So this story has been in the works pretty much since I finished 'Uneasy Lies the Head' because I didn't like the gap in canon re. Vera/Hamish. And if you've read that story and the notes at the end you know this isn't how I'd originally envisioned it happening but I've changed my mind for a couple of reasons:

1. Hamish is not acting like they're on the outs in The Commons, and 'doghouse' Hamish, IMO, is a very recognizable creature lol (I'm just going to ignore the two instances he was checking out Gabrielle because WTF?)

2. I really wanted/needed to fill in the gaps and I was not about to write a withdrawal fic for reasons previously stated

Then real life happened. Then I got hit with a plot bunny at Christmas for a future Christmas fic but it references/expands on stuff from this story so I couldn't finish/post it first. And then real life and second-guessing hit hard and seven months later I'm finally ready to get this bitch off my hard drive :)

So without further ado, this is my 'missing' scene from the end of Fear Itself, Part 2

I don't own anything, I just like to play with them.

Vera shuffled through the deserted temple, promises of a hot, soothing bath and a bottle boasting an insanely high proof propelling her forward. It had taken more self-medicating than usual earlier to mute her body's pained protests – what she hoped was a temporary side effect of overexertion, not a new stage of decline triggered by too much casting – and now that she'd magicked herself sober for the drive home it was a veritable cacophony of complaints. She was contemplating having one for the road (just to take the edge off) when the sight of a familiar figure slumped at the bar's far end stopped her in her tracks. Suppressing a whole host of conflicting emotions she acknowledged it from the antechamber's doorway. "Mr. Duke… Where are your co-conspirators?"

Hamish kept his gaze aimed blearily at the drink he was nursing, certain hers would be as icy as her tone. "Jack took Randall back to the Den a while ago." She already knew where Lilith was.

"I see." Apparently she'd been too subtle… "And you're still here, why?"

Predicting the truth wouldn't garner him any sympathy he lifted his shoulders in an apathetic shrug. "You have better alcohol."

Of which he'd been partaking quite liberally, if the empty decanter and slight slur were any indication… "Ah, yes. I suppose I should be grateful you didn't have your demon steal that, as well." Along with the contents of her reliquary, the Vade Maecum included. Her grip instinctively tightened on the briefcase holding both it and The Rules of Enoch.

He instantly regretted the flippant response, her open disdain prompting him to be honest (or at least as honest as he dared). "I can't go back there without Lilith. Not yet." Not when they couldn't even check her hide locker. "And my apartment…" Well, its bareness would just be a mocking reminder of his failure.

Vera barked a short, humorless laugh. "Do I need to point out the irony of this suddenly being your safe space?"

"No. No, you do not." Although (if he dared) he could point out that it wasn't about the space at all.

Even though he couldn't see it she gave her head a wry shake. "Go home, Mr. Duke. You can't hide from your fuck ups."

The sound of her heels bypassing him on their way to the passage into the library summoned a wave of panic to accompany the shame. "I'm sorry, Vera."

Unable to resist a retort she abandoned the bottom stair and turned back. Found him staring dejectedly after her and momentarily faltered. "You're sorry there were unforeseen consequences to your actions – it's not the same thing."

"No." It was about so much more than the robbery. "Vera, I…"

"I am curious, though…" Curiosity was all it was, she assured herself as she retraced her steps. "How did you expect this to play out? I've heard Mr. Morton's little fantasy of taking control of my organization but surely you aren't that delusional."

Relief had narrowly edged out fear, watching her advance on him with all the grace of a panther. A deceptively calm, very disappointed panther. He quickly refocused on his glass. "We just wanted our lives back. And our stuff."

"And revenge," she added liltingly, depositing her heavy burden on the bar top. "Don't forget revenge."

Not him. Not really. And most definitely not against her. "We needed leverage, Vera. To buy our freedom."

She continued to marvel at the sheer audacity – and stupidity – of it all. "You do realize that as soon as you took credit for the theft your lives were forfeit? You hid my inventory in your apartment, for Christ's sake." The same apartment he'd been occupying under the pulveris memoriae so she was obviously aware of its existence. "You're lucky that Rogwan's impending arrival derailed your plans to publicly extort the Order." There would have been nothing she could do for them then.

Hamish's flinch was as much for the classification of 'lucky' as for the blunt (yet probably more accurate than not) indictment. "They were getting restless. It was the best chance we had so we took it."

