A/N: Thanks to Pengie and Joh for the awesome beta notes!

Middle Ground
Chaos

Hubert Oswell was a man who craved Order. Everything had a purpose and everything had a place, whether it was the location of a favorite book in his library case or the precise time of day he would take lunch. He'd learned, over his short life of twenty years, that people would often disappoint him, even abandon him, but Order never would.

With Order, there were plans. There could be plans for every imaginable contingency and every possible disappointing outcome. Plans could be molded into structure and structure into action. When actions or structures failed, he could always return to the plans, to Order, to find a solution.

Order was comforting to him in ways that people never managed to be. It never gave him away like an unwanted dog with no explanation or even a chance to say good-bye. It never struck him, whether by words or by switch, when disappointed with his performance in school or household chores. It never expected him sacrifice his own beliefs or desires to become another corrupt cog in a disgusting political machine. Order only marched, like a well-trained soldier, to a perpetually even beat-never stopping, never quitting, and certainly never judging him.

So, a little over two years ago, when he found himself desperately in love with the woman who personified Chaos, he did what he always would do: he analyzed. He tried to understand this attraction, and in turn, understand her. Was it her intelligence? Her ridiculous manner of speech? Her sense of adventure that kept her away for weeks at a time? Her compassion for everything even if she seemed aloof? Her seemingly blind faith that no matter what things would be okay? The way she kept him guessing about everything?

Each one had possibilities, but after considering the matter for countless nights, he realized it was probably just the simple fact that she put up with him.

Chaos came in the form of Pascal, who would always drop into his life and pleasantly screw it up for a short time before disappearing again. She was part explorer, part researcher, part mechanical engineer, all genius, and completely eccentric. She never had a plan, or a schedule, and usually couldn't even be bothered to tell him when she was coming into town. Ruins were her first love, machines were her second, and if he had to guess, he was a distant third.

It had started out slow. Backwards, even. For three months after their return from Fodra, they traded messages on her communicator devices. Those tiny snippets of text tried terribly to connect them together, but always failed. Still, he'd spend hours crafting the simplest note, debating the implications of each word and every bit of punctuation. In response, he'd receive a line or two, sometimes coherent, most times not, but each one was a treasured read, no matter how brief or how inane the subject.

Then, one night, she sent a message that was a peculiar question. "Can the streaks in Foselos really keep you awake on a clear desert night?"

Rather than dismiss it as childish or retort with a smart remark, he typed, "come visit and find out."

He hoped it wasn't too forward. But he did miss her, and the little bits of text transmitted between them left so much to be desired. He wanted to talk to her again, like they talked before. He wanted to feel that terrifying little thrill of standing next to her and wondering what to say next, where the art of crafting a mere conversation became a sudden and delightful challenge. No matter how articulate and well read he was, she could leave him stammering for words and blissfully confused. He wanted to see her smile that bright, goofy, carefree grin and let a tepid laugh escape his own stern lips.

Much as he hated to admit it, he missed being happy. And he missed her.

Ten long days he waited, with no response to his message, despite his obsessive checking of the communicator. He would even wake from a deep sleep to glance at the thing in the hopes that she had replied in the middle of the night, since her sense of timing was always rather unique. But still nothing came aside from his own doubts about the message he'd sent. Perhaps she misunderstood? Perhaps she thought he was kidding or being sarcastic? Or, perhaps she had no desire to see him at all.

He had all but given up. But then, when returning home from work one evening, he saw her lying face up on a bench under the fountain near his father's manor. She was sprawled across the bench, with her head hanging off the end, and watching the world go by upside down. He resisted the urge to run up to her, lest he cause a scene. In measured, even steps, he approached, trying to ignore the breathless feeling that was constricting his chest. Damn her for having that effect on him.

"Hey!" she shouted, not moving from her awkward position. "Are you ready!?"

She was a constant blur of confusion, but this time he honestly had no idea what she was talking about. "Ready?"

Jumping up to stand in front of him, she gave a ridiculous twirl, her mop of red and white hair sweeping along with the odd effort. "To see Foselos! I have this amazing idea about it, the skies are totally clear tonight, and you said to come see them, so here I am!"

He glanced away. So that's why she'd come. For her research. Not for him. He probably should've expected that. "Oh."

"I knocked on the door but the maid said I couldn't come in because I'd bring in too much filth," she said, as she glanced over her shoulder at the ornate entrance to his home. She laughed, oblivious to the insult. "But whatever! I'm here now and watching the water go splash-splash overhead made me sleepy so I had a great nap!"

He frowned. "My apologies. I will speak with my father's staff. If they intend to turn away my guests, they can seek other employment."

"It's no biggie. Don't get her in trouble. My shoes are really full of sand," she said before giving him a bigger grin and playfully tugging on his arm. "Well, are you gonna get your stuff so we can go? I made a picnic basket!"

"I dread to know what's in it," he answered, knowing her eating habits were just as eccentric as she was.

"Aw, don't be like that!" she laughed. "I went by Lhant and got some of those rice omelette things you like from your mom. She was so awesome. She made them just for you and wrapped them up really cute!"

