Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run

When Last We Met: On the orders of the ailing Lavender, Cain has travelled to the Other Side to bring DG back from exile. But events at the ruins on the southmost edge of the O.Z. still hang heavily between them... and neither one has ever been known to give up without a fight.

Chapter Thirty Seven: What Stays and What Fades Away

Wyatt Cain spent the better part of an hour sitting on a stool, watching DG bustle about the diner. Every so often, she'd cast him a sideways glance, a nervous smile, as if reassuring herself over and again that he wouldn't disappear on her. She didn't speak to him, he imagined that her mind was working far too fast and furious to even contemplate such a thing. Still, he couldn't say that he was disappointed; after all, watching her, seeing her with his own eyes for the first time in weeks upon weeks...

No, it wasn't disappointing at all.

The second waitress – Phoebe, her name-tag read – was a little more forthcoming. She had attempted chatting amiably before she'd come to the realisation that she couldn't wheedle more than one-word answers out of him; she'd gone on to other customers, greeted by name and serviced with a sunny grin.

Diners came and went. The hour spilled over into the next, and still DG moved like stopping for even a moment was not an option, distinctly ignoring the small section of counter that Cain was occupying. Finally, he decided there was nothing for it, cleared his throat, and called her over.

"You plan on taking a breath any time soon, darlin'?" he asked, keeping his voice low so that the din of the other patrons would hide what he had to say.

"My shift is almost over," she said, and gave him a tremulous smile. "Give me that long to figure out what I'm going to do about you."

He smirked, nodded, and let her be. His sudden appearance had rattled her, that much was blatantly obvious, and despite what it seemed, he'd given plenty of thought as to the kinks he was going to cause in her life, and what it was going to take to iron them out. He was on his second cup of coffee when he began to wonder if he ought to have waited at the house for her. It was a relief when she came out of the back, uniform abandoned for a pair of slacks and coat, and a man on her heels.

"Thanks, Carter," she mumbled, never once glancing over her shoulder. The look she gave Cain was near to desperate as she maneuvered around the far end of the counter. Let's go, now, the look said. He knew it well. He was on his feet when she reached him.

"I haven't said yes yet," he said, and then pulled up short. "This him?"

"Yes," she said, her cheeks tinged pink. Her eyes caught Cain's; he raised an eyebrow. "Carter, Cain. Cain, Carter."

"Where you from?" Carter asked, impertinent.

"Central City," Cain said.

"Nebraska. We're going to go. I'll see you on Sunday, Carter." She wrapped a hand around Cain's wrist and tugged him from the diner; Cain allowed himself to be pulled along, chuckling. Here was a girl he hadn't seen in far too long; clever, quick-tongued, and stubborn as hell. Carter called the kid's name once before the bell was ringing and the door was shutting behind them.

"Nebraska?" he asked.

She let go his arm to fumble in her bag. She didn't speak until she'd fished out a set of keys. "I'll explain later," she said, directing him over to a beat-up, faded green pick up. Rust had begun to eat at the wheel-wells and bumpers. A vehicle he'd never laid eyes on, but he knew it all the same. It had belonged to her adopted family, once upon a time. Now it was hers, and she offered him up another smile, this one near to genuine. "Get in."

The old man – a good friend of Hank's before the storm a year before, he'd learned – was nowhere to be seen, his truck gone by the time they arrived at the farmstead. Cain was glad for it, he hadn't been looking forward to more awkward confrontations with the locals. At least, not just then. The storm, the long day, the walk in the sun was all catching up to him. He wanted nothing more than to sit quietly for a spell.

Watching DG worry at her bottom lip the entire ride home, however, told him quiet wasn't what was in store for him.

When she unlocked the front door, she tried to hide the shaking in her hands, but he caught it nonetheless. He said nothing, only followed her inside.

The house was warm after sitting closed up all day, and the air was uncomfortably still. He found himself in a white kitchen, shafts of late afternoon sunlight slanting in what windows hadn't been boarded up. He expected her to start pushing up the sashes to let a bit of breeze in, but instead she began wrenching curtains shut and lowering blinds. She then went about pushing buttons on a monstrosity of a machine that was perched precariously in the window frame on the shady side of the house. Within minutes, it began to hum loudly and belch out cold air. Only then did she turn to him; he'd hoped that the comfort of home would have her looking a little less spooked, but his hope had been in vain.

"I need to get changed," she said, shrugging out of her jacket. "The bathroom is through there if you want to get washed up."

He nodded, and she disappeared into the darkness of the house. He thought better of calling out after her, chewing momentarily on the tip of his tongue. Sighing, he realised that sitting down was out of the question, so he retrieved his pack from outside. He stood a moment on the porch, watching the wind play through the tall grass. The highway beyond was deserted. It was easy to take what strength and comfort he could from the isolation, however eerily familiar it seemed, and when he went back into the house, he was feeling marginally better.

He could hear her moving around upstairs as he washed his hands and face, the steady tread as close to pacing as Cain had ever heard. He'd finished cleaning up, and was standing in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter when he finally heard her come down the stairs. When she saw him, she offered him up another lie of a smile.