"Really?" Her nails rapped condemningly against the wood to make up for the raised eyebrow he wasn't privy to. "Discussing it with me like the mature adults you claim to be didn't seem more promising than a suicide mission?"

"You're the one who'd done it to us, Vera." There was no bitterness in the statement, just resignation. "For all I knew that would have been a suicide mission."

Vera ignored a sharp pang of… something. Would have proposed that being enamored with a woman he believed capable of killing him spoke to a serious need for therapy were there not a strong possibility it had all been a very thorough, very dedicated performance to distract from their plotting. "Did it ever occur to you, Mr. Duke, that had I wanted you dead you would be… oh, I don't know… dead?"

Of course. If she'd wanted them dead… "You had to make sure the Knights couldn't pose a threat but you don't like killing. Maybe if you couldn't keep us under your control anymore you'd have had to accept the more permanent solution." Maybe leaving her no choice had been preferable to finding out what she'd do if she had one.

She blinked at his profile. "You think I did it because your pack of shiftless misfits poses a threat?" It was so ridiculously off base that an incredulous laugh bubbled out unbidden. Tamping down on it she pulled her bag towards her. "Good night, Mr. Duke."

Her reaction was hurtful enough on its own, but that she couldn't even be bothered to clarify? "I guess I was wrong about you."

"Oh?" There was a lot of that going around lately… She folded her arms over her briefcase – feigning casual indifference – so she could surreptitiously put her weight on the bar. "Is your opinion of me linked to the healthiness of your ego?"

"I was giving you the benefit of the doubt," he corrected somberly, more angry at himself than at her. "That you had a good reason for betraying us. That I wasn't an idiot to…" He stopped abruptly and took a steadying swig. "But really we were just living, breathing testament to Order superiority. Plundered curiosities to pad your collection. Like the rest of our stuff."

Once again Vera found herself questioning how someone so smart could be so stupid. That after a month with his memories those were the only explanations he'd come up with… "So in your mind you could disrupt a ritual, blow up labs, slaughter a house full of disciples, and orchestrate the downfall of the Order's Golden Boy, and what? Bygones would be bygones?"

Well, yes, because they'd called a truce to take Edward down. Besides, "You can't possibly condone that transfer ritual or those experiments, Vera. They were inhumane."

"Ah, yes," she drawled, "Because nothing says 'compassion for human suffering' like decorating the walls with students' entrails…" She'd gotten quite the surprise, picking up Maddox's things. "It seems your moral outrage is reserved for victims not your own, Mr. Duke. Some might label that hypocrisy."

Hamish glanced at her to see if she was actually serious. "You're comparing killing our enemies to the torture and murder of innocent civilians?" It was complete bullshit but still, he had to admire how she'd so smoothly steered the subject away from her betrayal.

"I wasn't aware that torture and murder were downgraded to the less offensive 'killing' depending on the relationship of those involved…" Not that she was fundamentally opposed to either (under the right circumstances), but if you had the intestinal fortitude to do it then you should at least have the balls to own it. "Semantics aside, killing out of necessity is one thing; killing for convenience or pleasure, enemy or not, is no better than killing for personal gain."

"It was out of necessity," he assured her, somewhat sullenly. "They were… We needed to get Maddox to trade for Lilith."

Vera snorted so hard the sleeve of her coat fluttered. "Spare me the insult to my intelligence, Mr. Duke – the Knights' propensity for excessive force is well-documented. Or can you honestly say you attempted to retrieve the boy by peaceful means before tearing his hapless babysitters to shreds? Or, barring that, that they all had to die?"

He couldn't honestly say either, and what he'd originally dismissed as a harmless diversion tactic was starting to feel like a genuine attack on his character. "We wouldn't have been there at all if Edward hadn't taken Lilith hostage, Vera."

Even if that could somehow excuse how he'd chosen to deal with it (which it didn't): "Edward wouldn't have had the chance to take Miss Bathory hostage if she hadn't appeared in our temple uninvited, Mr. Duke. And seeing as she was effectively an enemy trespassing on our territory, following your logic what he did was the ethical equivalent of insisting she stay for tea."

It might have been mistaken for a joke had it not been utterly deadpan. "But she didn't do it on purpose."

