May Greenfield was naturally, despite her overall cheerful nature, quite cautious about opening certain doors. One in particular happened to be the door to her own apartment; this was mainly down to the simple fact that none of those she worked with bothered to know where she lived, and hence, any visitors tended not to be of the friendly variety. For that very reason, she had learned to keep some form of weapon on her person.

A revolver very easily older than herself wasn't the best for self-defense these days. It might be good for intimidation, but most thugs had body armour tougher than that. At least it felt reassuring in her hand, the weight of it, the cold metallic solidity.

There was one other door she never felt good about opening. This, however, was mostly because it wasn't her door. Or her apartment. Here, not even the few she tentatively called friends might think to look for her. Here, the odds were much in favour of violent outbursts.

Of course, there was one very good reason for this door. One very good reason indeed.

Not for the first time, May was glad she wasn't opening it.

She moved faster than she'd trained. In half a heartbeat, she had the barrel pressed against the side of the intruder's head. She was a muscle twitch away from murder before she even knew it.

"I'm alone."

Perhaps it was an attempt at humour. She didn't much care. A flick of her thumb spilt the contents of the gun out onto the floor with a metallic clatter, the weapon itself soon to follow.

"Not any more," she replied with barely a whisper, throwing her arms around the soaking wet figure before her.

At least Fiona had the presence of mind to shut the door behind her while her emerald-haired liaison was busy stifling her tears.

"I don't have much time." She always hated to break the mood. Underneath the businesslike exterior, some part of her craved this attention, this peaceful sense of closeness. It was oddly comforting. "They're already looking."

May stopped sniffling and looked up, her face a picture of relief and helpless affection.

"Collared?"

"Everyone, silly. Line Ark, of all people, wouldn't just throw away hardware like that."

As it was prone to do so often during their brief interludes, May's face shifted from the usual expression of concerned adoration to a more troubled frown. She ran the tip of a finger across the brunette's cheek.

"What's that look for?" Her voice was full of emotion, her words blunt, just like always. That, too, was oddly reassuring.

There was a look between them for just a moment, that Fiona hoped didn't say half the things she was thinking. At last, mentally exhausted, she surrendered with a sigh.

"I don't know what to do," she said flatly. "I know what I should do, or what I could do, but…I don't think I can make any of those choices."

May simply listened, as she did. Even that, in itself, was in some way comforting.

"I used to believe in it. Line Ark. What they stood for. I used to believe… I'm not sure I do any more. It isn't what it once was." For the first time without hesitation, she put her arms around the emerald-haired woman leaning up against her as if it were natural, and continued. "Maybe I can tell myself that I stopped believing one person can make a difference, but that would be too easy. I just know that one person isn't me any more."

"You're amazing, Fi." That almost made her blush. Fiona Jarnefeldt wasn't one prone to blushing, but the nickname… no one else had ever given her a nickname like that, and coming from this gem of a girl, it just felt so…right.

"You really think that?" She couldn't stop the hint of joy in her voice no matter how hard she tried.

"Of course! All the things you've done, things people said were impossible!"

"But none of that matters right now. Otsdarva isn't dead. And I know, right now he's got his mind set on one thing." Fiona felt that helplessness coming on again. She met May's gaze for a moment and let the sheer indomitable will of the girl reassure her, at least for a little while. "I can't go back to them, not now. No matter what I do, I'll be hunted and Line Ark can't protect me. And they can't protect themselves any more. It's over."

"Fiona…"

May rarely addressed her as such in private. When she did, it was usually cause for alarm.

"The Ark isn't some gang of mercenaries or a group of rich businessmen. It's an idea. It was an idea you made happen. Maybe they've had their time now, maybe there's nothing you can do to stop the League now, but you can stop them. White Glint can stop them. People believe in you."

Sounding just as unsure as she felt, Fiona barely managed to whisper her reply, "I don't know if I can do that any more."

"Maybe you can't…but I can."

Never before had May sounded so determined about anything. She sounded almost frightening. There was something ablaze in those emerald eyes now that had never been there before. Fiona almost felt foolish saying what came naturally.

"I couldn't ask you to do that."

"So don't. Just say you'll help."

And just for a moment, standing there in the ruined shell of an old apartment building, clinging to the warmth of that naïve jade beauty, with nothing but uncertainty ahead of her…Fiona Jarnefeldt, for the first time in too long, felt the slightest glimmer of something wonderful.

Hope.