This was posted with no edit. It's 1am and I have to go herd a bunch of drunk Irishmen out of the hall I work for. Please let me know if you catch any mistakes :)

The next day wasn't any better. Musa did finally come out of her room, but only long enough to grab a cup of coffee and head back upstairs. He knew he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up when he heard her come down the stairs. He had decided against telling her now; they were hours away from setting off across the ocean for weeks. It was too late to replace him if it made her even more uncomfortable around him. No, it would have to wait until they came back. That was assuming that three weeks of watching her sound like an angel and look like a goddess didn't cause him to do something stupid first.

This morning, though, she could have at least spared him a good morning, how are you? if she wasn't going to sit and eat with him. He tried to offer her food, but she shook her head and walked away. It worried him how little she was eating. He noticed this morning that she'd taken the plate he'd left her and picked at it. She had come out of her room at some point because he'd found the plate on the kitchen counter.

He went up to check on her after breakfast to find her in the middle of packing her suitcases – 1 for every day, 1 for appearances – with the dozens of outfits Stella had sent her. The designer would be joining them in Paris where she and Brandon were already, checking on her Paris fashion office. According to Aisha, Stella had offices all over the world and she would pop in on them every few months to see how things were running. Usually, the visits were surprises and would never be sequential. Stella didn't want one office calling another with a heads up.

Musa looked up at him briefly while she was packing. She offered him a small smile, only to have it fade seconds later as if she'd forgotten that she was avoiding him. Riven couldn't help but think that she looked sad; her eyes missed some of the spark they usually contained. He chalked it up to exhaustion. Flight after flight and faking interest in some arrogant host after arrogant host had to take a toll on someone eventually.

It didn't get better when Mirta or dumb and dumber joined them, just significantly more awkward. Mirta would address a question to the both of them and Riven wasn't sure if he should be answering or not. When he would, Musa would very clearly stop paying attention. Or maybe he was just imagining it. It was hard not to when she would turn her head away from the conversation every time he spoke.

She knew she came off as rude, she could see the questioning looks Mirta sent her in the reflection on the car window. Musa couldn't look at him. Every time she did, she felt her heart shatter again. That morning she'd smiled at him only to have the words it was a mistake flash through her mind again. It was bad enough she had to hear his voice – in real life, but also in her dreams – he'd have to deal with her not looking at him. Easier to appear rude and spare herself total heartbreak.

Aisha met them at the airport. Being best friends with the celebrity had its perks, including rides in a private jet. Musa hadn't seen the point in one – she was perfectly content flying commercial – but Stella had insisted that one of the 'top singers' should fly in style and bought her one for her birthday. Musa had almost ripped her a new one for such an over-the-top purchase, but it had turned out to be incredibly useful. Like now, 40 000 feet in the air and an hour into a seven-hour flight, where she wasn't stuck beside him wanting nothing more than to lean over and cuddle up to him, and not being able to.

"So, what's up with you and uh..." Aisha tried to subtly nod towards Riven who sat in the row behind them on the other side of the small plane. She was lucky that he had his back turned to them because her nod had been anything but subtle.

"Nothing" Musa deflected, pulling the book she'd been reading closer to her face. She didn't particularly want to talk about him, much less when he was within earshot.

Aisha seemed to get that the book was being used as a shield from unwanted conversation. She also seemed not to care much because she grabbed the top of the book and lowered it just enough that Musa wouldn't be able to hide in it. "Seriously, what's up? You two are usually all buddy-buddy and flirty-flirty and now you're just fucking awkward."

She wanted to divulge her heartbreak to Aisha; the dancer would share in her pain, soothe her heart. But Riven was less than five feet away. And she would have no time away from him. Like California – where she'd barely managed to keep it together – they would be forced to share a room. Not a suite. A room. Riven apparently needed to be able to have eyes on her at all times if necessary, and the lack of being able to install security cameras in hotels they'd be in for, at most, 2 nights complicated that. Short of having a baby monitor on her, the easiest way to be sure Riven could check on her was to have him literally right fucking beside her. One room, two beds. Him in her space constantly. Unlike California, where his presence was welcome or even desired, she wanted to be away from him. Her heart needed the reprieve: a girls' night in where they could drink cheap, shitty wine and Musa could cry her heart out as her friends reminded her what a badass she was and that she didn't need stupid, obnoxious, stubborn, caring, funny, loyal, honest Riven, no matter how badly she wanted him.

