Sister's Day

Summary: Sometimes when you're sick, you're not actually sick; or Nesta doesn't want to go out with the Inner Circle and instead of being left on her own Feyre, Elain, and Cassian opt to stay with her…

Her sisters keep looking at her. She can see their not-so-subtle glances as they casually reach for the shelf next to her or explain that they need to grab a book somewhere behind. The light is dim, you'll hurt your eyes if you read in the dark. It's been a few hours, try a snack.

They're ruminating, she decides as Feyre stares deeply at where she sits on the armchair and minds her own business. Yet there comes Elain with a plate full of cookies and the gaggle of the rest of them entering the large foyer.

Feyre does this on purpose, she thinks, making the estate's library in the center of the living room. Perhaps, Feyre knows that if she wants her older sister out in public, she must entice her with solitude.

Truthfully, they've been this way since her and Cassian's inevitable return.

She supposes it's her own fault, for giving them the cold shoulder, for being oddly quiet about her life in Illyria. Cassian doesn't tell them anything, which doesn't help, and Nesta likes watching them squirm enough that she simply stares ahead, a curious gleam in her eyes as they ask her a question she will not respond to. All of them try to ask, even Amren who outright questions whether she's back to her old self.

Nesta scoffs, old self. She has not changed. All she's learned is to hide herself better or reap the consequences.

But something must be different about her, because Feyre and Elain will not leave her alone.

She sighs, pursing her lips as the bedraggled gang set themselves into the chairs nearest her. Cassian taking up the whole loveseat, Mor hiking herself onto the desk as Azriel goes to the window, his shadows following. Amren sets herself up on the coffee table, puzzles already strewn about in pieces and Rhysand… he goes to Feyre as he always does. Nesta resists rolling her eyes as they do that thing they often do where they talk into each other's minds. Do they actually think they're being inconspicuous?

Cassian looks to her casually, but she does not meet his gaze, opting for sinking further into her seat and hiking her book up to her knees.

"Well, I think we should celebrate your return with a night out at Rita's," Mor offers brightly.

"That seems more like a celebration for you," Azriel admits, his tone light even in the deep, sardonic notes.

"Maybe it is. I quite frankly am glad your back," She points to Azriel and Amren, "these two were no fun while you were away. And those two—" Mor points to Feyre and Rhys who both turn at the same time, "well, they were the same."

Cassian laughs, and Nesta sinks further in her chair as they talk around her. Talk as if she's not there as if she doesn't really exist. Just another book on the shelf, another window to peer out of. As nameless as one of the puzzle pieces that bedeck mahogany lines.

"You are coming with right? No excuses this time?" Mor asks, her eyes pleading. The sound makes Nesta want to cover her ears, and she has to clench the pages of her book to keep from sighing out right.

Cassian shrugs, his lips upturned and Nesta thinks he just... fits somehow. In the way that Nesta can't.

And why wouldn't he when this is his family?

She has her books, her grimaces, her words, but she doesn't have… that. These are not her friends, and her sisters only sort of like her. Obligation at the very least, pity at the best of times. Nesta squeezes the hard cover until she feels the bindings start to tear.

What is with their fascination with Rita's and going out?

But Elain tugs on her sister's sleeve, and Nesta blinks up at her slowly, lost as much in the words of her feelings as the sentences in the book. Her spine goes straight without her knowledge, her chin lifting until she peers into warm brown and Elain swallows.

Nesta feels guilty for the look.

"You haven't been out with us in some time…" She starts, "I've missed you."

It wasn't my fault, she wants to say, but the strangers in the room are staring at her. She can feel their eyes move like a match of wits and daffodils. Which one will win—the lovely fawn or the wily serpent that bites before she's fed?

Feyre interjects, "Come to Rita's with us!"

She claps once as if it is a fantastic idea, and Cassian tilts his head perhaps knowing better after all these months. His eyes glaze over hers, and she can read that look. Nesta turns away in answer.

She hopes the chair will engulf her as she sits back, her book open and waiting for her to join back into the world that she can't not belong to. Even Amren waits for a nod of her head, and Nesta is tired of them. Go away, she wants to yell. Leave me alone!

"I doubt you'll run into any of those males you slept with," Amren sniffs, because she's never really forgiven her for that argument on the sidra.

She can feel the static as the room dulls into a harsh hum and the others go oddly quiet. Stiff and straight, Feyre whips to the tiny ancient one. "Quiet," she demands.

My, my, what a loving family you have, Nesta thinks. But she doesn't back away from the challenge, not when they seem to agree with their sweet, dear friend.