"You…what?" he said, his eyes widening in surprise. To think she had made such an effort on his behalf just made his heart race a little more. Perhaps Foselos wasn't the only reason she was here after all.

"Yeah, it's what took me so long. Plus, then I got talking to Sophie and Cheria, and two days had passed before I even realized—"

"You lost two days talking?" he interrupted. Though, at this point, nothing she did should've surprised him. It hardly ever made sense.

She shrugged. "We had a lot to talk about."

"I can only imagine," he answered with a tiny smile. Smiles were rare from him, but they seemed easier to form when she was around.

"So, get your stuff so we can go!" she said, tugging on his arm impatiently. "It'll be dark soon and we'll miss it!"

He wasn't sure how one could miss Foselos, as it was always in the sky, used as a compass by travelers around the world. But, it was an invitation he couldn't refuse. And so, within the hour, they were already on their way out into the desert as anxious questions began to form in his mind. He took her to a spot he knew, one not far from the capital, but distant enough that the city lights wouldn't distract from the view.

She spread a blanket down on the sand, sat facing him, and then offered him the contents of the basket after taking out her usual bizarre meal—bananas and a banana pie. Looking at the food she brought, it was evident she really did venture all the way to Lhant. She had delivered what she had said earlier, and his mother had even included the spicy tomato sauce he liked to put on the omelettes.

Throughout the entire meal, she remained silent, and silence wasn't something she did well. She did make a conscious effort to chew with her mouth closed, but not one for any kind of conversation. She did not even offer her usual insane ramblings about machines and technology, and that worried him.

After they had finished eating, there was still a long, uncomfortable silence. Although Hubert was nervous where the discussion would go, he tried to start with something innocuous. "Is your latest research going well?"

"Yeah," she answered, her voice oddly distant. "For now anyway. I mean, I think a massive communication system that people can use is like a totally great idea but I don't know if the three countries will really fund it. Plus, I gotta, like y'know, figure out exactly how the images and sounds will be transmitted beyond beep-beep-boop-be-doop but I was thinking I could use Foselos somehow. I'm close to a total breakthrough, but erm…" She paused and looked him, fixing her eyes on his. "But I don't really want to talk about research tonight."

That was completely unexpected. "Why not?"

"Because," she said, looking down at the blanket. "Because you keep screwing it up so I haven't gotten much new stuff done."

"How have I screwed it up?" he asked, completely perplexed.

The answer was simple and quiet. "You distract me."

He couldn't fathom how she could ever be distracted; she lived distracted. "I fail to see how that's possible considering I haven't seen you in three months."

"It's true," she answered, glancing up to meet his gaze again. Her words came in a flurry of confusion, even by her own off-kilter standard for normal speech. "I like getting your messages. I like getting them a lot and when I get them I feel all flutter-fluttery and I want more messages. So then I write you back and I get all nervous and gwah-wah hoping you're going to write back and then when you do, I feel warm and sheezy and it happens all over again because the messages never end and I never think about what I'm doing anymore! I just think about those messages and I think about you and what you're doing and how I want to chit-chat with you about stuff like we used to! Then I want go see you but I don't know if you're busy-busy with all your military stuff and I don't want to be in the way because I don't want you to like get in trouble with like the President or something." She barely took a breath before adding, "remember that last night on Telos Astue? Remember what you said to me?"

He was certain his mouth was hanging open in surprise, but didn't care. "Yes, of course I do," he said, the words nearly catching in his throat. They were much more sour than he had intended, as the embarrassing and infuriating memory of telling her how much he cared for her while she completely missed the point was not something he liked to dwell upon.

"Well now I know what you were talking about because now I have that same problem!" she said, clenching her fists and rising up on her knees to scoot nearer to him. "I can't wake up without you on the brain! And it's making my work impossible!"

Her words, and their implications, struck him nearly speechless as he felt his palms begin to sweat. It was everything he had always wanted to hear from her, and yet somehow, it terrified him. When he had imagined this moment, he always had something intelligent, even romantic to say. But all he managed now was an accusatory question: "do you even realize what you're saying?"

Undeterred by his unintentionally harsh question, she leaned even closer to him, so close that he could feel her breath on his neck. "Yeah, I do. It kinda scares me cuz it's all new and like crazy, but it's a good kind of scared." She put her palm to his cheek and held his gaze. "But yeah. I know."

"Pascal…" He heard himself whisper her name, as if that was enough of a response to the dizzying confession she had just made. Her words may have been jumbled, unconventional, and confused, but they were genuine and they were beautiful.

For a long, anxious moment they just looked at each other, her eyes searching his, following his every glance with tender desire. Her nearness, her warmth, and the sweet scent of machine oil and bananas teased him, encouraged him. Brushing a bit of her wild bangs to the side, he finally kissed her. Fully, passionately, making sure through the effort that she understood this was what he'd always wanted.

Her hands splayed wide across his chest, pulling him closer, breathlessly returning the affection.

When the kiss eventually broke, she rested her forehead against his and smiled. "Wow."

"I agree with that sentiment," he replied, pressing his glasses back up his nose with one hand and allowing the other to rest on her back.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. "I guess Cheria was wrong."

"Huh?" was the ineloquent reply. He was still wondering if this was real or just some wild dream conjured by the desert.

