Maleficent never allowed Aurora to know anything more than the very basics of what she did when she went out at night. She was so afraid, sometimes, afraid that her "side job," as she jokingly referred to it, would intrude upon Aurora's peace, that something might happen that would break the tenuous life they had built together, oh so fragile, but getting stronger every day. The reason she fought was also the reason she feared to fight, and so she lived her life on eggshells and broken glass, tiptoeing carefully so as not to upset the balance. And she never for a moment believed that she would be able to do so without Diaval. He was her tie between worlds, there for her whether he was needed to hunt down criminals or run to the grocery store. He always seemed to be perched, ready to fly off at a moment's notice, to do her bidding and yet- and yet she had never known anyone so at peace, almost restful. One could tell at a glance that he was where he wanted to be, and that he would fight for his right to be there no matter what. Maleficent held no illusions: she knew that he did not stay with her because of his promised obligation on that day so long ago, when he swore to be her servant. That had been obligatory, and his service to her was anything but. She knew this, and yet she caught herself at times wondering what would happen if she released him from his bond- if she told him that he was free. She thought that he would stay with her- heaven knows why, but he would- and yet she found a strange ache in the pit of her stomach, a longing to find out for herself what would happen. She didn't understand it, and when she found herself thinking of it, she pushed it to the back of her mind, intimidated by the digging she would have to do insider herself to find the answers she sought. So she pushed it away and yet, somewhere in her subconscious she knew what she would find. Perhaps that was why she did not look. Denial had a way of making one's life infinitely easier, and she had never had an easy life. How she longed for one now.

There were nights when Maleficent didn't come home until late. When she did arrive home, she was hurt- she tried with all her might to hide it, Aurora knew, but she loved her godmother, and saw what she so desperately tried to hide.

At first, Aurora hated it when Maleficent went out to fight the baser instincts of the city. It took her away from her, and it hurt her sometimes, knowing that Maleficent had seen the dirty side of life for far too long- why, when they were finally settling down to their life together, why was she so eager to go back to that?

It was many months before Aurora understood. She remembered when she had had that discussion with Diaval. It was after a particularly ugly argument that he had gone to her. Usually, after a disagreement between the two stubborn women, Diaval flew right to his mistress's side, so it was a surprise when he knocked on the door to her room. She had invited him in, and they talked. She had expected him to be gentle and soothing, reasoning, to understand her point of view- he always had before, even when they had disagreed. But Diaval was angry with her. His eyes on fire, his muscles tight, he stayed silent for a long time, and it was obvious that he was trying to reign in his feelings, to gain some self-control.

Aurora had never seen him angry before. Sure, he would get mad and huffy when he talked with Maleficent, or a wry sort of irked when he dealt with criminals, but never angry. So when she opened her door to his tight face and short manner, she was almost afraid at first. She knew he would never harm her, that wasn't it, but she was afraid, afraid that she had done something irreparable. Perhaps that was why she was so open to what he had to say- because she knew without a doubt that he was deadly serious. And he could tell that she understood, for his manner softened as they spoke, and his jaw unclenched, and he sat with her while they talked. She sat quietly while he explained, explained why it was Maleficent went out every night, why she was so protective of her ward- and Aurora's heart softened. She was still so young, so inexperienced in the ways of the world, and she realised that that night. After they had spoken, she had wanted to go to Maleficent, to apologise, but she didn't. She thought about what Diaval had said, instead, and tried to understand things from her godmother's point of view. She fell asleep that night thinking on it, and the next morning, greeted Maleficent with a bright smile and a kiss. She told her simply that she knew she had gone too far with her words last night, and that she hoped Maleficent could forgive her quick temper. That she loved her truly, no matter what she decided to do, and that she would always welcome her home with a smile. Maleficent had smiled, softly and deeply, and when she was alone, she cried. Diaval sat on the armchair in the darkened room, silent, while Maleficent wept as quietly and thoroughly as the morning dew settling on the world.

And after that, Aurora had kept her word. She had welcomed Maleficent home every evening with a smile, and if she was asleep before her godmother came home, then the next morning she would make breakfast: blueberry muffins with hot maple syrup and strong coffee, and they would eat together in bed, talking about nothings and spending the morning in each other's company. It was moments like these that soothed Maleficent's old wounds more that anything else could. Just her and her girl, living together.

Diaval picked up the black leather messenger bag that was as much a part of him as his own arm, and began filling it with the usual things: rope and tape, daggers and a first aid kit, and the enchanted necklace that Maleficent had made for him not too long ago. She had made him swear only to use it in case of emergency, and he had agreed immediately, even before she told him the power of the necklace. It could turn him into anything he chose. It could only be used once, but once wold be enough, if they were ever in such a situation where it was needed. He treated the amulet with reverence, as he knew without asking how much of herself she had given to make this for him- to make sure that he would always be safe. He didn't quite know how he felt about that, but it seemed to be a mixture of feelings, ranging from a sort of deeply affected sadness to a feeling of wholeness he hadn't known he had been without. His mistress never was one for words- they both knew how little they meant- but there were times, times like that, when she showed him how much she cared. And it was the times like those that he treasured.

He filled his bag with the things they would need, and then they were off- off to protect their Moors from the infestations inside it.