Foreword:

First, I'd recommend that you read the Ao3 version of this story, which has Orenji's pictures! (Pardon the spaces: archiveofourown works/3194702/chapters/6945428 )

I hit a block a couple years ago that I never quite recovered from; I haven't written something of this length since the late middle ages, and I have many people to thank for that. Folks like Orenji, Kiki, Buttons, and Lorek are the BEST people to talk to and always cheer me the frick up. LOVE YOU GUYS 3 Also, I must mention: I had a good five+ months to write this story, but I only gave Orenji ( .com) a month to do the illustrations! I'm amazed she didn't strangle me XD and look at how well they turned out! Everyone give her hugs.

Oh, and Orenji and I will alternately post chapters ever Saturday; I'm starting off, and next week I'll post a link to the next chapter on Orenji's account! Hope the newest retrace hasn't killed anyone.

Present Day

Reim woke up, and had a killer headache. A sharp pain pinged across his skull: eyes still closed, Reim clenched his fists.

Above his head, lady Sharon grumbled at him and pulled up his blankets. She checked his pulse, and her hand was warm. "Still alive, then?" she mused, and Reim screwed up his face. He couldn't remember what he'd done wrong, but he was sure that Sharon was about to lob him 'cross the head.

"What's wrong?" Reim asked. He opened his eyes and saw mussy shapes. He felt nauseous. "How long have I been out?"

"Guess," Sharon said. Oh, she was most upset. Her voice sounded padded, somehow, like she was under a pile of towels.

Reim rubbed his nose. He was on a very comfy bed. His usual cot was small, and rather stiff. He must have been brought to one of the guest bedrooms. "Can't remember much," Reim began, slowly. "Hardly a lot to go on."

Sharon clapped a chair closer to his bed. Reim tried to keep his eyes open. "You were called out to go to Sablier four days ago," she told him, and she sat down.

"Do I have a concussion?" Reim asked.

Sharon looked at him. "Yes," she said. "We had to wake you every couple of hours. I'd be surprised that you don't remember, but you were delirious, so. Why do you ask?"

"Headache," Reim told her. The pressure on his skull doubled all at once, and he groaned out an amendment: "bad headache. Can't see a thing."

"You can't see?"

"Well," Reim managed, "I can make you out well enough. And blurs of things." He gestured to where he thought lady Sharon was, only to wince at the cuts on his shoulder. "Not sure that's normal for a concussion."

"Yes, well," Sharon said. "You were dead, after all."

There was a clang of china. She'd brought tea, Reim thought. Probably on the bedside table. How like Sharon. No doubt she'd reached out to select a spoon.

When Sharon didn't go on, Reim wound his hand around his covers. "I used March Hare, then."

Sharon sipped at her tea. "Yes," she said.

"Sharon, I'm sorry."

"No," Sharon told him. She brought the tea from her lips, and smacked her cup back onto the side table. "You don't get to apologize like you've gone and done some silly thing, like-like step on someone's foot, or arrive late for tea."

"Sharon-" Reim tried, but Sharon cut him off: "we thought you were dead," she said. "Your eyes were open and your head was all bludgeoned about and you had no pulse. For god's sake, Reim! You could've woken up six feet under and none of us would have been the wiser!"

"Rufus would have said something," Reim protested, but Sharon was on a roll now: "oh, of course," she declared. "Dare I forget master Barma! Damn master Barma, that's what I say."

Sharon only swore when she was thoroughly upset, and Reim tensed. "Rufus ordered me not to tell anyone," he said.

Sharon stared at him. Reim could make out the salmon color of her clothes. She'd pulled her sleeves up over her hands, like Xerxes did when he was nervous. Reim considered what best to say next. Sharon beat him to the punch, however, when she stood and collected her things.

"I'm going to fetch a doctor for your eyes," she told him. She straightened her skirts. "There's water on the bedside table, and tea, but don't go and wriggle about like a codfish. You're supposed to rest."

Reim nodded at her. Sharon kept still for another moment, then paraded out of the room.

She closed the door behind her.

Ten Years Ago

One day, two or so months after Shelly's death, Sharon didn't show up at the library. Usually, she and Reim met at the foot of the stairs to go and study. That day, Reim waited and no one came. Their routine bordered on ritual-esque by that time, so Reim knew to worry before Sharon's grandmother did.

