Ambrose struggled with his dreadlocked hair. There was no time to get it in proper order, but he couldn't show up with his zip showing, that would be inappropriate. With a fair amount of grumbling, he tied his hair back, the effect was good enough, for now. There was a knock at the door. He was slightly irritated from all the stress, after all, he'd done most of the work planning the official re-inauguration of the Queen and now had to get himself ready with only half an hour left. Nevertheless, Ambrose called out for the visitor to come in.

"Ready, Glitch?"

Ambrose almost tripped over his shoes, conveniently blaming it on his brain still getting used to his body after all that time seperated.

"No, not at all. I'm a complete mess, and I honestly can't wear this coat, it's torn to shreds. What'll they think, the great advisor Ambrose running around dressed like a scarecrow! I guess at least that means I'll be less likely to blend into the wallpaper, ha ha. And they gave me this coat but look at it, it's a military coat! I'm a thinker, not a fighter. Except I suppose it both--"

"Look," Cain interrupted him, "there's only half an hour left, and if you're so concerned about making a good impression you should stop wasting it with talking." The tinman picked up the military coat, pulling his razor from his pocket. Ambrose couldn't help notice Cain was already cleanly shaved and dressed in smart silver suit.

"Now, if we'd just remove this bit... and that..." Cain continued, carefully cutting off the most obvious military regalia. "Yes, that's much better, don't you think? Anyway, it's red, I'm sure it'll look fine on you." He handed the coat back to Ambrose, who had to make a conscious effort to take it. He'd just been complimented. By Cain. His heart made an awkward sideways hop, but he managed not to make it show. With a sigh he abandoned his old coat, worn and torn and his constant companion on their yourney. Shrugging into the new one, Ambrose tried not to think of Cain's eyes on him. He straightened his back and looked in the mirror. The new coat was of an unfamiliar cut, but it looked decent on him, and with his hair pulled back you'd never know he was a head-case. From the corners of his eyes he could see Cain nod approvingly. He smiled all through the ceremony, a warm glow somewhere inside.

______________________________________

Glitch stepped inside the beautifully ridiculous van, and into a gun against his face. Carefully pushing it away from him, he sat down next to Cain, who was obviously awake by now.

"You've been sleeping for hours... like a baby with his pacifier." Glitch studied Cain as he spoke. The man still seemed shaken and only half-conscious.

"I thought you were dead," came the answer.

"Ditto. You know, I may have saved you from hypothermia, but um," he paused and help up the toy horse, a bullet embedded in it, "this is what saved your life. It stopped the bullet." He handed the toy to Cain. For a moment, the tinman just looked at it, memories flickering across his face clear like a movie. Glitch couldn't help notice the man looked rather attractive.

"DG?"

"Azkadellia," Glitch answered, countering the not-quite-question with a not-quite-answer.

"Raw?"

"Ah, I don't know I can't find him. Either they took him too, or he's dead. Or..." He sighed.

"Maybe he ran away."

"You know you really should do something about that bitter cynicism of yours, Cain!" Ambrose grinned, hoping the joke would lighten up the atmosphere.

"Why? Someone's gotta keep your wide-eyed optimism in check."

Ambrose let out a short, nervous laugh, but Cain seemed dead serious, so he quieted down again. There was a moment of somewhat awkward silence. Glitch scratched his hair, looking up when Cain spoke again.

"Hey, Glitch?"

"What?"

"I owe you one."

______________________________________

Scissors in one hand, a lock of his neglected hair in the other, and even with the knowledge that as advisor to the Queen he should look presentable, Ambrose hesitated to get rid of his hair. During the long, agonising time without his mind, he'd gotten used to it. Finally, he put the scissors down again and went to look for the person who might be able to help with the decision. Although it had been a long day, and was getting quite late, he was sure the man was still awake.

Cain had moved into the caste in Central City, unsure where to go now the battle was fought. He'd been offered a job as a tinman again, but refused, saying that was a past life now. Ambrose supposed he had no real reason to be here, he just stuck around. He wished he could give Cain that reason.

Knocking on the former tinman's door, Ambrose felt a short and unreasonable spike of nervousness, adrenalin. Cain opened the door, and he waved enthusiastically, diguising his nerves as his usual lively personality.

"Hello Glitch. Wearing the old coat again?" Cain looked him up and down, an amused look on his face.

"Oh, it's just so darn comfortable... but that's not why I'm here." Ambrose nimbly swung past Cain, into the room. In the moment between sentences, he noticed clothes draped over chairs, books in neat piles on the floor, a thoroughly used bed that looked all the more comfortable knowing who occupied it at night. "I have an important question."

Cain gave him the look, the one he used to communicate an unspoken sentiment of 'and you are bothering me with this, why?' Ambrose rewarded the look with a dazzling smile and continued; "Do I cut off my hair or not?"

