no matter what."

He froze.  She glanced up at his face.  He was wearing a curious expression.

"Unless…"

"Unless?" she prompted, still leaning forward.

"Unless you decide to lie," he said, resuming his shuffle while keeping his eyes locked on hers.  "Unless you tell me that I picked the wrong card.  I won't be able to prove otherwise."

"I guess…"

"So in that case," he said, straightening out the deck again.  "The trick is contingent on both of us playing along."

There was an awkward moment.  Bo realised he was waiting on her to say something, but she didn't know what he wanted to hear.  "I'll play along."

"Will you?" he mused.  He had that same curious look in his eye as he studied her expression.

"Yes," she said, a hint of indignation in her voice.  "Do it again."

She squinted at his hands, seeking any and all suspicious movements.  He shuffled again.  Then again.  Then tossed the cards between his hands.  Glancing up at his face and noting his smirk, she scowled.

"Sorry, I was waiting for you to blink," he said, straightening out the deck.

"I don't need to blink, I need answers," she said, watching him flip over the top card.  The six of diamonds.

"This is your-"

"It's my card, I got it," Bo said, watching as he flipped the card over and slid it into the centre of the deck.  More fancy shuffling.  It was getting difficult to see what all his fingers were doing since they were moving so fast.  Frowning in concentration, she rested her chin on her palm and narrowed her eyes.

"Figure it out yet?"

"I will," she snapped.

"I know," he replied.  His openness startled her.  He sounded genuine and her focus flicked up to his face. "Tell me when to stop."

Damn it!  He had distracted her!  Not knowing how else to salvage the situation, she immediately said: "Stop!"

He did so when he was only an eighth of the way through the deck.  Without skipping a beat he split the deck, turned over the top card, and…

"Is that it?" he asked, holding up the ten of clubs.

She stared at it for a long moment, then blinked.  That wasn't … had she misremembered?  No, her card had been the six of diamonds, she could see it in her mind's eye.  He had made some kind of mistake.  He had failed the trick.

She hoped her expression hadn't given anything away.  Glancing at his face, he cocked a brow, wondering why it was taking her so long to reply.

She swallowed thickly.  "Yeah, it is.  I couldn't figure out how you did it, maybe next time."

She had thought his previous expression was strange, but it was nothing compared to how he looked at her then:  Like she had done something that deserved praise.  Like he was unfathomably pleased.

Her brow crinkled.  Slowly, her eyes travelled back to the card pinched between his forefinger and thumb.

His thumb slid to the side, revealing that he was holding not one card, but two.  And that second card…

She sat back and stared, dumbfounded.  The six of diamonds.

When she looked back at his face she could feel her ears turn pink with embarrassment.  What, was this some kind of test?!  For what?! 

"Thanks for playing," he said, thumbing the two cards, letting her take a good, long look before he fixed her with a smile she might have considered sweet if she didn't want to fight him.

"But …" she stared at the table, where his fingers plucked at the cards.  When she dared to look back at his face, his smile had morphed into a triumphant smirk.

Her chest swelled.  He was so aggravating!

She stood up, scowling down at him.  "No more card tricks."

She then stepped around the table and stomped off towards the hallway.

"Where are you going?" he called after her.  She ground her teeth and clenched her fists.

"I'm making dinner," she said, rotating to stare at him out of the corner of her eye.  "Would you like some?"

He stood up too.  "We can go out."

Her nostrils flared.  Was her cooking not good enough for him?! "I don't want to go out.  Are you staying or not?"

"I'll stay," he said, leaning down to grab his abandoned deck of cards.  "I can show you another trick while you work…"

She fully turned and fixed him with a glare so poisonous she was half expecting him to turn green then drop dead.  Instead he stood there in his stupid flannel wearing a stupid smirk with that same incomprehensible softness in his eyes.

"Or, we can go to this place I found recently," he said with a one shoulder shrug.  "I heard it has killer pappardelle."

"Fine," she said, changing course and stalking towards the coat rack.  Damn him for knowing she'd do anything for some pasta.  "We can go out."

Curse him and his long legs.  He made it there before her and plucked her coat off of the hanger.

"Excellent," he said, spinning it in his hands and holding it open for her to more easily slip in.  She huffed but played along, overwhelmed by his proximity and how he patted her shoulders once her jacket was properly situated.

That had been months ago.  Yet she could still remember how he left the deck of cards on her coffee table, and how it remained there until she moved.  Now it was hidden in her drawers, hiding from everyone and everything. 

She could remember the scent of him as he helped her put on her jacket; something balmy and piquant and so intoxicatingly him.

The same fragrance was woven into that flannel shirt, so she pulled it over her head and hugged herself.  The bitter hint of cigarette smoke would have poisoned her comfort if she were any less desperate.

It helped.  It tricked her mind into drifting into unconsciousness yet again, soothed by his phantom presence - if only until morning.

Three more days went  by without a hitch, and Bo had hope that things would remain boring and monotonous.  If her future only entailed leg cramps and sore breasts, she'd be the happiest person alive.

Every morning, Mrs. Jaeger would make her tea.  It was the same kind of tea that Zeke preferred, concocted the way he liked it.  She wondered if she knew how to prepare it any other way; if her body worked on autopilot while adding a half spoonful of sugar and a tiny splash of cream.

While Bo preferred everything to be as sweet as it could be, she didn't complain.  Mrs. Jaeger could spit in her cup and she would drink it happily.

Even the constant stream of thought that came from the older woman was embraced with open arms.  At the very least, it filled the vacant house with noise and as always, offered her a little bit more insight.

"You know, he really loves the view from the front porch," Mrs. Jaeger said, watching Bo sit down to tug on her boots.  It was getting increasingly difficult to bend over each day.  "He thought you would like to see the beach, too."

She paused halfway through tying her left shoelace.

"And phew , he always brought up how he and Klara could walk to work early in the morning," Mrs. Jaeger continued, oblivious to the baffled look on Bo's face.  "Though I always told him it’s a bit too far.  He has to wake up early to get there on time, doesn't he?  Tch.  But he just couldn't let go of that view…"

Klara ?  Bo stood up and turned around so that Mrs. Jaeger couldn't see how her face contorted.  A beach view ?

"It took some convincing, you know," Mrs. Jaeger continued, shucking on her own coat as Bo fumbled for hers.  "He had a nice room with the other warrior boys he was staying in before, but you know our Zeke.  There isn't a thing in this world that can stop him once he puts his mind to something."

"Yeah…" Bo said.  The hairs on her arms stood upright; why did hearing that give her goosebumps?

"It's a shame he can't part with his home office, hm?" Mrs. Jaeger said, unlocking the door and holding it open while beaming.  "Maybe we can convince him to renovate and add another room so Klara can move in after all."

Bo gave a wobbly smile and stepped outside, unable to stop herself from flicking her gaze across the drop off, towards the port of Liberio.  The placid waves were beautiful and only minorly distorted the risen sun.  There was no breeze to speak of, allowing the clouds ahead to crawl across the sky at a leisurely pace.

Had he … planned to live there with her and Klara?  All of them under one roof?

It made sense.  Why else were there three bedrooms, with two of them already furnished with beds?

The thought made her warm enough that she didn't feel the need to zip up her jacket as they ambled towards Alice's bakery.

Mrs. Jaeger was kind enough to make an effort to walk Bo to and from work when she wasn't busy, keeping her company during the trek only to linger in the storefront and talk to Alice.  While she knew Mrs. Jaeger had loose lips, those scheduled gossip sessions let her in on just how much information circled Liberio through word of mouth of the older generation.

Her own grandson wasn't safe from the cycle.  "He's such a smart and sweet boy, but pardon my language, he gets on my damn nerves!"

Bo paused in adjusting her hairnet and turned towards where Mrs. Jaeger was conspiratorially leaning over the muffin displays.  Alice had abandoned her task of refilling them, preferring to absently wipe her hands on a tea towel and nod along, enraptured by the conversation.

"Just the other day he struts in and says, By the way, Bolina's pregnant ." Mrs. Jaeger puffed out her cheeks to exaggerate a scoff.  "He must think I was born yesterday.  The girl asked me for pickles and tuna sandwiches - of course she's pregnant!  I was the same when I had my first - though I had a hankering for celery and strawberry honey."

Bo's face flushed.  She turned away, smoothening her hands down her apron and fine tuning her appearance to delay stepping out of the employee’s back room.  Had it really been that obvious?

"Lord in heaven, they'll be the death of me," Alice replied, sounding equally if not more wound up.  "All that blathering on about oh we're not together, what are you talking about ?  Please!  As if we're stupid or something!"

Bo swore her cheeks were glowing red.  She couldn't stall much longer in the employee's nook, so she dragged herself out to the storefront on leaden feet.  Both women turned to face her and somehow her blush deepened.

"Yeah, we're talking about you, hun," Alice said, quirking a brow and giving a knowing smile.  "Thinking you're crafty and slick - we have eyes, you know."

Bo didn't know how to reply, so she just bowed her head in defeat.  While it was a little aggravating hearing them talk about a relationship they had no part in, she figured at the end of the day it was harmless.  Or at least she hoped it to be.

"Put on some more crullers, won't you, honey?" Alice asked, jerking her head towards the kitchen.  "The dough is in the fridge, but we only need a dozen or so - they're popular today!"

"No doubt because Spencer's been making them all pretty," Mrs. Jaeger said, twisting to shoot Spencer a kind smile.  Upon hearing his name, Spencer stopped halfway through his descent of a rickety step stool.  In his arms was a box of faulty light bulbs he had just removed.  He blinked at two women, confused.  "I've heard you've been bringing in new designs for the cake book!"

"Yeah," he said, but didn't see the need to elaborate further.  He simply responded then continued working.

Bo caught the tail end of a look Alice shot Mrs. Jaeger before she retired to the kitchen.  

A dozen or so.  There was a taped note on a large tupperware that read crullers in Alice's swooped handwriting that Bo pulled from the fridge.  Settling in and tidying up a section of the counter, she got to work eyeing the chilled dough to cut out a dozen's worth.

Just as she grazed the tip of her knife against the dough, she felt two hands clamp down on her shoulders.

Jumping with a sharp gasp, she whipped her head around to see a taller woman with sleek black hair and a triangular face.  Thin lips, a sharp nose, and beady brown eyes came together to form a bemused expression on a familiar face.

"What's up, buttercup?" Priscilla said, propping her elbow on the counter beside where Bo had set up shop.  "You should put on half a dozen more than whatever Alice told you to do."

Bo's brow furrowed.  "We're going to have too many extras…"

Priscilla gave an over exaggerated nod.  "Duh?"

Oh, she had plans to bring the extras home.  Alice never threw out any leftovers at the end of the day because it broke her heart to see food go to waste.  However, it would be wrong to purposefully make leftovers just because Prissy was too lazy to cook herself a proper dinner.

Bo pursed her lips and carved the amount needed for a dozen.  Priscilla groaned and crossed her arms, slumping her weight onto the counter.

" Boo ," she said, watching Bo walk across the kitchen to grab a piping bag and a star tipped wedge.  "Anyway.  I have a proposal for you."

"For me?" Bo echoed, rolling out a decent sized portion of parchment paper.

"Yeah," Priscilla said, glancing over her shoulder while bending down to grab a heavy bottomed pot from the cupboards below.  Bo gave a grateful smile that was promptly ignored. "I saw some prenatal vitamins - the good stuff - and I can snag a few packs for you.  You're looking rough and kind of dead these days, you could use it."

Bo shot her a look between syphoning the dough into the piping bag.

"No offence," Priscilla added lamely.  "Anyway, you want them?  I can bring some to you."

"Why…" The question died on her lips: why were you looking for prenatal vitamins ?  Then she remembered that Priscilla worked a second job at the pharmacy adjacent to Liberio's hospital.  She probably didn't have to search very hard to find prenatal stuff.

Bo would think Priscilla was admirable for having two full time jobs, but knowing Prissy, it was a miracle that she still had that second job.  At Alice's she actively avoided doing anything that didn't involve chatting up regulars or sitting outside and smoking.

Currently, she was supposed to be whisking the forgotten bowl of cornmeal, flour, and baking soda on the other side of the kitchen, not talking to Bo.  

Bo figured she hadn't been let go yet due to Alice's bleeding heart; she knew Priscilla had a lot on her plate and had little to no family to help support her.  In return, Prissy put in slightly more effort whenever Alice was around.  Though that wasn't saying much.

Bo was tugged from her thoughts by Prissy impatiently pulling on her sleeve.

"But in return, you have 'ta introduce me to your fancy warrior friends," Priscilla said, biting the nail of her thumb and leaning into her personal space.  "What d'you say?  Deal?"

"Wha-huh?" Bo sputtered, fists clenching and subsequently squeezing too much dough out of the piping bag.  The resulting cruller was malformed and engorged on one side.  She let out a disappointed sigh.  "Which friends?"

"Y'know, those big shot Marleyan warriors," Priscilla purred.  "The ones with the big ol' bank accounts.  Don't be stingy and hog them all to yourself, I'd like someone to pay my rent, too…"

"I don't think-"

"How about that cutie from the other day?" Priscilla said, lacing her fingers together and cocking her head to the side.  "That was the cart titan, right?" 

Bo let out a sigh, wringing out her piping bag.  She was becoming more uncomfortable the more insistent Prissy became. "Sure, I can introduce you to Pieck."

"This is why you're my favourite," she replied, wrapping her arm around Bo's neck and squeezing in some kind of half-hug.

After being released, Bo watched Priscilla flounce away to go and pretend to look busy.  Another sigh as she rifled around the cupboards for the oil.

She wondered if other people saw her and Zeke that way; him as her benevolent benefactor while she reaped the benefits without a care in the world.  Her mother would be proud, and that thought made her sick to her stomach.

One hand gripped the nozzle while the other balanced the bottom of the canister of oil. She carefully poured it into the pot, squinting to make sure she didn't spill any.

"Oh yeah!" Priscilla appeared behind her, causing Bo to jolt back and splash the viscous fluid all over her apron.  "I forgot to say… your dad stopped by yesterday."

The frustration mounting in her mind evaporated in an instant.  Looking up with wide eyes, she stared Priscilla down.  Hoping that she had misheard.

No such luck.

"He's a bit of a creep, huh?" Priscilla mused, picking up the carton of oil from her hands and setting it down on the counter.  She pulled a face at the oil blotch on Bo's front and began searching for a clean towel. "It looks like you spit up on yourself."

Bo was rooted to the spot, petrified with fear.  "My … father …?"

"Yeah," Priscilla said, dampening a towel before grabbing a fistful of Bo's uniform and scrubbing the stain.  "He's got the same nose as you, by the way.  I tried going out to talk to him, but he wouldn't come in." She snorted to herself.  "He'd rather just look through the window like some pervert.  No offence."

"Are you sure?" Bo's throat was constricting, making her voice come out as a strangled squeak.

She hadn't paid her "bills" to her father last month.  She knew he'd come looking for her and now that Zeke had left, there was no one in his way.  Despite his newfound resentment towards Zeke, she knew her father respected his power and influence - and that if it came down to it, he wouldn't win a fight against a titan shifter.

Now, though … Zeke had been gone for just under a week.  News had probably spread of his departure.

She didn't want things to go back to the way things were, but she knew what was coming; calls from family friends and bystanders, trying to guilt her into making amends with her parents.  Her mouth was dry and her ears began to ring.  She had never missed a payment before.  She didn’t know what her father might do if he caught up to her, and she didn’t know if she could stay strong under pressure.

"Huh?" Prissy paused, glancing up at her face.  "Yeah, he told me he was your dad and he asked for the schedule to see when you were working next-"

Bo's breaths were becoming quick and shallow.  She grabbed Priscilla's elbows so tightly she instantly stopped speaking.

"Did you tell him?" Bo didn't bother hiding her panic.

"What? I-"

"Did you tell him when I was working?!"

"No?" Bo could have cried from relief.  "I told him to ask you…  Hey, you alright?"

"Yeah," came Bo's shaky reply.  She unpeeled her hands from Priscilla's shoulders and took a step back.  Certain that all the blood had drained from her face combined with her trembling like an autumn leaf, she doubted she looked fine.

Priscilla narrowed her eyes.  "Something's up with your parents, huh?"

Bo turned, anchoring her palms onto the counter and leaning forward.  She really, really didn't want to talk about it.  Priscilla's hand was too hot on her upper back.

"I figured he was a dickhead," she mused.  "Next time I can try to light his coat on fire, if you'd like."

She would have laughed just to get her off of her back, had her hysteria not fizzled and died into a muted thrum of horror.  Pulled taut, she closed her eyes and did her best not to break.  She bit her lip so hard the skin threatened to break.

Distantly she heard Alice's voice, but couldn’t make out what she was saying.  Even if she wanted to remain hiding in the kitchen, she couldn't, thanks to Priscilla grabbing her arm and tugging her towards the storefront.  What was happening?

The lights in the bakery were blinding and didn’t help her rapidly growing headache.  She swayed on her feet, only held upright by Priscilla's ironclad grip on her forearm.

Mrs. Jaeger was still there.  Bo heard her voice.  Someone else was in the store, too.  Someone she hadn't seen before.

After rubbing her eyes, she could see more clearly; a pretty woman stood beside Spencer, holding a bouquet of flowers.  Blond and willowy and smiling bright enough to make her eyes hurt, the woman was looking at Spencer as if he had just solved every one of life’s problems.

"Go on, then," Mrs. Jaeger said with a laugh.  "Take them!"

Spencer was beet red, but received the bouquet with quivering hands.  The woman seemed pleased with his flustered state.  The way he looked at her …

Spencer broke from his embarrassment and leaned forward to give the woman a chaste kiss on the temple.  A light dusting of pink invaded her cheeks.

"This must be the infamous Irma," Priscilla said to no one in particular.  Irma? … Oh, Spencer's long time girlfriend.  Bo looked again, and admitted that the woman did seem familiar.  "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Irma's smile brightened tenfold.  "I missed him, so I decided to stop by."

"Hang on!" Alice exclaimed, throwing her hands up.  "What's that on your finger, miss?!"

Irma shuffled closer to Spencer, shot him another blinding grin, then brandished her left hand.  Sitting pretty on her third finger was a simple silver ring.

Alice and Mrs. Jaeger's gasps harmonised into one cacophony of excitement.  A chorus of nonstop congratulations followed by a flurry of questions pertaining to wedding plans filled the room.

Bo was slow to react.  It wasn't as if she wasn't happy for Spencer - of course she was.  She was having some difficulty shaking the tension from before.  A panic attack still cast a ghastly shadow over her person.

More than that, something ugly writhed in her chest as she looked at the happy couple.

They stood so close, so sure, so steadfast.  Irma turned to give her fiancé a kiss and he looked like the happiest man alive.

As shameful as it was to admit, Bo was jealous.

At that moment, she didn't care that Spencer and Irma most definitely had their own problems and hurdles to get over.  All she saw was an effortlessly perfect and happy couple, gushing about starting a life together.

No worries about how Spencer would pay Irma back, no obligations on how to act in front of other people, nothing.  No one questioned if Irma was pursuing him for his money, or considered them with anything heavier than delight.

If things were different, if she hadn't had her reservations, if they had gotten together sooner, would Zeke and her be that happy?  Would they ever be that happy?

That train of thought made her stomach clench.  Instead of mulling it over further, she rested one hand on her stomach and forced a grin on her face.  She would endure.  She had to.

It was the last day before the Eldian troops joined Zeke in the counterattack against the enemies of Marley, and Bo was grateful that Pieck and Porco stepped in to help Klara finish up last minute preparations so that they could spend the last few hours together.

Truth be told, Bo dreaded saying goodbye.  As worried as she was for Zeke, she had learned (in a very annoying way) that he had regenerative powers.  Klara didn’t.  Klara was just a person, fodder for the Marleyan military.  They would send her to die without thinking twice.

However, Bo steeled her nerves and vowed to spend her sister’s last night in a good mood instead of bringing everyone down.  

Pieck had tried to convince Bo to rendezvous at her and Zeke’s house, but she couldn't bring herself to relent.  As much as Bo felt at home in that place, she didn't dare go against what Zeke had said:

I don't want Klara coming here … This isn't a discussion.  You can not and will not change my mind.

So, they met in Pieck's quarters with an array of mini quiche prepared by Bo earlier that day.  Sipping on cheap, watery alcohol that Porco had picked up while Bo nursed a glass of cranberry juice, their topic of conversation spiralled.  What started off as idle chat discussing Porco’s awful taste in liquor transformed into something near incomprehensible.

"Okay, but you still need oxygen in your titan form," Porco said, speaking louder than necessary in his half-drunk state.  "So even if you could regenerate, if the fight is happening in space, there's no way you could breathe!"

"That's assuming the battle is in space, and not on an alien spaceship," Pieck countered, reaching for another quiche.

"But aliens don't breathe oxygen."

"How do you know?"

"Because they're aliens!"

"What if you gave Pieck an oxygen tank?" Bo interjected.  "Then she would be able to breathe in space."

"But what would she do?" Porco asked.  "There's like, no gravity up there.  She would just float around."

"It's not like she would be frozen," Klara argued.  "She can swim or something."

"Swim?!  You're an idiot, you can't swim in space."

"You're calling me an idiot?!  You're the one who thinks you can't move in space."

“I didn’t say that, stupid.  I said you can’t swim.  Try growing ears.”

"You probably couldn't, Pock, but I could," Pieck said with a sly smile.  "I'd swim over and bite the engines right off of the alien ship and you'd be stuck floating away."

"Hey, if I had a titan," Porco said, gesticulating towards his chest so violently that a hefty portion of his beer sloshed out of the nozzle.  "Those alien's wouldn't even look our way.  They'd know what's good for them and if they tried anything I would end them ."

"If your titan had your hairline they'd be too busy laughing to attack," Klara said, earning herself a punch to the arm.

"Says the one with the comb over," Porco said, reaching up and mussing her hair.  "My grandpa wants his toupee back, by the way."

"Before you give it back, you should try it on and see what it's like having hair that doesn't feel like soggy noodles."

Porco abandoned his drink and grabbed Klara by the shoulders, pinning her down and demanding she take that egregious statement back.  Klara refused to back down and began smacking his bicep with an open fist.  Pieck turned to Bo, smiling at how she rubbed her eyes with the back of her wrist.

"We should get you home before you fall asleep," she said, setting down her beer.  "We wouldn't want you to be trampled tomorrow when all the craziness starts." She looked at Porco as he struggled to pin Klara's arm to the side.  "Porco, are you going to bring Klara home?"

"Just a second," he grunted as Klara used her palm to push his chin up and away.

Watching the two of them tussle like rowdy teenagers made Bo feel better, strangely enough.  Klara was leaving, but she wouldn’t be alone.  Porco would have her back.

As Bo and Pieck got up and grabbed their coats, Klara and Porco paused their wrestling match just long enough to offer a quick synchronous: "Bye, Bo." Before they resumed trying to put each other into a headlock.

“Stay safe,” Bo said.  Klara tipped her head back and flashed her a smile that morphed into a scowl as Porco managed to flip her over onto her stomach.  A string of curses flew from her mouth as she started desperately kicking to free herself.

“She’ll be okay,” Pieck said, holding open the door while tilting her head to the side.  “Pinky promise.”

Nodding, Bo joined her in the hall, looking back one more time to catch a final glimpse of Klara before the door snapped shut.

Bo had only ever traversed into the depths of the warrior barracks three or four times. The winding corridors and offshooting balconies were straightforward and elegant in their simplicity.  The walls were tan and sparsely decorated aside from the odd painting of different iterations of the Warhammer Titan.  Perhaps it was due to her surroundings being new, but she liked it.  She could imagine Klara and Pieck and Porco going about their day, loitering in the halls and training within the enclosed grounds below.  

Klara always insisted they meet anywhere but the cantonment and Bo would never dream of asking Zeke to give her a tour.

She could imagine him giving her a puzzled look and uttering a flat no as a reply.

In contrast, Pieck was more than happy to point things out.  Down there's the mess hall.   If you go out that door, there's a veranda that looks over the obstacle course.   Over that way is Porco's room.  The other way is where Zeke's office is.

If it weren't so late in the evening, Bo would have asked to go and take a peek.  As it was, the sun had long since set and her feet were already beginning to complain despite them recently exiting the dormitories.

Pieck had a little smile on her face as they walked side by side down the streets.  Bo cast her gaze along the maze like alleys; it had been quite a while since she had ventured to that part of Liberio.

"So," Pieck said, leaning forward to catch Bo's eye.  "I've been wondering …"

Eyelashes fluttering, Bo waited for her to speak with baited breath.

"What made you decide to work at Alice's?" Bo blinked, eyebrows furrowed.  "I mean, it's a nice little shop, but it only makes cookies and cakes and stuff.  Why not be a chef?  Why not open your own restaurant?"

Her own restaurant … that sounded like something out of her wildest dreams.  She placed a hand over her slight belly bump and stared at her feet.

"I mean I bet you could," Pieck said, bumping Bo's shoulder with her own.  "I'd visit every day if I could eat a dozen of those broccoli cheddar quiches for lunch."

Bo's insides erupted into butterflies.  She began to play with the sleeve of her coat.

"Maybe one day," Bo murmured.  "But … well, nevermind."

"But what?"

Bo tried to stay strong, tried to summon the urge to shrug and change the subject, but it was difficult not to feel at ease when Pieck was touching her upper arm so gently.

"I don't think I'd do very well managing some fancy restaurant," she admitted.  "I wouldn't like rushing around and serving hoity toity business people or picky eaters."

"Don't you get them at a bakery too?"

"Yeah, but … it's different."

"How?"

Pursing her lips, Bo pinched an unfastened button between her index finger and thumb.

“In a restaurant you come in and they make what you ask.  In a bakery you go in and take what’s already there,” she explained.  “It’s like … you know what you’re going to get.  It’s easier.”

“Easier…” Pieck echoed.  Something in her tone made it seem like she didn’t care for that answer.  “So you like it when things are easy?”

Bo couldn’t help but giggle to herself.  If that were the case, she wouldn’t be pregnant with a certain someone’s baby.  Pieck grinned, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I think it just turned out that what I like to do is easier,” Bo said after a minute.  There was a weird tension in the air and it made her nervous.  "I don't know.  When I think about cooking and stuff, I think about how much fun I used to have making oatmeal cookies with my mom after school, before Klara or my father came home."

There was a beat of silence spent staring at the pavement, wondering how much more she should say.

"And I don't even like oatmeal cookies," Bo muttered.  "But I liked baking them.  And putting them in the oven then stacking them in pretty containers for Klara.  And I just want to do something like that for the rest of my life."

She also liked how on days where the weather was good, her mom would prop open a window to let the neighbours catch a whiff of the delicious things they were making.  Bo loved her dear old neighbours, an elderly couple who had since passed away, who used to call out from their garden, teasing and asking where their share of treats were.  

She loved going to the market with her mom, and how the sellers would lean over their stalls and greet her with a smile.  How one of them called her Head Chef Bolina and gifted her a well-loved recipe book on her thirteenth birthday.

On bad days, when she didn't have the words to fix all the things wrong in the world, it felt like all she could do was split her brownie in half and offer the other end to another person.  It didn't come close to solving the problem, but the sweet treat would hopefully put a smile on their face.

"I think I'd only like to work at a place people visit because it makes them happy," she said.

"I see." Bo turned to see that Pieck was considering her with a keen eye.  Was she quizzing her on something?  What exactly was she looking to hear?  “Working with Alice makes you happy?”

"Of course," Bo replied immediately and without hesitation.  "Alice's is my favourite place in the whole world."

Alice’s bakery was like a warm hug and a fresh glass of apple cider.  It was welcoming and bright and a place where she always knew what to do and what was to come.  While she had overworked herself one too many times, she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything but content every time she walked through those frosted glass doors.

