ABOUT: Theodora Helena Miller's story "Fisk's Partners" is the only slash free one here. It's a close call anyway. I've got permission from Theo to write an extra chapter that turns it into slash, since the last chapter of the original has little potential to be edited—Fisk's dead for half of it.

NOTICE: I haven't read any of the books in over a year, so work with me here.

The music from the nearby town's Solstice Festival poured into the camp. The weather was plenty nice enough for us to camp, and the owner of the only local inn had politely informed us that he was sorry about our position, but he couldn't let an unredeemed man stay there for business reasons. Fisk was angry, but I couldn't blame the man.

Besides, 'twas beautiful here this time of year. The camp was near a river and surrounded by willow trees that provided shade during the day and shelter from the rain. And no, the company wasn't all bad, not even when he was mad at me since Jack slipped right through our fingers and scurried off.

"Fisk?" I asked experimentally. We hadn't spoken much since we'd lost Jack's trail in Gorgepoint.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You can't stay mad at me forever."

He looked up at me warily. "Mad at you? For what?" He asked.

"You're mad at me for stopping for Chant to rest and letting Jack escape."

"Mad? I'm not mad. I'm—" Fisk broke off, frustrated, as if searching for the right words.

"It's alright, Fisk. You don't have to explain if you don't want to."

Instead of looking relieved, he seemed to fall to pieces.

I couldn't bear to watch him fight some internal battle. So I stood up and crossed over to him, holding out a hand. "Come on, it's the Solstice. Even you can't be unhappy on a night like this."

Fisk took the hand. "Not with you." He admitted.

He hadn't let the hand go, even though he was on his feet already.

"What are we?" I asked finally.

"Well, you're a knight and I'm your squire."

"No, I mean… How do—what is—why are we…"

But I didn't have to find words. Fisk darted in and cut me off, leaving my lips otherwise occupied.

The thing about Fisk is, his areas of expertise are varied but not all-including. He can con a man out of the shirt on his back but he can't swim. His hand-to-hand combat is a lot better than mine, and so is his knife-fighting, but he can't swordfight anywhere near half as well as I can. He can make it across a room using moulding as footholds, but he can't climb up the riggings on a ship. And though I'd been raised in a quiet rural area with mostly my family, Fisk had been in a city with lots of other people.

Like everything else he does, Fisk kisses cautiously. 'Twas almost as if he was used to being pushed away.

I responded with enthusiasm, and I could tell he was somewhat surprised by the way he froze up.

He managed to push me back about an inch. "Michael, are you sure this is what you want?"

"Absolutely."

"Well in that case…"

[END]