A/N: I'm still working on the follow up to Companion, but this hit me and I just had to write it. After you've read, it, quick question, did you guys think this would be better from a first person's POV?

Anyway, enjoy.

It was only until everyone was settled in their seats when Dante finally let loose a deep sigh of relief.

No one had the energy to truly rejoice or congratulate each other right after the huge battle. Drained of energy and almost falling over in fatigue, the team was mostly quiet on the coach ride to the hotel and then to the airport. There was this bubbling desire to hug and jump for joy, but the tiredness enveloped them and kept that desire pressed down, ending up in this uncomfortable combination of eagerness to celebrate and longing for a soft and plush bed.

Well, the Foundation would want them back safely, despite not having helped out, since the Organisation was going to break into chaos now that their leader had been thrown into some unreachable location. And they had best be tucked somewhere with actual backup lest the Suits and other leftover scientists and scouts decide to take revenge within the night.

Then again, no one had any complaints (not that they could). Dante swept them all up into the coach, ensured all luggage were packed, and kept himself awake to pay the fare and book plane tickets. Next stop, Venice, Italy.

There had been plenty of time to dig out everything that could have gone wrong, with him being the only one who had been awake since the battle. Still, they were safe now, he told himself. They were safe now.

He turned and his amber gaze crashed with a questioning and concerned hazel brown one. Seats were running out fast and there had been a few pairs of seats, though not too far from each other. Sophie and Lok were perfectly content to have a pair to themselves, and the latter popped Cherit into his bag without hesitation. After they had rested in the cushioned seats, they'd have a lot to chat about, though not going into details in public, what history they had just made (the Professor was in the Spirit world now, all because of them!), and Sophie could remind Lok to keep his lips and Cherit from stealing the airplane meals.

That opened a couple of opportunities for him. But first he had to make amends. Slowly he lifted his left hand and rested it gently on Zhalia's right hand, on the arm rest. Held it firmly. Took a deep breath.

"Back there, when you-when I-"

"No, no need to say anything," she shushed him up immediately. His first thought was that he didn't deserve the small smile she flashed at him. "You can wake me up when the food comes, and give me your share. I'm starving, and that'll do for chewing you up. Literally"

Her voice was tainted with fatigue, but Dante could detect the humour forced into it. She was probably too tired to explain clearly. Still, he couldn't just let that go. "Anything. But about what you did, really, thank-"

"No, really. Don't say any more. It's done," Zhalia insisted, though her expression seemed to hide something else.

Suddenly his left hand gripped hers, but not too tightly. "I'm sorry."

Her smile was forced this time. "Don't be. I don't regret protecting you."

He tried to say more, but Zhalia raised her other hand to cup Dante's. "Shhh. We're both tired, let's just get some rest, OK?"

So many thoughts that couldn't be said, a million apologies and assurances that he couldn't put into words. Zhalia's eyes scanned his face to check for a response, and he unwillingly answered, "OK."

With that, she shot one last tiny smile, and turned her head away to close her eyes. Passengers were still swarming along the isles, some haggling for the space in above compartments, some trying to shift others to get to their seats. The seat beside Dante was empty, but with the fully booked flight it wouldn't stay that way for long.

A few passengers were already settled comfortably in front and behind him; not that he would have been able to utter a single word to Zhalia even if they weren't there. I'm sorry for leaving you there. I'm sorry for being an ass. I'm sorry for leaving you alone. I'm sorry for making you feel abandoned. Again. (even if it hadn't been any more pleasant when he help her with the Klaus matter)

It was mostly anger that overtook him, at himself, his actions. Nothing he had done in the battle had relieved Zhalia of the danger they were in. Only dragged her into pointless fights, draining her of her energy. I should have kept my cool. I'm sorry you had to be the one facing the Titans alone. I'm sorry for bringing you into the fight at all. But apologies didn't change anything about the past. They didn't correct mistakes.

She never got to complete what she said, perhaps a confession before they perished? He wouldn't push her for it, at least not now, when they were both exhausted, but if he had a chance in the future… He'd like to know what she felt about him.

He'd like for her to know his feelings too. Maybe it was the feeling of having almost lost everything barely a few hours ago, that made him want to show her now. He couldn't risk another close call and not having her know his intentions.

A kiss would be too intimate. Especially when they hadn't gone far at all. So he couldn't offer a peck on the lips, much less on her cheek or forehead. The swarming people jostling to get to their seats were something to consider too. At least she hadn't removed her hands when he held hers. Glancing down, he saw that she had stilled, her hand still resting comfortably under his.

He shifted his hand from on top of hers to below, such that his palm was facing up, grasping her hand tightly. The calloused fingers were intertwined with her slender ones. His amber gaze scanned her face, now tilted away from his, but found no reaction; already slowly slipping into her slumber.

Gingerly, he lifted their hands. Then pressed his lips to the back of her hand. His warm kiss met her smooth, cool skin and he closed his eyes at the sensation. For a few seconds he lay like that, basking in the moment. The temptation to drag his lips along her arm, to feel her, to memorise every plane of the woman before him, was alluring indeed. But he settled for a gentle caress, a slow imprint of his kiss along her hand to her knuckles, before simply resting his chin on their interlocked hands.

Hidden from Dante's concerned gaze, Zhalia's lips curved up and a light pink hue slightly, just the slightest bit, painted her cheeks.