She ran.

Deep down, it didn't surprise anyone.

After the nausea subsided, Myka yanked the door open and bolted down the corridor over Pete's screaming pleas for her to stay. She nearly knocked Artie and Leena over as she ran by them.

"Myka," Leena began, taking a step towards the stumbling woman.

"Don't," Myka groaned as she righted and continued to move down the hall. "Just leave me alone."

Her friends stood in mute frustration as she disappeared from sight.

They let her go. It wasn't their instinct to, but God knows how much she had to process. They gave her the space to do so.

Turning back to the mirror, they gazed at Pete. He was no longer screaming for Myka. He'd gone limp in the chair, his head hanging pitifully against his chest. It shook back and forth slowly, a dull murmur falling from his lips. Leena ached as she took in the broken man in that room. His aura, so shockingly white just moments before, was now such a dark blue that it was almost black. There was a reason sadness was called the Blues. Dark blue auras hovered only around the miserable. And Pete's aura was so dark that it rivaled Myka's, which had been muddy violet in color as she'd run by the reader.

Wordlessly, she fished her keys from her pocket again and moved towards to door.

"What are you doing?" Artie asked.

Leena appraised him sadly. "He's still cuffed. Did you plan on leaving him in there?"

Artie quickly glanced at Pete again, the surprise in his features told Leena that the lovable scatterbrain had forgotten that he couldn't move. He glanced back at her. "Should we wait longer? I don't know how long the inoculation takes."

Leena eyed him with tired patience. "You're a good man, Artie, but you're often cruel."

She left him and entered the door that Myka had just exited. Silently, she approached Pete, knelt at his feet, and cupped his cheek in her hand. "Hey, stranger," she greeted softly.

Pete didn't raise his head. He merely nuzzled into her hand and sniffed loudly. "Leena," he greeted back. "Oh Christ, what have I done to her?"

"Sshhhh," she hushed soothingly. "Nothing. You did nothing wrong, Pete. You made her happier than she's ever been in her life."

He barked an angry laugh and shook against her fingers. "Didn't," he mumbled. "I fucked it up. I fucked her up. The things I said...the things I did-" he cut off again and moaned.

Leena cupped his other cheek and made him look at her. The pain in his warm brown eyes made her own aura darken a bit. She held his gaze firmly. "Think about her words, Pete. Think about the things she did to you. Remember her expressions when she touched you. Remember she wouldn't leave your side." She gave him a watery smile. She hadn't witnessed any of their private moments, but she knew perfectly well what lovers said to each other. She watched his self-loathing soften at the memories. "Remember she loves you. She has for a long time."

He smiled brokenly, tears shimmering. "She ran," he said bleakly.

Reaching down behind him, she slipped her key into one cuff without breaking eye contact. "She's Myka," she replied gently. One hand freed, she moved the key to the other cuff. It fell open and Pete was finally liberated after over seventeen hours of restraint. With the gold arrow's effects wiped from his blood, his injuries now screamed and he winced as he brought his bruised arms forward. His shoulder sockets were wrenched and his upper biceps bloody. Leena caught his sore wrists and massaged them carefully. "So catch her, Pete."

He clenched his jaw and hissed at her ministrations. Confusion swam in his eyes. "How can I fix this?"

Leena bit her lower lip. Now was not the time to broach a rather important subject. Instead, she merely smiled. "Go talk to her."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She ran all the way back to the B&B. The approaching dawn gave her just enough light to sprint and not worry about rocks or uneven ground. She ran the two miles without slowing, gasping harsh gulps of air as tears leaked from her eyes and streaked to her ears. She felt the burn of oxygen deprivation in her thigh muscles. She simply ran harder. The burn intensified and she was glad. Pain was a welcome sensation. It saved her from thinking about anything else.

Pete

She stifled the thought of him, but he kept resurfacing. She couldn't banish the many gazes he'd lavish on her in the last two days. Deep brown eyes, conveying so much emotion that it stole her breath. The shy appreciation before the arrow. The dark, starving desire after. The lustful aggression. The carnivorous satisfaction. The orgasmic fury. Then the soft, post-coital tenderness. And then...

Myka moaned and picked up her speed, trying to outrun the final gaze that chased her just behind her eyes.

The pain. The abandonment. The insecurity. The terror.

The look on Pete's face when she'd thrown herself off of him had seared itself into her mind. He'd begged her - chained and struggling - not to leave him. He'd screamed her name, eyes pleading that she stay.

But it had been too much. The nausea, the room, the chain chairs, the observation window, the people watching on the other side, the people listening (probably) to their lovemaking, the public knowledge of everything that had happened...and the eyes. The eyes of her partner awash with fear.

Her fearlessness had emptied as surely as if the lead arrow had opened a drain inside of her. One minute, Pete was enough for her and the rest of the situation could just fuck off. The next, she was her regular ball of nerves, caring what people thought, hoping for their good opinion, terrified of looking unprofessional, flat-out scared of romantic entanglements. All of those elements bore down on her now, so she did what any startled animal does when faced with multiple unpleasantries. She ran.

The house was close. Lungs scraped raw, she pulled another painful gulp of air and ran like the devil himself was chasing her. She vaulted the steps, throwing herself through the front door. Thank God everyone else was at the warehouse. She could tear up the stairs, across the landing and into her room with no one hearing the racket. She slammed her door behind her and locked it before throwing herself onto her bed, balling up tightly in the fetal position.

Safe at last, she allowed herself to sob.