Hey all! It's been a while since I ventured into the realm of fanfiction, but having just finished Behemoth, I'm having trouble getting Alek and Deryn out of my head. My original fiction was starting to suffer as plot bunnies galloped across my brain, so I decided to put one down online. Also, forgive my fail German. ;)

Deryn had expected Newkirk, or at least another airman—anyone, really, but a prince with no air-sense. Anyone but Alek would have been all right; she would have held it together. But she'd been swinging on this damn rope under Leviathan for the better part of the night, one arm a bloody mess, the other slowly losing strength. Her safety clips had her for now, but one more pass of the flechette bats might have finished her for good. Friendly fire. Not, in fact, so friendly. A lucky shot had ripped into her shoulder, though most of the fall had taken out the Huxley now dangling like an anchor toward the peaks.

And that was another thing: she was barking cold. Even the frosted expanse of the alps hadn't felt this cold, not when she'd had the living body of Leviathan so nearby. Now her blood was congealing into pinkish ice, and she couldn't move her fingers or her face. The only heat was from the Clanker ships hurtling past in balls of diesel-scented flame. Her tongue tasted oily and slick with the greasy smoke, and she was dead shattered.

She'd just decided to rest her eyes when something jostled her harness. She fought the weights keeping her eyes closed and barely held the front lines in the battle against passing out. Or had she passed out? Alek was there with a harness strapped over his grease-stained shirt and trousers, clipping her to the steel rings on the shoulders. His face was weirdly washed-out, like it had looked in the photograph Eddie Malone had taken, and it took her addled mind a squick to figure out the sky behind him was light. The sound of Clanker engines and strafing hawks had faded as well.

The battle was over. And Deryn had spent most of it dangling uselessly under the Leviathan. Barking wonderful.

But who had let a barking prince slide down a safety line to save a lowly middy? Alek was no coward, but he wasn't a fool, either—risking his serene highnessness for her was not exactly in the realm of clever ideas. She could only assume that there had been no one else able to reach her, and Deryn didn't want to dwell too long on what that meant for the crew of Leviathan.

If she was dreaming, though, Alek's presence made perfect sense. But dreams didn't hurt, and his hands on her face burned as he checked her pulse, her breathing, her eyes. The forces of unconsciousness gained ground, and his green eyes went out of focus. Deryn felt her head loll in his hand, heard him say something. Her name? Almost her name. Dylan.

The sudden pressure of arms wound around her, then she smelled the sharp tang of hot metal and engine grease, stale blood, sweat, and that scent undefinable as anything but Alek's. Some buried, stalled emotion heaved up inside her, and the last lines of defenses lost their marshals and broke apart, cracking the icy calm that had kept her heart frozen until now.

She could have died. Like her father had died, in a ball of fire, in the air, and all that would have been left was a pair of medals and bewildered grief. If it had been Newkirk, or Riggs, or even a stranger, the thought of dying would have stayed distant. She could have kept up the bravado. But this was Alek, and when he was around, she wanted to live. It wasn't so much that he gave her the strength to survive as he made her afraid to die. Or was that the same thing, pretending to be a different thing?

Barking princes.

Alek's rope trembled, jerked, and the clips snapped taut with a creak of their leather sets. She dropped slightly in Alek's grip as the straps holding them stretched and her own line went slack. The weight eased off the arm she'd been holding herself in place with, and the pain made her feel suddenly sick. Alek took her wrist, but Deryn jerked it away with a growl.

"Give me your arm, dummkopf!" Alek snapped. They rotated in the air, rising above milk-pale peaks streaked with dawn gold, Deryn's safety line a growing loop of twisting rope beneath them. Panic was a pulsing light in Deryn's head, like someone had turned the spotlight for the flechette bats inward. She could hear the rasp of her own harsh breaths against Alek's shoulder. Dummkopf was right! Wasn't the crisis over? Why was she losing her calm now?

Alek tugged her arm over his shoulder, then hooked a leg under her knee and heaved her up until both of her aching arms rest on his shoulders, suspended straight out. She swallowed a squeak as his legs tangled with hers and constricted, both arms grabbing her hard against him, and it may have all been a precaution to keep her safe but—barking spiders—if he were paying attention at all he would figure it out. His cheek was hot against her jaw (her very smooth, very obviously not-in-need-of-a-good-shave jaw), and Deryn noted with a creeping mix of interest and dread that he was, in fact, a boy and she was, in fact, not one.