"Let it go. Please" Musa whispered. "I don't want to talk about it."

The way Aisha's strong features softened was all Musa needed to see to know Aisha had gotten the message loud and clear. Something was wrong. The dancer's hand came to lay on Musa's thigh as she turned her back to be shoulder to shoulder with the singer. Aisha's head rested on Musa's shoulder, curls flying into the corner of Musa's mouth. "I love you" she said softly as she gave Musa's thigh a supportive squeeze. Musa didn't respond for fear that her voice would give out – she could already feel the tears fighting their way to the front of her eyes – merely resting her head on Aisha's and closing her eyes.

Riven decided he didn't care for the Parisians. London hadn't been so bad, but Paris was just not his cup of tea. The people even less so. They reminded him of New Yorkers without any of the toughness or secret friendliness. No, they were just more pretentious versions of New Yorkers. When they'd landed in Paris 2 days ago, they'd stopped into a café and the girl at the counter had rolled her eyes at Mirta for not speaking French. It made him miss the whole in the wall coffee shop he used to go to; he wondered if the barista Darcy had insisted was in love with him still worked there.

He sipped on the overpriced coffee Mirta had gotten them from some place a few blocks away watching as Stella showed Musa the dress she'd made for the video they'd be shooting tomorrow – a single day shoot. It was supposed to take place in some old mansion just outside of the city. The concept was of a glamorous, perfect couple torn apart by the guy's deception. Mirta was most excited by Musa pulling in some actor Riven had never heard of, Timothy Shamalei or something. Apparently, he was very popular. Riven was more focused on not focusing on how stunning Musa looked in the form-fitting midnight blue dress, sparkling from the gold thread flecked through what Stella called her creation. She would look even more radiant tomorrow once her hair and makeup were done and the look was completed.

He'd been right. He was screwed. Between the way her dark hair waved softly, framing her face so she looked like an angel descended from heaven, the soft red lip and the way the dress hit every curve of her, it was almost too much. His heart begged to tell her how beautiful she was, but he didn't want to push her further from him. All he could do was drink her in from afar, marvelling over every inch of her while she wasn't paying attention. Timothy – Timothée, Mirta kept correcting – looked like a character from a Tim Burton movie. Besides that initial thought, Riven hadn't given him much care. Musa had walked in and had overtaken every thought he had.

"See something you like?" a voice asked beside him. Mirta was leaning against the wall, smiling up at him like she was in on some big secret.

"The curtains are pretty nice." They were a soft white that let in all the early morning light and billowed in the breeze. Not his first choice, but they suited the grandiose house room perfectly.

Mirta scowled at him, clearly unamused. "You know what I'm talking about." Riven was going to play dumb, but Mirta didn't give him the chance. "I'm not blind Riven. I know you like her, and sh-"

Riven's phone saved him. He was not in the mood to talk about how hopeless his feelings for Musa were. Mirta would surely have pushed him to ignore the call were it not for the big bright letters that informed him that 'BOSS MAN' was calling. She knew he couldn't ignore Saladin.

Riven walked away from Mirta who was giving him a look that told him the conversation was far from over. He ignored the redhead and gave the room a quick once over. Everything looked to be under control so he stepped out to take the call. "Hey."

"How's the trip?"

"Fuck Paris."

"That bad?"

Yes. Musa still wouldn't talk to him. Not that that was Paris' fault, it just significantly dimmed the experience. Wasn't this supposed to be the city of love? How was he supposed to like a city with that reputation when on his first visit, the girl he loved wasn't even acknowledging his presence. They should be splitting spaghetti à la Lady and the Tramp at the top of the Eiffel Tower, not returning to their hotel room in uncomfortable silence and ignoring each other all night. "No, it just turns out I don't care for Parisians."

