A/N: I'm not dead yet, but inspiration has run dry, so I apologize. I don't know by what calendar Filgaia goes by, so I will impose the Roman one, so if I get reviews criticizing that, I will happily ignore them.

Warnings: Mild language. I would believe the romance starts soon, and I haven't a clue how to write it.

The Cadence

Accelerando – Quickening

Somewhere illogical, he wondered what day it was, and how long it had been since the crack of dawn. He had begun counting after the first time he visited Boot Hill alone, looking for a place to rest. He dared not ask the kindly old inhabitants of the white farmhouse for lodging and instead had slept at the newly built inn. Since then, it had been two years, two months and twenty-one days.

It was August the thirteenth.

There was a great difference between waking up in one's room alone and waking up in one's room alone when there are phantoms sleeping next door. Some of the more casual differences would be the soft humming of an early riser on the balcony outside, or the small relief that not a penny had been wasted in renting a room that wasn't one's own. One of the more extreme differences would be the following afterthought. It usually went something like this: oh shit, if I'm sleeping in her bed, where did she sleep last night?

Feeling restless, he pushed himself on to the brittle floor and realized with a relieved sigh that the hangover and whatever else had plagued him was now gone. This meant that he was no longer unable to leave and drift away. This meant that since the room was conveniently vacated with the exception of himself, he could just gather his things and leave before realization hit any of them. This meant no time for second thoughts or doubts.

Of course, this implied that no one was allowed to enter the room three seconds later.

"Are you going now?"

Jet looked up and stared into the mirror at his reflection, and at hers standing in the doorway. His face darkened and he scolded himself that second thoughts were strictly not allowed. "Yeah. I've caused you enough trouble anyway." Nonchalantly, he gathered up his jacket and added, "Where did you sleep last night anyway?"

He would have guessed that by the way her shoulders seemed to slump that she was none too thrilled. Then again, he didn't really know her if what Clive said about 'change' was true. He brushed it off and slipped into his jacket, neglecting the way she wouldn't look at him. She said, "I slept in Gallows and Clive's room. Gallows slept on the floor and let me have the bed."

"How nice." He drawled sarcastically. Before he pushed past her and into the hallway, he slipped some coins into her hand. "This is for letting me stay in your room." He explained, as she looked at the contents of her palm with an expression that betrayed nothing. "It was real nice and thank you and all that polite crap. I'll be going now."

"Going without the decency to say 'goodbye?'" She muttered.

He shrugged. "Goodbye."

He was at the foot of the stairs, when she spoke. Turning around, he saw that she was still at the doorway, leaning against its frame and staring intently at him prepare to descend. Her mouth was pressed into a thin and straight line and it was hardly believable that such a mouth could produce so beautiful a laugh. Strangely enough that was what she did – she looked at him and began to laugh. This sound, which held no humor, was still a frighteningly nice sound to hear.

He frowned at her. "What the hell are you laughing at?"

She shook her head and snatched his gaze. There was something in her leveled stare that was promising – what it promised he didn't know. She took a step forward tentatively, but also retreated a step back and things were just as they started. "Where are you going to go?"

His fist clenched and he glared forcefully. "Why does it matter?"

She nodded understandingly. "Oh, so you're leaving with no destination. Are you just going to follow whichever directly the wind blows? Because you have no home to return to, and you haven't even a mission to follow." She shrugged at his hostile expression. "I find it…a little pointless, don't you? To not have any leads or any purpose. Don't you want to go 'home'?"

She had known, of course, from the moment she opened her mouth, exactly which nerve was her target and exactly how to extricate anger from this taciturn man.

He emitted a low, almost feral growl. "Watch it…"

She did not dare back down. "I heard that you're quite an outlaw these days. There are rumors that a thief-drifter foiled some big research experiment they were doing down at Destiny Ark." She mentioned off-handedly, "Some witnesses say the drifter had silver hair too." Her eyes wandered to his head and the messy bangs obscuring his forehead. "What did you do?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I don't owe you an explanation." Pausing, some sheet of ice suddenly gave away. With a sigh, he turned away from her. "They were going to try to redo the experiments in the Leyline Observatory. They were going to try and…" He frowned and forbid himself to think anymore, to remember anymore. "And it doesn't matter to you what I did. Drop it."