Maybe she should have given him a squick more credit for strength. But really, who would have guessed flashing about a bit of sharp metal would make a person's legs like a barking stormwalker in trousers? Well, piloting the walkers probably helped. And why weren't her arms that size, with all the climbing she did? It wasn't fair!

The spotlights of panic were going away, but the erratic behavior of her heart and lungs was not improving. Steadily, Deryn and Alek rose toward the clouds above, concealing both the Leviathan and the winch cranking them back toward the great beastie, and she gave up trying to pretend anything. She was shattered, scared, and she barking hurt everywhere. If Alek was going to figure her out, well, he was going it. She'd wanted to tell him anyway. Should have figured the choice wouldn't get left up to her. She let her leaden head droop to Alek's shoulder, and his pulse was strong in his neck, if a bit fast.

"Dylan," he said, and his tone was strange. Deryn squeezed her eyes shut.

"Don't talk to me," she mumbled, voice smothered by his jacket.

"Dylan," Alek repeated, voice going all princely and annoyed. "I'm profoundly aware that this is neither the time nor the place for discussion. However—"

"—you're suddenly profoundly aware of a few other bloody things," she finished. "Aye. Shut up."

She punctuated the command by bending her stiff elbow and slapping the back of his princely head. They hovered, silent and still, for a full five seconds. Then she felt his chest swell as he took a breath, and he expelled a laugh that was difficult to interpret. A moment later, he had hitched her up again, exchanging her weight from resting primarily on his legs to the slightly-less-inappropriate hold around her waist.

It was a subtle shift, since he couldn't let go of her legs entirely, but the chivalry was so barking out of place that Deryn gave a snort.

"Dummkopf."

"For once, I'm inclined to agree," Alek said. "And if I wasn't so worried, I'd be furious. God's wounds. This will be a disastrous mess."

Raising her head felt like lifting a sack full of Alek's gold bars. Deryn's vision swam, but she drew back to look at him anyway, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?"

He gazed at her and she watched the gears in his green eyes turning as he considered…well, probably everything. Aye, Alek could be a bit slow, but he was thorough enough to drive a person mad. There was never a simple answer for him.

She held her tongue—if she needed to remind him of all the secrets she'd kept, all the things she'd done, he could go stuff himself. Still. They'd been in consistent close quarters for months now, and if anyone knew—or knew that Alek knew—she was a girl, the kinds of questions they would ask, the kinds of things they would assume, the things they would say to undermine him were pretty serious. Especially with the possible inheritance of an empire, not to mention the end of a war, hanging in the balance.

Alek sighed, and the swell of his chest tightened them together.

"This is bad, Dylan."

"Deryn."

It slipped out without her permission, but she couldn't take it back. Alek closed his eyes and grimaced. When he opened them again, there was a sharpness to his gaze that made her throat go dry. Her heart kicked in her chest, and she became vividly aware of his solid legs still tangled with hers, his arms compressing her against a chest that was properly flat and boyish. The barking clips weren't really necessary except as a precaution—right now none of her weight was on them. Absurdly, she felt jealous of that effortless strength. But his gaze was like the end of a gun in her face, and not to be ignored.

"Deryn," he corrected. "We will need to talk."

She was still hearing his voice speak her name as she nodded, eyes struggling to focus. "Aye. If you tell anyone, though, I swear I'll chuck you in a closet with a strafing hawk." He didn't respond, and for the first time since she'd met Alek, Deryn felt completely stranded, like she was still suspended under the ship mid-battle, no one realizing they needed to come for her. What if Alek pushed her away? What if he didn't love her, as she'd so hoped. Now that it came down to it, that thought seemed so stupid.

Suddenly there was a horrible pressure on her cheekbones, in the back of her throat, and heat rose up in her chest. No. Oh no. She clenched her teeth.

"Dyl-Deryn?" Alek's voice was near her ear, and the slight edge of concern was the final breath on her house of cards. Deryn squeezed her eyes shut, but the heat rushed the backs of her eyes and flooded past her lids, streaking down her face.

"BALLS," she exclaimed, and tried to get her weakened arm to bend enough to wipe them away. Her thumb caught on Alex's harness line, and the resulting twinge of pain hurt so much she gave up. The first thing Alek sees her do once he knows she's a girl: cry. As if he needed the convincing, with them wrapped up like a pair of starfish. She sniffed and turned her head away, glaring angrily at the soggy clouds above.

"I'm not going to tell," Alek said. "I'm not going to betray you."

"I knew that, you barking ninny!"

