Author's Notes: Yeah, I updated! It's been a while, I admit, and I'd had no long-term plan to update this story. But sometimes you just feel inspired, and pick up your keyboard and start writing. This isn't a long chapter, I admit, and the next won't be for some time I expect. But it just feels good to know that I haven't abandoned this story. It will still be told, if it takes me a thousand years. Enjoy! Review, or flame, or whatever you please.

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I found him sitting on the backstep, his head in his hands. The very picture of misery.

He's been staying with us ever since that day. The day where everything changed.

He was smoking his ebony pipe, and when I approached him he turned his head to acknowledge me.

"Pleto."

I offered him a weak smile. Giving him a scrap of hope is the least I can do for the person who has been my best and only friend for so long.

I don't know that I even believe in what I am about to say. But it makes me feel better by saying it.

I sit on the step next to him, and we avoid eye contact for a few moments, staring out into the dirtied streets.

There has clearly been a riot, as almost every bin on the street is on fire, the flames licking the stricken air.

It's hardly surprising that crime has been on the rise in these last few weeks. Jessamine kept these people in line, gave them belief for a better world. With her gone, they have nothing to cling to but each other.

And the bottle.

I look over to the curb where a huge black rat is picking the bones of a bird clean. The sight reminds me of exactly how I am feeling right now. Like an empty shell.

Gathering my thoughts at last, I look over at Royce, who is staring gravely at a graffiti-splattered wall.

"Look Royce," I begin, trying to sound as understanding as I can.

He cuts me off right there. "You don't have to say anything. You can't help me. No'one can."

I sigh and lay a hand on his shoulder in what I hope is a reassuring gesture. "I'm sure that some of Marcephony's cooking would change your mind. She's said she'll make you a meatloaf. Use up the last of the meat reserves. Would you like that?"

I'm aware that I'm talking to Royce like a father to his son, but Royce can be really childlike when he's in a slump.

He just keeps staring. My words are having no effect on him.

I try again after a few moments. "Look, Royce. This isn't helping anything. Moping about like this. This isn't you. Let me help you. Talk to me, we can talk through this."

He gives me a brief glance, before returning his gaze to the street. "It's over, Pleto. It's all over."

"No it isn't."

"It is," he retorted, removing the pipe from his lips and emptying it's contents onto the grimy ground below. "There was a chance that we could escape this plague. But now. Fuck, I think I might even have it."

I turn to him quickly as his words sink in. "Are you sure?" I ask, horrified.

He nods slowly. "I wake up every morning with a migraine. It's like a fire behind my eyes. It's the start, I'm sure of it."

No wonder he seems so solemn. I thought it was just to do with his parents, which would have been understandable, but somewhat demeaning. They had died so long ago. He barely mentioned their deaths any more. But no, this...

This put everything in a completely new perspective.

Suddenly I'm overcome with emotions. Negative ones, mostly. Anxiety. Fear. Grief. Even a confusing sense of guilt, like it was my fault.

I hold back tears with great difficulty. "Why didn't you say anything? We could have gotten you some help!"

"There's no way you could have helped. It's incurable."

"I could have tried!" I shout.

I'm getting really angry now. Not at Royce, but at myself, really. I should have figured it out sooner!

"I didn't want you to worry, okay?" he continues, giving me his full attention at last. "I knew you'd get like this. Please. Just don't get worked up, alright? I might not have it. I just think I do."

The stubborn shit! I bet he wouldn't have even told me on his deathbed. His priorities are messed up.

"And you would've just sat out here all day long?" I yell, clenching my fists in rage.

He shrugs, and stands up creakily.

"It's given me a chance to think, Pleto," he assures me. "About what you said. About joining the Watch. If I'm going to die, and let's face it, I probably am, then I don't want to have let you down. So if you want to go for it, then I'm in as well."

My mouth opens, my mind dumbfounded by what he was now saying.

"Royce, you don't owe me anything!" I say, watching him as he steps down onto the street.

He looks about him, then back at me where I'm still sitting on the steps. "No. But you're my friend. My best friend. If you're going to throw yourself in with a bunch of bloodthirsty, cock-sucking snobs, then I have a loyalty to go down with you."

I smile involuntarily. Royce's jokes about the City Watch always make me laugh.

"If you're sure..." I ask.

He gives me a grin, showing his full set of blackened teeth. It's the happiest I've seen him since Corvo's assassination of the Empress. Four weeks ago.

"I am," he confirms. "You only live once after all, and I don't want hagfish hauler to be the title on my gravestone."

I laugh. It doesn't feel right in a way, following such a morbid conversation. But I can't help it really. At heart I'm just an immature, drunken fishermen. Seeing a bright side of a dark existence has always been my speciality.

He starts to laugh too. It looks good. It feels good. It's been terrible being around him in such a bad mood.

"Well then!" he exclaims. "When do we start?"