Disclaimer: Couldn't you let me own Tin Man just this once?

Author's Note: So my muse has ADHD, those of you who read most of my stuff probably know this. You are also well aware that I am nowhere safe from inspiration: out fencing, sitting in class, doing the dishes, if you give my brain a moment's downtime the muse shall attack. Apparently reading old reviews when bored isn't safe, either. Writer23, if you are still reading my stories, this little ficlet is your fault and thus I do dedicate it to you. Quality Control informs me that y'all are going to want more and that I am to resist the impulse to give it to you. That being so, I warn you now that this be an orphan bastard child, it has no friends, it is what it is and no more. The answer is NO!

...

Wyatt Cain stood silently in the doorway, staring gloomily at the room before him. It was serviceable enough: there was as much space as anyone needed, the bed looked reasonably firm, a sizeable wardrobe stood in the corner, and there was nowhere the ill-intentioned could hide themselves and wait in ambush. The Tin Man surveyed the wardrobe glumly. He didn't have anything to put in it; he was wearing everything he owned. A man might put his gun in there, he supposed, but only if his name was something other than Cain. The revolver wasn't being left out of his reach anytime in the foreseeable future, or probably ever in his life. Not much point putting his clothes in there, either, since he'd be putting them right back on in the morning – assuming, that is, that he managed to settle enough to take them off. He was still relearning how to trust being indoors, but the room would do, just like any other room in any other inn in Central City would have done, it didn't really matter where.

He could have stayed in the palace. They'd offered him a bed, they'd offered him far more than a bed, but he'd refused. This old Tin Man needed to get back on his feet sometime, and it wouldn't be of any service to get used to leaning on the Royal Family, living in the lap of luxury – perhaps not so luxurious as before the witch, but still – becoming accustomed to the kind of quarters a simple commoner like himself couldn't hope to maintain. Not with the kind of job he was liable to get. And he would get a job, he was determined about that. Wyatt Cain was going to earn his way; it was not for him to rest on his laurels and sponge off those grateful for his recent deeds. He'd been uncomfortable enough when the innkeeper insisted on letting the 'Hero of the Eclipse' stay for free, despite all protests – being a celebrity was going to take some getting used to.

There should be work enough out there, what with the recent upheaval and the previous decade of unrest. Jeb was certainly plenty busy, chasing down Longcoats as a member of the newly reformed Royal Army. Cain supposed he could join them, but he wasn't a young man anymore, and having just come from one adventure, he wasn't entirely sure he was ready to start the next. The old Tin Man was not without skills or capabilities, there ought to be something he could put his hand to, some gainful employment, some employer who wasn't so busy being awed by his presence that they made it almost impossible for him to ask for a job in the first place. He wasn't a damn hero, dammit, and there was no cause for them to make it feel like it was beneath him to be looking for work. It was a double blow to his pride all around and he'd only left the Royal Family that morning...

...but no matter, he was a Cain, he was going to figure this out, he would stand on his own two feet, earn his bread, find a place to live and then he was going to...

"Cain!" DG crowed, bursting through the door the way she'd come into his life, barging unexpectedly onto the scene and turning the whole world upside down. He immediately feels what should be fatherly concern at the fact that she is out alone late at night in the middle of Central City for the purpose of invading his...bedroom, for lack of a better word. Much to his chagrin, while she has managed to make him feel all sorts of concern for her in the short few weeks he's known her, he's never been able to make it the least bit fatherly. Which does not sit well with a supposedly honourable man that, while he had been sure, hadn't known he was a widower until days after the non-fatherly concern had started. If the Ahamo had any idea how much an accidental by-product his part in saving the O.Z. was to his instinctive desire right from the beginning to keep a certain girl...woman...girl safe, the Consort was liable to exile the old Tin Man to the Otherside for his presumption. Cain was going to...

"Guess what?" DG chirped, giving the room a cursory glance, "They're letting me select my own council of advisors and whatnot."

"Oh?" Cain murmured back in disinterested inquiry, truly it is disinterested. He is going to take her safely back to the palace and then he is going to...

"Yup. I need all sorts: cultural advisor, political advisor, security advisor..." she trails off with a knowing grin as the Tin Man does a sweep of the hallway before taking a hold of her elbow and escorting her from the room, he's going to...

"By the way, you're hired."

...he's going to thank whatever deity it was that seems to care and prepare for that next adventure, because it truly is inevitable. Good thing really, because in truth, he'd hadn't had the foggiest idea what he else he might do.