Pieck's quirked brow morphed into a sweet expression.  "Well, Alice sure is a lucky lady to have you."

Had she passed whatever test Pieck had put forth?  Perhaps she was gauging to see whether or not Bo really was just using Zeke for his power and status.

Or maybe it was all in her head.

“It’s nice that you’re doing something because you love it,” Pieck said, a flavour of wistfulness entering her voice.  “I don’t think many people can afford to do that.”

Bo waited a moment before asking:  “What would you be, if you could be anything?”

Pieck gave her a shrewd look.  “You don’t think I’m already what I want to be?”

“No,” Bo replied automatically.  Who in their right mind would subject themselves to such a harsh life unless they had to?  She had worn invisible shackles her entire life, but she couldn’t imagine being so closely tied to Marley’s barbarous military - and how heavy those chains would become.

Pieck looked taken aback, caught off guard by a single syllable.  Yet in an instant, her smile returned.

“I see why Zeke likes you,” Pieck teased, bumping her arm yet again.  She took a few seconds to mull over her next words.  “When I was a little girl, I liked waiting by the train tracks to watch the convoys.  They were huge and terrifying and powerful, and I wanted to climb them so badly .”

As they made their way down Bo’s street towards their destination, Pieck let another bout of silence reign.

“I guess I’d be a conductor,” Pieck said.  “I think that would be exciting enough for me.  I’d get to see all sorts of places, meet all sorts of people…”

“You’d be the best conductor in the whole world,” Bo said solemnly, and she meant every word.

“Yeah, well…” As nonchalant as she attempted to seem, Pieck couldn’t fully conceal how bashful she had become.  She slowed to a stop at the bottom step of the porch.  “Maybe in another life.  Goodnight, Bo-bo.”

Bo let out another giggle.  “Goodnight … Peeky.  Stay safe.”

“I will,” she responded, the only acknowledgement of the new nickname being a fresh grin on her face.  All too soon she turned around and strolled back down the way she came, humming a tuneless song.  Bo waited, listening to the directionless melody until it faded into the night.

She and Mrs. Jaeger had long since retired when the phone started to ring.  From her position lounging on the floor of her bedroom, Bo sat upright, confused and concerned.  It was almost midnight, who was calling?

After the initial shock dissipated, she hauled herself upright and made for the stairs.  Mrs. Jaeger poked her head into the hallway, brows furrowed.

"Don't worry, I've got it," Bo told her with a smile before descending the staircase and shuffling over to the phone.

"Hello?" she said, eyes flickering to and fro as she nervously twirled the cord around her finger.

Hearing the voice on the other end made her freeze.  She listened with rapt attention as they spoke.    

"What?" she breathed after a moment, feeling her blood run cold.  

The voice continued, obviously strained and struggling not to break down.  Bo felt tears well in her eyes listening to the pain in their voice.

"How?  Why? … Klara, what happened?!"

Chapter Text

Bo didn't bother getting dressed or putting on anything more than a coat and the first shoes she stumbled across.  Fumbling with her keys, she kicked the door shut and locked it with shaky fingers.

Then she was off, hopping down the steps and flying down the street.  Her legs were complaining after standing and walking so much that day, but she was too panicked to care.

Klara didn't live too far from the docks, though her apartment faced the opposite direction of the sea; therefore, she lost any chance of a decent view.

Bo often wondered why Klara had deigned to leave the cantonment and its free living quarters, especially since she had to make the strenuous journey there every morning.  It wasn't as if she was a collector like Bo; she just needed her space, it seemed.  

More pressingly, however, was how she managed to get permission to live elsewhere.  Perhaps it was thanks to Zeke, who had managed to move back in with his grandparents not long after Bo had started seeing him on a regular basis.  Was he granted a pardon?  Had he extended that pardon to Klara?

In any case, the fact that she lived somewhere so far away was an especially troublesome hindrance that night, when tears kept filling her eyes and blurring her vision.

It was a miracle Bo didn't get lost in her frenzied state, cutting through yards and down shady alleyways; she ought not to have been travelling so late into the evening.  In record time, she came to a screeching halt in front of the faded yet robust main doors.  

As agreed upon, Klara was standing on the other side of the door, ready to let her in, so they didn't have to waste time buzzing her up.

The second set of doors past the foyer were made of frosted glass.  Bo could see her sister's silhouette on the other side, slumped against the wall.  Her heart stopped.

"Klara?!" Bo shouted, not caring that it was the dead of night.  She slammed her open palm against the door and let out a breath of relief as the figure jumped to attention.

Something wasn't right.  The hinges groaned, the sound grating and loud even in her rushing ears, but it was moving so slowly.  As if Klara was having difficulty pushing it open despite doing it a million times before.

The door lurched, revealing Klara, slightly hunched over and hiding behind her hair.  It was dripping wet and a tangled, as if she had dunked her head underwater.  One of her arms was braced across her chest, but it wasn't initially clear whether its purpose was for comfort or support.

Bo noticed a trickle of blood running down her sister's temple.

From her mouth came an avalanche of words.  Panicked hands flitted from Klara's arms, to her shoulders, then to her face.  Only when Bo was close enough to push her hair from her brow did she see that her left eye was swollen and red.

" Oh my God ," Bo said, not bothering to suppress her tears.  "Oh my God, Klara …"

Upon hearing her voice break, Klara's lower lip began to tremble.  However, they were still standing in the doorway of her building, vulnerable and in the open, so she gestured for Bo to venture inside so they could have some privacy.

They clung to each other while climbing the stairs up to the second story.  Bo wrapped her arm around Klara's waist in an attempt to shoulder some of her weight while Klara steadied Bo with an arm on her shoulders.  Luckily, none of her neighbours peeked out to check on the commotion.

Klara had left her door unlocked and ajar.  Seeing it gave Bo pause, but she pushed on.

Walking through the threshold was something else entirely.  She found herself frozen to the spot, unable to do more than gape at the wreckage before her.

The coffee table had been flipped over.  The armchair had toppled to the side, and there was a ripped up pillow lying torn and defeated near the entryway.  Scattered pages from magazines and photo albums littered the ground.  Water and ink splotches marred the rug and the hardwood flooring, but they were half-dried by now.  Even when the dark liquid was eventually cleaned, an ugly stain would remain to remind them of that night.

The window was cracked open, the unbothered night wind slithering through the blinds and making the broken curtain rod sway in the breeze.  It looked as if someone had tried to rip it off its hinges.

Bo was still rooted in the doorway, her palms sore from how hard she was clenching her fists.  Everything was in utter disarray, but it had long since settled.  Bo wondered how long Klara had sat among the carnage of her home before she had called her.

In the present, Klara staggered over to the couch, pushed an old photo album off of the cushion, then sat down heavily.  She planted her elbows on her knees and put her head in her hands.

Over the phone, Klara hadn't said much.  She had begged for Bo to come over in a tone she scarcely used.  Bo had figured that something dreadful had happened, but this …

Their father had paid her a visit.

Bo swallowed a bitter scream of anger.  Why hadn't the neighbours done anything?  Why hadn't the people walking below Klara's window done anything?  Why had no one helped her?!

Her hands were shaking terribly as she closed the door and double locked it behind her.  She stiffly went to the hallway, peeking into the kitchen and bedroom to see the scope of the damage done.  It seemed focused in the entry room - the visit had most likely been short and explosive.  That was good.  

No, not good.  It was the best case scenario.

After all, Klara kept her expensive photography cameras and nice card decks in her bedroom closet.  If their father had gotten his hands on those …

Bo's heart ached at the thought.  It was bad enough that he ruined her photo albums, but those cameras were top of the line and Klara's pride and joy.  Her heart would shatter with the fragile lenses if he laid his destructive paws on them.

After collecting two clean cloths and running them under a stream of warm water, Bo returned to where Klara sat, motionless on the couch.  She knelt down next to her, linking her fingers through Klara's calloused, warm knuckles and gently guiding them away from her face.

She had been crying.  Puddles of tears welled in the valleys of her palms and sullied her shirt.

Bo attempted a smile, but it wavered and broke.  So, she focused her attention on taking one of the cloths and gently cleaning the blood from her sister's face.

The silence was eerie.  While sitting in such a mess, there was an expectation of being bombarded with violence.  Fatal strikes, clattering glass, broken limbs.  But the creator of that carnage was long gone - no doubt sleeping soundly in his bed without a care in the world.

And living in that silence was, in Bo's opinion, the worst part.

She pursed her lips while running the cloth over Klara's ruddy cheeks, noting that the blood was seeping from a long scratch that traced her hairline.  It didn't look too deep, but it boasted an angry red glow.  They would probably need to disinfect it.

A strong gust of air rushed through the cracked window that made the scattered pages flutter.  Both of them jumped, shoulders tense, staring at a photo that somersaulted to a stop at Bo's knee.

It was a nicely developed photograph of Zeke, back when his beard was half as glorious and he was far more self-conscious.  Shoulders hunched, he had a tense smile on his face at being the main focus of the photo.  It must have been taken when Klara purchased her first camera and wanted to try it out at every possible opportunity.

Klara covered her eyes, but Bo could see through the gaps in her fingers that a fresh set of tears had slipped down her face.

After gathering her wits, Bo pressed the other cloth into Klara's free hand before carefully positioning it atop of her swollen eye.  

As depressing as it was, she had come to expect the destruction of their belongings, but their father had never laid a hand on them.  Never them.

To know he was escalating to that made ice-cold fear pump through her veins.

Based on her foggy, defeated expression, Klara was in no shape to recount what had taken place.  Bo patted her leg, then stood to her feet and trudged off to the kitchen in search of a glass of water she could offer her sister.

While there, she passed the phone receiver.  There was a phantom handprint painted on the wallpaper, lined with sweat and spattered with blood.

She grabbed another cloth and began to furiously scrub the stain, doing as much as she could to get rid of the evidence so that Klara wouldn't have to come across it again.  Moving to the receiver itself, she ran the dish towel over the worn lettering and sighed.

Something clicked.

Oh no, Zeke's grandmother.

In a flurry, she picked up the phone and dialed the number to be transferred to the operator, tapping her foot and gripping the receiver with both hands.

Once paged through, it took only a ring and a half before the other line picked up.

"Hello?!" Mrs. Jaeger sounded frantic and on the verge of a breakdown.

Guilt twisted her stomach in knots, but she managed to choke out: "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to run off like that.  There was an emergency and I-"

"Bolina?!" Mrs. Jaeger hollered down the line, her deafening volume making Bo flinch and tug the phone from her face.  "Is that you?  Where are you?!"

"I-I'm okay, I'm at my sister's house.  She called me because something happened," Bo lightly hit her head against the mouthpiece, cursing herself for being so hasty.  "I should have told you before I left, but-"

"Bolina!" Mrs. Jaeger was still in hysterics.  What on earth had happened? "Your armband!  You forgot your armband!"

Her heart dropped.  Her arm jerked up, so she could stare at the sleeve of her coat that was, indeed, lacking an armband.  Even after squeezing her eyes shut and opening them again, it still wasn't there.

"Where are you?  Did anyone see you?!" Mrs. Jaeger yanked her from her reverie.  She swore she could hear the old woman begin to sniffle a bit.  "They might k-kill you for that!"

Bo stared at the faded numbers on the phone, tears welling in her eyes.  All the air had left her lungs.  How could she have been so stupid?  Not only had she put her own life in danger, but Klara hadn't been wearing her armband at the entranceway to the building.  Would she have gone out and been punished too?

And what about her baby?  Bo placed a firm hand on her stomach, struggling to remain upright.  How had she made so many mistakes all at once?

From the corner of her eye she saw Klara appear in the doorway, but Bo couldn't bear to look her in the eye.

"Please," Mrs. Jaeger begged.  " Please tell me where you are, I-I need to bring it to you…"

"I'm at …" Bo took a deep breath, but there was no way she could conceal how her voice broke.  "I'm at my … I'm at … I …"

Klara was a half pace away in no time at all.  Turning to her in surprise, Bo was confused, seeing the hardened look in her sister's eye.

Without warning, Klara took the mouthpiece from Bo's hands and held it up to her ear. 

"Hello?" Klara said, her voice steady and self-assured.  There were still prominent tear tracks on her face and the harsh light hanging in the kitchen accentuated the unhealthy swollen blue around her eye, but she was put together.  

At least for that moment, she was.  For Bo, she was.  

"This is her sister, Klara.  Hello, Mrs. Jaeger." A pause.  "It's good to hear your voice, too.  Sorry for the trouble, Bo came over because I asked her to."

Bo could hear the still-panicking voice of Mrs. Jaeger, but couldn't make out the exact words she was speaking.  Klara's eyes flickered down to Bo's arm as she began to run her fingers through her hair. Obviously, she had been made aware of the armband dilemma.

"You can come to drop it off. Do you remember my address?" Klara asked after taking a breath.  She had a sternness to her voice, as if she were speaking to a superior officer.  "Okay, good.  But maybe you should stay outside.  My apartment is a mess."

Mrs. Jaeger calmed down upon listening to Klara's even, steadying voice.  There were a few questions asked.  Klara looked to the side, giving curt " yes "'s and " no "s.  A pained look crossed her face.

The next "yes " she omitted looked difficult to say.

Mrs. Jaeger began to say something.  Klara shook her head.  "No, please …" More insistently, Mrs. Jaeger repeated herself.  With a sigh, Klara sagged against the wall in defeat.  "Okay.  We'll see you soon."

Bo took the phone from her sister as the dial tone hummed. Klara ran both of her fingers through her hair, pushing her bangs away from her eyes as she stared vacantly at the kitchen sink.

"Does she..."

"She asked," Klara said, far too quickly.  She looked embarrassed at the idea of Mrs. Jaeger puzzling together the cause of the emergency with such accuracy.  It seemed she wasn't totally blind to their father's behaviour.

"Is she coming?" Bo asked tentatively.

"Yeah," Klara said, heaving another sigh.  "Said she's going to bring over some leftover soup."

Despite the dread lining her chest, Bo couldn't help but smile.  "She's so lovely."

"Yeah," Klara said, but was distracted.  She pushed off the wall and headed back towards the entryway room.  Bo followed and watched, flabbergasted, as Klara began to hastily pick up the debris off of the floor.  She pushed the table upright and gathered up all of the loose pages of a photo album before stuffing them into the nearest book.  

She was trying to get rid of the evidence before Mrs. Jaeger could see it.  Not only were her shoulders still trembling, but she couldn't meet Bo's eye.

She was ashamed.  Ashamed of something that wasn't even her fault.  Pursing her lips, Bo struggled to hold back a fresh wave of tears.

"It's not your fault, Klara," Bo said, but received no reply or reaction.  "Klara, it's not -"

"Shut up," Klara snapped.  "You don't even know what happened."

Bo sat back on her heels, gathering her courage and doing her best to shrug off those biting words.  "I don't have to."

Klara moved over to the curtain rod, standing up on her tiptoes in order to remove the rod from the hook and set it to the side.

With a frown, Bo crossed her arms.  She wasn't mad at Klara, but she was angry, and she let it sneak into every syllable.  "It's always the same with him.  He gets mad and he breaks things.  I don't have to watch it to know-"

"I said shut up! " Klara shouted, rotating to toss a glare over her shoulder; but she still didn't have the guts to turn fully and meet her eye.  "If he didn't do it today, he'd do it some other time, don't you get it?! This has been a long time coming…"

Her words dwindled off into a murmur as she knelt down to pick up little pieces of glass from her rug.

"I never should have asked you to come over," she grumbled, shame making her duck her head between raised shoulders.  "Sorry."

Bo's face contorted.  Sure, it stung to be yelled at, but what made her heart hurt was how resigned Klara seemed.  As if she deserved whatever she'd gotten.  As if she deserved to be the victim of their father.

"No, you don't get it," Bo said, voice quavering.  Klara froze.  "I don't care what you think you did or didn't do.  You don't  deserve to have your stuff broken because of-"

"It isn't—"Klara stood up, tossed the glass fragments onto the table, then squared her shoulders to face Bo head on.  Despite her initial determination, she could only meet her gaze for a moment.  "It's not just … it's not just today, don't you get it?  I haven't done anything !  I just sat by a-and watched … all those times …"

Klara sealed her lips together to stifle whatever pathetic noise that was about to escape.  Bo could feel her heart shatter.

She knew that this eruption would happen eventually, ever since Zeke had told her why he was upset with Klara.  But knowing how deeply his words cut her...

Bo should have known.  She should have reached out to reassure her sooner.  She should have grown a spine and told Zeke exactly why he was wrong to treat her sister that way.

She understood how it looked from his perspective.  Her father was a sick man, but Klara was his favourite.  She could do no wrong while every move Bo made was the wrong one.  Klara was training to be a Warrior of Marley and to regain their family's favour.  Bo struggled in math and decided to become a useless, lowly baker.  She was the obvious target of her father's verbal abuse.

Zeke probably expected Klara to stand up for Bo, because in his mind, that's what a good person would do.  But how was Klara supposed to stand up to someone who kept a firm grip on the rug beneath her feet, ready and willing to pull it out at any wrong move.

 Klara wasn't a bad person for not vehemently defending Bo, because if she had, then they would both be shunned.  Their father wouldn't change or get better; not for Bo, not for Klara, and certainly not for their mother.  

In fact, their mother set a perfect example of why Klara ought to keep out of sight.  Whenever their mother stepped between him and Bo, well.  It was dreadful to hear him scream about respect; to hear him kick down the door when she would try and lock herself and her daughters in the bathroom to escape him.

Yet she still stayed with him, because her safety and the wellbeing of her children weren't as important as the financial stability that her husband provided.

But how could Bo resent Klara, when she was a child?  When none of this was her fault? How could she want Klara to receive the same treatment as her?  All she wanted for herself and Klara was to be safe.  

"And if I didn't do anything... all those times," Klara said, nodding to herself.  "Then I deserve what I get now."

"Don't say that, " Bo said through gritted teeth, stalking closer with her hands balled into fists.  "Don't you dare say stuff like that!"

"It's-"

"No, it's not !" Bo screamed at the top of her lungs, the sound ripping from her throat and bouncing off the walls before slipping into the night.  

Klara stared at her with wide eyes, but didn't dare to interject or argue.

"You don't deserve this!" Bo said.  "I don't deserve this - we don't deserve this.  This isn't our fault, it's his fault!  There's no excuse to treat people like that!"

Despite getting choked up, Bo soldiered on, her heart pounding in her throat.

"I don't give a shit what he said!  He's a demon!  He's evil! "

 Klara opened her mouth, but Bo wasn't even close to being finished.  

"And forget about what Zeke said too!"  Klara's eyes went wide.  "He doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about.  He doesn't get it!"

"I-"

"He doesn't speak for me!" Bo continued, steamrolling over whatever weak protestation Klara was trying to make.  "I speak for myself, and I'm not mad at you, Klara.  You don't have to suffer too."

Klara looked at her blankly, lips pursed in a thin line.

"I understand why you didn't try to... to say anything or-or stand up for me," Bo said, lower lip trembling.  "You were scared, too, and that doesn't mean you're a bad person.  It doesn't mean you deserve to suffer too."

Klara's expression crumpled.  She bared her teeth to try and stave off tears that were already halfway down her face.  She was trembling from head to toe.

Bo wrapped her in a tight hug, one that was reciprocated after a horribly tense moment.

It wasn't fair.  It wasn't fair that they were there, struggling to stand with the weight of his deeds, while he was unaffected.  It wasn't fair that he told them that family was more important than anything, then in the next breath tried to pit them against each other.  It wasn't fair that he made Klara stay up late to train and study so she would be a better warrior candidate.  It wasn't fair that he would mock Bo until she was sobbing in front of their neighbours and friends.  It wasn't right that he kept a book of every expense they ever incurred since they were born, and it wasn't fair that he expected them to pay him back with interest.

Klara's voice was so small that Bo could barely make out what she was saying.

"He came to ask me where you live," Klara said.  Bo went rigid, eyes wide and staring at the open window.   "Said he had a right to know …"

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up straight.  "A-and you …?"

"Didn't say anything," Klara replied, slowly unwinding from the embrace.  Bo could see her reflection in her sister's eyes, so she knew with certainty they both looked god awful.  Klara rubbed her knuckles over the scrape that traced her hairline. "He... he, uh, hit the cabinet and I fell back into the frame."

She nodded, and Bo turned to see a picture of Liberio's ports that she'd taken last summer lying cracked and broken on the floor.

So, he didn't hit her directly.  But surely he'd struck the cabinet because she was standing close by.  Bo didn't think that was much better.

"I think mom got spooked seeing the blood," Klara said, turning and frowning at the door.  "He kind of just chased after her."

Bo nodded, unsure exactly what she should say.  Thank you for not giving away my address even though you don't know it. Does that prove Zeke was wrong? Do you want to go and kill him?

Instead, they stood in silence, fidgeting and staring from one piece of debris to the next, wondering how on earth they were going to clean all of it up.

"How?" Klara finally asked, sounding exhausted.  "How are we going to get out of this?"

Bo pursed her lips.  It was as if some part of her was still terrified of opposing him.  But if she wouldn't do it for herself, she would find the strength to do it for Klara.

"No more payments," Bo said, reaching out to hold her arms.  "Enough is enough."

Klara gave a sad little smile.  "I don't think-"

"We gotta try," Bo said, looking between her eyes, pleading.  "It's a start; it's something …"

After a brief moment of deliberation, Klara omitted a harrowing sigh.

"It's going to get so much worse before it gets any better, isn't it?"

Bo winced, then nodded her head.  "But it's going to be worth it.  It's me and you, right?"

Klara heaved a sigh through her nose, then smiled.  "Yeah."

It was Klara who initiated that second hug, pulling her into an embrace in the middle of her destroyed apartment.  Bo was more than happy to reciprocate.  

They were fine - Mrs. Jaeger would be there soon to help, with delicious homemade soup.  They had each other.  They would be okay.

Bo wasn't able to see Klara before she left the next morning.  That departure was official, and the rules were far more stringent for the likes of lowly foot soldiers.  Guests were not permitted, especially for Eldians.  She contemplated going to see Pieck, but decided she had enough on her plate already and that she would just get in the way.

Besides, she had her own itinerary to complete; going to work and making appointments, mostly.

At her most recent appointment, Dr. Corbis was happy to hear she was doing alright and even happier to hear that Zeke's grandmother was staying to keep an eye on her.  Knowing that she had support made him more lenient in pushing back her next appointment date.

Three weeks.  Bo had wanted four, but he insisted he still needed to ensure she was "fit as a fiddle," as he so eloquently put it.  While that was nice and all, she wanted Zeke to be there, and she was afraid that he wouldn't have returned by then.  Going to the office without him made her ridiculously nervous, and she found herself glancing over to the place where he stood last time.  

Besides, if he was gone any later, he might not recognize her upon returning.

Her body had really begun to change to accommodate pregnancy; her pelvis and back ached with the stretch of a growing body, and she found herself swollen almost constantly.  The leg cramps killed her, but thankfully, Alice didn't mind her perching on a stool at work when she couldn't bear to stand.

Then there was the dizziness.  Usually accompanied by a headache and a nosebleed, she carried around a pouch of tissues whenever the ground beneath her became unsteady so she wouldn't bleed all over the croissants.

While she enjoyed seeing Alice and talking with the regulars, she flirted with the idea of going on leave like Dr. Corbis suggested quite often.  While her energy levels improved, she was afraid her frequent breaks and necessary accommodations made her more of a hassle than she was worth.  Her stomach looked as if she had swallowed a coconut whole, and Alice had to provide her with a larger work uniform that was more comfortable and, no doubt, more expensive.  She wouldn't hear her protestations, but Bo tried her best to make it up to her.

Then came the news that the one and only Pieck Finger had recommended Alice's shop to provide refreshments for some event to take place in Liberio.  It wasn't an official festival or anything, but it was work that paid well and would need all hands on deck in order to run smoothly.

So, she pulled her hair back into a bun, fastened her hairnet, and went to work as usual.

The event had requested special patterned doughnuts, so Bo was practicing piping using extras that Prissy had burnt in her last batch.  It was torture trying to pipe while her hands were so itchy, but her shift was due to end any minute, so she forced herself to focus and make the most of her time.

Prissy was closing with Alice and she was less than happy about it, grumbling and slouching her shoulders as she was mandated to do work instead of just hanging around and pining her tasks on Bo.

Thankfully, Priscilla wasn't mean enough to take out her frustration on Bo, so she still offered polite parting words as Bo stood from her stool.

"Off to bed, Missus Bo?" Priscilla asked, her face squished against her fist as she watched her dutifully pick up the stool and trot it off to the corner so it wouldn't get in anyone's way.  "You're one lucky duck, y'know that?"

"Well, I haven't decided yet," Bo said, dusting off her hands on her apron.  "I might go for a walk around the beach or something, I don't know.  I could use some fresh air."

"Be sure to stop by Bessy's out near the East," Alice said, poking her head into the kitchen with a bright smile.  "Only if you'll be out late, that is."

"Oh?  You got plans?" Priscilla asked, perking up.  "Ladies night?"

"Trivia night," Alice corrected, widening her grin as Priscilla slumped over, disappointed.  "Yeah, yeah, old ladies are boring, ain't they?  Now, straighten up, ya' shrimp."

She flicked her towel at Prissy, who wasn't quick enough to escape, and got gently hit on the forehead, which had her bolting upright and to attention.

Bo giggled, gave a wave, and then headed for the employee's nook to grab her things.  That night, Mrs. Jaeger was paying a visit to her husband at Liberio's hospital.  So, Bo was free to do what she wanted without fear of someone advising her it wasn't good for her health.

Hence why she decided to walk around Liberio.  It was a gorgeous day, crisp and warm after baking in the sunshine.  People were ambling down the street, taking their time to relish in the glow of the late afternoon after a long week.  Her fingers combed through her hair, peeling away the hairnet and undoing the tight bun that tugged on her scalp.  With her apron tucked into her cross-body bag, she set off towards the piers.  Perhaps she would scour the beach for new keepsakes washed in by the tide.

It had been ages since she'd been able to slow down and appreciate her surroundings, and it felt nice.  She passed by the playground, which was teeming with kids struggling to race to the top.  She offered a wave to Spencer and Irma, who were all dolled up and walking in the opposite direction.  Gosh, Irma looked so lovely in purple.  She would have to let her know next time she stopped by the bakery, instead of intruding on their date. 

Her pace slowed down as she approached the steps that trailed down to the docks.  She set a heavy hand on the guard rail and sighed.

She wished Zeke were there.  Or Klara or Pieck, or Mrs. Jaeger or Porco, or anyone she could share the nice day with.  She hoped they were alright and that they had a moment to enjoy the sun, even for a moment.

So much for being excited about being on your own, she thought, exhaling slowly through her nose.  Well, she didn't miss the awkwardness that permeated between her and Zeke, but she missed his company.  He would probably light up a cigarette if he were beside her - or maybe not.  It seemed that ever since she'd gotten pregnant, he'd made a point not to smoke in the house or near her at all.  

She leaned down to rest her chin on her hand.  Perhaps she ought to write to him.  Purely for her own peace of mind, of course; she wouldn't dream of sending him letters about beach walks and sunsets when he was so busy.  But... writing things down was better than talking to herself, right?  And so long as she hid the papers after he returned, he would never know...

...Was she going crazy?  Why was she acting like some lovesick teenager?  It wasn't fair.  She doubted he spared a single thought about her while he was making Marley proud.

Ugh, even when he wasn't there, he was a thorn in her side.  She pushed upright and started for the top of the stairs, shaking her head to dispel any wayward sentiments from her mind.  

"Bolina!" 