The argument was feeble, both in content and delivery. "My point, thank you for illustrating, is that you're eager to condemn others while bending over backwards to defend your own less-than-noble exploits. By the same token the Order would argue that the volunteers for the Elemental Transference were being given an opportunity to parlay their imminent deaths into a small fortune for their families; an opportunity they were ultimately deprived of due to your interference. That Hemmings would have been remiss in his duties if he hadn't researched ways to defeat brutal, near-invincible supernatural creatures; a precaution you'd compelled by infiltrating our base and killing without provocation. That, Edward's controversial demise notwithstanding, you'd proven yourselves far too violent and unpredictable to be allowed to live; a preemptive strike your recent initiative suggests would have been well-advised." Much to her chagrin.

Hamish frowned into his tumbler. "You're making us sound like the bad guys."

"I'm showing you that rarely is anything black-or-white." If it had the added benefit of making him reflect on his cavalier methods, well… "I'd already fallen into disfavor with Council for having gone rogue, Mr. Duke. I could have easily defended a decision to sit back and let them order you all executed. Saved myself a lot of time, soul-crushing conversations, and further damage to my reputation." Not to mention machinations and manipulations she wasn't entirely proud of… "But 'defensible' is a low bar when you can twist the facts to defend pretty much anything; it's simply the easiest route to a clear conscience parading as strong principles."

The rest of the lesson (slash thinly-veiled criticism) barely made an impression because his somewhat pickled brain was stuck on what she'd implied. When Jack had told them she would keep their responsibility for the robbery under wraps they'd figured it was because she'd be blamed for having inducted them; 'mutually-assured destruction' seemed like a lot less of an exaggeration if they'd only been alive to rob the Order thanks to her intervention… But as much as Hamish wanted to believe it – and God, did he want to believe it – it just didn't make sense. "They rewarded you for capturing us. Named you Grand Magus."

Vera rolled her eyes at his naïveté. "Acting Grand Magus, Mr. Duke, for lack of more suitable options or legitimate cause to deny me, before I'd disabused them of the notion I agreed with their plans for you." But busy schedules and inferior candidates and fear of civil unrest provided only the scantest of protections. "Kepler especially is not pleased that – despite multiple examples of my alleged disloyalty and her concerted efforts to the contrary – I was able to sway Council to my side. Don't let her 'helpfulness' fool you; she's merely positioned herself, like a dog beneath the dinner table waiting for scraps, hoping to stumble upon something to justify calling an emergency conclave to officially test my support. Or better yet, to discredit me completely so she can claim that support for herself and make her own bid for the throne, as it were." Regardless of how ill-suited she was for the job.

And they'd just created the mother of all scraps for her to find. "It's a huge risk, keeping us around, Vera. If she finds out what we did and that you covered for us…"

"You assume I intend to keep you around," she countered dryly, disinclined to reward his little fishing expedition. "Getting rid of you now would be too suspicious; they'd want to know why. And as you may have noticed I really hate having to explain myself."

The warning was so subtle he'd almost missed it. Pretended he had. "You could have told them we died during Rogwan's escape. Included us in the Respondeo."

'With Lilith' went unsaid but hung heavily in the air between them. "Yes, well…" Vera brushed a fleck of invisible dirt from the polished wood. "If I'd had to single-handedly dispatch a bunch of werewolves I may have been too tired to perform the Respondeo. Priorities."

The others would've bristled at her cockiness and/or disputed the certainty of their demise but Hamish refused to take the bait. Partly because he was becoming all too familiar with her penchant for deflection, mostly because it reminded him that she'd had a hell of a week and there was probably more truth to it than she'd care to admit. Shaking off the awkwardness (and difficulty focusing), he turned to really take her in for the first time since she'd joined him. "Are you okay?"

She must have looked as terrible as she felt because he slid over to the next chair without even waiting for a response. Hardening herself to his concern (cursing herself for accidentally inciting it), she stubbornly remained standing. "When I was an acolyte I was determined to prove I was the best. I was also…" She paused to gather her thoughts. "Exceptionally angry at the world. As you can imagine, that didn't make for a very healthy combination. If my Magus hadn't seen fit to forgive my impetuous transgressions I wouldn't be where I am today."

For a fleeting moment it hadn't been anger that played across her features but a palpable sadness, and he had to wonder at the enormity of something that could affect her so deeply even now. "Vera?"

"Do you know where he is today?" she quickly continued, ensuring the questions in his eyes remained unasked.

Hamish shook his head.