"If I don't," she smiles, her eyes burning, "I'm sure I can find one before the night is over."

Wrong answer, because Elain jumps and hugs her side, her cheek squishing into the chiffon. Nesta stiffens at the affection. "Oh! We'll have such a good time. Won't we Feyre?"

Her youngest sister nods but doesn't look convinced. Still, Feyre smiles strangely at her and Nesta sighs, a headache forming behind her eyelids at her seemingly professed agreement. Elain noticing that Nesta's tea has gone cold, goes to refill her cup, and before she can say she doesn't need another cup, Elain is gone. Leaving her to a pack of wolves.

Nesta lifts the book to her face, ignoring the not-so-subtle glances her way, and begins reading once more.

He grabbed the sides of her face, his palms warm against her skin. He trailed his hands down her neck until they stopped at the ties of her bodice. She could see the blush already blooming at her breasts…

Cassian coughs. She looks up to see him smirking. That teasing grin that usually makes her hands clench and her temper flare red with blood.

Nesta quickly looks back down.

Her blush already blooming down her neck.

XXX

"It would be good for you to get out girl, show your face around here. Mother knows the city must have forgotten what you looked like.

Then maybe you all shouldn't have sent me away; she thinks as she looks at herself in her midnight blue gown. The fabric shimmers as she moves, and stars seem to be imprinted where the fabric drips and drums. It is the most… scandalous dress Nesta's ever worn.

It isn't her own, and she's surprised she even fits in one of Feyre's dresses. Though she's gained weight, it is not nearly enough to fill out her previous figure and she's always been smaller than her little sister… except at the bust, where Nesta feels she'll spill out if she trips even slightly.

Elain remarks that she looks beautiful as Nesta stares into the large mirror on the living room wall, but all she thinks is liar. Liar. Liar. Oh great pretender, you can't pretend well enough.

Mor sweeps down the stairs with Feyre, her revealing dress a putrid red that looks so bright it hurts her eyes. Feyre is dressed in no more than cobwebs, but Nesta shakes the feeling away that women must be protected in fabric, because lace is armor and men are beasts out to prowl.

The Illyrians understand this as traditional as they are. The females are always dressed in sleeves and gowns to the ankle, but furs also adorn their skin… Because the furs are harvested by them, she remembers. Cut by them, woven by them as if to remind the males that they wear animal pelts because they are ferocious themselves. Regardless of whether they captured the beasts that stomp in the woods.

Starve then, she heard one female say. Starve then, to that husband who refused her. What were men in a world where women supported the living?

But this is a power, too, Nesta learns. These gowns, the skin that is bright and burning, the legs that go on for miles. Just like sex. Just like money… Choice and freedom hidden where skin is revealed and skirts part softly.

Oh, great pretender, pretend just a little longer.

Feyre pauses in front of Nesta, looking her over with a pleased expression and Nesta wants to claw that image off her face, but Elain sets her hands on Nesta's shoulders, her own gown pink and pretty and light. The embodiment of spring in Nesta's endless winter.

I am not myself tonight, she wants to yell. Who am I?

"I knew that dress would look good on you." Feyre smiles, "I know it's not what you usually wear, but I'm glad to see you in it."

Nesta smiles, gritting her teeth.

"Are you all going to just stand there or are we actually leaving sometime soon?" Amren asks, leaning at the edge of the doorway.

Mor and Feyre give each other knowing glances, and Elain grins sweetly as they all walk ahead of her out onto the porch where the males are waiting, laughing, and huffing that they took forever to get ready. "Not all of us can just roll out of bed and throw on a clean shirt."

"Rhys took longer than any of us combined. Be honest."

Nesta swallows the apprehension as she steps out to the porch and immediately she wishes she had a jacket. She refuses to go back in and get one, because she knows if she goes back in she will not come back out.

But Cassian, takes off his own jacket, the fabric warm and soft, and sets it around her shoulders before she can say one word. The others pretend not to look, but they look… the curious, cautious stare that alight in questions that neither Nesta nor Cassian will answer.

Mor taps her heeled foot and crosses her arms. "We ready to go?" She asks, raising a brow.

Cassian gestures forward and they all move as a herd through Velaris nights.

Nesta marks every landmark she passes as if she is leaving behind a clue as to how to get back. She can hear the others laughing and joking, but she doesn't comprehend any of the words. She looks to the cosmos. The sky swirls with purples, blues, and milky white and Nesta… feels small.

A dot on a map. A fleck of dust in the air. She grasps the edge of Cassian's jacket, pulling it closer to herself and it smells like him. Pine and wood burning.