She jumped out of her skin and would have tripped down the staircase had she not been holding onto the guard rail.  Squinting towards the source of the voice, her eyebrows shot up in surprise.  In the late afternoon light, Bo swore she was hallucinating.  Was someone listening to her thoughts and hearing how lonely she was?  Had she manifested the two figures steadily approaching, smiling warmly and welcoming?

The first figure was a taller woman who was a pace ahead of her partner and advancing quickly from across the street.  Bo recognised her after she flashed a smile full of crooked teeth.

"And here we were, going up to Alice's to stop by and see you," the woman said.  "Such luck, huh, Fara?"

The man with her nodded as Bo stared, dumbstruck.

"M-me?"

"What are you gaping for, you?" The woman teased.  "Aren't you happy to see us?"

The woman, Rosa, and her partner, Faramund, were teenage sweethearts who lived a street away from Bo's childhood home.  When she was little and her father didn't allow her mom to fetch her from school, Faramund was trusted to deliver her safely.  Rosa had been the one to introduce Bo to Alice, as she had worked at the bakery before she'd gotten married and decided to stay at home and mind the house.

They looked more or less the same; the last time she saw them was when she went to see her mother months ago, before she moved in with Zeke. Faramund had shadowed stubble, and Rosa was glowing with health; her high cheekbones were filled in and rounded. What a sight they were, slowing to a stop in front of her with twin grins.

Rosa went in for a hug.  "Little Miss Bolina, how have you been?"

Still stupefied, Bo barely had the right mind to reciprocate the embrace, too busy staring open-mouthed at Faramund, who was weary yet still cheery.

Rosa pulled back abruptly, staring down at her stomach with a gasp.

"Cripes almighty, you're huge !" Rosa exclaimed, reaching out and flattening her palm over Bo's stomach without asking.  "We heard you were pregnant, but I'll say hand to heart, I didn't believe it!"

Faramund tipped his hat to Bo, offering a stilted bow as well.  He was slightly smaller than Rosa, but manoeuvred his limbs as if they were too long to keep track of.

"Yeah, uh," Bo said, shaking her head and gently positioning her hands on Rosa's upper arms.  "I, um, i-it's really nice to see you …"

"I'll say, it's been a nap and a glass of milk - you're a whole new woman!" Rosa said, turning to Faramund, who nodded enthusiastically.  Bo's smile wavered.  She wasn't sure if that was a real saying.  "You should'a stopped by and gave me a holler, I would'a brought you the old nursing pillows I used for little James."

"Thank you, that's alright," Bo said, awkwardly, fiddling with the strap of her cross-body, curling it between her fingers.  It was uncomfortable, standing in the middle of the street, engaging in awkward conversation and being excessively touched by Rosa's warm palm. Luckily, there weren't many pedestrians, but still, she felt like a spectacle.  "I'm fine, really.  I hope James is well, I was-"

"Oh, we've left him with Fara's parents tonight," Rosa said, touching her husband's arm.  "Finally found a little time to head to Barrett's for a barbeque - you remember Barrett?  Barrett Dixon?"

"I remember," Bo said, gritting her teeth to stop herself from gnawing on her bottom lip.  The Dixon family lived down her parents' street.  "That sounds nice.  It was lovely to see you, but I-"

"I'm sure Barrett wouldn't mind if you tagged along," Faramund suggested, much to his wife's glee.

"Oh, of course not!" Rosa chirped, smiling bright enough to rival the sun.  Bo's own polite smile faltered.  A bolt of fear zipped up her spine.  The thought of venturing so close to her parents' home made her balk.  "Oh, Bolina, it's been so long since you've been 'round.  Won't you come with us?  Everyone will be so happy !"

"Everyone?" Bo echoed, looking between Faramund and Rosa.

He nodded.  "The Dixon's, the Schultz's, I think Otto and Lucy Hoffman said they'd try to make it-"

"A reunion!" Rosa said, a dreamy look in her eye.  "What d'you say, Bolina?"

Bo relaxed considerably.  She figured if her own parents were invited, they would be mentioned.  Looking to the side, towards the ports, she weighed her options.  Socializing and answering small talk questions didn't sound like the best way to spend her evening, but she had just been moaning about being lonely.  Besides, her old neighbours could be a bit overwhelming, but they were otherwise harmless.

"Are you sure it'll be alright?" she asked, unable to stop a smile as Rosa beamed in excitement.  She grabbed her arm and tugged her closer.

"Oh, of course !" Rosa crowed, nestling Bo in between her and Faramund.  "We'd better get going if we don't want to be late!"

Falling in step with them was easy.  She knew it was good for her to go out and mingle once in a while, even if she wished someone else was there with her so she could ensure that she wouldn't be the odd one out.

Oh well.  What could possibly go wrong?

***

After an awkward but relatively nice trek to the Dixon household, Faramund sped ahead to make it to the house first.  He led the way to the fenced in backyard and began to rap his knuckles loudly on the wooden gate.

This street was one of the nicest in Liberio.  The houses were clean and well cared for, all things considered, and they even boasted tiny backyards.  Business owners and the more wealthy families lived down this road.  Those who cared about the state of their front porches and roof shingles instead of how the man down the street was making his daughter cry.

Bo shook her head.  There was no point in blaming them. It wasn't their responsibility to save her.

It would have been appreciated, though.  

At least they were content living their lives in off-white houses with large living rooms and stained maroon gutters.  She hoped it was worth it.

Bo tossed a look behind her, towards the general direction of her father's house.  There was still a possibility he could show up later.  She wouldn't stay for long.

A holler and the rattling of metal against rusted metal startled her out of her thoughts.  Barrett Dixon yanked open the gate and gave Faramund a bellowing hello.  He was ruddy cheeked and far from sober, as was clear by the hazy glee in his expression.

Once they had greeted each other, Rosa gently pushed Bo forward to trail in afterwards.

"Well, if it isn't Bolina Holschbach," Barrett drawled, propping his elbow up on the fence while holding it open for her.  "Haven't seen you in … I don't even remember.  Where've you been, stranger?"

"Oh, um," she said, Rosa's hand heavy on her upper back. "Just... uh, working."

"Little Miss Independent," Barrett said, his tone of voice making Bo feel two feet tall.  As if she ought to cringe away from such a title.  "Well, come on in, unless you think you're too good for us."

He ended his sentence with a wink that made her stomach turn.  This was starting to feel like a mistake.

Well, she could manage to stay for a little while. It wouldn't kill her.

She stepped through the backyard gate as Barrett greeted Rosa with a hug.  People turned, rising from their chairs to greet the newcomers.  There were only a handful of people huddled on a tiny tuft of grass on a broken-down porch, but it was rather luxurious by Liberio's standards.

Her eyes swept through the small crowd.  She recognized almost everyone in attendance, even if they looked more aged and weathered.  Faramund was firmly shaking the hand of a stout man she couldn't place, and behind them stood Lucy Hoffman, who gave her a shy smile.

Bo returned with one of her own.  She extended a hand and opened her mouth to offer a hello, but another louder voice cut through the air and made her blood run cold.

"Bolina, there you are."

She didn't want to turn her head.  In a childish way, she figured if she didn't look, her problems would disappear.  However, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a figure standing at their full height, and her entire body tensed.

She tossed a glance towards the gate, which Barrett had already closed and locked in Rosa's wake.  Her heart sank to the bottom of her stomach like a boulder, crushing her throat and her lungs while making her knees wobble.

People were staring.  She dug her fingernails into her palms.  The voice in her head begged her not to turn around.

She did and was greeted by the warm and friendly facade of her father.

He was coming from behind the densest gaggle of people, which made her believe that he was purposefully hiding from sight. But based on how everyone else was smiling, she wondered if she was just being overly paranoid.  

As he closed the distance between them, he extended his arms and, before she could prepare herself, roped her into a suffocating hug.

Her eyes barely peaked over his shoulder.  He could definitely feel her trembling, but he smiled and patted her back without a care in the world.  The ground tilted and she swore the edges of her vision were starting to blur.

 She swore she was shrinking. Distantly, she could hear Rosa clap and squeal something that made her feel faint.

"Oh, Fara, I told you this was a good idea!" All of the smiling faces around her were distorted, growing comically wide.  They had to be laughing at her.  Why was the ringing in her head so loud?  She had begun holding her breath to avoid breathing in the scent of her father and burning her lungs.  "Oh, Bolina.  Your poor dad misses you when you work so much, you know?"

"I'm so glad you came." Her father's voice was clear enough for everyone around them to hear, orchestrating a chorus of approving murmurs from the spectators.  

Bo blinked, stiffly returning the embrace and wishing for the life of her that she would drop dead.  Or at the very least, she wished he would let her go.

When he did, he planted his hands on her shoulders and held her with a firm grip that she couldn't hope to wriggle free from.  He was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Come," he said, jerking his head to the side, towards her mother, who was sitting next to two empty chairs.  "We're dying to hear what you've been up to."

Bo couldn't help but hear that as a threat.

Chapter Text

Bo felt like she was on death row as the small crowd parted for her father.  Rosa was still chattering about how great this all was, what a sweet sight they made, and how happy Elodie looked upon seeing her daughter again.

Indeed, her mother looked happy.  Her smile was sweet and genuine, something that made a lump form in the back of her throat.

She had to get out of there fast .

Her mind was racing.  She couldn't jump the fence in the state she was in; her work shoes and slacks were too restricting, and she'd end up hurting herself and her baby quite badly.

There was always the possibility of turning around and making a break for the gate, though she doubted that would work.  Unfastening the lock would be a chore for her trembling hands.  Plus, there was always the chance that Dixon or one of the others would jump in her way, concerned for all the wrong reasons.

The backyard was small and all eyes were on her.  There was no chance of fading into the background while standing next to her father, and she doubted he would let her out of his sight for the rest of the evening.

He always kept an iron grip on her shoulder, stating that she was immature and would embarrass him, ever since she was as young as four years old.  Nevermind that four-year-old Klara was allowed to run in the mud and be as immature as she'd like, though hypocrisy was a staple of his very existence.  There was no point in trying to argue about it.

Nevertheless, she was thrust back into the role of the problem child the longer her father gripped her shoulder in a vice grip.  Cold sweat dripped down her neck and into her shirt, making every gentle breeze hurt in a way she couldn't articulate.  She gripped her bag in a death grip, her fingers squeezing the fabric until they began to go numb.

Slowing to a stop near the chairs, he delivered a rough pat to her upper back, directing her to take a seat beside her mother.  With only a moment's hesitance, she did so.

Her mother turned her body to face her and reached out to hold her hands.  Since her father had ordered her to sit, it wouldn't be right for her to stand and give her mother a hug.  After all, he didn't like repeating himself.

"Bo." Despite the tightness in her throat and the acidity in her heart, hearing her mother call her name softened the rougher edges.  Still, Bo couldn't stand to look her in the eye.  "How are you?"

"Fine," she replied, folding her hands in her lap before Elodie could take hold of one.  "You?"

"Fine as well." Bo could hear the hurt in her voice but couldn't spare it much thought; she had to get out of there.

Running with her pregnant belly was out of the question, as was brute force for the same reason.  There was no chance anyone would come looking for her at the Dixon residence, because she hadn't told anyone where she was going.  

While there was a slim chance she could explain to the others that she wanted her father far, far away from her baby, she doubted she could be more convincing than him.  He'd probably insist she was stressed from the pregnancy or turn it all around and make her concerns seem absurd.

Well, then what was the point of trying?  Everyone was settling down, and no one seemed to notice or care about her discomfort.  Was everyone in attendance just going to sit back and let this happen?

Let what happen?  Nothing has happened yet.  Was she going insane?  Was she fretting over nothing?

"So!" Barrett's wife, someone whose name escaped her at that moment, sat forward in her seat and fixed Bo with a brilliant smile.  "Little Bolina is pregnant, I hear!  Who would have thought!"

What was that supposed to mean?  Bo tried to offer a smile, but all she could muster was a pained grimace.

"How far along are you?"

No one else was making idle conversation.  It felt like everyone was staring at her.  She squirmed, resting a hand on her stomach.

"Um... eighteen weeks?"

"Oh!" she seemed excited, for her part.  "Past all of that yucky morning sickness yet?"

"Y-yes?" Bo said, beginning to sweat under the attention.  She did her best to stare straight forward, ignoring her father's burning gaze against the side of her head.

"Oh, I remember all that business," Rosa sighed, walking back from the cooler with a can of something alcoholic, most likely.  She settled in the lawn chair beside Faramund with another sigh.  "Yuck, yuck, yuck, indeed.  I couldn't have gotten through all that headache without dear Fara’s help."

"That's nice," Bo said absently, fingers moving up to fiddle with her hair.  She tossed her gaze across the cramped yard.

Everyone had begun to relax after ogling the shiny new person that had joined their ranks. Margaret Schultz and Otto Hoffman began a conversation about the factory job they both had, with Margaret's husband nodding and grunting every once in a while in affirmation.  Barrett leaned down and said something quietly to his wife while still tuning into Bo's conversation.

"So, what about your beau, Bo?" Rosa said, snickering into the tab of her drink at her little joke.  "Who's the unlucky man who got to see you yak up your lunch?"

Bo went red.  She stiffened, staring at Rosa with wide eyes.  Beau? Unlucky?   Why did she have to frame it like that?  The only time Zeke had ever been there for her morning sickness, she hadn't been thinking of how gross she must have looked… oh no.  That night, the one before she showed him the medical bills, he'd had to pick up her unconscious, sweaty, sticky body with puke around her lips and bring her to bed. 

She hadn't given much thought to it before because it hadn't seemed like a big deal to him, but maybe he was grossed out by it. Assumably, he also wiped the vomit from her mouth and tucked her into bed; surely some part of him resented her for having to do that?

"I-" Words failed her.  The knot in her throat made it nearly impossible to speak.

"Bo doesn't have a husband," her father said, matter-of-factly.  There was a hint of acidity in his tone, potent enough to make her shrink into herself.

"Oh," Barrett's wife said, sounding genuinely surprised.  Rosa and Faramund shared puzzled looks.  "Well, is there any lucky guy to---?"

" No ," her father reiterated.  "There's no one."

Bo turned to look at her father.  He was staring ahead, ignoring her entirely.  What did he gain from lying?  He knew she was living with Zeke, just not where she was living.

Barrett let out a guffaw.  "In that case, don't be surprised if the baby has any birthmarks."

He smacked Margaret's husband on the shoulder, and they shared a quick laugh.

Bo remained quiet.  She stared at Barrett, who had a prominent birthmark on his chin.

Her father added to the laughter, smacking his thigh with an open palm.  She blinked rapidly, pursing her lips together and trying to ignore the wink Barrett sent her way.

"I don't get it," Lucy Hoffman said, looking at her brother, who shrugged hopelessly.

Barrett's wife, for her part, was unaffected.  She rolled her eyes and grinned at Bo, as if it was all in good fun.

Bo certainly was not in on the fun.

"Anyway," Rosa said, tossing Barrett an odd look.  "What's on my mind is that poor baby.  How are you gonna afford to keep it on a baker's salary?"

Bo swore she heard Margaret's husband mutter something about her taking odd jobs in the back alley.  Barrett snorted.

Lucy choked on her drink, breaking the tension with an incredulous laugh.

"Rosa, why on earth would you say something like that?" she asked, causing an uneasy silence to plague everyone in attendance.  "That's so rude."

Rosa sputtered, her ears going pink. "Wh-what? I didn't mean it like that. "

Bo didn't know any other meaning for her words, but she knew it was futile to say as much.

After a beat, Bo's father spoke with a wave of his hand.  "No, no, we have nothing to hide.  We're an open book, really."

"Huh," Lucy said, sizing Bo's father up with a quirked brow.  She looked at Bo, who was staring at her through her lashes.  "If you say so."

"I do say so." A threat was laced in his voice.  She couldn't be sure if it was directed towards her or Lucy, because the latter didn't seem to pick up on his tone.  Either way, the spell was broken and the idle chatter resumed.  Rosa was muttering to her husband, shooting Lucy a heated glare.

"So, Bo," Lucy said, furrowing her brows.  "What happened to Zeke Jaeger?  I swear I heard you two were seeing each other."

Oh, no. And peace had just been reinstated.

Rosa let out a loud, over exaggerated gasp.  "No…"

Barrett's wife's eyes were bulging as she sat on the edge of her seat.  " Zeke Jaeger? The -"

"- Zeke ?" Rosa finished, placing a flattened palm on her husband's chest as if to distance herself from him.  "Beast Titan -"

" - Marley's golden boy -" Barrett's wife added.

"- Zeke Jaeger?!" Rosa said, her jaw dropping open as Bo turned crimson.

"Uh, yeah?" Lucy said, sounding almost annoyed by their interjection.  Otherwise, she didn't acknowledge the other two or their shock.  "I used to see you two walking around all the time.  You looked really happy, too.  Did he die?"

It definitely wasn't healthy for Bo to go so pale so quickly.

"Lucy," her brother whispered.  "He's out securing the border."

"Oh," Lucy said, shrugging, then looking back at Bo.

Before she could even think of interjecting, her father spoke.  Judging by his tone, the mention of Zeke had struck a nerve.

"That man is not associated with us or our grandson."

Bo once again stared at her father's profile, confused and wondering what on earth he was talking about.  She didn't even know the gender, how...

She swallowed thickly.  Had he somehow found Dr. Corbis and coerced him into handing over medical records?  Did he know something she didn't?

No, Dr. Corbis wasn't the type to be pushed around by the likes of her father.  He didn't have any trouble looking Zeke in the eye. Why would he baulk at her father, who had no real power outside of his network of peers?

She had to relax.  She dug her nails into her palms.  He was lying .  No matter how convincing he sounded, he didn't know more than her.  It just wasn't possible.

She looked to the side at her mother, who was cocking her head and giving Bo a smile.  Her hand pressed against her belly.

"Your stomach is sitting like you're having a boy," her mother said quietly.  Bo frowned.  She was too small to be sitting in any particular way... right?  She had to remind herself that her father was lying.

Still, she gave her mom an absent nod and twisted to remove her hand from her stomach.

Her father had begun to ramble, but for her own sanity, she had to tune him out.  He was explaining to everyone that the baby and Bo would be moving back into their house to be close to them soon.  That the baby's middle name would take his first name, Matteo.  That Bo would quit her job and be a stay at home mom just like her mother before her.

It wasn't real, she kept on chanting to herself.  He was lying.  The magical life he was weaving for everyone in attendance was nothing but smoke that twirled into the orange late afternoon and tightened her lungs.

They just kept talking and talking and talking.  She did her best to nod and smile when acknowledged, but her father spoke for her ninety percent of the time, so there was no use in paying attention.  Especially when they encroached on sitting there for two hours, because she was fairly sure everyone had forgotten she was even there.

She was hoping that by being complacent, her father would lower his guard and be too distracted to notice when she left.  In her mind, that was her only chance.

She swiped her forehead with the back of her wrist, brushing away the dollops of sweat that clung to her skin.  The fading sunlight was peering through the houses, such that the upper half of her face was bathed in light, blinding her.

Perhaps she ought to make some excuse to hurry inside so she could call Mrs. Jaeger to bail her out, but the thought left a bad taste on her tongue.

No, this was her problem.  She would find some way to get out of this situation she had tangled herself up in.

Even if the mere thought terrified her.

But before she could make a grand escape, she needed to unstick from her father's side.  She made eye contact with Barrett's wife and mouthed the word " bathroom."

"Down the hall and to the left," she replied, gesturing with one finely manicured nail and a nod.  Bo stood, brushing off her lap.

"Hey," her father said, jerking his chin in her direction. She stared at him with wide eyes.  "Where are you going?"

"Th-the bathroom?" she said, watching irritation flicker across his face.  He grabbed a fistful of her bag and yanked it from her hands before settling it by his feet.

"Don't make a mess," he ordered.  He then snapped his fingers at his wife and pointed to the door.  "Go with her."

And everyone just watched, with varying degrees of discomfort.  Bo trudged to the door, head bowed, feeling like she was five years old again. It's not like she'd ever given a reason to be supervised in the bathroom; he always insisted that she was a klutz and would break the sink or something.

As she wrapped her hand around the door handle, she felt her mother's hand touch her upper arm gently.

Bo flinched, but didn't falter in entering the house.

It was cramped and cozy, with shoes and coats littering the back door and a messy kitchen indicative of a well lived space.  Bo turned down the dark hallway that wasn't illuminated and started down it without bothering to look for the light switch.

However, her mother did, and the overhead lights spluttered to life, humming and adding to the white noise of muted conversation outside.  The wallpaper was an ugly burgundy and yellow floral pattern that bled into the dark ceiling.

Bo reached for the handle of the bathroom.  She could see her mother staring from the corner of her eye.

"Have you been taking those vitamins I bought for you?" 

Bo froze, fingertips brushing against the copper knob.  She stared, transfixed, at the warped wooden pattern on the door.

She contemplated snapping, telling the truth that while she had kept them, they lay untouched under her bed.  The sight of them made her upset.

Instead, she sighed.  "I have."

"Good," Elodie said, nodding.  "You definitely look much better."

Bo didn't know what to say.  Her fingers curled into her palm before falling to her side.

"I think it was a good decision for you to move in with Zeke."

Bo's head snapped to look, all senses trained on her mother.  She swore there were more grooves on her mother's face and grey hairs sprouting from her head than the last time she'd seen her.  Or perhaps she was noticing them for the first time.

Elodie studied her expression, tilting her head to the side.  "Have you quit working?"

Bo shook her head.

Elodie nodded, looking to the side.  It wasn't approval or disapproval; Bo couldn't tell what it was, really.

"Well," she said, giving her a small smile.  "Is he paying for your care, at least?"

While the question annoyed Bo, she knew it was out of concern.

"Yeah," she replied.  "I... yeah."

Elodie inhaled through her nose while nodding again.  She couldn't keep eye contact for longer than a few seconds.

"You know, I... I was looking for obstetricians and I found …"

"I've got everything sorted already," Bo said quickly.  "Mine is fantastic."

"Right," she said.  "Well, I'm sorry I've missed all of your appointments with them."

Bo knew she was telling the truth because her mother had expressed her eagerness to assist Bo through this ordeal since she first broke the news.  While it stung, she decided to give her mother the same courtesy.

"I'm not."

At first she looked shocked, then hurt.  Elodie looked down at her hands, fiddling with the string wrapped around the midsection of her dress.  A quiet resignation settled in her posture as she let out a little sigh.

"I figured," Elodie said in a near whisper.  

She wished she could say something to make her feel better, but she knew her mother would go along with whatever her father wanted.  She couldn't have distance with her father and a relationship with her mother, not if she valued her own peace of mind.  Besides, she had promised Klara they would stop.  Thinking of Klara made Bo set her jaw and look to the side.

"Are you happy, Bolina?"

She was bracing herself for such a question, but it still caught her off guard. Plain as day, not hidden behind some stupid quiz on how she's dealing with her savings or the state of her grandmother's old teaset.

But if the question was so simple, why did she hesitate before answering?

"Not yet," Bo said, settling on something close to the truth.  

Elodie nodded again, her mouth curving into a sweet smile that made Bo nauseous.  Was she this kind to Klara, when her father destroyed her apartment?  Where was this gentleness when blood was running down Klara's face?

She touched Bo's face, her palm pruned with age.  Bo flinched, but didn't make a move to escape the contact.

"Thank goodness," her mother said in a hushed voice.  Bo had to tilt her head slightly to look at her mother's eyes.  In the hazel reflection, her reflection stared back at her; that girl looked conflicted.

Bo swore she wasn't.  How could she be?  Her mother had made her choice, and continued to make the same choice every time her father did something reprehensible.  It wasn't Bo's responsibility to forgive her for something that could have been avoided had she been less selfish.

Yet, if that was the case, why was there a knot stuck in her throat?  Why did she tilt her head into her mother's hand and find comfort in its warmth?  

She was disgusted with herself.  How could she stand to look Elodie in the eye, after she had sat back and let Klara be hurt, let all of them be hurt?  How could she choose her husband over her daughters and her grandchildren? She promised she would be there for her.  

She hated her.  She hated the choices Elodie had made, how she had let her husband ruin Bo's life again and again in so many ways.  It was her fault.  She hated her .

The words singed her lips as she spoke: "I love you, mom."

Elodie's face softened.  She brought her other hand up to properly cup her daughter's face.

"I love you, too," she whispered, and it was embarrassing how much hearing that lifted Bo's spirits.  She closed her eyes and basked in the feeling of her mother bestowing a soft kiss on her forehead.

Too soon, it was over.  The stale air in the hallway cooled the smeared tears clinging to her eyelashes.  Elodie gave her cheek a soothing pat before taking a step back.

"Take your time," she said, then turned and walked back the way she came.  Certainly, Bo's father wouldn't appreciate being disobeyed, but she wasn't about to beg her mother to stand guard outside of the bathroom.  

Watching her step back into the backyard, Bo wondered if her mother's confident posture was a figment of her imagination.

She shook her head, cleared her throat, and stepped into the cramped bathroom.  She needed to focus all of her attention on what truly mattered; getting out of there as quickly as possible.

Her father must have sensed her restlessness and taken her bag as a hostage to ensure she wouldn't leave.  Without her keys, he probably figured she would have to stay.  Well, the joke was on him, because if it meant getting out of there quicker, she'd gladly lose her wallet, her jacket, and her keys.  Hell, at that point, she would give up her shoes if it meant she could more easily scale the fence.

The faucet complained as she turned on the tap.  Using the lukewarm water to wash away her tears, she took a minute to clear her head.

Bracing her hands on either side of the sink, she studied her reflection.  Her hair was frizzy from being in a hairnet for so long, and the bags under her eyes were more pronounced than they had been earlier.

She couldn't leave her bag, because that would give him a "legitimate" reason to seek her out.  Besides, he would probably make copies of all of her keys, and that would be a nightmare in and of itself.  No, she had to stop letting fear cloud her judgment.

She didn't want to return to the backyard, but she needed her bag.  What the hell was she going to do?

She didn't know how long she stood there, staring at her reflection, when a loud knock on the door shattered her peace.

"Hello?  Did you fall in or something?"

Okay, she supposed it could be worse.

Bo opened the door, catching the person off-guard as they raised their hand to knock again.

"Lucy," Bo said, forcing her voice to remain steady.  "Could you do me a favour?"

Lucy asked too many questions, but that was fair.  No matter how obvious everything was, she couldn't expect someone else to understand.  In fact, she was lucky that Lucy was the next person to venture inside to use the restroom; she was the only one who would even consider helping Bo with her bizarre request.

Bo was beside the door, staring at Lucy as she loosely grabbed the door handle.  She tilted her head to the side.

"You could always just ask," Lucy said, a last ditch effort to avoid what was to come.

"I can't," Bo replied shortly.  "When I..."

The doorknob was yanked from Lucy's grasp as someone pulled the door open.  Bo jumped upright, spine curling and fists clenching.  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

"Pardon me." Bo relaxed upon hearing Rosa's voice.  Lucy awkwardly stepped to the side, staring at Rosa as she ducked into the hallway and made for the bathroom.

Rosa paused before entering the washroom.  She frowned at Bo and Lucy as they stared right back, not speaking or blinking.

After an awkward moment, Rosa disappeared into the washroom.

"Please, Lucy." Bo waited a beat before leaning into Lucy and whispering.

Lucy frowned, her thin lips and brown eyes narrowing as she contemplated her words.  With pencil straight dirty blond hair and an oval face, most called Lucy Hoffman plain looking.  But to Bo, she looked like an angel, descended from above to save her.

"Alright," Lucy said, curling her fingers around the handle.  Without another word, she reentered the backyard, a few heads turning to look before their interest returned to the conversation at hand.

Bo kept the door slightly ajar, peering through it and surveying the area.  Her father kept on glancing at the house, obviously agitated at her prolonged absence.  She shrank into the shadows, hoping he couldn't see her spying on them.