"She said that would fix the problem, but I think it made it worse."

None of the conversation was really registering with him. Every last nerve in his body was tingling with a welcome anxiety. "What?"

Biting her lip, she gave him a wink. "Well, now instead of more messages, I want more of that."

From that day, things between them didn't really go forward, but sideways. Everything with her was a zig and a zag and sometimes even twisted into serpentines. She never stayed in one place for very long so they saw each other as they could. It was mostly by chance as she could never keep a schedule, and much as that disrupted his precious Order, he learned to accept it as well as all of her idiosyncrasies.

In between those usually unannounced visits and unplanned meetings, there were messages, and most importantly, there were lessons. She taught him things he would've never considered possible—or worthy study—before.

She shared her knowledge of technology that was far beyond anything he'd ever known, even teaching him how to fly the shuttle. She taught him the language of the Amarcians, though it wasn't really spoken much anymore. She showed him how to laugh at things, how to smile again, and how to lose some of that arrogance and anger that he'd built up over the years. Most importantly, she helped him rebuild the trust in people he swore he'd lost years ago.

A particularly special lesson from her came nearly eighteen months after that first heavenly kiss in the desert. On a beautiful autumn day, while family and friends were gathered in Lhant for his brother's wedding, she made him understand that life shouldn't be scripted and that being reckless could be fun.

That day, he proudly wore his dress uniform and stood up next to his brother while he said his vows. He kept looking at Pascal during the ceremony, standing behind Sophie, smiling that uncanny grin. Entranced in how beautiful she looked in the simple, strapless dark green dress, he almost forgot in which pocket he had placed the rings. When she noticed him glancing at her, she winked, and pulled at the sopherias that she wore in her hair.

Evening came and the party began in the town square. It was a carousel of food, wine, music, and laughter that he knew his mother had spent nearly every waking moment of the last year envisioning and planning. Shortly before the formal meal began, Pascal grabbed his sleeve and dragged him away from the festivities. With only minimal protest, he let her lead him back up to the hill where Asbel and Cheria had said their vows only hours before. It was truly a sight; the flowers were painting a riot of color against the sunset, and the huge tree at the back of the meadow glowed warmly from the bits of cryas that had been hung on it for the wedding.

"You said you needed something," he said. "What is it? They're going to miss us."

"I doubt it."

"We're both seated at the head table. It's kind of obvious if we're not there."

"We are here. There. Whatever. Quit worrying so much, sheesh."

He sighed. "And once again, you are completely missing the point or ignoring me."

"I have to fix something," she said, running to the side of the cliff and looking down. With a smirk, she quickly unfastened the high heeled shoes that she had been wearing and unceremoniously tossed them over the side. "Oops. Those things suck."

"All better?" he asked, unable to resist the urge to grin. "We need to get back. I remind you that I'm supposed to give the toast, and that's scheduled to happen soon."

"What? Seriously? Who schedules things at a wedding? That's totally lame."

"Most people."

"I wouldn't."

"Allow me to quantify: most normal people."

"Normal-schmormal," she said, twirling around in the field of flowers. "When I get married, it's not going to be some stuffy boring wearing-shoes-that-hurt-like-hell and this nasty-crap-Cheria-put-on-my-eyes party."

"They are completely new inventions called eyeliner and mascara," he teased, but couldn't ignore the fact that she had mentioned that she had put some kind of thought—no matter how fleeting—into her own wedding. Whether or not it included him, it still made him curious. "You've actually thought about this?"

She stopped spinning and trotted up to him. Touching her chin in thought, she smiled as she spoke. "Of course I have! All girls do y'know. It'll be at the beach resort and everyone will wear beach clothes! I'll wear a cute little sundress and no shoes, and we'll eat banana bread, banana pudding, bananas dipped in chocolate, and of course banana pies! Oh, I'll decorate with sand sculptures of the Sunscreen Rangers, and beach balls and snorkels and fins! I'll build some machines to automatically fill people's glasses with booze and we will just totally party! No schedules. No speeches. No heels. No makeup."

"That sounds…completely bizarre and yet some how, quite appropriate."

She grabbed his hands, entwining her fingers with his as she grinned up at him. "Oh, and you have to jump out of a cake! While wearing that uniform you have on because you look totally awesome in it."

"And what place of honor would I hold by jumping out of a cake?" he asked, his cheeks flushing at the compliment.

"Well, I'm not going to marry myself! That would be totally weird!" she laughed, still holding his hands hostage.

He tugged her closer and asked seriously, "are you saying that you want to get married?"

"Well sure, someday," she said, the thought as short-lived as the breeze that had picked up. Shivering, she pulled back from him and rubbed her arms. "Who makes a dress with no sleeves or straps or pockets and so long that you can trip on it? I'm only wearing this ridiculous thing for Cheria. Because seriously? It's totally hideous."

He unbuttoned his jacket and placed it over her shoulders, a bit disappointed the conversation had changed so quickly. "You look absolutely stunning."

She stretched her arms through the sleeves, but on her petite frame, it hung to her knees. "Pfft. Totally not my thing. Don't get used to seeing me like this." Placing her hand in one of the pockets of the jacket, she pulled out a piece of paper. "What's this?"

