MCU (c) Marvel Studios

Sometimes I feel I don't have the words. Sometimes I feel I'm not being heard and then I fear I'm feeling nothing more. Sometimes I feel I don't want this change. I think we all have to rearrange, and now I feel there's no one losing me — Epica

Pepper, Maria and Wanda smiled at her. "You look great, Natasha," Pepper said, smoothing the white gown that hugged her lithe body. "Stunning, he's going be so amazed."

"You really didn't have to do this," she said, tears in her eyes, trying to not ruin the make-up tha Maria had spent so much time on. Her three bridesmaids looked at her, their smiles reflected on her face. "I'm so nervous."

"I was too," Pepper said, "when I married Tony. But—" she smiled, a hand on her stomach. Natasha frowned, knowing if she squinted she could see a slight swell beneath Pepper's hand. "It was worth in the end. You'll be so happy. I didn't know Tony had it in him to behave! But he did."

"That's because he loves you," Wanda said.

"More like he was terrified you'll file for divorce after an hour of being married," Maria said, winking. The women laughed. There was a knock on the door before Clint stuck his head in.

"Wow, Nat," he said, "you… you look amazing. He's gonna freeze his face in a smile when he sees you." She flushed, looking at her feet as wisps of Wanda's magic gently lowered the gauzy vail over her face. "I'm so honored that you asked me to walk you down the aisle. Really I am." he said and offered a meaty arm to her.

"Thanks for accepting," she said, putting her small hand on a bulging muscle. "It feels… right that you do it. That you give me away. You brought me out of the darkness, it feels fitting that you should escort me to another new future." Clint grinned at her, his eyes shining with unshed tears. She took the bouquet of lilies from Pepper. "I'm ready."

"Good, let's go," Clint said, and laid her down the hall to the doors of the church. Someone sent the cue ahead of them and the music began to play as the door swung open. She didn't realize she was shaking until Clint patted her trembling hand. "He loves you. Don't worry, everything will be fine Nat."

"I… I know," she said, keeping the maelstrom of emotions down. She was getting married. Married to the man she loved. Everyone sitting in the pews turned to watch as she walked down the aisle; she felt Clint's hand tighten on hers and she glanced at him, noting how his throat constricted to keep his own emotions at bay. She could only see the man standing at the end of the aisle. It wasn't long, but it felt long at the slow pace she was walking. The priest in his white robes edged in gold and the bejeweled cross, the church's great organ oozed out the bridal march.

She saw Laura sat with their children, and empty spot for Clint to return to. Thor beamed at her. Bruce gave her a solemn nod, and Tony gave her a thumbs up and a smile, Rhodey gave her a nod along with Sam and Vision. The other set of pews held T'Challa and Shuri, along with their respective entourages. Nobody else came, it was a small private thing, just her and her groom's friends… and family. Outside was the media circus; it was the wedding of the century, considering who she was marrying. She didn't dwell on what came after this moment, she took a quick breath and fixed her gaze at the end of the aisle. It was him, the man she'll be married to, that caught her attention.

He was happy, grinning and she could see him with his best man. Sharp in the military uniform. He was her future, and will be her husband, and maybe… maybe if Shuri had managed to do it, the father of her child. She and Clint climbed to climbed to the alter. He put her hands on the hands of her groom. "You take good care of her, understand?" the archer said. "I'll be watching." Her groom nodded, and she studied his face from behind the veil. He turned to her.

"Darling," he said, a hand going to her shoulder. "Darling," he said again, shaking her harder. "Darling, wake up. Wake up, Nat."

She blinked her eyes, rolling over, her hand going to push away whomever was waking her up. "Wha—" the word died on her lips, when she saw Steve's face, a half smile on his lips. She was confused for a moment, wondering how Steve grew a beard so quickly. "Steve?" she asked, fingers tangling into his beard (it was real), sliding through the curly hair on his cheeks. "When did you grow a beard?" Her words coming out as a jumble as she snuggled closer to him.

"What? Why? Do you want me to shave? I'll shave if you want." His arms slipped around her, one running up and down her back, counting her vertebra. She couldn't help but smile at the tone of his voice. Who would've thought Captain America would be self-conscious about his appearance.