"How long until you leave for, uh -" Riven could hear the papers shuffling on the other end of the line as Saladin tried to find his printed version of the itinerary.

"Madrid. Tomorrow afternoon after some morning show." After Madrid it was Rome, then Vienna, then Berlin, then Amsterdam, and then finally, finally back to New York. Maybe once they were back in New York Riven would request to be removed from her guard. It might be better for both of them that way: she wouldn't have to be uncomfortable, and he wouldn't have to hate himself for fucking up so badly.

"Ok. Keep me posted."

"I'll let you know if Musa gets kidnapped" Riven deadpanned, as if he didn't send Saladin a report every night. Most of them said nothing happened because, for the most part, nothing out of the ordinary happened. "Was there a reason you were calling?"

On the other end of the line, Saladin took a deep breath. Riven braced himself for what came next. Saladin rarely called unless it was urgent. "We've gotten another letter."

Fuck.

His heart dropped, pounding rapidly in his stomach until he felt like he was going to hurl. Saladin started to read it off to him but Riven cut him off. "I don't want to know what it says. Just give it to the cops."

"I think you're going to want to hear this."

"No, I really don't."

"Riven" Saladin warned, like he was a child that was breaking a rule instead of a fully grown man. A full-grown man, Saladin would argue, would put on his big boy pants and hear what the letter had to say. Riven would counter that no one wanted to hear a letter from a disturbed, obsessive person addressed to the person they love; a sentiment he stood by. "Saladin. Just give it to the cops."

Riven had never hung up on the old man before. He knew he'd eat shit for it eventually, but at that moment he didn't care. The phone got tossed on the nearest surface – a mahogany side table with a vase so old it would likely turn to dust at first touch. Riven dropped his back onto the cream-coloured wall and ran his hands over his face.

Did he tell her about the letter?

"Explain it to me, please" Aisha groaned as she swiped her key card and opened the door to the room. Aisha's was a smaller version of her own: lush white and blue bed, flat screen TV, glass bedside tables, and an ornate crystal chandelier that Musa swore had no point in being in a hotel room. There was a small kitchenette of to the right and a door that opened onto a sleek bathroom with its heated toilet and automated shower.

"It's not important."

"I feel like why Aisha had to check if you could hang out with us alone for a few hours is something we deserve to know. He's your bodyguard" Stella pointed out as she kicked off her heels and dove onto the bed. "Hell, you're his boss. Why do you even need to ask?"

"You mean why did I need to ask."

"Whatever."

Musa took a seat at the edge of the bed and untied her sneakers. She'd desperately wanted a night alone with her friends, but now that it was here, she wasn't so sure. Burying the heartbreak had been hard – was still hard – did she really want to bring everything she'd worked so hard to ignore to surface?

"Seriously, what's been going on?" Aisha's voice softened as she took a seat beside the singer. Her thick, curly hair had been thrown up into a bun and she still had glitter on her cheeks from the performance they'd done earlier today for some German TV show. "You-"

"Hang on" Stella interrupted, jumping out of the bed and running over to the oversized tan purse she'd left by the door. "I have a feeling we're going to need this." She pulled a bottle of red wine out of her purse and placed it on the kitchenette counter. Musa found a glass being shoved into her hand, as did Aisha. Stella returned to the counter and poured her own glass, motioning for Aisha to carry on.

"Do you just carry bottles of wine around?" Musa questioned.

"Don't try to change the subject" Aisha warned, "Even if I am curious about where you got that…"

"From room service." Stella rolled her eyes at them like it was the most obvious thing in the world, which in retrospect, it did seem like.

"What's going on with you and Riven?" Aisha dove right back into the topic. Musa had hoped they would at least give her some time to relax, but she knew they were also dying to know. Both of them had tried to broach the subject privately, only to be constantly shut down by the songstress. She didn't blame them for wanting to know either; if she were in their shoes, she'd be dying of curiosity. "You were super couple-y in California an-"

"We were not."

