Roman paced nervously. He waited with trepidation for Emery to wake up, both hoping for and dreading the moment when her eyes finally opened. How was he going to explain it all to her, and not lose her in the process? He knew he deserved every ounce of fury she would surely unleash on him. The Friday afternoon sun slowly moved across the sky, lengthening the room's shadows, and still Roman paced.

"So. Apparently we're getting married now. I must say, it would have been nice to be asked first," came the voice of judgment from behind him. Roman jumped, and turned back to see Emery sitting up now, looking much better. He wanted to rush to her, to make sure she was okay; only his own guilt stopped him. He had to explain first.

"Emery, it's really not like that."

"I know."

"I wanted to explain it all to you the night of the ceremony…"

"Yes, I know."

"…but I never got the chance."

"Roman, I know!"

"I thought that -" Emery's words finally registered. "What?"

"Roman, I know," she repeated. "I remember. I'll remember every second of that night for the rest of our lives." She stood up slowly - she was still a little unsteady – and carefully made her way to Roman's side.

"You were so excited; and you kept talking about how things were going to be different. I remember," Emery whispered, staring at him with a look of trust he knew he didn't deserve.

"But I need to explain," he choked out, hurt even more by the openness in her face.

"And I need an explanation," she sighed, tilting her head to one side. "I trust you… but I do still need to understand what's happening." He didn't deserve her, of that Roman was now more certain than ever.

"I first thought of it because of the whole mess with Castor," Roman confessed, pulling Emery over to the table. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders protectively as they sat together, and she leaned gratefully against him while he spoke.

"Remember when I told you that, in our past, marriages were used to unite families? I thought that if our families were united, then you – and your whole family, even your father – you'd all become a part of the Iksen's family. It's a privileged position; you'd finally be completely safe." He squeezed her tighter to him, resting his chin on the top of her head and closing his eyes. During those brief hours when he'd believed his plan would work, he had felt a weight lifted from his soul. He ached for that remembered happiness.

"You have to believe me: in my negotiations with the Hwatab, I made it very clear that I would need to ask you first… And that if, and only if, you agreed, the date would be set for later. Much, much later! Really, even a lengthy engagement with the Iksen would have afforded you a partial protection; you would have been safe, at least, even though it would not have included the rest of your family yet."

"I just can't believe the elders were okay with you marrying a human," Emery pressed.

"Mm, well… They had some concerns at first," Roman answered dismissively; no need to go into those messy details now. "But eventually they could see the political advantage in a union between humans and Atrians. It would have been a great negotiating tool in trying to normalize relations between our people." He chuckled quietly. "I might not have been completely forthcoming about the real nature of our relationship, though."

"Uh-huh. I can imagine. But Roman, I still don't understand - how is all this related to the idea of the Iksayan?" Emery asked gently. She had originally intended to be more severe in her speech; but it was just so comforting here, wrapped within the safety of his embrace.

Roman sighed heavily.

"That was never part of the plan. The Iksayan is such a rare thing; I never could have anticipated something like this. I think the Hwatab still need to make sure they know whether or not it's even possible. But if it's true…" His voice faded. Emery could hear his hearts quicken. She leaned away from his torso, looking into his eyes for clarification.

"If it's true, it changes everything," Roman whispered sadly. "It's like the Hwatab said; you'd belong to the Sector, Emery. Being the Iksen is not about power, about controlling people and making them do what you want, like my uncle believed. Being Iksen means being connected to your people, being responsible for them and answerable to them. Your life would change forever."

Emery sat back fully, eyes wide.

She barely had a life yet. Was she ready to give it up so easily?

That night, Drake slipped out of the Sector as usual and made his way through the underground passages of Edendale. He knocked at Taylor's window but was surprised to see his own hand tremble. Ridiculous. There was nothing to fear. It was Taylor and Aria. It was home, family. Nothing about that had changed.

Taylor came to the window looking more unkempt than he'd ever seen her. She flung it open and rushed him into the room quickly, chattering nervously about how they were already running late. She almost forgot to lean in to him for an impatient kiss before she was off again, crossing the room in a whirl of bathrobe and hair products and some terrible, small metal thing that looked like it was meant for torture but which Taylor kept using to attack her own eyes.

Aria ran in for a hug, and Drake scooped her up easily. He asked her quietly, fearfully, what had happened to Taylor, and Aria just giggled. Taylor turned and glared at them both.

"I can hear you two. This is an eyelash curler, these are hair curlers, and this is what it takes to make all this happen!" she announced with a dramatic sweep of her arm down the length of her still-robed frame. Drake had never really seen her like this before. It was overwhelming. He and Aria fled to the front room, to give Taylor her space. He stopped abruptly when he saw the older gentleman seated on the sofa, an oddly blank smile plastered across his face.

"Um, hello," the man said when he saw Drake. He seemed unfazed by the large Atrian. "Are you, um, Taylor's, um, young beau?"

Drake gulped. He felt adrift, and searched for an emotional anchor. His eyes scanned the room just as Gloria stepped forward, a large smile on her face.

"Drake, how are you?" she asked him warmly. Drake nodded, but Gloria could see his nerves were getting the best of him. She reached forward and placed a steadying hand on his forearm. "I think Taylor got you something. It's hanging in the bathroom. We'll keep an eye on Aria until Taylor's ready for her."

Drake slipped gratefully into the small empty room. He needed a moment alone to regain his balance. As he shut the door, he saw the garment bag hanging on the back and bit his lip. He could do this. He wanted to do this.

Taylor's foster father, the judge – the man who had mistakenly raised her as his own, had loved her and cherished her as the living memory of his beautiful young wife – stood in the center of the living room, surrounded by hand-made Christmas decorations. Gloria was at his left elbow with a leather folio clutched to her chest, and Drake – so handsome in his simple black suit - stood in front of them both. He smiled at Aria as she skipped out from the back bedroom in a sweet holly-green dress and stopped at his side. When Taylor appeared, though, the apartment and its guests faded in comparison. Drake stepped forward, needing her, forgetting himself in the halo of honey-gold hair that framed her bright brown eyes and nervous smile. She reached out to him then, too, and closed the space between them in a rush.

Clutching each other, both felt truly whole.

Taylor finally remembered herself and turned to the judge.

"I'm ready, Daddy," she announced. He smiled at her and told her once again how much she looked like her mother, and then glanced at Drake.

"He, um, sure has a lot of tattoos, um, honey. Are you certain he's, um, The One?"

Drake laughed.

"Daddy!" Taylor scolded lightly. She sobered quickly then and, staring up at Drake, whispered with conviction, "I'm certain." The judge leaned forward and kissed his daughter on the cheek.

"Okay, well, um, that's good enough for me. Um. Let's get started!"