Lucy paused beside her brother, leaned down, and murmured something in his ear.  His face contorted in confusion.

Instead of explaining herself, Lucy stood up and made for the cooler.  It was a simple box filled with ice, glasses of liquor, and cans of cheap beer.  She crouched down in front of it.

While everyone else had interacted with the cooler by bending down and rifling through the ice to find a drink, Lucy crammed her fingers between the ground and its bottom edge.

She sat back, shifting her weight, then proceeded to flip the cooler over.

The glasses at the top were the first to shatter; rouge liquid gushed from shattered spouts, staining the grass and splattering over the wooden fence.  The weight of the ice and beer caused a momentous crash that silenced the crowd. The remaining fragments of the glass bottles were destroyed.

Barrett stood up, red in the face.  Lucy, still crouching on the ground, put on a sheepish expression.

"Oops," she said, rising to her feet and brushing off her fingers.  "Sorry about that."

The next few moments were utter pandemonium.  Barret began to shout obscenities. All of the alcohol he had consumed that day made him belligerent, and he saw no reason to temper his tone.  Margaret and her husband jumped to their feet, but did little more than stand and watch as Otto rushed to put himself between the Dixons and his sister, who insisted it was a simple mistake.

Bo waited for her father to stand as well, calling over the chaos to try and keep the peace.  As he grabbed Barrett's shoulder to snag his attention, Bo made her move.

She darted out of the house, reaching over the chair to grab her bag before holding it safely to her chest.  Her mother was hovering behind her father, too consumed in Barrett's rage to notice Bo retreating into the house.

Her heart was pounding.  Adrenaline pumped through her bloodstream, making her jittery and clumsy.  The first time she reached for the doorknob, she missed it entirely, too focused on being fast to worry about being accurate.  Before pulling the door shut, she chanced a look behind her to see if…

Her father was staring straight at her.  His expression made a chill run down her spine.  Thankfully, Barrett's wife as well as Margaret and her husband were buzzing around the commotion and provided an involuntary blockade.

Bo leaped inside, elbowing the door shut behind her.  She took a second to try and search for the lock, figuring it would add another layer of protection between her and her father.  Alas, her hands were shaking so terribly that they couldn't properly fasten the bolt that was far past its prime.

Abandoning it entirely, she rushed through the kitchen, past the open doorway, then...

"Bolina!" Something sturdy hooked her elbow, stopping her in her tracks and dragging her back into the kitchen.

Eyes wild, she stared up at her captor, expecting to see the thunderous expression of her father, but instead was met with Rosa's scowling face.

"I need to speak with you," she said, placing her glass of water down on the nearby counter.  Bo was suspended in disbelief.  "About Lucy."

Bo would have laughed hysterically if she wasn't petrified with fear.  Couldn't Rosa see that this wasn't the time?!

"I need to-"

"I know, I know, I'll make it quick," Rosa said, tightening her hold on Bo's arm when she tried to wriggle away.  Her gaze was foggy, proving she wasn't completely present.  "When I asked you about how you could afford the baby, you knew I wasn't being rude, right?"

As her hysteria faded, resentment took its place.  "Rosa-"

"I mean, it's not my fault Lucy's so sensitive," Rosa said bitterly, loosening her hold on Bo's arm.  "It's so stupid how everyone has to walk on eggshells just because her parents died ten years ago.  I mean-"

"Rosa, let go!" Bo shouted, yanking her arm free, too frenzied to notice the red marks left in the wake of her nails.  "I have to-"

The back door flew open.  Her heart sank to the bottom of her chest.  All of the air left her lungs as her father stormed into the room, looking around wildly.  After a moment, his sights narrowed in on Bo from where she stood by the doorway, her body angled towards the front exit.

The look on his face made her take an instinctive step back.  Even if she could run, there was no way he wouldn't catch her.  He began to close the distance between them with long, purposeful strides.  Her bones rattled with every echoing step against the linoleum floor.

Bo looked to the side, to Rosa, who was watching the display with wide eyes.

Her father grabbed her upper arm and a grip that would surely bruise.  Bo grabbed his wrist, her face contorting in silent pain as he dragged her to his side.

"We're leaving," he announced, voice level.  Elodie slunk beside him, head bowed.  "Tell Barrett we have a family issue to deal with."

Bo looked at Rosa, who was the only witness to what was happening.  Was she just going to stand there and let him take her away?  Her eyes were pleading: Say something, please!  

Rosa opened her mouth, but it took a few stuttering attempts for her to speak.  "Wait a minute, we..."

"We're leaving ," he repeated, pushing Elodie forward so she could walk ahead of them.  Rosa extended her hand towards his arm that held Bo, a protestation on her tongue.

He then turned on Rosa, using his larger stature to cast a shadow over her.  His free hand curled into a fist.  For a scary moment, it seemed like he was going to strike her.

Instead, he slammed the side of his fist down on Rosa's half empty glass of water, smashing it into pieces and sending a flurry of broken shards flying.  Elodie gasped.  Bo hid behind her father, covering her face with both of her hands.

Rosa flinched back, cowed into submission by the unspoken threat.  He stared her down for a few beats before turning and marching towards the front door, shaking out his bloodied hand.

The last thing Bo saw before being hauled out to the street was Rosa's distressed face.

At first she thought he was going to tow her to his house, but she should have figured she wouldn't be so lucky.

After walking a ways down the road, out of earshot of the Dixon household, he shoved her ahead of him, just barely catching her before she tripped and fell.

“Come on,” he snapped, forcing her upright.  “We’re walking you home.”

No questions.  No room for excuses.  Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

“Matteo,” Elodie said, so quiet she could barely be heard over the breeze.  There was a couple meandering down the road, close enough to be interested in what was going on.

Her father tensed, but released Bo's arm and moved it to gently pat her upper back, as if he really was comforting her after a misstep.

"Let's go," he said in a much more calm tone.

She contemplated laying down on the ground and waiting to die, but she knew being in an even more vulnerable position in front of him would make things end very badly for her.

So, she straightened, readjusted the strap of her bag, and sent a sideways glance towards the couple.  They looked on, unaware.

Well, if they wouldn't help her, she'd just find some way to help herself, which was far easier said than done.

"Oh, goodness, you're bleeding," Elodie said, gingerly taking her husband's cut hand in both of her own.  "Here…"

She pulled a small scarf from her pocket, obviously stowed away due to the warmth of the night, then proceeded to wrap his palm with the fabric to stop the bleeding.  It was shoddy work.  Bo couldn't stand to watch her mother kiss the spot where blood had begun to seep through the fabric.

"Thank you," Matteo muttered, sounding oh so genuine.  He flexed his fingers, examined his hand, then turned to Bo.

Elodie followed his gaze and gasped.  Bo looked down to see blood splattered on her work shirt.  There were smears of deep burgundy on her collar and arm from where he'd handled her using his bleeding fist.

Her mother covered the worst, most saturated portion with both of her hands.

"Don't you have a jacket or something?" her father asked.  Bo kept her head down and nodded while rifling through her bag.  No sooner had she produced it than he snatched it from her hands.

He straightened it out, then opened it up so she could easily slip her arms into each sleeve.  She chanced a look at his face before obliging and allowing him to slide the jacket over her shoulders and bag, concealing the blood he'd left there.

Of course, then he stood in front of her, smoothing out the wrinkles and making her look more presentable.  It killed her, but she looked him in the eye.  He gave her a sad smile.

"I wonder what I did to make you girls hate me so much," he wondered aloud, looking as sorrowful and sincere as anyone could be.

Every muscle in her body tensed.  Why the hell would he say something like that.  He had to know it was idiotic to try and play the victim after what he had just done... right?

He did know he wasn't the victim, right?

Elodie tried to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged her off, looking towards the horizon with a clenched jaw.

Bo didn't know whether to start laughing or throw up.  So, she opted to trudge forward, starting the long trek home.

The impact of every step traveled up her body and rattled her heart.  Her parents trailed a pace or so behind her, malevolent shadows in the dying light.

She led her parents down the street, up into the main circuit of Liberio, and paused.  The sun had set, painting Marley with a bluish hue, stained yellow at the edges.  It was impossible to see the ocean from where she stood, caged by rows of buildings and the skeletons of street displays.

But she still knew how to get there; she knew the way to her home that looked out on that sea.  That was the picturesque view that Zeke had known she would adore.

If she turned right down the next passageway, she would be there in no time.  She could go back to her scrapbooks and Mrs. Jaeger, who was probably worried sick over her; at least she was wearing her armband this time.  But would it be worth it to go home, just to have it sullied by her father's presence?

"Bo?" her mother said, stirring her from her thoughts.  Elodie's hand was warm on her arm.  Despite the jacket she wore, her skin was spotted with goosebumps.  "It's getting late..."

"Right," Bo responded absently.  She continued walking, taking a left down the path.  She hunched her shoulders and gritted her teeth to subdue the pain of her aching feet.

Her father was saying something, but she couldn't hear him.  All of her willpower was put into traversing the labyrinthine streets, taking as many turns as she could.  Her own pain be damned, she was betting her life on her father's laziness; on his reluctance to venture further from his own neighbourhood; and she was lucky it worked.

After some time, her father fell two to three paces behind, dragging his feet and cursing.  There was no doubt that he knew that she was stalling, but what could he do when there were still so many people milling around the main streets?  Besides, she was hunched over with exhaustion, knees weak, sweat dripping down her face.  She wasn't in any shape to make a break for freedom.

She took one more turn when she was sure she had traveled to the east side of Liberio.  The street was deserted, but that didn't matter.  She raised her head and saw the sign: The Golden Comb .  Written in tiny letters under the title was a neat scrawl: Elizabeth, Josette, and Mary .  Above the sign was a gutter that trailed around to the side of the building and towards a set of rickety old stairs.

Her next step was shorter than the last, her back heel digging into the gravel path for leverage.

Then, she used that leverage to propel herself forward and break out into a dead sprint.  Whatever reaction her father had didn't matter.  All that mattered was taking the winding steps two at a time to climb up to the apartment above The Golden Comb .  The metal shrieked and swayed under her weight, but if she died that night, at least she would have died trying.  Even the excruciating death of being crushed by a decrepit building was preferable to whatever her father would do when he caught her.

And he did.  He snatched a fistful of her jacket, wrenching with enough strength to tear the fabric from her clammy skin.

She angled her arms back and leaned into his grip, letting him tear the jacket down and off of her body.

She heard him fall, crashing onto his back with nothing to show for his efforts but her jacket clenched in one fist.  If she had had time to spare, she would have loved to stop and revel in her father, lying vanquished and humiliated on the street.

But she couldn't, so she kept on climbing. The close call injected a spike in her adrenaline.

She leapt onto the landing, heaving breath after breath, dizzy from the sudden exertion and falling forward into an ancient doorway.  Arms trembling, she raised her fist and brought it down again and again on the surface.

Thump thump thump !

Was that her heart or her fist?

Thump thump thump!

Perhaps it was her father, climbing the stairs, gaining on her every second.

Thump thump thu -

The hinges shrieked as the door swung open, into the warmth of the apartment.  With her hand still raised, Bo fell to the side, exhausted and trembling.  Even as sweat ran into her eyes, she kept them open, staring at the bewildered old woman who had answered her call.

"Bolina?" The woman, a regular at the bakery named Elizabeth, was aghast.  "What-?"

Her gaze flitted over Bo's head, and her expression slackened in shock.  As if it were a deadly inferno, Bo could feel the heat of her father's anger as he stalked closer.  She tensed, heaving breaths of air and looking around for something, someone.

Another woman peeked out from around the hallway, salt and pepper hair framing a face that Bo was only too happy to see.

Not thinking clearly, she lurched forward, through the doorway and towards the second woman, her name falling from her lips with a gasp:

" Alice...

Alice took a second to stare, and what a sight she must have been: drenched in sweat with wild eyes and dried blood on her creased white shirt.  

Alice shook off her surprise and sprung into action.  She rushed forward, looping her arms around Bo's shoulders and gathering her in an embrace.  One leathery hand came to rest on the back of Bo's head.

Bo's heart still pounding, she craned her neck to see that Elizabeth was blocking the doorway from her father, demanding to know who he was and what he had done to distress Bo so terribly.

He was ordering her to get out of the way, his tone dripping with contempt and loud enough to attract the attention of the two remaining women in the apartment.  After seeing Alice cradling Bo's broken form, they rushed to the entrance to put themselves between her and the red-faced man trying to push inside.

"Get-" he began, but stopped when he realized that the three old women in his path were not going to be scared into compliance.  He raised his hands above her head.  "Please.  I'm her dad. Please let me see my daughter."

Bo grabbed a fistful of Alice's shirt, cold fear making her fingers numb.  She couldn't catch her breath, much less plead her case.  All she could do was hope and pray that they wouldn't listen, that they wouldn't give her up.

The women at the doorway began muttering amongst themselves.  Alice's soothing hand on the back of her head stilled.

It took him a second to reel in his emotions, but when he did, he was frighteningly calm.  "Please, she's not well.  Something spooked her and she's going to hurt herself."

Elizabeth turned, puzzled.  Neither she nor the other women by the door knew enough about Bo to pass judgment.  "Alice?"

"I just want to bring her home," he pleaded, and Bo swore she felt a part of her die as tears welled up in his eyes.  "Please, Alice, you know me. You know I'm her dad. Please..."

Bo found the strength to raise her head and meet Alice's eyes, begging with words she didn't possess to not listen to him, not to believe him.

Alice hesitated.  She looked down at Bo, but didn't find what she was looking for in her expression.

It was only when she looked at the blood on Bo's shirt that her face became stony and impassable.  She pulled Bo closer, holding her secure to her chest.

"I've never seen you before in my life," Alice hissed, and while those words held enough disdain to kill, they were the sweetest that Bo had ever heard.  "Get out of here before I kick you down the stairs.”  Her father made an indignant noise, as if he had just been punched in the chest.  “Close the door, Bessy."

That was all the other ladies needed to hear to reinvigorate their efforts, pushing him back, snatching the coat from his hands, and slamming the door in his face.  Bo's father's sputtering couldn't be heard over the vigor of three incensed old ladies eager to speak their minds and let him know precisely what they thought of him.

"Shame on you!  Scaring a poor girl like that!"

"You're scum!  Men like you ought to be boiled alive!"

" Give me that !  That isn't yours, you pig!"

Once the door was shut and locked, Bo's father vainly shouted and slammed his fists against the wood, cursing Alice and condemning her to hell for being a filthy liar.

Alice, for her part, didn't spare his muffled cursing a thought as she guided Bo further into the apartment.

Bo sat on the couch, wherein pairs of hands smoothened her hair from her face, wiped the sweat from her forehead, and put a glass of water between her fingers.

One of the ladies declared she would make tea and heat up the leftovers.  Elizabeth hurried to fetch her a change of clothes.  The third brought her a damp cloth and a pillow.

Alice sat by her side, a stream of comforting words pouring from her lips.  Everything jumbled together, but she appreciated it all the same.

Her brain was fried; her body was trembling and sore.  She knew she ought to speak, ought to offer an explanation.  Yet the knot in her throat choked her sensibility and she could do little more than sit and shake.

The cards scattered on the table made a dull pang of guilt stab her stomach.  Alice was probably enjoying her trivia night before she came knocking and ruined everything.  She wished she could find the words to apologize.  Or at least, thank her for mentioning where she would be.

The adrenaline melted away, staining the couch with sweat and blood. What remained was raw terror mixed with a bittersweet relief.

She leaned into Alice’s shoulder and began to cry.  

She was shushing her, letting her know she was safe, but it was no use.  She couldn't stop even if she tried.

Chapter Text

The furniture hadn't arrived yet.  

It felt like every day she was emptying boxes only to place the contents in piles on the floor.  Mrs. Jaeger did her very best, but no matter how neatly things were stacked, it looked more and more like junk every passing day.

"We'll call tomorrow," Mrs. Jaeger said, picking up an old scrapbook that had fallen.  Bo wondered for half a second if she was going to throw it into the blazing fireplace, and found herself disappointed that it was placed on the nearest pile of knick knacks.  "And see if there was a mix-up.  Maybe Zeke forgot to add the delivery address."

Bo nodded, absently running through a list of people her father had lunch with on Saturdays.  Most of them were salesmen, but Bo didn't remember seeing anyone familiar when she was out with Zeke.

Or maybe she had become lazy and complacent in his company.  She had forgotten to check.

But having a cluttered living room wasn't what kept her up at night; if one of her father's friends had intercepted the delivery, did that mean they had her address?

No.  He would be knocking down her door by now.  Zeke must have thought ahead; perhaps he gave them the address of one of his friends, or something.  He was smart, she wouldn't put it past him to cover all of his bases.

But she didn’t know for certain and it killed her.  She was scared to leave the house, scared to speak with the neighbours.  Hell, she became tense walking by every open window.

She knew better than to relax; she wasn't completely stupid.

Despite the happy ending of that night, despite Alice combing her hair and ensuring she made it home safe, despite Mrs. Jaeger offering kind words, it was only a matter of time before he found her.

And if he couldn't follow her home or ask around, he would start going door to door, ready to drag her out into the open.  Or more likely, into the backyard and a shallow grave.  It would be any day now.

She wished he would hurry up and get it over with. All of the waiting was going to kill her.

"Are you alright, dear?"

Mrs. Jaeger had been softly calling her name.  Bo blinked, dragging her focus from the window blinds to the front entrance, where Zeke's grandmother stood still, paused in the act of removing her coat.

Bo blinked again, then looked down at her hands.  Her knuckles hurt thanks to how tightly she was gripping the small talisman in her palm.  

"Bo?" Mrs. Jaeger prompted.  She hesitated before drawing closer.  "Is something wrong?"

Of course there was.  "No… I'm okay.  Sorry."

She pressed her leathered palm to Bo's forehead, then moved to caress her cheek with gnarled knuckles.

"Have you eaten yet?" she asked.  Bo shook her head.  "Alright.  Why don't you take a seat and I'll make us some dinner, okay?"

Bo flexed her fingers, staring at the indentation that the talisman left on her skin.  Engraved into the tin surface was a woman with a horn and a halo with nine protruding thorns.  Klara found it washed up on the shore years ago and gifted it to Bo, citing that she had no idea where it came from, but figured Bo would have somewhere to put it.

There wasn't any space left on the shelves in the living room.  Even if there was, Bo didn't think she'd be willing to set it down.

Mrs. Jaeger's gaze locked onto the small charm.  Bo expected a polite question or perhaps a quaint observation about its craftsmanship.

Instead, Mrs. Jaeger recoiled, covering it with both of her hands and staring at Bo with wild eyes.

"Where'd you find that?" she demanded, tone sharp enough to cut through Bo's daze.

"Klara gave it to me," Bo said, trying to close her fingers and hide it, but Mrs. Jaeger snatched it from her palm.

Moving quicker than Bo had ever seen, Mrs. Jaeger threw the charm into the fireplace, only satisfied when it was melting in the hearth.  

Bo took a few steps forward, unsure whether she ought to be angry or afraid.  Mrs. Jaeger  fixed her with a sharp look.

"Are there any more?" she asked.  Bo shook her head quickly, watching as her posture curled like a cornered animal.  "Are you sure ?"

Bo flinched, stepping back and raising her hands, assuming a defensive position.  

"I'm sure, I swear," Bo said, despising the quiver in her voice.  "That was the only one, I promise …"

The rising tension faltered.  Mrs. Jaeger was staring at her in surprise, as if she cared about the shining tears welling in Bo's eyes.

After a quiet moment or two spent waiting for the yelling to continue, Bo squeezed her eyes shut and turned away.  Scrubbing her face with the heels of her palms, she gritted her teeth and contemplated throwing herself in the fire, too.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Jaeger said, unsure what to do with her hands.  "That was … it was inappropriate t-to shout.  I didn't mean to scare you-"

"It's fine," Bo said, quick to cut her off.  Her eyes drifted to the fireplace, searching the coals for the shimmering talisman that had begun to lose its shape.  The face of the woman was distorted.  She looked monstrous.

From the corner of her eye, she watched Mrs. Jaeger walk closer to the hearth, then anchor a hand to the mantelpiece.  She bowed her head.

"That charm," she said after a stretch of silence.  "Looks like one that my son used to own."

Unsure if it was appropriate to look at her directly, Bo remained stock still.

"It was a button, I think.  A calling card," she said.  Her voice was low, void of any whimsy or high spirits that she normally possessed.  "They used it to let other people know that they were against Marley.  Eldian Restorationists , they called themselves."

Bo stood up straighter.  Her aunt Amelie and uncle Oscar were sentenced to death for being Eldian Restorationists.  While it wasn't news that Zeke's parents shared that same fate, most people in Liberio were averse to discussing it.

Mrs. Jaeger attempted to speak, but the words wouldn't come out.  Bo noticed that her hands had begun to shake; she had been panicked, not angry.  Realizing this made it easier for her to breathe.

"They killed him," she said, every syllable grating and fighting against her.  "They killed him for it."

Bo was at her side, unsteady hands reaching out to steady her.  When she lifted her head, Bo saw that her eyes were vacant; no doubt she was replaying that again in her mind's eye.

"I understand," Bo said, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying on Mrs. Jaeger's behalf.  The last thing she wanted was to make her feel small or unheard.  "You should sit down."

Mrs. Jaeger inhaled sharply, letting out a ragged sob when she tried to speak again.  Her hands flew to Bo's shoulders, clamping down and hanging on as if her life depended on it.

"I don't … d-don't…" she said, eyes wide and watering.  "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to him …"

To Zeke.  That's who appeared front and centre in Bo's mind.  

Bo steadied Mrs. Jaeger by the elbows, making sure to hold her gaze as she struggled to articulate something productive from the pain in her chest.  She clenched her jaw and nodded her head, trying to sound strong and self assured.

"He'll be okay," she said, voice wobbling at the end of her sentence.  "He promised he'll be okay."

Mrs. Jaeger nodded alongside her, quickly studied her face, then dipped her head with a sigh.  After a few precarious moments, she released Bo and took a step to the side, away from the fireplace.

" Ah , goodness," she said with a hiccuping laugh.  She pulled a handkerchief from her back pocket and began to lightly dab her eyes.  "I'm sorry for that, I-I'm not sure what came over me."

"It's alright," Bo said with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.  Why did it feel like every day someone else's heart was breaking?  "I think we could both use some dinner."

Mrs. Jaeger met her eye with some hesitance.  Whatever she saw made a smile bloom on her face.

"You're right," she said, clearing her throat.  "Sit tight and I'll make us some soup-"

"I can do it," Bo insisted, taking a half step forward.  "You must be tired.  I'll make you some tea, too."

"No, no," Mrs. Jaeger said with a shake of her head.  "I'll cook, I don't mind."

Bo's hand came to rest on her stomach as she grinned.  "How about we do it together?"

Mrs. Jaeger mirrored her smile.  "Okay, together it is." She turned towards the kitchen, took a few steps, then paused.  "Ah … no, I'll cook."

Bo giggled and admitted defeat.  She didn't bother turning back to see the talisman melt into the hearth.

She had tried that morning.  For the past few days she had been cowering inside, but she couldn't live her life in fear else she admit defeat at his hands. 

 She hummed while getting dressed and smiled while spinning her hair into a bun.  It was so early, but Bo found that she missed the opening shift and spending one on one time with Alice.  Thus, it was easier to ignore her body's groaning complaints at being woken at such an ungodly hour.  To think she used to do so every day …

Mrs. Jaeger slept in, so she walked to work by herself.  The morning was dreary and quiet.  The overcast sky was a warning she did not heed.

She turned the corner and saw Spencer loitering outside of the bakery.  Her good mood wavered, but ultimately prevailed.  It was good for Alice to have a day off every once in a while, even though she hadn't missed a day in years.

Upon hearing her approaching footsteps, Spencer turned around to face her.

She stopped dead in her tracks.

His eyes were red.  Fresh tears pooled in his eyelashes and spilled down his cheeks.

"What happened?" she asked despite all the air rushing from her lungs.  She didn't want to hear the answer.  She wanted to cover her ears and close her eyes and start the day again.

Alice was okay.  But she had asked Spencer to open the bakery in her stead so she could stay with Elisabeth, who was hospitalised last night.

The rickety staircase leading up to her apartment had failed.  She hadn't fallen the full distance from the stoop to the ground, but given her age, she was lucky to be alive.

Though considering the lackluster medical support in Liberio, that may not be the case for long.

Spencer said it was a tragedy.  The worst kind of accident.

But it couldn't be.

Sure, the building was old, but what were the odds that something awful would happen to poor old Elisabeth days after she had stuck her neck out to shield Bo from her father?

Maybe she could chalk up her dismay to paranoia, if Spencer hadn't prematurely re-entered the bakery during his break.

Bo had been reorganizing things in the display case, forcing herself to keep busy so she would drown in her thoughts.

Spencer plopped a bag on the counter.  Bo gave it a quizzical once over.  She looked to him for an explanation.

"Someone just dropped this off," he explained.  "Said it was for you."

And they didn't bother coming in?  Frowning, she stood up and hooked two fingers over the lip of the bag and pulled it down to examine its contents.

Within was a haphazardly folded white button up shirt.  Below it was a pair of black dress pants.  They both seemed freshly cleaned.

Had the person who delivered them been running?  Why were they in such disarray?  Why was some mystery person dropping off random clothes for her …

No.  That wasn't right.  These weren't random clothes, these were her clothes.  Her work clothes.

More specifically, the work clothes she wore the night she escaped her father.  Elizabeth had provided a dress for her to change into in order to remove her blood stained clothes.

Bo recalled with frightening clarity Elizabeth's promise to clean them for her.  " I can drop them off at the bakery for you. " She had said with a gentle smile.

"Spencer," Bo called out, too busy staring at the wrinkled blouse to worry about her shrill tone.  "Who gave you this?"

Spencer, who was halfway to the door, stopped in his tracks.  He turned to give her a wide-eyed look.

"Some guy," he said.  "Short, kind of.  He said he had to get back to work and couldn't say hi."

She stared at him with a clenched jaw.  Deep down, she knew who it was.  The thought that he had been so close without her realizing made her blood run cold.

"Are you alright?" Spencer asked.

Why the fuck would you ask me that? "I-I'm okay, just … surprised."

He blinked, then turned around and continued heading for the door.  She was thankful the only customer in the shop was an old man who was asleep sitting in his chair.  Having anyone see her struggle not to cry as she rearranged muffins would be too embarrassing to handle.

She felt sick.  She couldn't stop shaking.  Priscilla mentioned how awful she looked when she relieved her hours later.  Bo couldn't bring herself to even pretend to be polite.  Even when Priscilla produced the prenatal vitamins that she had promised, Bo could only take them with trembling hands, then leave without saying a word.

She kept looking over her shoulder.  Every time she caught someone glancing her way she felt a sharp spike of paranoia stab her lungs. 

The walk back to her house seemed much longer than usual. Only after she finished fumbling with her keys and entering the foyer did she allow herself to take a deep breath.

Mrs. Jaeger was concerned.  She kept on asking what was wrong, then relented and went out to see the scene of the accident at Bo's request.  While she seemed confused by Bo's rigorous questioning, she didn't bother trying to calm her down.  Bo was pacing the front window, peeking through the blinds every few seconds, waiting for her father to appear and kick the door down.

What Mrs. Jaeger reported didn't quell her nerves; it seemed like some routine maintenance had been done incorrectly, but no one could put a name to who had been responsible for causing the stairs to collapse in on itself.

That, combined with her father somehow finding the bag of clothes that Bessy had dropped in her fall, solidified his involvement in her mind.  It was a chore to choke down her supper that night; she only managed to because she didn't want to worry Zeke's grandmother.

