> Colder Weather
>  by Merc the Jerk
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Special Delivery
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	From any passersby, any sort of observer at all, it was just another small, rundown apartment on Saint’s Whistle. Squarish and plain, with a small strip of grass more brown than green, it looked precisely like the neighboring units—all of which looked exactly like their neighbors. The sidewalk passing by was cracked and flaking. Saint’s Whistle itself—an old, old street—was a faded grey and potted with holes broken only by the occasional bump.

The trashy monotony was only broken at the far point of the street’s cul-de-sac end. There sat the long-abandoned church where the street’s namesake had originated. Its doors were boarded up; its windows broken. Graffiti covered the peeling white sides, covering the once hallow building with profanity and despair.

No different were the people who lived here. They too seemed as if they might have once been wholesome and pure, but were now old and dilapidated. They sat on the curb, smoking and throwing dice; others walked, directionless, their eyes not holding in any one direction as they remembered the better times or contemplated the future darkness. They ignored one another, unless money or sex was involved. Old hints of happier times—a bent basketball goal, a single strand of net flying in the wind; broken toys scattered in every other yard; the barest remnants of chalk lines, drawn for games but splashed and stained with old oil and worse—emphasized the decay.

Outsiders spent as little time on Saint’s Whistle as they could. A wrong turn was quickly corrected, often adding to the various skid marks along the circle. Those lost, wandering in, either left with lighter pockets or didn’t leave at all. The police had stopped coming years ago. No one wanted to visit Saint’s Whistle.

But even still, some felt they had to.

Daring or stupid, likely a bit of both, the city’s mail carriers had never stopped the routes through Saint’s Whistle. Every other day, his windows up and doors locked, the mailman drove down the short straight and circled the cul-de-sac. At each apartment, he would stop then gather the needed mail. He would wait until he was sure no one was within twenty feet. Then, as quickly as he could, he would roll down the passenger side window and toss the mail into the yard of its recipient. The window would go up immediately, and he would repeat the process three dozen times or so until he could safely leave.

It was on one of these days that he stopped across from the apartment that seemed no different from any of the others. Looking at his list, he was surprised to see that he needed to deliver an actual package. That was far from his usual fare of overdue bills and eviction notices, spiced up with the occasionally scam sweepstakes’ letter. Why it couldn’t be just another newspaper—this week’s thick heading reading, “Suspects In National Terrorism Still Roam Free!”—was beyond him.

He swallowed hard. It was sizable enough—and marked FRAGILE to boot—that he’d have to deliver it personally to the door. Which meant leaving the relative safety of his vehicle. Going through on the postal service’s promise to deliver no matter the conditions was one thing. Putting himself at risk—no! Putting his deliveries, the mail, at risk for a simple package was quite another.

Ignoring the thought, he turned around and dug through his bag, thankful for a moment’s distraction. After a few hesitant minutes, he brought it up. It was a small box, wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with rough twine. On one side was taped a piece of paper. The mailman had never seen such a cliche package outside of the movies.

Gritting his teeth, he wiped the sweat from his brow and forced a chuckle. Daniel, buddy, you’ve got to relax, he told himself. Time to stop being the laughing stock—you can show them who’ll be going postal next week!

Taking a deep breath, he undid his seatbelt and opened the door, getting out and heading for the door before he could change his mind.

Step, step, step—almost there—step, step—reach out, knock, give the package and go. Easy!

A dog shot forward, pressing its face against the chain-link fence next door and barking with an almost feral exuberance at his approach, its jowls dripping with saliva.

“H’oh shit!” he squealed, flinging the package into the air. With another cry of, “Shit!”, he reached out, running forward to try and catch the fragile box. It spun as it fell, landing on his palm but rolling out and to the side. He threw out his other hand, trying to get a grip on the falling package.

Instead, he smacked it again, launching it towards the fence—and the still-barking dog. For a moment, he almost let it go. After all, was a stupid package (which he suspected was likely full of drugs of some sort, or maybe a bomb) worth getting rabies? Or losing a hand?

But he found himself jumping forward, the answer irrelevant. He had come this far, and he’d be damned if he failed at this point. Especially to a stupid dog. He was no cartoonist’s cliche.

Emboldened, he put an extra oomph to his leap, reaching out with both hands as he saw the brown missile arc up and over, aimed right for the dog’s snappings jaws. His chest hit the fence, stopping and knocking the breath from him. Raising his arms, he aimed, prayed, and brought his hands together.

A moment later, he opened his eyes gingerly. There, between his palms, was the package, safe and sound. In front of him, across the fence, the dog was going crazy. In between loud, annoying barks it snapped and pulled at the chain link. Safe, he breathed in deeply, coughing at the slight ache on his chest.

Hah! Take that, ya damned dog! No stupid mutt is gonna beat me!

“Excuse me.”

Nearly dropping the package yet again, the mailman twisted quickly, surprised at the sudden voice. There, at the apartment doorway, stood a young woman. At least he was pretty sure it was a young woman. The voice was rough and quiet, making it hard to hear let alone recognize the sex behind it.

It was her generally thin body shape that made him guess at her gender, as she was clothed almost entirely head to toe. An over-large brown coat covered most of her body, with plain black boots poking out underneath. Above she had the tall collar pulled close. Combined with the wide-brimmed hat she wore, her face was deeply shadowed. The effect was increased by the darkness of the house’s interior.

“Uh…” he trailed off, realizing he’d not heard her as she’d continued to speak. “Sorry, what?”

She let out an irritated sigh. “I said, ‘What exactly is going on here?’”

Backing away from the fence, the mailman dusted himself off and cleared his throat. “Nothing! Or rather, something. A, a delivery, ma’am.” He held up the package, then gave it a spin when he saw it was upside down. “Package for 1312 Saint’s Whistle. A Mr.…” He looked at the label, adding, “Pierce?”

The figure nodded, replying, “Yes, that’s me—a package?” A gloved hand moved up to curiously rub at an unseen chin. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the mailman said, offering the box.

Gingerly, she reached out and took it, cradling it gently with both hands. He almost laughed when she brought it to her ear and gave it a small shake.

“Eager for Hearth’s Warming, are we, miss?” he joked.

The hat tilted, marking the imagined flat look. “Hilarious.” She turned, starting to close the door.

“Wait! You need to sign!” he called, bringing out the clipboard velcroed to his belt. “Uh...please?”

He stood for a moment, clipboard in hand and offered, feeling awkward. Finally, the door creaked open again.

“Very well,” she replied with an irritated noise. “If I must. Hold this,” she said, thrusting the package back at him.

For a second he juggled the package and the clipboard, transferring the latter into her hands. Quickly, she took the attached pen and dropped it. Grumbling to herself, she leaned down but couldn’t seem to pick up the pen with her thick gloves.

She stomped the ground, growling some before she angrily removed the gloves. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw her delicate and manicured nails, painted a dark purple. Her hand freed, she picked up the pen and, in a series of long and liquid strokes, signed the paper. They repeated the miniature juggle, leaving him with the signed delivery sheet and her with the box.

“Is there anything else?” she asked.

“No, tha—” he replied, but she cut him off with a harsh, “Because I’m extremely busy!”

Blushing, he said, “Uh, that’s all. Appreciate it, ma’am. Thank—” She turned and slammed the door shut as he finished weakly with, “—you…”

Oh well. At least she didn’t draw a knife on me or anything, he thought wearily, trudging back to his car to finish his route. I need to request a different route before I get another ulcer.

Climbing back into the safety of his vehicle, he tossed the clipboard to the passenger seat, forgotten. It landed next to one of the newspapers, which went on to talk about the six traitors to the crown—Twila Shields, Isabelle ‘Dash’ Apple, Jack Apple, Chylene Hutchinson, Diane ‘Pinkie’ Pie, and Rarity Belle. There beside it, plain to see but thankfully missed by the nervous mailman, was the signature, elegantly reading, ‘Rarity Belle’.

Rarity held her back flat against the door, her hand gripping the gun under her coat tightly. Not until she heard the mail truck start and stop five times as it continued its route did she let loose a sigh of relief as she relaxed.

At this rate, she thought to herself, I’m going to develop ulcers or some other horrid thing!

Stripping off the hot—not to mention hideous—coat, she placed the gun on a small table near the door as she took the unexpected package to the living room.

Although calling it a living room was being incredibly generous. It was mostly empty, a mattress and simple pallet on the floor in one corner, a splintered table and matching chair, as well as a threadbare recliner, the only other pieces of furniture in the room. The rest of the apartment was much the same.

For a living space, it was dreadful. But for a hideout? It worked well enough, she supposed. The water worked, and a generator in the basement allowed her to cook. Though the meals were skimpy and simple. Rarity was pretty sure if she never saw another potato in her entire life, it’d be too soon.

Setting the package down as she sat herself, she told herself the real reason she was tired of the apartment was Spike’s absence. The young man had been gone for over a week now, leaving her to stew and nearly drown in paranoia. She tried to distract herself, but without her tailor’s tools, there was only so much that interested her.

The half dozen or so romance novels they’d manage to scrounge sat in a pile, reread at least three times. She’d tried her hand at knitting—surprisingly difficult, considering she had worked with a needle nearly her entire life. And despite having little interest before, she’d been spending more and more time every day on Spike’s computer.

“It’s true,” she said to no one, “I’m so terribly bored!”

Day in and day out, nothing seemed to change. Ever since they split up from the others, it had been Spike doing research as they kept as low a profile as possible. What they had learned from the List, stolen from the detestable nobleman Alaurd Blueblood, had made it imperative they each do something to strike at their enemy. Rarity was tired of hiding, of waiting.

She would never admit it, but at least a small part of her craved action. Sitting around, endlessly planning and contemplating was driving her mad. As a tailor, Rarity respected and understood the necessity for preparation and planning. But, at the same time, her profession also required you to strike while the iron was hot, so to speak. Timid tailors might eke out a living, but they would never grace a magazine cover. Their names would never be synonymous with a nationwide fashion trend. They would never receive custom, once-in-a-lifetime orders from the most famous, the most influential, the most powerful.

No, that took daring and a sense of drama, drastic action and quick risks. To be successful, one had to observe and wait for an opportunity, but even more so be aware of the potential for opportunity. The winners set themselves up accordingly. Professionals boldly placed themselves in line for success rather than rely on fickle chance to find their door.
Not that chances weren’t important, she reminded herself. The list had been their effort to meet success; in doing so, they had pulled chance to their lap. It was beyond frustrating, then, that they had to play it safe. Especially considering the time limit they were up against.

Focusing on the package, she said, “So I wonder exactly what you are—expected success or random luck?” Carefully, she picked it up for a closer examination, turning it this way and that in her hand.

It made no sound—she wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. Despite its size, it was rather light; she suspected it held something small, but packed tightly. Deciding she was too bored to ignore something new, she shrugged and tore off the addressed paper.

There, in light green ink, was all the proof she needed. “Gems, from Drake,” she read aloud, smiling. It was small and written exactly centered underneath the taped on address. Little chance anyone would find it without damaging the parcel, making her instantly suspicious. Simple, but effective. “So like you, Spike.”

Her worries laid to rest, she began tearing off the plain brown paper. Inside was a simple paper box, taped closed. She hurried to the kitchen and grabbed a knife, slicing it open. When she opened the lid, she gasped, clutching a hand to her breast in surprise.

It was mostly stuffed with soft cotton. Nestled snuggly inside was one of the most gorgeous gemstones Rarity had ever seen. It was a sapphire, cut into the shape of a heart and set on a flawless silver chain. Rarity felt tears at her eyes. She had received a twin, that one a brilliant ruby, from Spike a few years ago. It still remained the most touching and honest gesture of affection anyone had ever done for her.

“And now you’ve done it again, Spike—you darling boy, you,” she whispered, clutching the package to her heart, wishing instead she could hug the man himself. Letting it go, she hurriedly pulled it from the box and began to put it on. Before she finished doing the clasp, a small click of something falling caught her attention. Looking down, she raised an eyebrow in wonder. There on the ground was a small, thin plastic device that must have been underneath the necklace. She recognized it as a compact hard drive; pocket-sized for easy transport between computers wherever you might go.
Quickly, she hurried back to the table, opening the flash drive’s cap. Reaching beside her, she moved the laptop and, after a few moments, found where it went and plugged it in.

Taking the mouse in hand, she clicked and double clicked until she found the drive’s icon. She opened it and found a single video file. Anticipation coursed through her body, making her fingers tingle. She hovered over it with her cursor, then took a breath, clicking it.

After only a few seconds of loading, Spike appeared, leaning forward onto a desk in a well-worn apartment.

He stared at the camera, his short stature on the desk nearly swallowing him whole. With a small smile, he started. “Hi there, Rarity. I hope you’re doing well at the hideout.” Spike frowned, bridging his fingers. “I-I know it’s not exactly ideal—you deserve something much better than that—and I’d love to give it to you, but…” He sighed, clasping his hands tighter and shaking his head. “A larger place would just attract attention. Better a rough neighborhood than the entire brunt of the army finding you.” He leaned down, reaching into a drawer in the desk and producing a silver necklace with a blue, heart-shaped gem at the end. “Guess when you get this message you’ll have the necklace too.” He gave a boyish blush, glancing away from the camera. “Hope you like it—I, uh, thought it might go good with the fire ruby I gave you when I was a kid. Jeweler I talked to said it was like, like a sister piece to it. Red is supposed to offer good health and fortune. Blue is for wisdom and courage.” 

Giving a dismissive wave of his hand, he returned the necklace and continued. “But that’s enough of that. Sorry. I’ll, uh, get to the point now.” Spike stood, walking beside the desk and pulling down a rolled up map that showcased the nation of Torani. He pointed up, standing on his toes. With a heavy sigh, he bent down offscreen, bringing up a pointer. 
Rarity hid a laugh behind her hand. “Oh, you’re just too cute, Spike,” she said aloud, recalling the many times he had been bothered by his short stature.

Turning back to the video, she saw Spike tap at one of northernmost towns on the map. “I have a mission for you,” he addressed, turning and facing the camera. “You’re to travel by a train leaving at midnight tonight en route to the town of Brunswick. When you arrive there, I’ll meet up with you and explain the situation with a bit more detail. I’d tell you more now, but if this package were to be intercepted… well, the less said about that the better. All you really need to know is that we’re meeting with a contact of mine who says he could possibly have a weapon that could help our cause tremendously. It should be an easy job—I’ve already done a bit of looking around, and everywhere we stop seems safe.” Spike tapped the pointer into his palm. “Granted, bring the cache. Better safe than sorry, right?.” He shook his head, wanting to say something, but held his tongue.

“That’s about all that needs saying for now. Though you’re probably wondering why I’m not just doing this myself.” Rarity nodded—she had wondered. Spike went on. “The truth is, while this is important, I…” He swallowed. “I want to take you somewhere, Rarity. It’s nice country, and, despite us having a job there, maybe we can actually have a breather. M-maybe do something together. As a… you know...” Spike shuffled a bit on his feet, then picked up a small remote off of the desk. “To be safe, this video will delete itself about three hours after you view it. So there’s that. I, uh, hope to see you soon.” With a press of a button, the footage terminated.

With a snap, Rarity shut the laptop eagerly. Finally! she thought, her fingers tracing the curves of the sapphire around her neck. A gift and a date!

Excitement made her heart flutter as she began packing up the few essentials; she didn’t want to waste any time. Checking the time, she figured there was just enough time to clean up, pack up, and make her way to the station without being seen.

“First things first,” she told herself. “The cache.” An irritated sigh escaped her lips. “Does he really want the whole thing?” Heading downstairs to the cramped little basement, she thought, It’s good to be prepared, but it’s so heavy!

Approaching the far wall, she felt against the rough wooden wall until she found the gap that marked the removable panel. Sliding it aside, she grabbed the massive trunk and began hauling it upstairs.

Cache, check. Laptop, check. Spare clothes, the travel toiletries, the spare cash… Am I forgetting anything?

Breathing hard, trying to ignore the feeling of sweat on her brow, Rarity gave one last heave and slung the trunk out of the stairwell. She looked around, somewhat wistfully. It was a dreary, dreadful place… but it had been safe, at least for a time. When she and Spike had found it, they had simply relaxed for several days, staying up too late and reliving the crazy stories that had happened in Mansfield with the others. But they had also wondered and worried about the others and their own missions.

Nodding resolutely, she decided to grab a quick shower before taking a taxi to the station. If she wanted to see the others again, this was the first step. Spike had supplied the opportunity, now they had to place themselves before it.

Besides, she told herself, I can’t wait to see what he has planned for our first date!


000


Stepping off the train, Rarity shivered and regretted leaving her heavy coat packed. It hadn’t been a long trip—no more than a couple hours or so—but it had been more than enough to drop temperatures well below comfortable. Winter had clearly come to Brunswick and didn’t plan on leaving for some time.

Hefting both the heavy trunk and her tightly-packed bag (she still found it hard to travel with just the one), she followed a small crowd of people down the platform to the station proper. Spike had said they would meet up in the small town, but she had forgotten if he’d said anything more detailed. Between the weight she carried and the cold, however, her hands were beginning to go numb. If Spike was anywhere, she decided, it’d likely be within the station itself.

Walking faster, she headed for the small building, the glow of its lighted windows promising an escape from the chill and the warmth. The station itself was small. Likely even smaller than the one at Mansfield, which surprised her. But to her knowledge, Brunswick wasn’t known for much beyond being a stop between Torani proper and its northern ally-dash-territory, the Crystal Territories. Putting her curiosity on hold, she made a beeline for the automatic double-doors, passing through them quickly into blessed and comfortable heat.

Setting down the bags, she looked around. Apparently she hadn’t been the only one with the idea of using the station to get out of the weather. There were a surprising number of people, despite the late hour. Most were standing or sitting against the wall or on the floor, the handful of simple benches beyond full. Some were even asleep on their luggage. The only word Rarity could find to describe it was ‘quaint’.

It wasn’t long before she saw him, pushing through the crowd of people and pausing, standing on his toes to stare over them on occasion. He finally spotted her; his face erupted into a smile as he pushed through the sea of people with renewed fervor. He finally broke free and stumbled forward, standing in front of her.

“Glad you made it,” Spike quietly said, looking up into her face. His eyes briefly glanced down; he noticed the pendent she wore. “How do you like it?”

Spreading her arms wide, she leaned down and pulled Spike into a tight hug. “It’s beyond lovely, Spike. As good as the last and better.”

He blushed once more, bringing his arms up and holding her for a moment. “I like blue on you. I, uh, like everything on you, but blue especially.” He smiled, his eyes almost squinted shut from how wide his grin was. “Matches your eyes.”

She leaned back, but kept her arms around him. Smiling, she replied, “You really are the sweetest thing, darling.” Finally letting him go, she gestured around. “Anyways--I’m here! Have you been waiting long?”

“Just about a half-hour or so. I was keeping an eye on the package I sent and had a feeling you’d open it almost as soon as you got it.” He shrugged. “Then I just kinda looked at the train schedule. Easy stuff.” Spike laughed. “I know it’s only been about a week, but it is really nice seeing you again. Has anything happened while I was away?”

She shook her head. “Nothing at all, thankfully. The news reports are still mostly repeats, but are starting to lose some of their urgency.”

He broke their embrace, but still clasped her hand tightly in his own. “Good, good. The one plus about the news: propaganda piece to the Tyrant or not, people lose interest. Maybe in a couple months they’ll be back to talking about reality TV or the next superhero film in theater, or, or a videogame—something.” He glanced over at her bags and grabbed one in his free hand. He lifted it with a heavy groan, his arm visibly shaking under its weight.

“Y-you’re prepared,” he gasped out, partially dragging the bag, partially hoisting it. “Let me t-take this to the car… we can talk more on the drive.”

Rarity gave a wicked grin as she hefted her other luggage. “Oh yes—I’ve had half a day and a boring train ride to hang on your mysteriousness. I’m just dying to know we’re up against. Don’t hold back a thing!”

“M-might not be up against anything really. Sweet Elondrie,” he groaned, swinging the bag and carrying it in both hands. “And I’m sorry about the whole ‘cloak and dagger’ act—I just don’t want anything to happen. I gotta be careful—I can’t get you hurt.”

“Spike,” Rarity said evenly as they headed for the door, “we talked about this, remember? I don’t want to see you hurt, or any of the others, either. But that can’t hold us back. Too much counts on us to let our personal lives interfere. We have to remember the big picture.” She stopped in her tracks, adding, “Oh listen to me! I’m sounding a fair bit like Dash, aren’t I?”

“You’ve kept your language too clean to be like Dash,” he weakly joked, taking another breath of air. “Man, this thing…” He took it down a small flight of stairs, then looked down at the bag. “But, I know you’re right. We can’t let personal feelings dictate missions. It’s just that…” He gently put it down and shrugged. “It’s kind of a man thing, I guess. I guess I-I’m not that much of one—I don’t look the part, I don’t feel the part most days, and I sure can’t play the part sometimes—even this bag is kicking my ass,” the boy grumbled. “But…” He rubbed the back of his neck at stared over at the beauty beside him. “Does it make sense when I say I want to, uh, provide for you, Rarity? I want to take care of you as best I can, and make your life as easy as I can.”

Rubbing her arms vigorously, Rarity replied, ‘S-sure it d-d-does, Spike. But c-can we talk ab-bout this in the c-c-car? I’m f-freezing.”

“Oh!” He blinked. “R-right. Sorry.”

They walked for a few minutes, until they came to a well-made red sports car. Spike reached into his pocket and pressed a button; they both heard the ‘click’ of the doors unlocking.

“Is that one of, of D-Dash’s?” Rarity asked, heading for the passenger door.

“Yep,” he agreed. “I told her I needed a car, and considering I’m about the only one in the group that’s able to roam free, she was happy to lend it out.” He gave a small tilt of his head as he tossed one of Rarity’s bags in the backseat and hopped behind the driver’s wheel. “Well… as happy as Dash can get lending her stuff out, anyway.”

