Credit to my best friend for helping me brainstorm for this. It wouldn't have been this good without her help. Thank you, you-know-who-you-are!


Heather seated herself in the chairs Picket had set out. Weezie bustled around getting snacks and drinks. The last bit of sunlight was shining through the trees, casting long shadows on the ground. She and Smalls were with her brother and Weezie for Weezie's favorite fall tradition – a bonfire. The younglings were being watched by Weezie's mother, so it was just the adults tonight.

"Here they are," Picket said, coming around the corner of their house with the matches in his hand. "They were in the top right cupboard."

Weezie smirked. "I told you they would be there."

Picket didn't reply, but Heather could see the smile on his face as he knelt next to the pile of wood in the center. Heather had never been to a bonfire before, but from what she gathered, it was just sitting around a fire, eating snacks and talking. Just a time to enjoy yourselves and the people you love.

Picket struck a match – one of Heyward's newer inventions, a very useful one – and touched it to the pile of paper underneath the wood. The spark flared into a large flame and crept along the rest of the paper until it all was consumed.

The smoke began to come up in a large pillar. The sharp scent entered Heather's nostrils and she bit her lip. She hadn't smelled smoke in months. She breathed in and out, trying to calm her senses. It was just a fire, she reminded herself. Nothing bad.

Her reminders didn't help. Last time, it had been bad. She couldn't be here. She couldn't smell that.

She pushed herself up and spun away from the fire, going into the woods. Away from it. She walked until she couldn't smell it at all anymore.

She reached up to touch a tree. The last time she saw a tree and fire so close together was when her house in Nick Hollow burnt to the ground. She squeezed her eyes shut. That dreadful day. She remembered it clearly, though she had tried to hard to forget. The growls of the wolves, the screams, the flames licking out of their windows, Picket's sobs, and above it all, the sharp smell of smoke. A single, salty tear rolled down her face.

Then Akolan, with Vitton. The gruesome scent of burnt flesh as the burning hot rod seared her skin. There was no way to stop the tears and sharp, heaving breaths now. They came, unbidden, and she cried.

"Heather?" Picket's worried voice came from behind her. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry, Picket," Heather choked out. "I just… the smell. The smoke."

After a moment, he gasped. "Oh, Heather, I'm so sorry. I didn't even think of that." He came around to face her. "I–"

"No," Heather interrupted. "You don't need to apologize. I thought I was over this. Over the memories. We're all together again. I shouldn't need to go through this."

Picket sighed. She could just barely see his sorrowful face. "I don't think you're ever over memories." He reached forward and put his arms around her.

Heather leaned forward and just let him hold her. Slowly, her tears lessened. After a long minute she leaned back. "I'm sorry," she said again, wiping her eyes. "I just got your jacket all wet."

Picket shook his head. "I don't care about the jacket. You don't have to be at the fire if you don't want to. I understand. Weezie understands. Smalls understands. We can go inside and talk."

Heather shook her head. "No, I… I want to."

"If you're sure."

"I'm sure. I want to have fun with you all. But – can you please remind me that we're all here?"

"We're all here, Heather," he said, taking her hands. "We're all alive. Mother and Father are alive, Jacks is alive, I'm alive, you're alive, Smalls is alive. No one is hurt. We're here, well and alive."

Heather nodded as her eyes began to fill with tears again. "Thank you."

Picket smiled softly and hugged her. "You're welcome. If you need to talk again, just give the word. I'm here for you."

Heather smiled back and sqeezed her brother hard. "Thank you."