Because he was a diligent person, Reim doubled back to check Sharon's rooms-perhaps she was sick. When her quarters proved empty, Reim went back to the library. Had Sharon come to the library early? No, he found: her chair was empty. Some of her more recent reads slumped piled upon a side table, where she'd left them the day before.

Reim assumed he'd been skipped out on, and sat down to read. The books he chose were rather dense, though, and after a while he abandoned his studies for the pursuit of his playmate. The kitchens were empty. Several officers and servants, up and about for hours already, hadn't seen Sharon.

"Should we be worried?" asked one of the servants. "You know her better than us. She wouldn't have run off, would she?"

Reim shrugged. "She has before," he said. "But I doubt she'd go far. That's not like her."

"Perhaps she's gone upstairs," the servant suggested. "You haven't tried there yet, have you?"

"No."

"Then there you are. Up you get, and I'll search these outer halls. We'll find her soon enough."

Despite their combined efforts, Reim turned up empty-handed. The servant, a bit more productive, returned with more servants-there were a good seven of them now. Reim and company scoured the Rainsworth estate, and Reim watched as their brigade doubled, then tripled of number. The search widened to the whole of the household-mind, there were a good number of Pandora officers on business, and they accounted for some of the larger sums. As the search became dire of nature, Reim shot Xerxes a telegram-the man was off on a business trip. Reim was wont to keep him updated anyway.

Officials combed the town. Reim was asked the same questions over and over again: had Sharon had any plans to leave the manor? Had she seemed out of sorts last night?

"Reim," lady Cheryl addressed him, "of the residents of our estate, you have been at Sharon's side the most often over the past few weeks. I understand that Sharon trusts you as she would an older brother. She'd have left you some kind of clue to her whereabouts, I'm sure."

"I'm sorry, Miss Cheryl," Reim told her. "But I really don't think she's left me anything. I've been through my rooms dozens of times, and I can't find any notes, and we've only ever studied together-we don't talk that much about, um."

"I see," Cheryl said. She grasped his shoulder. "What do you study together, pray tell?"

"Abyssal theory," Reim supplied. "And whatever else'll help us with our contractor exams."

Lady Cheryl's brow furrowed.

"Show me the books that you've read together," she told him, and Reim led her down the hall.

Present Day

Reim woke up a second time, and his head felt less like a bundle of lint and more like a cinderblock. There were covers over his shoulders and a mattress under him, and he knew he was where Sharon had left him. There was also someone at his side-someone that wasn't Sharon-and Reim feared for a moment that Xerxes had come to tease him. He didn't remember much of what had happened before Sablier, but he knew he wanted to keep away from Xerxes for as long possible. Obviously they'd had some kind of dispute, Reim thought, before he'd left.

And then someone pried his left eye open with a finger, and Reim knew that his visitor was a doctor. He was glad, although he didn't much like to have his eyelids dragged up and down by strangers.

"Headache?" the doctor asked. Reim made a grumble, and the doctor nodded at him sagely. "That'll be around for a while," he said. His chins waggled as he talked. "You have a nasty concussion."

"So I've been told," Reim said.

The doctor looked at his head. He rummaged through a small bag. "How are the eyes?" he asked.

Reim squinted up at him. He thought he could make out a pudgy face. "I can't see," Reim told the doctor. He turned his head. "Only colors and blurs."

"That'll be the concussion," the doctor mused. He sounded confident, but Reim was a worrywart by nature, and not one to be consoled. "Should go away with the headache. Try these on."

Here, the doctor handed Reim a pair of glasses. They were new glasses, Reim could tell. His old ones must have been lost. Reim put them on.

The doctor pursed his lips.

"Any better?" he asked.

Reim closed his eyes, and opened them again. He turned his head this way, then that. Then, he peeled his glasses off. "No," he said. He folded the sides down. "Well, a bit, sort of. I mean, I suppose the shapes were more defined."

"Should go away with the headache," the doctor repeated.

Reim was skeptical. "Are you sure?"