"Then what are you crying about?" he snapped. He took a breath to say something else—something she had no doubt he'd regret—when their heads broke through the belly of the lowest cloud. Alek's body tensed, and his face went rigid and stern as it always did when he was trying not to look afraid. Deryn felt the odd flop of fear in her gut, but forced a twitch of a smirk onto her face for Alek's benefit. Suddenly everything was white, and the vapor tickled Deryn's throat, wet and close as the rebreather beastie. Cloud pressed in around them, erasing everything but their shoulders and faces, and the rope disappeared a few inches above Alek's head. For a moment, there was literally no one else in the world.

They were soaked at once, and Alek's brown hair turned nearly black, curling and glimmering with condensation. His skin glinted, and he coughed on the weird texture of the air. Deryn had been cold before, but this was worse, like tiny ice beasties were nipping off the ends of her fingers, her nose, her cheeks. She wasn't convinced she had ears anymore. A shudder passed through her as the chill soaked into her slops and pressed its clammy hand against her skin. Barking spiders, she was trembling like Bovril after a bath.

Barking shoulder. Barking Bats. She could have done with that pint or so of blood right about now.

"Just a few more minutes," Alek said, and to Deryn's surprise, he tightened his arms and legs, compressing her against him for warmth. She rested her chin on her uninjured shoulder and tucked her nose under his ear. He jerked in surprise, whispering something in German about the cold.

"Alek?"

"Vas?"

Her eyes were unable to find purchase on the white clouds, so she leaned back and looked at him. The slight edge of a smile lurked around his mouth. He'd taken to answering her in simple German, to let her practice, and it had always given her a secret tingle of pleasure to feel that he was somehow adding her to his very small Austrian family. His face was centimeters from hers, his breath the only warmth at all.

They were as alone as they'd ever be.

"Don't run," she blurted. His expression twitched, brows drawing together a squick. Just like that, Deryn's throat was going all hot and tight again. "I swear, I won't try to be anything but your friend—I know I can't. But you are my best friend, and I don't want my being a girl to send that all pear-shaped too. I should have told you sooner—I wanted to, but-"

She stopped talking as Alek let go with one arm and she slid down a squick, chin brushing past his nose. They both jerked their heads back a bit, but Alek—brows drawn, expression unreadable—swiped at the tears under her eyes with one gloved hand. The supple leather succeeded only in smearing the damp across her face, but Deryn didn't care. She wanted to press her cheek against that hand, or turn her face to it. Would he have wiped Dylan's tears away?

He blew out a breath. "It's complicated," he said, and stuck the end of his glove in his mouth and pulled it off with his teeth. He reached back and found her hand on the line behind his head, slowly drawing it forward. Deryn winced, both at the heat of his hand and the pain of moving her arm. One handed, Alek wiggled the glove onto her hand. It was like slipping it into an oven. Deryn held her breath, refusing to show the pain as she wound her arm back around Alek's shoulders.

She sniffed ungracefully, too exhausted to care what he thought, and gasped as his the backs of his burning fingers pressed against her face.

"Deine haut wie eis," he said.

"My what's like ice?"

"Skin."

"Aye, the rest of me too," she said, ignoring the flutter in her stomach. Her head went all dizzy, and she closed her eyes, fingers curling in his glove. Alek's hand brushed over her forehead and flicked her damp blond hair back from her face. She opened her eyes, and he was watching her. She leaned her forehead against his and sighed. "It's complicated, aye?"

He nodded, and the movement of his forehead made her nod as well. His hand was frustrating, curving around the back of her neck—warm an callused and not at all how he would have touched Dylan. She'd known it would be different. But was this good different or bad different?

The rope jerked, and the pair of them dropped like lead weights for a good three yards before the line snapped taut and the every inch of their leather harnesses creaked. Deryn must have gasped, but Alek's arms constricted around her and crushed out her air. He gave a harsh cry as his harness broke the weight of their fall. Deryn had only enough time to feel sympathy for the welts he'd have under the arms, when his grip slipped and she jolted down.

And suddenly, Deryn was obscenely glad she was not a boy. Alek had reacted to catch her by jerking up his leg, and Deryn had just become far more familiar with his thigh than was strictly appropriate. Or even loosely-appropriate. Or barely…In fact, it was almost entirely inappropriate. Her mother would pass out.

Alek's face was a bit red as he pulled her back up, and Deryn avoided looking at him until his arms were back around her waist.

"What in the barking hell are they doing up there?" she growled, trying to relieve some of the awkwardness.