"You were." Stella – and Aisha – were right, she knew that. She and Riven had spent the private moments of the week in California in a bubble. They had so many inside jokes at that point – something Musa would argue happened to any 2 people that spent two months together 24/7 – that they could have entire conversations that no one else understood. He had opened doors for her and helped her into and out of cars. Nights that weren't take up by interviews were spent on one of their beds, watching anything and cuddling as much as they could without crossing a line – that was usually her head on his shoulder, but every now and then he'd put his arm around her shoulder and she would let herself melt into him. Those were the nights she missed the most: the quiet ones when they were alone. It didn't matter what they did, she just missed him. Missed talking to him and being around him.

"And now you don't even talk!"

"It's a long story."

"We've got time." Aisha scooted herself down the bed, managing to keep the glass of wine in her hand impressively stable. Musa turned around to face her, curling her legs under her as Stella joined them on the bed.

It wasn't actually a long story – Musa already knew that – but with all of their questions and excitement, they were two bottles down by the time Musa got to the morning after. They had wanted every detail – how did it happen, who made the first move, where did it happen, and, most importantly, was the sex good. She'd anticipated their many questions – Stella had always been the type to want details – but she hadn't expected to want to answer them. Stella's reaction to the phrase Riven and I had sex made Musa laugh so hard that she couldn't even be upset by the knowledge that that was what led to them not talking.

By the time she finished explaining what had happened the next morning, the now three bottles of wine were starting to take effect. Musa was a blubbering mess. She was allowed to be; she was the one with the broken heart. Stella, though, had also turned into a waterfall of tears. "How could he do that to you" she moaned, wiping away the tears that were ruining her makeup. "I was so sure he felt the same about you."

"Me too" Aisha agreed, downing the last bit of wine straight from the bottle. "I was so, I so /I sure he loved you back. I mean, you should see the way he looks at you. Nobody that isn't in love looks at someone like that."

"Yeah, well. He isn't in love with me so I just need to move on."

"You deserve someone that loves you like you deserve to be loved" Stella told her, words slurring but full of affection.

"Yeah, Fuck him. I do deserve to be loved" Musa agreed resolutely. She would get over Riven and find someone that really cared about her. She would just have to get over Riven first... "But… how am I supposed to get over him when I have to see him everyday?"

"You can do it! You can do anything!"

"No… Not when I have to look at him and see him smile. And hear his laugh. Or look at the cute way he scrunches his eyebrows when he thinks or... or the way he does this kinda half-smile thing when he's happy about something. Like this one time he was making crepes and he flipped it with his eyes closed cause I'd dared him to, and he looked so proud of himself. He was so cute. And what about the way he kind of bites his lip a bit, like nibbles on it, when he reads. Oh, and th-"

"Stop. You're making me miss my Brandon."

"Sorry" Musa replied sheepishly. She understood Stella; it made her miss Riven. The Riven she used to have, not whoever he was now that he wasn't talking to her anymore.

They fell into a longing silence until Stella pulled out one of her many talents: the ability to change a subject to something that suited her. In this case the topic was what Musa was planning for tour. More specifically, what kind of looks she wanted. Fashion wasn't really a topic of interest for her, but if it meant not talking about her broken heart anymore, she would gladly take it. The conversation trailed off to the tour and what details had been planned. Aisha got up and showed them the choreography she had planned, though it looked less than stellar with the dancer staggering quite a bit. Somehow, the topic of Stella and Brandon's family planning came up – they were trying for baby number one without much luck so far. Aisha told them that she was planning on going to visit her parents – that she had barely spoken to since moving to New York – next year after tour was over.

"Why don't you just ask to have him replaced?" Aisha suggested when they'd fallen into a sleepy silence. Musa hadn't been sure what Aisha was talking about – and from the look on Stella's face, neither did the blonde – until she said: "Then you wouldn't have to look at him. Or find more things to list that you find cute."

"I… I hadn't thought of that actually…" Musa admitted.

"Oh! That's smart! Call, uh, Helia's grandfather when we get home and ask for a new guard. Problem solved!"

It seemed so obvious. Have his contract cancelled; have him out of her life, and soon enough, out of her heart. She didn't want him out of her life, though. It seemed selfish, but she wanted to keep him with her even if she couldn't have him. Picturing life without him was hard. She'd only known him for 3 months and she couldn't picture life without him. She didn't want to picture life without him. "But... then I won't see him anymore."

