I finally went out and bought the CD that has the song that Kiley sang in the first story. If you'd like me to send it to you in an mp3, just let me know.

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At the bar, Knives had parted company with the other two men. They had remained to speak with Mr. Herman a bit longer, whereas Knives had decided to shadow Anne and Mark for a bit. If he stayed behind, he figured that his presence would more likely harm then help. Plus, he was much more concerned with what Anne was up to than he was with pacifying the humans.

He followed close enough to listen in on what the two were saying, and he didn't really like what he had gotten to hear. How dare she pretend that she was the only wounded party? She was the one who had lied, who had run away and trapped him in the ship. For all her protestations that it was not supposed to have taken then three years to get out of the trap she had set, she was the one who had never come back. She was the only one who had the freedom to choose what she was going to do, and she had chosen to stay away.

He scowled as he walked, concentrating more on staying close enough to hear them then he was on where he was going. The result of that was that he took a corner a bit too close and smacked his shoulder against the side of a building. The pain made his eyes water, but he bit back the yelp that threatened to give him away. He rubbed at his nose, then ducked behind a building as they stopped to converse.

His heart skipped a beat when he heard her say that she didn't want him back. Instantly, his mind raced, becoming more and more agitated with each passing thought. How dare she not? How dare she make such a fuss over he and Ace, then be able to turn her heart away from him so quickly? How dare she pretend that he wasn't going to want him?

Then he heard her sniveling, and his heart resumed its function. Ah, she was just in denial.

That was allowed.

They began to move again, but Knives paused for a second to let his heartbeat return to something more approximating normal before he attempted to walk. Then he crept out after them, eavesdropping on all he could hear, but he missed out on whatever had been said when they went into the building.

Her demeanor had changed when she exited, and he barely kept himself from hitting something in his frustration. She was back to her stony silence, and he was left to wonder what had occurred. What had he said, what had she said? Was she trying to pretend that things between them were over once more?

Slipping along behind them, he followed them out of the heart of December and into a more residential region. Anne and Mark entered a fairly nondescript house, and after a few minutes Knives emerged to stand outside the white picket fence that marked the line to keep the world out and the family in. Jumping the fence, he softly crept closer to the windows and peered in, watching Anne and trying to listen to what she was saying. She seemed to be talking to the old woman, explaining about plants and their function.

Knives snorted softly at the ignorance of humans. Ever since the great fall, the knowledge possessed by each generation had grown increasingly smaller. From the gods that had bent space and time to travel from earth, had bent the building blocks of life to work their will, now all that was left were these pathetic specimens, these fools who could barely comprehend the wonders that their ancestors had wrought.

He ended up sitting in the shadow of the porch for almost an hour, just listening to the soft rise and fall of Anne's voice as she explained the facts of life. The night grew cool, but he didn't let that bother him overmuch. The house was warm against his back, and the moons were bright in the sky above. Since his options were rather limited, and included having to go back to the apartment and stomach Ace's lies and deceptions, the cold didn't seem so bad.

Finally the house prepared for bed. He heard water running through the pipes, heard the soft sounds of sleepiness, doors closing gently and drawers sliding shut. After all traces of sound had eased, and had ceased for over half an hour, he left his shadowed perch and circled the house, looking for Anne's room.

It was on the second floor, overlooking the front porch, and quite luckily, the small roof that covered the porch. He cautiously and quietly climbed up to her window and shimmied it up, climbing carefully inside the room, then looking over her still form. The red dress lay crumpled in a pile at the foot of the bed, and he wondered what she wore underneath the sheets so decorously tucked under her chin.

He sat there and stared at her for minutes uncounted, eyes feasting on the still form that he could never get enough of. It made her uncomfortable to be stared at, he knew that. The only time he could let his eyes feast to repletion was when she rested, and this was the first chance he had been given since released from his ship. It had been years, and she had changed so much. So much, and yet so little.

Finally, just looking at her was no longer enough. Gingerly, he sat at the head of her bed and let one finger trace the outline of her cheek. The soft skin of her face slipped by, cheek, eyelid, the curve of her nose, the outline of her lips.

A sigh escaped him, a soft exhalation barely louder than his breath, but it was enough. The long lashes flitted up, and she spoke.

"Seen enough to be happy?" she whispered sardonically.

"No," he replied, not willing to be affected by her ill-temper.