"My speech. The one I'm supposed to be giving…oh, right about now."

"Do it later," she said, unfolding the paper and reading it aloud, imitating his voice as she did so. "'Dear family, friends, and dignified guests…' What the hell? Who talks like this? That's a little stiff, even for you!"

He reached for it, but she playfully held it out of his grasp. "Give it back."

Still pretending to speak in his voice, she continued reading. "'I am honored to have been asked to blah-blah-blah." Laughing, she shook head. "This is a wedding, not a military report, Hu."

"Just…give it back."

She relented, but only after touching his chest. "Stuff like this needs to come from here…not…wherever this came from."

Sighing, he tucked the paper into his trouser pocket. "This isn't exactly my forte, all right?"

Leaning her back against his chest, she drew his arms around her waist. "You just need to say nice things about Asbel and Cheria and how happy you are for them. You're a smart guy. You can think of something that isn't totally lame and boring."

"A smart guy doesn't leave his brother's wedding moments before he's expected to speak." Her neck was tilted in the perfect angle to kiss, but he resisted, lest he not be able to stop.

"You've already missed it, but you can make it up later," she said, toying with the ribbons and medals on the breast of the jacket. "Besides, you have me as an excuse so that's like kind of license to do whatever the hell you want." She ran her hands along his arms as she deepened her voice to impersonate one of her many nameless critics. "Oooh, there's Unpredictable Pascal again, being totally never on time and doing what she wants whenever she wants to! Poor Hubert just got dragged along on the crazy ride!"

"Crazy or not, I can't complain about the ride." Her nearness, their earlier discussion, and the scent of the sopherias in her hair were conspiring against him. "And what does Predictably Unpredictable Pascal want to do right now?"

"What we usually do when we haven't seen each other for awhile," she said, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. "It's been like four weeks."

"Five weeks and two days," he corrected, letting his lips barely touch the tender skin of her cheek. "We should really get back, but I'll make it up to you later. You have my word."

She turned to face him, sliding her hand along his arm and jerking him towards her as she flopped onto the ground. "But I need something."

Pulled forward, he caught himself before falling, and gave her a smile as he pressed his glasses up his nose with his free hand. "And what do you need, Pascal?"

"You have to come closer to find out," she whispered, giving him a wink and still holding his wrist captive. "It's totally a secret."

Temptation was beckoning him, taunting him, as he glanced towards Lhant for just a moment as if staring down guilt itself. Finally giving in, he sat next to her amid the flower covered meadow and repeated the question he already knew the general answer to, but was eager to hear how she would say it this time. "What do you need, Pascal?"

She plucked a single sopheria from the ground and tucked it behind his ear before resting her forehead against his. "I need to totally flirt you out of your pants."

The direct, yet amusing answer encouraged him to ignore the nagging voice of responsibility and decency in the back of his head. Kissing her, he guided her to the ground, the last twinge of shame washed away by her fingers tangling into his hair. He relished every touch he gave, each kiss he received, every whimper he coaxed from her, and allowed himself to enjoy the wicked thrill of the mistake they were making.

In those moments he didn't care where he was supposed to be. He didn't care what responsibilities he had tossed aside. He didn't even care that his normally impeccable dress uniform coat was being wrinkled and stained by the grass underneath her. Hell, he didn't even care if they got caught.

When they returned to the reception, dessert was already being served. She quickly relinquished his coat, and he took his place at the table between his brother and Malik. Before he could answer Asbel's question of where had he been, Malik began tapping his glass with a knife to call the attention of the guests.

The crowd began to quiet and look to him and he reached into his pocket to find the paper that he had placed there earlier was gone.

"Damn it," he muttered.

"Missing something?" Malik asked, a big smirk on his face.

"My speech."

"Perhaps it's where you found those grass stains on your back, Lieutenant," the older man teased.

The guests had settled and were looking at him expectedly. It was then that he saw Pascal down front in the crowd, holding a piece of paper and shredding it with a maniacal grin on her face. Tossing it like confetti, she winked at him before running back—barefoot—her place at the far end of their table.

He drew a long breath collecting his thoughts, and praying the right words would come to him. "To those of us who have known Asbel and Cheria since they were children, I'm sure this day comes as no surprise. They were always together then, as they are now. Though, I hope Asbel has learned an important lesson over the years—when you come home from breaking the rules and hanging around on Lhant Hill with flowers in hand, be sure that you always give them to Cheria."

He turned to see his brother laughing at that memory from their childhood and it gave him the confidence to continue to improvise.

"We all know that both of them were ignorant of their feelings for each other for awhile, but I'm glad they figured it out because they are perfect for each other. In fact, I hope they keep a little bit of that ignorance because I believe the magic of first love is the innocence in knowing it will never end. And I know this one won't. They're both far too stubborn to give up, especially since they've come this far."

Raising his glass of wine, he turned to the two of them. "So, I ask that everyone join me in offering a toast to the two of you. May the saddest moment of your future be no worse than the happiest of your past."

There was actual applause and cheers as the happy couple touched their glasses and he felt himself smiling and enjoying the moment. Whatever he had just said seemed well received or instantly forgotten, but either way, it didn't matter. It actually felt good to work without a script or a plan for a change.

