Fix-It fic, set post-Battleground. I reread Aftermath the other day, and had an... idea.

As far as wedding gifts go, the one I received from the Winter Lady had seemed, at first, a little bizarre.

Even for her.

The cheesy card just had a set of coordinates written in it, in blue glitter pen, in Molly's handwriting. The coordinates had led to a remote location in the Colorado Rockies; a small but incredibly nice off-grid cabin with bear skin rugs on the floor and a gigantic roaring fireplace, a bubbling hot spring just steps from the door. A fridge stocked with Mac's dark, and enough food for a month.

Five minutes on the premises and I decided I might never leave. And by mortal means, it would have been nearly impossible, anyway. Every road to and from had been cut off by a recent avalanche that I'm sure had completely natural causes.

Just miles and miles of privacy, and a view that couldn't be beat.

I stopped on the icy path from the cabin to the spring and took stock of the white-capped mountains, the cold fire of the sunset, the naked woman who sat on the edge of the steaming pool with her feet in the water. She gathered her loose hair over one shoulder, baring a scar just below her ear and a circular pattern of black ink between her shoulder blades. It had been done in painstaking detail: galdrastafir runes that looked like a spoked wheel, or a compass, or a shield.

… Maybe a snowflake, if you squinted.

"No, no, you listen to me—" she snapped, and for a second I thought she was on the phone, which didn't make any sense. There wasn't any service here. "You tell him I'll be back when I'm back and not a minute sooner — and next time, he better leave a voicemail instead of interrupting my fucking vacation."

A large, glossy black bird flapped down from a nearby pine branch and hopped across the snowy ground toward her. It made a few mocking quork sounds, tilting its head in a manner that seemed… almost sarcastic?

"Láttu mig vera!" she scolded as she scooped up a double handful of snow and molded it into a ball. "Get thy beak from out my business, and get thy form from off my FaerieBnB, you feathery little shit—"

The icy projectile made contact and the raven disappeared into the darkening trees with a puff of plumage, squawking its way back to Night's Plutonian Shore or wherever. She let out a satisfied laugh as she slipped gracefully back into the pool.

"Are we under surveillance?" I asked.

"Probably best to assume so." She turned to look at me — it was a long, interested look. "You lost your towel."

I held out both hands, three amber bottles in each. "It was that or the drinks."

Murphy grinned. "You made the right call."

"Hey, I've seen what you gals can do to the contents of a liquor shelf," I said as I left all but one of the bottles on the edge of the pool. I thumbed the cap off and splashed into the almost uncomfortably-hot water, not at all gracefully. "Better to have and not need, etcetera."

"Bring that over here," she beckoned. I wasn't sure she meant the beer, but I went anyway.

"I'm surprised he let you take any sort of vacation at all. Much less with… y'know. Me."

"It's in the contract." She took my beer and drank deeply, on her toes to keep her chin above the water. "And if there's one thing he respects, it's a contract. I get four weeks a year, paid."

"Better than what you had with CPD."

"I also may have threatened to be incredibly uncooperative," she said seriously, though her eyes sparkled as she met mine, the same crystal blue as always. Maybe a little more knowing, now.

Maybe a little more hungry.

"Honestly, it's one of your best qualities."

"It has gotten me pretty far in life." Karrin paused thoughtfully, let me pull her into my lap as I sat on an underwater ledge. "After life. Whatever. Let's not talk about work."

"What do you want to talk about, th—"

I was interrupted by soft lips, an arm that slipped around my neck and a slow, greedy kiss that made the scalding water we sat in seem lukewarm by comparison.

And then she pulled away, leaned her forehead against mine and sighed mournfully. "I don't want to go back."

"I know you hate the job—"

"Not the job. I like the job. It's him," she whispered, seething. "He's only doing this because it very efficiently annoys the hell out of me while it simultaneously incurs leverage over you. And if I hear the words 'Well, Sigrun used to do such-and-such,' one more time, I'm gonna—"

Her rant dissolved into a wordless growl and I pulled the beer bottle from her fingers before it could shatter, and set it aside.

"How long is her leave of absence supposed to last, anyway?"

"Not sure. Fastest reassignment I've ever gotten, though." She laughed a little as she slipped both arms around my neck, shifting to straddle my hips. "I think your boss is still kind of upset with me for crashing your shotgun wedding to Fun Elvira."

I choked on a laugh. "Also there was that time you shot her daughter in the face."

"Please, Harry. This is supposed to be a happy occasion," she said with a faintly British accent, grinning impishly. "Let's not bicker and argue over who killed wh—"

Her Monty Python quote turned into a yelp when I picked her up and stood and tossed her out of the nice warm pool and into the nearest, deepest snowdrift.

I expected the raised hand that flipped me off.

Did not expect to be beckoned out of the nice warm pool by a crook of her finger, but I went anyway.

Surveillance be damned.

Next: Moth