Cain seemed surprised by the question. He made a vague gesture with one hand. "Well, you... do what you want."

"What do you think, though?"

"The dreads do look good on you," Cain grinned. Ambrose grinned back, they were definitely going to stay.

______________________________________

They were waiting and watching, hidden in the bushes outside Central City. Glitch was very, very bored. So he talked, or rather, rambled.

"I'm not saying they called me 'twinkletoes' but I cut quite a rug... Oh, you can make a face Cain, but here was a time I was a terrific dancer. She may have taken my brain, but rhythm, that comes directly from the..."

At that point Cain interrupted him; "Do you have any bright ideas how to get in there?"

Unfased, Glitch continues right where he left off. "I mean, I don't mind taxing my half a brain for DG, but just once I'd like someone to admire me for my rhythm. Which, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, comes directly from the soul."

Cain gave him the look. The 'are you fucking serious?' look. Ambrose knew he was supposed to feel ashamed for what he said, but instead felt sort of... disappointed.

"You know, Cain," his voice sounded embarrassingly hurt to himself, "sometimes you make me feel just like those ladies at the dance, like I blend right in with the wallpaper."

Cain looked thoughtful, glanced at the Longcoats and said: "That's not a bad idea."

It took Glitch a moment to understand, but when he did, he grinned knowingly and asked: "Wanna dance?"

Cain grinned back at him. "I'll lead, you follow."

Although Glitch knew the plan now, there was a giddy sort of feeling in him.

______________________________________

The party was lavish, the guests many and the drinks popular. The drinks were also high in alcohol content, as Ambrose discovered. He'd only had one, honestly, and already he felt like his feet didn't quite reach to the ground. What made things worse, he couldn't spot Cain anywhere while he was sure the man was attending the party. In an effort to try to clear his head, Ambrose wandered out on one of the balconies of the palace. He took a sharp breath of the cold night air as he spotted the one man he had failed to find all night. Leaning on the railing of the balcony, looking out at the brilliant night sky and with a half full glass in his hand, was Cain, in the same handsome silver suit. Ambrose worried he might forget to breathe altogether, but the moment passed and he remembered. He made his way to the railing, leaning against it next to the former tinman.

"Fleeing from the crowd, Cain?"

The man looked up briefly, then looked away, taking a sip of his drink. He answered, still looking at his glass.

"I'm not a fan of social getherings. Besides, they'll only ask me what I'll do now. I have no job and no intention of becoming an official tinman again. I have no home although I'm sure DG will be happy to offer me more land than I know what to do with. I have no goal right now. What will I do? Hell, I don't even know myself."

The lack of purpose, as well as a general depressed mood was clear in Cain's voice. Ambrose had to stop himself from doing anything rash, but hesistantly dared to pat the man's shoulder. He wondered if there was any way to cheer him up.

"Well, after all that's happened you could say you're taking a break from everything," he started after a moment's thought, "and just enjoy your stay here in Central City. But, you know, if you're really aching for a job, I hear the Queen is taking on new advisors. I assure you it's nothing like being a tinman! I think."

Cain offered him a weak smile. "Thanks, Glitch, but I doubt that would work." Cain glanced at Ambrose, an unreadable look in his eyes which made his heart nearly skip a beat. "I've got some issues to work through, but I'm not sure how."

"Can't you just leave your issues behind for tonight?" Ambrose tried again, "Just tonight? Try to forget it and do something else, like, oh..." He glanced around the small balcony, trying to think of something to suggest. Music from the party filled through the closed doors and he had a crazy idea. Sure it would doom him, but emboldened by the glass of alcohol, Ambrose decided to take the chance, and help out his hand, grinning. "Wanna dance?"

Cain looked down at his hand, his mouth opening and closing again. The tinman shook his head, Ambrose nearly bit his tongue in two out of disappointments, but then he looked up, a smile on his face. Surprisingly, he put his hand in Ambrose's, even letting him lead as they danced on the little balcony.

______________________________________

"Remember the Papay? That whole thing was pretty suicidal now I think about it." Ambrose lay on Cain's bed, trying to distract the other man from the map he was poring over. Cain was trying to decide on a place to travel to, for some reason he was dead-set on leaving the city. Ambrose, of course, was dead-set on not making it that easy.

"Hmhmm," was the only answer from by the desk in the little room. Cain had not changed his behaviour towards Ambrose even one bit since the party, which was a little disappointing. Neither of them had even mentioned the dance they shared.

"I was sure that waterfall would kill us."

"But the Papay would've killed us otherwise."