Rarity opened the door and hefted the trunk up and in. “Stupid… two-doors… Oof!” With a grunt of effort, she managed to throw the heavy trunk up and over the lowered seat into the back. “I’m impressed, Spike. Getting that stubborn mule of a woman to entrust one of her precious cars, even considering the circumstances.” She climbed in and closed the door, buckling her seatbelt, waiting for Spike to turn on the heat.

He put the key in the ignition and twisted it forward, bringing a blast of lukewarm air into the car, alongside the radio coming alive, playing a slow, soulful blues song over the car’s speakers.

“Should get warm in just a minute—just got to give the engine a second to get cranking.” He shifted to reverse and pulled out of the parking lot. After a moment of waiting for traffic, he turned left, finally hitting the road. “Have you had a chance to listen to this song yet?” Spike asked, tilting his head towards the radio. “I mean, I knew you liked the band, but this is some of their newer stuff.”
“I hadn’t, no. It’s very nice,” she replied, looking at him from the corner of her eye.

“When we get everything taken care of, that’s one of the first things I want to do, take you to one of their performances.” He paused at a stop sign, sparing a glance either way at the four-way intersection. On seeing no traffic, he pressed forward, going through the silent, sleepy town.

“I’d like that, Spike,” Rarity said. Her tone was even, yet… expectant. She continued to enjoy the warming car as Spike drove. The little town reminded her of Mansfield, though a little more modern in its construction. But she stayed silent, waiting for Spike to speak.

“Sorry,” he apologized after another moment, not glancing away from the road. “I guess I was just trying to be, uh, normal for a bit. A normal couple, talking about normal things. Not talking about jobs, and, and missions, and that sort of stuff.” He sighed, shaking his head. “But you need to know about what’s going down, so…” He tilted his head toward the glove box. “Open that up, if you wouldn't mind.”

She reached forward, but hesitated. Moving her hand to rest on his, she said, gently, “I understand, Spike. And we’ll do plenty of that, I promise.” Her tone took on a more urgent edge. “But I’m just so curious! I feel like Stephanie—childishly at the edge of my seat, wanting so desperately to know…!” Giving his hand a good squeeze, she went back to open the glove box eagerly.

Inside was a small manila folder. She quickly opened it up, revealing a photograph of a frail looking older man in a full priest garb. He clutched a symbol of Elondrie tightly in his hand, with the other clutching a dog-eared book.

“That should be an image of our contact,” Spike explained. “One Father McCollins. He got in touch with one of my proxies and had some fairly substantial claims. Namely that one of the apprentices under his wing had managed to acquire a blueprint for a weapon that could change the tide of battle for us. He didn’t give out specifics over the net—frankly I couldn’t blame him. Nobody’s getting through my station, but someone could easily from his.” He rubbed at his lips, waiting until Rarity flipped to the next picture, which showcased a large stone building set nearby a steep mountain. “Anyway. We’re meeting him tomorrow morning at an old monastery, alongside a few of his apprentices. Like I mentioned, I think we’re in the clear here, but I still want you along as… uh… insurance.”

“Of course. I’ve got your back, Spike.” She flipped to the last piece in the folder. Rather than a photograph, it was a receipt to a location called ‘White Heaven Lodges.’ Curious, she raised the slip and asked, “What’s this?”

“We’re renting a room tonight. While we’re there, we’re the Plisskins. A happy, normal family on a vacation away from the kids and my stock market trade.”

Blinking slowly, Rarity carefully returned the pictures and receipt to the envelope. Only when it was securely back in the glovebox, she cleared her throat lightly, saying, “Spike? A question.”

“What?” He paused at another four-way stop, tapping the wheel as a truck with a plow attached to its front made a wide turn left.

“Well… of course, I know how mature and sophisticated you are, darling.” She hesitated, not wanting to crush the young man’s good mood. Still, she had to bring up the point. “But quite frankly, Spike, for anyone else? And it’s not just you, of course. That we’re a married couple with… with… k-kids is a bit of a, well, a stretch, don’t you think?”

He paused mid tap. After a beat, he sighed. “Guess I don’t look like the type, huh?” With a shake of his head, he gestured behind them. “I have a makeup kit in the back. I know you’re good enough to make me look the part. You could add some crow’s eyes to yourself as well, if you need to.” He then added morosely under his breath. “My height we can chalk up to a glandular condition, or something, if anyone asks… Maybe that’s why I’m so short regardless. Geez.”

Giving him a warm smile, Rarity said, “You’re tall enough, Spike. And don’t let anyone make you think different! Besides, those of… slighter statures have it much easier, really.”

“How so? Only thing I can think of is that I’m travel sized.”

The tailor giggled. “Oh, really, Spike. There’s so much more! Why, it’s easier for you to find clothes that fit properly, not to mention much cheaper.” She made a grimace. “I’m more than welcome to do it, of course, but every time I make a dress for Jack, well, the material costs alone are outrageous! Plus all the work to make it fit her proportions... And so what if you can’t reach the top shelf? It’s easier for you to be more comfortable in an average-sized world. Nothing really needs to be made especially for you.” Tilting her head, she added, curiously. “You know, now that I think of it, all those incredibly tall male characters in my books never seem to have the sort of problems I’ve heard from Jack and her brother.”

“Finding fitting clothes seems like small change problems when you can have any woman you want, any time you want.” He shrugged. “That, and they’re usually shirtless anyway. At least going by the book covers. N-Not like I’ve read them. Much.”

Trying to hide her smile, Rarity feigned shock, asking, “Why, Spike—you’re not jealous are you?”

“Of course not,” he quickly replied, driving to the outskirts of town. “Why would I be jealous of men like that? Just because they can run, fight, drive, swim, shoot and talk better than me is no…” Spike sighed. “Ok. A bit,” he admitted. “But just a bit.” He gave a sly look her way. “Besides, I’m sure you’re jealous of the women in those, anyway.”

This time Rarity not only smiled but allowed a laugh. “Jealous? Of what? Their perfect lives, complete with stability and flat interests, troubled only enough to let a perfect specimen of a man sweep them off their feet and into their beds? Or kitchen counter. Or hidden forest. Or beach or wherever!” She scoffed. “No effort, no depth, no… life. Warms the blood, sure, and there’s always an excellent level of intricate drama that you’d find nowhere else.” Sighing, she added, “But am I jealous of women who exist to simply accentuate the perfect bronzed skin and rippling muscles of a six-foot-six warrior-turned-gentleman, to provide company on cold nights for naked warmth and sweaty sheets? I think not.”

She leveled a firm stare at Spike, saying, “And neither should you, young man. You’re capable beyond those brutes, in your own way.”

After a moment to let that sink in, he nodded, smiling towards her. “Thanks for the pep talk. Don’t tell her I said this, but there are times when you’re tons better at this stuff than Twila.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, “but I owed you a couple from the auction. Glad to see I’m not completely useless after all.” Despite her words, though, Rarity was smiling. Her thoughts reflected the unsaid words, You helped me see what I can offer—I can show you the same, Spike.

“Useless?” Spike repeated. “If you’re useless, than I’m even worse. You’re about as perfect as a woman can be, Rarity.”

“At least you think so, Spike, dear. Now,” she said, clapping her hands together, “we’re going to meet this priest at an out of the way monastery, in hopes they’ll give us information on a secret weapon? That does sound simple enough. I suppose we’ll have to really work at making this trip worthwhile with… other activities, yes?”

“There’s a reason I told him to wait until morning,” Spike agreed. “Have you ever been skiing?”

Excitedly, Rarity replied, “I’ve always wanted to try it! I can’t wait, Spike. It’s always seemed so elegant, for a sporty activity.”

“And then we can treat ourselves to a fireplace in the evening,” he said, grinning. “There’s one in every room. Might leave it on all night—I bet it’ll make the couch really comfy.”

“Oh, yes. No doubts,” Rarity replied, envisioning the day ahead of them. The night that would close it. She couldn’t recall doing anything like this in her entire life. It almost seemed like a dream. But that brought on an uncomfortable thought. “Spike, what… what do you think the others might be doing right now?” she asked slowly.

He glanced up to the roof of the car in thought as they slowly drove uphill. “Well… I haven’t heard from Pinkie or Chylene, so I’m going to presume they’re still hiding and making plans, otherwise I’m sure they would have tried to contact me. Jack…” He seemed to debate on speaking, then pressed forward. “Dash told me she’s not been eating much. Been having pretty bad nightmares too. As for Twila…” He turned a corner as they continued to advance uphill. “I’ve been keeping tabs as best I can on her. She’s been talking to that man she met at Blueblood’s party—trying to get some rapport with the noble crowd. You know what word of mouth can do.”

“Nothing too dangerous, at least yet,” Rarity said, thankful. “Even still, it almost feels like we’re taking a holiday, doesn’t it?”

“In a way,” Spike admitted. “But… I’m honestly not too ashamed about it, Rarity. You shouldn’t be either. We need a break—Elondrie knows if I get wound up much more I’m going to start making mistakes. And with everyone’s lives on the line? I can’t do that.” He weakly smiled. “So just tell yourself you’re tagging along on my little vacation, if it makes you feel better.”

Making a mild noise of agreement, she turned to look out the window at the landscape around them. For the last hour or so they had steadily been climbing up, taking a long, winding road straight out of a classic movie. There were few other cars which, combined with the fairly uniform surroundings, made them seem like the last people on the planet.

Approaching yet another curve, Rarity could see far and low in a rare break of the almost constant snowfall. A thick, old growth forest of evergreens, needles heavy with snow and ice, stretched as far as she could see. Less a movie, she told herself, than a painting. But soon the plain of white was obscured once more by thick flakes of snow, blowing in the winds of the high hills.

She wasn’t entirely upset at the change. Beautiful though the view was, she was also painfully aware of the somewhat rusty guardrail being the only thing standing between them and an almost sheer drop to rocky oblivion. Thankfully, Spike was an excellent driver and they had been in no hurry. Dramatic flashes of a dangerous car chase came to mind, amusing her at their obvious silliness.

“How much longer, do you think?” she asked.

“Pretty close now, actually,” he replied, pointing a finger at a small mountain in the distance, across the chasm and the winding and curving road that ran alongside it. “Ten, fifteen minutes, tops. So just relax, I’ll get you there.”

“I know you will. I’ve simply never been to a place like this. I mean, Orleith castle is somewhat like this, I suppose, but still different. You forget how high up it is, where as here…” She took a long look at the path ahead of them. “Here, it never quite leaves you.”

“I know what you mean,” he agreed, glancing out his side window at the world. “It’s pretty neat, really. I kinda like it, the cold and the view.”

Rarity felt a shiver pass over her spine. “Speaking of, could you turn up the heat, Spike? It’s getting colder even more quickly now,” she said, rubbing her arms vigorously despite the thick coat she wore. Looking again at the falling snow and biting winds just a window away, she added, “Maybe we should check the forecast. I do hope we’re not in for even colder weather.”

“I have a feeling we’re not going to be skiing long at this rate,” he replied, turning the heater up even higher to fight against the elements. 
> The Best Thing
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Spike took the key from his pocket, undoing the door lock and pushing the door open with a slow creak. He glanced over at Rarity and gestured inside, running a hand over the fake moustache he wore. “After you, Mrs. Plisskin.”

“Thank you, dear. Ever the gentleman,” she replied with easy sincerity. She crossed the threshold and stopped, looking around the room. The most immediate word that came to mind was “earthy”. Wood panel floors and log cabin-style walls were matched with decor that was suitably rustic. The furniture was also made of rough wood, though it was in good shape. Across the way was a large bed, complete with fur comforter. At its feet, atop a small table, chilled a bottle of wine in a simple tin bucket.

There was a movable shutter-wall between the bedroom and the rest of the room. It was split between a small dining room, with a kitchen, and a living room. A shaggy bear rug rested in front of an impressive stone fireplace, split wood lying in a neat pile beside it. Above the fireplace mantle hung a stuffed moose head, its antlers wide and menacing. There was no couch, but a well-used, padded reading chair sat next to a low shelf filled with books.

Surprisingly, to their left were a set of double doors that led out to a balcony. A quick glance showed a pair of simple wooden chairs, piled with snow. The door opposite the balcony likely led to the restroom, which, upon inspection, was found to hold both a decent walk-in shower as well as a large, deep-set tub. It was all a bit cliche, to Rarity’s mind, but after spending weeks in an old apartment with next to no amenities, it seemed perfect and comfortable. Near heavenly.

Exiting the bathroom, she found Spike unpacking his bag, moving to the table, laptop at the ready. “It’s a surprisingly impressive room. Very… thematic.”

“I told them to set us up with the best they had to offer. Should of guessed it’d have this  sort of, uh, motif.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Still pretty nice, though. I’m sure Jack would flip.”

“Oh yes,” Rarity said, suppressing a giggle. “She’d no doubt find it very familiar.” Approaching another side table in the far corner, she lightly poked at a stuffed beaver. It had been posed on a twist of log and seemed rather lifelike. “Are all the, ugh, dead animals really necessary, I wonder?”

“I’d almost call it cozy. Except for their eyes. Reminds me too much of china dolls.” Spike shivered. “Twila’s mom has quite the collection in the guest room. And let me tell you: waking up to dozens of unblinking eyes watching you? Not. A. Fan.”

Rarity made a thoughtful noise. Ignoring the hideous decoration, she asked, “So, shall we find our things and enjoy ourselves, Spike?”

“Your wish is my command.” He smiled, nodding towards the wine. “You should look at that vintage, by the way. You’d be surprised at their quality.”

She pulled out the bottle and examined it closely, letting out a small gasp of surprise. “You’re not kidding.” She placed a finger to her chin, then moved to the small kitchen. Searching through the few cabinets, she exclaimed, “Ah hah!” and brought out a pair of glasses. Raising the bottle towards Spike, she said, “Shall we? Just a glass before we go?”

He paused, once more stroking his fake beard. “I really should wait a few years, but honestly? With all the other illegal things we’ve done? Sure. I’ll have a drink.”

“Fantastic,” she said. “Let me find a corkscrew…” Hunting through drawers, she asked, “So when exactly are we supposed to meet the Father?”

Spike watched her fish through the drawers, then blushed when he realized where his eyes were drifting. He quickly glanced to the ceiling and crossed his legs with a cough. “Uh, ten o’clock. I, uh, figured we’d want time for breakfast.”

Coming up victorious, she quickly opened the bottle and poured two healthy glasses. She put the bottle away and lifted up her glass, waiting for Spike to do the same. He grabbed the glass quickly, nearly sloshing some, and raised it next to hers. Smiling, she said, “Shall we say… To the safety of our friends, a lovely evening for us, and a successful mission tomorrow?”

“Something I can drink to,” Spike agreed heartily. “To friends, to fortune, and to us. Cheers.” He tapped his glass against hers and took a sip. The bitter flavor made him grimace, but he tried to hide it by taking a bigger sip.

Rarity downed her glass easily. It wasn’t the best she had ever had, but she could hardly think of a better time to have it. She put the glass down and said, “Well, hurry up then, Spike. I want to go skiing while the weather isn’t so terrible.”

“R-right.” He squinted his eyes shut and swallowed the remaining wine whole, nearly letting out a cough. Rarity’s gentle laughter snapped him to attention, and he blushed. “Man. That’s rough,” he admitted, his flush deepening to his cheeks. Rising, he blinked his eyes rapidly a bit and shook his head. “Dang. Alright...” He put a hand to his hips and cocked a thumb. “I’m no Isabelle, but I think I’m gonna get this skiiing thing down pat. First try!”  

Rarity smiled at him as she opened her bag. “I have nothing but confidence in us both, darling. Just let me put on a thicker jacket.” After a moment’s searching, she asked, “Do you know where the lifts are? Maybe the hotel clerk can give us directions?”

Spike nodded, reaching into his bag to don a coat as well. “I’ll go ask, yeah.” He took a few steps, then paused, his hand on the door. “You know,” he started, turning to limply point a finger at her. “You’re always calling me ‘dear’ and ‘darling.’ I should really think up a pet name for you sometime.” He gave a dismissive wave. “Maybe later. Let me go find the clerk and we’ll go have some fun, OK?” Spike took a step out into the hallway and was off.

She blinked, then held back a laugh. “Oh, Spike—so cute.” Turning back to her bag, she brought out her thick, faux-fur trimmed coat and wrapped it around her. Right away, it helped against the chill that had been sinking into her. The room wasn’t cold, exactly, but neither was it comfortably warm.

Her eyes passed over the fireplace. They would have to light it, most certainly. Or… She looked at the bed, then noted the lack of a couch or really any other decent place to sleep. Her lips formed an impish smile. That could prove entertaining, she thought, closing the door behind her. “Oh, Spike—wait for me!”


000


A few hours later, Spike threw the door open once more, letting out a weary groan as he unzipped his jacket and tossed it to the side. He paused for only a moment, his tired mind reprocessing his priorities, before returning to the door and holding it open until the tailor walked through.

“Heck of a workout,” Spike said, shutting the door and blowing into his chilled hands. “Everyone on TV makes it look simple.” He rubbed at his backside as the memory of a particularly painful crash replayed itself.

Her hair somewhat matted from sweat and melting snow, Rarity stripped off her own coat, tossing it on the kitchen table. “Oh but what marvelous fun! Sliding down the hill, the wind whipping at you, the snow splashing as you suddenly stop… Absolutely invigorating.”

“I’m glad you had fun.” Spike grinned, moving to the fireplace and fiddling with it for a brief moment. Thankfully, it wasn’t very complicated and he managed to light it. “I was a bit afraid it might not be your ideal date, to be honest. Glad I decided to take the chance.”

“Oh but it’s only getting started, Spike. I do believe I’m famished, how about you?”

“I’m on the case!” he exclaimed, tapping at his bag. “I knew this room had a full kitchen, so I brought some things. How does foie gras sound, buttercup?” He rolled the word in his mouth for a moment, then shook his head. “Nah. That one doesn’t work,” the boy muttered, scratching at his nose.

She laughed. “I’m sure whatever you can manage will be delightful, Spike. I’d offer to help, but I think I’d like a hot shower while you cook. If it’s not too much to ask…?”

“Go right ahead. I’ll have dinner done when you get out.”

“Thank you, Spike. Always so kind.” She went over and gave his cheek a peck before heading to the bathroom, closing the door gently behind her. Minutes later, the sound of running water could be heard and steam leaked from the door’s edges; a moment after that, Spike could hear singing come from the bathroom. It was a song he didn’t know, but it sounded well done all the same.

Spike smiled as he listened to her. After a moment, he shook his head, snapping out of the trance she put him in. “What a woman,” he said under his breath, reaching into his bag and producing a small cooler. The boy quickly went to the kitchen and began preparations, deciding to saute the liver. As he worked on that, he diverted his attention to making a salad in a large mixing bowl and sprinkling it with olive oil. He finally pulled out a loaf of french bread from his bag just as the main dish was finished. Satisfied with his work, he kissed his fingertips.

“Dinner a la Spike!” he declared, proudly clenching a fist in front of him. All those years cooking for Twila when she was busy had finally paid off. “I’d like to see those guys in Rarity’s novels pull this off.”

“Actually,” came an amused voice from behind him, “Raoul, from To Serve Beauty, was a five-star chef. In his spare time, of course.”

Spike turned quickly, having been too absorbed in his final preparations to notice the shower was off. He nearly did a double take as he saw Rarity standing there, her hair wrapped up in a towel, wearing a simple pair of shorts and a white, long-sleeve shirt. She cocked a hip and smiled at the young man confidently. But her expression quickly changed as she breathed in deep, saying, “Jokes aside, that smells wonderful, Spike.”

“Let’s hope it tastes half as good, then.” Spike looked over her once more, feeling a heat surging to his face. “I—” His voice cracked a bit. He coughed into his hand and ran it through his unkempt green hair, regaining his composure. “I like the, uh, casual look on you.”

Walking by, she gave a light tousle to his hair. “I knew you would.” Raising her arms, she gave her body a quick turn left and right. “Normally I’m not such a fan of these things, but they’re more practical than my usual evening gown, all things considered. And surprisingly comfortable.”

“I’ll just take it as a vote of confidence for me too,” Spike replied. “Why, if word got out that you wore shorts with a long-sleeved shirt, think of the scandal! You must really trust me.”  He boyishly grinned, suddenly aware at how easily she made him smile.

“Of course, Spike,” she said, her voice lowering to just above a whisper. “You’ve more than earned it. I trust no one more than you.”

He paused, the smile fading away as he looked into her eyes. Without provocation, he reached up, putting a hand to her cheek. “I won’t let you down,” Spike said, the words as serious as a deathbed oath. “That’s one thing I can do better than any of those muscled guys in your books, Rarity. You can trust me.”

She returned his gesture and rubbed her cheek against his palm. “I know, Spike. I know you won’t.” They stood there a moment, just enjoying the simple contact of each other’s skin. Finally, the moment was broken by a low rumbling noise. Rarity blushed, saying, “H-how embarrassing. Let’s eat before it gets too cold, yes?”

“Agreed.”

They sat, poured more wine, and enjoyed a quiet meal—but more than the food, they enjoyed the company. And the peace. Dinner came and went, quiet, easy conversation passing between them as they enjoyed Spike’s surprising culinary skill. It was almost a sad affair when they finally emptied their plates. Quickly, Spike rose and began gathering the dishes.

“Go on and relax, I’ll wash up,” the boy said as he stood over the sink, glancing over his shoulder towards Rarity. “Maybe get some music playing, if you’d like.”

She thanked him and went over to the radio. Looking for the power switch, she said, doubtfully, “I don’t know, Spike—I’ll be impressed if there’s much radio in a place like this.”