"Very sure," said the doctor. "Now; you aren't to leave that bed for at least three days. No books, no papers. Radio's fine." He brought a finger to Reim's face, and had him follow the appendage with his eyes. "Visitors are welcome, but only for short periods, understood?"

"Understood," said Reim.

"Good," said the doctor. He clapped the ides of his bag together and readied himself to leave. "I'm needed down the hall."

"I don't remember much," Reim protested, as he opened the door. "Are the other officers all right? How many people got hurt?"

"Oh, loads," the doctor told him, and he shrugged his bag higher up onto his shoulder. He made to close the door behind him. "But don't worry, no one's dead. No one but you, anyway."

Sharon visited him again later that day, armed this time not with tea and china, but papers, folders, and other office supplies. Good god, Reim thought: she'd brought his whole library.

"Sharon," Reim said, confused. "Are those my assignments?"

"Four days worth," Sharon confirmed.

She sat down, and Reim brought his head back against his bed. "I'd work on them," he said, "but I'm not allowed to read. Doubt I could, anyway."

"These aren't for you," Sharon said. "I plan to be here for a while, and I'll need something to do. Besides; I assumed you could use the help."

"A good assumption."

"Hmm." Sharon settled down against the plush material of her chair. Small as she was, her head barely touched the top cushion. Some things never changed. Reim closed his eyes to ease the ache of his head. "We've had some folks pass their exams," Sharon began. "A couple're ready to make their contracts. Allen, Robert…Marge, too. Proud of her."

"Good."

"Yes." Sharon crossed her legs. "How are your eyes?"

"Bad."

"And what did the doctor say?"

"Should clear up with the headache." Reim flexed his fingers against the covers of his bed. He pulled them up over his front. "You haven't told Xerxes, have you?" he asked.

"About your eyes?" Sharon said. "No. Haven't had the chance to tell him much at all, to be frank. The moment the doctor came, he'd gone off on some work trip."

"'Course he'd done," Reim said. He stretched. "Thank god."

Sharon looked up. "You wouldn't want him to know?"

"Sharon, you know how he gets when he's worried. He'll only try to coddle me, then snap at me when he remembers he doesn't know how."

"Fair enough." Sharon was, after all, the most familiar with Xerxes' coddle-y antics. "He'll find out soon enough, though."

"I'll have recovered before then," Reim assured her. He was suddenly very grateful for Sharon's company, and he turned to face her: "thank you, by the way. I appreciate you being here. And the papers."

Sharon, by now at work, nodded at him. "Xerx should be here too," she told him, "but you know how he gets."

"Still scared of sick people, after all this time," Reim said. "Although, to be fair, he's probably angry with me, too. Because of March Hare, and because we argued before I left, I think. That'd make him doubly unhappy."

"No doubt," Sharon said.

"I really am sorry for what happened. I didn't mean to hurt you or the others." Sharon made a move to set some pages, presumably read, on the side table, and Reim continued: "I didn't even want to use March Hare. I had to, though."

"I know," Sharon said. She picked up a pen, then set her things down again to massage her temples. "I'm sorry to have snapped at you."

"That's all right," Reim told her. "I'd rather you be honest with me than not, right?"

Ten Years Ago

Reim propped the front door open, and Xerxes ducked his way through the gap. His manner seemed more flustered than usual.

"What's the news?" he demanded, as he and his posse entered the main hall. Some senior officers stood and started towards them. Xerxes tossed his coat up over his shoulders and pulled his sleeves down over his hands. "Any luck?"

"Define luck," an agent snarked. He kicked at the floor with the heel of his boot, and the rest of Xerxes' team left for the main hall. "Lady Sharon's left some books behind on abyssal theory, and a week ago she commissioned a merchant to make her a carcere."

"Shit," was Xerxes' reply.

"We're going to send a rescue party downstairs," the officer went on. "To get Sharon back."

"Of course," said Xerxes. "And you need a child of misfortune to make the trip, no?"

The officer turned up his nose. "A child of what?" he asked. Then they started down the hall together, and Reim followed. "That's really what you call yourself?"

Xerxes shrugged. Their boots clacked against the floor.

