Thank you, my wonderful reviewers. I'm sorry this chapter took longer to get out.

Walking On Eggshells
4. A Night to Remember
December 31st, 2026

- : -

It was nearing eight in the evening. The sky had darkened hours ago -- it was winter, after all. The inside of Wright Anything Agency, and the apartments tucked stealthily behind it, would have been brittle with ice, if Iris hadn't arrived back early and turned on the oil heaters. When Apollo and Trucy thundered up the dark stairs, shivering from a combination of excitement and cold, a delicious wave of heat flooded across their wind-chilled faces.

"I LOVE you, Iris," Trucy announced loudly, slamming the door behind her. Her shout echoed around the apartment. She dropped immediately onto a couch, draping over it like a warm sweater and knocking her top-hat askew.

Absently, Apollo bent down to pick it up. "Why don't you say that to me when I heat up the rooms?"

Trucy opened her eyes blearily. "Weren't my stamps and Gavinners' signed albums thanks enough?"

"Is that your excuse for storing them at my apartment?" Apollo asked dryly, flicking the hat onto Trucy's lap.

Trucy lifted her head up. She said, in all seriousness, "If you hate it so much, you should move in with us. You crash here all the time anyway. I'd have a little brother as well, then!"

"I'm older than you," Apollo pointed out. After a moment, he added, "And male. Maybe that's why I don't like the Gavinners."

"Oh, then I'll take them away, and we'll be even." Trucy said brightly. "I haven't heard Prince Dreamy's voice in so long..."

Apollo gave up in the face of such solid logic--and just when had Trucy actually begun calling Klavier by that wildly inaccurate name?--and went to find Iris. At least she would make sense, for she was distinctively immune to the silliness that Trucy exhibited and the strangeness Mr. Wright loved so much to flaunt around. Apollo had no doubt Iris was unique in her way, but she hid it much better.

Iris was in the kitchen, humming contentedly to herself as she worked. Her pen moved steadily to attack paperwork. She was like a vision of the sort of mother Apollo had imagined for himself, as a small child lying awake at night in a stranger's house, wondering where his parents were. He had dreamed of a beautiful, gentle woman who would love him unconditionally, comfort him when he was sad, and clasp his hand and raise him to live a normal life. He would tell himself that, perhaps, his mother had been in a tragic accident, but yearned to find him again.

Meeting Iris had reminded him of his childhood fancies, but, try as he did, he could not picture Iris as his mother, which was probably a good thing. She was good for Mr. Wright and Trucy, yet the role of the woman who would shape his life had changed, the shape warped into a strange mixture Apollo could not identify. He had, for instance, never fantasized spending a day his birth-mother at a nightmare of a mall, with innumerable shopping bags hung across his frame as he struggled to keep up with a determined woman and her charge...

"Hello, Apollo. Have you made enough progress for your case?" Iris asked, as he walked through the doorway.

Apollo sighed, draping himself across the chair across the square table from Iris like a warm sweater. He usually avoided emulating Trucy's dramatics (he had too many of his own to make into trademarks), but, in his tired state, it did not occur to him to sit up straight and stiff. "I... think so. But we still have a week before the trial date, and Trucy and I should be able to dig more up."

"The prosecution won't know what hit them," Iris agreed easily, replacing her pen. "I wish I could be here to see your Chords of Steel."

'It just doesn't sound right when someone else says it,' he decided.

To change the subject, Apollo leaned back on the hind legs of his chair, and asked, "Do you know when Mr. Wright will be back?"

Apollo knew he didn't imagine a slight stiffening of Iris's face, faint displeasure that was aimed at something he couldn't identify.

It took her a few moments to answer. "In twenty or so minutes."

Apollo studied Iris intently, though he was careful not to try and Perceive her. It was rude, and he didn't cheat like Trucy. "Is something the matter?"

Iris was still, for a second or two, except for the way her fingers fiddled with the pen she'd just set down--nervous, probably about Phoenix--and her eyes flicked up to meet his. He blinked determinedly to hide the uneasy feeling permeating his being; she didn't call him out on the way his eyes were straining, though he knew Iris probably noticed it.