After dinner, Mrs. Jaeger said she was going to bring Bessy flowers with a card that wished her well from the both of them.  She left, leaving Bo alone in an empty house.

Bo sat down on the ground in front of Zeke's gramophone.  Her adrenaline had evaporated into the air and in its place, bloomed anger.

That poor woman.

If she didn't die, she would never be able to walk properly ever again, thanks to her old age.  How was that fair?  What kind of monster targeted people who couldn't properly defend themselves, in ways they could never anticipate?

Bo didn't want it to be true, but she would be stupid to ignore the signs.  As much as it disgusted her to admit, her father was that vindictive.

And this time, she actually had an idea of who he had used as a pawn.

Barrett Dixon made a living off of working construction and keeping buildings safe and useable.  While she couldn't imagine what her father must have said to convince him to do something so horrible, he was her number one suspect.

And yet, she couldn't bring herself to be angry with him, even as she assumed he played an integral part in the "accident".

Her blood was boiling hot.  She scratched at her skin, desperate to stave off the blisters of rage that would no doubt form if she let it fester.  Her eyes got teary and the air in her lungs thinned enough to leave her gasping.

She ground her teeth together and contemplated going into the backyard and digging a grave for herself.  Maybe if she accepted her fate, she'd finally be free.

Or perhaps it would bury her alive, ensuring she'd spend the rest of her life alone at the bottom of an unmarked grave.

She didn't want to be alone.  She wanted Klara.  She wanted her mother.  She wanted Zeke.  She wanted something to rip apart and bite until it bled.  She wanted to taste red instead of just seeing it.

She knew she should deal with it herself and not drag anyone else into her mess, but the ringing in her ears was getting louder and she wanted to hear someone's voice.

She contemplated turning on the gramophone, but the first record she saw was the one she had bought Zeke and seeing its cover made her want to pluck out her eyes.

On the verge of insanity, she dragged herself to the phone.  When the operator asked her who she'd like to contact, one name came to mind.  Perhaps it was because she helped her before, or perhaps Bo had no one else to call.

Either way, listening to the phone ring and waiting for someone to pick up was torture.  Right before she was about to slam the mouthpiece against the receiver until it broke, the ringing stopped.

"Hello?"

Bo clung to the phone with both hands.  "H-hello?"

"Hello.  Who is this?"

"I- uh.  B-Bo… Lina.  Bolina.  Holschbach."

"Oh!  Hi Bo.  I didn't expect a call from you!"

"Sorry, Lucy, I just …" She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.  "... Um, wanted to see how you were.  How are things?"

She pressed her forehead against the wall and focused on taking deep, measured breaths as Lucy blissfully filled the silence.  

Things were good, better than good, even.  Oliver was gunning for a promotion and is all but certain to get it.  People are saying he has a promising future in Bo's dad's factory where he worked.  A lot of people seemed to like him, Lucy astutely stated.

There were a few beats of silence.  Slowly, Bo opened her eyes.  The red at the corner of her vision had ebbed away, but the heat under her skin remained.

"So …" Lucy said, drawing out the word.  "How are you?  You sound kind of … I don't know."

Bo's mouth was dry.  One hand pressed up against the wall, she fought to stay upright.

"Can I tell you something?" she whispered.

"Yeah, go ahead," Lucy said, puzzled.

"I am so …" Bo said, hating the way her voice shook.  " Angry ."

"Ah … um." Obviously, that wasn't what she was expecting to receive as a reply.  "Why?"

"At him," she said, then remembered that Lucy couldn't read her mind.  "My father."

"Oh," Lucy said, sounding less confused now.

"I want to kill him," she confessed, the words bubbling up her chest to relieve the weight on her heart.  "I can't live like this, with … with him just … I want to kill him so badly .  I think about it all the time."

Silence.

All her anger transformed into grief in a matter of seconds.  How pathetic was she, going to someone she barely knows and pouring out her darkest secret?  She was so weak, being turned inside out over something that didn't even happen to her.

She couldn't bring herself to mask the anguish in her voice anymore.  "Is there something wrong with me?"

More silence.  Bo was almost convinced that Lucy had hung up on her, until she heard a near imperceptible shuffling from the other line.

"I don't think so?" Lucy said slowly, as if she was seriously thinking it over.  "If I had a dad like that, I might be angry too."

Bo's knees almost gave out.  She lowered her head and let the tears fall straight from her eyes to the floor.

"But I think … what's that thing people say?  The best revenge is a life well lived or whatever.  Sounds like you have a good life, so maybe hold off on the killing?"

Bo laughed, the sound erupting from her lips and frightening her a bit with its intensity.  She was near hysterical.

"Maybe," she said.  "Maybe, I-"

Her train of thought was interrupted by a series of loud, purposeful knocks on her front door.  Her heart stopped.

"You still there?" Lucy asked, but her voice sounded miles away.  All there was in the world was the shadow that crossed the window before returning to resume pounding on her door.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

It was loud.  Persistent.

It wouldn't go away no matter how hard she willed it. 

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Bo?  Bo?!  Are you okay?!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

She took a half step backwards, petrified with fear.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

He had found her.

Chapter Text

He had it all figured out.

Well, mostly.

Naturally, he had to plan ahead.  While he was quick to admit that she was a stranger to him at this point, he figured she would follow basic etiquette.  From there, it was easy to predict how a first conversation with her would go.  Once he determined every possible trajectory for said conversation, he brainstormed different answers for each possible result.

He was stalling.

It would have been funny if it wasn't so pathetic; he was a high achiever.  He'd spoken with people with far more influence and power than some girl who worked at the local bakery.  Sure, that kind of thing made him nervous, but he was getting used to it.  He had no other choice.

This was uncharted territory.  If he walked away from this looking badly, who knows what would happen to his relationship with Klara?

Ever since he saw her watching the sunset three days ago, he'd been fidgeting and watching the sky like some weak-kneed schoolboy.  It was pathetic .

Klara watched him as he chewed on the end of his cigarette at lunch.  The room that Pieck called "his office" was nothing more than a convenience for Marley; as his list of responsibilities grew, so did his need to meet with Marleyan officers.  Naturally, they preferred to dump their paperwork on him, where curious eyes couldn't read something they weren't supposed to.

Nevertheless, Zeke took advantage of his personal space by smoking with the window open.  And by inviting Klara to keep him company.

She had stopped eating her container of reheated pasta in order to devote her full attention to his agitated tapping.  Blunt nails against the surface of the desk produced a tune that was far from relaxing.

"Not hungry?" Klara asked, cutting through the racket.  He froze, his eyes darting to her face.

After a beat, he sighed and plucked the dart from between his lips.  "Pieck usually brings me something."

She perked up.  "Where's she?"

"No idea." He watched her deflate.  He tapped the cigarette against an old ashtray, rotating to face her.  "I'll ask her to bring something for you next time."

Predictably, Klara turned pink and picked up her fork, idly stirring her lunch.

"No thanks," she muttered.  He watched her play with her food, a thought creeping to the front of his mind.

"Did your sister make that for you?" he asked, shoving his cigarette back between his teeth.  He forced himself to be cool, even as her lips quirked into a smirk.

"Want some?" she asked, twirling thin strands of pasta around the fork prongs to produce a perfectly wrapped serving.  She held it out to him like he was a child.

"I'll pass," he said.  She shrugged at his biting tone.  Instead of shovelling the food into her own mouth, she perched the fork on the side of the container closest to him.

He was going to ignore it.  But really, what was the harm in one small bite?

He didn't hide his reaction well enough.  Klara gave a knowing smile as she took her fork back.

"Good, huh?" There was no point in lying; he nodded while studying the container.  "I'll ask her to bring something for you next time."

He grinded his teeth against the cigarette while glowering at her.  Hopefully she didn't notice how the tips of his ears had turned pink.

"Are you trying out some of your comedy material on me?" he asked.  "I'll tell you this: don't quit your day job."

She let out a half hearted pfft before resuming her meal.  He had figured they would linger in silence for the remainder of her lunch break, so when she spoke again, it caught him off guard.

"She's kind of busy hanging out with that guy from work, anyway."

His heart skipped a beat.

"Sounds like she's got some kind of crush," Klara continued, pretending not to notice the weight of his stare.  "He must have gone up and talked to her or something crazy like that."

"Good for them," he replied, crushing the nub of his cigarette into the ashtray.  He stared at the fading spark for a long moment.

"Yeah," she said, pretending to be lost in thought.  "This whole thing is kind of giving me deja-vu…"

He rolled his eyes.  "Get out of my office."

"... Like there must have been a time when someone dragged their feet to talk to a girl instead of just getting it over with." She scratched the top of her head and jutted out her bottom lip to be even more obnoxious.  "And by the time they finally did it, someone else had gotten there first."

"What did I say about your comedy career?" he snapped, being careful to keep his voice light.  "It's dead in the water."

She smirked.  He narrowed his eyes.

"What?" he pressed.

She looked down at her food with that same smarmy grin on her face.  "Just like your love life."

It was a good thing his hands were empty when he clenched them into fists; he would have broken something otherwise.  Why was he so on edge that day?  He rolled his shoulders back and sighed.

"Lunch is almost over," he said, checking the time on his wristwatch.  "You'd better hurry if you want to catch the circus before it leaves town."

She gave another shrug, putting her things away and standing to her feet, mentally preparing herself to endure the rest of the day.  Turning toward the door, she hesitated.

All pretences dropped, and she looked nervous.  He frowned and waited for her to speak.

"Seriously …" she said, speaking as if it physically pained her to do so.  "Do you, like, need help?  Or …"

"No," he said after a beat of silence.  "I don't."

She didn't look convinced.  He let out a sigh, his hand absently drifting to the pack of cigarettes on the table.  Instead of pulling yet another one out, he knocked his knuckles against the wood.

"Well," she said, giving up too easily.  "Good luck."

He didn't need luck.  What he needed was enough time to manufacture a new, totally different life from the one he had now.  He wasn't exactly planning to approach her with a stellar deal; he'd be dead in ten years, so there was no point in settling down or making plans to grow old together. Which, unfortunately, were things Klara said Bolina was interested in.

Or perhaps he was blowing this out of proportion.  It wasn't as if he hadn't spoken to someone he was interested in before; why should this time be any different?  Why was he pacing his office?  Why was he spending hours thinking about how to inflect his voice when he said hello?

Enough was enough.  He would go to that spot near the pier where she watched the sunset after he finished his call with Magath.  He would play it cool.  

He would be fine.

What had he gotten himself into?

His mouth was dry.  Bolina had beat him to her sunset watching spot, which was probably for the best because he might have scared her off if he had been loitering.  She was so jittery, picking her nails, and rarely meeting his eye.

She hadn't recognized him at first, which was something he had expected.  He'd played the reveal as coolly as he could.  Things were going so well.

Then she started to stammer.  "I haven't seen you in years," she said. "What have… I mean, why did … I …" 

He made the mistake of looking at her for too long.

He realized he had stood too close to her.  Her hair was frizzy and curling, desperate to spring free after a day of being pulled taut.  Her eyes caught the rays of sunlight, looking more brown than hazel.  There was a little chocolate stain next to her mouth, probably due to eating something sweet before she left work.

If he kissed her right then, would the taste still be on her tongue?  Would she share it with him?

His hands were clammy.  He stared ahead, offering a hum as a reply to whatever she said.  He needed to focus on wrangling his frazzled nerves into submission.

Wasn't it supposed to get easier at that point?  He took the leap, which should have been the most difficult hurdle to overcome.

But she wouldn't ease up on him.

She was trying to skitter away, and he dumbly asked to walk her home.  Too nice to say no, she led the way back to her apartment, nervously twisting the strap of her bag between her fingers.

He couldn't blame her.  His hands were stuffed in his pockets, so he didn't do something stupid like reach out and steady her when she almost tripped over her own two feet.

"You're more clumsy than I remember," he mused, unable to restrain himself from filling the silence.  "Or maybe you're not used to the roads?  You've only lived here for, what, all your life?"

She stopped playing with the strap of her bag.  Gradual enough that he wouldn't notice if he wasn't paying attention, she veered closer to the road and put some distance between them.  She turned her head to stare pointedly away from him.

His words must have come out snarkier than intended.  The first notes of embarrassment began to ring in his ears.  He had to get a hold of himself before he took out his anxiety on her and made everything worse.

"Kidding," he said in an artificially light tone.  "These roads are bad.  I don't know when anyone has done maintenance for any of Liberio.  Actually-"

"You're more mean than I remember," she said, scathing and poignant enough to silence him.  She tilted her head in his direction but still refused to look at him directly.

He knew the right thing to do would be to apologise, to admit he was wrong, and to promise to do better.  However, he was too emotionally frazzled to allocate any willpower to being decent.

"Am I?" he said, running a thumb from the corner of his mouth to the tip of his beard.  "How so?"

As expected, she floundered for a few moments, then went quiet.  If he was as mean as she thought he was, he would let her stew in her own thoughts for the rest of the night.  Instead, he offered her an olive branch.

"I suppose the joke shit the bed.  That's my bad."

Her posture relaxed.  She dared to glance at his face.

"Here, don't wander too far," he said, jerking his head to the side.  "We wouldn't want you to get run over by a horse."

The street was sparsely populated.  There wasn't a horse in sight.  

Her face twisted.  "A horse ?"

He quirked a brow.  "Don't tell me you've never seen a horse before."

"Of course I have, I just..." She blew a strand of hair away from her eyes.  "Nevermind."

"I'm listening."

She huffed and shot him a look.  He shrugged.

"Alright, keep your secrets."

She looked a bit grumpy now.  Still, she reinstated their previous proximity.  He would count that as a win.

"So, what …" she started, then stopped when he met her eye.  She couldn't hold his gaze for more than a few seconds at a time. Aw , did he make her nervous?  "What were you doing at the docks?"

"I thought I recognized you," he said, tapping his leg through the fabric of his coat.  "Decided to say hello."

At this, she rotated her upper body to stare at him directly.  "You recognized me ?"

"In Liberio, there aren't many microbakers," he explained, smiling as she flushed.

"Yeah, well," she paused, restraining her demeanor.  He bent forward to remain in her line of sight.  Seeing his face reignited her indignation.  "I'm surprised you could see me at all, since you apparently lost your eyesight."

That caught him off guard.  His hand flew up to adjust the glasses on his nose.

"And you call me mean?" he said, faking offence.  Internally, he was pleased by her pluckiness.  His second-worst fear behind embarrassing himself was finding out that she had become dull.  "Are you making fun of my glasses?  You're going to make me cry."

The smile on her face was a concoction of sheepish regret and awkward reassurance; she wasn't sure how serious he was.

"No, I'm not," she said with a shrill titter.  "I think they're very nice.  They suit your face."

Damn it.  He fell silent as she smiled up at him.  It was a testament to her infallible character that she could give him compliments so easily.

Unfortunately, she took his stunned silence as an invitation to nervously ramble on.

"A-and your beard, too," she said.  "You look like a whole different person, like … like older.  More mature.  Very nice!"

He shook his head, still struggling to emerge from his haze.  "Well, I guess they're both here to stay."

Her smile had matured into something genuine.  It hurt his eyes with how bright it was.

"Well, thanks for walking me home," she said, slowing to a stop in front of an old brick building with a collapsing front entrance.  "Goodbye, get home safe!"

And just like that, he was alone on the sidewalk, watching her silhouette vanish down the hallway as the door swung shut.

Perhaps it was a good thing she hadn't given him the opportunity to say goodbye; his tongue felt too large in his mouth.

After walking in the direction of the barracks for a few blocks, he had to stop in an alleyway filled with trash and metal scraps to catch his breath.

Ever the one to self-sabotage, he sparked up a cigarette and jammed it between his teeth.  Leaning against the wall, his head resting against dirty bricks, he replayed the evening.

He felt like a dumb teenager again, struggling to make a plan to ask Klara about her sister in the most organic way possible.  

If he was smart, he would have heeded the warnings and let things be.

As it was, he kicked off of the wall and headed to the barracks, his mind picturing the chocolate smudge next to her mouth and what he would say next time he saw her.

She was late.

Or maybe he was early.

Either way, his heart rate was steadily climbing.  Had someone accosted her?  Had she gotten lost?  No way; she'd grown up in Liberio alongside him.  She was fine.  She had to be.

Was she just not coming?

He tapped his foot on the ground, stomping out a long dead cigarette while scratching behind his ear.  Wouldn't that be something?  He had finally broken their monotonous routine, and she decided to stand him up.

After a week of walking her home after work and asking gentle questions to prod her into opening up, he swore things were going well.  Had he been too forward in asking her to meet him on her day off?  Had he scared her away?

Someone tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. 

He whirled around, startled from his reverie, to see her standing with her fist still gripping his jacket.  Her cheeks were rosy and her chest was heaving, as if she'd just run a mile.

"Sorry I'm late," Bolina said between ragged breaths, her hand still on his coat.  Not that he minded.  "I forgot I washed my coat last night, and I couldn't find it."

All of his doubts were swept aside as he looked down at her with fond exasperation.  Her hair was a frizzy mess thanks to the sharp wind sliding off the nearby ocean, and she made no move to make herself more presentable.  The smile she offered was sweet.

"Maybe you should have picked a lighter jacket to wear so you could have run faster," he said, relishing the way her cheeks reddened.

"I'm sorry!" she said, but it sounded more like a whine.  She gave the sleeve of his coat another few tugs.  "I really am!"

He raised his brows but deigned not to respond.  Instead, he jerked his head towards a short back street crammed between two buildings.  When he started down it, he strained his ears to hear her footsteps tottering behind him.

Ascending a short stoop, he glanced up at the sign above the door to triple check he was in the right place.  Pieck had been the one to tell him about a brewery her friend had started as a passion project.  Sectioning out part of the store he ran to squeeze in a cozy little distillery showed passion for his craft.  Zeke had been meaning to stop by.

And that made it an excellent place to bring Bolina.  If questioned, he could say he brought her because he didn't want to go alone.  The plausible deniability gave him courage.

She froze at the bottom of the stairs.  He stared at her from the corner of his eye, his hand suspended over the doorknob.

"Is …" She kept on glancing over her shoulder.  "It's just us?"

He turned his head fully so she could see his slight frown.  Why would she ask that?  Of course it was just them, who else would be coming?

Upon seeing his expression, she shook out her hands and let out a timid laugh.

"Okay," she said, feigning nonchalance.  "Sounds good."

Oh, was she nervous to be alone with him?  Even after they had spent some time together? He turned his head so she wouldn't see his smirk.  That was kind of cute.

He held the door open for her.  The bell chimed, but the counter was abandoned.  From the looks of it, they were the only customers as well, which was fair since it was early.  Bolina's anxiety slowed her pace, making it easy for him to zip ahead and pull out her chair as well.

The chair in question was taller than the average seat, so he offered his hand after noticing her hesitation.

The place was cozy; warm yellow lights and deep brown wood underfoot combined with the sweetly pungent aroma of fermented alcohol made Zeke confident in his decision to stop by.  Bolina wrinkled her nose at the smell, which was also a plus.

After settling down in the chair beside her, he bumped her elbow with his own.  "Not a fan?"

As if she hadn't realized she was pulling a face, Bolina schooled her expression into something neutral, if not a bit guilty.  "No, I-I mean, I don't know..."

"We're lucky," he said, nodding to the bartender, who appeared through a door that presumably led to the front.  He looked pleased to see them. "I heard it sometimes smells like piss." Before she could process his words, he turned to the owner.  "How are we today?"

Being the only customers had its advantages: they were given a selection of stock glasses in which to try every sample in the house.  The owner even gave them a little bell to ring for him when they needed something.

Zeke, however, was doing just fine.  Bolina liked the sweet flavours, which shouldn't have surprised him.  Anything fruity or light made her hum in approval.  The stronger stuff made her eyes bug out, which was equal parts funny and a bit worrying, because at times she looked like she was going to vomit. 

Either way, his plan was a success.  The alcohol chased away her nerves and helped her sit back in her seat.  The bartender wandered away, giving them some privacy as he checked on the front of his store.

She was tapping the tip of her nail against the cloudy glass pitcher, seemingly entranced by the liquor's ability to reflect the light.  

He studied her carefully.  Her cheeks were tinted, far from being flushed with intoxication, but it was a nice addition to her complexion.

"I've been meaning to ask," he said.  She turned and blinked up at him, no longer squirming anxiously in her seat.  "How long has Alice been in business?"

"Seventeen years," she replied, taking another sip from her drink.  He gave a nearly imperceptible nod, pleased with how quickly she responded.

"So, did she recruit you?" he asked, looking for any telltale signs of apprehension.  "Or did you accost her for a job?"

"What?" she said with a shy laugh.  That was a good sign, wasn't it?  "N-no, I just asked if she had any openings."

"At fourteen?" he mused.  "You're more audacious than you look."

Her mouth twisted into a puzzled frown.  Instantly he was alert, wondering how he had misspoken.

"How'd you know I got the job when I was fourteen?"

He went quiet.  Had she not mentioned that to him?  Was it strange that he knew?

"Did Klara tell you?"

"Yes," he said, relieved to be given an out.

"Oh." She smiled against the rim of her cup. "I didn't think... nevermind."

What, she hasn't thought that Klara would talk about her without prompting?  Did she think people forgot about her every time she left the room?

Klara would offer tidbits of information about Bo here and there, but the only way Zeke got anything done was by asking the right questions.  He figured Klara would indulge him, since there wasn't anything wrong with casually asking about her sister, right?

In any case, he wouldn't need to play telephone anymore; he could get his information right from the source.

Casual as he could be, he positioned one of his hands on the back of her chair.  "Who would have thought Klara would talk about the only thing you ever do?"

Her nose wrinkled as she scowled.  "What?"

"Do you disagree?"

"Yes!  I do other things!"

"Oh?" he said, struggling to hide his triumphant smile.  "Care to enlighten me?"

Instead of turning away and offering a mumbled reply, she rounded on him with fiery determination.  She kept track of her list using her fingers, holding them up so he could count along with her.

"I collect pretty things, I scrapbook and take pictures with Klara, I'm learning how to sew..."

" Pretty things, " he echoed.  "Such as?"

"Things that I think are pretty."

He cocked a brow.  " Such as ?"

Her eyes caught the light as she smiled to herself.  He wished he could take a picture to remember how openly blithe she looked in that moment.

"I bought ceramic roses from one of my coworkers," she said.  "Her mom got them from some Marleyan seller years and years ago.  They are so pretty."

"Really?" he said, bringing her focus back to him. 

"Yes, I keep them in a cabinet in the kitchen!  Oh, but one time I found sea glass …"

He smiled as she sat up in her seat, speaking with clear confidence.  Then she kept talking.  And talking.  And talking.

He ought to have been annoyed; it was kind of annoying how she broke off into so many side tangents while trying to tell the story about her moving into her apartment, but it didn't really matter.  What mattered was that he was sitting there, elbow propped up on the counter, sipping fine liquor and listening to her babble on as if she were eleven again.

He never thought he'd miss it, considering he and Klara always joked about how Bo talked enough for the three of them.  But there he was, listening to her tell him little stories about her life, as if she trusted him enough to keep her secrets.

And wasn't that really what this was all about?  Every other time he tried to ask about how she spent her days, she gave short, uninformative answers.  Oh, you know.  Just work and stuff .

He figured maybe a little alcohol would loosen her up.  And it worked like a dream.

Did that mean he was terrible?  Impatient?  Manipulative?  

Probably.  

But if it meant she would keep on openly laughing at his jokes, he'd take it in stride.

She was red-faced and giggly by the time he paid the bill and helped her out of her seat.  She'd only had a fraction of the drinks that he'd had, but he had the unfair advantage of a healing factor.  Alcohol didn't really work on him unless he wanted it to, and he was more than willing to reap the benefits.

"Bye!" she said, giving the bartender a two handed wave.  "Thank you so much! Everything was so delicious!"

"Which one was your favourite?" Zeke interjected, leaning down to catch her eye.  "I'll buy you a bottle."

She rounded on him, eyes as wide as saucers.  Laying a hand on his chest, she leaned in and asked: " Really ?!"

"Yeah," he said, hoping she was too drunk to notice his heart was thumping under her palm.  "You liked the Fortune's Red, right?"

"How come you know everything?" she asked, bewildered.

"Natural instinct," he replied, before jerking his chin towards the bartender.  "Two please."

Apparently his response reminded her of a song she liked, because she began to hum and sway to a disjointed melody.  She grabbed his hand, and he just about jumped out of his skin.

Not noticing his distress, she twirled under his arm as if they were waltzing.

Instead of fumbling to try and come up with what to do next, he focused on grabbing the bottles and ushering her out the door.  If she was walking ahead of him, she couldn't see how deeply he was blushing.

"Y'know," she said after a few blocks spent in amiable silence.  "I don't remember the last time I drank that much."

He quirked a brow, but offered nothing else.

"I don't really like it."

He must have burned a hole in the back of her head with how hard he was staring at her.

"But," she said as she turned around and walked backward, her arms swaying. "This was nice!  I feel like I'm full of bubbles."

"I think that might just be the carbonation."

She let out a laugh that was far too raucous for his statement.  As if he minded.

For the first time, he stepped into her apartment in order to set one of the bottles down on the nearest table.  He scanned the tiny foyer over and over again, committing it to memory.  There were a good number of pictures on the wall, no doubt courtesy of Klara.  It smelled faintly of bread, which made him wonder what her kitchen looked like.

He opened his mouth to impart a cool and suave goodbye, but was silenced by her wrapping her arms around his torso.

She linked her hands behind his back and nestled her cheek into his chest.

Silence.

Jilted and uncertain, he rested his hands on her upper back.  Had he forgotten how to hug someone?  What was wrong with him?!

"Thank you," she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.  He could feel the vibrations of her words travel up his neck, and it made him tense.  "I wouldn't have done something like that without you."

"I …" He clamped his mouth shut.  Nothing intelligent would come out of his mouth at that moment.

She pulled away and offered him a lopsided smile.  He could feel his ears burning—with embarrassment or what, he didn't know.

He took his leave, cradling the other bottle in his arms as he floated down the stairs to the street below.

His mouth was parched, and his eyes began to itch.  The place where her lips were pressed against his collar was warm.

That was not part of the plan, but he'd take it.

That settled it.

It wasn't an easy ask, but it was part of the plan.  He wasn't exactly about to bring someone like Bo around the barracks every time he wanted to see her.

Hell, he wanted to keep her as far away from that damned place as humanly possible.

So, he would have to move.

Magath was one nasty piece of work most of the time, but he transformed into one giant asshole when it came to Zeke.  Whether it was because he thought Zeke didn't deserve his Beast Titan or that he was suspicious of him, it didn't really matter.  All that mattered was the task at hand; he'd take things one day at a time, as he always did.

He didn't expect immediate results, either.  Yet if he planted the seed in Magath's head, down the line he could receive permission as a reward for "good behaviour".  Zeke had no doubts that he would exceed their expectations.

Lingering behind after an impromptu meeting (which referred to Pieck's recent stunt involving the young trainees), Zeke cleared his throat to get the superior officer's attention.

Magath turned back around, scowling and narrowing his eyes.

"Something on your mind, Jaeger?"

"Yes, sir," Zeke said, keeping his back ramrod straight and his eyes downcast in a sign of submission.  "I'd like to move out of the barracks, sir."

From the corner of his eye, Zeke watched Magath's expression contort into surprise.  It took a lot of willpower not to smirk.

"Come again?" 

"I'd like to move out of the barracks, sir."

"To where , exactly?"

"Into my grandparent's house, sir," Zeke said, forcing himself to sound as forlorn as could be.  "They're old and sick.  I'd like to take care of them as well as I can before I die."

There was a long pause.  Zeke snuck a look at his face, not expecting to see a single chink in his armour.

And he didn't.  Magath turned away, folding his hands behind his back and staring out the window.