"No, no" — she yawned and stretched, rolling onto her back, tangling his fingers with hers. She reached up and played with his beard, a lazy smile on her lips — "I just… had a dream. A good dream, and you didn't have a beard." She tilted her head up to look at him; she reached up and played with his hair, she liked it long. "It looks fine." She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. She closed her eyes again, snuggling.

"What was the dream about?" he asked. She hummed, running her hand through his hair, it was soft and thick. He leaned into her touch, a soft sound escaping his throat, almost like a cat's purr; his eyes closed. "Darling?"

She giggled. "Whenever you stay that I think of the old gangster movies Clint made me watch late at night, jazz and swing music, suave edgy men and femme fatals and the innocent damsels, the words kiss me darling! followed by a dramatic gasp. It also reminded me of the creeps at the bars that tried to hit on me that were too drunk to realize that was a bad idea." She grinned, lazy and relaxed as his one of his hands ran down her stomach and pulled her closer. He realized she enjoyed being in his arms; it made her feel safe and secure. "But, it's also unmistakably you. I like it." She smiled at him as his hand settled on her hip, the other stroking her shoulder.

"Darling," he purred, eyes hooded. It sent shivers down her spine. She pressed against him. She never cared for morning sex, but with Steve she'd make an exception. She could feel his erection against her thigh. She moved her leg, watching him dissolve. "You're not going to tell me about your dream are you?"

She shook her head. "No," she whispered, smoothing her thumb over his eyebrow.

"Why not? You should tell me if it's a good dream," he said, moving his hand to run it through her hair. "I don't only want to hear about the nightmares. I want to make sure you're having good dreams too."

"I'll always have good dreams if you hold me at tight," she whispered. If this is what being in love feels like, please… never let me stop feeling happiness. With a sigh, she closed her eyes, savoring feel of his hands on her body, the coarseness of his beard against her palm and the beat of his heart against her other; his warmth and the soft golden light that poured in through the window. This was paradise, peace, and she found it after years of searching. Alexi, Bucky, all her previous lovers that held her… never before had she felt like this. Safe in Steve's arms, all the poetry in the world finally made sense to her.

"I'm glad," he said, his lips brushing against her temple, his nose nuzzling her hair. He placed a kiss on her forehead and cradle her body against his better. She could weep for the love and joy overflowing in her heart.

"I love you, Steve," she whispered, holding his face in her hands. She let her guard down, surrendered the walls around her heart and allowed them to crumble. "Make love to me?" she asked.

He nodded and moved over her, catching her lips with a kiss, his hands roaming over her body. Closer to sleep than awake, she got lost in the sensation of his touch and caresses, the soft murmurs of words made for silence not talk, the contrast of his beard against her skin and the feel of him settling himself between her legs.

She panted and mewed, hips meeting his with languid thrusts. It was tender, an extension of their feelings for each other and not just a physical act. All previous sexual encounters she had had been strictly speaking — business. Even when she was with Bucky it had been just sex (for her, she never bothered to ask Bucky if he felt different). The closest she ever came to feeling this way was with Alexi before he disappeared. Last night with Steve, it had been sweet and cute, she loved him, but she felt like she was breaking in a new horse; while she enjoyed it and it was a little more than just sex, there emotional connection was still short circuiting. Until this moment, with him on top of her, murmuring sweet nothings between panty breaths and kisses as he savored everything thrust, relishing the feel of being inside her. It sent dizzying waves of pleasure and something else through her body, she wanted to merge with Steve, become one with him, and she felt full to bursting with this emotion that she couldn't take it anymore. She gasped, an indescribable emotion catching in her throat as she reached her peak. She'd had orgasms before and faked others, but none had ever made her cry before; this one did, and she cried silently into his neck, feeling his body convulse as he came. He kissed her neck, letting the pleasure shudder through his body before pulling out. "Natasha, darling, you're crying?" He touched her damp cheek. "Did I hurt you? Dear God, I hurt you, didn't I? Sometimes I forget my own strength and—"

"No, Steve, no. I'm fine." She sniffed, wiping at her tears. His tender concern laced with fear made the tears spill anew. God, why am I crying? I'm better than this. "I'm…" she stopped, wondering when did her iron clad grip on her emotions vanished. When did Steve tear down all the walls she built up to protect herself from situations like this. How did he get through a life time of defenses? She frowned, taking the sheet and wiping away his seed from her leg. I let him in, he didn't get through them, I let him in because he sat there and waited until I allowed him to enter. She loved him, yes, but she shouldn't be crying because he brought her to an orgasm.