"I was just curious."

"Don't be."

Virginia opened her mouth to protest, but the door three rooms behind them suddenly burst open, and Gallows stumbled out. They turned to face him, and stared quizzically as he scrambled off the floor. Clive came backing out of the door after him, shooting a few rounds into the innocent room. With a great swing, the Baskar priest threw a pair of silver handguns into the air. At the end of a graceful arc, Virginia's eyes widened with acknowledgement and she caught the weapons.

"What are you…"

"Come with me!" Virginia ordered, and he was compelled to listen. Hastily, she brushed past him and grabbed his hand in the process, before proceeding to weave through the crowded restaurant below the inn. Jet was buffeted by shoulders and waiter's trays and obscure chair legs the whole time. In annoyance, he let out a continuous string of colorful curses, lost in the surprised shouts of the customers. All the while, his female companion maneuvered through the spaces as if she were wind itself.

He asked no questions until they were out in the sun parched main road of the town. "What the hell is going on?" he shouted as she pulled him along with amazing force for a girl and led them through the streets. When the masses swarmed too thick to get through, Virginia abruptly pulled out her gun and shot a round into the air. The townspeople screamed and fell to the floor to cover their heads and she jumped across them. He could hardly keep up with her, his surprise slackening the rate of his steps considerably.

She didn't answer him until they were in the outskirts of town. He almost collided with her back when she came to a sudden halt behind a small sand hill. They bent over together, gasping for breath. Angrily, he shook his hand away from hers and stared at her pointedly, demanding an answer.

She smiled, her mouth slightly parted as she took in air. Her flushed face and the bright sheen in her eyes dissipated his fury before it could even start. "Gallows and Clive should be coming soon."

"What the hell was that?" he repeated. "Why were you being chased?"

She shrugged offhandedly and beamed at him. "Well, what would you do if I told you that you weren't the only outlaw around here?"

He gaped.

She laughed. "Oh, I see. Ha…well, there was this complication before the defeat of the prophets, you see, and we got blamed for it. We really didn't have much time to explain, so we just took off. And officially, we're 'wanted outlaws' known all over Filgaia by now." She began to brush the dust off her dress. "Honestly, sometimes these town governors really abuse their propaganda! And our pictures in the 'wanted' posters didn't even catch my good angle…"

He choked. "Wha…what?"

Shoulders shaking with mirth, she said, "That was a joke."

"You…outlaws?"

"Well, not very coherent, are we?" Clive echoed, as he emerged from the peak of the hill and looked down. He smiled, turned his head backwards and called loudly, "They're here, Gallows! I found them!" Soon enough, another head joined the first and produced the image of a comically smug set of faces looking down at him from above.

Letting out a sigh of frustration, Jet slumped down and cradled his head in his hands. "I have a really bad headache right now."

Gallows laughed. "Hey look, the kid doesn't have enough brains to handle it."

"And I thought you were all for that heroic stuff too." Jet muttered, pressing his palms into his eyes. "Outlaws, ha, that's a joke."

An exchange of wry and eager looks passed between Virginia and her two comrades. She stepped and kneeled, leaning forward to slip her hands around his wrists and pulling his fingers away from Jet's eyes as he gave her a look of suspicion. She smiled gently. "Come with us, Jet." That was the first time she said his name and his eyes widened slightly, searching and held back. "Come with us again, because we have no where to go either."

His brows creased and he almost pulled away from her except that her grip was surprisingly tight and desperate. His eyes darted fearfully from one face to another and found nothing but smiles and encouragement. And this scared him, left him confused and angry and limp at the same time. The sun overhead bore into their skins with merciless heat.

"I'm hallucinating." He said flatly, taking the time to glare at them all in turn.

"No, you're not!" Virginia protested, pressing the pads of her fingers into his forearm.