"I wish all nights were like this," Feyre says breathlessly, looking to the stars.

"They are," Rhysand jests. Feyre elbows him in the stomach, and Rhys jumps away, only to reel back in. A tether connecting the two.

"That's not what I meant, smartass. I mean that it feels nice we're all together again."

At the words, Nesta stops. Her feet pause and the others keep going. She watches them go and go and go and her eyes start to burn. Her fists clenching, her teeth gritting, her eyes blinking over again.

And yet, they walk. They don't even notice her gone…

She's a tiny fleck of dust.

Nesta turns back towards the estate, sniffling as she quickly wipes her eyes. Angry that she is crying without a reason to cry.

The dress is suffocating, and her hair is tight around her head. Her eyes burn but not her heart, not her soul. It seems that the wind has snuffed the flame out and only whispers are left.

Pretend no longer, it says.

It's Elain that rushes after her after the storm has settled. She pulls her by the shoulder and stops as she sees her face, probably red and blotchy. The others are miles away, but at least Elain is here…

"Go," Nesta commands softly, for she can never be truly mean to her sister.

"Nesta—" She starts, moving her hand from her shoulder down her arm.

"I don't feel very good." She replies and Nesta looks to her sister. At the warm brown that looks comforting…understanding, and she wonders if Elain would ever truly understand the back and forth like waves coming and going in Nesta's head. That make her feel as if she's downing. Alone. Unafraid, perhaps accepting that this is her life. But always drowning. "Please just go." She repeats, and at last gives her a small smile for reassurance. "I have a headache that's all."

As an afterthought, Nesta takes off the coat, crossing her arms as the cold seeps into her skin. "Give this to Cassian for me?"

Elain nods as concern is written all over her face, but she heeds her older sister's instructions. And with one more glance behind, Nesta joins the darkness and Elain joins her group of friends.

XXX

"Where's Nesta going?" Feyre asks loudly, panic in her voice without realizing that she is nearly breathless.

Cassian takes a step closer to her. Practically his own younger sister who's in need of comfort, but… there's someone else who needs comfort. He can feel it. He can see it as Elain comes back with his jacket in her hands.

Elain doesn't look at them as she answers, settling for staring out into the sidra where the colorful faelights reflect across the water. "She says she doesn't feel good so she's going home."

Cassian watches as she hands him his jacket, still warm from her skin and Elain looks defeated. All of a sudden tired and far away. "She told me to give this back to you,"

He grips the leather in his hand until he can count all of the folds that form in its fabric. Twelve.

Twelve folds. Twelve minutes she's been gone.

He swallows down the worry, the fear that makes him want to rip the jacket apart, and the plain…sorrow that starts blooming like moonflowers decorating the sidewalk.

"Maybe I should try—" Feyre starts, but Elain shakes her head solemnly.

"She says she has a headache."

The sisters look at each other as if the statement puts an end to their trying. Mor lays an arm around the girls and sighs, speaking softly—comforting. "Come on you two," She frowns slightly, "Nothing a night of dancing can't solve."

"And a huge bottle of liquor," Amren adds, "Maybe two." Though she is equally reserved, as if the night has suddenly gotten darker and they can longer see as many stars.

Cassian wants her to see this. He wants Nesta to know this.

When she is missing, they miss her. Her sisters miss her. Amren misses her. He doesn't want to leave without her, and… Cassian for the first time, since being back, understands. Because when she is missing, he suddenly feels very alone.

He closes his eyes, his wings rising to catch the breeze, and when he blinks awake his friends surround him. Azriel giving him a look that's almost apologetic for the stoic shadowsinger. He can hear their laughter begin again, the lights getting brighter with every step, and Rhysand cracks a joke that Amren groans at, but makes Feyre laugh.

They are alive.

He is not back in the war. Not in Illyria. Not in any nightmare. But he's alone… because she's alone, and he can't leave her. He can't.

"Come on, Cassian, keep up!" Mor calls after him, but Cassian steps back, looking behind, practically seeing Nesta's figure in the shadows.

"Nesta's sick," he responds matter-of-factly and the rest stop in front of him, a few feet ahead. Mor's brows crease, her lips tilting down.

"You heard them; she has a headache."

"She's doesn't feel good," Cassian reiterates. "I have to go take care of her."

"You don't have to…" Rhys mutters under his breath.

"I want to," He proclaims, sternly.

Feyre steps forward, her hand dropping from Rhys's grasp. "Are you sure? Once Nesta gets a headache, it doesn't go away very fast. She usually doesn't want to see anyone."