"Well," the officer said. He coughed. "I won't argue that you're a child. And that you're a man of bad luck. But besides that Vincent fellow and his brother, you're the only one of us to have managed your way out of that hellhole. Or, to get from one place to the next without some kind of, er, consequence.''

"I had my eye ripped out," Xerxes said.

"Yes, well," the officer said. "No one's perfect. And I'm not about to drag that Vincent bloke or Gilbert along for a ride through the abyssal cortex, all right? You're our best bet, eye or no."

"Are we headed out now?" Reim asked.

The officer started. "We?" he asked. He slacked his march, and peered down at Reim. Reim felt his cheeks redden. "Afraid you're not going anywhere, lad. Whatever your name was."

"Reim," Reim told him.

The officer snapped his fingers. "Reim," he said. "Right. Sorry, lad, but you can't come."

"Why not?" Reim asked. The officers only resumed their pace, and he struggled to keep up. "Another year and I'll have my contractor's license. Sharon's like a sister to me. And I'm hardly a lad anymore."

"There's a reason why Pandora's decided to entrust a madman and three simpletons to this task," was all Xerxes said. The officer shot him a beady look. "The Abyss doesn't respond well to thinkers like yourself. You can stay here and help out at home. I'm not about to lose the both of you because someone decided to get cocky."

Present Day

Xerxes was on a mission, as Sharon had said. Reim was allowed out of bed now, although he was still suspended from his duties. His thoughts were skuzzy, like the edges of a poorly crocheted hat. The past few days were muddled to him, and he'd often ask Sharon the same questions over and over, or forget why he'd entered a room. Although he was certain that he and Xerxes had been on bad terms when he'd left, too, he couldn't remember why.

At first Reim waited on Xerxes's return like a housecat trained on a cuckoo clock, but the days dragged on. He lazed about, curled around whatever sad bit of furniture suited his fancy. When bold, Reim took to the halls. He worked to accustom himself to his disability, but progress was slow, and painful. Reim's bumps with the walls and stairs of the Rainsworth manor had by now earned him a nasty set of bruises. The doctor was sure that Reim would recover soon, but a solid week had passed since Reim had gotten his concussion. Reim tried not to linger on the thought.

Xerxes returned late on a Thursday, when the rest of the estate was asleep. His squad of agents oozed through the front doors, slunk up their coats, and headed to their rooms. One look at their faces, blurry as they were, and Reim could tell that the mission had gone slantways. Such was standard of late. Since the return of Oz Vessalius, the Pandora Organization had become less of a ducal guild and more of a recovery agency. Regardless of the circumstance, Xerxes tried to scoot past Reim on his way to his quarters. Reim, of course, sidestepped him.

"Welcome back," Reim said.

Xerxes grumbled at him, and they started down the hallway. Reim was very conscious of his eyes. He had to make sure to look alive and well: now was not the time to be upfront about his condition. Xerxes was unhelpful enough already without any added worry.

As they plodded along, Xerxes shed his coat. From what Reim could make out, he tied the thing about his waist, and brought the knot to a siff bun. He bunched up the ends of his collar, and rolled down the ends of his sleeves. Reim was reminded of a certain time, years ago, when he'd returned from some mission or another to search for Sharon. He wondered whether or not they were about to hit the bend at the end of the hall.

"Xerx," Reim said, as they made the turn. "Do you really plan to pout at me for the rest of your life?"

Xerxes considered for a moment. He clapped his staff against the carpet. "You did turn up dead on our doorstep."

"And I'm sorry for that," Reim said. "I don't remember much of what happened, but I'm sure I wouldn't have used March Hare unless I had to."

Reim thought Xerxes gave him a look, but he couldn't be sure. Between the halls and his shirt, the colors bled together too much to make out his face. "Excuses, excuses," Xerxes said, at last. "You gave lady Sharon quite a fright, you know."

"I know," Reim said. "She nearly bit my head off."

Xerxes was unmoved. "And I don't blame her."

"I—Yes. But, anyway. What did we talk about before I left?"

"Mm?"

"Before I went to Sablier," Reim pressed. "With Rufus. We argued about something."

The blob of white and purple turned to face Reim fully. Xerxes bunched his fingers up beneath his sleeve. Reim might not have been able to see his face, but the air got stuffy all at once.