He shook his head, disbelieving. "You don't have to be nice. I'm not expecting you to forgive me and welcome me back or anything stupid like that. I didn't expect to even see any of you again. I can fully understand how…distrusting you guys are of me. I mean, abandonment isn't any nice thing for all that 'teamwork' stuff you guys thought was so important back then. If this is a joke, I'd really like it to end now." He laughed humorlessly. "This is some punchline, you know."

Clive shook his head and Gallows grinned. "You're really stupid, punk. It's only 'cause Ginny was against it that I didn't beat the stuffing outta you at the inn."

"No, that's not it." Said Virginia. She pinned his stare down forcefully. "I…we don't blame you for anything. You were never obligated to stay, but…"

He was skeptical.

"We're saying," Clive rescued, "that we would like it if you were to join again."

"Me? Why do you want me to join up with you?"

"Well, we're all outlaws, so we could help each other!" Virginia piped up, and her vibrancy made her seem exactly like the girl who was barely a woman that he remembered from long ago. Her heart was poured out in her almost fevered persuasion.

"You don't want me there." He retorted. "I'd leave you all again."

Her face fell, but she smiled anyway and nodded sadly. "Yes, you might. But we'll have to try, first, or otherwise we wouldn't know for sure."

He did not answer and instead turned away. He had no words to answer, could hardly persuade himself to disagree, let alone persuading others. His gaze fell to the thirsty, dusty floor and lingered there, watching as even the slightest shuffle of air shifted the sand. He didn't know if he could last against all three faces that promised so much acceptance. He didn't know how much longer he could keep himself from believing it.

Because he wanted to fall, and he couldn't.

"Jet," she said his name again, and the traitorous part of him yelled again and again that he wished he could hear her say it again, after this day, this hour was over. "Stay. You have nothing to lose if you stay."

Still, he refused to answer.

Gallows scowled and scooted down the hill. Disapprovingly, he shot an annoyed glance to the mute and pulled Virginia up from her kneeling position. The girl hardly protested, for the silence had told her enough. She looked down at him, and her resolves fell, clattering to the floor. "I see." She muttered. "So that's the way you want it. Alright then." To his surprise, her voice never became shaky or wavered. She was so unbelievably strong. "Goodbye."

He thought he heard Gallows say, "Bad time to play hard to get, kid."

Clive nodded at him before leaving. "It was nice seeing you again," he said flatly.

And they began to walk away.

"Where are you going?"

Virginia didn't turn. "To Humphrey's Peak." Clive and Gallows looked at him expectantly.

Jet sat against the sandhill without budging. "Alright. Goodbye."

"I wish you had a bar in this place." Gallows whined, strolling into the welcoming town as if he were the celebrity that everyone wanted to meet. Hands behind his head, leaning back just slightly as he walked, he gave the impression of perfect and unruffled ease. "You need something to liven it up, you know. It's as if everyone here is as old and sensible as you, old man."

Clive smiled demurely, pushed his glasses up his nose. "No, it's just that no one here is as…apt to irresponsible behavior as you are, my dear friend."

Gallows was about to protest, when a very sweet little creature rushed out of the corner house and latched itself to Clive's leg with a metal death grip. "Daddy!" trilled Kaitlyn, burying her little flushing face into the fabric of his pants. "Mommy told me you were going to come back tomorrow like you said in your telegraph, but you're a day early!" She laughed and looked up, features brightening. "And you brought Uncle Gallows and Virginia too!"

The Baskar priest quirked a brow. "Uncle?"

Virginia laughed brightly. "Well, what did you expect to be called, Gallows? 'Brother'? 'Father'? I think 'Uncle' rather suits you, don't you think, Clive?"

Clive nodded solemnly, betrayed however by the small smirk on his face as he kneeled and scooped Kaitlyn into his waiting arms. She buried her little face in the crook between his jaw and his neck, giggling like a river. "Let's go tell Mommy now! She'll be so happy!" Clive took a few steps forward and she called back cheerily, "You too, Uncle Gallows, Virginia! Mommy will be glad to see you too!"

Gallows' eye twitched subconsciously. "I'm not that old."

