Disclaimer: I do not own DanMachi or any of Omori's original characters, nor do I make any profit off of my writing.

If she were to look through her bedroom window right now, out and up into the night sky and the constellations above, she was confident that the stars would be laughing at her. And if she were to look to the moons, she knew their light to be mocking.

So, she did not look, for there was nothing to see that she did not already know.

Blindly, she felt around her bedside table, searching for something. It was going to be small, no larger than the palm of her hand, and cool to the touch. Elusive too, apparently.

Somewhere in the night, there was a shrill noise, somewhere between the mournful warbling of a woken bird and the startled cry of a mouse held in the claws of a stray. It wasn't pleasant, she would not lie and tell you it was; in fact, it was quite grating. Perhaps it would not be so if t'were quick, perhaps it would be painless, ignorable, but she hoped you could tell by her tone and her groan, that this was not the case.

It was maybe the third cry of the night, in just as many minutes, and it seemed to be finding its stride.

She'd counted the seconds between each, hoping beyond hope that they'd settled and abate.

They did not.

Another cry went out, and she resumed her efforts tenfold. The palm of her hand hit the oiled wood of her nightstand and made a sound of its own. A slapping-sort. It was light though, unobtrusive. She knew this to be true. For how else could the warm body beside her continue snoring through it if it were not the case?

(The snoring might've been another problem too, but one for another night. It was a problem that could be solved from where she lay, and so it did not broker any undue attention.)

(The question of how its source could sleep through the ruckus, though, would need to be solved come morning.)

Her hands met the object of her desire, and the cool sensation sent a jolt through her system. She nearly scowled at it because how dare it wake her when she wanted anything but, but she refrained. It did not deserve her ire, not when–

She winced as another cry went up into the night. Definitely sooner than the last, and the one before that.

–she prized it so dearly. Not when all it had ever done was help.

And so, knowing she was in for a valis, in for a shekel, she pushed herself up onto her knees and turned. With her eyes still shut and one arm cradling the cool object to her chest, she propped her pillow up against the headboard of her bed and leaned into it. The bed squeaked as she shifted around and she barely withheld a wince at the noise. Still, she did not let it deter her from her mission.

Once settled, she gathered the object in both hands, cradling it in the shared space between her palms, and blearily cracked an eye or two open. It was dark, and therefore more difficult to see, but she managed by the grace of the lanterns overlying the city streets. It was brassy in color, this she knew by heart and deserved little attention, but circumstance cast a blue glow over its metallic inlays. What lay beneath was mostly hardened leather – boiled, a friend of a friend would've specified – black in color and funny to the touch. There was another piece of leather leaving its side between a pair of hinges, a cord, meant to hang from its owner as a necklace of sorts. She'd never used it as thus, but it was possible.

There was a pin on the front, and her thumb caressed its gentle edge before finding its way beneath the latch it held in place. She flicked it up, releasing the lock, and slowly opened the case. Within, there was a great deal more to look at. If the light of the street's lamps were any more gracious, she might've been able to appreciate it more fully, but it was not meant to be on this night.

She focused on the center where a white circle lay. It was light enough to be seen, unlike the rest (the shadows too long and too deep), and in its center held another bearing of brass. It spun slightly as she focused on it, turning and turning and turning, endlessly. She fidgeted impatiently in her spot, a frown playing at her lips, and shifted its weight into the palm of one hand before she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Again, the bed made a noise, but she ignored it.

The object in her hand was magical. Its creation was a stroke of luck, or perhaps divinely inspired; born of supernatural ability known as 'mystery' and that was all the information she could offer on the matter. The compass, for it was a compass, was like and unlike any other. Rather than point toward the mountains at the top of the continent (as any other of its kind would), hers found its own north in whatever its holder desired most.

A dozen years ago, it led her into the arms of a boy she knew.

Now, she was hoping for something different.

And so she waited for the compass to, once again, find its pole as it once had.

It did not.

Another cry went out as she waited and it did not make her any more patient.

This was the problem as of late, no matter how long she waited, no matter how much she desired, she no longer had a north. The compass was not broken, for if t'were, others would have similar failings. That was not the case, and so it must be working. (She'd even had its maker inspect it, and they had only corroborated her findings. The object worked as intended.)

She'd kept herself up, night after night, trying to determine the source of her failure. (It wasn't the compass's, she'd already learned that, so it must be her own). She had everything she ever wanted and she was not ignorant of it. So, what could be the cause?

As a young maiden, all she'd ever desired was one thing.