"Yeah, bitch, that's the point" Aisha groaned.

"I don't wanna not see him." Neither of the girls argued with her. Instead, both of them wrapped their arms around her and pulled her into a hug so tight Musa thought she might die on the spot.

Three and half weeks had passed, and they were finally on their way back to New York. There had been more interviews than Riven could imagine, a dozen photoshoots, over 21 early mornings and late nights, and hours of watching Musa and being mesmerised by her. It had all passed so quickly and so excruciatingly slowly. Musa had acknowledged him all of once, and she'd been completely trashed that night, so he didn't count it for a whole lot.

At the moment, Musa was watching a movie in the row in front of him with Mirta. They were watching a single small screen – Aladdin by the looks of it, that had been one of Flora's favourites – and had both their sets of headphones connected to a splitter. Up until a few seconds ago, Aisha had been reading quietly across the aisle. Riven had been too until an email notification popped up on his phone. The old man was probably calling for a check in. Riven had been supposed to text him when they took off, but the flight had been delayed and he'd forgotten.

He tried to open the email, but it wasn't loading. He opened a browser on his phone and logged in there, still nothing. Damn email wouldn't open on his laptop either. Riven restarted the phone and computer without any success. "What's going on?" Aisha asked, plopping herself down in the free seat beside him as she returned from the washroom.

"With...?"

"You look frustrated." Riven explained the email, to which Aisha merely shrugged. "Call him when we land?"

"Gonna have to, yeah."

"Hopefully it's not too important."

"Shouldn't be if he sent it by email." Important information was never sent by email. It needed to be delivered much faster than that. Saladin would've facetimed him or something. For someone older than the queen of England and about as technologically literate as a senior citizen from the 1500s – he did still insist on printing everything after all – he surprised Riven by at least knowing that you could call someone via wifi.

Aisha leaned back in her seat, taking a quick peak at Musa and Mirta. Satisfied by whatever she saw, the dancer returned her attention to him. He didn't like the look on her face or the way she tapped her fingers on the back of the seat; she was plotting something. "So, Musa..."

"What about her?" Riven asked, cocking his eyebrow curiously. He really hoped this wasn't going where he thought it was.

"I know."

"You... know?" He kept his tone casual, curious but not suspicious. What did she know? That he and Musa had had sex? That he was in love with her? That he didn't regret it the way Musa did? That he was considering resigning his post? She needed to be more specific. "About what?"

"Everything."

Well that wasn't fucking helpful. How much did she really know? "Everything?"

"Yeah. Musa told me what happened before we left for London, so th-"

"Oh" his voice dropped. Musa had told them about how they'd gotten carried away; how something spectacular and completely off limits had happened. And now Aisha was going to box his brains in because she felt that he had taken advantage of her best friend somehow. He didn't think he had, and if Musa felt that way, he wished she'd tell him because he never wanted to make things bad. He got carried away, intoxicated by her; by the way her body fit against his so perfectly, and how her lips felt and tasted like heaven. "Listen, it was a-"

"Shut up I'm not done" Aisha interrupted. She wouldn't go off on him here when Musa was less than 2 feet from them, would she? Even with the headphones, she'd surely notice the commotion. Riven watched the dancer anxiously as she... smiled. Why the fuck was she smiling at him? "After that I called Nabu and, through a lot of asking and begging, got him to admit to knowing you had a crush on her."

"Seriously?" Riven groaned.

"Don't be mad at him. It took me almost two hours to break him." Not surprising: Nabu was a fortress of secrets. Everything everyone had ever told him he remembered, Riven was sure of it. Riven was also sure that he never told anyone any of it. Aisha must have some sort of spell over him to have gotten anything out of him. "Besides, the information is useful."

"It is?"

She chuckled. Aisha didn't strike him as the blackmailing type. He didn't have anything worth blackmailing for, either. Could it be that she was genuinely happy that Riven had feelings for Musa? "Do you still like her?"