"Natasha?" he asked. "Natasha, talk to me? Are you sure I didn't hurt you?"

"I'm— no," she said, mustering a smile as she wrangled her emotions back into place. "I'm not hurt. You didn't hurt me. In fact, you were gentle." She kissed him, soft on the lips. "Come." She patted his bicep. "Let's spare." She threw the covers off her body, shivering at the change in temperature. She needed to let out some aggressive energy and she doubted newly minted no-longer-a-virgin Steve Rogers was down for some rough sex that was nothing more than pure animalistic rutting. She doubted he'll ever be. She looked over her shoulder, he was watching her, and she couldn't help but smirk and give him a sultry little wink before heading into the bathroom to change.

The room was quiet. Wanda look at the yellow gemstone in Vision's forehead. He was laying on his back, arms crossed over his chest. He didn't really sleep, not the way a human did, but more like entered a state when most of his subordinate functions were offline. He tried to explain it to her once, but he lost her with the technical jargon. A small ball of magic curled in her palm, she reached out with it, wanting to understand the stone. Her magic touched it, he gasped, eyes widening. Shocked, Wanda drew her hand back, her power dissipating. "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"But you did not," he said, reaching up and touching her cheek with his fingers. She leaned against the alien fingertips. His skin almost felt like silicon that leaned close to the human skin feel. "I only felt you," he said. She smiled and touched the stone with her magic again. She felt, rather than heard, the soft hum it gave off. She stopped after a few minutes. "Interesting," Vision said.

"What?" She tilted her head at the far off look he got on his face. "Viz?"

"Nothing," he said. He looked at her as he sat up. "You seemed… troubled. Do you no longer wish to pursue a physical relationship with me? I will understand. I am not human and—"

"No," she said. "No, I'm just… for the past year I've been on the run with Sam and Steve. We've been doing undercover hero work. Small stuff, mostly it was Sam and Steve since they were less obvious. I mostly made sure nobody took anyone too seriously about what they saw. Manipulating their minds… their memories…" she looked at her hands, her power sparking between her fingers. "Am I monster?"

"If you are referring to the definition of monster denoting a mythical creature like a dragon or werewolf or vampire; then no you are not."

"But?"

"But, if you are referring to the definition that states a monster is something or someone that produces fear or harm by its physical appearance or actions, with the connotation of something wrong or evil, morally objectionable, physically or psychologically hideous, or a freak of nature… then yes."

Wanda bowed her head. "Knew it." She hugged herself, refusing to cry. It was something she always knew in her heart.

"But so am I," Vision said. She looked up at him, disbelief on her face. "I am not a true human. I'm an artificial human. An android or a homunculus, there ae several folklore references to human-like beings being created via magic. But"— Vision looked at her — "despite knowing that most people would see me as a freak of nature, I don't see myself as a monster. I do not understand why I don't. It's curious."

"Have you ever wanted to be… normal?" she asked. He smiled, looking around the sparse room. She did too, admiring the hardwood floor and the white walls, the floor to ceiling windows that looked out at the Wakandan jungle. She sighed, being here, cooped up in the palace was starting to make her go stir crazy. She wanted to get out and see the world, pretend for a moment that she was a normal person that couldn't move things with her mind or induce a person's deepest and darkest fears.

"I'm not sure if I understand your question, Wanda?" he said. "To me, my current state of existence is normal. Any previous one… is unknown to me. Why?"

"I want to… I want to see the world, Vision. I want to leave Wakanda and just… just pretend to be normal," she said. "I don't want to think about saving the world or having powers… I just… I want to see Paris and Rome and Cairo. New York, London, Seattle."

"I'll advise against going to the United States, considering you are technically a criminal." He looked down. "In fact, I do not think that is a good idea. People will notice you. They will notice me."

"That's why… why we give you a disguise. Give you a fake name, I'll cut my hair, color it like Natasha." She smiled. "You can look human right?"

"I'm not sure." He looked up at the ceiling. Wanda had come to associate that pose with him thinking about something. "I believe with the power of the Mind Stone and some images, I can replicate a human appearance."