A hero to save her, to save her mother, to avenge her father.

But, then she grew up, and she learned that those around her did not jest when they said the age of heroes had come and gone.

What she desired, was no longer of this world, it was no longer possible, so she moved on from it.

Eventually, when she was a little bit older but still not old enough, she chose to take matters into her own hands. If heroes no longer walked amongst the living, then she would be her own. She would save herself. She would rescue her mother. She would honor her father's sacrifice.

The compass, it was meant to help her accomplish that. To lead her to the dragon that ruined her life, usurped her home, and sent her on this odyssey of pain and loss.

At the time, she believed it to be her greatest desire, the one the compass would hone in on and direct her to. Her true north.

She supposed the compass had a history of disappointing her (or she, it).

Another shriek pierced the semblance of lamentful peace she'd gathered, and she sighed.

An arm wrapped around her waist, startling her slightly, and she nearly smiled as a warmth appeared closer to her side. There was a light pressure upon her hip that she knew to be a kiss being pressed into the fabric of her shift and she did smile then.

"Aiz," the warmth called, its voice still rough and raspy from rest, "what are you doing awake?"

"Nothing, love," came her tired reply. Her free hand lowered itself, crossing her body toward her left, and found purchase upon the warmth's cheek. The skin was soft there, and she found herself giggling quietly as her thumb toyed with the corner of its lip. They parted slightly as they led out another humming breath before leaning into her touch. "Go back to sleep," she urged.

"But– "

"But nothing. You had a long day, rest now."

The voice did not reply, seemingly content to bury its face into her hip and lull itself back to sleep. Aiz thought that might be the end of it, though she seems to have thought wrong.

"Is now the best time to see if it's working?"

Aiz nearly smiled, but she managed to withhold it (by the skin of her teeth, more literally than figuratively, it would seem). "Hush now, I must focus."

The warmth hummed, sending vibrations through her hip. "On?" it led.

She did not answer his question, because it was foolish and she was tired, but she gave a good alternative. "Hush," she commanded once again (and maybe this time he would).

"So rude."

"You're not hushing."

"Nn? Very sorry," it mumbled, before saying something that might've been 'how might I make it up to you?' but could just as easily have been something wholly different.

"By hushing," she answered, despite her uncertainty.

"Hm."

The bird-mouse hybrid let out another shrieking call that faded out with a wailing wail and the body to her left groaned, coming to. "Do you want me to get that?"

"Did I not tell you to hush?"

"Hushing," it promised.

And for a moment, it did. There was nothing in the air but the slow whistle of winding westerly winds and distant creaks of fieldhoppers, and it was nice. But it was not meant to be, and the moment was shattered. Abruptly, and loudly.

The cry rose up again, increasing in intensity, and Aiz was having a harder and harder time blocking it out.

She nearly gave in when the warmth continued to speak, breaking its earlier vow of silence, wishing only to toss the object to her wayside, but she persevered. Barely.

"Why must I hush? They're being far louder than me."

Aiz furrowed her brow as she answered. "Because I am trying to forget you exist."

"Mm, of course."

She had to admit, the warmth took that quite well.

"Why?"

"Trying to see if I wish hard enough, my north will shift to the cure for a baby's constant crying." Well, either that or a decent night's sleep.

As if in answer, the child's cries rose in intensity and frequency, scorning their mother's wish.

Another kiss was laid on her hip before the warmth departed and the covers withdrew, and Aiz frowned, lowering the compass to her lap as a silhouette rose to a seated position. They leaned enough to catch the light, and she watched as they gathered their long hair in one hand, moving it from where it haloed their face and gathering it around their nape. The figure made to stand, to slip completely from the comfort of their shared bed, and Aiz absolutely refused to let it happen.

Grabbing their wrist, she held them in place. "Bell," she insisted, "it is not your duty."

"I don't care about duties, there aren't any to be had here, Aiz. She's our daughter, we are her parents. Just let me check on her and you can go back to sleep."

She could see him using his other arm to rub the sleep from his eyes, and she frowned. "That is not what I meant."

"It is what you said."

"Fine, then, it is not your turn. You got home late, you're exhausted, let me handle her."

The crying became background noise to their conversation (she was certain she'd be hearing from their neighbors if it became a habit), but she couldn't find it within herself to care. They were both awake at this point, and maybe it wasn't as bad as she'd originally made it out to be. Annoying, yes; vexing, maybe; but not insufferable.

"I don't mind," he used her fingers around his wrist to pull her towards him, and when she broke her grip, he looped an arm over her shoulder before kissing her hair, "I love you, and I love her, so it's okay."