"It's nothing," she said listlessly, finally. "Just a minor disagreement about timing that we resolved."

It was the truth, but not all of it; Apollo forcibly stuffed away the urge to press to find the truth--it wasn't a courtroom, and Iris wasn't his suspect--and bit his lip.

"I've known him so long," Iris said softly, as if to herself, "and sometimes, I still cannot read him."

Apollo shifted awkwardly, trying to figure out what to say. "I can't read him sometimes, despite my abilities," he ventured, "but I know he means well, even when he's joking."

"He always does," Iris sighed, just as the phone began blaring. Slowly, her eyes pulled back into focus. She strode across the kitchen and swiped it before Trucy could.

"Hello?"

Apollo made a soft sound of protest that died in his throat, when he realised that whoever was on the other end of the line was not a client. It also seemed to be for her--the day he didn't notice the way Iris turned away from him slightly, to create a gentle illusion of privacy, Apollo would turn in his badge and become a hobo.

The slight smile that crossed her face as she listened had nothing to do with it at all.

"Not yet... hm? Now?"

Iris turned to look at Trucy, and then at him.

"It's pretty late, Feenie... Uh-huh... uh-huh"--the second sound emitted with a faint inflection of sarcasm--"oh, all right... You too."

She ended the call and settled the phone back into its cradle; the one that Apollo had theorized was held together by glue and tape, until Trucy protested—how dare he only SUSPECT when it was CLEARLY held together that way? He could see Iris' bemused profile as she turned back to watch them.

"Um, Apollo," she asked, a little hesitantly, "do you mind watching Trucy for the night? I'm sure there's food in the fridge..."

Something outraged reared up in Apollo.

'I'm not your babysitter!' he thought, but did not say. It was squashed by a second sentiment. 'At least she asked. Besides, I've gone over most of the case. I don't really have anything else to do except my Chords of Steel workout, but the Judge might throw me out of court if I practise any more.'

Iris smiled at him, more forcefully this time; against his will, Apollo found the hard set of her jaw, at complete odds with her patient demeanour, and made an effort not to shiver.

"All right," he consented quickly.

This time, her smile was genuinely grateful. "Thank you."

In a flash, she had crossed the room and grabbed a larger overcoat. She pulled it over her soft jumper and jeans--it was COLD--as she walked out the door.

On the couch, Trucy slowly opened her eyes. Her laugh made Apollo jump.

"Do you know something?" he asked, suspiciously.

"I ALWAYS know something," she confirmed readily enough.

- : -

He was waiting outside Borscht Bowl Club a little impatiently, which would have made Iris laugh if she weren't already aware of the terrible quality of the food. Romantic escapade indeed. Nevertheless, the grape juice was supposed to be excellent, and Iris smiled inwardly as she realised this was the PERFECT chance to make him finally play.

"Prepare for an evening of entertainment," he told her, as she approached.

Iris frowned in mock-suspicion. "It's not an evening spent watching poker, is it?"

"No, no, I learnt my lesson," Phoenix assured her ruefully. "Never eat then play. Your opponent might get brained by your dinner partner. Or poisoned. Happens all the time."

They entered the restaurant, Iris drawing her caramel coat closer around her. Most restaurants tried to make their customers comfortable; this one attempted to drive them into the basement in order to get warm, so that they could be conned into playing poker. At least, with the rigorous revision Phoenix was undergoing in order to retake his bar exam, he no longer worked at the Borscht Bowl Club.

"Do I look like the sort of person who would kill someone?" she teased.

He pretended to hesitate. "I don't know. Let me see..." His fingers gently closed around hers, lifting them up, staring at each part of her hand with the concentration of a lawyer examining a crime scene--though he probably didn't brush his lips, teasingly, across pieces of evidence when he brought them close to his eyes, as he did with the back of her hand. "Are these the hands of a killer? The fingerprints might be different, but I see... omelets? Bottles? Aha! Food poisoning!"