Cassian huffs a laugh, counting all the bullshit lies that Nesta must have told all these years. Headaches, my ass. She's probably already back sequestered in some chair with a book in her hand. "You see Feyre, I too am like a headache—"

"By the Mother," Amren complains.

He can see the look Azriel gives Mor, Mor's smile straining as she says nothing. Rhys grasps Feyre's hand as if he can't stand one moment without touching her, and he leans his head back, sighing as he waits for the implication of a fight in the air.

Cassian won't give them one. Nothing they can say will convince him to continue on to Rita's and leave Nesta behind.

But, Elain steps forward, walking towards him.

"I'll go with you," She gasps.

Cassian doesn't know how Nesta will feel about that given her silence towards her sisters, but if Nesta will not go with them, they will go to Nesta.

Elain breathes deeply, her eyes glancing to the midnight blanket set atop them. "It'll be a sister's day. Like old times," she answers softly, laughing as she adds, "Except of course with you, Cassian."

He can feel more than see Feyre stand straight, her grip tightening on Rhys's hand. The air turns stale in the wake of their decisions, and he can see all of the doubts already forming in her head. Cassian understands these thoughts, too, for he was once inadequate to the rest of the world.

Yes, that was still a sore spot for them wasn't it?

But Elain gestures to Feyre, her head tilting towards her baby sister. "Unless you'd rather go to Rita's..." She adds.

Feyre's raises her brows, but the look of shock passes quickly, and she reaches out her hand as Elain extends her own. She gives Rhysand a small, satisfied smile at having been included, before nodding to Elain. Rhys lifts the side of his mouth, but the happiness doesn't reach his eyes.

It does not go unnoticed by any of them.

XXX

Nesta is dressed in pretty silk pajamas, the only pants he's ever seen her wear. Her hair is loose and golden brown as it falls down her back, a casual, alone type of look. In which, he means that she would not look this casual if she wasn't alone.

She hangs by the door, her eyes glazing over one, two, three of them in disbelief and something akin to irritation burns in those pale blues. At the look, Cassian wants to kiss her head in fondness, combing her soft hair with his fingers until her face is red with a feeling she'll play off as stubborn anger.

Cassian sighs inwardly. He misses Illyria.

She crosses her arms. "Why the hell are all of you here?"

Cassian pushes past her, ignoring her question and surveying the living room as if the answer is obvious. "We're here to take care of you. Since you're sick." He pronounced.

He eyes the bright lamp in the corner, the glow lighting the armchair, where a book lays flat on the seat.

Tsk. Told you so, he tells himself.

Cassian whirls to face her as Nesta stands next to her sisters, her hands on her hips. That Who do you think you are? look permanently painted on her perfect face. "Have you checked your temperature by the way? Taken any medicine? I'm positive I saw some in the main bathroom down the hall."

"What?" Nesta demands, shaking her head.

He places his hand on her forehead and she shakes him off, her mouth dipping to a frown. "You must be sick if you can't follow what I'm saying."

"You must be a lunatic if you can't understand I don't want you here."

"People who don't feel good," He offered slowly, "need to be taken care of."

"In the murder kind of way?"

"In the 'Nesta, there's medicine in the main bathroom' kind of way," He answers haughtily. Cassian can feel Elain and Feyre's eyes on them, the back and forth of their gaze as if their conversation is a battle and they aren't sure who is winning. If he was a betting male, his bets would probably be on Nesta... but more so because she'd appreciate the gesture and less because he was losing.

She frowns, perhaps concluding that he in no way will back down from this. Nesta should know after all these months that Cassian cares too much for his own good and plus... he quite likes the look Nesta gives him when she gets pissy.

"Okay, but how come there's three of you?"

Feyre opens her mouth to answer, but Cassian beats her to it.

"Why? Did you miss us? We were only gone for a few moments."

"That in no way equates to what I just said-"

"We'd be happy to start following you around. We wouldn't want you missing us too badly."

Nesta reaches her hands up as if she'd wring his neck. Her eyes point daggers, and Cassian isn't ashamed to admit shivers run down his spine, but it is certainly not from fear.

"I swear Cassian, if you bother me one more time—"

"You'll what? Tell me, sweetheart, what you can possibly do that will make me leave when you so graciously left us all out in the cold, wondering where you went?" His eyes widen, waiting for her answer. Cassian cups his ear, tilting his head towards her as he starts to hear the tapping of her foot.

"I didn't feel good," She explains, crossing her arms once more.

"And as we've established, we're here to take care of you."

