Hello! I'm new to the Kane Chronicles fandom—although I have read the Reading the Red Pyramid story. I guess you should know that I'm a Sanubis fan, 'cuz Walt is MINE. And obviously I luurve Zarter. So…yeah. I'll stop. Enjoy!

I don't own…sadly.

O-o-O

Zia stepped onto the balcony outside Carter's bedroom, her eyes wide on his back. Carter was facing the sunset, leaning against the rail; her attention was momentarily captured by the way the sun shone through his dark curls.

Stop it, she told herself, you will not surrender to this. She would not surrender to these feelings that welled up in her chest; feelings that made her whole body feel warm…

"Carter?" she called. He jumped and almost fell into the East River. "Sorry."

"Zia? How did you…"

"Get in? Khufu. Although he did warn me to be careful near the railing. He gave me a lecture."

Carter smiled and complained, "Am I the only person around here who can't speak baboon?"

"Sadie can't," Zia reminded him.

"She doesn't count; she is a baboon. So what do you need?"

Zia leaned against the door and refused to meet Carter's eyes. "You know how I was talking to you that day in Cairo? How I said I needed to decide?"

"Sure," Carter whispered, his voice thick. "I remember."

"Well, I've been thinking, and…"

"Yeah?"

Could she tell him without hurting him? She didn't want to hurt him like that, didn't want to see his heartbroken face and know that she had caused him such pain…

Why did she care? Why did she care about this so much, this justification of reasons to put off the final words that would shatter her heart—no, Carter's heart. She didn't want that either. She loved Carter—just as a friend, as a brother, as a colleague. That was it. Never mind that thinking about him made her heart race; that didn't mean anything, surely.

Carter frowned at her and asked, "Zia?" But she missed the concerned tone of his voice, because she was momentarily distracted by his lips and the way one corner pulled down farther than the other. She found herself leaning closer to Carter and quickly pulled back, watching a flicker of dejection play across his face as she backed away.

No. She would not hurt Carter like that; he didn't have to know. She turned to leave and called, "Nothing. Never mind; it's nothing."

She was almost gone, almost gone, and when she was alone she could reconcile with these feelings of pain and loss that she didn't understand. But Carter put a hand on her arm, stopping her, and her heart leaped in her chest. You cannot surrender…

Why did she stop breathing when Carter turned her around and she saw him glow in the last vestiges of the dying sun? She shouldn't feel this way; she couldn't allow herself to…love him.

"Zia…tell me. You know you can tell me anything," he whispered. She tried not to think about how warm his hand felt on her skin—and failed, but you had to give her credit for trying.

"I'm afraid to tell you," she breathed back, eyes dropping to the ground.

"Afraid? Why?"

"I think it might…hurt you."

She felt his whole body tense in response.

"Tell me anyway."

"Carter—"

"Just tell me, Zia. I can handle it."

She took a deep breath, placing the stake carefully in the fissure in Carter's heart that she created with every word. She raised the mallet and readied to strike as she looked him in the eye and barely murmured, "Those memories, about everything…about us…those memories…" She allowed tears to trickle from her eyes as she struck and heard two hearts break. She told him, "Those memories aren't mine."

Carter's hand seemed to turn to ice. He took a deep breath and slowly backed away from her. "Of…of course. I understand," he said, sounding mechanical and numb.

Zia wanted to reach out and comfort him as he sat on a lawn chair and glared at his hands.

So why didn't she? Why didn't she comfort him, hold him, love him? Because she did love him, she did, and she had been such a fool to convince herself otherwise, so stupid that she had made Carter look like a genius. Her will crumbled as she strode to the chair and sat close to Carter, closer than general friendship usually allowed, because she wanted so much more than that. She wanted more than the empty, tense space she usually placed between them, more than the barriers that were a last-ditch effort in stopping her inevitable surrender. More than the awkward conversations and calculated avoidances; more than the careful habit of never looking each other in the eyes unless courtesy absolutely demanded it.

She wanted more. She wanted him.

Zia placed a finger under Carter's chin and slowly lifted it until she was looking directly into his tear-filled eyes and thought her heart might very well burst. "They aren't my memories," she whispered, leaning closer, "but we can always make our own."

She couldn't be sure who had kissed who, but it didn't really matter. What did matter was that her free hand held Carter's and it felt very, very nice. And while they were holding hands and kissing Zia was also crying, but they were tears of relief, because she could feel their shattered hearts beginning to mend; not just the wounds she had caused, but the pain of their parents' deaths and the destruction of her village and Carter's fears for the safety of everyone he loved—and now, she realized, she fit into that category too. He loved her, and she loved him, and just maybe everything was going to work out now. Because for the first time in a long time she felt truly safe from everything as Carter untangled his fingers from hers and lifted her into his lap, winding his arms around her. Safe at last.

"Carter, I—oh, sorry, am I interrupting something?"

Carter and Zia very nearly flew to opposite ends of the lawn chair as Walt stopped in the doorway, his expression a mixture of amusement and disgust and embarrassment. Zia had to touch her own cheek and make sure it hadn't actually caught fire, she was blushing so fiercely.

"Uh, sort of," Carter said, and when Zia glanced at him his face was beet red. "Did you need something?"

"Nothing important," Walt smiled, "I'll ask you later, since you're, um…busy." He backed through the other room and into the hallway, not-so-subtly closing the door behind him as he called "Have fun, you two!"

Carter and Zia stared at each other for a full five seconds before they burst out laughing.

It was the strangest thing—this moment felt so right to her, even though six months ago she could have never foreseen it: sitting on a rooftop in the Twenty-First Nome, laughing after kissing Carter Kane.

He slid down to her end of the chair, wrapping his arms around her in a gesture that was not quite a hug and made her feel warm. She gladly returned the embrace, sliding her arms around his neck and resting her head on his chest.

They sat like that for a few minutes, until Carter's mouth found her ear and he whispered, "So, where were we?"

Zia pulled back and smiled at him. "If you want to kiss me again," she informed him, "you can just kiss me."

"I might have to take you up on that," he joked. He pressed his lips to hers.

After a while, Carter broke off and rested his chin on her head. He played with her hair but didn't say anything, even though something was obviously on his mind, and Zia didn't ask.

"Why did you change your mind?" he finally murmured into her hair.

"About what?"

"Me," he explained. "Us. You really didn't want this—I could tell. But then you changed your mind…"

"It hurt," she said. "It hurt you, and it hurt me, and I guess I'd sort of been lying to myself about how I really felt—I didn't want to love you, but I finally decided to…give up."

Carter shrugged, "Good enough for me," and started kissing her again. Zia didn't mind, but she was curious, so she shoved him off. "What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

"Well, I wanted to make sure you actually liked me, instead of just pretending to do it out of pity," he said. "Your feelings are important to me, Zia."

"Right now, I actually feel very good."

"Shall we keep it that way?" Carter shifted her back into his lap, and Zia responded with a contented "Mmm…"

"Thought so," he chuckled, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

She had told herself many times never to give up, never to accept defeat; its taste was bitter. But this was truly a sweet surrender.

O-o-O

Me again.

Zia, dear, Zia: you're an idiot. We all know you love Carter and IF THEY DON'T GET TOGETHER IN THE NEXT BOOK I'M GONNA HURT SOMEBODY.

What? Did you hear something? *whistles…*