"You really don't remember, do you?" he asked.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Reim snapped. He rubbed at his shoulder. "Could you answer a question right-out for once? Did we argue, or didn't we?"

Xerxes put his hands on his hips. "Tell you what: I'll give you three tries to guess."

Reim treated him to his best blind glare. "Guess what?" he asked. "The topic of the argument?"

"The argument. The chinwag."

Xerxes and Sharon's games, Reim decided, would be the real death of him. "No."

"Oh, come now," Xerxes nagged. He waggled his arms, as was his habit. The man couldn't seem to stand still. "Cut an old coot some slack. My best friend died last week."

Reim pursed his lips. "Look, Xerx. I know you're angry with me, all right? I didn't come here to be teased."

"Then what did you come here for?" Xerxes asked.

Reim wondered at that. "To talk," he decided.

"And we've done that," Xerxes pronounced. He clapped his hands together. "Now we can go on with our lives."

"Except we can't," Reim said. "I know how this goes, Xerx. We've been through this before. You'll be all upset with me for weeks, but too childish to confront me about how you feel because of course you hate to admit that you're an actual person who actually cares."

"Reim," Xerxes said. "Please. I've been on a long, long trip."

Reim frowned. "Have you," he said.

"Yes," Xerxes said. "And I plan to have a long, long nap."

"And you don't want to talk about this right now," Reim finished. "Or ever."

"I see that great minds think alike," Xerxes said. They'd reached the stairs up to Xerx's room, and Reim wasn't about to try them out without Sharon's help. He lingered behind as his friend started up the steps, a grimace on his face. "Now don't go off and kick the bucket again while I'm asleep," Xerxes warned over his shoulder. "Death's meant to be a surprise, Reim, not a habit."

"And I suppose you would know?" Reim asked, but there was no response. He assumed that Xerxes had already gone. He couldn't make out his shape anymore.

Reim turned away from the stairwell and started for his own room.

Ten Years Ago

Reim liked dinner parties well enough. Sure, he was the awkward sort, and he tended to mingle more with the wallpaper than he did the people, but all the same. He rather liked the hustle and bustle, from far away. He liked all the colors and the pop-hiss noise that wine corks made when they were yanked out all at once, and all the gossipy tidbits he got from the nobles. Today, though, Reim had no time to dawdle about. There was someone he had to see.

Reim was lucky. Gilbert and Vincent didn't normally go to these sorts of parties. They weren't as liked as Reim was, and the Nightrays considered them valets more than adoptees. Today, however, they were both present. Armed with a plate of crackers, Reim brought a reluctant Vincent to a side room, and laid out the situation;

"I'm sure you've heard about Lady Sharon," Reim said, and he made sure the door was closed behind them. "A team of agents were sent down to the Abyss to go and get her, but. Um."

"A week's a long time to be gone," Vincent finished. He always had that look about him, like he was about to bite your ear off. Gently. "They've been off that long, right?"

Reim nodded. "A week and two days," he confirmed.

"Did they send the Mad Hatter?" Vincent asked. The room was a dark hue around them, somewhere between blue and wet marble. "To help them through?"

"Uh," Reim said. "Yes. Yes, they did."

"Thought so," Vincent said. Always so pleasant. "And you want me to help you, 'cause of that, right? 'Cause I've got the same eye as him."

Reim looked down at his crackers.

"Yes," he ventured. The crackers looked kind of stale. "I did some research. About children of misfortune."

"Well. 'M not surprised." Vincent said. He scratched at his elbow. "You're the devout scholar type, Reim. And the Barmas have a great library."

Reim couldn't argue with that. "I suppose we do, yes."

"Yep," Vincent drawled. "Anyway, I know you and your house. You'll have some bargain to make with me, no? Some kind of reward for my help?"

"Well," Reim began. He rolled his shoulders. "To come back with Lady Sharon would earn you the trust of the Rainsworth household, no doubt." Vincent treated him to a look then, so Reim went on: "you and I both know that the Nightrays will bend over backwards to keep you out of Pandora," he added. "But they'll hardly have much sway when the Rainsworths owe you a favor."

"A good point," Vincent mused. "Though, I'd like more of an, ah, set reward. Should they fail to deliver."