"Neither do I, because in this great institution empathy is synonymous with weakness, and members found to possess it don't remain members for long." She'd seen it happen too many times over the years; had managed to avoid the same fate herself by mastering their politics, consolidating power, and, up until recently at least, choosing her battles with the utmost care. "So hear me when I tell you that there is only so much disobedience I can afford to tolerate. While I can personally attest that making mistakes is integral to one's growth, both as an individual and as a practitioner, I won't jeopardize what I hope to finally achieve here for those who neglect to learn from them."

Even though she'd only shared her story to drive the message home – and the guys would probably denounce it as lies and propaganda to get him (and, by extension, them) on side – it was a rare glimpse into her psyche that he felt privileged to have and loathe to take for granted. "It won't happen again, Vera."

She studied him a moment, then gave a brusque nod. "See that it doesn't. Good night, Mr. Duke."

"Will you stay for a bit?" It was out there before he could think better of it; of how selfish a request it was when she was so clearly exhausted. Exponentially more so because he was to blame. Still, he couldn't bring himself to take it back, even under the weight of her incredulous gaze. "I know I have no right to ask…"

"You're right – you don't." It took an insane amount of nerve, in fact.

And yet she was still there. Assuming she wasn't just rooted to the spot by shock, if he sweetened the deal… "I'll make you a drink."

The craving was instantaneous and near overwhelming but she smothered it. "I doubt you could successfully pour me a drink in your current state." An impressive feat considering his supercharged constitution.

He wasn't nearly as drunk as she seemed to think he was – or one to pass on a challenge – but if playing along got her to take pity on him… Spotting Randall's abandoned glass, conveniently already poured, he pushed it in front of the seat he'd vacated.

Vera cocked an insulted eyebrow.

"It was Randall's," he explained, then chuckled when her poorly concealed disgust only grew with the revelation. "I swear he didn't touch it."

The eyebrow notched almost imperceptibly higher. "You expect me to believe Mr. Carpio declined free alcohol?"

Her skepticism would have been funny were its validity not so damned depressing. All trace of laughter was gone as he returned to his own drink. "It's a thing we usually do. A salute to the fallen."

Reading between the lines, Vera rearranged her coat and slid onto the chair with an internal groan of self-loathing. "As I told Mr. Morton, if anyone can navigate the demon realm it's Miss Bathory. She's always been a force." And somewhat evil.

Hamish was glad to hear it from her directly, part of him having worried Jack made it up to comfort them. And if that was true… "You also told him there's a way to get her back, right?"

Of course that was Mr. Morton's take-away from the exchange… "I may have had a relevant grimoire in my possession. The operative word being 'had.'"

"But you know who has it…" Turning towards her he eagerly continued, "The people who sent you the message. We can go get it and the rest of our stuff."

Vera's jaw clenched at his use of 'we.' "The Esoteric Sons of Prometheus. Their presumed location fits the details given by your demon so that is my hope, yes. But I have some centuries-old customs to reacquaint myself with first."

She didn't sound very optimistic. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You've done more than enough, thank you." Draining the tumbler in one go she set it on the bar top with a dull thud; closed her eyes to savor the flood of warmth through her aching body.

Hamish swallowed hard, his excitement tempered by the sudden chill. "I am sorry, Vera."

She let out a disinterested hum. "Unfortunately 'sorry' won't bring back any of those who lost their lives today, Mr. Duke." Reduced to a (false) statistic on the dangers of sports fanaticism.

She was right. He'd been trying to cling to the only ray of light in this bleak, royally fucked up day, but there really wasn't anything to celebrate. People were still dead because of them, and even if they recovered the grimoire there was no guarantee they'd be able to save Lilith.

Surprised by the lack of argument Vera opened her eyes to find his glittering with unshed tears; sighed, though she wasn't sure whether it was in response to his weakness or her own. "When you have the power to defend you also have the power to destroy…" Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "It's a difficult and invariably costly lesson to learn."

Hamish had managed to hold it together so far, first out of necessity for Randall, then with the aid of a little liquid desensitization; now that his buzz was wearing off and she was shoving reality in, her uncharacteristic compassion broke the tenuous grip he had on his self-control. Falling forward he pressed his face into her shoulder, fingers clutching at her leg to ground him.