Riven contemplated his answer. The two sat in silence for a few minutes, not quite staring at each other but not looking away either. The smart thing for his job would be to deny everything. He didn't need the possibility of someone threatening to tell Saladin that he had broken rule number one. Admitting his feelings would mean figuring out why she was so interested in knowing. Ultimately, his curiosity won out. He needed to know what she knew that he didn't. "Yeah... I love h-"

"Folks, we'll be beginning our descent now." The pilot interrupted. Aisha rolled her eyes at the speaker positioned at the front of the plane. Riven was inclined to agree. What did the damn pilot think this was, a romcom? "I'm going to need you all to take your seats and buckle in."

Aisha mumbled something about the pilot having the worst timing. She peaked over the seat quickly and, satisfied that Musa still had the headphones on for the moment, said one last thing softly before they wouldn't be able to talk about Musa anymore. "Do everyone a favour and tell her."

It didn't matter how many times she was hounded by paparazzi and hungry, demanding fans, Musa never seemed to get used to them. The fans, when they were excited and calm, weren't so bad, but the damn paparazzi drove her nuts. What kind of human woke every morning ready to go invade someone else's space in the name of making money? She wasn't even sure they could be called human. She would never forget the day they'd hounded her post-Madison, demanding photos and answers to their pointless, invasive questions when she was just trying to get a coffee and not burst into tears in public. She hadn't even gotten it that bad compared to the countless cruel things they'd done to others.

And the fucking airports! Why were they always in the fucking airports?! What were they expecting to get from people that were exhausted from having spent hours trapped in a tiny metal flying death machine? She knew what they wanted: unflattering pictures so they could sell them for stupid amounts of money and magazines could publish about how she was 'letting herself go' or 'looking like a slob', or maybe for once they'd spin it positive with a headline that read 'Musa's just like us: she wears sweats and no makeup to the airport too!'

In the pre-stalker days, it would be arranged for 2 bodyguards to meet her at her private jet to get her through the throngs of people. Thinking about it, Musa wondered why guards from the agency they usually used hadn't been contracted for the live-in job? She wasn't sure if she would have preferred that. If they'd done that, she wouldn't have Riven's arm around her as he pulled her through the crowds – flanked by Colin and Ryan in front and behind them – that had formed the minute she'd stepped into the terminal.

"Fucking vultures" Riven sighed from the front seat once they were safely in the car. Musa registered his voice, but her focus was more on the tingling that still invaded her arm where his hand had been. He'd barely spoken to her – let alone touched her – the whole trip. And, yes, she was aware that conversations went both ways, and she could have spoken to him, but she at least had the excuse of nursing a broken heart.

There had been their last night in Berlin, though. She'd gone back to their room after the girls' night they'd had in Aisha's room. Exhausted, she'd tossed herself on the bed, still wearing her shoes and jewelry from the day. Riven had been reading on his bed, she remembered that. He had the most adorable concentrated face. When she'd dropped herself onto the mattress, he'd taken a seat beside her and pulled off the sneakers she'd not bothered to lace back up. Very patiently – and carefully as to not get them stuck in her hair – he'd taken out the hoop earrings. She remembered him whispering softly to her that she needed to turn her head so that he could remove the other one. Then he'd taken off her bracelet and rings, dropped the lot of them on the bedside table and covered her with a spare blanket from the closet.

"Musa?" Her head twisted so fast she found a momentary wave of dizziness flash through her. It had been weeks since Riven had said her name. She swore it was the most beautiful sound in existence, her name on his lips. She was so surprised to hear him call to her that the only response she could muster was a weak hmm? "Any chance I can borrow your phone? Mines fucking up and Wizgiz's is in the trunk."

"Oh. Yeah, sure." She sounded like a fucking idiot. Her response was slow and dazed. It had been so long that she'd forgotten how to speak to him like a normal goddamn person. What was she supposed to say to him when all she could think about was how much she wanted to hold him and kiss him? How could she possibly talk about the weather when she could tell him she loved him?

"Musa?"