“Worst case, we can use my laptop,” Spike replied over the sound of the water coming from the faucet.

“True,” she replied, her attention turning to the radio. She flipped it on to the low grumble of static, as expected. Turning the tuning knob brought on more of the same, with the exception of a single talk show. In Somani.

“We might have to use your laptop, Spike, I can’t seem—oh!” She stopped, turning the knob back a hair. Turning up the volume filled the room with a modern take on oldie big band music. A gorgeous saxophone led the tune in classic jazz style, with a heavy string backing. Despite the prominent brass section, it was a laid back—though full—song that relaxed the mind without putting it to sleep.

Spike passed from the kitchen to the living room, wiping at his hands with the tail of his shirt. “Not bad. I kind of like oldies.” He moved over to the room’s single chair and sat with a content groan, then paused, briefly feeling at his face and taking off the fake moustache he wore. “Did you really let me go through all of dinner wearing this?” He shook his head, tossing it to the bookshelf. “I had completely forgotten I was even wearing it.”

Rarity smiled. “Good. There’s little point if it doesn’t feel as natural as your own nose.”

“Not much point of a disguise if it doesn’t look the part, I guess.”
They were silent briefly, listening to the music. A ghost of a smile crossed Spike’s face. “I remember stuff like this playing sometimes at your boutique, when you’d actually take a moment off.”

“Inherited from my parents, I suppose,” Rarity replied, a thin smile for memories not often recalled on her lips. “Mother refused to listen to anything unless it was at least fifty years old, until she started dating my father. He would often take her to some of the small jazz clubs throughout Manhattan, right when they were at the peak of their popularity. His stories always made them sound so romantic—smoky atmosphere, expensive drinks, and soulful music.” She sighed deeply. “Such romance of the highest quality, how could I not fall in love?”

Spike nodded in agreement. “Those kinds of clubs always have a pretty cool atmosphere to them. Makes me think of trenchcoated detectives and femme fatale’s hiding out and flirting.” He laughed, scratching the back of his head. “You used to sing to a lot of those old songs too—remember that?”

Leaning against a wall, a hint of blush touched her cheeks. “Spike! Did you just sit around and listen at the boutique all the time?” she asked with a laugh. “I do remember, yes. I don’t have Stephanie’s voice, of course… but the music just takes you away to forgotten days. To a past so elegant and stylish. I know it’s silly and romanticized, but it’s like you said, Spike. There are just these images associated with the time, and they’re so very appealing.”

Spike’s cheeks took on a rosy color of their own. He kneaded his hands together and kicked at the ground, then meekly asked,  “So... I was wondering… m-maybe you could sing for me?”

The tailor pushed herself off the wall, not saying a word as she closed the few steps between her and Spike. Carefully, she took a seat on the chair’s arm, lightly brushing one of his legs with hers and batting at his spiked hair. She laughed. “For you, Spike, of course. Just give me a moment to think… Unless you have any requests?” She moved a hand to rub the back of his neck.

“A-anything would sound good.” He swallowed, looking up at her. “As long as you’re singing it.” After a beat, he continued. “Maybe… maybe what you were singing in the shower earlier…?”

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Perhaps next time. I have a better idea, and it’ll fit the music more. It’s…” She paused, hesitant. After a moment, she added, “Now, it’s one of my father’s favorites, so no making fun. Promise?”

“Pinkie Promise.” He quickly pantomimed the gesture with one hand, the other resting  gently on her knee. Spike gave an enthused smile. “Let’s hear it.”

“I’m not entirely sure how well this will sound but… I’ll give it a try,” she said, listening more closely to the instrumental, trying to sync up the lyrics despite the differences. After a few moments, she hummed the beginnings to herself, before starting off slowly and picking up volume as she altered the flow of words to match up the song.


“Tell you girls, look what I found, I got me the best thing around,”

“I've got a rhythm, he's got wings and oh how how my birdy sings.”

“He's got heart, he's got drive, he's my little ray of sunshine.”

“My sunshine, let me tell you 'bout my sunshine.”

“My little sunshine, oh baby my sunshine.”


As the last note of the saxophone stretched on, Rarity held the final syllable, her eyes closed as she recalled the hundreds of times her father would play the song and sing as they drove all over town. Silence fell for a moment as she stopped, replaced by another, more lively, song coming from the radio. Opening her eyes, she smiled at Spike. “I hope that was enjoyable? I’m afraid I’m not exactly one for improvisation.”

“It was beautiful. Just what I wanted to hear.” Spike took her hand and brought it to his mouth, gently kissing the back of her palm, somewhat awkwardly. “Thank you.”

Caressing the young man’s cheek, Rarity’s smile widened into a yawn. “Ah! I do think dinner is catching up with me.” Looking at the clock, she added, “And it is getting a bit late for such an early morning. Shall we?”

“Sure.” He nodded, glancing at the clock himself. “I’ve got a blanket, but, uh, could I steal a pillow from the bed?”

“Hmm?” Rarity tilted her head, confused. “Why?”

He gave a sheepish smile. “I may have forgotten to pack one. That, and I was hoping there’d be a couch instead of just the chair.”

Her eyes widened slightly as realization dawned. Covering her mouth, she suppressed a giggle. “Always such a gentleman, Spike.” Getting up, she headed for the bed and gave it a pat. “Come on, young man. It’s big enough for the both of us.”

“W-what?” he stammered out, his eyes wide as he glanced from the woman to the bed and back again. “Rarity, a-are you sure?”

“Don’t be so prudish, Spike. There’s no sense in you sleeping in a chair or, Elondrie forbid, the floor.” Sitting down on the bed, she pointed to the other side. “See? Plenty of room for us each to have a side.”

“It does seem spacious…” he agreed. After a beat, he nodded. “Alright. Yeah. L-let me get changed.” Spike grabbed some clothes and went to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He quickly changed to a sleeveless shirt and a set of long shorts, then walked over to the bathroom’s mirror. The man stared, checking out his face and brushing his hair back. Then, as a last touch, he pinched his arm.

“Not a dream,” he muttered in surprise. “I’ll be damned.”

Spike stepped back out, putting his dirty clothes near his bag, then returned to the bed. He was all but sweating bullets as he lifted the covers and slid in. Staring at the ceiling, his body shrank to avoid crossing any unknown lines. He had never even dreamed of a situation such as this.

Rarity had taken his changing to turn out the lights, save for a small bedside lamp next to her. She was under the covers on her own side, a sleep mask ready to be lowered. Her face held an amused expression as she watched Spike the entire way from the bathroom to the bed. He’s so nervous, moving so carefully, she thought to herself. So cute!

“It’s never as good as home, but it’s fairly comfortable, isn’t it?” she asked him.

“Y-y-y—” He bit his cheek, curing himself from the stutter he found himself with as he stared, still all but transfixed at the ceiling. “Yes. Nice and w-warm too.”

Shuffling down as she pulled the thick fur comforter tight, she said, sleep already lacing her words, “Quite so. I suspect we’ll be thankful—I put out the fire.” She reached up and turned out the light. After a couple moments of silence, she gently asked, “How nervous are you, Spike?”

He let a small breath of laughter pass through his mouth. He wasn’t surprised that she could read him this easy, but it was nice knowing that she could, in a way. “I’m laying next to the most beautiful woman I know. On a scale of one to ten? About eleven and a half.” Spike let another weak chuckle escape. “L-let’s just make that an even twelve.”

The room was pitch black, his eyes not having adjusted yet, so he sensed rather than saw movement as she rolled over and took his hand in hers. She gave a light squeeze. “It’s OK, Spike. I’m more than fine with this, I promise. I trust you, remember?”

He returned the squeeze and nodded. “I’m glad you do.” He waited a moment longer, then spoke up again. “Rarity?”

Her voice was becoming breathy, sleep coming on fast. “Mm, Spike?”

The young man bit at his lip, debating on his words. After a beat, he shook his head. “I… that is… you know what? It’s… it’s nothing that can’t wait. Nevermind.”

“If you’re sure, Spike,” Rarity replied into another yawn. “Goodnight, dear.” Another pause. “I missed having you near, Spike.”

“Me too,” he agreed. Though he liked this arrangement a lot better than the pallet near her bed back at the safehouse. A thought came to him about a pet name—it was right there under his nose this whole time. “Goodnight... Gems.”

The only reply was the steady rhythm of Rarity’s breathing. He suspected she had been exhausted by hiding out alone for so long. Smiling, he gave her hand another squeeze as he found a comfortable position. He hoped he wasn’t too restless a sleeper, he didn’t want to let go. It wasn’t much, but at the same time it was everything. Simple, powerful; warmth and trust in one small gesture as sleep took them through the night.

> Free
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Spike let out a small groan, feeling a pressure from his bladder. He opened his eyes, briefly dazed by the foreign room he was in, to find he was alongside Rarity. She slept with her back flush to his chest, leaving his hand wrapped underneath the woman’s side.

“How’d…?” he muttered to himself, trying to shake away the cobwebs from his mind. On realizing their closeness, he adjusted himself back some, heat flooding through his skin. He carefully pulled his hand from under Rarity’s body. The woman gave a small moan in protest. Spike froze, his hand resting directly under her wide hips. When she seemed to fall back into a deep slumber, he moved his hand free and paused. 
Brushing a bang behind her ear, he took a brief moment to just observed her, dead to the world. He couldn’t say she was cute when she was asleep—she was beautiful. Painfully so. When she was free from the worries of her daily life, she looked so much like an angel that it hurt Spike’s heart.

He rose cautiously, doing his best to not make a noise aside from the slight groan of the springs rising back into place, and rolled out of bed, headed to the bathroom. Relieving himself, he stepped back out to the bedroom, glancing habitually towards the room’s door. He froze, an alarm in his head all but screaming at him of danger. But what was… There!

Cut against the bright light of the hallway pouring through the bottom of the door were four pairs of shadows, standing unmoving in the light. On closer inspection, Spike noticed the doorknob slowly move and adjust, as if it was being quietly tampered with from the hallway.

Oh shit… Spike thought. He turned and quickly grabbed Rarity’s shoulder, then put a hand over her mouth. “Get up,” he sharply hissed, not taking his eyes away from the door. “Hurry.”

Blue eyes looked at him questioningly before sharpening as he felt a hand grab his collar and pull him over her, onto the bed. Rarity was above him, her hand gripping tight as she blinked the sleep out of her eyes. When she saw it was just Spike, she let go, recoiling and saying, “S-sorry, Spike.” She reached down and pulled him to his feet. “It felt like my heart was about to burst, waking up with someone grabbing me like that.”	

“There’s someone at the door—they’re trying to get in,” he explained urgently. They both heard a click as one of the two door locks were opened. “What do we need to do?”

Rising quickly, Rarity grabbed at her bag near the bed. A moment later, she pulled out a pistol and checked the chamber, switching the safety off. “Arm ourselves and take cover?” she offered. “No one was supposed to come after us, were they?” Her words came out in a quiet, but steady, whisper, just loud enough for Spike to hear. But inside, her heart beat quickly, her mind racing to catch up from just awakening. It was supposed to be so easy…

She shook her head vigorously. The thought came unbidden—they had expected this from day one. Prepared for it. There was no time for whining, only action. A little impatient, she snapped, “Well, Spike?”

“Shit, ok, ok.” He glanced out at the balcony. “Brace the door with the chair—that will buy us some time.” He briefly shut his eyes, his mind going through a rapid series of plans and ideas. “At least two at the door, I bet another two sets watching them from multiple angles. If they’ve got the door covered smart, we won’t be able to get out into the hallway safely with just the two of us.” He snapped to attention, grabbing everything within arm’s distance and loading up a bag. “As soon as you’re done with the chair, put on some clothes, then we go out the balcony and drop down.” He moved over to the heavy cache and squatted down, cracking it open and pulling out a hefty black stock. “Come on, come on…” he muttered, frantically attaching a barrel to the stock, then quickly screwing on a scope.

Rarity, meanwhile, wasted no time, moving as soon as Spike finished saying ‘chair’. As quickly but quietly as she could manage, she pulled out one of the dining room chairs. Unlike the sort of chairs she was used to, which were elegantly built and thin, these were simple and thick. Minding the gun in her hand, she lifted one and moved it to the door—the flat back fit snuggly, the solid legs promising to hold out against only the most determined attacks. Just in time, too, as Rarity distinctly heard a second click come from the door. It was pushed against—the chair held true. Both of them heard a quiet expletive from the other side.

“Hurry! Get dressed,” Spike ordered, loading the rifle in his hands with a fresh magazine, then tossing it to the side to dig out another piece from the cache. He quickly attached a pump to the collapsible shotgun stock and screwed on a barrel to the gun. “Scan outside with the rifle—I’ll try and get everything I can ready to haul.”

“One thing at a time, dear,” she replied, a thoughtful expression on her face. Hefting the gun, she considered shooting through the door at whoever was on the other side. But she decided it was too much a risk—it could have been anyone, after all. Turning away from the door, she set her pistol on the table and grabbed the same bag she had before.

Quickly stripping off the shorts and thin tee, she dressed as fast as she could, doing her best to ignore the bangs coming from the room’s door. She cursed under her breath the necessity of layers to fight off the cold. Still, with her years of work with clothing, a little over a minute later she was picking up the rifle Spike had put together and headed for the doors to the balcony.

Rarity approached carefully and, hefting the gun, used the barrel to slowly part the thin curtain. As she had feared, she could only see so much from inside. “Spike,” she said, “I’m going to have look from outside. Do hurry, if you will?”

“Going as fast as I can,” he said, loading slug after slug into the shotgun. His hands shook and he dropped a round onto the floor. With a swear, he grabbed it and fed it into the gun, before grabbing a pair of pants and quickly throwing them on. “Look,” he agreed, pulling up the slacks with a hand, just as the whole room shook from a blow to the door. “Quick!”

Throwing open the door, Rarity’s hair blew outward as the cold wind bit into the exposed skin of her face. Squinting against the sunglare on the snow and the pain of the wind, she took four quick steps forward, dropping to a knee and using the railing as cover. When no shots rang out, she risked looking over and scanned the perimeter, first with her eyes then through the scope. There, barely visible through the hellacious ice and snow that blew across the balcony, was a man in white camouflage, laying on the ground on top of a hill, a rifle posed and taking aim towards her.

Despite herself, she panicked and fired, knowing she had missed. She dropped again below the railing, moving quickly to the left as a shot tore through the material where she had just been. Whoever they were, they were professionals. And taking no prisoners.

“We’ve got sharpshooters in the snow, Spike!” she called, crawling towards the opening. “Clearly hostile!”

“If you can’t make the shot, suppress!” he barked, throwing on a jacket. “I’m almost—”
—a gun blasted from the hallway, tearing out a chunk of the door. Spike snapped for the shotgun, grabbing it by its strap, then firing from the hip and nearly deafening them both from the blast. He kept the gun aimed at the entrance, balancing it in his hand by clutching the stock in his armpit, and grabbed a pistol from the cache. He tucked it into his pants, then looked at his computer. Without a moment’s remorse, he fired the shotgun into the laptop, showering the room with electronic pieces. He pumped the gun once more and grabbed a bag, groaning under its weight. “Let’s go, let’s go!” the boy barked, looking towards the door again. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have any smoke grenades on you, would you, Spike?” she asked, judging the position of the shooter as best she could. She moved back to the railing, near where the shot had torn through. Putting her own rifle’s barrel to the hole, she tried to match the angle as best she could to the shattered wood, and fired. Though she doubted she had hit the shooter, there was no return fire.

“If I did, I would have used them to get us out into the hall,” he said, sweat running down his face despite the harsh chill of the room. He tossed the bag he managed to fill over the railing and looked desperately towards Rarity. “Fire off another round, I’ll jump, then do the same for you when I hit the ground. It’s a crapshoot, but it’s our only chance.”

Nodding, she said, “Be careful.” Part of her wanted to argue, but she knew if they stayed they’d die for sure. This was likely their only way out. “At three. Two. One… Go!” she cried, slightly adjusting the angle of her rifle and firing again.

Spike made the dash to the balcony and cleared the railing in a heartbeat, already in the air before he remembered how much he hated heights. “Fuck!” he shouted, making the drop into a snowbank, landing on his stomach and letting out a wheeze as the air was knocked out of him. He recovered seconds later, grabbing the shotgun and firing vaguely towards the distance. He pumped his gun and shot again. “Move!” he snapped, spending one more slug for good measure.

She slung the rifle over before following with a loud scream, half of fear and half adrenaline. This is what she had worried over yet expected as inevitable for the past few weeks. It was likely she would be shaking later, but at the moment most of what she felt was… excitement. Thrill.

The crack of a gunshot followed by more splintering wood brought her back to the moment. She winced, feeling a light pinch at her cheek just before the world went white as she landed in the snow. Thankfully it had snowed through the night, making the snow relatively fresh and powdery, rather than icy solid.

Spike reached down, pulling with all his might to hoist her up. “Shit, uh, let’s go around front—we’ll commandeer a snowmobile! We have to go!” He reached down, grabbing the bag and slinging it over his shoulders, before digging into his pockets and loading up a few more slugs as he waded through the snow. Another round went off, striking a few feet from them. Spike wildly fired another suppressing round. “Stay to my side, Rarity,” he panted out, sucking in the freezing air and shuffling through as quick as he could. “We’re gonna make it. I gotcha... I gotcha.”

“Wait!” she said, reaching out to pick up the rifle and sling it over her shoulder. “Hand me my pistol. You lead and I’ll cover us, quick!”

Spike pulled out the pistol and quickly thrust it towards her. “I got a few clips in my pockets too.” He reached in with his free hand and held them out to the woman, not looking her direction. “Let’s go!”

“After you, darling,” she replied, grabbing the clips and stuffing them in her thick coat’s pockets. She started firing, slow but steady, towards the far treeline where she had spotted the sniper. Spike took off, running and stumbling through the snow, slipping once or twice but picking himself right back up again. He rounded the corner and dove behind the inn’s front porch. Sitting for a moment, he caught his breath and waited for Rarity. He scanned the area, spotting the shack the snowmobiles sat in. It was completely exposed, about two hundred feet away, out in the open with no real cover, but it was their best bet—Spike was sure he couldn’t drive the car safely in these conditions.

“Just our damn luck,” he said to himself, rising to a half-crouch, then taking off across the field, counting on Rarity to cover him. She grimaced, but remained silent, changing the clip and watching carefully for the attackers.

He cleared the distance and scowled at the padlock that protected the door handles. Though he was far from a strong man, he still had no problems bringing the stock of the gun down and breaking open the lock, tossing it to the side and throwing open the door. He shouldered the shotgun and made his way to one of the snowmobiles and hopped on, twisting the key and bringing it to life. Smoke quickly filled the room, choking him and making him cough. He reversed the vehicle, rocketing towards Rarity when he was outside. Just a hair short of the porch, he stopped and turned the vehicle so that it faced back towards the shack again.

“Get on,” he instructed, grimacing as the cold was starting to numb his face.

She climbed on, wrapping her free hand around his waist, scanning this way and that with the gun in the other. “Remind me to talk to you about your dramatic one liners, Spi—down!” She fired behind them—one of the men had jumped off the balcony and followed their path. He fell without a word, crumpling into the snow.

The young man didn’t even question her words. Following them with a blind obedience, he lowered his body, going as flush as he could against the vehicle’s engine, just as the resort’s front door was thrown open and several men appeared, firing rounds towards the snowmobile, one spreading wide and cracking the small window at the front. Spike gunned the engine and took off across the fields, the men sprinting after them and firing their guns.

As they rocketed through the parking lot, he glanced at an open field behind a wooden fence.

“Hang on!” he called out, wincing and squeezing his eyes shut before they even got to the barricade. They crashed through, Spike revving the engine once more as they climbed over the debris. He drove to the middle of the field before slowing down a hair. “I think we’re ok now.”

The sound of multiple engines coming to life and quickly approaching them answered him far better than words could.

“Goddamnit!” Spike grit his teeth, pushing the snowmobile to its limits once more. “Rarity, you gotta watch our back! I’ll try to keep it steady for you.”

“Roger! Can you scoot forward anymore?” Rarity grabbed for the bag, as Spike shuffled forward, making a small noise of discomfort. Stashing her pistol, she began pulling out shells to reload the shotgun on Spike’s back. “This should improve my chances!” she cried over the sound of the snowmobile’s engine, pulling the strap over Spike’s head and around her own.

“I’ve got buckshot in the other pocket—might work better than a slug!” he called out over the whine of the engine. Behind them, Rarity could see the first of the snowmobiles coming through the fence line, making a beeline for the two.

“Now you tell me!” she yelled, annoyed. Realizing they were nearly out of time, she pushed herself back from Spike then—her heart flipping at the speed they were going—she lifted one leg over the vehicle and twisted in one motion, quickly lifting the other so she was straddling it again. Only now she was facing backwards.

Sliding as close to Spike as she could, she had just enough room to half-lean against the seat. It was awkward and she could feel the crick in her back forming already, but she hoped it would give her better stability and aim. “This is absolutely crazy!” she cried. 

“You don’t have to tell me!” Spike shouted back, not risking looking behind him and instead focusing on the drive. While still open, rocks decorated the field, each one peaking over the ground a potential deathtrap at the speed they were going. Numerous times he had to jerk to either side to avoid a catastrophic wreck and each time he winced, a small part of him expecting Rarity to shriek and fall off. But each time, he felt the reassuring pressure on his back from her own and he breathed a sigh of relief.

As their pursuers closed, Rarity took aim. Not for the rider, which she would have with shot, but for the larger and more predictable target of the snowmobile. More or less it had to move straight to continue the pursuit. As she tried to steady from the subtle rises and falls as they rocketed over the snow, she saw the rider draw his own weapon and level it towards them.