"My mother –" was how she began, but that was as far as she got before the struggle for words stopped her short.

"Your mother is just fine, DG," he said, watching her carefully. She looked away, blue eyes going to empty space to try and hide from him the relief there, but it was as much a part of her as breathing, that guilt she'd been carting around. His words washed the worry from her face, and there she was again. "You knew that, though, didn't you?" he found himself asking.

Absently, she nodded. "I thought – I hoped for it. But I didn't know, not really. Not until you told me."

"Didn't trust that red witch to hold up her end of the bargain, then?" he asked, gently as he could. Still, it came out cynical, edged.

"I didn't – listen, I'm not ready to talk about this yet," she said, holding up a hand. "You just got here. I don't even understand why you are here."

"Your sister sent me, officially," he said; no use in keeping secrets, now of all times. "But it was your mother that gave me the order."

She didn't reply, not right away. She sat herself down on one of the mismatched chairs that surrounded the kitchen table, hands firmly planted on top of her thighs. She looked at him critically, though he was not one to be fazed by such things. If she wanted elaboration from him, she wasn't about to get it. Not without first putting forth a little trust herself.

"So they think you're the best one to try convince me to go back," she said. It wasn't a question, and it brought a sad little quirk to the corner of her mouth. "With 'try' being the key phrase, of course."

"Of course," he conceded. "And not something I'm willin' to jump into just this minute. I could use a rest. Might be that you want to take one, too. I don't want you wearing yourself out before you tell me your side in all this."

Again she had no response for him but for a half-smile and a nod. And then she was out of her chair, and the conversation was done.

She busied herself for a few minutes making up a bed for him in the room that had once belonged to the units who'd raised her. While alone, Cain poked his nose into a few of the other rooms, but saw nothing of interest. Old furniture, dark wood, cracked windows, and everywhere enough dust to cover a lifetime.

He could not question what had driven her to return to this tomb. Her reasons were her own. And there was very little doubt in his mind that her reasons were hauntingly similar to his own as they'd once been. So he kept his mouth shut, did not pry or push. After all, he could pretend he was on orders all he wanted, but the truth of the matter was that he'd chased her into her exile when she'd once respected him enough to leave him alone in his. That spoke loud enough, without him having to say a damned word.

"Wyatt."

He turned to see her outlined in the door-frame, a dark shadow in the midst of golden afternoon light.

"Room's all made up."

Cain tried a smile, but it came up half-hearted and died quickly. He allowed her to lead him into a back bedroom, where shelves were bare, drawers empty, and the closet was nothing more than a collection of skeletal metal hangers. She had her back to him as she lowered blinds and snapped closed dusty curtains.

"Deege –"

"Sheets are fresh." Her speech was automatic prattle, courtesies she was using as a shield to deflect anything and everything coming at her. He needed to do something before she could start to believe in the wall she was putting up to hide behind, started to think herself impassive and untouchable. "I wasn't expecting – well, I know it's a little bare. This was the first room I cleaned out. So you don't have to –"

His feet chose his path. A few steps to cross the small room, to place his hands on her arms. Her words caught in her throat, jumbling there in confusion at his sudden closeness. Her hands didn't drop the faded, musty-smelling curtain; she gripped it tight in her fists as if it were there to anchor her, but in the next moment she leaned forward ever so slightly, letting her hands rest on the glass of the window. Stiff and still, she leaned away from him, hiding her face behind her tumbling hair. It took patience to coax her into turning and letting go the safety of hiding. When he settled his gaze upon her face she sighed, those sky eyes of hers so very lost.

"Listen," she began, "I'm really tired, and –"

He kissed her then, and it was no sweet, gentle thing. He pinned her to the window, hands steady on her arms to keep her where she was. His kiss was fierce, demanding everything of her mouth as he held it with his own; each breath she took was one that he gave to her first. She took from him eagerly, all reservations tossed to the wayside; so strong and dizzying was her response that he had to break away to drag his sense from the daze she'd put him in. So quick had she turned the tables that he found he was the one struggling to regain control of his breathing.

"Stay with me," he whispered, words that were off his tongue before he could think them through. He became aware that he still had an iron grip on her arms, and reluctantly he let her go. She looked at him with the tiniest hint of a pout on that temperamental little mouth and it was nothing for him to lean down and steal a small kiss as he'd so often imagined. Her eyes could not threaten to drown him with their vast sadness if he did his part to make sure she kept them closed.

"You want me to stay?" she asked, and there was hesitation in each careful word.

He tried to reassure her of his intent. "I just want to be sure you aren't gonna disappear while I'm sleeping."

A long breath of relief escaped her, and she refused to meet his eyes. With a single hand placed on her jaw, he tipped her head back and looked down at her. The pink tinge on the tops of her cheeks betrayed the steadiness in her expression when she finally braved his eyes.

"Darlin'," he began, unsure of what to say, but it was her turn to cut him off.

"I'll nap with you," she said quickly, and tried flashing a grin at him, but the shine in her eyes wasn't there, the whole thing hollow.