Iris let her mouth drop open. "I resent that! My omelets are delicious--you said so yourself!"

But she was laughing, gleeful that they could joke about what had happened, like this. It hadn't always been so easy. Their conversations had often become stilted affairs during her days in prison, and the fiasco right after she'd first been released had only made it worse. To be able to speak unflinchingly of the past, or even acknowledging it openly, was something Iris had only dreamt about until recently--when they took to heart that precious second chance they'd been granted.

Although the boy did not know it, Apollo had been a huge contributor to the new ease. He would probably never figure it out. Phoenix had suggested that Apollo would either become unbearably smug---or, worse, revert back into the timid persona he'd worn upon first joining Wright Anything Agency--if he discovered he was responsible for a portion of his mentor's love life. Iris hadn't argued the point, although she disagreed.

She didn't bring it up now. She did not want to spoil the mood.

"What sort of entertainment do you have planned, Feenie?" she asked instead, as he led her--almost unconsciously--to his customary seat beside the piano.

There were a few customers already seated, and in the corner of her eye, Iris could see another pair entering the door, although their faces were turned away. Had the restaurant--and the title was dubiously earned, at that--suddenly become more popular than she credited? The unchanged atmosphere seemed to disagree with the possibility.

"I was just joking about that," her companion admitted flippantly, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. The familiar gesture brought an unexpected swoop of nostalgia to Iris--her stomach rolled, and memories flickered like segments of old film below her eyelids. The reminder of their younger days felt at complete odds when contrasted against his current appearance and that scruffy, unkempt, devil-may-care air. His characteristic spiky hair was hidden beneath a pastel-blue beanie, but at least, with Maya and Trucy's help, she had managed to force him to dress less like a hobo otherwise, and his clear, determined eyes were startling as ever.

"You'd better think of something," she informed him sternly, "or my hand might just slip the next time I cook..."

He looked vaguely amused. "You're not serious, are you?"

"I take pride in expressing my love for you," Iris said seriously. "It's just that sometimes my love gets very, very salty indeed."

"I'll bet it does," he admitted, but something about the way he said it made her blush.

She shook her head sharply, then, as if by accident, her eyes settled on the piano right behind him. "Actually, I know a more practical way to keep my food delicious..."

She smiled, in a way she wouldn't have dared--or known how to--a few years ago. It was a smile that made even the current Phoenix follow her gaze with trepidation.

"I KNEW I should have insisted to Enigmar to make it disappear," he grumbled.

"Well, it's here now," Iris said sweetly.

"Do you WANT to get kicked out?" he asked her, and she admired how straight his face was. It was almost as if he was being serious...

- : -

"Do they WANT to get kicked out?" Trucy exclaimed, a bit too loudly, but neither Iris nor Phoenix, fortunately, appeared to have noticed.

Nevertheless, Apollo was quick to pull her back into the stool, just in case either decided to turn around.

Trucy had been all for hiding behind some flowering pot, before Apollo pointed out that there was no way a plant would survive in the frigid interior of the restaurant. They'd settled instead for waiting until they were sure Mr. Wright and Iris were no longer paying attention, and then sneaking in. Now the sharp-eyed pair squatted in a side-bench, Trucy periodically poking her head out to take a look.

After soft notes began drifting across--it wasn't too bad, compared to Klavier's concerts--Apollo risked turning to take a look. He had been too tall to hide beneath the tables anyway, and his profile was familiar, so the risk was small.

It took a moment for him to bite back his laughter.

The look on Iris's face...

He couldn't hear the words, but he easily picked up the disbelief; she was staring.

And staring.

And staring.

Phoenix mangled the next section, and still she stared.

Finally, when the noise in the restaurant had died down, Iris placed a hand across Phoenix's arm to get him to stop. She was blushing--embarrassment, Apollo decided.

"Damn it, Daddy," Trucy murmured softly, beside him. "You're not going to do it outside, are you?"

"What?" Apollo turned to her, distracted.

She waved a hand to keep him quiet as the manager walked past, heading toward the piano. He was muttering under his breath.