This time, she didn’t panic. Letting in a slow breath, she brought the shotgun level, aimed just in front of the snowmobile, and fired. The driver, so focused on lining up his own shot, couldn’t react in time as the slug tore into the front of the vehicle. There was the sound of grinding metal and a large puff of dark smoke from the exhaust as the machine began slowing.

It wasn’t slowing fast enough, however, to avoid the rock sticking out of the snow in front of him. The driver dropped his gun and twisted at the handlebars, but to no avail as they stuck fast. Rarity let out a victorious laugh as the man’s snowmobile hit the rock and went up and over to the side, landing on the driver and rolling for several feet. “Scratch one pursuer, Spike. Permanently.”

“Good work!” Spike called out, a grim smile exposing his canines. He swore when he saw what was fast approaching. “Rarity, woods ahead. Load up that buckshot as soon as you can. I’d reach in my pocket for you, but I don’t want to let go of the bar.”

“Roger!” she replied, carefully switching out rounds. It was difficult, and she thanked the adrenaline steadying her hands as she smoothly loaded shell after shell. “Is going through the woods advisable?” she asked, a hint of worry creeping through.

“Better than turning around!” he shouted back, his eyes hard slits as he stared at the fast approaching trees. “There’s no other options here!”

As if to punctuate his words, Rarity nearly jumped at the whoosh of air as they began passing through the trees. Not being able to see, she swallowed hard and watched behind them, trusting Spike to get them through safely.

“I think there’s a clearing after just a bit! Hang on!” Jerking the snowmobile to the side, he narrowly dodged a jutting rock. He let out a swear as they passed over a hidden branch, briefly losing control of the vehicle before regaining their balance. Rarity yelped loudly as she felt herself go up and then down quickly. Reseating herself, she moved a hand back, grasping for Spike and giving his arm a quick squeeze.

“It’s just our second date, dear, let’s not make it too exciting, yes?”

“Don’t know how you can quip at a time like this!” he shot back, gritting his teeth and blindly squeezing her hand before returning to his work. Twisting hard, he whipped to the side and slammed on the brakes to avoid a fallen tree. Gasing for all he was worth, the engine howled as the snow behind them erupted from the treads. None too soon, as they heard more men fast approaching. “Shoot! Shoot!”

Not needing to be told twice, Rarity readied the shotgun until she saw movement behind them. She fired, lightly wincing at the loud blast, but scored nothing but splinters as a tree absorbed most of her shot. Another shot ended the same; she swore under her breath. The snowmobile finally started accelerating, just as a close shot blasted past where she was a moment ago.	

Too close! she thought, bracing the weapon again. Sooner or later the terrain will get us both shot. I have to stop them! Focusing, she waited until she could tell which movement was which. “Three behind us!” she called, certain of it. She began tracking one, though quickly, and found its pattern. Aim, lead, fire, she told herself, slowly, again and again, using the even repetition to lessen the distractions surrounding her.

Another pull of the trigger was followed by more splinters, but also the sound of tearing metal and a loud crash as the rider failed to avoid the next tree. Rarity wasted no time with celebration and began repeating the process for the next target. After two more misses, she growled in frustration and let loose her remaining rounds. It was foolish, but seemed to work as she soon lost sight of the second pursuer.

Well… She decided Spike didn’t need to know all the details. “Just one more, Spike! Hold on a little longer!”

“Trying!” he said, finally up to speed again. Spike turned in a fairly graceful arc, shooting snow behind him. “Duck!” he called. Rarity lowered her head just as a heavy branch blew past them. “I think we’re close to the edge of the woods.”

Rarity heaved a sigh of relief, then gave a thoughtful hum. Turning her head, she called, “Spike—when we’re clear, stop as soon as you can.”

He slowed down, coming to a coast as they past by some of the last scattered trees and saplings in the area. He tilted his head back and exhaled before slumping forward.

Weapon gripped tight, Rarity waited, listening as the last enemy’s engine sounds came closer and closer. Three seconds later, their pursuer charged free from the trees, right as she squeezed the trigger. A split second after that he was blasted back, his snowmobile shooting forward and losing control. His body landed in the snow hard, unmoving and staining the pristine white a sickly, greenish-red color.

Both Spike and Rarity looked at one another wide-eyed. The group had had their suspicions, but…

Swallowing hard, Rarity asked, her voice wavering slightly, “D-does that look… normal to you, Spike? I mean, you don’t think...”

“Pinkie would say ‘the proof’s in the pudding.’ While that ain’t pudding, I think that says enough.” He let go of the handle and turned, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You ok?”

She put her hand over his, then moved to rub her shoulder. “Fine, for now. And a bit sore, but alive. Ask me again when I come down from the rush.” She looked again at the corpse bleeding into the snow and shivered.

“It’s not your fault,” Spike said. “He was trying to kill us.”

“It’s not so much that, Spike,” she said, slowly. “I mean, they’re not even human, as far as we know, right? No, distasteful as that is, I was actually contemplating the fact they’re here at all.” Giving the young man a serious look, she added, “Our simple mission just got complicated, don’t you think?”

“I…” He gave it a moment’s thought. “I guess it has, yeah.” Spike turned, killing the engine to the snowmobile. “I don’t understand how they found us. I mean, I’m positive I wasn’t followed getting to the train station, and it would have been obvious if someone was gunning for us on the drive up here—we would have just got pushed into one of the valleys lining the road. Would have been easy, so why now?”

Taking her own moment to think, she offered, “Perhaps it’s not planned? They just stumbled upon us in a stroke of bad luck?” She snapped her fingers. “Or—oh, that’s not good.”

“You’re thinking what I’m thinking?” he guessed, sparing a brief glance behind him.

“They’re not actually here for us,” she breathed. “Your contact?”

He grunted in agreement. “Either they caught wind of what he found, or…”

Her brow furrowing, Rarity tried to think of what else it could be. Realization dawned, and her face fell. “Just how much about this contact do you know, Spike?”

“What I had in the dossier I gave you. But I don’t know him, like, personally. I mean, I did a pretty heavy background check on the guy—no real contacts in the army, no Camelot elites rubbing elbows with him, nothing.”

Clicking her tongue, Rarity said nothing. Hesitantly, she headed toward the corpse, saying, “Maybe he’ll have some answers for us.”

“Worth a shot.” He looked over at the woman. “Hey, Gems…”

Kneeling down next to the remains, she said, not looking back, “Mmm?”

“I’m sorry I had you tag along. I just wasn’t, you know…” He bit at his bottom lip, collecting his thoughts. “I don’t like putting you through this.”

Rarity stopped and turned her head, giving Spike a steely gaze. “Spike!” she said icily. “Are you implying I’m here by any other reason than my own choice?” Spike flinched—she wasn’t yelling, but her tone was red-hot steel, passionate and unyielding. “That moi would be led by the nose like a child? Even by you?”

He clenched his fists, frowning. “Your choice or not, I just don’t like having stuff like this happen to you—to any of the girls. It’s bad enough when I have control of the situation, but look at where we’re at.” Spike wearily gestured his hands to either side, at the woods and at the field they found themselves in. “I wouldn’t call this ‘by the books.’”

The crunch crunch crunch of boots in snow alerted him to her approach. Her face was still flat, her glare still hard. “In the nearly five years since you and Twila came to Mansfield, when has anything we’ve done been ‘by the book’?” She thought a moment. “Twila’s habits notwithstanding.” Her expression softened as she rested a hand on his shoulder, gripping it tight. “It’s OK, Spike. I’m scared too. For the others, for you. But at the same time that gives me the courage to go on.” Smiling, she added, “That we’re all in this together. That it’s our choice. Yours too, young man.”

“I…” He swallowed and briefly turned, wiping at his face. “I know pragmatism’s the name of the game. But I’m not like Jack or Dash. I can’t just… shut off during something like this.” He took a small step forward, tightly hugging her waist and staring at the body of the man Rarity had slain. “If you get hurt I don’t know what I’ll do.”

He felt a tight pressure on his back as she wrapped her own arms around him. Smiling to try and fight back her own tears, she kissed the top of his head, holding him tightly. “You’ll do whatever you can to keep yourself and the others safe. The same is true for all of us—because, no matter what we may say or how we might act, none of us could ever ‘shut off’ how much we care.” She pulled back slightly, moving a hand to his chin and directing his gaze to hers. “You truly are the best, Spike, that you care so much. Thank you.”

He stared up into her eyes, briefly lost in them despite the circumstances. He reluctantly looked away to break himself from her spell, nodding. “Y-you’re welcome.” Gesturing over, he pointed at the corpse. “I don’t want to do it, but let’s look him over like you said.”

“Right,” she agreed, going back to the grisly work.

A few minutes searching turned up little more than some extra ammunition, a dead cell phone, and pocket lint. Rarity hmmed, curious as she unfolded a wallet. “Nothing. No money or cards, no ID.”

“Like it’s a prop,” he muttered. “A pawn for the queen’s use.”

“Seems likely. Must be why the phone is dead. I doubt it was ever even—oh! Except…” She pulled a small flap inside the wallet, revealing a pair of small photos. The figures in them were small and blurry, but the hair color alone marked them as her and Spike. “That settles that, then. They’re definitely after us. And… Look! This is from yesterday! We’re skiing, see?”

“Someone was watching us,” he said, swearing under his breath. “I never even considered looking for anyone—the drink beforehand must have clouded me more than I thought.”

“Don’t judge yourself too harshly, Spike,” Rarity said soothingly. “You couldn’t have known. No one could have possibly known we were out here, not by any reasonable means. Clearly the Queen’s men are far from reasonable. My real question is: How soon did they find us? And: Can they do it again?”

He didn’t like the potential answers to those questions. “Let’s get back on the snowmobile, Gems. I can’t say I feel safe right now.”

“Agreed.” Putting action to words, she grabbed Spike’s hand and dashed to the machine. “To our contact now, you think?”

“I don’t think he’ll mind an early-bird visit, given the circumstances,” he agreed, swinging his legs over it and waiting as Rarity did the same. “We’ll be there in a jiffy. Just gotta follow the trail we skied on yesterday. Easy.”

He revved the engine and they took off across the cold, frozen fields.

It wasn’t long before the terrain turned rocky as they came to the base of one of the ski paths leading up to the mountain they had traveled down yesterday. He stopped, pointing ahead. “Just gotta go up a bit,” he stated, trailing his finger up the snowy hillside, then making a backwards C, over a valley littered with dozens of trees. “Then go around that valley up ahead.” He gestured once more, squinting through the heavy snow in the pitch-black night to no avail. He did remember that at the very limits of his vision yesterday was a small mountain, jutting like a sort of island above the treeline. “We pass by another mountain range on our left and we’re a stone’s throw.”

They puttered farther along the trail, traveling up as they maneuvered past rocks and branches. As they approached the apex of the hill they traveled on, Spike noticed a naturally made wall sealing off most of the rest of the hilltop, save for an archway the width of a car. Though they traveled up this same path earlier in daylight, now he couldn’t help but be afraid as to what was on the other side, hidden by the stone slabs.

“I’m going to gas it,” he cautioned. “Hang tight.” He felt the pressure around his middle increase. Revving the engine once more, they blasted forward. When they’d crossed the barrier, a part of him was hardly surprised when they blew past two men wearing white camo suits and ski masks, each holding an assault rifle. They spared a double-take, then opened fire. Bullets shot by, raining down upon them like hell unleashed. One hit the frame of the snowmobile, another the tread; Spike grit his teeth and began to fishtail down the path, spewing the hundreds of rocks and stones that lined the narrow path with snow as he desperately tried to keep the beast under control. He rightened it, then glancing ahead. It dawned on him they were heading right for a line of waist-high rope tied between two trees.

“Shi—” he screamed out, cracking hard against the rope and getting knocked backwards into Rarity, throwing them both off the snowmobile. It flew blindly ahead and crashed into a pile of rocks.

Spike lay on the ground, groaning and clutching his chest. It felt like all the wind he ever had breathed was just punched out of him. He stared numbly to the sky, disoriented. Rarity was little better, having took the brunt of the landing. Snow had pushed its way up the back of her jacket, which started freezing her.

She blinked, the world spinning for a moment before she realized what had happened. Turning over, she found Spike and half-crawled, half-drug herself in his direction. “Spike… Are you, damn, are you alright?” She was finding it hard to focus. The world was spinning slightly and took on a fuzzy hue.

Her voice snapped him free from his daze. He winced, sitting up.  “I’m fine. Gems, we gotta—” 

Another blast fired from behind them. Rushing, he struggled to his feet then grabbed her hand, pulling her to her knees. Taking her arm over his shoulder, he said, “They think we’re still near the cart. We have to run, Gems.” He strained against her weight, tugging against her, only succeeding at dragging her a few feet. “Come on, Rarity. Snap out of it, please!” He looked down at his hand and decided to bring out desperate measures. “Goddamnit!” he called out with a grimace, squinting his eyes shut and looking away as he slapped her across the face.

For a moment, there was no change. Her face remained blank, unfocused. But slowly her eyes cleared, then darted back and forth, surveying the scene. Finally, her brow furrowed, and she said, “I needed that—now let’s move! Do we have any weapons?”

“Do you still have your pistol?!” he asked, hefting the small satchel he wore at his side. “I don’t have much—just some clips and a few supplies.”

Unzipping the large pocket, she pulled out the weapon and readied it. “We’ll have to make do, then. Which way?” she asked, unsure if she meant their enemy or their destination.

Another blast rang out, sending a small puff of snow by the vehicle. Spike gave a panicked glance around them and quickly put a hand to her back, ushering her towards a gap between a set of large nearby stones.

“Anywhere but here, come on!” he shouted, squeezing through the stones and coming through to another field spotted with trees.

Following closely, Rarity turned, hefting the gun to cover their retreat. They made their way around rocks and down a sharp incline. Lights started to blink on and appear behind them by trees and rocks, then fan out, forming a half-circle around them and slowly starting to close in as Spike and Rarity ran through the snow, panting and straining against the terrain.

“They’re herding us,” he realized. “Shit...”

“Can we break through? Slip the net?” Rarity asked, already knowing the answer.

“If we had more time or heavier guns to suppress them. As we are now…” He swallowed. “If I see any way for us to get out of this, I’ll do it. I’m not giving up yet.”

“So we keep moving.” It wasn’t a question.

“It’s either that or getting shot in the back,” he grimly replied, staring straight ahead. “They know that we know what this is.” 

It was a mere three minutes when the edge of a cliffside came into view, its bottom disappearing in the darkness. From behind them came the crunch of boots, growing progressively louder.

He glanced over at Rarity, who seemed painfully calm, but for a few signs he had learned to watch for. A faint sheen of perspiration on her forehead, an unhealthy tinge to her normally pristine pale skin. It broke his heart seeing her like this. It was all his damn fault.

“There’s a lot I wanted to say to you, you know?” he quietly muttered with a bitter, apologetic smile on his face as they crept closer to the edge. 

She returned a similar smile. “Me too, Spike.” Glancing down the cliff face, she swallowed hard and found his hand. “I suppose our luck was bound to run out sooner or later, yes?”

He tightened his grip on her hand, trembling violently in her grasp as he stared at the small rays of light gathering towards them. Deranged moths swarming towards a flame. He swallowed and said what needed said. “You know what’ll happen if they catch us, right?”

Rarity closed her eyes tightly. It was indeed painfully obvious. Unwilled, the scene began playing out, terribly easy to predict. If they took her and Spike alive, they would be tortured, broken until they told all. But the true terror? What they would tell would be about their friends. And then…

She scoffed, opening her eyes and twisting her lips into a defiant snarl. “If you think I’m letting some… some… thing! take my place, well think again.” Laughing darkly, she added, “There’s no way they could possibly capture my impeccable taste, or my savoir faire. No, I’ve worked too hard on my reputation to let them spoil it. Right, Spike?” she lightly batted his shoulder with her arm.

“You’re… you’re one of a kind,” he agreed, choking out a response. His eyes scrunched tightly and he grimaced, shaking his head briskly. “Nothing could be like you.”

The faint outline of people, or, rather, creatures shaped like people, came into focus. Their eyes were blank and emotionless; their guns were held casually in their hands, as if they were already prepared for a surrender.

“Bet they have tranq rounds in a few of those guns,” he said, putting on a brave face but still trembling like a newborn foal in Rarity’s grip. “They don’t care about their own casualties, now that we have no way out.” He looked over to her, his eyes bloodshot and nose running. “Guess it’s either a pistol or the cliffs…” Spike nodded at the weapon in her hands. “I just… don’t know if I could pu—”

Putting a finger to his lips, Rarity quickly said, “Shh… I know, I know. I would never be able to do it, either.” Raising the gun, she tossed it over the cliff. She turned back to Spike, taking his other hand and squeezing them tightly. “There’s only one way for us, Spike—together.”

“Alright. We just… jump and close our eyes. It’ll… We’ll feel like we’re flying, right?”

“Put your hands up!” they heard a man command them. Spike did his best to drown his voice out.

“O-on three,” he whispered, burying his face into her body and tightly squeezing her.

Though he couldn’t see her face, Rarity turned her head and closed her eyes, trying to hide the tears that were already freezing along her cheeks. She squeezed him tight and, more to herself, whispered, “I… I lov—loved every second of it.” Then, gritting her teeth, she yelled, “Three!” and pulled Spike with her over the cliff. 

Time seemed eternal for the first moment they were airborne. The spell was broken by gunshots. Spike opened his eyes and watched the cliffside, first an arm’s reach away, then a foot, then finally they were plummeting downward. He was too scared to scream, too scared to do anything but hold Rarity tightly in his arms and pray to Elondrie that it’d be over quick.

Over for you, not for her, a voice told him. His mind raced at that thought and his heart skipped a beat. If there was any chance she could make it through this, he’d take it. He twisted them both in the air, wrapping his limbs around as much of her body as he could, and faced upward, his back and form against the fast-approaching sea of trees. He never got to say what he needed to to her, but maybe, just maybe, he could show her.

She could count on him.

> Warmth
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The world was black, black as far as could be seen. Black, empty, and cold, the void stretched on and on, silent but for the empty howling-whistle of the wind.

Rarity found herself in this void, a strange sensation of floating and the cold bite of the wind all she could sense. Her thoughts quickly went over what they recalled last: her and Spike’s discovery, the chase, the killing, and finally…

The cliff! she thought, the image of holding Spike tightly as they fell faster and faster strong and irrefutable. So… I’m—we’re dead? she asked herself, still disbelieving, though lacking any alternative.

Is this… what comes after? she pondered. She had never been particularly religious, but what she could remember didn’t match this place. Darkness… alone? Before jumping, she had hoped that Spike and she might be reunited… after.

Her heart sank—it wasn’t fair! That they had come so far, to end like this… What justice was this? And Spike. Was he doomed to suffer as she seemed to be?

A weak groan broke her reverie. It was faint, sounding almost a million miles away. But there was no mistaking it—it was Spike. She tried to call out, but pain erupted in her chest.

Pain! I’m alive! The thought filled her, followed by the rest of her senses. The fall hadn’t killed her—or Spike, thank Elondrie—but it had hurt her in some way.

Ignoring the cold and pain she could clearly feel now, she forced herself to open her eyes. Slowly, the world came into a fuzzy focus. It was still dark, though the moon shone through the breaking cloud cover.

Above, broken and swinging branches marked their fall. They had landed in the trees, miraculously breaking through the branches before falling in what seemed to be a thick, powdery snow bank. Rarity’s teeth begin chattering. How long had they been out, sitting in the cold snow? And where was…

“S-pike!” she managed to say weakly, coughing from the chill air and the tightness in her chest. She inhaled deeply, again and again, until the discomfort faded. Again, she said, “Spike! Are you… Can you hear me?”

Getting no reply, she tried to roll herself over, but found that she had become buried in the snow. She wriggled her arms free, simultaneously pulling herself up and digging herself out. It didn’t take long before her body protested. Breathing still came somewhat painfully, and she felt like she’d been run through a washing machine. Then put into the freezer.

Fighting over her stiffened muscles, she managed to pull herself out of the small hole she had made when landing. Looking around, she saw a dark mass a few feet away and began crawling towards it.

She gasped, crying, “Oh, Spike, no!” when she saw him. Rarity suspected she’d be one giant bruise in the morning, and she could feel the burn of a few cuts. Beyond that, she had only worried about hypothermia or frostbite, though thankfully they had dressed appropriately. Upon seeing Spike, however, her fears expanded quickly.

He lay, flat on his back, dozens of branches underneath and around his body. A dark pool of crimson soaked his thigh, a sharp, finger-sized stick rising from the ground and jutting through his pant leg. His hand lay at an unnatural angle to his side and his breathing came in sharp, panting bursts. He mouthed a word, his voice even below a whisper.
Rarity moved to his side, reaching for him but pulling back. He was alive, but seriously injured. How injured, she wasn’t sure, but she was afraid to touch him and make something worse.

“...ity…”

Her heart flipped in her chest. “Spike!” she said, gently cupping the side of his face. “I’m here, Spike. Can you hear me?”

He swallowed, nodding. His good hand twitched, then moved to rest on his stomach.

“...up,” Spike whispered, his head lobbing back. “gonna need you to…”

Worried as she was on his condition, Rarity pushed him to speak, saying, “Anything, what do you need me to do, Spike?”

“Need you to… lift me,” he panted out, his fingers clenching at his stomach. “First aid kit in... satchel.”

“Satchel, right,” she said, “but no lifting. Not until I can get a clearer picture on what’s wrong with you, OK? Now, talk to me. What can you feel?” True to her word to not lift him, she began scooping out handfuls of snow, thankful it was still relatively fresh and not frozen solid. She dug down next to him, then carefully under him until she could see the satchel. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than maybe breaking something of his even worse.

“Back… hurts. Leg… hurts,” he groaned, moving his bad hand and resting it on his chest. “Collarbone, t-too.”