She gives him a bland look. "Fuck. Off."

Instead, Cassian turns towards her sisters. Elain and Feyre standing dutifully behind the eldest, most beautiful Archeron. "Your sister's words warm my heart," he teases.

"Now Feyre if you could go get the medicine that Madja left," Cassian orders brightly, "And Elain if you could heat up some water for tea. Nesta prefers peppermint."

The two nod, but Nesta scoffs, "And, what exactly are you going to do?"

Cassian smiles, his grin wide as Nesta glares. "I'm going to make french toast."

Feyre looks at him confused, and Elain tilts her head waiting for an explanation, but Nesta… Nesta's eyes light up in the way that he knows she's pleased and is trying her best to hide it.

Nesta raises her chin, sniffing at his words, as if they don't mean too much to her, but he knows. Sweets are Nesta's favorite food group, and french toast is her favorite food. He's made it more times than he can count in that little cabin between the mountaintops and nothing can convince him that she's not secretly rejoicing.

"Fine," She answers in that dismissive way of hers, moving to her reading corner in a flourish and sitting on the chair as if it's her throne. She picks up the book, her eyes widening as she reads the first sentence.

Nesta looks back up to him sheepishly... nonchalant and all too familiar.

Cassian smirks, wondering if he perhaps is the luckiest bastard alive.

XXX

When Nesta's upset, he learns, she will make up stories.

It makes sense to him since she reads so many books.

Cassian can't recount exactly when he'd heard her lie the first time, somewhere in between the glaring insults and the wine drunk days. In Illyria, he could count them all from I left my jacket at Emerie's to it clearly wasn't me when your wings knock everything off the shelves when you move!

He smiles as he remembers, flipping the bread on the hot griddle. The smell of vanilla and cinnamon reminding him of cold winter days and harsh moonless nights. As much as he misses Illyria, not much has changed since those months in the mountains.

Briefly, Cassian hears the sharp tone of Nesta's grumpy antics.

"At least take a couple drops," Feyre demands, aggravated.

"I don't know what child you're speaking to but point that spoon somewhere else."

"Elain!" Feyre calls, as he can hear Nesta huff.

"You can't just call Elain and expect me to-"

Nesta goes silent, and in a second Cassian can hear the clink of a spoon and the sound of Nesta gagging.

When Feyre speaks, she seems oddly satisfied. "It looks like I didn't need Elain's help after all," she sings, laughter in her voice.

He looks at Elain who surveys the living room. She wears a soft smile and when she looks over to him her eyes are alight with mischief. "I think she's mad," Elain mouths.

Cassian can only smile, looking slightly to the living room and imagining her face, her ire.

He wonders, then, what it must have been like growing up as Nesta, being a part of a group of sisters who so obviously care for each other. Never to forget that they love one another. Never to be completely forgotten, and always, always unconditionally loved.

Not for the first time does the guilt settle in the pit of his stomach. He once wonders how anyone could love Nesta... Like a gods-damned idiot, he'd said that to her. Not because he truly believed it, but because it hurt to be denied by her.

Realistically, Cassian knows that he doesn't have to worry about it anymore, when they've squashed this topic months ago, but still… He feels guilty hearing Feyre's laughter, seeing Elain's bright eyes, knowing that he too denies his friends in favor of spending time with her.

He would do it again... In a heartbeat. In one breathless moment.

How does she not see it? He questions. How does she not know how much they care for her? Because he knows. He can see it plain on their faces.

But when Cassian takes the sweet bread off the griddle, and onto a large plate for the four of them, he can tell she doesn't suspect a thing. She sits with her book on the lone chair, while her sisters gather at the table, and he can almost see the distance between them. As if Nesta has set her book high in front of her nose to make a barrier between her and the rest of the world.

Cassian leans against the table, raising a brow.

"Are you going to sit there all day, or should we eat these ourselves?"

Nesta lowers her shield in favor of the offense, "If you touch mine, I'll castrate you,"

Cassian shrugs, frowning for a moment contemplating the threat, tilting his head back and forth as if he is actually weighing his odds. She does know where he sleeps.

"Fair enough," He responds in answer.

They eat until the whole platter is gone, but not before Cassian tries to steal a bite from Nesta's plate, just to piss her off even more. She raises her fork as if she'll stab him with it, and Cassian secretly wants her to try. If Nesta will not train with him and grant him the ability to see her skills with a sword, he will assess them elsewhere.

"Are you two always like this?" Feyre asks, abruptly. She looks to Elain as they both turn to her and Feyre looks shocked she'd spoken the words allowed.