"Something, poorly," Alek said, shifting in the harness with a grimace. Deryn's fingers curled into the back of his shirt.

"Are you all right?"

Alek nodded, but Deryn tried to pull a little of her weight up onto the rope anyway, to give him some relief. "You'll hurt yourself," Alek warned. Deryn ignored him, and fire shot down her arm from elbow to shoulder. "Dyl-Deryn!" He tightened his legs around hers and tugged her down. Then her face was against his, her lips pressed against the grease-smear beside his nose. Just a squick more, and they could kiss.

Warmth started in her belly, fluttering up into her chest, and every muscle from Deryn's chin to her knees seemed to contract. Without thinking about what she was doing, she hitched her leg up and wound it tighter over his, hooking her boot around his shin, pressing herself against him. Alek inhaled softly through his nose, and for a moment she thought he would tell her off. Then his arms slid around her waist, hugging her in place against him, and he tipped his head down slightly, drawing the bridge of his nose softly along her jaw. His breath was short going into his chest, and ragged coming out across her neck.

They stayed there, the rope swinging slightly from the fall, and mutually fought the warmth expanding between them. But Deryn could feel Alek's body heating against hers, and that heat was quickly turning her boneless and lightheaded as a Huxley. His hand moving up her back was not helping, and when it slid into her hair she gave a whine of frustration.

"Stop. Complicating. This. More!" she said. "Dummkopf."

"You started it," he said, lips moving right against her skin. Then Alek's hand seized her hair and Deryn's surprised yelp disappeared into his mouth as he pulled her head down to his. Warmth, the wetness of his tongue across hers, the jerk as their bodies tensed against each other—the electricity would have impressed Dr. Tesla. Deryn shocked herself—a surge of energy flooded up into her, flushing her face, and she crushed her lips to Alek's like she'd never get another chance. And maybe she wouldn't. It was frantic, and Alek didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, but it didn't matter. His mouth found her jaw, her neck, and she felt the electricity of his lips crackling over her.

Deryn's head tipped back, and Alek's breath was warm on her throat. She couldn't think about how the rest of him felt, warm and flush against her; her body didn't have the vocabulary to comprehend it. She stared into the white cloud, mind blank. Feeling the flutter over her skin as Alek kissed her collarbone and throat. His heart hammered against hers, like two caged beasties trying to get to each other. Her fingers curled in his glove against the back of his head, running through the brown hair soaked with condensation from the cloud around them.

Then his hands found her waist, awkwardly sliding up her ribcage. His still-gloved hand paused on her ribs, and his bare fingers found her face, sliding along her cheekbone. She could feel him looking at her, studying her features again. Suddenly, the white world was too bright to look at, and she closed her eyes. She felt him reacting to the shudder that passed through her, and felt a little sorry for him, stuck with a girl who was so injured she could barely move. The things she would have done if she'd had use of her hands. She didn't even know what they were, but she was certain they'd be perfectly awful.

Deryn tipped her head forward again with effort and leaned back down. Alek read her without prompting and raised his mouth to hers. No reason not to make a bold statement—she attacked him, prompting a muffled yelp of surprise, closely followed by a laugh as she felt him give under her, relinquishing control of the kiss. She knew more what she was doing than he did, anyway. Not that he was bad—he was Alek, and that made up for whatever experience he lacked.

His Clanker-fiddling hands slowly lost their hesitation, and she wondered if the feeling of something living under them was really so new. But then, he kept clear of the beasties. Deryn smiled a bit—she was an awfully big beastie to get started with.

She pressed against him and he accommodated her, and if she closed her eyes it was like being able to expand outside herself, or to expand herself into him. Time could spiral out into nothing like this. Deryn didn't care about the pain anymore. She wished they never had to return to the Leviathan.

The Leviathan!

She jerked back from the lazy kiss just in time to realize the wisps of white gas were growing thin. Moments later, they were out of the cloud, blinded by an morning sky as electric as a Tesla cannon. Alek said something in German she didn't know, but translated as a curse. The rush of energy kissing Alek had invited was draining out, leaving her with just the shell of her battered, ragged body. She sighed and bent her head to his shoulder. His arms wound around her, steady even as they got closer to the Leviathan and the rope began to swing.

Deryn barely felt the cushioned impact as Alek's boots met the airbeast's taut skin.

"Wir haben keine Geheimnisse mehr," he whispered. It was the last thing she heard before her heavy head went under the blackness, and at last, it was true.

They had no more secrets from each other.

None at all.