Vera stiffened at the unexpected (and uncomfortably needy) display. Normally she would shrug him off – tell him that crying was a release they didn't deserve – but at least this way he couldn't see her own struggle. The grief of reliving how she'd come to learn that horrible lesson. Guilt that her (willful?) obliviousness had made Rogwan's escape possible, and because her relief that it had been Miss Bathory instead of one of the others had nothing at all to do with the girl's superior chances of survival.

After a while he felt her hand rest on the side of his neck, a pressure so light and brief he couldn't even be sure it was deliberate, then a sharp tug on his hair. He pulled away reluctantly. "How do you do it?"

"I do a great many things," she half-heartedly snarked, getting up in search of a desperately-needed refill. "You're going to have to be more specific."

She didn't return once she'd acquired a new bottle – apparently also distance she'd been after – and though it stung it was strangely fitting that she take up position as bartender slash therapist. "Be the bad guy. Not care that they resent you."

What little doubt had remained that it had all been the Machiavellian brain child of one Jack Morton was now erased. Not that that absolved her companion of liability… "I left the quest for adoration behind with my days of pageants and prom courts, Mr. Duke." Unstopping the decanter she poured generously for herself, markedly less so for him. "My purpose now is in ensuring immature, overconfident practitioners have the tools they need to protect the world while simultaneously keeping them from overreaching and doing the exact opposite; being liked is meaningless if I fail at either." His only reaction was a blank stare, making her reconsider the amount she had given him. Tilt her head in irritation and huff, "Because we'll all be dead, Mr. Duke."

For the sake of his sanity Hamish was going to go with that first part being facetious, the image of her swanning around on stage competing for approval the epitome of 'does not compute.' The second part (minus the condescending clarification) was just sad. "But how do you not let it bother you?"

"You assume it would bother me to begin with." So erasing our lives is a kindness in your world?! She dispelled the unsolicited memory with a shrug. "If they can't appreciate that what I do is for their own good, and the greater good, then that's on them."

Her words were belied by a wistfulness she probably thought he was too drunk to notice (or she was just too tired to repress and hoped he was). "They can't appreciate what they don't understand, Vera," he offered softly, speaking from painfully fresh experience. "Maybe if you helped them understand…"

"I've made my stance on explaining myself quite clear." She couldn't tell him that it was all by design – that it saved her the effort of holding people at arm's length when fear and resentment did it for her – without also telling him why. And since that wasn't going to happen… "If my disciples make a habit of nearly wiping out civilization in a misguided attempt to get back at me I'll be sure to revisit my approach."

Being aware that the barb was intended specifically to shame him into shutting up made it no less successful.

It had been a lot easier to ignore the wounded puppy look when it was directed into his glass instead of at her… "You have the makings of a great leader, Mr. Duke: you're of even temperament, you inspire loyalty and respect, and you've demonstrated profound intelligence and wisdom beyond your years." All of which unfortunately also served to make him an attractive (yet unadvisable) temptation… "But leading is about doing what's necessary even when it's unpopular; if you allow their feelings to dictate your decisions – eschew your better judgment to avoid rocking the boat – then you're not a leader, you're just the guy calling the shots. Call enough of them badly and there won't be anyone left to follow."

Her delivery had been even, almost gentle, and it was moments like these that he was certain he was talking to the real Vera; ever the teacher but without the disparagement and aloofness and authoritarianism she seemed to think were required of her as Magus. Shades of concern and encouragement that made her impossible to hate though he sometimes got the distinct impression she wanted them to. "Vera…"

'Wounded puppy' had been replaced by something else. Something far more dangerous… Fuck. Throwing back her drink she grabbed the bottle and rounded the bar to reclaim her seat until she could make an inconspicuous exit. "So what did you see?"

Hamish blinked at the vague non-sequitur. "What?"

"In my Fear Corridor. I hear you had a fun trip." She'd be more inclined to feel sorry for them had they not been, you know, aiming to rob her at the time.

If she thought her panicked retreat was subtle – the change of location or choice of diversion safe – he was only too happy to prove otherwise… 'Innocently' brushing his knee against her leg he adopted a low, suggestive tone. "It was very fun. Not at all scary." After a beat he gave her a cheeky grin. "Okay, maybe it was a bit scary."

Vera rolled her eyes, charmed despite herself, before focusing on refilling her glass. "Cute. But the question stands."

She was carrying on an actual conversation rather than just leaving so he wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. "It was a doll."

"A werewolf whose greatest fear is dolls?" Loathe as she was to agree with Mr. Carpio on anything, 'chicken shit' was actually pretty accurate.