Later, as the guests were enjoying a little dancing and a bit too much liquor, Asbel walked up to him with two glasses of wine, offering one. "Who are you and what have you done with Hubert?"

"Enjoying your wedding, then?" He mused, accepting the drink.

"Where's Pascal?"

"Is anything on fire?"

Asbel's answer sounded more like a question. "I don't think so?"

"Then I have no idea."

Laughing, Asbel clasped him on the shoulder. "Seriously, my brother is never late for anything. I think he plans to plan and has a calendar for his calendar. And, I didn't expect such a touching toast."

"Oh, I'm just full of surprises these days," he said before taking a sip of the wine.

"I guess. Where did you go during dinner?"

He considered how to answer for a moment before supplying: "Pascal needed something."

"What did she need?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to."

"I want to know or I wouldn't be asking."

"Very well," he smirked, knowing that he would evoke an entertaining reaction with the answer. "She needed to take off my pants."

Asbel coughed, sputtering the mouthful of wine he had just sipped. "Oh for the love of cryas! You…c'mon…really…Hubert?!"

"She was quite insistent," he said, grinning as he raised his glass to his lips. "Who am I to deny the woman?"

"I can't believe this."

"For your bride's sake, I only hope that you may know such desperate desire."

"Don't say things like that. It's…creepy. Especially coming from you."

"Why?" he asked, taking pleasure in the good-natured distress he was causing. "I'm probably far better versed in such things than you. Cold desert nights, cramped quarters, long assignments away from home with people who were much older than I—let me just say the army was quite the learning experience."

Asbel cringed. "Just…forget it. I really don't want to think about my little brother like that." After another drink, he tilted his head. "But your Dad is okay with…well, Pascal?"

"If he were alive, somehow, I feel that our father would not care who either of us chose to spend our time with," he said, giving in to his habit of sliding his glasses up his nose. "However, if you are referring to Garrett Oswell, his opinion on the matter is of little concern to me."

"He seemed pretty excited at the thought of you marrying the President's daughter."

"He most certainly was, but once again, I fully disappointed him with no regrets," Hubert said with a smirk. "Contracted marriages may be common in Strahta, but there's no romance in them and the idea of selling off your children to strengthen your political influence disgusts me."

"And there's another thing I thought I'd never hear come out of your mouth."

"Hmm?"

"The word 'romance.'"

He shrugged. "But to answer your question, whatever disdain Garrett has for Pascal is thinly disguised in his desire to manipulate her."

"Manipulate her?"

"I think he wants to gain access to Amarcian technology for his own ends—either another ill fated coup or just the chance to sell it to the highest and most unscrupulous bidder. But his plan has a fatal flaw."

"You mean you?" Asbel asked.

"Hardly. I mean Pascal. That which cannot be predicated cannot be manipulated."

"Well, that's a good thing. I hope that no one in Strahta takes issue with her being…well…her?"

"Depending on who you talk to, it's either a scandal or a fairytale, but I don't give a damn either way," he said, taking another sip of the wine. "Actually, we have more trouble with some of the people in the Enclave. Some of them really do not like Outsiders and they aren't afraid to say it to her face. It upsets her greatly and there seems to be nothing I can do about it, even though I've told her dozens of times I don't care what they think of me."

"Outsiders? That's what they call us even after everything we went through?"

"In polite company and conversation. There are quite a few who don't trust us and don't agree with the cooperation they've shown Fendel." He gave a dark chuckle and shook his head. "The only time I've ever seen Pascal truly angry was when one of her fellow Amarcians referred to me as poilacarié."

"What does that mean?"

"The rough translation is 'filthy-solid-haired-son-of-a-bitch.'"

"Oh man. What did she do?"

"I'm still learning the language, but I believe she told him that if he didn't want her boot up his ass and the business end of her shotstaff at his throat, he better start running."

Asbel shook his head as he grinned. "Leave it to you to learn a-near-extinct language to impress your girlfriend. I guess this is serious. I'm sure Mom will be thrilled if she gets to plan another wedding."

He felt a gentle hand touch his shoulder and turned to see his mother standing there behind the two of them. "Boys, you are neglecting the guests. And Cheria is looking for you, Asbel."

"Amazing," Hubert said with a smile and a flippant wave of his hand. "You managed to summon Mother with the mere thought of the chance to repeat this fiasco."

She squeezed the two of them around the waists. "I would love to do so. I'm so happy for you both."

"Well, should the time come," he said, before finishing his glass. "I just hope you like beaches and bananas."

And now, three months after the wedding, here they were, once again having a meeting that wasn't planned. Somehow, some way, they'd both managed to be in the same town on the same day without any real warning. His orders had changed at the last minute, and so did her mind as to where she was going. So, through pure coincidence, they found themselves in the snow-covered town of Velanik and he was about to receive yet another lesson. This time, it was to be about trust, betrayal, and forgiveness.

She spotted him first. It would've been hard to miss him, dressed in his uniform and surrounded by four of his highest-ranking subordinates. She didn't hesitate to run up behind him and cover his eyes, shouting, "Guess who?!"

