Every day grew easier; every hour spent around one another put them both more at ease. They fell into a comfortable sort of daily routine. Part of her was still very guarded against betraying Fang and the others, but the other part of her, perhaps even without her consent, had grown accustomed to this new, if temporary, lifestyle. Before either of them knew it, a full week had passed since her arrival.

His stories continued to be protested, analyzed, and doubted, but he seemed not to mind. In fact, it was almost like a game now; a battle of wits. For every challenge she would make, he would return one. The reverse was also true. Their intellects were closely matched, which made these exchanges enjoyable on both ends, even if one of them refused to admit it. Pride was something she had never lacked. And yet, she wasn't exactly conceited, either. She was an interesting puzzle for him to work at.

As was he to her. They both had their own, private musings over one another. Sometimes, she would watch him over the top of her book as he sat at the table in the other room, engrossed in company business. The vigor with which he threw himself into keeping Altamira and the Lezareno afloat and thriving was astounding to the point of being almost ludicrous. And yet…she respected it, too. It was admirable to pour oneself entirely into a cause about which one was passionate. She had done it, too. He was a strong, devoted man. …Even if he did have a work ethic that bordered on the obsessive.

Regal had his own moments of observation, as well. Now and then, he would glance up to find her half-curled in the corner of the couch, book forgotten and closed over one finger as she stared out the nearest window. It was obvious that her mind was a million miles away, but though his curiosity was positively gnawing at him as to just where it was, he never asked. He had a feeling that her silence about her pre-Altamira adventures was deliberate; she did not want him to know. He did want to get the answers surrounding that little locket, of course, but he would give her a chance to settle in and trust him. Perhaps her memory would return, and she would willingly tell him then. Until such a time, he was content to share his home and hearth with her. Though he had far from lost sight of his goal of restoring her memory, he was used to her presence by now, and it could even be said without exaggeration that he enjoyed it. After years of solitude, it was nice to have company again.

Evening had brought with it the same, lazy peace it always did. Regal had lit a fire in the hearth, and it filled the otherwise silent room with a soft crackling. He sat on the couch, settled in comfortably with a bit of paperwork in his lap and a mug of hot tea on the end table beside him.

Raine was essentially at his feet, sitting on the floor several good inches from his leg and leaning back against the couch. He had reminded her in good humor when she had taken up the odd spot that she was perfectly welcome to sit on the sofa, but she had, rather bluntly, refused. Not that it had been much of a shock, really. And so, there they had sat in easy silence for nearly two hours, she with her book, he with his work, and both with steaming cups of herbal tea. She continued to seem satisfied with- and appreciative of his culinary prowess.

At last, she paused. Glancing up at him, she rested her head down on the seat of the sofa behind her and half-closed her book. Feeling her gaze before he saw it, Regal blinked and turned his attention to her. "Something wrong?" he asked.

"…You never give it a rest, do you? I'm beginning to think you have a physical addiction to paperwork," Flare informed him dryly.

Regal chuckled softly. "You are not the first one to tell me so, and I doubt that you'll be the last."

She sniffed. "You need a pet or something, Bryant. Something to occupy your mind. There is such a thing as working too much, you know." She ran a hand through her hair idly, starting to straighten and look back down at her book.

"I have you for that at the moment."

Flare paused. Slowly, she turned her head toward him and lifted one eyebrow. "…I beg your pardon? Did you just refer to me as a pet?" She eyed him up and down.

The president heaved a sigh, looking up at the ceiling with faint traces of amusement on his face. "You do enjoy twisting my words, don't you?" he chuckled.

"Well, you make it so easy. Evidently, you fail to learn your lesson. Choose your wording more carefully, and we won't have this problem. One day, you will say the wrong thing to the wrong, ambitious, young lady, and you will quickly find yourself walking down the aisle with your new bride."

"Ahh, so this is to be a lesson to me, is it, Professor Sage?"

Again, she paused. He received the reproachful, flat "look" he had learned to recognize as her way of saying, "Yeah, yeah, your ridiculous stories," and returned it with a very slight, almost impertinent smile that earned him the additional roll of her eyes. Flare turned away from him and reopened her book.

Regal leaned back with a relaxed sigh, setting down the papers and picking up his tea. "Perhaps you're right. It gets lonely here – without you, of course," he added, perhaps a touch mischievously. "I might look into a pet. What would you suggest, Miss Flare?"

"A cat," she replied off-handedly, turning the page. "As busy and independent as you are yourself, a dog would tax your patience and energy too much. You would quickly start searching for a new home for the poor beast. A cat, however, takes care of itself enough to let you go about your schedule and still come home to a companion that does not require hours of active attention, but can provide company even so. They are also neater and less obnoxious, and, in my opinion, more intelligent than most dogs."

His brow lifted a bit. "I take it you had a cat somewhere down the line."

She blinked, glancing up from the page. "…A long time ago. When I was a child." Her head tilted slightly. "Moko, I believe, was his name. ...I was very fond of him. Until he was lost in the ocean."

Regal gave a start, caught off-guard by her last words. "The ocean?" he repeated, looking down at her. He leaned forward slightly. "…Flare?" Her face was distant, and he was concerned.

"When we were trying to escape… My parents and I… We fled onto a ship. I was holding Moko. He was struggling… We fell overboard. Into the water. …I almost drowned. My father saved me, but the kitten was lost. I was devastated." She blinked, her brow knitting. Regal tentatively put a hand to her shoulder. After a few seconds of being still and quiet, she suddenly gave her head a sharp jerk and pulled away from his touch.

"Are you alright…?" he asked, uncertainly.

"It was over a decade ago; I'm fine. It isn't a particularly pleasant memory, but I think I'll live," she replied, her tone going dry once again. She stood and stretched a bit, utterly impassive once again. "…I'm going to bed." Flare marked her page and set the book neatly on the other end table. When she reached for her tea to clean it up, he stopped her.

"I'll get it. Goodnight, Flare. Sleep well," he bade her. She blinked at him for a second, but she soon nodded, offered a similar farewell, and disappeared up the stairs. Regal watched her go, thoughtfully.

Cats. Hmh.