He'd considered lying to save face but figured he didn't have any left to save after crying in front of (not to mention on) her. Apparently he'd been wrong. "Does 'ventriloquist dummy' make it more socially acceptable?" Judging by the wry glance she shot him the answer was a resounding 'no.' "Don't you have any irrational fears?"

A long pull distracted from his proximity (had he gotten closer?) and the heat he was radiating. "Does failing to prevent the end of the world count?"

"I said 'irrational,' so no." Not for her, anyway.

"Then no." Once you'd had your child die in your arms, powerless to stop it, everything else paled in comparison. "But dolls? Really?"

Telling her he was only slightly less petrified of spiders probably wouldn't do him any favors. "Bad experience when I was a kid. The 'talking' ones are just…" It made him shudder to even think about. "So creepy."

"Mmm," Vera hummed pensively. "I should have an animation spell in the reliquary."

Sensing (hoping) she was just fucking with him, he gave her profile an exaggerated pout. "That would be cruel."

"It would be fitting. Just because I can't punish you publicly doesn't mean you shouldn't be punished at all." She shushed the voice in her head (eerily similar to her own) that snidely suggested not sitting down would have been a great place to start.

Hamish wasn't opposed to a little 'punishment,' provided it was the right kind. "I can think of a few ways that don't involve permanent mental scarring…"

The throaty intimation made her pulse speed up. "Oh? I'm open to recommendations…" Turning to add the qualifier she found his intense gaze on her; had to dislodge the breath caught in her throat to finish, "But bear in mind I'll be employing those same methods on your accomplices."

Speaking of cruel… "Uh, no. Absolutely not."

"Animated doll it is, then," she shrugged even as she cursed herself for her plan to tease him backfiring. "Maybe I'll lock down the temple so there's nowhere to run."

Okay, now he knew she was fucking with him… "They don't have the same fear."

"I can't imagine there are many who do. No…" Drumming her nails lazily upon the bar she feigned contemplation. "If I had to wager a guess I'd say Mr. Morton's was somehow related to losing Miss Drake and Mr. Carpio's entailed a food shortage or a ban on sports or having to be serious for an entire day."

She was so spot on about Jack that he suspected her guess about Randall was purely tongue in cheek. "It was all three, actually."

Vera pursed her lips in mock-concern. "How very harrowing for him."

Tearing his eyes away from her mouth Hamish tried again. "I meant that if you have to find a different punishment for them, anyway, you might as well let me make it up to you at the same time."

Oh, she'd known what he meant; he just wasn't taking a hint. "Mr. Duke, don't mistake my presence for invitation. Call me crazy but I have a personal rule not to be involved, however casually, with someone who's betrayed me." Granted it was a new rule, born of her failure to heed her first rule to not get involved with anyone.

And just like that she was closed off again. He would have kicked himself for pressing the issue but something told him it would have happened sooner rather than later anyway. "Technically you betrayed us first – can't we just call it even?"

It was more optimistic than accusatory but that didn't spare him her violent snort. "Let's see: my betrayal saved your lives whereas yours could very well end mine should Council ever find out. But you're right: they're totally the same."

The reminder was like a punch in the gut. "I didn't know, Vera."

"You didn't bother to think it through, Mr. Duke." Looking at the array of bottles on the wall, away from the damage she was intentionally inflicting, she twisted the knife. "I'm confident that if you had you would've come to me and this whole shit show would have been avoided."

His frown was a complex mix of remorse and indignation. "I get it – I made the wrong call. Now Lilith is gone and innocent people are dead and I have to live with that. But you can't blame me for not knowing something you didn't want anyone to know, Vera." It was as close as he could get to saying that if she'd just let Alyssa, her right hand through it all, in on it, he would've known he could come to her.

"If it's any consolation I also blame myself for overestimating you," she placated coolly. "It won't happen again."

It was another punch in the gut, especially jarring on the heels of the comfort she'd afforded not ten minutes before and her playfulness after. Then suddenly it clicked. "I see what you're doing."

A nervous knot took up residence in her stomach but she remained stoic. "Going home because, thanks to you and your friends, I haven't slept in two days and I still have a long night of research ahead of me?"

"Using this as an excuse to push me away," he finished, too much at stake for him to succumb to that trick again.