He laughed—out loud even—much to the shock of his officers. These men knew him well and never before had they seen him break decorum. The quizzical and amused glances they shared with each other told of their entertainment at the interruption and, more so, his response of rattling off names of people they both knew.

Finally, after an exhaustive list of names followed by her constant response of: "Nope! Try again!" He brought the charade to a close with, "By simple process of elimination, then it must be Pascal."

"Elimination?" she teased, looking at the other soldiers. "I think you just ran out of names."

"Or patience," he replied, though his tone was gentle as he took her hands and pulled her around to face him.

His men quickly found things to busy themselves with, giving sharp salutes before making themselves scarce.

When he was alone with her, the pleasantries were exchanged; the hellos, what are you doing heres, and it's been awhiles. Before the conversation could deviate from the requisite to the important, she gave him a hug. "How long you here for?"

"We're supposed to leave in a few hours."

"Awesome," she said, giving him a wink. "I'll be at the inn."

Minutes later found him making excuses to his officers and giving them orders to continue packing up the camp. It wasn't really selfish, he reasoned. He had already done his work and these men could certainly handle supervising the small vanguard they'd brought. Besides, he hadn't seen her in six weeks and she was supposed to bring him some new information on the steam system in Fendel. It wasn't wrong. I couldn't be wrong. Could it?

He ignored the nagging voice in the back of his mind, and when he finally had her in his arms, she asked, "How did you get away?"

"I told them I had to review some of your research."

She laughed, touching a finger to his nose. "That kind of sounds really dirty when you think about it."

"I guess, but it is mostly true," he answered, pulling her close. "I've missed you so much."

"Yeah, I missed you, too. Sorry that I missed that ball thing."

Kissing her cheek, he whispered, "Someday you'll have to come to one. I think you're just avoiding it."

"Like I want to go to some fancy-schmancy party where all the pretty-pretty Strahtan girls are all over you," she said, before raising her voice an octave. "Oh, Hubert! Check out my ginormous—" she paused, sticking out her chest. "Dowry!"

He laughed. "That is annoyingly accurate."

"See, that's why I don't want to go," she said, playfully unfastening the buckles of his jacket. "I'd totally cause a scene and get you in trouble or get my butt arrested or something."

He shook his coat off and then placed a finger to her lips. "I could be persuaded to pay your bail if that were to happen. Besides, those women bore me. They have no aspirations of their own save to find a man to provide them a life of luxury."

"Do I bore you?" she asked, trying to bite his finger.

Lifting her chin, he smiled down at her. "I don't think you could if you even tried."

He kissed her then, relishing these moments that seemed to come less often these days. The guilt he'd felt earlier dissipated at her touch. He deserved this he told himself. He deserved a few moments alone with her, a few moments to hold her and forget all of his responsibilities.

She slid his shirt off his shoulders, and nipped at his neck, raking her teeth teasingly along his collarbone. She had never really asserted herself like before, pulling on his belt and drawing him along with her. Normally she'd let him lead, but this change was refreshing, hell, it was arousing. Control wasn't something he usually relinquished willingly, but he trusted her so much, that he made the exception.

Content to play along with this new game, he didn't resist when she shoved him backwards onto the bed and then removed all of her own clothes, tossing them over her shoulder into a messy little pile. Crawling up next to him, she straddled him, kissing her way along his bare chest before freeing him of his boots and pants. He shivered, visibly even, as her breath warmed him and her hands wandered teasingly along his sides, each flick of a fingertip making way for the next electrifying touch.

He reached towards her, to run his fingers through her hair and pull her close for a kiss, but she suddenly captured his hands and straightened herself up. Deliberately, methodically, she guided them to the simple metallic headboard and closed each finger around it with annoying precision before kissing each of his closed fists. With a grin, she met his gaze. "If you let go, I'll stop."

At those unexpected words, he fully surrendered to her, feeling incredibly liberated as he did so. He decided to let her do whatever she wanted to him, allowing the most banal instincts just take over as he just lay there, completely at her mercy.

With a wink, she snatched his glasses off his face and put them on, wearing them as a headband in her hair. Grinning as she checked that his hands were still securely gripped on the headboard, she gave his shoulder a few bites before demanding a breathless kiss. He felt her jerk his shorts down just enough before planting her hands on his chest. Taking him quickly, ruthlessly, deeply, she didn't bother to try and make it last long at all.

And, for that he was grateful.
Because he knew he wouldn't be able to.
Not like this.

When it was over, she collapsed on top of him, fighting to catch her breath. Only then did he take his hands from the headboard and delicately place them around her waist. Kissing her forehead and landing another on her cheek, he searched his extensive vocabulary for the right words, but only managed, "That was intense."

"Yeah," she said, slowly rolling off of him to curl up against his shoulder. "My legs are still all tingly and shaky."

"I don't think I've ever felt that close to you before," he whispered, taking his glasses back. He desperately wanted to be able to see her face more clearly in that moment.

She pulled the covers over them and cuddled up against him. "Yeah. Wow. I think I'm just gonna stay here for awhile."

He had no objections to that despite the fact he knew he would have to leave soon. "What brought that on?"

She toyed with a few strands of his hair. "Sometimes a man who is powerful in everyday life needs to feel powerless."