"Yes, that's what you said then, too..." Ambrose pushed himself up on his elbows, his hair flopping in from of his face. It was actually getting less manageable now he had an easy supply of daily showers and soap. He pushed it away, sighing. "And that thing at Milltown with the murderous andriod." He added, reproachfully; "You slapped me there."

"Yes, well, you were repeating yourself. Anyway, it worked. Now can you can it for a while? I'm trying to think."

Ambrose sighed but refrained from trying a witty comeback. He traced the pattern on the blanket he was sitting on with one finger. It was a pattern of vines with leaves growing out of them. The vines curled into every corner of the blanket in green thread in a blue background.

"Don't go," he said without looking up. A rustling sound told him Cain shifted position, shifting the map as well. He was probably looking at him now. Ambrose stroked the soft blue fabric of the blanket.

"Why?" Cain sounded impatient, but Ambrose just shook his head, so he continued. "If you give me one good reason to stay, I will."

Ambrose all but jumped off the bed, angrily pacing towards the desk and leaning down at Cain. Without a word, he kissed him right on the mouth. It wasn't a phenomenal kiss. There were no flying sparks, or intertwining of tongues, or stopping of time. There was, however, a warm and slightly dizzy feeling somewhere in Ambrose's chest when Cain raised a hand to rest on his shoulder. Ambrose broke away, his mouth pulling into a sad, or bitter, smile.

"There." He turned around and was out of the door and halfway through the hall before Cain even moved. The tinman lifted his fingers to his lips.

______________________________________

The night air was still cool out on the balcony, but it was slowly warming with the changing of the seasons. Ambrose leaned on the railing and look at the stars. They were bright and clear and not nearly pretty enough to distract himself from Cain. Cain and his stubborn character. Cain and his sad, deep eyes. Cain and his rare smile that lit up Ambrose's body like a fire. Cain and his strong hand, and arms, and body. Cain's body. Hmm. No, as much as he tried, Ambrose couldn't stop thinking about the man, and the recent kiss hadn't helped at all. He shouldn't have run like that, but he hoped the tinman would remember their dance. It had been an intimate moment, and it was the balcony they had danced where Ambrose now stood. There was a small flicker of hope that Cain would want to find him, would come stand beside him and wrap his arms around him, asking him...

"Aren't you cold?" A soft voice derailed Ambrose's train of thought. There was movement beside him and there was Cain, standing so close he could feel his bodyheat on his bare arms. Ambrose stared at the man, who just shook his head, smiling.

"I, er..." he began, but Cain interrupted him. Again.

"Just come back inside, I think we should... talk."

"Uh oh. Well, if I'm going down I'll have this said at least; it was exactly what it looked like!"

And then, Cain laughed. The grim, serious, single-minded, humourless ex-tinman actually laughed. Despite himself, Ambrose could feel a blush creeping onto his pale face. Cain put an arm around his shoulders and gently pulled him back inside. In silence, they walked back to the little room, where the map was still laid out on the desk.

"So you...?" Cain glanced at him, folding the map carefully, "I mean you... for me...?"

"You're a very attractive man." Ambrose, sitting on the bed, shifted uncomfortably. "And yes, I, awkward pause, for you, awkward pause."

Cain nodded, dropping the map on the desk, half folded. A thoughtful look on his face, he sat down next to the other man. There was another (only slightly) awkward pause.

"I don't know what it is about you, Glitch," Cain started. Ambrose watched him closely. "I mean, you were just a head-case at first. No offense meant."

"None taken," Ambrose muttered.

"But you're much more than that, aren't you? You're someone with actual hopes." Cain gestured vaguely at nothing in particular. "You really expect things to turn out alright in the end, despite that pessimistic thong you do to piss me off." Ambrose grinned. "And that's rare. Usually when people say they hope for the best, they're really hoping for the least bad. You actually hope for the best." Cain glanced at him, the same sort of unreadable glance as at the party. "It's maddening."

Ambrose harrumphed, and answered in his best offended tone, "Well, I'm terribly sorry you can't stand me."

"No, no, that's not it."

"Then what, Cain, tinman without a heart?"

Now Cain rolled his eyes and Ambrose felt a hand against his back. It belonged to Cain but he had no clue how it got there, having been thoroughly distracted by Cain's little monologue. The hand slowly stroked his back, it was an effort not to make some sort of embarrassing noise. It then moved up, just under his shoulders, and pulled him closer to Cain.

"It's maddening," Cain continued, as if nothing had happened, "just wanting to touch you and honestly, not having a clue how to deal with this." Ambrose opened his mouth, but Cain wasn't finished speaking. "So let me put this simply. Do you want me to stay?"

Ambrose looked into Cain's eyes. They were a light grey some people found disconcerting. They looked hopeful. Ambrose grinned.

"Yes."

The tinman grinned back at him, right before pushing him over for a second kiss.