"I don't have a lot to offer to you," Reim said. "But once I'm older, I'm sure I'll be one of Master Barma's chief assistants. And I'll still be on good terms with the Rainsworths, of course. And some other nobles, too."

Vincent grinned at him like a cat. "So you'll owe me a favor sometime?" he guessed.

"To you or Gilbert, yes," Reim said, aware that Vincent would take several cannonballs to the crotch for his brother. "Sound doable?"

"Doable enough, mister Reim," Vincent allowed. He offered up his hand. "I like your confidence."

Reim tried not to squirm as he took Vincent's hand.

"Good to have you on board," he said.

Present Day

Reim didn't want to get out of bed.

He was tired. He'd gotten off his usual sleep schedule, now that he couldn't wake up at four to do chores. When March Hare had proved useless, he'd retired to deskwork. Now that Reim had proved useless at deskwork, he didn't know what to do. Who was he, anymore? For so long, Reim had defined himself by the contents of his desk drawers. And now, well.

Sharon came up to check on him around lunchtime. Reim, mind, hadn't been out of his room for about twelve hours.

"Grandmother knows," she told him, where they sat together on the floor. Reim had his shoulders tucked around a mound of blankets. "And she's sent for a better doctor. He should be here tonight at the latest."

Reim snuggled back where he was leant against his bed. "Thank you," he said.

Sharon leaned against his shoulder.

"Have you talked to Xerx?" she asked him.

Reim closed his eyes. He could barely make Sharon out, regardless. "He was so fidgety, Sharon," he said. "Every other word and his hands were on the other end of the hall."

"So he was unhelpful," Sharon guessed.

"Less than that," Reim told her.

Sharon pulled back, so as to rearrange her limbs. She brought a hand up to Reim's back, and rubbed circles there with her palm.

Reim relaxed. He remembered, all at once, how tired he was.

"Thanks," he mumbled again.

Sharon hmm-ed at him. Reim felt himself lull back and forth ever so slightly under her hand. "I'll have a talk with Xerxes," she said. "Not about, you know. But so that he'll come up and say hello."

Xerxes did come up to say hello. The spring, by then, had come all at once like a storm. A knob of buds bopped up against the house every couple of minutes, as the wind picked up and down. Reim could make out a haze through the curtains.

His room was cold, and when Xerxes opened the door, he did so with a sound of disdain.

"Good lord, Reim," he said. There was a small scrape of wood as he closed the door behind him. "I don't know whether you've noticed, but several centuries ago, we humans came up with a silly old gizmo called a fireplace."

"Hmm," was Reim's response, and he sounded a lot like Sharon.

Xerxes harumphed at him. "Well," he said. "I happen to know that there are several likened contraptions on the first floor."

"Mmm."

"And yet you elect to spend your time up here, under a huddle of gross quilts."

"I'm suspended from work," Reim reminded him. He curled his toes up under his blanket pile. "And I'm hardly allowed to move around much. Don't see the point of going downstairs when I'm perfectly comfortable here."

"A mux ox wouldn't be comfortable up here," Xerxes scolded him. Reim heard the telltale clomp of shoes, but was still somewhat surprised when Xerxes grabbed him up by the arm and onto his feet. "Come on then," Xerxes announced. He led Reim from his mess of blankets, and tugged him out the door. "Downstairs. On the double."

"I can't," Reim protested, because he couldn't. He tried to tackle that stairwell at Xerxes' pace and he'd win himself more than a few bruises. "I'm too tired. I'll fall flat on my face."

"Aw," Xerxes said. "Reim's developed a sense of self-preservation." Reim found himself lynched out of his quarters, then dragged down the hall like a sack of yams. "A smidgen late, I'm afraid: he's died once already."

"Oh, please," Reim said. By now used to a slow and steady saunter, he struggled to keep up. "You don't get to brag to me about self-preservation, Xerx. Every other week you come home with a new limb sawed off."

"So mean," Xerxes whined. "Mister Reim's so rude to old men."

"For the last time, you're not old," Reim snapped. "And slow down." He hadn't had time to put on shoes, so at least his bare feet had a grip to them. They turned a corner, and yes, here were the stairs. Reim allowed himself to be led down, down, down, the thump of Xerxes' shoes sharp against the walls.