"You're okay with doing this, Viz? We don't have to. I'll understand if you want to stay here where it's safe." She took his hand, smoothing her thumb along the knuckles. She pressed herself a bit closer to him. He didn't generate heat like a human, but he still was a solid body, a comfort to her when she needed it.

"I would like to understand the world beyond what I already do know," he said. "I'll go with you." He smiled. "So, you'll feel less alone." He touched her face, causing her to smile and hold his hand there. "I do know what loneliness feels like, Wanda. I am the only one of my kind. It is… a melancholic understanding."

She pressed her lips against his. The kiss was sweet and chaste. "You're not alone. You have me."

Vision looked around. "That is… a most unusual manner for stimuli of the lips. I feel… conflicted. I do not know why. It is almost like the feeling of being in love." He held her with his gaze. "What was that called?"

"A kiss."

"I thought so," he said, "can you kiss me again? I need to analyze the process and how the stimulus receptors respond."

Wanda giggled. "Of course, I'll kiss you again, Viz," she said, scooting closer and kissing him again.

At this point, Natasha figured that Steve was fighting on the defensive as an excuse to touch her. Every strike she made he blocked, no matter how inconvenient it was for him. She aimed for his head, he crossed his arms in front of his face to catch her punch. She sent a kick to his midsection and he would grab her foot. He ran his hand up her calf, a devilish smirk on his face. She pursed her lips, jumped and kicked him in the head. He had to drop her other foot to block that.

Her quick jabs, jerky kicks to his lower legs. Blocked. He wasn't even winded yet as if he wasn't truly trying to create an opening. It was starting to piss her off, this was a spare. An actual fight were the participants agreed to not kill each other. Steve was making it into a game. I should have never taken his virginity! She thought, ducking into his guard and giving him a quick forceful shove with both hands. He staggered back, and she followed up with more jabs, trying to feint to prevent him from blocking her, trying to get him to on the offensive. He wasn't and with a cry she pushed through his guard once again and rabbit kicked him in the gut. It knocked the wind from him and she recovered with a back flip, landing in a crouch. She swept his legs out from under him; viper-swift, straddled his chest and pinned his hands over his head. Breathing hard, she stared down at him. There was that smug twinkle in his eyes, as if he had her right where he wanted her.

He broke her hold on his wrists; hands going to her sides and with a fluid motion, he rolled them over. She grunted as her back collided with floor mats. "Cheap trick."

"Learned from the best," he said, that easy boyish smile on his face again. She snorted. "Don't think I'll let you pin me that easily next time."

"I hope next time you actually fight back," she said. He chuckled, head ducking down to kiss her. She returned it, opening her mouth when his tongue graced her lips. Truth be told, sparing was frustrating because she had a prime view of the way Steve's body moved, how his muscles rippled beneath his skin. It was intoxicating. She slipped her hands free from his hold, running her fingers up his sides, luxuriating the feel of his warm skin beneath her fingertips, how his muscles shuddered at her touch. He trailed kisses from her lips to her jaw to her throat. She gasped when he sucked on her neck, nipping lightly. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. "Steve—" His hand slipped beneath her light workout shirt, pressing against her breast. She moaned softly.

"Aw, hell no!" a newcomer said.

They sprung apart as if they had zapped each other. They stared at the intruder. "Sam?" Steve asked, scooting a bit towards her to block Sam's view of her as she adjusted her shirt and sports bra. "Wh-What are you doing here?"

"I did come for a work out, but now I'm starting to rethink that idea," Sam said. "I would say about time, but—" he gave a shrug, focusing on wrapping his hands. He finished but didn't start punching the bag. "So, what do we do now? Leave Wakanda? Ask T'Challa if he has missions for us?"

She blinked, surprised she had never thought about what to do next. She had been focused on reaching Steve and telling him how she felt. She stuck her nail in her mouth, tweaking it between her teeth. "Stop that," Steve whispered, taking her hand and holding it. She snorted a giggle. "We need to speak with Wanda too. Maybe after lunch we'll discuss what to do."

"And invite Bucky. They'll probably put him back on ice," Sam said.

"He's gotten better," Steve said, his voice tiny. She gave him a sympathetic smile and squeezed his hand. She knew how hard it was for him to force Bucky back into cryo but if that was the only way Bucky felt safe than so be it. "I'll… of course, we'll include him in our plans," Steve finally said.

