Author's Note: This isn't a full story by any means, just a few random segments running through my mind when taking a break from Rain and Lightning. They aren't even worthy of one-shot status, really, and of dubious entertainment value. May be updated if inspiration strikes again, but really, it's just a side project and an outlet for random ideas that don't fit in with R&L. Rated M because I swear like a sailor.

"So," I said dully.

"So?" the olive-skinned man next to me asked blithely, raising one eyebrow at me under his hood.

I wanted to reply, but I didn't have the strength for more words. My body and mind had been through too much punishment, and my battery had been running solely on fear and anger for much of the last day. Now that I was finding myself in relative safety for the first time in a very, very long time, my body had decided that it was time to shut down.

"You know," I finally forced out, "a lot of really bad shit just happened to me, and I'd appreciate it if you were a little less fucking cheerful."

Yes, that seemed just about the appropriate thing to say to the man I was expecting not to molest me while I slept. He seemed to take my words to heart, however, and molded his shadowed face into a frown.

"You're a good friend," I told him.

We'd known each other for, what, a day? Granted, it had been a day full of really bad shit, but still, only a single day. Then again, he was sort of my best friend by default now, since the others were all gone. He was the only one who had agreed to stick around and not died in the process, surely that counted for something?

Dead. Gone. Taken away.

My mind screamed at me that it wasn't yet ready to deal with all of this. I leaned over and brought my lips close to my companion's ear.

"I need a drink," I told him in a whisper. Next thing I knew, my body had slumped fully against his, and his shoulder was soft enough to make an acceptable pillow, and, gods, I really was beyond tired.

I suppose I should have been thankful. But I wasn't. Not by a long shot.

I had this tendency to deal with things by curling into a ball, hiding under a suitable blanket and waiting for it to all go away. The past year, so different from the sheltered time before it, had rid me of this unfortunate habit – mostly. Instead, whenever I felt like I really couldn't take things anymore, whenever I felt ready to cry my eyes out about my hopeless situation and the bastard whose fault it all was, Imoen had been there. We'd sat together, she'd sung for me and I'd attempt to hum along and botched up the melody.

I'm not sure why that little ritual had always worked in allowing me to get a grip of myself again, but there you have it. She had been my best friend for a reason, leaning on me as much as I had leaned on her. But Imoen wasn't there now, and that meant I was hopelessly out of balance. I'd been curled under my blankets, shutting away the truths of all that had happened, and I'd been happy in my little blanket cave right up until the point where Yoshimo had yanked those warm, comforting blankets away from me.

And I was full of sudden, boiling hatred for that alone.

"This is my room," he pointed out before I could even get the first of the acidic words I'd been about to spit at him out of my mouth.

"Oh."

And then I remembered that he wasn't the same as Imoen, or even Jaheira, or Khalid for that matter. I barely knew him. It wasn't right for me to expect anything of him. It wasn't my right to lean on him and to expect him to help me out of this dark, dark emotional hole I seemed to have pitched myself into headfirst.

But yet, he was attempting to help me out, and I should probably be thankful for it.

That realization hit me like a punch in the stomach. It was not pleasant. But it also did something else that sorely needed to happen.

It put me into full damage control mode.

Friends had died, yes, but not all of them. Imoen was gone, but there was a chance to get her back, and in order to do that, I had better get my shit together.

I rolled myself out of bed and inelegantly managed to get my feet on the floor before I inflicted even more bruises on myself. Moving still hurt like a bitch, but I didn't allow the pain to get to me. My mind had, miraculously, managed to regain some of its focus.

"Your… clothes," Yoshimo pointed out, mercifully trailing off there without finishing the sentence.

I looked down at my body and fingered the rags I was wearing. They'd been through several battles in addition to torture, sewers and me passing out in them the night before. Now, it appeared as though they might fall apart on me if anyone so much as looked at them the wrong way. Last night I had been too tired and in too much pain to give a fuck about how I looked, but in the light of the new day, I realized that leaving Yoshimo's room in this ensemble probably wasn't such a good idea. Since I no longer had any money, this did present something of a problem.

"Um," I said, embarrassed that I had to ask him for a favor yet again.

He threw something at me. My reflexes were not up to the challenge and the garment landed squarely on my head.

"Gee, thanks." I reached for it and held it out in front of me. It was a shirt, or rather a short tunic, made out of fairly cheap silk, clearly a woman's garment, looking to be close enough to my size. "Where'd you get that?"

He was tactful enough not to answer out loud, but he did raise an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the bed I'd just vacated. I wasn't entirely certain whether there was any smugness on his face. His Kara-Turan features were trickier to read than most.

"Right." I cleared my throat and began to dress myself.

"Thank you. This was a good idea."

It really had been. My mind, even though it had snapped out of its grieved, panicked state for the time being, had been a mess. Before doing much of anything else, Yoshimo had led me to the graveyard, of all places.

It had been the right thing.

The temple district was busy, bustling with people and acolytes shouting glory, and that was not what I needed right now.

I needed a quiet moment to properly say goodbye.

Goodbye to the man on whom I had always depended from protection, Jaheira's quiet shadow. Khalid had been loyal to the last, intent on fulfilling the promise he had given to my foster father so long ago. I would serve his memory best by guarding my own life like he had guarded it.

Maybe one day, Jaheira would be willing to accompany me again, but I knew that at the moment, the road held too many memories for her. That was why she had left, and I was not cruel enough to try and get her to stay.

The day was deceptively beautiful. Birds were singing on the crypts' roofs, the trees were weaving elegantly in the breeze, and the sun's rays were warm on my skin. There wasn't a soul in sight apart from Yoshimo and me, and I appreciated the peace and quiet. Rising from my spot of contemplation, I gave my companion a nod.

"Let's be on our way."

I hadn't taken three steps when I saw movement from the corner of my eye, and the peace I'd felt for a few precious moments shattered like the fragile thing it had been when I turned and stared into the face of one of the people I had least wanted to ever see again.

"You. You!"