Virginia smiled and followed after the father and his daughter into a quaint little house build of stone and slate. Basked in the afternoon sun that was beginning to set, and painted warm inviting colors, it was a sight for sore eyes. The window curtains were open, the door was left swinging in Kaitlyn's wake, and a god-like smell of home-cooked food wafted from the kitchen inside. Virginia thought she could practically hear Clive's heart sing.

Kaitlyn jumped out of her father's arms and trotted into the kitchen, reemerging a few moments later with a sweet looking woman in tow. Cathrine smiled softly as she looked up, and though she was neither in her prime or the most beautiful of women, that look alone brightened the whole room. "You're a day early." She murmured kindly. "It's…so nice to see all of you again. No wonder Kaitlyn was so excited when she came into the kitchen. Please, make yourselves at home."

"Well, our plans were a little off." Clive explained humbly. "And we were able to move quicker than expected, so therefore we arrived a day early. I hope you don't mind."

Catherine looked from one face to another and found that there were only three to look at. "Oh, no, not at all. I'm…sorry that your plans didn't go as planned."

The female leader of their group waved her gloved hand vaguely. "It's nothing to be sorry about, Mrs. Winslet. It's nothing important anyway."

Kaitlyn opened her mouth. "But…" and then she shut it.

Virginia beamed when Cathrine nodded in turn at Gallows and her in acknowledgement. It was not her home, but it felt just as comfortable. For a drifter, who had no real place to stay, the rare places like these were home enough. It wasn't often that they were welcomed warmly by people who still gave them their trust and fond remembrance. "Thank you. Gallows and I will be heading around to say hello to everyone again." With a tug, she dragged herself and her comrade outside, waving a, "Bye, I'll see you later!"

"Wait!" Kaitlyn called after them, tearing herself from her mother's protective arms and intertwining her fingers with the elder girl's. "I want to come too!"

Virginia nodded.

Once she was out the door, Cathrine looked sympathetically out at them. "It didn't work, did it?"

Clive sighed and looked out behind her, shifting as she leaned comfortably against his frame. He shook his head and held Kaitlyn's hand as the little girl stared curiously out the window. Gallows and Virginia were laughing as if the world would never end. Kaitlyn beamed along with them, but her smile was so much more pure. "No, it didn't."

"That's a shame….but why?"

"It wasn't time yet, I would guess. But, if that wasn't the time, the time will come sooner or later."

"How long will that be?"

"Days, months, years. I don't quite know, but it will come, and that's all."

Cathrine smiled. "She looks so…disappointed."

Virginia laughed outside and punched Gallows' arm lightly. "That's a horrible joke." She scolded half-heartedly. "What a thing to say! You're all hormones and brawn, you know."

"What are hormones?" Kaitlyn asked.

"Things that make you stupid." Virginia explained seriously, cocking her head to the side. "Like with Uncle over there. That's all he has, instead of intelligence."

Kaitlyn laughed.

"That's not true. I got a lot of brains, don't you know?" With emphasis, he pointed to his right temple, flashing a cheeky grin. "Why, I bet that I'm smarter than the whole lot of you put together." He nodded to himself with reassurance and flamboyant confidence, winking to his companion. "Yup, that's right, Gallows Caradine is the brains of this group, cleverest man around. And sometimes, he's even the brawns too."

She scoffed. "Right, and Virginia Maxwell is the tag-along cook."

His face grew comically serious. "But Gin, you can't even boil water right."

"Idiot." She muttered, and punched his arm again.

"Idiot!" Kaitlyn echoed.

"Aww, now look at what you did, Gin! You taught her naughty words!"

And so the dreary day pressed on, August the thirteenth.

He eyed the thick glass mug suspiciously; watching as its pale contents frothed after it was poured and dribbled over the rim on to the polished table. It was his first, of course, and it would be his only, he was sure of that. Of all the things he desperately needed, another hangover like the last was certainly not one of them. Speaking of which…he downed half the cup in one shot, felt the liquid burn like fire inside and the rush of numbness began to seep to his head pleasantly.