Oh, that he'd managed to decipher on his own… She halted her retreat to grace him the most dispassionate gaze in her arsenal. "Clearly you overestimate yourself." She would argue that it was also perfectly valid as far as 'excuses' went but he'd only take that as confirmation.

At a loss for how to explain why when he didn't understand her (assuredly convoluted) reasons himself, all he could do was show her why the one she'd given didn't make sense. "If it doesn't mean anything – if it's just casual – then what does it matter?"

"It matters, Mr. Duke," she immediately retorted, "Because I couldn't enjoy myself – which is the entire point of casual – if I had to be on constant guard for an attack."

Attack? Comprehension dawned and his forehead furrowed. "I would never hurt you, Vera."

Steeling herself against his confused sincerity she arched an eyebrow in objection. "You tried to take over my organization."

Okay, that was fair, but: "I meant physically." Although he had pulled on her hair a couple of times… In the interest of total accuracy (and maybe something a little more calculated) he twirled a strand of it around his finger and tacked on a bashful, "On purpose."

"That's reassuring," she deadpanned, blocking the memory that was attempting to surface. "Did you think I would surrender the Order peacefully?"

It was obviously a trap but he wasn't worried. "To protect your disciples? Absolutely."

Wrong. Vera didn't know what disappointed her more: that it was what he expected of her or that he was supposed to be smarter than that. "I just very nearly resorted to blowing up my temple, my school, and a large portion of my city, Mr. Duke – do you really think I would let the most powerful society unknown to man fall under the control of petulant, short-sighted, walking hero-complexes?"

Ouch but also fair. "Not when you put it like that." And while he'd like to say that he still wouldn't have hurt her, if it had come down to protecting one of the Knights… "But we're past all that, right?"

"Sure," she agreed with a dismissive wave. "Until the next time your merry band of rebels decides to chase instant personal gratification with no regard for the greater implications."

She made it sound like such a foregone conclusion that he flinched. "I told you it wouldn't happen again, Vera."

"I haven't survived this long by operating on blind faith, Mr. Duke." Couldn't afford to trust that her influence on him would be stronger than theirs… "Now if you're done disputing reality to further your delusions…" Polishing off the contents of her glass she slid it across the bar for someone else to deal with tomorrow.

Hamish didn't think he was delusional. That he'd imagined her leaning into his touch before she'd fully come to, or how she was with him when the walls weren't up… Taking hold of her arm, he loosened his grip at her quiet glare but didn't let go. "You want to keep it casual and just between us? I can accept that." He swallowed the painful lump in his throat. "But I already lost Lilith today, Vera."

Decades' experience driving people away gave her plenty of scathing comebacks to choose from. That it was his own damn fault. That he'd only ever 'had' her in the biblical sense. That he hadn't been worried about losing her when he'd clearly robbed her before her desk had even cooled… She couldn't bring herself to use any of them, though, opting instead for a curt, "This isn't a negotiation."

That was… far less mocking than he'd mentally braced for, and he couldn't help the hope that flared. "Why not? Call it practice for your meeting with the Sons of…"

"Prometheus," she supplied when he trailed off. "And they actually have something I want."

Oh, no, she did not… "If you're implying I don't…" Slowly pulling her towards him he smiled when her eyes widened; whispered, "We both know that's a bald-faced lie."

Vera shook him off and backed away, buying time until she was sure her voice wouldn't come out breathy. "Do we now?"

"Yes." That was pretty much the only thing he was certain of anymore.

Deciding there was no harm in letting him have this one – and that denying it would only diminish her credibility on the rest – she merely shrugged. "Yes, well… Be that as it may, your little Florence Nightingale routine was proof enough you aren't capable of being detached or discreet. You're proposing something you can't provide."

The validation had tasted sweet for all of the three seconds it had taken her to taint it with logic. "You think that was about you?" he scoffed, probably a little too vehemently for it to seem natural. "I would've done the same for anybody."

Vera stared at him, unconvinced.

Yeah, he'd figured that was a long shot… "You were hurt, Vera. I'm not going to apologize for taking care of you." And he wouldn't say he wouldn't do it again.

It took all of her willpower not to soften. "Really? And where does that land on a scale of one to 'just between us,' exactly?"

"Uh…" Giving her an apprehensive look he came clean: "I actually meant that you could be those things and I wouldn't argue."

Vera had to bite back a laugh, regrettably more genuine amusement than disbelief. "Do I need to explain to you how much trouble it would cause if our little tryst came to light? With the university. With Council. With my disciples."

