A.N: The burning house episode. I could never figure out while playing the game whether Shadow intentionally let Locke and Terra go on their own at first, or if he just didn't wake up when Strago came to fetch them. But he makes so much noise that I figured it made more sense if he heard him, but ignored him.

Settling the Score

He heard Strago arrive before Locke and Terra even stirred. His sleep had always been light, allowing for quick reactions in case of danger, but it was barely more than a doze that night. So he could wake the quicker when the nightmares came.

The front door of the inn slammed. Stumbling footsteps rushed up the stairs, stampeding into their room as the door was wrenched open.

"You've got to help! Relm...she's…" the old man panted, breathless from unaccustomed effort.

A clamber and a thump, as Locke jumped out of his bed.

"Something happened to Relm?" he mumbled, still disoriented from having been woken up in a rush.

Strago launched into some sort of incoherent gibberish, while desperately trying to catch his breath. But the words "house" and "fire" were quite enough to convey his meaning. There was a quick commotion, as Locke and Terra looked for their weapons. Then footsteps approached his bed, and someone shook him by the shoulder.

"Shadow!"

It was Locke's voice; but he merely turned on his side. He could almost feel Strago's eyes on him, infuriated and utterly panicked at the same time. Yet he pretended to sleep on, although he was fairly sure that Locke, at least, didn't buy it for one second.

(They're more than able to handle this by themselves. This is not my fight and not my place. Playing the hero won't get me anywhere. The child is better off forgetting I ever existed. The old man said it himself.

"You bloody coward!"

Yes, Baram, I am. But you knew that already.)

He tried not to think of her by name. He fancied it made the situation easier to handle. And he stayed put, stoically, listening to the retreating rush of the others. Interceptor whimpered and fidgeted by the side of the bed, and once again, he got the very distinct feeling that the dog cared more than he did. It didn't help that the animal eventually decided to run off as well, a few minutes later, despairing of eliciting any kind of reaction from his master. This proved to be too much for him to put up with. He attempted to call, but Interceptor was either out of earshot, or unwilling to comply.

The front door was ajar when he reached it, and he slipped outside, unnoticed. At some distance from the inn, the largest house of the village, the Betha family's home, was a blazing, howling inferno, and a shivering horde of villagers was massed outside, dark figures silhouetted against the conflagration. Dogs barking, shouts, children's cries.

"Clyde!"

He ignored it as best he could. Other dark outlines were approaching the crowd, just like him, and he overheard two of them talking. There was no recognizing the speakers though. The lurid light warped everything it touched.

"Oh, dear goddesses…Relm's still inside?"

"Well, the Bethas are all out front, with the others, so she must be. Old Magus went in with those strangers, but they haven't come out yet either."

"Isn't there anything we can do?"

"Fraz lifted the prohibition, so everyone did their best. But it didn't have any effect. This isn't a regular fire. Something must be fuelling it from inside."

(So Terra and Locke might need help after all. And the child…)

He didn't want to delve into the implications of his involvement. There was no time to lose.

Silence and speed were his specialty. No one noticed as he crept around the back of the house, another shadow dancing among the flames. One of the ground floor windows was still accessible, and he hauled himself in. The instant his feet hit the floor, a falling beam came careening down in a shower of hot ashes, and needle-sharp reflexes were his only saving grace. The house would not hold much longer.

The smoke was so thick that he shouldn't have been able to remain conscious more than a few minutes. Thankfully, his mask helped both to shield his eyes and to let him breathe. He picked his way through the debris to the nearest room, when a faint, hoarse bark reached his ears.

(Interceptor. I'm coming, pal.)

The dog had probably found them. At least, that's what he hoped.

The flames bellowed like a stampede of wild bulls, and the scorching air seared its way through his throat into his lungs. A half-collapsed doorway, remnants of furniture vanishing in bright flourishes. Bombs were roaming the rooms freely, soaking in the heat and steadily growing in size. He silently thanked the smoke for concealing him, but judging by how large some of the specimens were, it was a matter of minutes before the house disintegrated.

The barking grew louder. There, in the next small room on his left, they were all lying unconscious on the floor, and a flinching Interceptor was valiantly trying to ward off two approaching bombs. Sensing his master, the dog turned towards him and let out a yelp before collapsing like the others. One bomb seized the occasion to paw out at Terra, as the other one opened its large maw over the child.

A shuriken chopped the first bomb's limb clean off. Another lodged itself right in the second one's gut, gaining him some precious time. He hurried towards them, picking the child up and dragging Locke and Strago closer, so that they would all be in range of a smoke grenade, the only reliable means of escape. The characteristic hissing sound engulfed them. The moment the environs blurred out of sight, a bomb detonated in a nearby room.

They materialized safely on someone's lawn. As Shadow regained his bearings, a whole string of explosions, accompanied by shrieks in the crowd signified that he hadn't been a moment too early. He breathed a sigh, feeling the tension in his limbs relent, as he waited for the others to shake themselves awake.

He let his attention wander. It fluttered for an instant then settled on the child in his arms. Now that she wasn't running around or prattling off, she gave him a very different impression. When Strago had shoved her into his arms after she was born, half-angrily, half-desperately, all he could feel was utter bewilderment. It seemed like such a mistake. That tiny little being could not possibly have had anything to do with him. Judging by its cries for dear life, it didn't want to have anything to do with him either. Or perhaps it could sense that its mother had died. Possibly both.

For four years he had tried to understand how he could possibly have the right to serve as an example for her. And he had concluded that he couldn't. Six more years of distance had done nothing to change that conclusion. But now, he felt something give way inside him, as if melting. He couldn't call it love. But for one instant, he felt… responsible.

(When all is said and done, she is of me. No matter how it happened. I didn't ask for any of this. I just let myself drift straight into it. No doubt, that was my weakness. One of many.)

Her breathing was evening out, which was reassuring. He was about to reach out to smooth her hair, but the impulse surprised him, and he checked himself. Just then, a cough attracted his attention. Bewildered and a little disoriented, the others were coming back to their senses. Locke busied himself with helping Terra, while Strago pushed himself up on his arms, with some difficulty. Shadow didn't move, but met his gaze as calmly as he could, as it was coming back into focus.

(I've paid my debt, old man. The only way I could.)

A begrudging expression appeared in Strago's washed-out irises as he realized the situation. His thanks were silent.