Romantic comedy. Nothing epic. But this is still a big deal for me, because chapter fics are not my forte.

Affectionately dedicated to Defectivebrainstorm and Xekstrin. Surprise. ;3

(-...- = Stork.)

(~...~ = Starling.)

Don't own squat.

~o~

A lovely dawn sprayed like a hose through the steam covered window, encompassing the dullness of a green pair of eyes, battle torn and weary. Out in the middle of nowhere, it was easier to enjoy things slowly, easing into them like they could last forever, and if one settled down in the Now like a pro, then it would last forever. The seconds would simply melt away, escaping the clenched binding hand of psychological time, and one could play on the merry-go-round of agelessness until they barfed up their happy satisfied soul. Unfortunately, it was not one of those moments. And quite frankly, Starling could do without the natural high. Slender pale white legs hung over the side of a cast iron Marie Louise bathtub. The tiny bathroom was stifling with intense humidity, threatening to cake her lungs with moisture. It was of no concern, however.

She was enjoying a study session, the buzz from her hand-rolled cigarette not hindering, but sharpening her skills and perception. Her disenchanted gaze flitted expertly across the page, deductive aptness never ceasing, never resting in spite of the calmness she felt from reading the verboten words. This kind of peace only came around about every hundred or so years, and yet she enjoyed it only to the extent of her cynical abilities. Her stomach was jumping churning in ways that battle and martial arts could never replicate, but it was already the hundredth time she had read the five page letter secretly delivered to her obscurely placed location. The war was over. Cyclonia was dead and gone. A decade had passed, and now there wasn't even word of resistances or small leftover armies from Cyclonis's forces popping up and stirring up trouble. On the outside, she made the necessary preparations and duties. Terras were reduced to rubble, while the people were stricken with a the smiling depression syndrome; happy on the outside that the battles had ceased, but still feeling the never-ending ache of loss and suffering clung to their wounded hearts.

Sometimes she could fool herself into looking down on those people, thinking that they were ungrateful for the peace to keep hanging onto the memories and the past like lifelines. But like the smart, intelligent woman she was, she knew better than to truly believe those days were easy to let go. It had been nearly fifteen years, and she still felt the urge to vomit when she remembered her comrades being slain. That was the beginning of the war; so long ago, it seemed. And whenever she chose to indulge in the sadness brought from such recollections, the bile still frothed and seethed in her stomach as her senses were assaulted by their spilled blood.

It was laughable at times. She probably had some kind of coping disorder. A mental illness. A…something something insert long medical word here. But there was a certain appeal of talking only of simple pleasantries; only tasks in the line of duty. Awards. They were so present, so dismissive of the painful past and the leering future. All of her worries just seemed to dissipate.

In those early hours of the morn, with the sun creeping up slowly on the plateau of Terra Mesa, Starling found that she was not in the past. Nor the future. Not even in the present. All three at once nestled themselves right in the center of her brain as she slowly, waveringly, read the pages of the letter grasped in her calloused slender hand. She no longer slept, and she couldn't tell why. With no time set aside for rest and fitful dreams, days were long, and her work efficient. Though, most of her time the days of late was spent either staring at the sunrise, staring at the sunset, staring at the sky, staring at her skimmer that was more or less put out of commission as of the last few months…

Or sitting in the bathtub, permeating in lukewarm water and getting somewhat faint by the thick acrid smoke from her fresh chemically absent tobacco, studying.

So what exactly was the woman studying? There were no essays, no pictures, no maps, no plans, and least of all no books, for she had thrown all of these things away years ago so she wouldn't have objects of tangibility reminding her of what her mind would never let her forget anyway. Long fingers brought the cigarette up to her lips again, inhaling, holding her breath, and exhaling, mist of herbal death mixing with the humid steam and rising to the grime covered ceiling. The parchment in her hand was starting to get slightly soggy in all of the humidity, which circulated in the bathroom like a sauna, but she just sat and read, biding her time like she was never able to before. In a carefree manner she skimmed to her favorite part of the letter.

- You know me. It's hard to imagine me acting calm in any given situation, let alone when a flock of occucrows swarms around me ready to peck out my eyeballs. In an instant I panicked, and threw everything I could at them, but it was like they knew my every action. They KNEW, I tell you. So after a few of their beaks (which probably carried more diseases than I could ever name...the Zartaclan shingles will probably erupt on the surface of my skin any day now) sank into the tender nape of my neck, I finally plucked up something resembling courage from my gullet and BAM, I threw them my knapsack that was filled with arachnoid meat and they tore it apart like a pack of piranhas! Oh, the carnage was beautiful. But I still gulp down my spit at the thought of it...that could have been me they dismembered, after all. -

Starling took a quill from the wobbly table next to the bathtub, dipping it in a black bottle and applying it skillfully to a fresh page of parchment. She had a habit of writing her reply as she read, for his letters were often long and frighteningly detailed. So much to take note of, so much to remember. So much to inwardly laugh about, because otherwise he would shy away from her playful mirth in the face of his close calls.