His brow furrowed. That certainly wasn't something she would've ever come up with, and the way she spoke it sounded like she was quoting someone or something she read. It made him curious. "Where did you hear that?"

There were answers he expected to hear. Fourier. Captain Malik. Even Richard. But what she said was so unexpected, so wrong, he had to ask her to repeat it.

"I said your mom."

Her confirmation of the words caused him to pull away from her, jump out of bed, and hastily cover himself with his coat. He'd never felt exposed around her before but that had managed to change in the span of a simple sentence. "What the hell!? What the hell were you doing talking to my mother about…us?! About what we do?!"

"Because she's like the coolest mom ever!"

"She's still my mother! And I don't need her knowing what we—"

"She knows we sleep together," she answered, still completely oblivious to just how wrong a thing it was to say, and at that moment of all times. Laughing as she rolled up in a sheet, she teased, "and now all of Velanik probably does, too! You were like totally loud. It was awesome."

"That isn't helping!"

"Well, what do you want me to say?"

"Get dressed," he said, tossing her clothes to her. "Nothing. Please. Say nothing."

She seemed genuinely confused and it infuriated him. "Why?"

"Do you not see how inappropriate that is?" he asked, looking around for his slacks and quickly putting them on. "To talk to my mother about our most intimate moments?"

"It wasn't like I spilled all of the juicy bits! Cheria and I were talking about the wedding and how much fun it was and how you missed making the toast on time and how it was my fault—"

"Another mistake you convinced me to make," he snapped, sitting down to pull on his boots.

"You weren't exactly complaining at the time," she laughed, pulling on her pants as she lay on the bed, kicking her legs in the air for good measure. "I think it was more like 'Ooohh…Paasscaaaallll…I looooove yoooou soooo muuuuuch….'"

He glared at her. "Don't do that."

"What?"

"Imitate me, especially…" he paused, the flush on his face burning even more. "Just don't imitate me."

"It was awesome then. You can't deny it was awesome. Probably cuz we hadn't seen each other in weeks!" She barely took a breath as she quickly finished dressing.

He glowered at her, but she didn't even notice.

"Anyway, I think Cheria is kind of like jealous about stuff like that and that's how we started talking. I guess since she's kind of around Asbel all the time it's…well, boring. But since we never see each other, when we do, we just want to rip each other's clothes off and bwah-ahh-ah!"

He pulled his shirt on with a sigh. "A touching and yet disturbing thought. And yet you still fail to see how inappropriate this is?"

"Aww…it was just a little girl talk."

"That involved my mother," he reiterated.

She jumped up off the bed. "Well, she is a girl."

"I am aware of that fact!"

"Wow, you're still angry? I mean, the whole conversation wasn't about you."

"Oh, that makes me feel so much better!"

She laughed, giving a little twirl before sitting down to put her shoes back on. "I mean, the way Cheria said it, I guess Asbel kind of like needs a roadmap or something…"

"I really, really don't want to hear specifics about my brother's bedroom exploits."

She shrugged. "Come on, it was just wine and talk. Lots of wine, little bit of talk, oh, and soda for Sophie."

"Sophie is a child! She shouldn't be privy to such discussions!"

"She's gotta learn sometime," she said with a shrug and a chuckle. "I mean, she used to think that men had babies. Cheria totally had to set her straight on that."

"Set her straight while drinking with you, Cheria, and my mother. Brilliant. I'm sure she was formally educated in that setting."

"Oh, chill out. We didn't let Sophie drink."

"That's what you're taking away from this?" he asked, shaking his head at how incredulous the conversation had become. "That's what you think I'm so upset about!? Do you not see that I can't go home now! I can't show my face in Lhant ever again! I can't look at my mother or sister-in-law or niece without them knowing things they absolutely do not need to know about me!"

"I think you're being a liiiiittle dramatic."

"Hardly," he growled, as he pulled on his coat and buckled it

"C'mon, your mom is cool. I would've never known that putting your hands on the headboard trick if she hadn't told me." And then, as if the conversation couldn't get any more uncomfortable, she decided to add: "Apparently your dad was into that kind of thing, too. Except from what your mom said, he totally liked it a whole lot rougher."

He felt his stomach flip at that revelation and clasped his hand over his mouth. "I need to vomit."

"Why? Maybe it's hereditary or something?" she said, touching a finger to her chin in thought as if this was an actual hypothesis worth investigating. "I should like ask Fourier since she's all about biology and stuff."

"STOP!" he shouted at her. "This isn't funny! It's not amusing! It's not something that you can talk about as if you're telling me the weather! And it's certainly not something you should consider research worthy!"

"You're really mad?" she asked, finally coming to the realization.

"The hell I'm mad!"

She actually looked contrite. "Why? I didn't say anything bad about you."

"I repeat for your benefit: it is completely inappropriate to discuss what we do when we're alone with other people—especially my mother!"

A long silence held as he moved to the mirror, pulled a comb from his jacket pocket and fixed his hair.

"I thought you liked what I did." She said quietly, coming up behind him and talking to his reflection.

"Don't you get it? I did! I liked it a lot!" He spun around to face her. "But you ruined it the instant you told me that you received directions from my mother! Did she also suggest other positions we should try? Or perhaps locations? I so would like to know exactly where and how I was conceived!"