Cassian opens his mouth to reply.

Nesta drops her fork.

The chair shrieks as she gets up from her chair, and she makes her way back to her podium where Cassian thinks she will sit there like a living statue, perfectly safe in her stony façade. He almost feels offended that she dismisses them so quickly.

Sighing under his breath, Cassian begins clearing the plates. Feyre and Elain help, whispering to each other something Cassian chooses not to listen in on, because he's staring at her. Always her.

By the time, he's out of the kitchen, blankets and pillows lie in the center of the room, the plush carpet underneath it all.

Elain and Feyre jumble in the kitchen in what smells of chocolate and cinnamon, and Nesta is left to her own devices in this strange, decorative landscape.

She doesn't really fit in, he notes.

Not because she doesn't look the part, but because she doesn't act the part. There's something odd about her movements, her looks, the way she carries herself. This room is casual… colorful… homely, and Nesta is rigid, straight, and her eyes, the bright grey, reach out to him.

"You're staying?"

Cassian nods his head, that grin back on his lips. "Yes, I've just been informed it's sister's day, and as an honorary sister myself, I feel I'm allowed. Do you want me to leave?"

She looks up at him and at her perusal he lifts his wings higher. Primping, he thinks, like a gods damned fool.

She shrugs one nonchalant shoulder, looking away and back to her book. Almost too casually. Cassian can't help the giddy feeling that erupts inside of him, that says Nesta wants him here. Nesta wants him to stay. Even if the words never come out of her lips. He has learned to read her beyond spoken language.

But Elain and Feyre come back in the room, and he notices how she tenses up. Her eyes turning molten and hard. Her lips tightening into a subdued scowl she tries to hide behind pages.

It makes his heart ache in ways he doesn't know how to fully explain.

XXX

Nesta knows he's pretending to sleep. He lays on the couch, his large form draped over the heavy blue, his wings not sparing any of them as she pushes them away where they fall at the top of their heads.

He snores occasionally for good measure. Loudly and offkey. She thinks she'll tell him that later and let him remark how she's judgmental even amongst sleeping patterns. Well, Nesta does warn him early on that she wouldn't be any nicer.

She shifts on the hard floor, bumping her shoulders into her sisters. The heat of them making her want to throw the blankets away. She lies in the middle. Feyre to her left, fiddling with a string on the woven cloth. Elain to her right, scooping her arm into her own, until she cuddles close, tucking her head in. Nesta doesn't know how they convinced her of this.

At first, she's too engrossed into her book to notice, lost in seas and a sea captain that is reminiscent to Cassian and his ample physique. But also, by the way his hair is cut at the shoulders and how the wildness exudes from his smile. She will never tell him this of course lest he tease her more than he often does already.

Nesta thinks it must have been her fault, though, because the next thing she knows she's being pulled to the carpet, being offered hot coco, and they're all in pajamas. Feyre owns a large enough house, she wants to remark. They don't have to sleep in the living room, together like they still live in that washed out cabin.

But then they're asking about her book, and Illyria… and if she made any friends. Poking and prodding and… they look interested enough. So, Nesta tells them. Stubbornly at first, and then in more detail as they ask more questions, answers them until she's sure she has never talked this much in all of her short life.

All good things must come to an end, though, and they lie complacent and quiet while Nesta looks to the ceiling. She counts every color in the painted swirls. Golds and blues and—Cassian snores.

Nesta lifts her head, ready to smack him with a pillow, but Elain giggles softly.

At the sound, Nesta turns to her sister, but Elain is looking at Feyre, a fond look on her face. Her baby sister smirks slightly, holding her grin tightly in her cheeks.

She gazes at them both, suspicious.

It's Elain who treads carefully, "Cassian is… awfully sweet."

Oh, gods.

Nesta sighs, rolling her eyes. His head is only going get bigger.

Feyre shifts to her side, laying her head on her hand. "I don't think I've ever seen you like anyone."

Before Nesta can look appalled and answer back that she's never said she "liked" Cassian, Elain replies.

"She liked Tomas."

Nesta doesn't say a word, but even unconsciously she knows Cassian tenses. He knows all about him, can probably pinpoint exactly when the pin drops. She can feel her fists clench between the fabric. Would it rip like her dress that day, she questions.

Feyre scowls, disapprovingly. "Tomas was a—He was a—"

"Poor excuse for a human," Nesta says, her voice drawing from her throat like music.

Nesta refuses to say anymore, and her sisters seem to take her sudden silence as a plea to drop the subject.