It was something near to heaven to stretch his sore frame out on the bed and rest his head upon a pillow. DG curled into his side, her back to his chest, warm and solid and his to hold. She squirmed a bit when he slid an arm around her stomach to keep her close.

His eyes were already falling closed of their own accord when he heard a timid whisper. "I promise I won't disappear while you're sleeping," she said.

But he still woke up alone.

The glow behind the curtains was gone, and all was pale grey light and clinging shadow. The emptiness next to him did not bother him so much as the cold touch of the blankets to his fingers. She'd been gone a long time.

He was slow to sit up, slow in easing the stiffness from his neck and shoulders, still weighted by an exhaustion that went down to the bone. It took him a few moments to lace his boots in the darkness, his fingers clumsy with sleep.

There was no light inside the house. He moved through silent rooms and found nothing. In the kitchen, light from the porch spilled in through the screen door, throwing webs of shadow across the floor. The door squealed sharply as he opened it, the tinny sound of new hinges.

He saw her when she turned toward the sound of the door, and he had to wonder if he was right in disturbing her. At the very edge of the light, she stood at the rail where two corners of the wraparound porch met. To him it seemed she stared out into nothing but blackness, but she was a part of this place, and she knew what lay hidden in the night, the fields and trees, the roads and the fences.

There was a chill in the night that slipped into his clothes as he walked the length of the porch. DG had a smile for him as he approached, tired but freely given. "I thought you were out for the night," she said when he reached her. Immediately she returned her gaze to the darkness beyond the house. She was quiet as he rested one elbow on the railing so he could watch her.

"How long you been out here?" he asked. He reached out, brushed two fingers down the length of her bare arm; cold as ice.

"A while," was the only response she had for him.

"This happen a lot?"

She nodded. "Lately."

"Couldn't be that something is on your mind," he said, and there was a twitch at the corner of her mouth that he could have sworn was almost a smile. "One of us is gonna have to start talking eventually, darlin'. That's the way this works."

"You can go first," she said. "It's only fair."

He wasn't about to argue that point with her. He'd once been told that there were only two theories to arguing with a woman, and neither one worked. The man who'd told him that was long since dead, and Cain had never learned if one theory or the other had ever proven itself. So he kept his tongue in his head, mulling over his thoughts with a calm that only came from long annuals of practice. He took so long with his musing that finally she turned away from her view of night's nothingness to look at him instead.

"Listen, Cain, I'm –"

"They want you home, DG," he said, disliking the way her eyes skipped away guiltily after he'd said it.

"I can't go back, I won't," she said, and her hands curled to fists atop the railing.

"Princess –"

"I won't kill her!" she said sharply, all but shouting, and at once, it was over. The fists were gone and her hands were gripping the rail again, so tightly that the wood seemed liable to splinter. She shook her head fiercely. "I won't, Cain, I won't." There was iron in her voice, brittle and hard, and he worried then that she'd break before she bent.

It was this thought that caused him to slip an arm around her, a reaction tempered by concern, an automatic reaching of his hand that she tried to push away. When he caught her wrist, he used the hold to draw her against him, and in his arms she shook and fought and cursed him for a traitor, and when her words stung him most, he silenced her with a kiss that stole the breath from her lungs. She tasted of fury and fear, and when she broke away, it was with a gasp.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into his shirt-front. "I won't. I can't. I'm sorry."

"None of that," he said; he gave her another gentle tug, and she put up little resistance, folding herself against him. She'd closed herself, and was utterly quiet; he felt the tension go out of her, her very being seeming to diminish until he was left holding nothing but a trembling slip of a girl. The darkness crept in around them, the wind and the stars and the endless prairie surrounding them and swallowing them whole.

I won't kill her, she'd said. So it was true; DG was linked somehow to Lavender's demise, though how or why he could not begin to guess. He wondered then how much she'd learned from Glinneth on that last day in the ruins, after he'd left her alone in that palace of dust and decay. She was as immovable in her course now as she had been then, and he wasn't sure if he had it in him to persuade her to act against her heart.

He didn't know how long they stood out there in the night's chill, there in the shadows that dwelt at the edge of the light. She'd gone back to the rail, refusing to simper and sigh against his chest; he stood at her back, closer than he'd ever allowed himself to get, arms to either side to hem her in. Together in silence, they watched the sky as the clouds rolled in, reducing the moon to a pale glow behind a veil of deepest, darkest grey. All too soon, the wind picked up, flattening the fields with a deafening rush and smelling of summer rain.

He lowered his lips to her ear. "We should head on inside."

"Not yet," she said, placing her icy hands on his. A faint, distant rumble of thunder. And there, flashes of light illuminating the purple-bellied storm clouds that clung to the black horizon. His princess shivered. "There's another storm coming."

Cain frowned deeply, and did not reply.

Author's Note: An insanely giddy thank you for all the positive feedback from my last chapter. Seriously, my lovelies, I don't know what to say, except "Wow, thank you," while beaming and blushing.

This one has another chapter title taken from this story's theme ("No Light, No Light" by Florence + the Machine). Currently wrapping up editting and reformatting "Of Light" and next on the list is "Until the Fall". This story is almost at its end. Can you believe I'm already thinking on my next project? Hmm...