Digging through the satchel, she began pulling out what she thought she’d need. Halfway to herself, she said, “Your back is obvious, but you can still move so I think it should be OK. Your leg and hand are pretty obvious, but your collarbone? What I really don’t get is how you took so much damage, while I’m more or less OK.”

“Just lucky,” he evasively said. Spike grimaced, grabbing his bad hand with his good one and staring down at it. He squeezed it tightly in his palm, letting out a pitiful moan. Giving up, he offered his bad hand to her. “Set it.”

Taking it in her own gingerly, she lightly felt along it, agreeing with his diagnosis. “This I can do, I think. Are you ready, Spike?”

The injured man nodded weakly, saying, “Yeah, when—”

Quickly, she gave the dislocated joint a hard push, causing Spike to cry out loudly. Almost right away, she caressed his cheek, whispering, “Sh sh sh, it’s done, Spike. Breathe, in and out.”

He took her advice, his breaths frantic and eyes wild as the pain woke him up from his daze. Spike tried to sit forward, only stopped by Rarity keeping him down with an arm. He lay back down into the cold snow, whimpering as he clutched his set hand. After a moment, he looked at her, his eyes watering. “Keep…” He grit his teeth. “Keep going. Y-you can do it, Gems.”

“Right!” she replied, moving on to what she felt was the next serious injury. “You have a small bit of wood in your leg, Spike. I think it missed your arteries, but you’ve still lost more blood than I’m comfortable with.” She let out a worried sigh, taking out disinfectant and bandages. “I wish Chylene were here.”

He shivered, his teeth already clenched shut and anticipating what was coming next. “Just keep talking to me, Rarity. Please.”

“Of course,” she said gently, taking out a small pair of scissors and cutting around the impaled stick. After clearing the area, she said, as conversationally as should could, “I guess our luck hadn’t run out.” She laughed. “Wait till the girls hear about this!”

He coughed, wincing. “Yeah. They—” Spike winced, wiping at his soaked forehead, then resting his arms on the snow and dozens of branches underneath his body. “Won’t believe it.”

“After all we’ve been through already?” Rarity said. “How could they not? No, I think we win ‘Most Dangerous Assignment’, Spike.” Wrapping a bandage around the stick, she reached a hand below Spike and snapped the branch, then gripped the protrusion hard and pulled. It came out with little trouble, and thankfully even less bleeding. Still, she quickly wiped up what little was left, using some snow to try and wash around the wound. Satisfied for the moment, she applied the antiseptic and began taping a thick layer of gauze over it.

“This needs stitches, We can't risk the time. How long do you think we’ve been out, Spike? Will they come after us?”

He stared up at the sky and did some fuzzy estimation. “Couldn’t of been too long. We’re not suffering hypothermia, and it’s still dark out. As for coming after us…” Spike tried to rise to a sit, but swore in pain, lying down again. “I’d guess tomorrow morning, maybe pre-dawn, they’ll try to find our bodies. I didn’t see anyone with NVG or thermal, so they’ll need at least some light. We gotta find shelter, though. It’s only going to get colder out here.”

“Agreed,” Rarity said quietly, vigorously rubbing her arms against her side to work up heat. She looked around, the tall cliff face towering above them in one direction and the thick forest stretching as far as she could see in the other. Standing, she lightly bit at her thumb tip in thought. After a moment, she quickly said, “Be right back,” and began walking perpendicular to the cliff face. After a dozen paces or so, she gave a small cheer and returned. Her usual grin wide, she said, “Found it.”

“‘It?’” he repeated, coughing hard and looking toward her.

“Remember? Before we jumped?” she teased, giving a small laugh.

It dawned on him. “The gun?”

She nodded. “Indeed. I was hoping it’d be easier enough to find.” Hefting the weapon, she did a quick check to make sure it hadn’t been damaged in the fall. “Maybe they’ll wait till the morning, but who knows, Spike? These… things might not mind the dark so much. I feel better armed, at any rate.”

“Even if they don’t like the dark, the morning’s gonna be rough enough. At least we have something.”

Nodding, Rarity added, “For a start. Here,” she said, giving him the gun. Then, hunting through Spike’s bag, she pulled out the emergency blankets folded inside. “This will have to do for a moment,” she murmured to herself as she set to work wrapping them tightly around Spike. When she finished, she gave him a light tap on his now blanket-wrapped head, chirping, “There! Comfy?”

“Be better with a fire, but…”

“We’ll get to that,” she said quickly. “Even with a fire, we can’t stay out here. As you said: we need shelter.” Looking left then right, she shrugged and began walking along the cliffside to their left. “I shan’t be but a moment, Spike.”

“Alright,” he said, the wind blowing through punching through the blankets for a brief moment, leaving him wincing at the icy bite. “Be careful,” he quickly added as an afterthought.

“Same, darling!” she called over her shoulder, walking on.

It didn’t take long before she had worked most of the cold out of her joints, though she still hoped to find a cave or something similar soon. While she wasn’t sure how much more could be done for his injuries, she was certain that Spike needed out of the cold quickly before he took an ill turn.

Pulling down her sleeve, she glanced at her watch. Ten? No, she thought, I better make it fifteen minutes, both ways. Satisfied, she pushed through the snow, which had developed into deeper drifts against the cliff. Her eyes wandered upward, giving her stomach a small turn. Had she not just done it, she would never believe someone could live through a fall like that.

She walked along the cliff, her thoughts following similar thoughts of amazement and relief. And, she found, disappointment. Giving a mental sigh, she cursed the ruination of what had been a delightful vacation and date.

“But that’s hardly fair,” she told herself. “The others are no doubt in just as much trouble, if not worse.” Checking her watch and finding herself with five more minutes, she spoke again. “Why not just admit why you’re really upset, Rarity, and get it out in the open.”

The last moments before jumping replayed themselves. And, more importantly, her last words.

“You couldn’t say it,” she spat angrily, “could you? Even at the end… you couldn’t tell him you…” She faltered off, finding the words sticking in her throat. A coward, she berated herself. That’s all you are.

After her time was up, she spun on her heel and headed back to Spike. As she approached, she said, “No luck in that direction, I’m afraid. How’re you holding up, Spike?”

He nodded, his teeth chattering as he desperately clutched the blankets around his form. “Fine. I’ll be fine.” The man shut his eyes, trying to ignore the snow in his eyebrows as he sat in thought. “I remember in the pamphlet about the resort… there was a cave somewhere around here. On a side of a m-mountain or hill, something like that. We gotta be close to it. It was near where we skied earlier. Walking distance.”

Rarity snapped her fingers. “That’s right! I remember reading that now.” She frowned. “If this damnable forest didn’t look exactly the same in every direction…” Letting out a slow exhale, she said, “Not a landmark in sight, I’m afraid.”

“That’s not good,” he muttered. “I don’t know anything about finding my way out of the woods. Wasn’t exactly a Lunarscout by any means.” Spike held out a hand. “We’re just going to pick a direction and walk until we can’t. It’s a crapshoot, but we’ll freeze if we stay out here.”

Leaning down next to him, she asked, “If I help, do you think you can move?”

“I’ll try,” Spike agreed. “Help me up.” 

Wrapping an arm around him and under his arm, she counted, “One, two, and stand,” then pulled the young man to his feet. Spike let out a gasp and squeezed her hand tightly. He pitched forward, nearly dropping again until Rarity caught him. He put an arm around her waist and held tightly to her hand, taking a more even step this time.

“Ok,” he said, taking a moment to pause and catch his breath. “I think I can do this.”

“Let me know if it becomes too much for you, alright? Here we go.” Readjusting his weight slightly, she took a step forward, and then another, and another. It was a somewhat awkward position, considering their height differences, and she could feel the crick in her back developing already, but slowly they made progress.

“Even when I try to man up, you end up taking care of me,” he quietly fumed, biting at his lip. “I just keep screwing things up for you.” 

“Spike,” Rarity replied, trying to sound jovial, “Is this really the best time for you to lose an argument?”

Despite his bitter thoughts and the pain that ached in his wounds, a small ghost of a smile fluttered to a corner of his mouth at her question. “Guess not.” He grunted as they stepped over a fallen tree, tightening his grip on Rarity for a moment until he was on level ground again.

“Good boy,” she said, kissing his cheek. They went on for a few more minutes, the wind picking up. Pushing closer together helped some, but slowed them down even further. Squinting as she looked ahead, Rarity pointed, saying, “It looks like the cliff collapsed some ahead. We’ll have to go around.”

“Alright.” They slowly made their way past the debris, going to lower ground to make their way through. Spike felt like every part of his body was frozen solid. His teeth chattered, his nose ran, and he shivered harder than he ever had before.

“Are you ok, Rarity?” he asked. “Take my b-blanket if you need it.”

“That’s sweet, Spike, really, but—” She stopped when she caught sight of him.”Oh oh oh! You’re worse than I thought. Why didn’t you say something?”

“Nowhere to stop,” he replied. “Too open. Too cold.”

Ignoring that he was right, Rarity said, “I could’ve done something, oh!” Panic crept up her spine as she looked around for something, anything, they could use as a shelter. “Anything would be better than nothing. But nothing is all I see!” She let out a noise of frustration. “I did not jump off a hundred foot cliff with you and live just for us to...d-die from some snow!”

“There has to be…” Spike muttered, dizzy and his vision darkening with every beat of his heart. “Has to be…” He slumped forward, landing like a sack of grain onto the hard ground. He let out a small noise of contentment, finding the snow he lay on to be comfortable. Warm. He let out a heavy breath, trying to summon the strength to push himself up. Spike couldn’t do it. Couldn’t find enough in him to rise.

Maybe I just need a break, he thought, relaxing his struggles and slowly letting his eyes droop shut. His fading vision registered Rarity’s face, it’s normally gorgeous features twisted in fear. Vaguely, he could feel her embrace him, hugging him tight. But all he could focus on was the warmth of the snow, the call of the restful dark.

“Spike!” Rarity called, her voice urgent and fearful. “Spike, wake up!” Touching the back of her hand to his cheek, she found he was frightfully cold. If they didn’t find somewhere soon… If she couldn’t warm him up…

“No, don’t think like that. Do something,” she told herself. “But what?!”

Again, she readjusted her grip on Spike, shifting him to where she was more closely dragging him than carrying. “You’d hate hearing it, Spike,” she said, giving a small grunt with the effort, “but I’m glad you’re smaller than me. I-if we can just keep moving we’ll, we’ll find something!”

One step after the other, moving as fast as she could, Rarity half-drug, half-carried Spike’s unconscious form forward, her eyes scanning every which way to find anything she could use as a shelter.

Elondrie, please! she begged. Even if… Even if I don’t make it, let me save him. After the fall, well, after the fall I know there’s so much more to say!


000


Spike’s entire body was sore. His throbbing thigh, his aching back, his hand, everything. He opened his eyes as his consciousness slowly graced him, his vision blurred, hazy. As he stared through the slits of his eyes, a few things registered to his dazed mind. 

The last thing he remembered was the bitter cold, snow covered trees and white stretching on. Now, as best he could tell in the limited light, he seemed to be in a rocky cave. In front of him was the source of the light: a few scattered embers, nearly dead but letting out a low, orange glow. An instinctive urge made him attempt to rise to stoke the almost vanished flame, as if it was a small ray of hope against the oppressive cold that pierced through the blanket over him. He sat up, hissing in pain as he put pressure on his thigh. Spike paused once more, noticing he was completely nude. Heat flooded his face at the revelation as he felt, rather than noticed, a presence directly beside him.

His mind blanked, then filled with choice—he wanted to turn, curious and, he admitted, desirous. But equally so, he was afraid. Both of the apparent reality he was assuming and that it was simply a dream which would burst if viewed too closely. Frozen, indecisive, the choice was thankfully taken away from him.

“Spike! You’re alive!” Rarity cried, her voice a rasping whisper. “Thank Elondrie, you’re alive!”

“Rarity,” he said quietly, confused and trying to get his mind in gear. “What happened?” He answered himself a second later, visibly jolting. Snapping to attention, he turned to her. “A-are you alright?!” Spike then froze, noticing her own lack of dress. “And why are we—?”

He was cut off as Rarity pulled him into a tight embrace. His muscles and injuries groaned in protest, but the absolute feel of her against him shoved all other things away. It took him a moment to notice she was crying. “I tho— I thought I had lost you! You were so cold, Spike, and, and, and, I-I couldn’t find e-enough wood for the fire and I p-panicked!” Pulling away, she wiped at her eyes, breathing rapidly. “I’m s-sorry, Spike, I’m just… just… so glad you’re awake!” Again, she embraced him tightly, her rapid panic slowing to thankful disbelief as she continued to thank Elondrie for his awakening.

“I’m alright,” he reassured, briefly ignoring their bare bodies to comfort the woman, stroking her hair and holding her body tightly against his. “I-I’m alright.”

Minutes later, she spoke again, quiet but calm. “I… It was the only thing I could think of. Without a fire, the blanket alone seemed inadequate. So… I added some extra, um… body heat...” Her voice trailed off into a faint whisper. Though red faced, she smiled, adding on, “Well, it worked!” It seemed like she was more telling herself than him.

He nodded. “I guess it did. Smart thinking.” He felt heat flooding his face once the worst was over, alongside another part of him that made Spike quickly turn, his back facing her as he swallowed. “I… I’ve heard of people doing this sort of stuff before, so that’s real good thinking on your part.”

She shrugged. “I can’t exactly claim to be a genius of survival, I’m afraid. I remembered it from a book,” she admitted sheepishly. “Frozen Embrace. And of course, it was Gillian needing the warming from Karl.”

The humor didn’t escape Spike. “Great, now I owe my life to those things even,” he said.

Laughing, Rarity wrapped an arm around Spike’s chest, hugging him. “Twila would be thrilled to learn a book saved your life, wouldn’t she, Spike?” She rested her forehead to the back of his neck. “It saved both our lives… If you hadn’t woken up, Spike… Well, the thought is just too terrible to even contemplate.”

“If I had left you out here, alone…” He swallowed, not wanting to go down that train of thought. Instead, his hands found hers. “But I didn’t… didn’t die. We made it, Gems. Somehow.”

Rarity said nothing in reply, merely holding Spike close, enjoying the feel of his hands over hers. It had been no choice at all to disrobe and wrap around Spike to warm him. She had realized immediately that there was nothing she would not do to keep him close. It had been true for some time, but only now did she understand it. And so she had held him, rubbing life back into his freezing body. And now that he was safe and awake...

“Spike…” she said evenly. “Will you… turn around a-and hold me? Please?”

“I…” He swallowed, then nodded and wordlessly turned, slowly and gently putting his arms around her waist and staring deep into her blue eyes, the press of her breasts against his chest he did his best to ignore, instead bringing her forehead to his and weakly smiling.

“Like this?” the boy asked.

She returned his gaze, steady and unblinking. The edges of her lips threatened a smile, but she refused, for just a moment. At last, she asked, as she had done the day before, “How nervous are you, Spike?”

His thoughts returned back to the conversation and he played his part. ”I’m laying next to the most beautiful woman I know. On a scale of one to ten? About eleven and a half.”

Now she smiled, wide and bright. “Let’s fix that, shall we?” And she moved forward, kissing him, not gently but not rushed. It was savory, a pointed example that they still lived, together.

Spike was surprised at her action, but quickly melted into her, first tentatively holding her cheek, then trailing down her body, taking her shoulders in his hands. He broke from the kiss, his eyes half-lidded.

“Rarity…” He shut his eyes and let out a small sigh. After a long, considering pause, he began speaking to her, not meeting her gaze. “I used to get bullied a lot as a kid. Homeschool’ll do that for you, I guess. Add onto the fact that I spent so much time on the computer, and that almost every one of my friends was a girl, and…” He seemed to look deep into himself, searching for the right words and how to get to them. “Worst thing that made fun of me for though? Visiting you. People my age thought it was weird. Even Twila and the others thought it was some kinda ‘Puppy Love’ thing, I dunno.” He put a hand once more to the side of her face, staring through her blue eyes, past the puffs of chilled condensation that left their mouths with every breath, and at some distant memory.

She moved her own hand over his, but remained silent. Rarity had her own words to say, but could not break the spell of letting Spike reveal his innermost thoughts and feelings. But her heart ached, not painfully, but with longing as he went on.

“I think it was when I was around fifteen. That’s about when I realized you weren't this perfect, infallible angel. You had flaws. You overworked yourself to exhaustion on multiple occasions, you were aloof sometimes, you could match Jack and Dash in drinks when you were really upset. And you know what?” She cocked a curious eyebrow, not entirely flattered and showing it. His face briefly flickered to a boyish grin, before falling flat under the chilled weather. “I liked finding that out about you. It made you less of this, uh, I dunno, unreachable idea and more real. Flesh and bone.”

Nodding her understanding, she simply whispered, “Funny how that sounds so much more romantic than being an angel.”

Continuing, Spike said, ‘By the time I was sixteen, Twila said I’d grow out of what I felt for you. A part of me wanted to—find someone that would give me a chance, that kinda thing, but I knew that if I didn’t try and talk to you before that, I’d hate myself.”

Spike tensed up, unsure where to rest his arms, before deciding to retreat to her shoulders. “I guess what I’m getting at here is that I’ve spent a long, long time figuring out what you mean to me. I couldn’t say it at Blueblood’s, so I’ll say it now. Because if I died without saying it, I…” He shook his head, taking her hands. “Rarity Belle, you’re a fantastic friend and a woman that I can believe in with my whole heart. You're skilled at your craft and are a considerate teacher, always willing to help a dumb kid like me with life lessons. That’s why… I… I love you.” 

He stirred a bit, smiling warmly up at her from where they lay. “You don’t have to say it back. I just know how I feel and wanted to say something because… just in case.”

“N-no, it’s—damn, where did these tears come from?” she replied, moving a hand up to wipe at her eyes. When did you start crying, you… you child! she chided herself. Be a woman, handle it! After a moment to compose herself, she moved forward to rest her forehead against Spike’s, staring deep into his eyes. Quietly, she said, “I feel the same, Spike. Truly, I know I love you.” Moving a hand quickly to his lips when she saw him begin to protest, she said, “No, I mean it. I’m not just saying it. I… I almost told you myself, Spike. Just before we jumped, remember?”

“I…” He thought back, swallowing, recalling her words. She loved every minute together. “I mean, you do?” Spike was speechless, he shook his head. “I wasn’t expecting that.” He brought his hands once more to hers and smiled, his expression threatening to overtake his entire face. “I’m glad.” The boy stared into her eyes once more, feeling like if it kept up, he’d be sucked into them until the end of time. “I’m not giving up, but It’s nice nothing’s unsaid now, just… you know. In case.”

“Not just in case,” Rarity replied. “Together, Spike. I can’t even contemplate that we would come this far, only to be taken out in the budding of our relationship.” She nuzzled against him. “In some ways, I’m not sure why I love you, Spike. I know that I do, but logical, what do we have in common? Similar friends, and we do a lot of the same things… But our own interests?” Shaking her head slowly, she added, “But despite that, I love you. And I want—no, I need to figure out exactly why I do.”

The man gave a single agreeing nod at her words, blushing, but ignoring his embarrassment. “Then we’ll find out. Together.” Spike looked askance to the black night at the mouth of the cave. “It’s just a matter of finishing what we need to do. After that, we’ll have all the time in the world to figure out us.”

“Do you think we can still make it? To the monastery, I mean?”

“We set out when it’s lighter,” he replied. “We take it slow and quiet and yeah. I think we can.” He became slightly more adventurous, moving a hand to her waist and slowly rubbing her side. “It’s a matter of trust, you know? And, uh, I trust you more than anyone I know to get things done precisely and gracefully. We’re gonna make it. We’re gonna make it in everything we do.”

She kissed him quickly. “Agreed.” Then a playful grin crossed her face. Spike felt her hands begin to wander as the warmth skyrocketed. “Speaking of… Morning is so far away, Spike, and this blanket is a bit too comfortable. I’m not interested in going anywhere.” She moved to kiss neck, nipping up his collarbone to nibble at his earlobe. Finishing with a lick back down his jaw, she said, her voice low and sensual, “This is the part in the book I would usually enjoy the most.”

“O-oh,” he stammered out nervously. “You mean…?”

Rarity smiled, resting a hand on his smooth chest. “Mm-hmm.” On seeing his trepidation, she leaned his head up and kissed him once more on the lips. “Spike. It’s me,” she whispered. “You don’t have to be afraid of this. I want this. I want you. Please.”

That one word opened up a world of wants and needs, of fears and comforts. It wasn’t desperate, yet reflected the delicate nature of where they found themselves. It made promises for the future but acknowledged the possibilities that the present could be all that remained. Spike nodded after a pause, taking a hand to hers. He unsuccessfully cleared his throat, choking out hoarsely, “Just let me know if I, uh…”

Rarity let out a whispering shh. “You’ll be fine, dear. I promise.”

“A-alright.” Swallowing, he brought himself closer to her, heat already flooding his body at the action.

Rarity, still carrying that same tender, gentle smile, never took her eyes off of his own as she reached under the blankets, trailing from his chest, down his stomach, then to his member, already painfully hard. The young man gasped, making Rarity give a throaty chuckle. She slowly ran her hand along it, wrapping her fingers tight as she moved to its base. The chill of her hands against his heat caused Spike to shiver. Leaning forward at the action, he put an arm on her shoulder and bit his lip at the sudden stimulating pleasure.

Still working his manhood, she took his hand off her shoulder and took it down to her breast, putting his palm against her pointed nipple.

“Like when we danced,” Rarity cooed. “I’ll show you.” Her hand over his, she guided and rolled it in circles across her breast; Spike’s fingers twitched, his small palm grasping as much of her well-proportioned breast as he could. He was amazed at how soft it was in his hand as she offered her body into his inexperienced grasp. Taking the lead, his other hand slowly traveled down to her stomach, then across to her wide, sensual hips. Gently he squeezed, then rougher as Rarity let out a pleasured moan, her body giving a shake at the sudden action. 