Reim had never been sure about religion. He rather liked Hinduism, though, and he knew a couple mantras, so he selected one at random and prayed.

Reim got to the om bhur bhuva, and then they were at the bottom of the stairs.

He hardly had time thank anyone, mind, before Xerxes had tugged him away towards the central corridor. The halls, pleasantly enough, were scant of company. Reim probably looked out of his mind.

"Aha," Xerxes declared, as they rounded another bend. He led them to a carpeted room. Reim knew the space by the heat. There was a yellowness to the room, so ripe that Reim could have reached out and cupped the color between his hands.

Xerxes let go of his wrist. Reim followed his footsteps to a nearby couch, where he sat down.

Reim crossed his legs, and brooded. Xerxes pulled his legs up onto the cushions and hugged them close. He could be such a child.

The fireplace was hotter than Reim remembered. He didn't mind. His feet were cold, and he undid his criss-crossed position to stretch them out.

Xerxes leaned over and clapped him on the shoulder. "See? Much better. You were paler than a block of cottage cheese. Needed some heat to your bones, eh?"

Reim did feel better, but he wasn't about to say so. "Did we argue about me?" he asked.

"What?"

"I mean, before I left," Reim pressed. "Did we argue about me. On whether or not I should go to Sablier."

"Sablier?" Xerxes asked, and Reim heard his clothes rustle. He must have sat back against the couch. "At first we did, yes. But that wasn't the bulk of the conversation, no."

"Oh," Reim said. "All right then. So we must have argued about you."

"Hardly," said Xerxes. "And you mustn't waste all your guesses at once. The game's no fun that way."

"I'll do what I like," Reim grouched, but he relented. He could wait a while before his next guess. He was plenty comfortable right now. Xerxes didn't follow up with any rude questions or comments, so Reim sank back against the sofa, and thought about doctors. Would this one be any better? He certainly hoped so. The sooner he could get back to normal, the sooner he'd be back to work.

Reim's thoughts became strained after that, and he looped an arm up over his eyes.

"Ugh," he said, like an afterthought.

Xerxes prodded him with a foot. "What?" he asked.

"Life," said Reim. "Things."

"What sorts of things?"

"Bad ones."

"Ah."

Reim grumbled to himself. His feet were warmer, so he brought them up and under his legs. He leant himself against the arm of the couch, and sagged there like a spent bean bag. "Xerx?" he asked.

Xerxes hummed at him.

"Do you remember what you told me about Shelly?" he said. "About how you still saw her."

There was a gentle crush of cushion. Xerxes arranged the pillows behind his back, and leaned back against the couch.

"Thought you'd forgotten that," Xerxes said at last. "As I recall, you were half dead. And half-mad."

"Was I?"

"Downright drunk, you were," Xerxes told him. "Loopy like a warped record."

"Yes, yes, all right," Reim said. "So you do remember, then."

"Yes."

"All right." Reim paused for a moment. "Right. So was that the reason that you stayed away from me? Because you thought I wasn't really here?"

"Oh, Reim," Xerxes pouted. He pulled a candy out of his pocket. "I was dreadfully busy with work, you know."

"But you weren't," Reim persisted. "Sharon told me you were at the estate when I was bedridden. You only took on a mission when I was stable."

"I may not have been away, but I was still occupied," Xerxes retorted. Reim had never been so conscious of Xerxes' tone. "I didn't want to be a bother to you, Reim. You ought to be grateful for that."

Reim groaned. "At least admit that you're angry with me," he pleaded. "Don't pretend that Lady Sharon was the only one I scared. I know you. You care more than you let on."

"Do I?" Xerxes asked. When Reim scowled at him, he let up somewhat; "all right, all right," he said. "I do care. And your death may have concerned me somewhat."

"Good start," Reim said. He crossed his arms.

"You really want me to go on?" Xerxes asked. "Reim, dear, I'm afraid there's not much else to say."

"Yes, well," Reim said. He hated to put this off. "Fine. We'll talk when you need to. I'll be here."

Xerxes chewed at his candy. He seemed disgruntled.

"I certainly hope so," was all he said.