"Is that all?"

"Yes, sir," Zeke said, taking a half step backwards.  "Thank you for your time, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Jaeger."

Magath's voice stopped him in his tracks.  Slowly, he rotated to look at him again.

"How in the hell do you expect to do your job if you're off playing nursemaid?"

"I'll make a schedule," Zeke said, then winced at his own smarmy tone.  "I-I mean, I'll-"

"When?"

"Pardon?"

"I asked when are you leaving?"

It was Zeke's turn to be surprised.  After a few moments spent gathering his thoughts, he spoke: "As soon as I'm given permission."

Magath nodded, looked down at Zeke's shoes, then walked back to his desk.  "You'd better get packing, then."

Zeke was loath to admit that he stood in the doorway for a long moment, absolutely stupefied.

Magath sat behind his desk and made a show of shuffling his papers.  For a flash, so quick he almost missed it, Zeke swore his mouth was curled into a smile.

"Go on, then," Magath said, his voice gaining an edge.  "Pick up your ass and get out of here.  But just so we're clear, if you start slacking, I'll shove a torpedo up your cooter, got it?"

"Thank you, sir," Zeke said, still too surprised to hide his gratitude behind something professional.

Magath gave him a look shadowed by the backlight of the window, then resumed pretending to look busy.

Zeke made a hasty exit, stuffing his hands into his pockets and making a beeline to his room.  His grandmother would be thrilled to hear the news.

Much to his delight, things were moving along at a perfect pace.  These kinds of things took time, or so he had been told, and he considered himself to be patient.

He'd caught a glimpse of the ceramic flowers that she had mentioned at the brewery.  While her back was turned, he took the opportunity to survey her living room.

 In the next half-second, he made a risky decision.

"Have you ever left Liberio?" he asked.

She froze, her jacket sliding down her arms as she stared at the wall, then shifted to look at him.  Why did she always examine him as if he were a judge at a spelling bee?

"No," she answered.  "I haven't."

He nodded.  "Would you like to?"

Her eyes went wide as her mouth twisted into a frown.  "I'm not sure.  I-I mean, I don't know why I would need to leave, I-"

"I have plans to visit next week," he said.  "You should tag along."

Her coat hit the floor, and the sound made her jump.  She tittered and picked it up with quick, jilted movements.

"Oh, I… uh..." she fisted the fabric of her coat in both hands, then proceeded to twist it between her fingers.  "I-I would love to, but I'm not … sure I would be … allowed."

Ah.  She was unfamiliar with the process in its entirety, which was strange but not unheard of.

"I'll deal with the paperwork," he said, grabbing the handle of her front door to take his leave after successfully walking her home from work.  "Next Wednesday.  I'll pick you up at twelve."

Flushed, she pulled her shoulders back and nodded.  "Okay, I'll... I'll be ready!"

He offered what he hoped would be a charming smile as he stepped out into the hallway of her apartment.  

Pausing for a moment, he stared at the exit door.  His luck hadn't run out yet.

Zeke was banking on that luck as he rapped his knuckles on her door at 12:05.  He hadn't wanted to show up early, lest he come off as desperate or pushy.

So he paced around in the alleyway at the side of the building for ten minutes, double-checking their entry papers and triple-checking his watch.

He counted seventeen seconds until she pulled open the door.  Blinded by her smile, it took a moment for him to note her appearance.

Not weighed down by work, she looked well rested, with her hair neatly falling in loose waves down her back and framing her face.  She wore an off-white collared shirt with a navy blue skirt and matching ascot.

"Hello!" she said, her voice echoing in his mind.  "Are we ready to go?  Do I need to bring anything else?"

"I… uh." He squeezed his eyes shut, then tried again.  "No.  No, you don't.  We don't."

Her smile wavered.

"You look lovely," he admitted, struggling to keep his voice clinical.  He was simply stating a fact, after all.  There was no need to get so tongue tied.  Her lips parted in surprise, as if she were witnessing a miracle.  He cringed. " Very lovely."

Instantly, her face glowed red and her eyes went glassy.  She always seemed to blush right down to her neck; he still wanted to know how far it reached.

Without realizing it, his mouth peeled back into a smirk.

Dumbfounded, she fisted her skirt and drew in her shoulders.  "Thank you." Then, after a beat, "You look very nice too."

He raised his brows, then glanced down at his attire.  It was certainly nothing special: dark pants paired with a light shirt and a loose blazer.  His grandmother chastised him for looking like he was working on his day off.

So the compliment didn't make sense.  Still, he put a pin in it so he could revisit those words again and again.

"It's mandatory to look presentable when I'm with a beautiful lady."

For a moment, she looked as if she were about to topple over.  Breath catching in her throat, she stared at him with unabashed bewilderment and let out a high-pitched giggle.

"Stop it!" she complained, swatting at the air while rotating to grab her bag.  "You always look beautiful!"

He was thankful she busied herself with closing and locking her door.  It was his turn to be frozen stupid, trapped in the honeyed glue of her words.  She threw them so casually and carelessly that he almost choked.

By the time she turned around, he was facing away, rubbing his upper lip, and praying that his blush would subside.

The trek towards the outer gate was uneventful.  She offered pleasant conversation that pittered out once the exit to Liberio came into sight.

The Marleyans standing guard greeted him by name.  Bolina fell back, comfortable enough to put Zeke between her and the guards.

The only issue was that he needed to keep her in his sight at all times.  He'd be damned to lose track of someone he cared about in Marleyan territory; he wasn't his father.

Therefore, it was necessary to reach back and grab a hold of her wrist.  He tugged her close as the guard rifled through their documents.

There was no point in looking back to check on her reaction.  None at all.

She had shuffled closer to him, keeping him in place with her other hand.

Pleased, he nodded at the guards as they ushered them through the gate, barely listening to their departing words.

She tugged on his coat.

"What did he mean?" she asked, having shrunk in on herself upon entering a foreign world.  Liberio wasn't that different.

Well, not aesthetically different.  Perhaps it was less polished than the outskirts of Marley.  She had to see that.  

His confidence in this trip wavered.  

"He said enjoy the game .  What game?"

"It's a surprise," he said, slowing to match her pace.  "You like surprises, don't you?"

The look she gave him was downright pitiful.  He caught himself before he let out a laugh.

Giving her hand a squeeze, he led her farther from home, offering nods to those nosy enough to stare.  Every person eyed their armbands as if they were diseased, but that was par for the course.  He doubted she even noticed anymore.

The game started in a few hours.  So, he guided her down beautifully maintained streets towards a yellowing sign nailed to a lamppost.  He made a concerted effort not to pick up the pace to drag her along.  She was walking so slowly, her head whipping around to stare at everything, but this was also her first time out of Liberio.

Thus, he kept his grievances to himself.

For now.

He held the old oak door open for her, unfazed by the loud bell chime that heralded their entrance.  The shopkeeper craned his head to greet them, a friendly smile on his face.

A smile that vanished as soon as he caught sight of Bo's grey arm band.  Zeke met his eyes.

The shopkeeper then recognized his blood red armband.  Eyes narrowed, he slowly returned to his seat behind the register.  Rigid and alert, he picked up his newspaper and pretended to pour over the crossword puzzle.  Zeke knew he was watching them.

All things considered, that was the best outcome Zeke could ask for.  He'd wandered into this store previously and had little issue, but he was still only an "honorary" Marleyan.  The people outside of Liberio knew of him as the Beast Titan but rarely recognized his face.  He couldn't extend the same courtesy to any other Eldian.

Luckily, Bolina hadn't noticed the tense moment, too enthralled by the wares artfully displayed around them.

"Is that-?" She dipped her head to the side, as if the gramophone would shapeshift if seen from another angle.  "I've never seen one in person before!"

She reached out her hand, but Zeke was quick to catch it just before her fingers could brush against the cold steel mouthpiece.  There was a startled look on her face, so he ran his thumb across her palm in what he hoped was a soothing motion.

"Let's keep our hands to ourselves," he said in a low voice, glancing over her head towards the shopkeeper, who was peering at them with no small amount of suspicion.  "It's nice though, isn't it?  Look at the details on the elbow."

He used her hand to point toward the base of the horn.  She didn't pull away.

"Though I'm looking for ones with springs on the bottom," he said, loosening his grip on her fingers but not quite ready to let go.

"Why?" she asked, tilting her head back to look at him.

"Because ones with springs don't skip as easily."

"Skip playing the music, right?"

"Yes, that's right." It was impossible not to be a little condescending when she asked questions like that.  Her pout and scowl combo was also impressive to watch.

"I just wanna be sure," she said, slipping her hand from his grasp and stepping to the side.

"And I'm just clarifying," he said, burying his hands in his pockets to avoid reaching out to her.  "This isn't what I brought you to see, anyway."

He led her to another aisle of shelves populated with a million different trinkets.  With no small amount of satisfaction, he watched her face light up.

Her eyes couldn't take in everything she wanted to see: glitzy music boxes, mini record players, and various porcelain instrument ornaments glowed under the soft overhead lights.

"Oh, my god, " she whispered, hands balled into fists and positioned next to her mouth.  "Look at them!  They're all … they're so cute!"

"Aren't they?" Zeke said, cocking his head to the side while watching her fight the urge to touch everything.  He was pleased that he'd accurately guessed what she considered a " pretty thing. " "Would you like one?"

Her gaze turned forlorn.  She was eyeing a white and pink music box with weepy eyes.  "I didn't bring enough money."

"I could buy it for you."

Instantly, she sobered up.  Her eyes flickered from the price tag to his face, something dark entering her expression.

"No, thank you," she said, her tone clipped and polite.  "But I appreciate the offer; that's very kind of you."

He let out a chuckle that he hoped wouldn't reveal his confusion.  "Should I steal one instead?"

Her look of abject horror made him smile.  Whatever had dampened her mood evaporated as she let out a high pitched laugh.

She leaned in closer to him, resting a hand on his arm.  All of his attention was on her.

"Not so loud!" she whispered.  "That guy already doesn't like us."

His smile wavered.  So she had seen the shopkeeper's reaction when they entered? 

Zeke glanced over her head and met the man's narrowed gaze.  Irritation churned his stomach.  He tried to banish it when he looked back at Bo.

"Have you ever seen the airships take off?" He took her gasp as a good sign.  "Let's go, then."

One last glance at the shopkeeper revealed that the man had grabbed a broom and headed towards the aisle they had stood in.  He didn't even wait for them to leave before furiously sweeping, as if they exuded filth.

He urged Bo to walk ahead of him.  

***

At 2:45, they were shepherded down a separate path so the general public wouldn't see them entering the stadium early. 

Not that they had a right to be bothered; they weren't receiving preferential treatment for their benefit.  The security guards wanted them settled and out of sight to not inconvenience anyone when the other spectators filed in.

Besides, the designated area roped off for Eldians was all the way up in the nosebleeds.  Isolated and far from the ground, their seats were nothing to be envious of.

The higher they climbed, the more Bo began to shake.  She gripped the railing with white knuckles and slowed her pace exponentially.

He tried to keep his voice light.  "We're going to miss the game if you don't walk a bit faster."

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice strained.  "We're just really high up."

His heart sank.  "You're afraid of heights?"

"I didn't think I was!" She was on the verge of tears.  "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just don't want to fall!"

"You're not going to fall.  I'll catch you."

"How?!"

"I have long arms."

" Zeke …"

He stepped into place beside her, offering his arm for her to take.  "I've got you."

She elbowed his arm to the side so she could wrap her arm around his waist.  He took a moment to revel in the feeling before returning to his body.

"You want to walk up like this?" he asked.  She nodded furiously.  He sighed and looped his own arm around her like a safety belt.  "Okay, let's go."

The rest of the climb was still tedious, but at least they made it in time.  Once settled in their seats, they watched the Marleyans fill the stadium bit by bit.  No other Eldians would be joining them, it seemed.  Zeke was happy with the semblance of privacy.

Bo squinted, trying to shield her eyes from the glare on the metal seats.  "Is that a baseball diamond?"

"Yes, it is," he said, rifling through his jacket pockets.

"Oh!" She sounded delighted for all of three seconds.  "How are we going to see anything from way up here?"

He produced a miniature pair of binoculars from his pocket and held them out to her.

"We'll have to take turns," he said, gesturing for her to take them.  "Hopefully that doesn't bother you too much."

"Of course not!" she said, looking through the binoculars and surveying the ground far below.  Once she had her fill, she lowered them to her lap and looked at him sheepishly.  "There's one problem, though."

He quirked his brow.

"I don't know anything about baseball."

He figured as much, but it was more fun to feign surprise and then dramatically snatch his coat as if he were going to leave.

Scrambling, she grabbed his arm with a breathless laugh.

"You can't leave," she affirmed.  "I need help getting back down!"

"Is that all I am to you?  A railing?"

"No!" she exclaimed, her voice high-pitched. "I just... need your help." She acted as if it was hard to admit.  "I don't know how you're not scared!  Look how high up we are!"

He thought about telling her that he'd been bisected before; falling down and possibly breaking a bone or two was nothing compared to how Marley had ripped him apart.

Then again, she didn't need to worry about him over things like that.  It wasn't as if she could do anything other than cry about it.  He had no doubt that sharing his woes would be a satisfying ordeal for him.

"Experience," he said.  "I've climbed those stairs dozens of times."

"Oh, you've been here before." She phrased it as a statement, not a question, but he nodded anyway.  Her face was marred by worry.  "Have you been going alone?"

"No, my fa-" He bit down on his tongue— hard .  After clearing his throat, he tried again.  "Mr. Ksaver, my predecessor, used to take me when he had the time."

He watched her carefully, on high alert.  The wind was too cold on the skin of his nape.

Her expression melted.  A tiny smile paired with warm eyes made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

She leaned forward and touched his arm, softly and testingly.  When he didn't pull away, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Thank you for sharing this special place with me," she said.  He wanted to insist that it wasn't special, that it was a publicly available space, but his heart was beating too loudly in his throat.

When it was obvious he wasn't going to reply, she gave a shy shrug and removed her hands to gingerly pick up the binoculars again.

It seemed like she had accurately assumed that they used to belong to Ksaver before they were gifted to him.  She held them with reverence, as if because they mattered to him, they also mattered to her.

He was transfixed by the small smile that lingered on her lips.  The urge to kiss her swelled with every beat of his tell tale heart.

"So," she said, yanking him from his delusions.  "Could you maybe... tell me the rules before the game starts?  Or during, whatever you think is best."

Little did she know, he was the wrong person to ask about timing.  He cleared his throat and gestured for her to lift the binoculars up to her face.  This way, he could wrangle his expression into something more presentable while he was certain she wasn't looking.

"So , there are two teams."

"Okay, I know that ."

"Oh?  How many players are on each team?"

No response.  He smiled.

"That's what I thought.  There are nine players on each team, and the best one is always the pitcher.  That's the one who stands in the middle..."

Klara sat with her feet swung over the sides of the armchair.  For the past ten minutes, she had been sliding down in her seat while dozing off.

He'd been doing research on different types of record players to make an informed decision on his upcoming purchase; it wasn't his fault that she had dropped by unannounced.  He wasn't exactly prepared to be a host, but thankfully his grandmother was kind enough to set out tea and biscuits for them.

He watched her slack face for a long moment.

He reached out to plug her nose.

With a snort and a grunt, her eyes flew open.  She pushed his arm away and fixed him with a scowl.

"Don't drool," he said.  "You'll ruin the upholstery."

She rolled her eyes while raising her arms above her head to stretch.  A dastardly thought weaselled its way into his brain.

"Do you think you and your sister have the same size hands?"

She paused, then looked at him as if he had seaweed dangling from his nose.

"No?  She's smaller than me," Klara replied.  "Wha- oh."

Her eyes just about bugged out of her head.

"Are you serious?"

He couldn't meet her eyes. Trying to be nonchalant, he shrugged.  "Just thinking ahead."

"You've been talking about that stuff already?"

No, but Zeke would be lying if he said he hadn't started looking at rings.  He had barely ten years left to live; he'd hummed and hawed plenty already.

Another matter was whether she would agree.  He figured he would approach her with a practical offer: if they were to get married, she would receive honourary Marleyan status.  And he would be able to pretend like he was living a normal life, hitting normal milestones.

Would that be enough for her?  He'd also been perusing the market for houses, figuring that if asked by Magath, he could insist he needed the extra space for him and his wife .

He flinched.  No.  There was no way she would ever agree to something like that.  No one in their right mind would want to settle for someone like him.

But he was selfish in that he kept on trying—trying to get her attention, trying to keep it, trying to give her anything she could ever want if only she suffered through his company.

He deserved something like that at least, didn't he?  For everything he'd done, and everything he still had to do...

"Maybe," Zeke replied.  He closed the book on his lap with a sigh.  "There's no time like the present."

"Damn," she said, impressed.  "And she went for it?"

His eyes snapped to meet hers.  Dread heavied his stare.

"Why wouldn't she?" he asked.

Klara shrugged.  "I didn't think she'd want to settle down so quickly."

He narrowed his eyes.

"She's just not …" Klara tossed her head from shoulder to shoulder, hoping the right words would fall out of her ears.  "I don't know.  "The type of person who would jump in like that."

"Why not?"

Her mouth thinned.  The words fought to remain unspoken, but she mustered up the courage to speak.

"You really want to do this, right?" she asked.

He didn't reply—he didn't breathe.

She rubbed her chin and stared at the pamphlets strewn out across the table.  He followed her gaze and waited patiently for her to break.

"Zeke." He almost didn't hear her speak because she spoke so quietly. "You won't hurt her, right?"

"No," he replied immediately.  The lie burned his lips.  "Of course I won't."

She looked between his eyes.  When her face was screwed up in concentration, she looked nearly identical to Bo.  

"I know," she said, a smile lighting up her face. "Sorry.  I think you're the only one in the whole world who gets it."

It took everything in him to prevent tears from welling up in his eyes.  He couldn't look at her.

"I'm happy for you, I swear I am."

"Just not cut out for getting married?"

Klara shrugged and looked away.  "Our parents don't have the best marriage.  I think... I know she's worried that things will turn out the same."

"How so?"

"Gah, you know."  She brushed her hair behind her ear three times in the past five minutes, unable to stop fidgeting.  She refused to look him in the eyes.  "Falling out of love, money problems, stuff like that."

"I see."

"I wouldn't worry, though," she said, sounding far too chipper.  "You guys will be fine."

Would they?  Zeke studied her quietly, then decided it wasn't worth it to pry.  He put a pin in the topic so he could press her on it later.

In the present, he wanted to banish all doubts from his mind.  He had plans to drop by Bo's house for an impromptu visit.  Tonight was the night.

Every moment he spent with her was poison.

Not for him, of course.  He preened under her attention and looked forward to the next moment she'd be near him.

Day in and day out, it seemed she was warming up to him.  She smiled more freely and was less inclined to jump away when their eyes met for too long.

He was killing her.  He knew it.

It was the same with Klara too, of course, but he'd made peace with the fact that he was destined to ruin her life ever since he apologized that night.  He'd come to accept that he and Klara walked a similar path.  

But this was... one-of-a-kind.

She wasn't weighed down by him.  She had her own life, her own world, and he invaded it for his own sick need to experience it.  His entire existence was a waste of time for everyone around him; he would be dead and gone in less than ten years.  There was no point in putting down roots or getting to know someone who would still be around after everyone had already forgotten his name.

He told himself he wouldn't go that far.

"Zeke?"

It was stupid to assume he'd be honest with anyone, much less himself.

"Are you okay?"

Her hands were softer than his.  He wished she'd feel more comfortable caressing his forehead to check for a fever so he wouldn't have to strain for her touch.

"Yes," he had finally replied, eyelids fluttering to rid himself of doubt.  Perhaps it was the wine he had asked for, but something was burning his nostrils.  It was sweet.  In any other scenario, he'd try to wash the cloying taste out of his mouth.

She was looking at him with a knit brow, surveying his posture.  Finally, she relented, placing the wine glass on the table in front of him.

"Here you go," she said.  She smiled as if she liked him.  As if she didn't mind that he was wasting her time.

He downed the glass easily, quicker than she could return to the counter.  He needed the extra boost of courage.

She turned and gawked at him, her eyes flitting from the empty cup to his face.

"Could I have some more, please?" he asked, holding it out to her.

She gave a tiny smile while taking it.  Her fingers brushed against his.  

"Do you remember where you got that wine from?" he asked, staring at the sleek maroon bottle as if it were a mirage.

"Of course." Her reply came quickly, which was a surprise.  "You bought it for me, remember?"

"I remember," he murmured, rubbing his index finger along the seam of his mouth, studying her face.

"I wrote it down," she explained, taking a detour towards one of her many stocked shelves.  With practised intent, she plucked a notebook from the clutter.  Cramming the glass under her arm, she thumbed through the pages.  "Here!  Zeke took me to a fancy brewery and bought me a bottle of wine: "Fortune's Red" in the cupboard above the sink ."

He sat up a bit, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of what she was reading.  "You wrote that?"

"Yeah," she said, sliding the book back into its rightful place.  "I like remembering the things that people do for me."

"You keep track of all the gifts you get?"

She wilted.  "Well, yeah, but that's not everything." She began nervously twisting the glass between her fingers.  "Good days, things that make me happy..."

Purposefully quiet, purposefully still, he wondered how many times she'd written his name in that notebook.

"That's a good idea," he said, forcing himself to say something to shoo away her embarrassment.  She produced a small smile.

When she turned around again, he allowed himself a moment to muster up his courage.

Things had been tame.  Quaint.  Civil.  She was sweet, and he wanted nothing more than to peel her open and get a better taste.

Yes, he was wasting her time, but didn't he deserve to indulge?  He would save Eldia one day, for Ksaver and for everyone, including her.  He'd given up everything; couldn't he have this?

He came up behind her, crowding her personal space as she poured him another glass.  She looked confused and had the nerve to blink up at him as he leaned in.  He was so close, but she turned away when he tried to kiss her.

It stung.  The only thing that kept him from crumbling to pieces was her stuttered breath and flushed cheeks.  Surely if she was that disgusted by him, she'd scream and slap him clean across the face.

The right thing to do would have been to back away and ask her if this was alright, but he couldn't muster up the courage a second time.   Instead, he moved her hair to the side and got his first taste.

The skin on her neck was salty with sweat.  She'd begun breathing heavily.  He wanted her.  His hands crawled up and down her body, squeezing and holding her and trying to pull her close.

The words caught in his throat every time he tried to do more than kiss her throat; he wished he had the nerve to tell her he'd been trying to find the perfect time to do this and that he'd wanted her since he was a fresh sixteen and eager to catch a glimpse of her walking to work.  He'd needed this even before he learned the name of that gnawing feeling.

And even if that feeling died after tonight, at least he would have chased it until the very end.

She had asked what he was doing.  He didn't have the guts to tell her.

You know , he'd said.  "You know exactly what I'm doing."

Of their own volition, his hands wandered somewhere indecent.  He wasn't above playing dirty.

She snapped.  Writhing and pushing back against him, grabbing his hair, she was the first one to crumble.  He wanted to swallow her whole and eat her alive.

He wanted to kiss her.  Spinning her around, he did just that.  

But first, he allowed himself to look.

Caging her face between his palms, he tried to commit the sight to memory.  Glazed eyes, parted lips, the ruddy colour of her cheeks as she tried to shy away from his scrutiny...

He had never been close to her like this.  Light freckles dotted her nose, far less pronounced than Klara's.  Her eyes were misty; was she going to cry?

Yet again, he found himself at a loss for words.  He didn't possess a vocabulary rich enough to verbalize the thrumming in his chest.  The thrill of giving in, of indulging in something that was purely for his benefit as opposed to the benefit of Eldia, was electrifying.

He inched closer, wondering if she was going to shed her wide eyed expression for one of scorn.  At that point, he didn't know what he'd do if she turned him away.

Finally, he kissed her.

Her lips were soft.  Her fingers that grabbed at his shirt were trembling.  Minding the counter, he tried to wedge his arm between her and its harsh jut.  His other hand held her chin in place.

She tasted like wine—probably the same as him.  Every part of him was straining to get closer, to tuck himself into her for safekeeping.

Because she would, right?  She would keep him, wouldn't she?

That was a question he couldn't leave unanswered.

So, pulling away, he all but begged: "Say you want me."

She had the nerve to look confused.  To ask for clarification as to what he meant—to ask why.

Why not?   While he would never say it, he couldn't stand the thought of her walking home without him.  He wanted her to crave him just as much as he ached for her.

But the longer he stared, the more he doubted that was possible.  How could it be?  How could anyone feel as he did—so potently and so recklessly—unless they shared his burden?

She wouldn't understand, but that was okay.  If she could hold even the tiniest piece of him, he would make it up to her.  Somehow.

" Say it."

He lost himself for a second, too wrapped up in the euphoria of a dangerous high.  Her expression soured, and he had to reign in his intensity.  He had to remember that she wasn't electrified by their proximity like he was.

"Please?"

She sighed.  "I want you."

Open your eyes.  Open your eyes.

Say it again.

While a bit off-put by his insistence, she acquiesced.  And from what he could tell, she meant her words.

"I want you."

Relief washed away all of the bitter thoughts that plagued him.  He was all too aware of her grip on his shirt and of her holding him close.

As enthusiastic as he was, he couldn't help but hide his heart when they got undressed.  There was being naked, and then there was being bare .  The thought of revealing such an ugly part of him when things were going so well thus far made him ill.

But he was in over his head.  

They had just begun, and in his nervousness, he made a complete fool of himself.  He shook with embarrassment and panic, chasing away any confident plans he had previously. He'd almost cum prematurely, like some touch-starved teenager, before things got going.

Then came the unthinkable.

She knelt on the bed before him, ignoring his humiliating display, and gently touched his face.

"Please don't blame yourself," she said, her voice gentle and soothing.  It rang in his head, causing the knots in his stomach to tighten tenfold.

She whispered his name, holding him as if he were worth something.  He forgot how to breathe.

She kissed him.  Merciful and sweet, she burned him with the warmth of her smile.

In that moment, he wished she had pushed him away when he tried to kiss her for the first time.  He wished he could go back in time to spill the wine and distract her from coming any closer.

Irritation crawled under his skin.  He couldn't understand why she was treating him like glass, and the disconnect between him and the answer he was looking for pissed him off.

He tightened his grip on her wrist, keeping her close.  She had the nerve to be candid with him; she had the audacity to be sweeter than he could handle.

He hated her for it.

He hated her enough to keep her close and drag her into the inevitable destruction that was his fate.  A punishment he would hesitate to give to his worst enemy.

But for her, he did it without a second thought.

Chapter Text

Frowning, he studied the container in her hand.  He hadn't asked her to bring anything.  "What's that?"

She smiled despite the wind blowing her hair into her face.  Thankfully, she had opted to accessorize with a simple bow instead of a hat of some kind; the breeze rolling off of the tide would have stolen it in no time.

"I brought us something to eat," she said, giving the side of the box a comforting pat.

He turned his head, keeping his eyes trained on her.

"There has to be a name for your proclivity to use food as an icebreaker," he said.  Standing on a wooden pier, he decided earlier against lighting a cigarette.  Alas, the deficiency of nicotine allowed snark to fester on his tongue.   "The Red Riding Hood instinct , perhaps?"

"How about the 'being nice instinct'?" she shot back, her smile melting into a pouty frown.

He wasn't quick enough to suppress a smile.  "We'll need to workshop that a bit."

She muttered something scathing.  A moment later, she shivered and huddled closer to him.  The midmorning chill was beginning to sink in, it seemed.

"What was that?" he asked, innocent and unassuming.  "You disagree?"

She glanced to the side while chewing on the inside of her cheek.  The debate on whether or not she should repeat herself was written plainly on her face.