Her hand had left his, moving up to slide through his hair, so he brought his hand down from her breast and cradled her torso in his palms. Rarity smiled, holding his erection and turning on the blanket, twisting them both until Rarity found herself on top, squeezing him tightly with her legs as she straddled his leg. He winced a bit; Rarity realized she was crushing the injury to his leg and quickly adjusted herself, placing herself on his other thigh. 

She leaned down and once more kissed him, guiding his hand down to her mound and staring at him, giving an almost imperceptible nod. Her eyes shone with longing, almost begging him. Spike shifted a bit, rising slightly. He gave a tentative circle of her sex with a finger, before experimentally pushing it inside her. She let out a small, pleased gasp at his actions, which Spike misunderstood, pulling his finger out quickly.

“Spike.” Rarity grasped his hand at the wrist. “Please, again.”

He nodded, once more entering her. Pushing about halfway up his finger he stopped. Rarity brushed a hand through his hair. 

“You won’t hurt me, dear. Please.”

Spike went deeper still, burying his finger all the way to the knuckle, then adding his middle finger, going in and out of her at an easy tempo.

“Good,” she said, her face flushed crimson at the action, the warmth from her arousal countering the chill for a few brief moments. She used her height over him to lean forward, placing her breasts at his face. Spike ran on instinct, rolling his tongue over her nipple and then taking it fully in his mouth, suckling it. Rarity moaned, putting a hand to his chest. Spike looked into her eyes as she smiled.

“I’m ready, Spike. Are you?”

“Yes.” It was a curt answer, but he was so overwhelmed by the new sensations Rarity gave him that he could barely even think, let alone articulate how he felt—the intense need he had for her at this very moment. The maddening itch that needed scratched. He positioned himself below her and rested his hands once more on her thighs, guiding her as she lowered herself onto him.

He entered her, shivering as his shaft became a lightning rod, sending currents of pleasure tingling throughout his entire body. Once he was fully in, Rarity held him tightly as Spike unsheathed himself and once more went into her, this time with renewed vigor, electing a pleased gasp from Rarity as she bounced with his thrust, her breasts rising up and slapping down from the impact. She clung to him as each thrust into her body made her curl her toes in pleasure. He slammed his injured thigh into her, but paid it no mind, even as it began to weep against the bandages. Rarity licked across his neck and kissed at his jawline, trailing up and meeting his mouth again for a deep kiss as his hands wandered, cupping her ass and squeezing it in his hands hard enough to leave red marks.

“Rarity,” he moaned, tilting his head back and shutting his eyes for a moment as he wallowed in ecstasy. 

Rarity too, felt a hunger, a need to be filled by him. With every push into her, it felt like they came closer together. It would only be a matter of time until they became one. Her body burned in a feverish euphoria as the pulsing heat in her lower belly flared like a wildfire as she swallowed Spike’s manhood in her flower. It wasn’t her first time, and a part of her recognized the somewhat awkwardness in the act, but the rest of her just did. Not. Care. Gloriously, she realized that she had had sex before, but this? This was making love.

Spike returned one hand to her breast and took to kneading it as Rarity moaned out loudly, putting a hand to his cheek. Spike reached up and grasped her palm yet again, wincing.

Spike bit his lip, looking towards her. “I’m—” He couldn’t finish, losing the moment for just a moment in shame at his inexperience, his quickness.

“Let it come,” Rarity replied, all but ready to fall over the edge herself from the boy. From the tender, sweet, loving boy who stole her heart, who gave her these feelings of warmth and devotion. Who completed her. Pleasure came like a rock dropped into a pond, creating ripples of pure ecstasy that ran shivering paths through her body with every plunge into her. It was more than the physical act; the feeling of their two hearts mingling, as their very souls combined, was greater and stronger, promising not just release, but meaning and truth and purity.

Spike was first—she could feel him clench tight as the first strands of climax took him. Rarity took his entire shaft into her and thrust her fingers down, working her clitoris with a roll of her thumb and edging to relief. Spike came hard into her, tightening his grip on her body as he released his seed, the action and the warmth finally pushing her to finish with a pleased whimper as she arched back, still clutching tight to him and lifting his body in her elated throes, her love drooling from her flower and dripping down onto the boy.

A voice in her head was repeating a stern warning, but Rarity paid it no heed. She clung tightly, clung tighter than she ever had before. Weakly, she whispered, “Don’t let go, don’t let go, oh please…”

She felt the sweat dripping, the cave almost uncomfortably warm. It was the most delightful experience she had ever had. She wanted more. She craved more. Tomorrow… well, who knew? Without even thinking, she began pulling at him again, kissing and nipping his neck and ear, though with less intensity as earlier.

“Rarity,” Spike quietly said from underneath her. She came back to attention, looking down at him. She felt his arms wrap tightly around her back. “Like this,” he said, finally calming down and regaining his composure. He slowly breathed in the smell of her sweat and the faint, distant scent of her lillic shampoo. “Can we stay just like this tonight?”

She kissed him, rolling him to her side and wrapping around his neck tightly. One hand found the blanket and wrapped it back around them—the cold was just beginning to be noticeable again. “Spike,” she whispered, placing her forehead against his, staring deeply into his eyes, “we can stay just like this forever.”
> Tithing
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Tugging the scarf around her mouth and nose tighter, Rarity squinted as she looked behind her, the bright morning sun bouncing off the new snow. Though slowly, Spike was still moving. She was relieved that the makeshift bandages and supports they’d crudely fashioned together seemed to be working. Even better, he seemed somewhat less injured than either of them expected. She wondered, amusement making her smile, if the night before’s activities hadn’t helped him along some.

In a rush, her face warmed, pushing back the slight but cold breeze that was moving through the forest. There was no regret, not over anything at all, but still it surprised her. She would never have dreamed, back when they had first made their way up here, that they would do something like that. A part of her worried they were moving too fast. Had, perhaps, reached a pinnacle too soon. But she stubbornly crushed that thought—after all, they could be dead tomorrow, could they not?

Sometimes, as her mother had told her again and again, love had to wait. It had to be patient and grow, from seed to sprout to sapling. But other times, her father had explained, it came in a rush, like inspiration. You felt it and you just knew, and if you didn’t grab a hold of it you’d regret it all your life. In a way, Rarity pondered, Spike and she had been a little bit of both. That thought filled her with confidence, and her heart soared from the memories of the night before.

As Spike approached, she took out the single emergency canteen that had been in the bag and sipped. Handing it to him, she said, “Fascinating how much a sweat one can work up, despite the cold.” Then, more gently, she asked, “How are you feeling, Spike?”

Spike took a pull from the canteen and wiped at his mouth, tilting his head down to his leg. “I’m moving it at least. I think I’m gonna need a doctor when we’re done with this, though. I’m scared it could get infected.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t say I’m not worried about that myself,” she replied. Looking ahead, she let out a long sigh. “Some vacation. I’ve about had it with the great outdoors for one trip. Any idea how much farther we might need to go?”

Spike paused for a moment, favoring his good leg and staring up. He seemed to do some math in his head and gave a swallow. “Five, six miles at the worst. I remember one of the ski routes went about as far as the church, so...”

“Another three hours at best, with your injury. More like four. If we’re lucky. Wonderful,” she grumbled.

“Sorry I’m slowing us down.” 

Pushing lightly on his shoulder, she chided, “Not what I meant, dear.” Throwing up her hands, she added, “I’m just being difficult. I know it can’t be helped, and I won’t complain. Uh, anymore.” She giggled. “As long as we’re safe, together.”

“I’m sure we’ll be alright,” Spike said. “I mean, since we packed up after…” He paused, blushing. “A-after we woke up, it’s been smooth sailing.”

Rarity made a thoughtful noise, but said nothing except, “I suppose we should move on. Do you want me to help you for a bit?”

“I’m sorry… yeah, if you don’t mind.” He wiped at his brow, sweating again. “It’s just been pretty rough moving my leg.”

“Understood, it’s not a problem,” she said, gently taking one of his arms and wrapping it over her shoulder so she could carry him. “You shouldn’t push on it too much, anyways. Ready?”

He nodded and they were off, slowly walking through the snow once more. Despite the urgency of their situation, Spike marveled a bit at how beautiful the country was. The sun shining on the snow seemed to make everything glow with an almost unnatural light, improving things he saw from the corner of his eyes. Rabbits peeked out of their burrows, sniffing the air. Branches on the trees moved, drawing attention to the squirrels running briskly up and down their well-grooved trunks. And Rarity? She shimmered like a goddess despite straining under Spike’s load.

“You ok?” he asked, finally gathering the nerve to break the comfortable silence the morning had imposed.

“Mmm? Why, yes, I’m just fine, all things considered. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just… If I’m too heavy, go on ahead and scout. I’ll catch up eventually, Gems.”

She let out a snort, saying, “What on earth would I scout, Spike?” Gesturing with one hand, she said, “It’s the same snowy forest on and on, though it seems to be thinning. Besides, it’s no problem. Despite what Jack might say, I am not so soft that a little hard work will do me in.”

“You’re strong,” Spike said. “Muscles aren’t everything when it comes to, to being strong.” He smiled. “You can do anything.”

Smiling, Rarity said, “So can you, Spike. Now, stop telling me to do something I would never do, yes?” She gave him a wink, lightly pushing her head against his.

“By the time we make it through all this, I’m not sure if I ever want to hear another pep-talk again.” He quietly laughed, returning the push against her head. “We could give that Somani self-help guru that talked to Chylene a run for his money at this point.”

Rarity laughed. It felt good, so good, to just joke about. And to talk about the future. “Maybe you should join in next year’s Iron Man challenge!”

“Might be a little more fun than just commenting on it with Pinkie. Maybe Jack and Isabelle can actually place higher than dead-last.” He gave a self-deprecating grin at that. “I’d have that position in the bag if I competed.”

“I look forward to it, Spike…” she said, somewhat quietly, some of the joy leaking as they talked of happier days. “Just… everything. Normalcy. Peace. It’s so hard to wait.”

“You’ll see it soon, Rarity. We’ll see it. Together.” He gave a coaxing run of his gloved finger down her cheek. “I promise.”

The pair stood for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes, frozen in the winter landscape. Without words, their hearts conveyed the meaning of the past few days and how it would impact them for the rest of their lives. It seemed it would last forever.

A small, faint flicker in the distance between two trees made Spike break the spell. He squinted westward, squeezing on Rarity’s shoulder and pointing. He saw it once more, a metallic, grey color on an otherwise white outline. As the shape finally cleared the trees and stepped into a clearing, Spike quickly identified it as a man in full white camo and armed with a rifle.

“Get down, get down,” he urgently whispered, going to a squat and quickly moving to a fallen-over trunk. Pulling Rarity down with him, he glanced over the trunk and swore internally as the man continued to slowly walk, scanning the area with a slow, robotic turn of his head.

“He must have heard us,” Spike spat out, his voice nearly inaudible as he leaned towards Rarity to speak.

“Well we were being foolish and not exactly trying to hide it!” she hissed. “We should’ve known they wouldn’t give up so easily.” Carefully, she moved a hand to the pistol at her belt, undoing the holster strap. “We’re lucky you spotted him. In that get-up, they could sneak on us too easily.”

“I don’t think I can trust us getting by him quietly,” Spike said, once more looking at the man. “We have tree cover, sure, but if he sees us for even a moment and calls it in or gets a shot off, everyone in a three mile radius is gonna swoop in on us. Same goes for the pistol. We’re going to have to dispatch him another way.”

Swallowing heavily, Rarity whispered, “Y-you mean like strangling him, or stabbing him, right? I don’t know, Spike…”

The boy rose to a crouch, despite the discomfort to his leg. “I’ll get situated nearby. If… if you lure him to me, I’ll do it, Rarity. I don’t want you to… have to work close.”

“No,” she said, then again, “No. You’re hurt. I’m the one that needs to do this… Just tell me what I should do.”

“Rarity…” Spike rested a hand on her knee. “Let me do this, at least this for you. Please.” He glanced once more to the patrol. “Besides, if it goes to hell, we’re gonna need a good shot. I trust you with a gun more than me.”

Gritting her teeth, Rarity said nothing. He was right, she couldn’t argue against him. Checking the weapon quickly, she nodded, then looked at their options. Coming to a decision, she crouched as well. “I’ll move over there”—she gestured at a tree directly in line with them and the guard—”and cover you. When you’re ready, put your thumb up, ok?”

“Ok, Gems. Go,” he replied, moving at a quiet crouch towards a nearby tree. He gave it a quick check, peeking around its thick trunk before nodding, leaning toward Rarity and cocking his thumb up.

Not wasting any time, Rarity took a quick look to make sure the guard was facing away then shot up and sprinted behind a large tree, about ten feet from Spike’s position. She took a handful of seconds to breathe. Then, her heart beating, she banged the pistol hard on the trunk, twice, hoping it would be enough.

The man snapped to attention, his gun at the ready. He took a few slow, careful steps across the snow, a faint crunch all that gave away his position.  As he slinked his way through the woods, he finally crossed Spike’s threshold.

Spike lept forward, jumping on the man’s back. He let out a surprised yelp and swung his gun towards the young man. As hoped, thanks to its length, he couldn’t do much against the attack. Spike quickly shifted his arms, wrapping one tightly around the guard’s neck and the other around his mouth, muffling his cries. The guard wasn’t ready to give up yet, though; he reached towards a knife at his belt. 

Seeing this, Spike snapped a foot forward in desperation and knocked the blade away from his grasp. Swinging about wildly, the guard flung his body backwards, slamming Spike against a tree. The air knocked from him, Spike’s world exploded into pain from the terrible strength of the blow, but he kept his grip secure against the other’s neck. Desperately, his victim slammed again and again, but still Spike held. 

Taking the man’s jaw in one hand and his shoulder in the other, Spike quickly twisted his arms apart with all his might, being rewarded with a hard popping noise from the guard’s neck. The man instantly went limp, dropping to his knees and then slumping lifelessly to the side. Spike pulled himself free from the man and stood, taking a few shaky breaths as he stared down at the corpse. He ran a hand through his hair, calming down.

“I, uh, got him,” Spike stated the obvious.

Walking over, Rarity gave him a small, slightly forced smile. “Good work, Spike. But we should get moving, don’t you think? Where there’s one…”

Without a word, they swiped what they could off the man and moved on. His gun, two clips, and a strap for the rifle, which Spike quickly attached to the gun and slung over his back. 

Walking along, this time with a far more subdued, tense atmosphere between them, they spent over an hour traveling through the trees, and then, once the woods cleared more, they took the low ground, doing their best to keep small profiles for any would-be assailants. After another hour, the cold beginning to pick up, they finally saw the monastery on the horizon, standing proudly above them as it rested on a jutting cliff. Spike paused for a moment, frowning as he took in the sight.

“So,” he started, a bit of gallows humor lacing his words, “ever been mountain climbing?”

With only a small roll of her eyes, Rarity said, “I have not, nor, admittedly, have I ever wanted to.” She gestured with a hand. “Would you care to go first, or should I?”

Spike gave it another thought. “No matter who goes first, my leg’s gonna be a problem. But I’m lighter…” The man shrugged. “I wish we had some rope. I’d feel better with a safety net.”

Thoughtfully, Rarity looked at the obstacle. After a moment, she had an idea. “How long do you think it will take us to climb it, Spike?”

“At least an hour. Maybe more, if we have to find an alternate route.”

Making a small noise of frustration, she offered, “Well… We could use what little we have to make a rope, of sorts. The blanket, our clothes… It’s likely too risky in this weather, but I see little other option.”

Spike shook his head. “We start shivering from the cold, it’ll make it harder to climb. We’re just going to have to risk it, Rarity. We just need to take it slow and take it careful. Falling now, after all we’ve done, well… it’d be a bit anticlimactic.”

“One step at a time, right.” She nodded. “I’ll go first—if the path can hold me, it should hold you. Plus I can find the easiest path up.”

“Alright.” He let an uncharacteristic smirk gloss over his face. “Hey, Rarity?”

“Yes, dear?”

He quickly stood on his toes and pecked her on the lips. “For luck.”

Laughing, Rarity pulled the young man closer. “If that’s the case, then…” She leaned down and kissed him deeply, adding in just a bit of heat from the night before. After uncounted moments, she broke the kiss and, without another word, approached the rocks, preparing for the ascent. Doubtfully, she looked at the task before her. “I desperately wish I had let Jack convince me out of the Boutique more often.”

“I know what you mean. That youth football program I passed over as a kid seems real tempting now,” Spike agreed. 

“But we can do this.” He tilted back a hair, staring at the cliff’s peak. “I hope,” he added under his breath.

“The sooner we start, the sooner we reach the top, I suppose,” Rarity said, still unsure. But without any other options, she looked until she found what appeared to be a good starting point. Putting her foot on a solid, jutting piece of rock, she pushed up and found a small ledge to grab and lift herself until she was standing on it, flat against the cliffside. “Easy enough!” she said, looking for the next way up. She was thankful the cliff wasn’t more or less flat—the constant winds had broken it down, creating an uneven face with small paths she could stand on. However, the downside was that some of the rock was loose, crumbling and merely waiting for a careless grip to pull free and fall to the ground below. She let out a small shriek when she first came upon one, her hand falling free as the rock tumbled below.

“Oh shit,” Spike said, pushing his body flush against the cliff as the stone shot past him. “Rarity!” he called, panicking. “Are you alright?! Hang on!”

“I-I’ve… I’m alright, just, just shocked me is all.” Rarity’s heart felt like it would beat out of her chest. They hadn’t made it too far up, and it was likely she’d live from a fall. But she wasn’t entirely sure if they weren’t high enough that she might not want to. “Try and step where I do, as exact as you can, Spike.” Taking in a deep breath, then letting it out slowly, she continued.


000


The climb was long, arduous, and slow. Though there we no more close calls, it still took a lot out of both of them. So it was a relief when Rarity finally dug her hands into the top of the cliff and lifted herself, then Spike to the edge. They both lay on their backs for a brief moment catching their breath, neither minding the cold.

“N-never want to go outside again,” Spike stated.

“Hear hear!” Rarity replied, breathless. She lay back in the snow, panting heavily, her hands feeling sore and possibly swollen, though thankfully unscathed due to her gloves. Even still, her sides burned and her arms ached. She was not out of shape by any means, but the climb had seemed neverending, pushing her to her limits. “But we made it, Spike. We made it.”

“There were a few too many close calls, but yeah.” He shook his head. “I guess you could say that about nearly everything we’ve been doing as of late, though.” Spike then rose, wincing a bit as he put weight on his bad leg and frowning when he saw that it was bleeding through his pants. Regardless, he offered his hand to Rarity. “Let’s give the good Father a visit.”

“Frankly, at this point all I want is a hot drink and a soft bed,” she said as Spike helped her up. Noticing his wince, she looked and saw his leg. Softly, she added, “And a proper first aid kit for you.”

“If I could just let it sit for a bit, I think it’d look better than it does right now,” he said. “But I wouldn’t argue against some fresh gauze and something to take the edge off.”

As they made their way around the building, Spike glanced over at the heavy stones and cleared his throat. “Constructed in the early days of Torani’s founding, before the war against the Kvaat, or the unification of Somini islands to her side, Fort Ambrosia stood, a lonely resupply line for travelers from the frozen north,” he lectured, blowing on his hands to warm them for a moment before continuing. “Its imposing appearance notwithstanding, Fort Ambrosia was renowned less for its defensive location, a strong deterrent to bandit raids in the surrounding provinces, but rather for its welcoming community, considered by many to be one of the best places in the frozen north for a weary traveler to lay his head.”

“You’ve certainly done your homework,” Rarity replied, impressed. “Who knew something like this could be out here? Funny, what history does.”

“It’s true. A fort to an inn, then, once an influx of Elondrie missionaries came here, a cathedral. Time can change things.” He glanced at Rarity, a smile on his face. “It can really change things,” he quietly repeated.

“All very interesting. But what I want to know most of all: Where’s the damned entrance? I swear, it’s getting colder by the second.”

“Just around here,” Spike said, rounding the building’s corner, where an unused clothesline stood, the twin brown rods standing straight up a stark contrast to the grey and white that flooded their visions. A heavy set of wooden doors greeted the two. Spike reached forward for a knocker and lifted it, bringing it down on the wood with a heavy, dull thud.

They waited for a brief moment, then Spike shrugged, shoving the door open with a grunt.

Heat flooded from the cathedral, feeling so nice against Spike’s chilled body that he nearly lost his breath. Dozens of small torches lined the stone pillars of a great foyer, where wooden benches pointed towards a pulpit. There a symbol of Elondrie had been engraved in a massive stone slab. Though somewhat weathered from time, the three rings, set in the unifying triangle upon a horizon, stood clear, emanating peace and equality throughout the room.

Spike looked up towards the high ceiling, where a chandelier floated above. A part of him was reminded of swashbuckling stories. He had an almost obsessive urge to cut the rope securing it in place, but put it to the side. Looking over at Rarity, he rubbed his chin with a hand. “I figured we would have seen someone by now.”

She gave him a little nod, bringing out her pistol and undoing the safety, keeping it close. Putting herself slightly in front of Spike, she scanned quickly but tried to appear casual. A healthy dose of paranoia kept her wary, but after everything they had been through she still hoped that things could go according to plan at this point.

“How many people would possibly live out here, Spike?”

“Ten,” he quickly stated. “When he contacted me, I took a look at the amount of priests in training under his tutelage. Unless they have partners living with them, that should be all we’ll see.”

Up ahead, past the pulpit, they saw another wooden door, and each heard a heavy, pronounced creak from deeper within the monastery.

“Sounded like a door,” Spike announced, his voice below normal conversation, but above an urgent whisper.