"I know he's your friend, but you just don't shrug off baggage like he has," Sam said, turning his backs to them to face the punching back. She watched as he warmed up with a few quick jabs. "If he chooses to stay out of the ice, I can help. I know how to work with people with PTSD."

"Thanks Sam," he said, "I appreciate it. I'll let Bucky know." He let go of her hand with a sigh and grabbed a towel in the corner they left their water bottles in. She watched him as he walked off. His openness a moment before had disappeared. She knew that tucked in look, she worn it herself. He was guarded, not wanting to let his friends know he had his own demons to confront.

"You might want to cover your neck," Sam said, tapping the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

"Oh!" she hiked up her shirt. "Thanks, don't want everyone to see that Steve staked his claim." She winked, an amuse smile on her face when Sam rolled his eyes. She grabbed her water bottle and took the same path Steve did.

Bucky's fingers brushed his before his grip failed and he fell into the icy ravine. The endless nights of drinking and drinking and drinking but never getting drunk, not even a little, not even to dull the pain of losing his best friend. "Don't blame yourself," Peggy said, joining him at the rickety table. "You did everything you could." Her hand on his wasn't enough. "Allow Barnes the dignity of his death, he thought you were damn well worth dying for." He didn't do everything he could. He failed Bucky. His best friend since childhood, the one person that stuck with him through thick and thin.

"You'll have the band play something slow? I'd hate to step on your toes—" he didn't finish; the behemoth of an aircraft crashed into the Arctic. He jerked, covering his face with his arms, hitting his head on the seat. He groaned, opening his eyes when he heard a crack like thunder. It took a moment for him to realize that the ice was breaking. He stood up, shaking as he gathered his compass and shield. The plane began its slow slide towards the frigid water. The plane hit the water, a loud whoosh sounded, water breaking the glass of the windshield. The water — icy, sharp, salty — splashed him in the face; the bombs rumbled as they went off but the flames didn't consume the plane due to the rushing water. He used his shield it to push against the onslaught of the ocean, trying to find an escape before the plane was fully submerged. Panic began to flood his mind, eyes darting about to find an exit; he couldn't think, he felt terrified for the first time since becoming Captain America. A name tumbled from his lips but the sound of the water as the plane sank drowned it out. The water froze him down to the bone. He shivered, lips going blue as his internal temperature began to rapidly drop. He tried to swim, water rushing up around his shoulders, washing over his head. He gulped a breath of air, limbs sluggish, spots dancing across his vision. "Help!" he cried to nobody. "Someone help!" He flailed in the water, trying to swim but his body was too cold. "Anyone… h-help…" He wondered if this was what it felt like to die. Something hit him in the head, stunning and he had the foresight to not swallow water. He sunk down, dimly aware of his back hitting the windshield. He watched as the world began to dim and grow murky. Peggy, I'm sorry, but I'm going to be late… forgive me? Cold enveloped him, followed by endless darkness.

Steve jerked out of his reprieve, the hot water cascading over his body but he shivered as if he had been in freezing water. "Steve? Steve are you still in there? Are you okay?" it was Natasha's voice. He pushed his wet hair back and got his bearings. He was in the shower, in the suit of rooms in the royal palace in Wakanda. He wasn't trapped in the ice. He rubbed at the goosebumps on his forearms despite the warm water. "Steve?"

"I'm fine, darling," he called, grabbing the bottle of body wash and squeezing a dollop onto his palm. "Be out in a few," he said. He scrubbed himself down, trying not to think about the ice, waking up from the ice with a game he been to, playing on a radio. Realizing Bucky was alive but… different. Finding Peggy only to realize that he had been too late — seventy years too late — losing her in the end. "I didn't want you to be alone." He looked up, allowing the warm water to cascade around his face. He broke when Natasha had said that, crying softly into her neck as she held him, rubbing his back. She didn't judge him, didn't lecture him. She simply held him, held him and accepted that even super soldiers cried. Even super soldiers broke.

He turned the water off, drying himself off and wrapping the towel around his waist. He walked out of the bathroom. "Hey." Natasha was on his bed, offering him a small smile. She was wearing fluttery lounge pants, a spaghetti strap top with a compatible colored bra. Her hair was damp, dripping at the ends.