Fuck. She was zoning out. And he was turned around in his seat, watching her stare at him blankly. She grabbed her carry on that she'd dropped on the seat beside her – Mirta had decided to ride with Colin and Ryan in the other car to continue the discussion they'd started on the tarmac about some video game they were all into. Reaching into the inside pocket, Musa pulled her phone out and turned the screen on to unlock it. "Fuck" she mumbled, looking up at Riven. "I've only got 3 percent battery left..."

"I have to call Saladin" he sighed. "Hopefully 3 percent is enough."

It wasn't, she thought as she handed him the unlocked phone. It always went this way: when you needed the phone and it had little battery, it died almost instantly. When you didn't need the phone, 1% could last hours.

"It died" Riven announced with a groan as he handed her back the phone.

"I can charge it when we get home. You can use it then."

He'd decided the minute she'd looked up at him, surprised to hear him speaking to her and not looking like she wanted to puke. Musa looked surprised, but something in her lit up and Riven thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd been a colossal dumbass. It was possible that she wasn't regretful of what had happened, but rather as unsure of how to manoeuvre around their hookup as he was.

He would tell her.

It made him want to throw up and pass out, but he was going to do it. Once they were alone in the apartment, after Mirta, Colin and Ryan had left, he would tell her. First, he would call Saladin because he did need to do his job before anything else. After that, though, he would take a shot of whatever liquor he could find – he was going to need it – then he would tell her.

There was no speech planned this time. He didn't know why he'd even bothered coming up with one last time. It wasn't like he was going to use it. Riven didn't do emotional conversations; they terrified him. This one terrified him most of all, but the way Musa had looked at him in the car and the fact that Aisha – one of her best friends – was pushing him to speak up led him to believe the outcome to be a good one. At least he hoped it was.

"I can't wait to be in my own bed" Mirta sighed from Musa's other side. She was training one of Musa's suitcases behind her – the other was with the singer. Lucy, Mirta's girlfriend, had picked Musa's bags up at the airport and would be waiting for her by central park once Mirta had finished working. Apparently, personal assistants didn't really get much of a life of their own; they lived to serve. Mirta, apparently, had it the best out of any personal assistants she knew, which was apparently a lot. Riven was, in all honesty, not surprised to hear that. Of all the people he'd worked for that had had assistants, Musa was by far the least high strung.

"I'm just happy not to have to be on a plane for the next little while" Riven commented, adjusting the strap of his carry-on bag.

"You think this is bad, just wait until tour. You'll never want to fly again."

"Actually, we're getting a bus this time. I'm not flying that much" Musa piped up. She hadn't said much since they'd landed. Besides the brief conversation – if it could be called that – in the car and thanking WizGiz for travelling with them – which he rarely did – she hadn't spoken.

"Oh, thank God." Mirta went on to explain that, while the tour bus was a pain, she much preferred it to constantly boarding a plane every few days for months on end. She went on to talk about what life was like on tour. Knowing Mirta, she was trying to subtly tell him what to expect. She was like that, he'd realised, constantly giving the most information to everyone, yet never saying more than was necessary. He liked that about Mirta. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he might not go on tour. If his talk with Musa didn't go well, it wasn't likely that he would keep the contract – or that Musa would want to keep him on. If it did go well, would he stay on? He was fairly certain it was a bad idea to be guarding, and working for, the person you were in love with.

Mirta kept talking until they'd reached Musa's door. Riven knew she was talking to him, and he felt bad for not listening, but his head was entirely on the petite singer between them and how she would react to being told that he was in love with her. Mirta didn't seem to notice that he wasn't listening because Colin was more than happy to ask questions and converse with her. Riven thought Colin might have a crush on Mirta. He was constantly asking her questions and joking around with the redhead. Poor guy would be heartbroken when he learned that Mirta was a lesbian.

"Shut up" Riven hissed, motioning to the others behind him as he pushed the apartment door open an inch.

Something was wrong.

The alarm system was supposed to beep for 45 seconds before going off, but it didn't beep at all. The silence rang loudly in his ear and Riven found himself praying that it was just a malfunction that they'd need to have Timmy over to fix. He had felt Musa tense up beside him; she knew something was wrong too. A quick glance told him that Mirta had picked up on it too, and dumb and dumber had shifted into work mode (so at least they weren't completely useless).