Uncertain, Rarity asked, “Should we speak up, you think?”

Spike took in the room again. Nothing seemed misplaced or broken. There were no signs of a struggle. Giving her a nod, he cupped his hand to his mouth. “Hello?” he called out.

Silence answered. Looking at Spike, Rarity shrugged, then herself called, “Is anybody here? We’re sorry to come in unannounced, but we were, uh, stranded in the cold.”

Finally, they heard the sound of footsteps coming closer to the door, and it slowly opened, revealing a frail man with a grey beard and dozens of wrinkles. He absentmindedly chewed on a pipe, clearly in thought. Almost comically he recoiled in surprise when he finally noticed the pair.

“My word!” he exclaimed. He put a hand to his breast, taking in a breath. “You startled me, my children.”

Startled…? Rarity thought. We could hardly have made much more of a racket beyond the door alone. She said, “We’re very sorry, er, Father…?” She only added the question vaguely, not wanting to be rude. Admittedly, she had little experience with holymen of Elondrie. “We were simply so cold, and no one answered the door.”

“Father indeed,” he agreed. “This hallowed ground welcomes travelers with open arms. I am—”

“Father Geoffrey McCollins,” Spike cut in, gently. The old man spared a glance the young man’s way. He cocked a furry eyebrow.

“Do I know you, my son?”

He shrugged. “In a way, Father.” Spike stood, looking professional despite his wet clothing and injured leg. Stripping off a glove, he offered his hand. “Spike.”

“Spike…” Geoffrey rolled the name around for a moment, before he realized. “Spike Shields, from—”

“Arresting Dmitri Dorcas.” He nodded. “You contacted me over an issue. Or, rather, a man named Drake.”

“Indeed I did!” He clutched the young man’s hand and briskly shook it, then turned to Rarity. “And the lovely lady?” Geoffrey put a hand to his chin. “Wait… Rarity… Rarity Dell?”

Laughing at his slip, she replied, “Belle. Rarity Belle. It’s a delight to meet you.” She gave him a small curtsy. “Your monastery is fascinating—Spike was just telling me some of the history.”

“The building’s about as old as I am,” he joked. Then his smile dipped a bit on noticing Spike’s injury. “Gracious, what happened?”

“It’s a long story, Geoffrey,” Spike said, rubbing his forehead.

“Tell it to me as we get you fixed up,” he replied, turning and gesturing for the others to follow. “I’ll inform Daniel that you need medical attention.”

Spike glanced at Rarity, then looked down at the gun she held obscured in her hand and gave a small nod to her. Carefully, she put the safety back on and tucked it away, letting out a slow sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Father. I did what I could with what we had, but I was so worried… He really needs some proper medical care.” A low grumble emanated from her stomach, making her cheeks flush. “And, um, if it’s not too presumptuous, a hot meal might be welcome?”

He nodded, walking them through a small study and opening a door on the other side. “Of course, my child. Anything for one of the few willing to fight against the growing darkness this country is bringing forth.”

That reminded Rarity of a curiosity she had been thinking on for some time. “We appreciate the sentiment, but isn’t it a bit...unusual for someone such as yourself to be involved with things such as this?”

He stopped. Glancing at the two, he leaned against the wall and stared out one of the windows that lined the hallway they were in. “I suppose it’s not,” he agreed. Geoffrey pressed a hand against the glass and pulled back, watching the spot his hand touched stand out, then frost over, yielding to the chill.

“I had a son,” he explained, meeting Rarity’s eyes. “He was part of this country’s military. One of their best—rumor had it he was within Lewin Shield’s skill with a rifle, and put his entire division to shame in physical training. He wrote to me often, about girls, where he was stationed, the people he met…” A small sparkle and smile crossed his face at the memory, that quickly vanished, like a cloud passing under the sun. “I noticed one day his letters changed in tone. They spoke about battles and rumors of battles and how one of Torini’s most trusted woman had seemingly changed overnight. How she had a sort of… darkness about her.”

Both Spike and Rarity nodded, knowing all too well. That first night, when Twila returned from her Canterlot visit, was still too clear. The first day, the day when it all turned on its head. But the Father continued.

“I didn’t heed his words. I dismissed them, of course, Celestia had ruled with the grace of Elondrie herself for years. He must of surely been mistaken in some form.” Geoffrey bitterly smiled. “Naivety is one of the worst crimes of the mind, I now believe.” He turned to a portrait along the wall of a woman wearing traditional robes and a hood, reading over a paper on a desk. “He sent me two more letters like the previous, before vanishing.”

“Did you, did you ever find out what happened?” Rarity asked quietly, wondering just how many others would tell similar stories before the end.

“He had a few friends in the guard. It took a lot of persuasion, a lot of begging, but they talked to me. They talked of high-ranking officials knocking on the barrack doors at four in the morning and all but dragging him away.” He narrowed his brow. “The next day, their commanding officer erased almost everything relating to my son from the record, and gave explicit instructions not to mention him in any official standing or documentation.” Geoffrey crossed his arms. “It should be obvious what happened to him.” He glanced over at Spike. “Tracking you down wasn’t a walk in the park either.” Putting a thumb to his chin, he corrected himself. “Or, rather, your employer.”

“Drake likes to keep a bit of mystique around himself,” Spike replied, giving a sly smile Rarity’s way. “You can shoot a person, but you’ll find it much harder to stamp out an idea.”

“True enough,” he agreed. After a moment to collect himself, the three began walking again. “So,” he started, rubbing at his neck, “How did you two come into contact with Drake?”

“I’m simply a mutual friend,” Rarity replied, playing along as she and Spike had discussed earlier. “It’s not safe to travel alone, so I volunteered to accompany Spike here.”

“You’ve done a good deed, child. God knows the little one needs protection.”

Spike rolled his eyes at that, but continued the conversation Geoffrey had started. “Drake contacted me after the fiasco at that party in Camelot.”

“Where those group of masked criminals came and disrupted the event?”

“The same,” Spike nodded. “While their methods are less… savory than we like, they are employed by Drake as well. He has a lot of fingers in a lot of pies, all of them interested in removing a power-hungry tyrant from the throne by any means necessary.”

Geoffrey took a heavy breath. “I don’t agree with what they have done, but, Elondrie forgive me for saying it, I understand its necessity. By blood or ballot, a revolution takes money.”

“They don’t get enjoyment from it. But it is something that’s gotta be taken care of.” Spike stole another small glance Rarity’s way, frowning in thought.

“I’m sure if there were any other way…” Rarity said, a small choking noise coming from her throat. “Maybe what they did wasn’t the best way, but if it gets people talking, if it gets the wheel moving--isn’t that worth something? Not to mention, their own lives are at stake… That sort of sacrifice… is never easy.”

“I suppose so,” Geoffery half-agreed. “Though bloodletting should be a last resort, if a resort at all.” He opened another door, the group was blasted with a chilled wind from a courtyard. They quickly made their way through, under a stone roof. Spike glanced at the open area in the center of the courtyard, where another small garden lay in slumber under the cold.

“Yet, I can’t say that in full earnest. It would be hypocritical of me, especially with what we have, and… and what I know it will be used for.” Geoffrey rubbed his hands vigorously together to fight the chill, walking briskly to a door on the other end of the court. He opened it and let the two inside, pausing only a moment to shut the door behind them.

“What exactly do you have here, Father?” Rarity asked. “Sp—Drake was vague to that effect. Or as to how you have such a thing!”

“My eldest student, Daniel, shares my disdain for the crown and as such, has been more than willing to…” He rolled his hand, thinking of the right word. “Offer assistance regarding information trafficking. He was, or technically still is, special forces. As such, he’s been able to catch sight of classified documents most wouldn’t be privy to. Normally he just takes photographs for me, but this item was deadly enough that he didn’t want to risk any member of Celestia’s entourage to have it. He stole the physical copy and encrypted a virus in Celestia’s R&D department that wiped any schematics off the grid.” Tapping a finger to his temple, Geoffrey continued. “While the brains of the operation are still around, it still set them back for months. If Drake is half as resourceful and intelligent as the Internet claims he is, he’ll find a use for them.”

“It sounds like you’re taking just as many risks as the suits, if I may say so.”

“We’re all taking risks. Some more than others. I can’t imagine it’s been easy living with being marked as a traitor, Ms. Belle.” 

“True,” she said, nodding.

The hallway split into a turn right and a path ahead. He turned right and they quickly followed until they came to a plain door. “Right inside,” Geoffrey said, turning and leaving the two to their own devices. “I’ll gather Daniel.”

Spike stumbled into the surprisingly sterile and white room. In the center was a doctor’s table, slanted up and coated in a plastic tarp, the boy limped his way onto it and hoisted himself up, leaning against the head of the table. He lay his hands across his chest and stared up at the ceiling.

“I normally hate a doctor’s office, but after all that…” He laughed once, sharply. “After all that…”

Lightly playing with a strand of loose hair, Rarity gave him a smile. “Safety trumps quite a bit, yes. I’m just glad you’ll get the attention you need.”

“It’ll be nice not dragging behind so much,” he agreed. After a pause, Spike spoke up again. “You think the girls are going to mind, uh, us?” He tilted his head up to look at her. “I mean, I don’t care if they don’t, but still.”

Rarity thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “They’re our friends. I’m sure they’ll be happy for us, regardless.” She gave a small frown. “Though it might be a little weird with Twila for a bit. But nothing we can’t work out, I’m sure.”

“I hope you’re right.” He shook his head. “No. I know you’re right. I-I guess last night just kinda really let me know how serious things were. Got me thinking. Not that we weren't serious before, it’s just…” Rolling his eyes, he shook his head. “M-maybe some day I can actually talk like a normal human being about this kinda, uh, stuff.”

She laughed. “It’s ok, Spike. Everyone is nervous their first time—or even every time! Just focus on the fact that we’re together, and nothing’s going to change that.” Leaning over, she gave his cheek a kiss before taking one of his hands.

“Yeah, sorry, but you’re stuck with me for a good, long while,” Spike replied with a gentle smile, taking his free hand and putting it at her elbow. “Who knows? I might end up becoming your favorite accessory.”

Giving him a hard, appraising look, she mused, “Hmm, yes I can see it. A new haircut, perhaps a couple trips to the spa. Lose that awful hoody and find you some designer button-ups…” She slowly nodded her head, while giving her hands a sharp clap. “Oh yes, I can make you the talk of the town and you’ll be all mine!”

Before Spike could reply and state how much he liked his hair as it was, the door opened behind them and a young man about Spike’s age strolled in, gazing at the two, like a beast appraising prey. “Am I interrupting?” he dryly asked, pushing the wireframe glasses he wore up the bridge of his nose.

Crossing her arms under her breasts, Rarity said, huffily, “Not at all. You must be Daniel?”

“Indeed I am,” he agreed, taking a few steps into the room, a medical bag held tightly in his tense hands. He rolled it out on the table and stared for a brief moment at his tools. “Now, I heard your son was injured. A wound on the leg, from what Geoffrey said, correct?”

Rarity’s mouth dropped open, and she lightly recoiled as if from a blow. “E-excuse me? Son?!” 

“Son?!” Spike repeated, just as aghast.

“Oh? Was I wrong? I just assumed you had him young,” he said disinterestedly, pulling out a small vial of what they assumed to be medicine and withdrawing some into a syringe. He gave a small flick of a finger to the side, letting a few droplets fly through the air, before putting it to the side and looking over his other tools. 

“That’s a very rude presumption,” Rarity nearly growled. “You might learn a little more tact for the future.”

“Maybe my bedside manner needs work,” he admitted, putting a roll of gauze next to the syringe. “Nephew?” Without waiting for an answer, he gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “I suppose the specifics don’t matter. What I’m wondering is: what caused his injury?”

“I fell. Landed on a branch,” Spike said, speaking before Rarity could open her mouth and unleash hell upon the man.

“Must of been one hell of a drop if a branch dug that deep into you.” His hand paused above the selection of tools at his disposal, before slowly pulling out a scalpel and placing it quietly alongside his other equipment. “Certainly not something you see happening on a routine hike around here.”

“Well, that’s why they’re called ‘accidents’,” Rarity snapped. At a look from Spike she let out a small sigh. More softly, she said, “I’m sorry. I’m simply worried about him. We had a kit with us, and I did what I could, but even I can tell he needs better treatment. We… appreciate your taking the time to help us. Truly.”

“Anything to help the cause,” he stated, walking over to the boy with the supplies in his hand and sitting them on a nearby table. “I gotta admit,” he began, looking over Spike’s leg. “At first I thought you were just passerby. Geoffery can be really scatterbrained when it comes to situations like this.”

“How do you mean?” asked Rarity, watching him as prepared to work.

“Well,” he started, undoing Spike’s bandages. “For starters, he didn’t tell me today would be the day we had guests of such high prestige coming our way.” Daniel nodded, humming to himself as he removed the bloody gauze. “I had to rush quite a bit to get things prepared, you see. Though I’m disappointed that last night didn’t go as planned.”

Both Rarity and Spike looked at one another, confusion passing between them. But for no more than a moment as realization sank in. Slowly moving her hand to the pocket containing the gun, Rarity asked, already sure of the answer, “What plan?”

Easily meeting her eyes and smirking, Daniel took hold of the scalpel and rested it against Spike’s neck. Spike’s neck broke out into goosebumps at the touch of the cold steel. To make his point, he gave it the gentlest of pushes, drawing a single ghost line of blood down the boy’s neck.  “Manners, please, Rarity. I had a feeling you’d be packing.” She froze, knowing he could slit Spike’s throat faster than she could hope to draw the weapon. “Good, that’s very good—don’t move an inch.”

Rage fighting terror over which would turn her stomach more, Rarity said, “You damn… traitor! Well, fine. You’ve put us on the spot. What now, Daniel?”

> Cornered
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Daniel stared at the woman, shrugging. “Now? Now we wait.” 

Trading a quick, worried glance with Spike, Rarity said, “They’re already on their way, aren’t they?”

“Of course. I made a quick call when I realized who you two were. There’s no fighting your way out of this one.” He glanced over at Spike, then trailed down a hand to his thigh. Giving a smug smirk, he took a finger to the injury and rammed it into the hole. Spike howled, rising and reaching for his leg, only to have the scalpel rest once more easily against his neck. Tears brimmed at his eyes as he gazed, furiously, up at Daniel.

It was all Rarity could do not to rush forward, but she held steady, the only movement betraying her rage the clenching of her fist, her knuckles pale with the effort. The gun was just a few inches away, but those inches stood between her and Spike’s life, taunting. With a slow exhalation, she tried to calm down, but it was difficult. How could they get out of this one?

Planless, Rarity spat, dark and angry, “You’re a damned fool.”

“I’m a man who knows how to bet. Your bunch ain’t exactly on the winning side here.” He easily, almost lazily, shrugged. “I buddy up with some of the bigger names of the Queen and I’m set for life. You all are the fucking fools. Do you really think a prissy woman like you and this kid here have a chance?”

“And what chance do you really think you have!?” she snapped. “You actually believe there is anything at all you can do to keep you safe?” Her chest shook with a restrained, mocking laugh. “You know nothing, you selfish, worthless ass. And Elondrie help you when the coin drops!”

“If I were you, I’d watch your tone,” Daniel tersely replied. “Unless, of course, you just want me to cut his fucking throat!” he snapped, his eyes brief sparks of red-hot anger.

“Then kill me you son of a bitch!” Spike snapped, doing his best to ignore his once-again bleeding thigh, “She’ll blow your brains all over the fucking wall!”

“I think you’re lying to me. I see that look in her face when I—” He snapped forward, clenching his fist around the scalpel and striking Spike’s face, throwing the boy’s head to the side. Smirking, he grabbed Spike’s hair with his free hand and took the blade flush against his skin once more. “Do I need to prove my point farther?”

Ignoring his question—easier said than done as she stifled the butterflies in her stomach every time the knife touched skin—she replied, “So this is really it? Your grand master plan? Just stand here, like bored children, and wait for the adults to show? You haven’t thought this all the way through, have you?”

“It’s not like I needed much of a plan here. Cavalry's coming, and you’re in deep shit in short order.”

“And what happens to the others?”

“Well, aiding and abetting a criminal like you? I can’t imagine they’ll have much of a future…”

The door creaked open and Geoffrey poked his head in.

“I was just seeing how it was…” he paused, taking in the situation. Daniel looked away from Spike for one brief moment, moving towards the sound of the intruder instinctively.

That was all the moment Rarity needed. In the same span of time it took Daniel to realize his mistake and turn back, Rarity grabbed her gun, drew, aimed, and fired, not even giving thought to her fear of hitting Spike. There was no time. There would be no better chance.

Though she’d hoped to prove Spike’s threat true, her shot went low, catching him in the front shoulder. He twisted from the impact, looking now at his injury. Spike acted while he could, turning and grabbing hold of Daniel’s wrist. He twisted it, letting the instrument clatter to the ground before throwing his weight onto Daniel, bringing the man to his back on the ground. He thrashed under Spike’s diminutive weight. Before Spike could take action, Daniel flipped the boy over and in blind rage wrapped his powerful hands around Spike’s neck, squeezing him with everything he had.

Spike curled up his legs and kicked up, not fully knocking Daniel off, but enough for the boy to scoot back, clutching his redding neck and gasping for air. He went flush against a counter just as Daniel rose. He charged for the boy, only to be tackled from the side by Geoffrey, whose frail form punched Daniel against the chair Spike was in moments ago, then pinned him against the ground.

“Help me out here!” he called to Rarity and Spike.

Rarity moved quickly, making up for her indecision, not wanting to make things worse as Spike struggled with the traitor. “Move!” she yelled, gesturing with the gun for Geoffrey to get out of the way. But Daniel, recovering his senses, gave a cry and slammed his fist into the side of the old man’s head, making him go limp with a sickening thud. 
Shoving the disabled Father away, he said, “You fucking stupid old man, move!” He raised his hand to finish Geoffrey off, but, as he tried to get to his feet for a better strike, he came face to face with the steady aim of Rarity’s weapon.

“Stop, or I won’t,” she said simply.

He bared a humorless grin. “You think I’m scared of your gun? No. One shot, and it’s over. Provided you think you’re fast enough to hit me.”

“Oh, no,” Rarity said with malice, “it won’t be so easy. You know, Daniel. In our little escapades, I’ve learned quite a lot about the fine art of precision shooting. Surprisingly, being a first class tailor really helps you understand the finer details in handling a firearm. The little things that come to play.” A cold grin split her face, her tone turning casual, bored. “Like exactly how many times and exactly where a person can take small arms fire before they bleed out, for example.” She let out a faux gasp of surprise, adding, “And I nearly forgot the first rule: Never bring a knife to a gunfight.” Suddenly, she cried out, “Pow!”, raising the gun as if she had fired it.

He jumped, crying out, a slight discoloration of the carpet below showing he had pissed himself. But he fixed his composure, save his soiled pants, and curled his hands up into tight fists as he stared up at her, scowling. “Bitch,” Daniel hissed. “You think this’ll change anything? Or are you forgetting the group coming for you?”

Spike stood, wincing as he rubbed his tender neck. “If you’re an indication of what they have in store for us, I’m not scared and Rarity sure isn’t.”

“We’ve been in tougher scrapes,” she agreed, keeping an eye on Daniel as she stepped towards the priest. “Are you alright, Spike?” she asked as she made a cursory examination of the old man’s wound. It wasn’t bleeding, but she was unsure if the blow had been hard to enough to give him a concussion. At least he seemed to be breathing, though he didn’t respond to her touch as she tried to rouse him.

“I’m alive, just a little tender. What else is new?” he dryly remarked. “You?”

“Don’t worry about me, dear. I’m just fine.” Satisfied the Father was as well as he could be at the moment, she began looking for something to tie Daniel’s hands with. After digging through a few of the drawers, she found a roll of surgical tubing and quickly spooled out a length, handing Spike the gun and cutting it with the scalpel. As she approached, Daniel began squirming. “Hold still!” she said, giving him a hard whallop to emphasize her point. “Or I can just have Spike shoot you—take it or leave it.”

Letting out a tsk of irritation, he became still as Rarity went to work, wrapping his wrists over and over with the tubing.

“Don’t forget his legs,” Spike cautioned.

“Yes, thank you, Spike,” she replied, distracted. “Well, that’s taken care of—well, almost.” With careful and measured strength, she slammed the butt of the pistol against Daniel’s head, knocking him cold. “Now then, we can have a little privacy. Because, frankly, Spike, what in Elondrie’s name are we going to do now?”

“I…” He swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment and letting out a shuddering breath, his body obviously protesting the diet of adrenaline he had been feeding it since yesterday. Sinking to the ground, he tilted his head back. “Give me just a sec to think. Please, Rarity.”

“Fine, Spike, fine.” Leaving him to it, she went back to the Father, gently pushing at his shoulder. “Father Geoffrey, come on, wake up… Things are about to get… difficult.”

It took a few moments, but he finally arose with a slow, moaning groan. He reached up, touching his temple.

“What…?” he questioned.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Rarity said, letting out a nervous breath. “Are you alright, Father? How is your head? Can you see clearly?”

He blinked a few times, looking around. “I’m alright, for an old man with a bad back.”

“I’m not sure what I can do,” she said, looking at the supplies around them. “And I’m not sure how much time we have. We need to gather everyone in the safest, most defensible place possible. Now.”

“The front,” Spike said, glancing at her like he was waking from a dream. “We make our stand in the foyer.”

“What makes you say that?” Rarity asked, though she didn’t doubt the choice.

“Simple. Two entry points at most. The front door, and the rear, provided they attempt to ambush us. The windows can be fortified, and we’ll have reasonable cover from the bullets due to the pews. I doubt they’ll have anything like tear gas on them, so even if we left the windows only partially blocked off, we’ll be safe as long as we’re not stupid. The worst they can do to us at this point is try to wait us out and frankly…” He smirked. “The longer they wait, the more likely I’ll think of something to really make their day.”