"Oh," Elain finishes, but perks back up, "But Cassian is-"

"Nothing like Tomas, thankfully," She answers forcefully. "And that's all I'll say about either of them."

Nesta sees Feyre give Elain a look. Pitiful Nesta, they probably think. Shutting everyone away, can't bother to hold a conversation.

She lays on her side, wishing she was on the outskirts of them both so she can turn her back on both of them. But the floor is hard and it hurts her shoulder, and she is forced to turn back and begin her venture with the ceiling anew.

"I'm glad your home," Feyre whispers after some time, as Elain squeezes her arm in what feels like an agreement.

You wouldn't be if you hadn't sent me away, she thinks. But instead of answering, Nesta closes her eyes, and pretends to sleep.

XXX

"How was my performance? Ten out of ten?"

Elain continues to comb Nesta's hair as she sleeps. But instead of commenting on his question, she smiles up at him, far more teasing than he's ever seen her.

"You like her," She says, not a question at all. Feyre whips towards Elain, giving her a look that seems baffled that she outright says what they're both thinking. "You get on each other's nerves. You argue incessantly. You have an act for pissing her off that's rather impressive. But you like her."

"Is that your seer skills?" Cassian drawls.

"That's my sister skills," She answers brightly. Elain shrugs a shoulder, "Well and anyone with eyes can tell."

"It's true," Feyre interjects. "Nesta may deny it, but… something is going on between you two."

"You are both too nosy for your own good."

"But then again, I'm not hearing a denial. Am I Elain?"

Elain laughs, shaking her head. "I haven't heard one yet. It seems he might have really fallen for our big sister. What do you think? Should we allow her hand?"

"I think Nesta has more of a say in that than us. Maybe we should wake her so she can decide? What do you think, summer wedding?"

Cassian huffs, sitting up on the couch and crossing his arms. "You two think you're really funny."

"I think your antics make us laugh," Feyre replies, smiling wide. "Why don't you just tell her? Assuming you haven't." Feyre back tracks, looking to Elain in fear. "You haven't right? Did she reject you?"

Cassian groans, taking a throw pillow from the couch and throwing it at Feyre. It hits her square in the face. Feyre scoffs, reaching for the pillow, ready to throw it like a javelin, but Elain lifts her hands.

"Stop!" She shushes, checking on Nesta who tosses the blanket in her sleep. The medicine Madja left had left Nesta drowsy and she had quickly fallen asleep after the sister's kept her talking. Cassian doubts she'll wake anytime soon.

But Feyre drops the pillow, pointing viciously. "You got lucky."

Cassian grins victorious. Feyre lifts a brow.

"Why?" She prods, as if the question is her payback. "Why not stop this charade?"

Cassian doesn't know how to answer. He's almost afraid Nesta will wake and scold him herself, but she rests peacefully where she's tucked in tightly once more.

He can't help the fondness that appears on his face, he can't help most of what he feels for her. She was a surprise, after all. A happy one. But he wasn't looking for her, the female of his dreams. He didn't think she even existed.

But then… Here she is.

She gets under his skin, warms his blood in ways that are both invigorating and infuriating. But Nesta… they understand each other. In ways that no one else could or dared to try. They see each other, accept each other. The ugly in spite of the good. The good in spite of the ugly. Every single part.

So, when Feyre look at him expectedly, Cassian asks himself truly what is he waiting for?

They've slept together, though he will not tell them that. He's sure she'd maim him if he did. They live together… sort of now. Her stuff is still in his house in Windhaven. There's bookshelves and wallpaper and tiny glasses that Nesta says she likes. And, he is always near her. They spend nearly everyday together, and when he's not near her, he thinks of when he's going to see her, what he's going to say. He enjoys hearing her rant about her stories and he wants to know all of her thoughts. What does she think of Illyria, the conflict, the treaties, but also about the new bakery down the street?

Truly, they're together. Aren't they?

But… not really.

It's different in Illyria. It's different in Velaris. It's easier in Windhaven. It's infinitely harder surrounded by them, when Nesta doesn't like his family and he's not all too sure they like her.

"I'm waiting for… the right time."

Feyre blinks and Elain frowns and Cassian is sure he looks baffled at his own words… Right time? Didn't he want more of it?

Wasn't he losing it every time he didn't make a move?

Huh?

"But aren't you just wasting time?" Feyre concludes, "Wouldn't it make more sense to just tell her how you feel and damn the consequences?"

Elain tilts her head, her gaze squinting at him. "Haven't you waited this long?"

"You sister does have a say in this you know. She could very well take the lead and confess. I certainly wouldn't stop her."