Hamish didn't love the connotation of 'tryst' but he knew that (otherwise) she was right. "I'll be more careful, Vera. I'm just not good at hiding my feelings." Randall, at least, already suspected he was 'hot for teacher.' Not that he'd tell her that.

"Hmm…" Far from persuaded (or sympathetic) she offered a dry, "Just pretend they're recovered memories or plans for a coup…"

"Pray they never come up because I have a terrible poker face?" It wasn't snarky but self-deprecating; an attempt to keep the conversation from devolving into conflict again.

Vera glared at him – annoyed at having her own words used against her – before heaving a sigh. "How you idiots managed to pull it off right under my nose I'll never know." Even with, she presumed, help from the inside.

Her tone said she really did blame herself, and Hamish didn't like this direction, either. "It's not your fault, Vera. You were distracted by Rogwan and we took advantage."

Just as she had been when she'd ordered him to stay with her while banishing Mr. Carpio to the other side of the circle, or when she'd let him get away with the overly intimate gesture without some form of rebuke… "In my world 'distracted' isn't an excuse, Mr. Duke; it's a good way to get yourself killed." Thankfully Kepler wasn't the most observant at the best of times because to anyone who knew her those slip-ups spoke volumes more than his fawning did.

"It's my world, too, Vera." He had no idea if the distinction had been deliberate but he had enough working against him without her manufacturing obstacles.

"Yes, I suppose it is now," she allowed after a heavy pause. "One whose intricacies and intrigues frat house living and the occasional bout of violence masquerading as heroics ill-prepared you for." So far out of their depths and their mere existence an affront to the majority of its inhabitants, their continued failure to recognize or respect those things only increased the probability of their demise. And hers… "You never should have put yourselves back on the Order's radar."

If he were basing it solely on getting stabbed and nearly dying or the day's events he'd be tempted to agree. "We'll adapt, Vera." It was equal parts reassurance and promise. "Besides, it's not all bad. This world has its perks."

Vera rolled her eyes at the implication. "Don't count your chickens, Mr. Duke."

"Uh…" Feigning embarrassment he jutted his chin towards the shelves. "I was actually talking about the stemware."

"I'm not sure if that's better or worse than talking to it…" Too late she realized she'd played right into his plan to bring that night to mind.

Hamish was glad that the worry was erased from her features but not so glad that he'd pass up the opening she'd left. "What can I say? We've got a real connection."

Vera would have laughed at the cheesiness but she just didn't have the energy. Or at least that's what she told herself… "Well, fortunately for you it'll still be here in the morning." She stood and picked up her bag to deny him any opportunity to waylay her again. "Come on – I'll give you a ride."

Even though she surely didn't mean it that way he couldn't resist a teasing smirk as he followed her lead.

"Home, Mr. Duke," she clarified, quickly turning in case her cheeks were as hot as they felt. "A ride home." It was the only way she could guarantee he'd go.

Reaching her just before she got to the stairs, he waited for her to take the first one so they were nearer the same height. "Do I get to pick whose home, at least?"

His warm breath in the shell of her ear sent a shiver racing through her body, only years of affected unaffectedness keeping her pace even. "You think you're smooth, don't you?"

"Not particularly," he demurred, taking satisfaction from the raspiness that couldn't possibly be attributed to the three steps she'd climbed. "But that wasn't a 'no' so I must be doing something right."

Vera's instinct was to give him an unequivocal and emphatic 'no' but who the fuck was she kidding? Negotiations had begun when he'd planted himself at her bar and she'd been ceding ground from the moment she sat down; at least blaming his dubious charms saved her from having to consider that maybe she'd subconsciously intended to lose all along… Pausing on the landing she gave him a leisurely head-to-toe appraisal. "I suppose I could use that drink." And then she spun on her heel to try to maintain some semblance of authority.

Hamish watched her ascend for a bit, admiring the gentle sway of her hips with a stupid grin on his face, before taking the stairs two at a time to catch up.

Point of clarification: We know that Alyssa knows Vera saved them from Council, not because Vera told her (as if) but because she was there when Kepler said as much, and apparently chose to keep that information to herself. Plot hole (that could have easily been fixed by not having her there for that conversation) or did Alyssa intentionally withhold it so she could take full credit?

I hope you enjoyed :) Look for the Christmas fic - it'll probably be ready around Christmas lol