Nodding, Rarity asked the Father, “It’s probably pointless to ask, but you wouldn’t happen to have any weapons tucked away for a rainy day, would you?”

He nodded. “We do have some pistols. Mainly relics from the days we were under the threat of bandits, but they should be in working order. Although, I’m not sure how we are in terms of ammunition.”

“Check, and get the rest of your group, Geoffrey,” Spike ordered. “Rarity and I will start getting what we can ready in the foyer.”
Going back over to the medical bag, Rarity dug for a moment before tossing a bottle over to the priest. “Take one of those before you go, Father,” she explained. “They should help with the pain without disorienting you.”

Geoffrey nodded, taking a pill and dry swallowing it. “I’ll gather everyone to you as quickly as I can,” he said, running out the door and taking a right down the hallway. 

Spike rose, putting weight on his injured leg. He gasped and clutched at the wound, before gesturing to Rarity. “Gonna need your shoulder again. Sorry.”

Sliding under his arm, she pushed a bottle onto him. “Here, you know it’s perfectly fine. This is a bit stronger medication. It might make you a little… unfocused. But it won’t be any worse a distraction than the pain would.” Moving over to the table, she decided to take the bag with them. “We’ll probably need this. Ready to go?”

He took the bottle gratefully, unscrewing it with one hand and shaking a couple of pills into his mouth. “Yeah,” he agreed. “As ready as we’ll ever be.”


000


Geoffrey came just a bit after Spike and Rarity migrated to the foyer. Behind him stood four men and a woman, all dressed in the simple designs of priests. Some looked scared, others showing a nervous preparedness. They all glanced at Rarity and Spike, but said nothing and kept to themselves.

“I’ve found a few weapons,” he said, reaching into the pockets at his sides and presenting four handguns—three semiautomatics and a snub-nosed revolver. “With that rifle you have, that still leaves two of us unarmed.”

Having already expected as much, Spike suggested, “Then they just need to hole up for a bit. Keep safe.”
Nodding, the Father went over to his charges. “Julie, Trevor,” Geoffrey said, “hide behind the pews. Don’t look around, don’t move.”

One of the men, rather, one of the boys shook his head. “But—”

“No buts. You two are our youngest—stay safe.”

With a grumbling acceptance, they did as they were told, going to a nearby pew and crouching at the foot of it.

“Ammo?” Spike questioned.

“Just a few bullets in a dusty old box for the revolver. And five clips between the others. They’re the same make and model, so 
it’s just a question of distributing it.”

The young man nodded. “Alright.” He gestured to the pews closest to the door. “Send the person with the revolver to the left, another to the right with no spare clips. Hide until the first wave pass by, then catch them in the crossfire. Back row’ll cover fire when you’re dry, so you can fall back to us. Geoffery, stay about midrange. Keep your eyes on the back. If they flank us, it’s over.”
Spike nodded. “I’ll be in the middle with one of the handguns. I’d prefer a few clips, as I’m not sure how well I could withdraw with my leg acting up like it is. When I’m parked, odds are I’m going to be parked for a while.”

“I’ll take the back,” Rarity offered. “I’m likely the best shot here, so the distance will hamper me the least. Plus I can watch Geoffery from there if I need to turn my attention to the back door.”

“Exactly what I was planning. Hide behind the pulpit until I give the signal,” Spike agreed. “You’re the only one I trust with the rifle, at that, so it only makes sense I keep you at a distance.”

Looking around at the relatively spartan room, the tailor did notice the occasional low table, topped with a somewhat tarnished silver bowl. She pointed to the nearest, asking, “Can we move those? Blockade one of the doors, perhaps?”

“Let’s do that,” Spike agreed.

“You heard her, go on,” the older man instructed. “Is there anything else we should try?”

“If I wasn’t so nervous about it spreading, a molotov would be fantastic,” Spike commented. “But if you trust fire, odds are you’re going to get burned.”

Geoffrey stared flatly at him, while Rarity put a palm to her face. Spike shrugged.

“I thought it was pretty good.”

“Let’s just get ready, Spike. As history-making as a last stand amongst priests in a national landmark most assuredly is, I’d really prefer to make it elsewhere.”

“Of course,” he agreed, then quickly spun a circle in the air with a finger. “Everyone in position. With a bit of luck, we’ll make it through this.”

It was only about five minutes after they got into position that one of the men up front put a finger to his lips, letting out a loud, “Shush!” Everyone grew dead silent and listened. Barely, just barely, they could hear a subtle crunch of snow outside, going at a rhythmic pace.

Spike checked, then double checked his gun, mentally going through a list of what else he could do. Not much, he realized as he spared a glance at everyone, gesturing for them to get down. He spared a look over to Rarity as his hands tightened on the gun, a silent, desperate plea for her to stay safe. The woman herself had already said her silent wishes for Spike’s own safety. Instead, she busied herself making sure the rifle was clear and loaded, and that her spare ammunition was in place.

Satisfied, she sighted down the hall, judging as best she could where a man’s head level likely was. Every shot she had had to count. Efficiency was the first rule of the game, and the game was survival.

Peeking out, Spike watched as the door handle was gently turned and slowly, carefully opened. A group of ten men began to file in methodically, scanning over every area as they approached; two took guard by the door, with the rest checking the pews as they advanced forward. Cursing under his breath that he should’ve known better, Spike realized that the two men closest to the assailants would need something, otherwise they were going to be done for the instant their pews crept into the soldier's line of sight.

No time to think smart. 

Sucking in a breath and screaming more than one expletive in his head, he rose, twisting and pointing his gun in one motion, then firing, barely missing his targets. He dropped to the ground, swearing as he heard the soldier's excited, yet strangely off calls of alarm as they zoomed in on where he was, their guns at the ready and their feet running towards him just as fast.

"Now!” he cried, just as the first shots rang out from the Tyrant’s minions.

From the front of the church, the two men rose, pulling their triggers desperately. Bullets rained into the soldier’s backs, tearing through them, dropping them like flies. The two guards at the door, however, snapped to attention, launching shots into the man with the revolver, turning his neck into a red mist as he dropped down, dead instantly.

Having added her own shots to the point men, Rarity turned to one of the murderous guards, catching his arm before he could switch his aim to the remaining priest. He dropped the weapon, his blood following to scatter on the floorstones. Before he even knew what was happening, Rarity had taken her aim and sent another bullet to slam him hard in the chest, throwing him back against the wall, where he slid down to an unmoving slump.

The wide room with its solid walls filled with noise, of gunfire and shattering stone, broken by the cry of the desperate and inexperienced. Bullets flew from both sides as Spike and the others laid down cover for the remaining young priest to scurry between the pillars and the wall in a frantic retreat before he joined his unfortunate fellow. The soldiers themselves were reorganizing, taking cover before finding targets, making up their surprise at the sudden assault. Quickly it was no longer they who were suppressed, but the defenders finding themselves pushed to cover again and again.

“Fall back!” Spike shouted to the retreating priest, who had stopped to fire at his attackers. He gave a panicked nod, moving at a half crouch back towards the rest of the group as Spike fired himself, squeezing off a few desperate rounds. Taking notice, as much as she hated it, Rarity decided he made too good of bait to go to waste. As the young man continued his occasional retreat—stopping when the cracks of stone came too near him—she waited. Watching where she last saw one of the soldiers duck, looking for just the right moment.

A second later rewarded her with a clear shot as the soldier rose, leveling his own rifle. She pulled the trigger but swore viciously when impacts exploded near her own hiding place. Ducking back, again she cursed the luck; the soldier’s helmet had done its job, bouncing the bullet away. His head would swim for a moment or two, but he was still a clear threat for the moment.
Spike made a mental count of the bullets he had shot. He only had a couple more in the magazine. Deciding it’d be for the best to be prepared, he gave up on the clip, unloading it and putting a fresh one in instead. He then leaned to the side, craning over his cover to fire another three rounds. This time he was rewarded; one of the soldiers fell like a sack of potatoes amidst a rupture of blood pouring from a kidney shot.

Spike knew he should be disgusted by the sight, but he couldn’t help the triumphant yell pass by.

“More where that came from, you fucks!” he roared, emboldened by his lucky shot. He rose higher to get a better sight on the remaining guards.

From behind them, a heavy crunch of wood came from the barricaded door. Between the noise and the Father’s expression of alarmed fear, Rarity turned immediately, firing quickly at the rear entrance. One of her shots rang true, as she heard a pained yelp come from the door, before the damn thing splintered from one heavy blast from what Rarity guessed was a shotgun.

“Damn—we’re in trouble, Spike!” she yelled, ducking under the pew as shot tore through the aged wood. 

“Tell me something I don’t know!” he called out, glancing to the front, where a palm-sized object flew inside.

Spike’s eyes widened. “Flashbang!” he cried out, turning to the side and covering his eyes with the front of his elbow just as a brilliant flash of light assaulted his senses and defend his ears. He took a chance, turning to the guards in back, who had only partially avoided the effects of the explosion, and squeezed off a few more bullets their way, blowing out a knee, then punching through a man’s stomach. As he lay on the ground, whimpering, Spike continued firing at the door, giving the group at least a few precious seconds to recover from the disorientation.

One of the members of the church rose, obviously suffering the worst from the flashbang, as blood ran down his earlobes from his ruptured drums. He took a few desperate shots from his pistol at the men up front, dropping one with a chestshot before being obliterated by multiple rifle rounds.

For her part, Rarity had tried to take out the soldiers as they bottlenecked in the door. But after two more kills, the next—a massive man, carrying the shotgun she suspected they took the door out with—grabbed his fallen comrade and used his body as a shield to push through. It gave them cover for no more than a few seconds, but it was enough—every time she raised, shots rang around her, forcing her back down before she could even fire blind.

“Spike, we need something now!”

“I know, I know!” he called out, loading one more clip desperately into his gun. “But what could—”

As if divine intervention happened, Father Geoffrey rose fully erect, exposed completely to the soldiers and his voice booming loudly over the firing of his pistol.

“Then witness, O thou who dare desecrate this building, who dare mock the harbingers of truth! Lament, for the wrath of Elondrie shall tear thine world asunder!” he roared, firing in a blind rage at the man holding the body protectively in front of him, and ignoring the bullets splintering the pews he stood above with an almost suicidal zeal. “Though thousands of arrows may pierce my breast, and sores weep upon my skin, I care not! For thou art my salve to every wound! My tonic to every sickness! My ambrosia to every thirst!”

“Rarity! Now!” Spike cried out, facing the front and firing upon the soldiers while they were distracted with Geoffrey's furious, frothing rage. Rarity wasted no time in adding her own furious assault.

A bullet pierced Geoffrey’s shoulder, then another at his arm, yet he still stood, a mountain made of indignation as he finally managed a lucky shot, piercing through a weak point in the corpse’s throat, and penetrating the shotgunner’s chest. With that done, Geoffrey’s near otherworldly conviction faded; he dropped to his knees, groaning and clutching at his wounded shoulder.

Though his charge had given Spike and Rarity the chance to even the odds, three more soldiers came through the door, pushing aside their dead and dying fellows. All three turned their weapons to the priest, his prone form an easy target. The old man was saved as the tailor moved quickly to his side, having run out of ammo for the rifle. She tossed the gun, making two of the soldiers jerk away, their shots ineffectually finding the far wall. Adrenaline pumping through her, her heart pounding in her ears, Rarity reached for the Father’s fallen weapon, praying she would be fast enough, praying it would not be empty.

Her fingers wrapped the grip, and she brought it to bear. But she was already too late. Her vision focused on the gun barrel, aimed right at her, and she knew that their luck had run out. 

A shot rang out and threw the man’s head to the side, toppling him over unceremoniously to the ground. Spike exhaled as he took aim at another man and squeezed the trigger again. He was down to his last clip, so every round had to count at this point. “Rarity!” he barked. “Be careful!”

Right, she thought, swinging the pistol to the last guard and finding it thankfully still loaded. Three shots rang out, and he fell, blood pooling around his shattered helmet. She threw the gun away, grabbed the priest by his good arm, and drug him to the closest cover, behind the pulpit. Pulling out the medical bag, she found some gauze and wrapped his wounded shoulder as quickly as she could. “Hang in there, Father! It’s not over yet!”

“He’ll be fine for a few,” Spike commanded firing another shot from his pistol, “help me fight ‘em off!” Squeezing another round, he heard a click. Out? he thought, panicked. Now?!

Tying off the quick bandage, she cried back, “But I don’t have anymo—” She stopped, her eyes catching sight of a gunstock, sticking out from under one of the fallen soldiers. Taking to a crouch, she pushed herself out, removing the weapon with an effort from the corpse’s weight. When she had it free, she cried out, “Everyone, get down!”

Spike reacted instantly to her command, dropping to the ground and swearing under his breath as he put pressure on his leg. He covered his head and braced for impact.

Seeing their prey fall, the remaining attackers charged, desperate to finish the job. But when Rarity stood, even through their training, they paused in shock. With a loud yell, she began unloading the shotgun—the same one the guards in the back had used to bust through the door—as quickly as she could. Thunder filled the chamber as shot roared through the air, tearing into stone pillar, wooden pew, and armored soldier alike.

As she fired, she advanced. The soldiers retreated, but the room’s design left them little cover beyond the pews. Some stopped, taking cover, only to find the approaching Rarity bearing down on them seconds later. Though some lucked out and Rarity felt the burn as a bullet tugged at her thigh and one grazed her shoulder, they fell, one by one, before the weapon in her hands.

Soon, the room fell silent, the only sound the single shell that landed on the ground as Rarity cocked the shotgun once more. Seconds turned to minutes, and still no sound, nor movement from outside came. Spike weakly rose, his hair disheveled and his eyes wild.

“We… we did it?” he asked, unsure of the answer. 

Letting out a long, slow sigh, Rarity let the gun clatter to the floor as she slumped in weariness, the drain of her adrenaline rush fading making the pain of her injuries and the weight of her recent fear come crashing in all at once. “Yes, Spike. We did it, again. Some how.”

He weakly rose and limped towards her. Without pause, he wrapped her tightly in a hug.

“Thank God.” He sank down in relief, letting out a breath of air. “Before we step out, we’ll look for signs of snipers, or maybe some type of trap. But I-I think that was all of them. You were amazing.”

After a few minutes Geoffrey let out a groan and came to a knee, clutching his shoulder. “We owe you two a great deal of thanks,” he stated. “We would have died for sure if you hadn’t aided my flock.”

Looking at the carnage around, Rarity said, bitter and a little angry, “No one would be dead if we hadn’t shown up, Father.” She rubbed at her eyes. “I’m so sorry…”

“It wasn’t your fault, my child,” he replied. “Any blame belongs to Daniel, the lying snake—damn his eyes.” He crossed his arms, doing his best to ignore his injuries. “I’ll see to it that they get a burial.”

Spike looked at Geoffrey evenly. “Father. If there’s anything we can do for you…”

He cocked his head at Rarity. “Yeah. Get her patched up. I’ll have Julia and Trevor help me bury the bodies and perform last rites.”

Moving over to give the priest a tight embrace, Rarity said, “We should stay and help with that. You’ve all done so much, given too much. But who knows when they’ll be after us again?” Letting him go, she gestured again to the nearest body. “I’m sure somebody is awaiting a report of our successful capture.”

“Which is why I plan on leaving here with my congregation,” Geoffrey replied. “I have no doubts they’ll be back, and this time, I’m sure they won’t hesitate to bring out the big guns.”

“Probably for the best,” Rarity said quietly. “Perhaps… Perhaps when this is all over, you can return here. I know what the place must mean to you, after all.”

“Meant a lot to me, to my son, to just about everyone that came here,” he replied, sighing. “But, you’re right. One day we’ll be back to pick up the pieces. You guys just keep doing your part and tell Drake to give ‘em hell.”

Somewhat reluctant, Rarity said, “Speaking of, Father… You recall the reason we came here in the first place, yes? The information you had for us?”

He nodded. “The information I still have. A blueprint for a potent weapon that could change the tides of battle.”

“I hate to cut and run,” Spike said, “but if you could find that for us…?”

“Of course. I kept the schematics in my room. Allow me a moment.”

Grimacing, he stepped over the bodies of the slain soldiers and left. He returned a moment later with a USB drive, and a set of schematics on a lined paper.

“Physical and data backup,” he stated. Spike took them and opened the blueprints, unfolding the design and narrowing his brow in thought.

“What is it, Spike?”

“I’m smart on computers, not engineering,” he replied back, his tongue stuck out a bit from thought. “I think it’s something similar to an electromagnetic generator of some kind. Uh, maybe. I can see an electric conduit, at least.”

“That’s part of it,” Geoffery agreed. “I don’t understand much of it either, but Sam—God rest his soul—Sam was an engineer at one point in his life, and he said with the right calibrations, that creation could topple buildings or ships with one good shot.”

“Well, Twila might be able to make some sense of it, or know someone who can,” offered Rarity. 

“She’s the smartest woman I know. I’m sure she’ll think of something,” Spike agreed.

“We can’t thank you enough, Father,” Rarity said, hugging the old man again. She kissed his cheek, saying, “Stay safe, OK? I want to come back here and hear more about the place from you, after the fighting is over.”

“You do the same.” He looked over at Spike. “You take care of this lady, understand?”

“With my life,” he agreed.

“Oh, you two.” Rarity turned, hiding the blush in her cheeks. Then a thought occurred to her. “Oh! How are we going to get back? I’m not exactly keen on walking through the snowy wilderness again.”

“From now on, it’s the beaches for me,” Spike agreed.

Geoffery nodded. “I have a van not terribly far from here. I want you two to take it.”

“Good, I’ll drive,” Rarity said, adding, “Oh, and we should probably arm ourselves before we go. Better safe than sorry. Again, thank you so much, Father.”

“Be safe, and send my regards to Drake.”

“Duly noted,” Spike agreed with a small wave, limping towards the front door.

> Epilogue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Two hours later, Rarity finally found herself able to somewhat relax as she drove her and Spike away from the monastery. At first, they had both remained quiet, tense and alert. They both more than expected another attack to occur. But finally, as the endless white landscape rolled on and the warmth of the van’s heating system eased the tension in their muscles, they both let out sighs of relief.

Rarity broke the silence, saying, “I think it’s safe to say we’re, well, safe, Spike. At least for the time being.”

“I guess so,” he agreed with a nod. “If anyone was after us now, we’d be dead already.” His hand wandered down to his thigh, and he rubbed at it, wincing. “When we get back, I gotta get to a doc. I know you know, but still. This thing is starting to make me mad.”

“I just hope there won’t be any lasting damages,” Rarity said, her words gentle but concerned. “Things are going to be rough enough without any physical disabilities to get in the way at this point. We’ll all need to be at our very best.”

He nodded, letting out a small humm of agreement. Another long pause passed between them before Spike spoke once more. “Listen,” he said. “I know we’re not going to let it happen if we can at all, but… well, like I told Twila, I want to help on the field more, if I can. And that’s why I want to teach you how to work behind the scenes, how to operate the coms, computer.” He crossed his arms. “That way, if I ever get hurt, or…”

For a moment, Rarity said nothing, just focusing on the drive. Finally, she said, “It’s a good idea, Spike. And I’d like to learn.”

Smiling grimly, Spike looked over at her. “I know what they mean about an adrenaline high now, I guess.”

“It’s something else, isn’t it?” Rarity asked, giving him a grin.

He nodded, turning on his seat to look towards her. “I mean, I was always close to getting sick from nerves when I was just supporting you guys. Now that I tasted it up close? I…” Spike frowned, leaning against the door. “Is it bad that I liked it, it a strange kind of way?” He glanced toward the front. “I mean, not Geoffrey's men losing their lives, but being like we were, with every second mattering. Knowing that we trust one-another to act without hesitation. I dunno.” Spike shook his head. “Sorry. I-I shouldn’t feel like that.”

Resting a hand on his thigh, she gave him a gentle squeeze. “It’s OK, Spike. I completely understand. There is a certain addictiveness to it. That rush that seems to fill every second, when any one of those seconds could be your last. Life just explodes and everything becomes so much more clear, and yet confusing at the same time. Like it’s too much focus for the mind to handle.” 

She thought for a moment, then added, “I think that’s the key point though. It feels good at the time, but it really isn’t something you should get too hooked on. It’s still your life at risk, you know?”

“Yeah, I understand. I’m glad you know where I’m coming from at least.”

She smiled warmly at him, sliding her hand a little farther up. “Of course, there are other ways to experience pretty similar feelings, love.”

Spike let a small, nervous laugh cross his features as a blush formed on his cheeks. He winked and did his best to continue the banter.

“I think you might have to show me exactly what you’re talking about. I always said you were a great teacher, after all.”

“Well, we’ve completed our objective. I think we’ve earned a long, private break.” This time her smile was smoldering as she gave Spike a promising wink in return.

“A vacation from our vacation. Yeah, I like the sound of that.”

“We’ll trust the girls to themselves for a little while longer, then,” she replied, nodding. But a dark thought crossed her mind, I want to enjoy this time while we have it… With you, Spike.

She looked to her left, out the window at the snowy forest where they had come so close to the end; remembering the cave where they had discovered such a wonderful new beginning. Adventures of the cold and the heat, moments of life so precious and under the whims of a force much greater than it. Far in the distance, the grey sky turned dark, and the first flurries of another storm could be seen, coming right for them. The trees shook and bent as the wind paved a path for the coming cold wave.

Shivering, Rarity turned up the heat and went back to talking to Spike, wondering what the other girls were up to. The storm was coming, whether they liked it or not, but it wasn’t here. Not quite yet. Their test would come, but for now? For now, she felt the warmth in her heart from the love of a lone boy-turned-man. And that was all that mattered in that moment, as the van drove on through the bitter wilderness.