~ And you pretend that the thought of your own precious corpse wouldn't have looked the least bit attractive as it was being torn apart. Dear you can be very modest. I like that. ~

Her quill dripped with ink, as well as thick sarcasm that she always had harbored under her surface of straightforward earnestness. The sincerity would never die of course; the everlasting softness of her voice was proof that not even a battle worn warrior who had, at one point, become so used to death that a faceless cadaver only drew out the question from her jaded mind, 'I wonder if they have any useful supplies in their pockets'. Attention turning back to the letter, her gaze went from one that was tinged with sparkling amusement and mischief to an expression of soft affection.

- Shamefully, I don't get much of a kick out of flying around risking my life without you around anymore. Aerrow is desperate about the reformation. Each night he stays awake in his room just plotting and writing. It's been more than ten years, and he has the most obsessive compulsive member of his squadron actually worried about his mental health. There are so many schematics posters taped to his walls it's almost as if Piper has infused some of her DNA into his skin when he wasn't looking. -

Starling dipped her quill again.

~ And what about yourself? Am I supposed to believe that you're handling the reformation beautifully as opposed to him? We're all suffering from a lack of purpose. Why do you think I moved myself out to this house in bumfuck nowhere? Out of all of you I know for a fact I needed the most rest. ~

She could imagine his reply to something like that. 'So rest to you means isolation?' But she didn't cross it out. His honesty was something she valued greatly, and she knew that while it was a big part of his personality, he only authentically scolded those he cared about. Her eyes scanned the rest of his letter, heart fluttering in ways that even her womanly adult state suddenly felt like a young teenager struck by a pair of pretty eyes. Nuclear yellow was more like it. The kind that peered out at you from between the bushes in a jungle at night.

- Don't expect this all the time, because I know how much you enjoy being bored by my near death experiences instead. But dare I say it, I miss you terribly. It just isn't the same without having that delightful burst of bat repellent go off each time you open your door. You probably wouldn't want me to, but I'm tempted to go out there and install several bat repellent devices in your house so you'll be well protected wherever you go. It wouldn't matter that Mesa is out in the middle of the sunlight all day long, they could come into your attic at night, and I don't think I can even stomach the thought (or...could I?) of you being ravaged by their disgusting and wonderfully dangerous pointy teeth. My neurotics want me to protect myself and everyone around me naturally, but I could never really decipher completely what it was about you that amplified that by ten fold. Not that you need my protection of course...remind me, how many times did you kick my ass in training? It's a strange feeling for me really. I don't think I'll ever get used to it. But funnily enough, I hope I never do. Take care. Write back soon. -

Starling stared at the last few sentences blankly, but in her mind a hundred or so memories of his face and their many expressions flashed soothingly behind her eyelids as she blinked forlornly. His letters made her day worth experiencing, but it did not alleviate the aching pain in her chest that she always did her best to ignore. He spoke the truth; it was a strange feeling, and it wasn't bizarre exclusively to him. The urge to scribble down the rest of her reply wasn't imminent. She put out her cigarette in the ashtray beside her, noticing that the stick had burned all the way down and threatened to delicately singe her fingers. Taking her bottle of ink, quills, and precious parchment, setting them down on the small glass table next to the bathtub and moving them safely away from the edge, she stood. The water fell from her fair hued body in crystal rivulets as she stepped out of the tub and began drying her skin and hair with a single fluffy towel. In the mirror across the room she caught an unwanted glimpse of her body, once toned and muscular, now seemingly frail and almost emaciated. Or maybe it was all in her head, among other things that crawled into her vacant mind throughout her self-alienation.

Clutching the towel to the front of her torso, she knelt on her bony knees against the hard cold tile of the bathroom floor, water dripping steadily down the matronly contours of her autumnal face. She looked thoughtful, eyebrows dipped low against her third eye and lips parted in consideration. He never had a knack for showing his feelings so openly, but then again who these days were dumb enough to bare their soul in a time where caring meant having more to lose?

I am.

A dexterous hand gently picked up the quill once more, dunking it gingerly into the bottle and put the sharp inked tip against the page of her response.

~ I have to say, I'm quite flattered by your honesty. Though I'm not one to deny that I too feel that strange sensation you're talking about. I'm sure you remember just what led us here. I know I certainly do, and I wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world. You shouldn't worry about me. I'm doing quite well for myself, and trust me if bats were in my attic I know just as many tricks as you do in getting rid of them. It's not news to anyone how compulsive and paranoid you are, but I had no idea how protective you could be. It's sweet. ~

Starling paused, deciding, deliberating. It was quite odd, really. She never held back before.

And so this time would be no exception.

~ ...I miss you too. It's a quiet life out here, but something is missing. I'm begging you not to ask me to return there again. I left for a reason, and I'm not ready to see you all again. I remember how many times I kicked your ass, can you remember how stubborn I am? Don't fret though, I'll be back there eventually. That is, unless you don't find me first. ~

It was then that a long and genuine smile stretched itself across the plane of her roughened lips.

~ Since you're afraid to say it, I guess I gladly will. I love you Stork. See you around.

Starling. ~