"Stay here" Riven instructed them. Musa's heart dropped knew she had to stay quiet, but she couldn't help the you're not going in there that escaped her mouth. He wasn't actually crazy enough to go in was he? They had no idea if anyone was in there, but she was certain enough that he shouldn't be going in anyways.

"Colin, call the cops and stay with them. Ryan, come with me" he instructed. It was obvious to him that, if his talk with Musa went the way he wanted it to, he wouldn't be staying on. She was worried and all he wanted to do was stay with her and hold her while he reassured her that everything would be fine.

"Riven, you ca-" she started to argue, her hand landing on his bicep. Now all he could focus on was the way her hand felt on him. Never mind that her worry was all for him, and she hadn't given a single shit that Ryan was going in too. The touch wasn't even a gentle or intimate one, she was trying to hold him back, but it was enough to make his heart flutter.

"Shouldn't we wait for the cops?" he heard Mirta ask. The redhead's voice went right through him – he should apologise to her for that one of these days. All he could focus on were the vivid dark blue eyes in front of him, shining with worry for him.

"Hey" Riven replied softly, taking her hand off his arm and bringing out down beside her. She felt the way his thumb stroked her palm, and he squeezed her hand; it made her worry dissipate into nothingness. His eyes met hers and he offered her a gentle smile, and the world around them was fading into nothingness. "It'll be okay."

She believed him. It was hard not to when he looked at her with all the promise and resolve in the world. Everything would be okay as long as he was there.

Only he was gone. His hand had slipped out of hers even if she'd tried to keep him there. He'd pulled the gun she constantly forgot he had out of its holster, and he and Ryan had slipped into the apartment. She and Mirta were left with Colin, who no longer wore the happy-go-lucky grin she'd become accustomed to. She could see his fingers tapping softly against the grip of his gun; feel the nerves radiating off of him. She knew he was new to this – Riven had mentioned it when they'd first joined her team – but it frustrated her that he was letting his nerves show. Or maybe she focusing on him and the way he reacted too much. In her mind, she replaced the 24-year-old brunet with Riven. She needed him to be in front of her; needed to know he was safe and unharmed.

He would be.

He'd promised.

He wouldn't break a promise.

Beside her, Mirta gently lowered herself to the ground and rested her back against the wall. She felt the redhead's hand on hers, stopping the drumming of her thighs she hadn't realised she was doing. "He'll – They'll be okay."

Mirta was right. Riven would be okay.

And she would stop being an idiot.

She forced herself to take a few deep breaths. The same ones she'd been trained to do when she was nervous before a show. They helped a bit. She just needed to stay in this state of semi-calm until the guys inevitably came out and told them no one was in the apartment – that it was just a glitch in the alarm system. After that, once everything was sorted and it was just the two of them – the way it was supposed to be – she would sit him down and tell him. I love you. She would say it even if it terrified her. Had to. She couldn't deal with the hell-state she'd let them fall into anymore.

Musa's deep breaths and Colin tapping his grip nervously were the only sounds in the hall. There were no other apartment doors this high up, but even if there had been, it was late on a Tuesday night; there wouldn't be anyone else out. Musa had always loved silence. It allowed her space to breathe and think when the rest of her world was loud and chaotic. There was no peace that compared with stepping into the quiet night after having spent 3 hours in an enclosed space with thousands of people screaming and singing. It wasn't that she didn't love performing. Quite the contrary, it gave her an incomparable rush. The silence just allowed her to come down from it and breathe. This silence, though, was torture. It mocked her. It made her aware of everything that was at risk and everything she'd been stupid about. She would give anything for it to be over.

A gun shot rang through the air, resonating in Musa's ears. A second one followed less than a second later, then the silence washed over them again.

Bodyguard,

I don't like when people touch things that are mine. Stay away from her or I'll kill you.

Your worst nightmare.

Riven,

I can't seem to get through to your phone; we'll have to get that looked at when you get back to NY.

Police think they're zeroing in on the stalker. Based on his most recent letter, we think he's located the apartment. Don't go back there when you get to NY. Check into a hotel under the standard code name and stay there until further notice.

Saladin