Cassian watches as they give each other a bland look, something that calls Cassian an idiot without saying it aloud.

"Nesta reads romance novels," Feyre offers obviously, as if that is answer enough.

At his confused gaze, sweet Elain rolls her eyes. "Nesta is… hopelessly romantic. Even if she doesn't seem like it. She always has been since she was young. And she's very traditional, if you haven't noticed. Won't dare to wear pants, not that I do either, but I'll try new things, new foods. It took Nesta three months to even try a bit of jam on her toast when I first started cooking."

"It took her three years to stop putting her hair up in those braids. Two seasons for Nesta to go into restaurant down the street, three to go shopping for new clothes that weren't corsets and long gowns." Feyre argues. "She needs to be very comfortable to do things that are unfamiliar to her… But she's comfortable with you."

"We can tell," Elain smiles, lifting a shoulder. "She seeks you out when you enter a room, her eyes follow you. She won't talk to anyone, but she'll argue with you easily. Even seems to enjoy it. Nesta makes sure that I make blueberry muffins on Monday's, the same day that you come back early from training… I probably wasn't supposed to tell you that but here we are."

Cassian looks down at Nesta, her nose red and her lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. Gods, he loves her doesn't he? And… she loves him?

Negative. Impossible.

But not impossible…

Because she… cares for him? He thinks. Maybe. He's not certain.

But what he is certain of is her sister's knowledge of all things pertaining to her.

"You pay a lot of attention to Nesta's actions."

Elain looks to Feyre, "Is that surprising? She's our sister."

"I just thought… I don't know."

"No, what?" Feyre pleads, "That we didn't care about her. Did Nesta say that?"

Feyre sighs. "She's never going to forgive me for sending her to Illyria."

Cassian grimaces, but shrugs a shoulder. "I don't know about that, but she's—Nesta's trying her best. Perhaps, it's not the right time," he repeats back to them, a smug look on his face.

Feyre does hit him with a pillow this time.

Elain frowns, staring at Nesta's pale skin. "How do we help her?"

Cassian and Feyre pause their antics, and stare at Elain in her yellow cotton dress.

"I think only Nesta can tell you that. Maybe ask, first?"

"And if she says nothing?"

"Then be there for her and… try again." He answers, softly. "Nesta reads romance novels, yes, because she's a romantic at heart, but she also reads because the books are there. They are always there, when she's alone, when she's upset, when she needs to escape there's another world. More characters, more stories to rely on because sometimes this world and the people in it aren't very reliable."

Cassian gets up from the sofa, as the Archerons look to him where he stretches, striding to the lamp. He looks to them both and then to Nesta.

He'd be someone she could rely on, Cassian promises himself. All of them could rely on him. He'd take care of this little family he now belongs to—wants desperately to belong to…

"Make a world she doesn't have to escape from," He calls out softly.

"Now get some sleep."

He reaches to turn off the lamp, as Elain lays down content with the answer. Feyre gazes up at him, her lips titling upwards, raising a hand in goodnight. And he watches them both, cuddle up to Nesta, tucking her in to their embrace as if they'll protect her from the world.

Cassian hopes they know Nesta, without a doubt, would travel to the ends of the world for both of them.

This is way longer than I thought, but it was really easy to write surprisingly. I think either I have more skill or I make things way too complicated on a regular basis.

I really, really loved writing this in-between stage of Nesta and Cassian being officially together. Having some sort of connection that they haven't worked out fully yet. I absolutely loved writing Cassian hopelessly devoted to Nesta, but I wanted it to be subtle, a quiet sort of devotion.

I have a fascination with writing Nesta done with everyone, because well she has a right to be, but also because she reminds me so much of a Darcy character from 2005 Pride and Prejudice where she's just a hopeless, awkward bean whose so inherently introverted that she can't stand to have people around her and then ends up being rude for no reason, but also has that complexity about her where she secretly does want people around her but she doesn't know how to ask for it or create the boundaries that she's comfortable with. It's always so interesting writing Nesta. I'm going to miss it when the book comes out. SOON! But hopefully, I get more content to write and not less. I'm still thinking of finishing "Queen of Monsters" regardless of the book, since I've written so much of that. I just haven't posted it and I need something to hold me over for the next one.

The next one-shot (provided I write it) will be actually about the Inner Circle trying to get closer with Nesta, because they figure that they're kind of making a line between all of them if they don't start including her. But Nesta absolutely does not like being around them and is almost grumpy the whole time. I think it's funny. But you know, maybe it does helps… you never know.

Anyways happy reading! And it's almost the release date woohooo!

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