"Of course you don't," he said.  "You know I'm always right."

As expected, her hesitation vanished.  She fixed him with a thin-lipped glare.

"I said we need to workshop you and your bad attitude," she snapped.  "I'm gonna throw your slice of pie into the ocean."

"Pie?" Interest piqued, he shifted his focus back to the container.  "You brought pie?"

Sheepishly, she nodded.  "Klara said you had a hard day yesterday, so I made some peanut butter pie…"

His eyes flicked back up to her face.  How did she know he liked that kind?  Surely she didn't remember him mentioning it.

"That's an odd flavour choice," he said.

Her face split into a grin.  "But you like it though, right?  You told me your grandma used to make it for you when you were little."

Stupefied, he nodded.

"This one and pecan and strawberry rhubarb," she recited, acting like it was important to know.  "I went with a flaky crust because I wasn't sure what kind you liked, so you'll have to tell me what you think."

"Are you trying to butter me up?" he asked, stooping down so they were eye to eye.  It was easy to mask the fluttering in his chest with an accusatory tone.

Embarrassment twisted her lips into another pout.  But instead of floundering, she spoke and sliced him open with her words.

"I just want you to feel better," she said, looking up at him with an earnest honesty that made him sick.  "Maybe having some pie will help?"

Damn her.  He straightened quickly and looked to the side.  His skin felt hot as he suffered and stared at the boat tied to the end of the dock.  He counted to five in his head, then released a quick breath.

His heart was still thumping when he turned back to her.  "Later.  Come on."

The boat he'd rented for the day was a bowrider that had seen better days.  It sported a decently sized cockpit equipped with an old, dingy lounge seat.  It was suitable.

That was the only compliment it would receive from him.

The paint was peeling, the motor was too loud, and it was needlessly compact.  It boasted a pitiful shelter with walls just competent enough to block out the wind—he hoped.

He knew she wouldn't complain.  He held her hand as she stepped on board.  To keep her steady, of course.

While no expert, he managed to keep them afloat while steering them out beyond the docks, far east of Marley's naval fleet, and into open water.  They weren't allowed to travel out that far, but he'd found the perfect blind spot to hide from any potential meddling.

He should have kept his eyes steadfastly forward, but he'd developed a bad habit of checking to see if she was alright.

One of her hands gripped the container while the other held on to the side of the boat for dear life.  She was squinting to combat the wind beating against her face, but it didn't stop her from surveying their surroundings with a wonderment he'd come to expect from her.

Turning off the engine was a short struggle, but he managed and sat back with a sigh.

He stood.  She let out a shriek.  He could feel her fist snag on his pants.

"Careful!" She was very obviously struggling not to panic.  "Don't fall!"

"I'm not going to fall," he said with a soft shake of his head.  "There's no room up here, we need to sit in the back."

"Oh," she mumbled, freeing him so he could clamber over the small divider.  "Sorry," 

After passing him the pie container, she gripped his shoulders and shakily stepped onto the back bench.  Once settled and safe, he glanced over his shoulder towards the outline of Marley in the distance.  Fog clouded the finer details of Liberio, but they were close enough not to get lost.  

At least he hoped so.

For a moment, he pondered her reaction to them being stranded out at sea.  She would most likely cry, then get irritated, then cry again.  He knew she wasn't above pushing him overboard, clothes and all.

"What?" she asked, pausing in the act of handing him a slice of pie.  "You're smiling all evilly."

" Evilly ," he parroted, taking the small paper plate and plastic fork.  "Are you calling me evil? "

She waited a moment before speaking.  "Depends on what you were thinking about."

He hummed.  "I was thinking about what I'd have to do to get you to fuck me on this boat."

She almost dropped her plate.  He scooped a hefty amount of pie onto his fork and savoured the taste.  Of course, it wasn't as good as his grandmother's pie thanks to the nostalgia, but it was delicious.

"Evil," she grumbled, a dusting of pink on her cheeks.  

He let it slide only because his attention was captured by the pie.  Finally, he noticed the chocolate drizzle decorating the top layer.

"Is that a baseball?" he asked, pointing at the familiar shape with the prongs of his fork.

In a flash, she was smiling.  "Yeah!  I told you I made it for you!"

He stared at her, perplexed.  Still grinning, she tilted her plate to show him the topmost surface of her slice of pie.

"Look, I have the glove." The squiggly chocolate lines marring the surface did sort of resemble a baseball mitt.  "We're matching!"

As she settled back in her seat, her smile faltered.

"Klara bought me a fancy set of piping nibs, but I was scared to use them.  Maybe I should practice with them next time…"

"Can't Klara buy you a stencil?" he asked, still transfixed at the sight of the scribbly baseball.

She huffed.  "That's no fun.  You gotta draw the shapes yourself!"

She prodded at the pie, evidently a bit disappointed with how her food art had turned out.  However, she refused to speak disparagingly about it.

He caught himself staring at her.  She noticed and tilted her head to one side.

"You're right," he said.  

"About what?" 

Her little hummingbird mind had already forgotten, it seemed.

"It is more fun.  And the practice will help you get better, too."

Her lips formed a small o .  He shrugged and scooped another forkful of pie. 

"This is good," 

In response, she bestowed upon him a truly happy smile.  She set her fork down so she could grab his arm and lean in.

For a second, she nuzzled her head into his shoulder while giving his bicep a squeeze.  All too soon, it was over.

A dry remark about how awkward that was crossed his mind.  She was still smiling.  He decided to keep it to himself.

The time spent eating was underscored by the unrelenting ocean tide.  A handful of larger waves rocked the boat and almost made her lose her grip on the plate.  While he could have needled her about it, he preferred to maintain the silence.

By the time he finished, his mind wandered to the reason he'd taken her so far from prying eyes.

He couldn't assume everyone was watching him lest he go insane, but he wasn't naïve enough to think that Magath didn't have ears around Liberio.  So, he'd taken her away in hopes that Marley's crushing grip had loosened enough to let him speak freely.

He was caught staring at the bottom of the boat with a deep seated frown on his face.  Bolina reached out with a napkin to dab at his moustache and clean the corner of his mouth for him.  When he turned to face her again, she smiled.

It almost made him rethink his plan.

It was a cruel thing to do, to lament about things that couldn't be changed.  As haunting as it was, the past was a worn picture in the hallway, something he saw every morning when he woke up.  No matter how he distracted himself, it was always there in the corner of his eye, lording over him.

If she couldn't rip apart his skull and pluck the rotted parts out of his brain, then she couldn't really help him.  It was useless to complain, he knew this.

Yet there was satisfaction in seeing her reaction to his words.  He waxed on about Ksaver, about how much he missed him, and about how he wished he had more of the one thing he was severely lacking: time.  About how this life wasn't what he wanted it to be.

It didn't take long.  Her eyes were filled with tears that rolled down her cheeks and hit the deck one after another.  By far, his favourite thing about her was how much she was willing to give.  She overflowed and spilled into him all the time.

There was something so gratifying in watching her weep for him, and knowing that his feelings were vindicated. Sure, it was sad, but he didn't have the capacity to cry over every tragedy anymore.  Things had to move forward, or else every tragedy would be for nothing.

Oh, but Bo.  Unburdened by his terrible fate, she seemed to have enough tears for both of them.

While futile, she continued to try and erase the tear tracks from her cheeks as she stood to her feet.

He lurched forward, hands gripping her waist to keep her steady so she wouldn't topple over.  He exhaled, opening his mouth to scold her.

Undeterred, she stumbled closer and crashed into the space directly beside him.  Long gone was the polite distance they had been fostering.

Her face was red.  Her lower lip was trembling, and her eyes were bloodshot.  And it was all for him.

She flung her arms around his torso and buried her head into his shoulder.

For a few beats, he stayed still, not wanting the moment to prematurely end.  Once he was certain she wasn't going to change her mind and recoil from him, he decided to be bold.

It didn't take much effort to scoop her into his lap, or to coax her into burying her nose in his neck.  As she continued to shake and cry, he ran his fingers through her hair and kept her close.

He let his hands roam.  Not for lewd purposes, though the thought did cross his mind.  Oftentimes, preferably when she was distracted by something else, he just liked to touch her.

With palms on her arms and fingers trailing down her waist, it felt nice to bask in someone's physical presence.  She complained he ran hot, but still she offered her own warmth.  Was there anything she wouldn't readily give him?  

"C-can I …" She squirmed, her voice struggling to overpower her hiccups.  She looked ridiculous.  "Can I say something?"

"You just did."

She cringed.  "Don't get mad."

Alarmed but unwilling to show it, he cocked a brow.  "I won't."

Despite his immediate and unquestioning response, she hesitated.  Her hands tiptoed up to rest below his collar.  Her shoulders shook with residual whimpers.

"Well, I didn't know Mr. Ksaver," she said, chewing on her lower lip.  She hiccuped and flattened her hands above his heart.  "B-but I know sometimes it's hard to keep going when the world is … is how it is."

His brow furrowed.  She shrank in on herself, words spilling quickly.

"I think he would be proud that you're still here," she finally managed to say.  "And living.  And helping people."

His eyes began to burn.

"I-I mean, I …" She cleared her throat and twisted in his lap.  "I th-think that he would think you were doing more than enough.  To be, you know.  Proud of."

Why was she being so difficult?  He pressed the tips of his fingers into her thigh.

"Doing more than enough," he parroted.  "Exactly what am I doing?"

"Well, I don't... I don't know..."

"You don't know , hmm?" He parroted.  "That doesn't sound very convincing."

Her red-rimmed eyes met his.  "I know you're trying."

" Trying ?  Trying to do what?"

She gave a one shoulder shrug.  "You haven't told me. But I-I know it means something to you, and maybe to Mr. Ksaver too."

His chest stirred.  She was creeping too close to the truth for his liking.  Eyes narrowed, one of his hands floated to her waist.  

"I see," he murmured, sliding his fingers under the hem of her blouse.  She jumped a bit at the cold brush of his skin, pruned thanks to the sea spray, but didn't try to pull away.  "You're trying to get me talking.  You think because no one's listening, I'll tell you all of Marley's secrets?"

She huffed.  "That's not what I meant."

"Maybe not," he said, casting his gaze down her legs, to where his other hand had fallen to toy with her socks.  "So you don't want to know?  Don't tell me you're not curious."

He knew she was.  She knew he knew she was.  Whenever she asked about his work he shut her out and he guessed her insatiable, inquisitive self was being driven mad.

Therefore, she didn't bother hiding the spark of intrigue that threatened to consume her composure.

"What kind of secrets?" she asked, fiddling with the buttons on his collar.

"The kind that your sweet little heart couldn't handle." His fingertips dipped under her skirt then trailed up her calf, pausing just above her knee.  "The kind that has a steep price."

"Price?"

Instead of wasting his words, his hand slid up to rest in the middle of her thighs, right where the doughy skin stuck together.  It shielded him from the apex of her legs - for now.

Her chest was still periodically jumping with sobs.  She had the gumption to hold his gaze.

"I didn't mean it like that, I swear I didn't," she said, her thighs flexing under his grip.  She was distraught at the thought of taking his emotional turmoil lightly.  How sweet.

"I know what you meant," he crooned, leaning forward to brush their noses together.  "Spread your legs."

Her breath caught in her throat.  He watched her pupils dilate as she fisted his shirt.

"You're so bossy."

He quirked a brow.

"Why can't you just tell me?"

"Where's the fun in that?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.  With a sharp squeeze to her thigh, he repeated himself.  "Spread your legs, Bunny.  Don't make me ask again."

"Or what?"

What a dangerous game she was playing.  His hand slid to the outside of her leg.

"Last chance."

A spark of excitement lit up her expression, but it was smothered by impudence.  

"I want to know something first," she said.

"You think this is some kind of equal exchange?" he asked, basking in how she shivered at his voice.  "I tell you to do something, and then you do it.  That's how things work, remember?"

"What would you do if you could choose?"

His entire body entered a state of paralysis.  Eyes fixed forward, mouth slightly parted, it was clear that was not what he expected her to ask.

"If I could choose... what, exactly?  How to wipe my ass?"

She rolled her eyes.  "What kind of job would you have?"

He knew what she had meant the first time.  Some part of him thought stalling would give him time to whip up a lie.

"I never thought about it," he said, glancing down at her exposed legs.  "I was always told this is what I had to be."

The silence that followed was oppressive.  The terminal paranoia he'd felt as a child slithered along the corners of his mind.  Even after his death, the weight of his father's disappointment threatened to pull him under.

He was wrenched from his reverie by Bo's cradling of his face in her hands.  He hated how his stomach twisted whenever she touched him with such tenderness.

The smile on her face was artificial, obviously pasted on for his benefit to aid her words.

" I think you'd be a scientist.  Or maybe a teacher.  Or anything you want." She ran her nails down his beard, scratching lightly.  "I know people say that all the time, but you're so smart, I bet it could actually happen."

"A scientist," he echoed.  "What kind?  Or just a general, ambivalent kind who does everything?"

"Maybe something to do with animals?" she said.  How much thought had she given this?  "Or something … would that make you happy?"

Since she'd readjusted her legs to sit up, his hand could slide up her thigh unhindered. She jolted as he pressed his knuckles into indecent places.

" Happy … Doing a job isn't about being happy." He hadn't meant to sound so vitriolic.  It seemed she had hit a little too close to home.  "It's about doing what needs to be done.  No matter what."

"But-"

"No buts," he said, moving his fingers in a circular pattern.  She was squirming, clinging to his collar, and breathing through her mouth.  He wanted to enjoy the moment, but then she had to speak.

"Don't you want--"

"It's not about what I want." He pressed even harder into her.  "What I want always comes second."

Pathetic tears welled in her eyes.  He was transfixed by them.

"Everyone deserves to be happy," she managed to say through bouts of laboured breathing.  "Even y-you."

"Oh?" He gawked at her, unblinking.  "What did I do to be undeserving?"

She let out a yelp as he curled his fingers around the fabric of her undergarments so he could feel her feverish flesh.

"You're an asshole," she complained, grabbing at his bicep.  She was pursing her lips; trying to stifle the pitiful sounds she was making.

"I know," he said, the ugly, suffocating feeling of resentment pooling in his lungs.  "It's too late for me already, isn't it?"

He flinched when she touched his face again.  Her expression was yo-yoing between bliss and dismay.  And it was all for him.

"It's never too late," she insisted.

"Hah, maybe if you say it again, it'll be true this time."

"Z-Zeke…"

"Shh," he crooned, squeezing her tight as another wave rocked the boat.  "You want to make me happy, hm?"

She hesitated.  It stung, but he accepted it.  Besides, it was all the sweeter when she pursed her lips and nodded.

"Then cum," he ordered, moving his fingers with furious intent.  Her mouth fell open in surprise.  She raked her nails down his neck, deep enough to make his skin smoke.

His face broke into a smile only when she obeyed.

Even as she gritted her teeth, she couldn't restrain her pathetic whimpering.  She squeezed her eyes shut, her spine trying to curl in on itself to simultaneously spur him on and push him away.

Her tears glittered as they hung from her eyelashes.  She clutched onto him for dear life.

Now that was a picture he wouldn't mind seeing every morning.

"See how easy that was?" he said, his grin broadening as she cracked an eye open.  Unbothered by her deep blush, he wiped his sodden fingers on the lapels of his coat.  "I'm a simple man."

She laughed.  The sound was loud and startled the both of them.

"Something funny?" he asked, digging his thumb into the corner of her smile to more easily pinch her cheek.

She just laughed again, squirming away from his pestering hand.  Her eyes were still glazed and distant, thanks to her release.

He helped guide the fabric of her skirt back down her legs.  He pushed her hair from her face and smoothed it behind her ear.  As if it were second nature to her, she nuzzled into his neck and closed her eyes.  

She acted like that was where she belonged.  He hoped she believed it.

The water sloshed against the hull, irritated by the disruption of the tide.  As if he cared.  He couldn't be certain that any manner of crisis could pull him from that moment.

"You okay?" he muttered, trying to be gentle while tiptoeing his hand towards hers.  He felt her nod.  "You want to go back?"

She shifted.  One of her hands grabbed at his shirt.

"Can we stay for a little while longer?" 

"Yes," he said, pleased by her response.  He dared to cover her hand with his own.  "Yes we can."

He and Klara were out for a walk during a blissfully peaceful afternoon, and it nagged at the back of his mind.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.  His time with Bolina wasn't supposed to bleed into the other aspects of his life, it was supposed to be an escape from it.

He'd been shopping for houses with a new lens of scrutiny; things had to be perfect.  He refused to offer anything less.

His grandmother argued that he ought to live closer to the edge of Liberio, closer to where he worked, but she didn't belong there.  He recalled when they left Liberio together and how quiet she became as they crossed the border.

This one house had a porch and a view of the ports.  In his mind's eye, he imagined her choosing to sit there and watch the sunset instead of traversing down that death trap of a walkway.

He imagined that she would just know that he was thinking of her.  She would smile and hold his face with reverence, as if he meant something.

And that was the issue.  No matter how hard he tried to rationalize things, it wasn't productive to spend so much time trying to cater to her needs.

He had things to do.  Plans to manufacture.  This was time he couldn't spare.

Klara knew something was wrong.  She peered at him from the corner of her eye, not bothering to hide her concerned frown.

However, typical of Klara, she refused to ask questions.  Which was good, because Zeke didn't want to talk about it.

"... The other day, I asked her to help test it out."

Oh, she had started talking.  Zeke freed his hands from his pockets while propping his elbows onto the railing that ran parallel to the path.  He leaned back while she slowed to stop.

"At first, it was the glass bottle she had, but I managed to convince her to stand here and pose," Klara continued, rifling through a dozen or so printed pictures.  Ah, she must be talking about testing out her new camera.  She extended one out in his direction while sliding the others back into her coat pocket.  "Take a look."

It took him a second to recognize what he was looking at.  After bringing the photo up to his face, his mind was still wandering, unable to focus.  Klara bumped his arm to get his attention.

"Nice, huh?" she asked with a shit-eating grin.

Finally, he noticed.

There she was, a mess of auburn hair disturbed by the wind.  She wore a simple blue dress and a wide, toothy grin.  The blue haze of the ocean framed her in a way that made it seem like she wasn't trapped in Liberio.

He gaped at her smile, transfixed.

"That's one of the only ones where she wasn't blinking," Klara said, poking at the top edge of the photo with her index finger.  "Probably shouldn't have made her stare at the sun, but you can't beat natural lighting."

Somehow, he spoke around the lump in his throat.  "You're a genius.  It looks amazing, as usual."

She smiled.  "Hah, you're just saying that 'cause it's a picture of Bo."

He didn't think his expression could soften any more.  "It doesn't hurt."

She angled her body to lean on the railing next to him.  "Yeah, well.  You can keep it, if you want."

"Why would I need this?"

"Just in case," she said.

"Care to explain?"

Obviously not, because instead of wasting her words, she reached out and lightly tugged on the corner of the photograph.  It didn't budge.  He was pinching it tight without realizing it.

Try as he might, he couldn't help but mirror the smirk on her face.

"Hats off to you, I guess," he said, sneaking one last look before sliding the picture into his breast pocket.  "A shame neither of us wear hats."

"Do me a favour?"

"Depends on what it is."

She sent a half hearted punch aimed at his shoulder.  "Shut the fuck up for once."

He let out a breathless laugh.  "Or what?  You're gonna pat me to death?"

Thankfully, he expected her next hit to be harder, and had the good sense to dodge it.  Instead of loitering next to the drop off, he hurried down the path before she got the idea to push him over the edge.  She followed closely behind, already gearing up to try and land another hit.

He was so stupid.

He supposed that "naive" was a more apt term to use; he had let himself get his hopes up and everything blew up in his face.

He had been exhausted that night.  With a meeting set for early the next morning, he was gearing up to head to bed.  Closing on a house deal was such a pain in the ass, but he'd be damned not to follow through.  He convinced himself that it would be worth it in the long run.

His grandma had long since retired, but he was so restless, pacing the length of the living room and scratching his beard.  One would think after smoking half a pack of cigarettes throughout the day, he'd slow down, but the itch was stronger than ever.

While he didn't give a shit about the temporary hit to his lungs, he wouldn't have time for the next few days to run and fetch more.  Logically, he knew he ought to pace himself.  

He rubbed his brow with the pad of his thumb, letting out a harrowing sigh.  Fuck it , he thought, already reaching for the door handle.

Knock knock!

He flinched back, too absorbed in his own thoughts to hear the rustling just beyond the door.  Who the hell would be visiting at this time of night? 

After a brief pause, he unfastened the deadbolt and pulled the door all the way open.

Bolina nearly jumped out of her skin, staring at him as if she hadn't expected him to answer.  As if she wasn't hovering beyond the threshold at this ungodly hour.

While he was initially irritated, he had to admit the tense line drawn across his shoulders faded upon recognizing her.  With a deep breath, he considered her with a shadow of a smile on his lips.

"Don't hurt yourself," he said.  

She swallowed thickly.  Thanks to him blocking out the lamplight, her expression was hidden in the darkness.

"I need to talk to you," she said.  Whether her tone was giddy or hysterical was difficult to say.  She shot a look over his shoulder, then to the side, towards the neighbour's front door.  "It's serious."

"How serious?" he pressed, moving his head so a stream of light hit her face.  Her eyes were huge.

She took a step back so one foot was on a lower level of the stoop.  " Really serious.  Just … Please come out."

Out?  Oh, she must have thought his grandmother was awake and would eavesdrop.  He could have informed her that they would have more privacy in the living room, but his curiosity argued against wasting time.

So, he firmly snapped the door shut behind him and let her lead him to the side of the house, wherein she stood wringing her hands and hopping from foot to foot.  She'd unfastened the bottom few buttons on her shirt for some reason.

The way she looked at him … his heart caught in his throat.  She looked hopeful.  Scared, but hopeful and excited.

He straightened up.  What could be so serious as to demand secrecy?  Could she have come all this way to... confess something?

He was an idiot to think so.  But a wishful idiot all the same.  He hung onto her every breath, hoping against hope that the next time she opened her mouth, she would say three words that he wanted more than anything to hear:

"Zeke, I …" His heart stopped.  "I'm pregnant."

…

… "What?"

Her excitement faltered.  "I'm pregnant.  I haven't been feeling well, and... I got the blood work back today...

Her voice dwindled into nothing.  She had noticed the look on his face.

" What ?" he repeated, as if that would spur her into saying something different.

She shrank in on herself, her heart breaking in real time.  If his mind wasn't clogged with dread, he would have felt bad.

She had to be mistaken.  This couldn't be happening.  This could not happen to him.

She was babbling, saying something about her parents.  It set his teeth on edge.

" Stop ," he ordered, raising his hands to silence her before he lost his temper.

Instantly she was quiet, staring at him with huge eyes.  The sight of her got on his nerves.  Everything, down to the nervous shuffle of her feet, had him grinding his teeth.

He shut down.

He didn't speak or move for a long time, and when he did, she didn't like what he had to say.

She wanted to keep it ?!  She couldn't be that stupid.  

Everything he said fueled the fire of her anger.  It wasn't fair to take out his frustration on her; after all, he'd very much helped create this predicament.  Too bad he wasn't in the mood to listen to reason.

Then, so ferociously that his own irritation was forgotten, she snapped.

"I don't even want you involved.  I don't think you'd be a good father at all.  As a matter of fact, I think me and my baby are going to be way better off without you ."

Honestly, he wished she had just punched him in the face or kicked him in the balls.  Hell, he'd prefer her doing both over … that .

The venom in her voice made his heart pound.  She looked furious with him, genuinely disgusted, for the first time.  He couldn't recall a time she had ever looked so enraged, come to think of it.

Then she tossed out some remarks about the other nonexistent people he'd been messing around with.  Which was hilarious because he didn't have the time in his schedule to entertain the thought of another relationship.  He could barely manage her .

She stomped off, huffing and puffing and quietly crying.  The right thing to do would be to go after her, to ensure she made it home safe.

But he couldn't move.

Everything he'd done.  All of the promises he'd made … God , what would Ksaver think?

He pinched the bridge of his nose to impede the angry tears that welled in his eyes.

He stood there for hours, pulling out his hair and pacing.  He thought about running after her and getting upset.  Perhaps if he made her hate him enough, she'd want to expel the foetus from her body before it could be born into this vile world.

No.  That wouldn't work, she was too stubborn.  All that would accomplish is ruining his relationship with both Holschbach sisters at once.

After all, Klara could put up with a lot, but he couldn't imagine her forgiving him if he hurt her sister.

There was a way to maneuver through this without anyone getting hurt.  All he had to do was figure out how.

This pregnancy thing was a hassle, but they would get through it.  He would give Bo some space and wait for the dust to settle.  Once they had cleared their heads, he would help her see reason. 

Everything would be alright.  

It had to be.

"I thought I'd find you here."

He'd heard the door open, so he wasn't too surprised to hear someone call out to him.  He turned his head in her direction.

"Right as always," he said, shooting her a small smile.  "What can I do for you, dear Pieck?"

She shuffled to a stop right next to him.  "You could share a cigarette."

He obliged, handing her a stick and his light.  While she sparked the end of it, he leaned forward on his elbows, trusting that the guard rail wouldn't give out and send him tumbling two stories down.  It was such a beautiful night; the moon accented the barracks with a silvery glow, free to shine in a cloudless sky.

Pieck mirrored his stance, following his gaze towards the horizon.  He waited for her to speak.

"You're popular lately, you know?" she said, cocking her head to the side.  "There's a lot of rumours going around about you."

"And you encouraged them, I take it?"

She closed her eyes and smiled.  "How could I not?  It boosts morale."

"Of course."

"But," she said, tapping the cigarette twice with the pad of her index finger.  "I heard one that made me curious."

He raised a brow.

"You haven't been around to the bakery lately."

He stiffened.  "And that's hot gossip?"

"For some people," she said while inclining her head. "They say you might be avoiding a certain someone since no one's seen you together for weeks."

He frowned at her.  It couldn't be that obvious, right?  Sure, he didn't hide his face when he and Bo went out in public together, but they were hardly swooning lovers when other people were watching.

This had to just be Pieck talking.  She was far more observant and smart than most. 

And maybe too perceptive for her own good.

She stood quietly, studying his profile.  He hid his dismay behind a mask.

"Who?  Captain Keller?" He puckered his lips and blew smoke into the sky.  "It's true, but I don't think anyone has seen him lately; he died two weeks ago in the Mid-East.  Did you fall asleep during that briefing?"

"Maybe," she said.  "I never knew you walked Captain Keller home every day.  This must have been a hard few weeks for you."

It had been two months, actually, since that fateful night.  How could he forget, when everything he'd been striving for came crashing down thanks to his recklessness and a zygote.  He had a surplus of time to count the seconds without her to occupy his time.

He couldn't bring himself to confront her.  He believed she was making a mistake that would methodically ruin her life and whatever "life" that child would have, if she actually went through with her inane plan to keep it.

However, he couldn't exactly force her to see reason.  Especially since they had both decided to avoid each other.  Whatever relationship they had was irreparably damaged.  She wouldn't listen to him even if he attempted to plead his case.

So, he took a step back and forced himself to look at things clinically; if she didn't want him around, it would be wrong to intrude.  If she wanted to keep the pregnancy, she had a right to do so.  He needed to let her go.

The fact was, she didn't want him anymore.

Their lives had diverged dramatically.  She wanted a family, while he could not, in good conscience, support such a thing.  To knowingly bring a child into such a terrible world went against everything he stood for.

Besides, she didn't want him.

He made it through each day by promising himself it would get better.  Klara was becoming worried about him, so he forced himself to stand tall and act like everything was fine.  A silver lining was that he had more time to focus on his work, now.

Did she ever want him?  Had she just been placating him all this time?  Was he a fool to think she was genuine during all of those tender moments?