It wasn't, it really wasn't. It wasn't his turn. She got to sleep last night, and the night before that. Come to think of it, Bell was usually the one winning these late-night debates and leaving their bed. She blamed it on her own exhaustion, she was the one to stay home with the babe all day, society said so, but that did not mean he was not tired too. It was always a fight to see who would force themself to leave their bed, not for their own good, but their partner's.

She was not losing tonight. She refused. Bell would get a full night's rest if it killed her.

In her lap, the compass ceased its endless spinning, but she did not see it, for her glare at Bell's face was too fierce and unwavering.

Bell saw her expression and smiled; and in that moment, she cursed herself and his lips for distracting her, drawing her eyes down then shut as he leaned in. In her moment of weakness, as he kissed her, he slipped free from the quilt and her.

"Dickhead," she hissed and he had the nerve to laugh. (Laugh!) "Get back here!"

He did not, in fact, get back there. The big jerk.

"Go back to sleep, I'll handle things."

Like hell.

Aiz was already throwing the covers from her legs when he yawned and yeah, that did it.

She chased after him, catching up only as he held their daughter in his arms, softly cooing to the babe as she cried. It was an adorable sight. He was adorable. She had a very cute husband who she would not trade for the world.

Still gripped in her right hand, the compass pointed to the pair without so much as a quiver or hesitation in its direction.

Crossing the room, she wrapped her husband in a hug from behind, pressing into his back and tucking her face between the blades of his shoulders, the object left somewhere in the cradle. Through the child's cries, he asked: "I thought I told you to stay in bed?" and Aiz's lips tilted into a half smile.

"And I did not say the same?"

"Hm. S'pose we're both bad listeners."

"Just blame it on Etsuko, it's hard to listen over her cries."

His back shook as he quietly laughed. "She does have quite the lungs on her, doesn't she?"

"Quite."

Still chuckling, Bell shuffled forward and Aiz had to be quick to move with him lest she trip over his heels. As soon as the babe was laid back in the crib, and Bell free of his charge, Aiz tried pulling him back toward the door. In some selfless sacrifice for his sake. Unfortunately, Bell had always been the master of selfless sacrifice, and in the years since that compass first led her to him, he'd grown a little stronger.

He didn't even budge as she tugged and groaned, not even slightly. Through Etsuko's wails, he changed her diaper, tying the cloth of the previous tightly and tossing it into a bin to be the worry of future Bell. Then, he plucked the babe back up and turned in Aiz's arms so her cheek rested against his chest.

"Jerk," she muttered, but still obliged and shifted her weight toward his side so that their daughter might be settled between the warmth of her parents' breasts.

For a while, they simply stood there, one swaying in tune with the other as the nightly cries slowed.

"Did you find your cure?"

"Hm," Aiz yawned, "maybe."

"Maybe?" He sounded offended, so Aiz placed a kiss on his shoulder.

"Don't be like that, hubris doesn't go with your eyes."

He laughed again, and she relished the sound, relished how openly he adored for her, relished him.

"So, now I'm prideful, am I?"

"Mm," she agreed, "terribly."

"I suppose I'll need to ask my wife to humble me then."

"It might be wise."

Beneath their watchful eyes, Etsuko smiled, little bubbles forming at the corners of her lips as she let out tiny sounds of merriment. It was just a little infectious. Aiz couldn't find it within herself to care that she might have failed in her mission to keep Bell in bed. It wouldn't be the first time, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

She would simply have to do her best to ensure the rest of his sleep was restful.

"You called me 'love,'" he teased.

Or maybe not. He could suffer endlessly for all she cared.

"I did not."

"You did."

"Why does it matter? You know I love you."

"Well, duh." Her husband was insufferable, had she mentioned that she hated him? "I just thought it was cute that you get all lovey-dovey when you're sleepy."

"M'not cute."

"Believe what you wish."

She would. She would do exactly that.

Just.. maybe in the morning.

(And when morning came, and she found herself still held within her husband's arms, with their beautiful baby cradled between them, she found the crick in her neck mattered little.)

(And when she extracted herself and her daughter from their bed, settling Bell into a more comfortable position against the pillows, she could only stay away for so long before rejoining him.)

(And if when she later held the compass in her hands, and the needle found its north in the arms of her husband and child, well, maybe she didn't find it all that surprising.)

(And maybe, one day, there would be a few more poles for that cool object upon her nightstand to confuse what she desired most with.)

(And that was okay.)