Apollo was wholly unsurprised when the couple quickly rose and left, before the manager could arrive.

"Let's go--"

"But... we haven't paid," Apollo objected.

Trucy smiled at him. "Catch up soon," she trilled, leaving before he could protest again.

The waiting manager smiled at him with a gleam in his eye.

Grr... Wrights...

- : -

"What were you planning?" Iris asked eventually, rubbing her hands together to keep them warm.

He draped an arm around her and drew her closer before answering, wrapping her in the warmth of his body. "The park, but I guess it's too cold, and the romance lacking."

She leaned closer. "I could say the same of the restaurant, except you can actually see stars outside."

They stopped, by silent agreement, and stared up. The night was chilly, but extraordinarily clear, and silver lights gleamed steadily, barely winking, against the navy vault of sky. There was no moon, which made the stars as visible as they could be in a city surrounded by light.

"Do you remember dancing?" she asked, after a moment. "There was a shooting star, that night, at the university."

She felt, rather than saw, his smile, in the tone of his voice. "How could I forget?"

Iris blinked, reassured by the contentment in his words that he was not thinking about what had happened in the days immediately following. "I... guess you couldn't."

He was quiet, as they started walking again, more slowly this time.

"I kept thinking I'd seen you in town," he added, "and I was convinced it was a bad reaction to Coldkiller X since I knew you were back in Ivy University."

"That wasn't me," Iris said softly.

"I know," he assured her. "She wasn't as beautiful as you were."

She pulled away and leaned up, so her lips brushed his ear when she whispered. "I think there were enough lies from that day that you don't need to add another one."

He shuddered, the grip around her waist tightening. There was something odd in his voice when he reminded her, "We were thinking of the future, that day. Or I was."

"I was too," she said, frowning and twisting to try and find his eyes. "What's wrong?"

He stared back for a timeless moment, then reached into a pocket.

"I've been thinking again," he admitted, reluctantly. "And I don't... I'm not sure how to do this properly..."

Iris took a step back to see his face more clearly. It was dark--the nearly streetlights were far away, and the moon absent--so she didn't notice the patch of ice beneath her heel.

The world seemed to roll as her foot slipped beneath her, a whirl of light and shadows. Iris braced herself for the cold ground.

There was a clattering sound of something hitting the ground, and Phoenix's arms were around her again, keeping her from falling.

"Thanks," she whispered shakily, as he helped her up.

"I promised not to let you fall, didn't I?" he teased gently, embracing her.

She laughed at the old promise, turning in his arms. Something gleaming caught her eye, reminding her of the clattering sound. "You dropped something."

For the first time, he looked a little shaken. "O-oh, um..."

She'd bent down to pick it up and had almost handed it to him when it dawned on her what it was. She stilled.

"Phoenix... this... is this...?"

He was rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, words pouring out in a torrent as if he were in a debate where winning relied on his ability to run over people's logic with sheer willpower and ability to bluff. "I was planning on doing it properly, with all the kneeling and romantic atmosphere, somewhere warm, but waiting was hard and since you're leaving soon and I won't see you again for months I--"

A sudden, fierce joy seemed to blaze through her, chasing the cold away. Iris hadn't realised how content she had been, rather than happy, until this moment, entwined futures stretching before her in a long path.

She didn't let him get any further. Iris threw her arms around the man she had loved for more than a decade, and cut off his words with a kiss--a proper one, deep and consuming, making it difficult to breathe.

His very agreeable response, which was to stop talking immediately and kiss back, would have made her blush as a young girl, in university. She simply tightened her arms around his neck. They'd done this before, and enjoyed it IMMENSELY.

Alas, the need for oxygen is a shared weakness among humans, so she drew back the few centimetres required to separate their lips.

"Is that a yes?" he gasped.

Feeling reckless, Iris slid the ring onto her fourth finger and leaned close again. She grinned, cupping his face with both hands. "Now, where were we? Should we take this back to the apartment?"

- : -

Behind a parked car, Apollo tried in vain to get Trucy's young eyes to look away.

- : -

TBC

R & R, please