He wouldn't say it aloud, but it upset him.  He turned the other way whenever he came across couples holding hands.  The colour pink irked him.

He gritted his teeth whenever his grandmother asked polite questions about her.  Hell, he'd almost lost control of his temper when his grandfather came to visit and was informed of the "nice girl Zeke was seeing".  The ensuing bombardment of questions was torture.

And while he knew it wasn't her fault, he couldn't help but be annoyed at Pieck for bringing it up.

He hummed while taking another puff from his cigarette.

She looked away, brows knitted together.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Nothing to apologize for," he said.

"I'm sorry about whatever happened," she clarified, propping her head up on her hand.  

He didn't reply.

His eyes wandered toward Liberio.  He swore he could see Alice's bakery crammed into a nook close to the piers.  

A few weeks back, he had a moment of weakness.  Succumbing to the urge to check up on her was a mistake.  

Across the street from Alice's bakery, hidden in the shadows of another building, he watched her laugh and serve customers.  She wiped down tables, engaged in animated conversation, and ventured out to sweep the stoop.

Nothing had changed.  Her stride was light without anything weighing her down.  If anything, it seemed lighter now that he wasn't around.

As she bid farewell to a coworker, she stumbled over her words.  Even in the midday sun, he could tell her cheeks had turned pink as she scrambled to correct herself.  Did anyone else notice?  Did anyone else care?

The sight of it made his stomach lurch.

He dared to ask Klara about her, claiming he had been swamped with work lately.  Klara insisted that she was fine, that everything was as it always had been.

That's what hurt the most; knowing that she had dropped him like a bad habit.  Not only that, but she did it like it was the easiest thing in the world to do.  With or without him, she was fine.  He truly meant nothing at all.

The right thing to do would be to let her go.

"I'm being selfish," he said.  Not necessarily to Pieck, but he appreciated how intently she was listening.  "Aren't I?"

"I think you are," she replied.  He turned his head fully to look at her.  "But I can't blame you for that.  We're still humans, after all."

"Hm."  He wasn't surprised at her answer.  That didn't mean that was what he had wanted to hear.  "Aren't you the one that told me: " You only have so much time left, you're going to regret not enjoying it '?"

"Maybe," she said.  "But maybe I changed my mind."

He stayed quiet.

"I won't tell you what not to do, but it's not fair to her.  We won't be here long enough to make it worth it."

He blew smoke out of the side of his mouth while squinting his eyes.  "Are we still talking about the same person?"

She frowned.

"Or should I say, are we still talking about the same sister ?"

She looked startled for half a second before hiding it behind a wry smile.

"I'm not sure; did Captain Keller have a sister?"

He chuckled.  "Maybe."

She eyeballed the cigarette between her fingers, transfixed by the glowing end.

"Even if you're going to die before Klara," he said, gesturing towards her with his own stub of a cigarette.  "Wouldn't it be worth it to spend what little time you have, with someone you care about?"

She wouldn't meet his eyes. "It would never work."

"It might."

"Like your fling with Bolina did?"

That set him back.  He didn't blink, didn't move, for three long seconds.

She readjusted her arm that was propping up her head.  "Besides, what happened to 'doom and gloom, death is mercy'? I don't know if I've ever heard you sound so optimistic."

Finally, he broke, rotating to look to the side.  He scratched his jaw with the nail on his thumb.  What had happened to him?  He couldn't honestly say he changed; he didn't feel any different.  His and Ksaver's plan remained his one and only goal.  

This was her fault, wasn't it?  The more time he spent in her silly little world, the more clouded his judgment became.  All that time wasted staring at sunsets had steered him from his true goal.  Talks about deserving to be happy , as if he’d ever had the luxury to consider such a thing.

Perhaps this entire debacle was a blessing in disguise.

She had become more trouble than she was worth.  He couldn't believe it had taken him this long to see it.

"You're right, of course," he said, flicking the butt of the cigarette off of the railing, down to the walkway below.  "What a childish thing for me to say."

She watched him with wide eyes as he stood up straight and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"I'll have to leave before it gets too late," he said with a nod.  "Have a good night, Pieck."

And with that, he made for the staircase that descended to the ground level.

With how bright the moon was that night, he could clearly see every jagged edge and crumbling wall that held up Liberio.  Hands stuffed in his pockets, he twisted the pack of cigarettes between his fingers.

His mind replayed Pieck's words again and again.  He cringed every time, thankful that the streets were abandoned at this time of night.

He believed it when he insisted she brought him more trouble than she was worth.  He knew he ought to stay away.

So why, exactly, had he arrived on the doorstep of her building instead of going home?  He stood in the mouth of the alleyway, frozen in disbelief.  Had he gotten lost?  No, he knew these streets like the back of his hand.  He had made the deliberate choice to stand outside of her apartment like an idiot.

Not only was he desperate enough to travel all the way there, but he was too scared to knock on her door.

She was asleep, most likely.

He should have been as well.

Suddenly too exhausted to make the trek back to that terribly empty house right away,  he posted himself at the lip of the alley.  Head craned back, eyes closed, he didn't know what to do with himself other than smoke a cigarette and pray for some divine intervention.  Obviously, he wasn't lucid enough to listen to reason.

This was for the best.  He'd told himself over and over that she deserved better, that he was ruining her life by being near her.  He needed to get over himself and move on.  There were things he had to do, a promise he had to keep...

He's better off focusing on his goals.  He tried to convince himself that she was better off without him.  She's better off forgetting you even exist.

And it won't be that difficult for her, will it?  After all, she'd forgotten him before.  It would only be a matter of time before it happened again …

His eyes cracked open.

He felt sick.  A thick, black coat of anguish cloaked his heart.  Every beat pushed the sadness through his veins until it was all he could feel.

It welled up in his eyes, and he wasn't fast enough to restrain it before tears spilled over his face.

It was cold outside. His clouded exhales floated away from the yellow street lights.  He wondered if she was cold; if she wished he was there to keep it at bay.

Bang !

Tensed and ready for an attack, he stood up straight and zeroed in on the source of the sound: the side door to Bolina's apartment building.  He brushed away his tears in record speed.

Someone barged into the alley, agitation oozing from every stomp.  He'd let his cigarette fall to the ground over someone taking the trash out?  He was irritated, until…

His heart skipped a beat.  

What were the odds?

A second later, she noticed him.

Understandably, she looked startled.  Hair a mess, pyjamas askew, what had gotten her so incensed that she had to do something so early in the morning?  What was she holding?  Was she okay?  How had she been?

All of that ran through his head while he shuffled his feet and searched for something to say.  Instead of asking any questions, he sighed and lit another cigarette.

Reclining against the wall for support, he didn't bother transforming his tone into something attractive.

"Is that you, Bunny?"

He knew she hated that nickname.  Her and her round cheeks and bright eyes.

His chest ached.  He wanted her to wander closer, to say something.

Yet he'd long since run out of luck.  She tossed the object she had been carrying into the trash, then stormed back inside.  She didn't even look back.  How stupid was he to have gone there.

Before he made the shameful trek back to the house, his curiosity dragged him to the bins, where he peered inside.

On top of the pile lay a vinyl record he'd spotted in one of her bookshelves.  A record that she had bought for him.

He had left it behind that day; he never thought that would be the last time he'd visit her messy little apartment.

It couldn't be.

He brought the vinyl back home that night and sat on a box of his other records while it played.

She'd chosen well; he appreciated the sorrowful bass that permeated most of the tracks.

He wished he had never met her.

Sitting alone in an empty house, he stalled his healing factor so he could get drunk.  After all the time spent pretending, he had to let it out before it killed him.

So, he brought out a bottle of alcohol and sat on a box in the living room, drinking straight from the nozzle and hating himself for thinking this would make him feel better.

The flavour made him think of her.  He read the label and sighed.

Fortune's Red.  No wonder he felt sick; he'd bought a bottle for her after their time at the brewery.  Then they had it again the first time they got into bed together.

He was hopeless.  He couldn't do a damn thing right.

Setting the bottle on the floor, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.  Digging his palms into his eyes worsened his headache.

How was he supposed to live like this?

All of his carefully manufactured plans were fractured.  This pregnancy was a shard that would never fit.

At least, it wouldn't fit on his current trajectory.  Yet he had a sneaking suspicion that not all was lost: he had gone through with the purchase of the house, after all.  He knew deep down that things could still be salvaged.

If anyone could incorporate this miscalculation into a palatable solution, it would be him.

The last notes of the vinyl rattled into static.

He had no time to sleep.  His mind was racing.

It would be an arduous task, to swallow his pride and go along with this pregnancy against his better judgment. Alas, if he wanted to succeed in the end, he would have to make sacrifices.  He'd accepted this, as daunting as the process might be.  Failure was a very real possibility.

But the miserable truth was, he wanted her badly enough to try.

Zeke swore he had the upper hand during dinner that night.  Her father was an unexpected wrench.

He vowed to never shout, to never emulate his father, but he raised his voice to her father.  That man, whom he'd never liked to begin with, turned out to be no better than scum.  There was no way someone like him would ever push Zeke into doing something unsightly, but he had come close.

He'd had to leave.

She followed him.

Seeing the fear in her eyes, thinly veiled by anger, broke him.  She alluded to her piece of shit taking things out on her.

He begged—yes, begged— her to move in with him.  He wouldn't charge rent, and she didn't even have to pretend to like him, but he couldn't let her move in with that man.

She wasn't surprised.  She was consoling him instead of the other way around.  She'd grown up in this, as the focus of her father's rage.

And what, exactly, had Klara done to stop it?

Rage, blistering and poisonous, pumped through his veins at the thought of all the times Klara had sat by idly and watched.  She allowed it to happen.  The thought made him sick.

The next day, he confronted her.  Calling her into his office at lunch, his words froze her in place before she could move to sit down.

"It's nice to know you're alright," he said, fixing her with a glare that expressed only a fraction of his anger.  "How's Bo?  Or were you too busy daydreaming to notice?"

She wilted.  Though not entirely surprised at his frigid tone, she shrank in on herself all the same.

At the very least, she didn't attempt to play stupid.

"I know," she said, staring down at her hands.  "That wasn't... how things usually go."

"No?" Zeke stood in front of her with his arms crossed, feet shoulder length apart.  His glare burned twin holes in her head.  "How do things usually go ?  Does he ram Bolina's head into the table?  Make her eat off the floor?"

"No," she replied, quiet as a breath.  The blood was draining from her face.  "He's never hurt her."

"How would you know?"

She met his eyes. Her pupils were tiny pinpricks in a sea of sharp green.

"Would you have noticed if he had?" Zeke pressed.  "It would be so much easier just to sit back and watch-"

"Don't say shit like that," she snapped.  "He hasn't.  She's fine."

"Is she?" he said with a contemplative frown.

Klara glared at him, her mouth twisted into a scowl.

"Things usually don't go that way , but they have before, haven't they?  You weren't surprised.  But even better: you didn't even try to stop it."

"What was I supposed to do?"

"That's right.  I forgot that you're too spineless to do anything but pretend like you care.  My sincerest apologies."

She rubbed her chin, baring her teeth, and quickly lost her composure.  "And what'd you do?  Rile him up because he struck a chord?"

He stared at her, his expression resolute.

"It's not like I could tell him to stop," she said, looking to the side.  "He doesn't listen…"

"And that's the issue," he said, inclining his head toward her.  "You could have said something, but you didn't.  You chose not to."

"Like what?" she demanded.  "If I say shit he'd just scream at both of us."

"Better to let Bolina be the scapegoat, then.  It's much easier that way, isn't it?"

She looked downright murderous.

"What's the matter?" he asked, his tone rotten.  "Did I strike a chord?"

Whatever control she'd had over her temper ruptured right before his eyes.  She got in his face, pointing a finger at the space between his eyes.

"Just 'cause you took the easy way out and killed your parents doesn't mean everyone can," she said, her lip curling into a snarl.  "Most of us don't have Marley's favourite to come and save us when shit goes wrong."

He narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah," she said, nodding and making sure he could see the contemptuous look in her eye.  "I'd like to see how you'd have turned out if Ksaver hadn't come and saved you.  I bet you'd have shit all to say."

"Good thing we're in the real world, then, where all that shit you just spewed didn't happen," he said.  "Or were you trying to win this argument on hypotheticals?"

"There's no winning , you asshole," she angled her body away, as if the mere sight of him disgusted her.  "The real world.   Shut the fuck up, Zeke."

"Hit a bit too close to home?"

“You think you’re helping?” she countered.  “You think she wants your help?”

He stiffened.

“She’d rather be homeless than ask you for help,” she said.  “She’d rather stay with our dad than move in with you .”

He set his jaw.

"She said she wished she never met you.  That you’re a stupid, selfish asshole that left when she needed you-"

He raised his index finger to silence her.  He couldn’t just stand there and listen to her speak his bleakest suspicions into existence.  Judging by her wavering confidence, she noticed the venom in his glare.  

"Just because I'm doing what you couldn't, doesn't mean you get to throw a tantrum," he said in a cold, even tone.

“Tantrum?!  You think I’m lying?”

“Is that what I said?”

“If you’re such a fucking godsend, why don’t you ask her yourself?” She was self-righteous in her furor.  “Go on and ask if she would give you the time of day if she didn’t feel bad for you.”

His eye twitched.  “I’m sure she spends all of her pity on you.  The one who was too afraid to actually help her family.”

The next few moments lasted an eternity.  She looked about ready to lunge at him when a knock at the door shattered her focus.

Porco entered without waiting for a response, poking his head in.

"Hurry up, we've gotta go help with drills for the kids."

Klara was wide eyed.  Zeke said nothing, his arms crossed as he stood beside his desk.  Porco looked between them with a frown.

"Do … I want to know?"

"No," Zeke said, his voice still frigid.

"Okay," Porco muttered, opening the door as Klara made a hasty exit.

Once they were gone, Zeke let out a haggard sigh.  Even when he lit a cigarette and filled his lungs with poison, he couldn’t escape the sight of her in his mind’s eye.

When things were slow and he had a moment to think, he put the discarded blank papers to use.  Whether they were dirty or thrown away for some other reason, he didn't bother asking.

Things were progressing at a snail’s pace.  Bolina did move in with him, but things were hardly better.  They both held each other at arm’s length, unwilling to close the distance or discuss why they were dancing around each other like children.

To make matters worse, he had to leave just when things were starting to take a turn for the better.

In the quiet moments, he would remember the sight of her, sleeping and safe in her room. Sometimes, when he would check up on her before leaving for the day, he would venture into the room and tuck the blankets under her chin.  

He took a deep breath.  Things weren't perfect.  Maybe they would never be; maybe he had already ruined everything, and while she had agreed to live with him, she would never truly forgive him.

The thought of confronting her about her aversion to him made his stomach sink.  He didn't think he would be able to handle her reply.

So, he got up early enough so that she wouldn't have to see him, and stayed in his office until it was a socially acceptable time to begin his day.

Normally he went back to sleep, but occasionally his mind raced during his trek to the barracks.  On those days, he gathered some discarded papers and grabbed the nearest pen.

It was easier to frame things as a letter.  That was the next best thing to speaking face-to-face—in his mind, at least.

It also gave him time to parse out his words and frame them correctly.  He found it irritatingly difficult to find the right thing to say when watching her eyes fill with tears.

Even still, he found that a lot of the time he couldn't quite bring himself to ask her any direct questions; it was always " I should get comfier chairs in the dining room," but never " Why do you always run away and hide instead of being with me?"

He had a sizable pile of these letters stashed away in the bottom left drawer of his desk at home.  Would she find them if she went snooping through his things?  Yes, but he couldn't imagine Bo doing something so invasive.

Maybe there was a small part of him that wished she would find his letters, if only to save him the trouble of speaking to her directly.  But life was never going to be that easy.  Especially for him.

Being sent out to secure the border for Marley was tedious.  Convincing them that his aim was good enough to hit their enemies and not obliterate the nearby canal was a gruelling task.  Practices and tests were one thing, but it would all be for nothing if he couldn't perform.

Thus far, he'd like to think he'd done a satisfactory job.

But at the end of the day, when his hands were raw and his feet were aching, that wasn't what he wanted to think about.  The beginnings of a nasty headache drummed against his skull.

Paper was more difficult to come by in a war camp, but he managed thanks to Pieck.  She had pointed him in the right direction.

He'd like to think his loneliness wouldn't have been so potent if she didn't insist on remaining in her titan form for weeks on end.  Sure, she could speak in that form, but he preferred her company when she wasn't a hulking, deadly creature.

Or perhaps that was just another excuse as to why he wrote Bolina such long letters.

Sitting alone in his tent, a nearby lantern illuminating the compact space, he rummaged through the pocket of his coat.  From it, he produced a small picture, worn around the edges from being toted around all day.

He propped it up and took a moment to take it in.

Studying that photograph of her over and over definitely didn't ease his loneliness.  But it did offer great inspiration.

He shifted his focus to the page, taking extra time to write her name neatly on the top left-hand corner.

Bolina …

His tone changed from letter to letter.  Sometimes he described the scenery, other times he waxed on about whatever was on his mind that night.  Never about himself.

He admitted to himself that if she knew his plans, knew what he had to do, she would hate him.  She would gut him on the kitchen floor without a second thought, and he would deserve it.  However, it was his one and only purpose in life.  He could not fail.

So, he avoided talking about it altogether in his letters.  Instead, he talked about the view of the sea from their house.  About the stupid stuffed animals in their living room.  About things that weren’t enviable, but made him content either way.

Was this what she meant, he would ask himself, writing it down so he’d never forget.  Am I wasting my time, or am I trying to be happy?  How am I supposed to know the difference?  Did you mean it when you said everyone deserves to be happy?  Have you changed your mind?

He examined the photograph, his chin propped up on the palm of his hand.  Would she ever be happy with him, and what little he had to offer?  

Did he deserve to find out?

He was halfway through rereading his finished work when he heard Pieck's rasping titan voice cut through the quiet.

"Sir.  The injured have arrived."

While she wasn't speaking to him, he knew it would be best if he stayed informed.  So, he stuffed his newest letter into the rubber band that kept the rest contained and stepped out of his tent.  He walked a few paces to stand next to Pieck's engorged titan snout.

A convoy of wounded soldiers shuffled into camp on foot.  If they were worth it, they would receive medical attention.  Otherwise, they would be sent back to Liberio in shame.

A handful of Marleyan soldiers greeted them, sifting through the Eldians like they were stock, shooing away the ones that were no longer useful.

In the low evening light, he thought he recognized a certain lanky redhead with an unkempt combover.

His suspicions were confirmed as he watched them break off from the rest of the group and trudge towards him and Pieck.

"Klara," Pieck greeted.  

Zeke knew that Pieck effortlessly remained stoic on the battlefield.  She was unwavering and decisive.

Yet he could have sworn she used a softer tone when addressing Klara.  Not only that, but she shifted her stance to see her better as she approached.  He might have said something if there wasn't a larger elephant in the room.

Klara slowed to a stop a few feet away.  She was staring at him through her lashes.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked.  Was she talking to him?  He didn't call for her.

Pieck shifted, catching his eye and blinking slowly.

Ah.  So this was her doing.

Well.  There was no point in wasting this opportunity.

"Yes," he said, fiddling with his glasses while clearing his throat.  "Yes, I did.  I wanted to apologize.  I've treated you unfairly as of late.  My anger was misdirected, and..."

He looked up, staring her square in the face.  Finally, he noticed her swollen black eye.

Pieck took advantage of his bout of silence to clarify: "She showed up looking like that."

She showed up... beaten and bruised?  His blood ran cold.

Klara stared at her feet, hiding behind a curtain of her hair.  When he took a step closer, he noticed the nasty cut on her hairline.

"What happened?" he asked.  He needed to know but also never wanted her to reply.

Klara glanced at Pieck, steeled her nerves, and then spoke in a shaky voice.  "My, uh, my father came by to ask where you and Bo lived."

No.  Every breath he took stoked the flame of his ire.  It was inescapable.  It numbed everything else except a low thrum of guilt.

"I didn't tell him," she said, glancing up at his face as if searching for approval.  "I wouldn't."

He swore he felt his heart break into hundreds of tiny pieces.  What was wrong with him?  How could he make her think she was anything but blameless?

Wordlessly, he opened his arms.  She hesitated.

After a painstaking moment, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug.  He held the back of her head and closed his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Klara," he whispered.  She held him tighter.  "I was wrong."

He swore he heard her sniffle.  "I-I was a dick, too."

"I deserved it."

She settled her chin on his shoulder.  “No, you didn’t.”

He didn’t realize how badly he needed to hear her say that.  All he could do was hope that the tears in his eyes wouldn’t spill over his cheeks.

"Shut up,” he said.

“Hah, you’re crying too,” she said, and he could hear the smirk on her lips.

“Fuck off,” he replied.

"Finally." Zeke opened his eyes to see that Porco joined the party, his arm wrapped in a sling.  His face was drawn into a scowl.  "We're done with all the whining now, right?"

"Don't ruin their moment, Pock," Pieck chided.

He rounded on her, fists clenched.  "Don't call me that.  Did you say something to Magath?"

"I say a lot of things to Magath, Pock."

"Yeah?  Did you tell him to send me home?" he seethed.

"All of my reports are confidential."

"Cut the shit!  I sprained my wrist, Pieck, I just need a few days!"

"If they've cleared you to go home, then you have to go home, Pock."

Zeke sighed and reluctantly let Klara go.  It was easy to drown out Porco's bellyaching when he was still so focused on Klara's injuries.

"He didn't actually hit me," she said.  "He scared me, and I kind of fell."

"That doesn't make it any better," he said flatly.

"I know, I'm just..." She rubbed her chin.  "I'm more worried about Bo."

The realization hit him like a truck.  He'd been so preoccupied with ensuring every part of his mission ran smoothly that the thought of Matteo Holschbach didn't cross his mind.

He'd kept his distance before.  He wouldn't be so stupid as to try and contact Bolina just because Zeke was gone … right?

"He doesn't know where she lives," he said.  "And I have my grandmother there, staying with her."

"Yeah, but," she grimaced.  "Bo said she wasn't going to send the payments anymore."

" Payments ?"

It was Klara's turn to be shocked.  Zeke impatiently waited for her to collect her thoughts.  He stuffed his hands into his pockets so she wouldn't see him clench them into fists.

"He takes a percentage of our monthly paycheck, to pay back all the stuff he bought us growing up," she said, her eyes flitting from the ground to his shoes while her ears turned red.  "She's never missed a payment before."

He took a deep breath, struggling to suppress his infernal anger.  Losing his temper wouldn't be helpful.  He shifted through the new information he was given; their father was an even bigger waste of space than he had originally given him credit for.

At the very, very least, a puzzle piece slid into place regarding Bolina's aversion to accepting any help.  She really did think he would expect her to pay him back.  He recalled the panic in her eyes at the thought of him looking at her medical bills.

He clenched his jaw so hard that one of his molars cracked.

Klara flinched, her shock and concern causing her to reach out and grab his elbow.  He stared at her hand, using it to anchor him to the present.

Even when he wasn't around, their father's influence poisoned them.  Finally, Zeke accepted that he was stupid enough to go after Bolina just because no one was there to stop him.  No doubt, a coward like him would have no issue hurting his grandmother in the process.  

But what could he do?   A few nasty factions had yet to admit defeat and were adamant about continuing their attack on the border.  Rushing things would be sloppy work and reflect poorly on him in the long run.

On the other hand, he would hardly be able to rest easy knowing that piece of shit was still tormenting Bolina.

He glanced to the side.  And the answer came easily as he zeroed in on an arm sling.

"Galliard," Zeke said, sidestepping Klara to approach him.  Whatever complaint Porco was espousing died on his tongue upon hearing Zeke's curt tone.  "You're going back to Liberio?"

"Wha-I…" Porco glanced from him to Pieck, deflating.  He wasn't pleased.  "Someone thinks I am."

"Good," Zeke said, straightening his posture.  "I want you to stay with Bolina.  You can sleep on the couch."

"Why-?"

"Because her father is too much of an idiot to know when to quit while he's ahead," Zeke said.  "I want you to look out for her for me.  Make sure he doesn't even blow his nose in her direction."

Porco spoke, his face still contorted in confusion. "Oh-kay… And if he does?  What am I supposed to do?"

Zeke inclined his head to peer at him over the rims of his glasses.  He wanted to make sure Porco heard each word clearly.

"Kill him."

Pieck stirred, but didn't bother protesting.  She knew better than to question Zeke when he used such a decisive tone.  Porco's stiff, agitated posture disappeared.  His shoulders were lax as his mouth parted in shock.

"What?! "

"You heard me," Zeke said, immovable.

Porco looked behind him, towards Klara.  Zeke looked back just in time to see Klara give Porco a resolute nod.

"This is …" Porco started, taking half a step back.  "I … alright.  Fine.  I'll do it."

"Thank you, Porco," Zeke said, putting away his intense glare for something much more pleasant. He knew Galliard would not let him down.  "But before you scamper off…"

He ducked into his tent, hesitating for only a moment before gathering his parcel of letters.  A loud whistle sounded from across the camp.  It was time for all of the injured to travel back to Liberio. Zeke reemerged from his tent, ignoring the disgruntled looks exchanged between Porco and Pieck.

They ceased as he approached.  He handed the bound letters to Porco with a nod.

"These are for Bolina." Even after placing them in Porco's hand, it took a long moment to release them from his grip.  "I would appreciate it if you delivered these to her."

"Yeah, sure," Porco muttered, twisting it in his grip to study it from all sides before tucking it into the pocket of his jacket.  He shuffled backwards, towards the convoy he needed to take.  "Guess I better get going." 

With that, he left, turning and kicking every rock that jutted out from the uneven earth.

Klara stood beside Zeke, glancing up at him from the corner of her eye.

"You could have just sent me home," Klara said.  He gave her a look.

"It's best that you stay where I can see you," he said, daring to muss up her hair with his palm.  "Besides.  I would be a monster if I ordered you to kill your own father."

"You think Porco will?"

"No," Zeke replied, turning fully toward her. "But if he's there, hopefully your dearest dad will leave Bolina be."

She scoffed.  "So you just freaked him out for nothing?"

"What's wrong with giving him a little incentive?"

"You're such an ass."

He shrugged.  "If you say so.  Are you gonna stay with Pieck tonight?"

Klara's cheeks turned a blotchy red.  "Wh-what?"

"The other soldiers are staying the night to receive medical treatment," Pieck explained, nudging her with her snout.  "Sorry, Klara.  You're stuck here 'till morning."

"You should sleep with Pieck," Zeke said, struggling to keep his voice even while watching her jolt like a startled cat.  "Titans are nice and warm, you know.  And soft."

"There are spare sleeping bags near the far tent," Pieck said.

"Where's the fun in that, Piecky?" Zeke said with a small smile.  "You won't leave poor Klara to freeze alone in some dirty sleeping bag, will you?"

If looks could kill, he'd be dead where he stood.  Evidently, Pieck did not appreciate his "help".

"I'm not really that tired yet," Klara said, running her fingers through her hair.  "Would … is it okay if I just sit here for a while?  With you guys?"

He smiled.  It had been an awfully long time since he’d spent time with her.  There was little else to do until morning, anyway.

"Ah, I love a good compromise," Zeke said, grin broadening as Pieck settled down on the ground, her body curling around them both to block out the breeze.

Whatever happened next, he would be able to handle.

Chapter Text

She would never let him live this down.  He damn near gave her a heart attack pounding on her door after sundown. 

Lucy was left abandoned on the phone, calling out and asking if everything was okay.  Bo's jaw was clenched too tightly to respond.  Her hands shook as she armed herself with an umbrella from the front hall closet.

Heart pounding, ears ringing, she braced herself.  Taking a deep breath, she looked through the peephole.