"Hey." He was on autopilot, mind lost in his darkest memories. Wiping the sweat from his dying mother's brow, wondering what will happen to him once she was gone. Will he live with Bucky? Work was difficult to find. He had to drop out of art school when she got sick. He could sell some sketches or set up a street corner shop and draw caricatures for twenty-five cents. Once, when he was a boy, he had dreamed of studying art in France, under one of the great masters. That time seemed far off and idyllic. The funeral was a solemn private affair, it was just him after all. He wasn't strong, but he would be damned if he didn't carry his mother's casket to her finally resting place. Bucky had met him outside the graveyard, had asked if he was okay, even invited him over, said his parents would understand. He didn't cry at the funeral, he didn't as he packed up his mother's things. He remembered standing in the middle of the apartment, her things boxed up and stored in a closet, and thinking how he never felt more alone. He cried then, burying his face in his hands, sobbing as he crumbled to the floor. He was alone, utterly alone.

"Steve? Steve."

"Uh?" he looked up, wondering when Natasha had gotten so close. "Nat." He told himself not to flinch when she put her hand on his cheek and wiped away a few tears. "I'm okay." His voice shook.

"Are you? You seem… distant. Ever since Sam mentioned Bucky and—"

"I'm fine," he said, taking her hand away and pressing a kiss to her palm. "I'm fine." He wasn't fine, but he had gotten good at hiding it over the years. The nightmares, they never went away, and he hated the cold. No, he just got good at hiding his troubles, putting on the face that people needed to see. They needed to see him, Steve Rogers — Captain America (can he even call himself that anymore) — strong and unshakeable. If the world got wind he had nightmares and issues. He swallowed. I may be broken into ten thousand pieces inside, but on the outside, I appear whole… I must be, for everyone's sake.

Natasha narrowed her eyes. "If you need to talk, I'll listen. I don't know what help I'll be but, I'll listen. Clint listened when I just started at Shield. Or talk to Sam. He's dealt with soldiers that have—"

"Don't." His voice was sharp, startling her enough for her to take a step back, he reflexively tightened his grip on her wrist. She had seen through his façade, of course she would, but still… he had a secret to keep and she wasn't allowed to just rip away his mask. "I'm fine, Natasha. Please. Don't worry about me." He pressed a kiss to her brow. She didn't need to bear this cross too; it was his, and his alone, he couldn't burden her with it or anyone else for that matter.

She let out a breath, nodded. "Alright. Remember we're having lunch with the others, so put your underwear on." He looked down, a pair of grey boxers in his hand. "Did you… is that your name on the waist band?"

"No," he said, putting on his underwear before she could swipe it from him to see. "It's not, and don't go looking through my clothes." The look she gave him, made him realize that he had better think about locking his drawers. Who was he fooling, this was Black Widow, a lock wasn't going to stop her. She sashayed closer to him, a flirty expression on her face.

"I won't tell anyone if you write your name on the waistband of your underwear," she purred, a cheeky smile struggling to remain in check. He pecked her lips.

"You won't have anything to tell if I never tell you," he said and stepped back, pulling the towel away and tossing it at her. She caught it with a baffled squeak. He glanced at her, amused as he pulled out a shirt and slipped it over his head, and then pulled on his pants and socks. She huffed and tossed the towel back at him and he caught her, putting it over the chair to dry. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. "No peeking." He grinned as he tapped her nose. "Now let's go. I'm famished." He took her hand and lead her out of their room.

They reached the dining room of the suite that T'Challa had given him. Bucky, Sam, Vision and Wanda were already there. Vision was the only one not eating, and he floated apart from the group, watching the colorful birds fly by the window. Bucky and Sam were discussing card games, munching away on chicken legs. "Good, everyone's here," Wanda said, setting down her knife and fork. "Vision," she said.

"Right," he said and floated, only to touch down and walked when Wanda cleared her throat. "Wanda and I have something to announce." The artificial man took Wanda's hand. They shared a look, one that he was starting to realize as love (one he and Natasha are starting to share too), before Vision fixed them with his almost alien gaze.

"Vision and I want to tour Europe."

This chapter took a while, cause I didn't really figure out what happened after I got Nat and Steve together. So, we got some angst, some laughs, and the team "separating".

Sorry for the wait, but I rather give you a quality chapter than just churn these out willynilly.

Save an author; leave a review.

Nemo et Nihil