"She didn't say," she answered, making a puzzled face. "But I can ask if you want."

"That was sarcasm!" he shouted, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a gentle shake as if to bring her to senses. "How can you be so smart and yet so stupid at the same time, Pascal?"

He'd never called her stupid before and the shock on her face showed it. Eccentric. Silly. Amusing. Insufferable. Maybe even crazy. But never stupid.

She stepped back from him and bit her lip. "I'm sorry."

He was so tired of hearing it, so tired of spending countless nights wondering if she was ever going to return, so tired of the excuses. As much as he cared for her, he unloaded, firing a fast, clipped, barrage of words that were streaked with as much anger as pain. "You're always sorry! You're sorry for never visiting! You're sorry for never showing up to any of the state functions I beg you to attend with me! You're sorry for saying the most inappropriate things at the most inappropriate times! You're sorry you forgot how many days you spent in some new ruins! You're sorry you didn't bother to send me a message because some discovery you made distracted you!"

She looked at him, her eyes glassy, and just repeated herself. "I'm really, really sorry."

They stared at each other for what seemed like eons before he shook his head and lowered his voice, but the words were still harsh. "You know what, Pascal? I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry I put up with this crap for so long! I'm sorry I want more out of this relationship than just seeing each other once a month and sweating up the sheets in some inn! I'm sorry I've spent the last two years of my life worrying if and when you were going to come back to me! I'm sorry that I love you so much that I would give my own life for you!"

He was turning to leave, when she grabbed his hand. "Wait."

"What is it now?" he asked, sliding his glasses up the bridge of his nose and his voice finding that arrogance he'd worked so hard to lose, especially around her. "Are you going to tell me that you betrayed my trust further and discussed more of our personal business with more of our mutual friends? I'm sure Malik and Richard would be amused—if not delighted—to hear it in nauseating detail."

"No," she said, tugging on his arm and trying to force him to look her in the eye. "I know I screwed up. I mean, I didn't at first, but now I know how mad this made you and I'm really sorry. I guess, I just wanted to make you happy and then we had promised no secrets so I-"

He tensed at her touch, but didn't pull away. "This is definitely something that would be the exception to the rule! Especially given the tenuous relationship I am striving to rebuild with my mother!"

"But y'know, she wants you to be happy, and I want to make you happy," she said, tilting her head back and forth. "So…it was all well intended, y'know?"

"I'm sure you both had my best interests at heart," he grumbled, frowning as he freed his arm from her grasp. Walking towards the door, he felt his heart sinking into his stomach. It killed him to leave her like this, but it was honestly the last straw. He could put up with her unpredictable nature and her inability to follow any sort of plan. He could stand the outrageous things that came out of her mouth. He could even tolerate the inane nicknames she called him.

But not this.

This was a complete violation of his trust and in the worst way possible. Glancing over his shoulder, he gave her a heart-broken farewell. "My men are waiting. Good luck with your research, discoveries, and whatever it is that you do."

She called to him, the words straining in her throat as tears slipped down her cheeks. "For what it's worth, you were my greatest discovery, Hu."

That stopped him in his tracks. He turned slowly and stared at her, knowing now he couldn't walk away from her. Not when she had said something so beautiful, so romantic, so sincere—the perfect declaration of her feelings for him. His breath caught in his chest as he walked back to her. Pulling her into a firm embrace, and feeling his throat tightening with emotion, he whispered her name, unable to find any other words that he needed in that instant.

Resting her head on his chest, she traced the embroidery of his uniform jacket with a finger. "It's true. Ruins are fun. Building stuff is even better. I could kachunk-a-chunk all day making some weird little gadget and it makes me feel useful. But when I'm with you, I feel happy. I don't feel so alone in the world. I know that some people say I'm out of touch with reality or that I'm insane. And y'know, sometimes I forget things. Where I am, where I'm going, when I last bathed, when I last ate, and even what I was thinking about. Totally unimportant things!" She looked up at him and gave a smile. "But I'm certain about one thing. As along as I'm around you, I'm not insane. Because as crazy as this sounds, especially with you being so you and me being so me, we are the only people who really understand each other."

He smiled at her and summoned all of his courage, hoping she understood exactly what he was asking. "Come back with to Strahta with me, then. You're the one thing that keeps me sane and I don't want to be away from you for another day."

"Really? Even after I royally screwed up?"

"Yes," he sighed, touching a finger to her cheek. "My mother told me something once, too. Perfect love allows for all of our failings. We have to learn to forgive and forget because life's too short to be angry all the damn time."

"She's a smart lady. And I'm really, totally, sorry."

"I am sorry, too. You didn't deserve my anger. You never deserve it," he whispered. Then, he repeated his earlier question, just to make sure he heard the blissful answer again. "So you'll come home with me?"

"Yeah, of course," she said with a grin. A big, wonderful, ridiculous grin. "But I need to run out and get some supplies first."

"My vanguard is supposed to leave within the hour."

She gave him a quick kiss. "I'll be right back. I promise."

He waited.

An hour passed.
Two.
Half a day.

But she never returned.