Contrary to popular beliefs, there were very few barkeepers in existence who would actually lend a helping ear to those who needed to spill out their woes. In fact, most of them were just like the one trying to mop his elbows off the table again without raising busy-eyebrows and muttering unrepeatable complaints the whole time. This man tried to keep his counter spotless, yet every five seconds some fool spilled their drink. A tireless battle fought against a tireless enemy.

Just in spite of it, once the man swept away with his dirty rag in tow, he tipped his mug a little, just enough to create a puddle of liquor on the surface again. The man caught sight of this little crime (only after it had been committed) and glanced angrily at Jet's hooded back as the Drifter turned in his stool and looked innocent.

"Goddamn slobs, spilling half of what they pay for on my counter, droolin' on it like goddamn pigs." The man muttered with his heavy accent, being sure to be loud enough so Jet could hear.

"Something gets spilled every five seconds; don't you think you could let up on the mopping for a second or two, old man?"

The barkeeper ruffled indignantly. "Wouldn't be so goddamned dirty if only the slobs would stop spillin' their ale every five seconds! I should have the right to kick anyone out who dunnot clean up after themselves!"

The drifter suppressed a scoff, and decided to give a clever quip, before the door burst open and a waft of heavily heated afternoon air came drifting in. It was a bit more humid than it was years past, but still as dry as caked dust. Three figures hung in the doorway, silhouetted by the one'o'clock sun, but Jet could see the protruding line of the shotgun barrel from their black shapes.

The tavern refused to become unearthly still, even with their appearance. The other men carried on their drunken stupors of gambling and card playing and cheating. They laughed loudly and harshly, for these were men without the slightest sophistication. Then, the men shot two rounds into the ceiling. The drunkards froze. Even the barkeep stopped himself from complaining.

Shit. His hand drifted to his side, where the faithful ARM hung ready. He knew he shouldn't have taken the risk and reappeared in a public place so soon. And in the same bar in the same town too, what had he been thinking?

"We've gotten some leads to this run-down town regardin' a thief. Reward of seventeen hundred gella if you pathetic lot can tell me where Enduro is."

For a moment, the men looked confused, from one to the other their glances slid suspiciously. The name was foreign to their ears, and once again Jet was reminded the benefits of keeping a low profile. Silently, he wondered whether he would be able to slip himself into the shadows without anyone noticing, but the option was ruled out once he was sure that the whole place was so quiet that probably the clock had stopped ticking.

"Never 'eard of Enduro." The barkeeper bellowed, regaining his spine. "And that roof…"

The tallest of the men, lanky and unshaved, pointed his smoking gun barrel at the man's head. "Enduro's in this goddamn bar, and you pigs better hand him over before I shoot you all through the head. He's got silver hair, you's got ta 'ave seen him. The color ain't natural."

Jet pulled the rim of his hood down tightly.

"Hey you, with the hood, you's lookin' shady!" remarked a poker dealer at the far end of the room. His words came out strange and twisted since a heavy cigar was tucked between his teeth as he spoke. Rich and wispy smoke smoldered out of the blackened end. "You's from outta town, ain'tcha? Don'tcha know who this Enduro fella is?"

If he could, Jet would have shot him.

"No." he replied calmly. "Never heard of that name. Only outlaw posters I've seen were those for Maxwell's gang."

The tall gunner laughed mockingly. His gun shifted on his shoulders, and from the audible click Jet knew the victim wasn't the barkeep. "That's old news, ain't nothin' new! Your whole lot's a stupid bunch, that's what you are. You, mister mysterious, why don'tcha take down yur hood?"

He couldn't shoot here, there were too many innocents involved. Even if they were stupider than cows and twice as bloated, they had no right to be stuck in the middle of a bullet dance with a hole in the middle of their foreheads, their eyes a glazed pain-stricken white as they stared unblinkingly at the floor. Drunkards they might be, he knew it just wasn't right.

And he was also very much screwed, two times over, right now.

Jet dropped the Airgetlahm with a clatter and a scowl as the tall one flipped his hood down.

"Well then, Enduro, ain't it? That hair color just ain't your touch, I'm 'fraid. Couldn't settle fer somethin' less obvious? Yur under official arrest."