Hooray! Reviews! Hooray! Last chapter! Hooray! Uh…gummie bears?

I told you no limes. No lemons. Don't get your hopes up, 'cause I'm sticking to that claim. I promised the little voices in my head that I wouldn't do something irresponsible like that. And, as most of you know, I must do exactly what the little voices say. It's a writer's conviction. Sadly.

…But, I won't leave you hanging. I know you've been waiting for this, so here it is. Enjoy, okays? Really.

Klox: Does this mean it's over?

Aughus: So it seems.

Klox: Really?

Aughus: Really really.

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Jet was alone, standing comfortably by himself just beside the dried up well. This was where he had been hiding for the majority of the day, since Clive left to abide his wife's wishes.

Or so Jet thought.

Truthfully, Catherine's mother and Kaitlyn's grandmother was not waiting at the station to be escorted back to Humprey's Peak. In fact, the nice elderly lady was sitting in an old cashmere upholstered chair sipping her tea, halfway across Filgaia. Gallows was the only occupant of the station when Clive arrived, which did not surprise him.

Gallows did not appreciate Clive's tease by calling him 'mom'. Nor did he enjoy the fact that he had to spend another two abysmal hours before they set out again in return to Humphrey's Peak.

Clive had taken the consideration of explaining to Gallows that Jet needed time before they interfered. Gallows' response had been similar to that of a resentful camel: a grunt and subtle silence.

Somehow, all of Gallows' plans had a way of backfiring.

Back in Humphrey's Peak, a certain silver-haired Drifter was mentally preparing the conversation that would take place before it grew too dark. Every time he thought too far into the subject, he swore and immediately cleared his head of the images that followed. What would he say to her? Should he tell her, and get it over with, like it meant nothing to him at all? Should he pretend that nothing was wrong with her, and that this is what he wanted…?

Did he? He had admitted to Clive that he liked Virginia, although he hadn't specified exactly how far that feeling went. Personally, every time he tried to figure that out himself, he ended up starting over again. It was like…trying to stare at something for so long that it faded away. But if you eyes moved, even for a split second, it reappeared again. And he would have to start over.

He thought it was exactly what he wanted. It was a thought however, not a certainty. True, he felt very different when he was around her and somehow keeping his stone-like attitude was much harder against her powerful will. It might have something to do with emotions, he decided. But it could just as easily mean that he was getting soft. Or perhaps because she was their leader, it was harder to disobey her. After all, seeing her skills in action had rooted an indestructible respect for her, not to mention his fellow teammates. What he felt could be 'respect', not 'love'. Even 'admiration' was a problem.

Jet was beyond confused. If he went through with it, it would prove one way or another that he did care for her. Oh sure, he could pretend the next day like it meant nothing. But they would know that he cared enough about her that he did it at all. Assuming this disease killed her within the next day or so, not only would he feel eternally guilty, but it would reveal that he truly was the cold-blooded, heartless person he had been working so long to become.

Which led revolved his entire dilemma back to one particular problem. Did he, or did he not want to sleep with Virginia?

Yes, he did.

But then he didn't.

Jet growled in frustration. What reason did he have to not want to cure her? Every right reason was there. He was the last one, the only one in fact, that suited the task to begin with. He was hesitating now for the same reason he refused to take this responsibility in the first place. It was because of that same reason he walked out the door the previous night that he could not decide now.

He must, he realized. Either he did, or she died. If not for personal feelings, did he not at least have the responsibility to save her life? The life of the Maxwell Gang leader; the life of his teammate's friend. Yes, even his own friend, if his tangled emotions proved false.

How was he supposed to do this with an unsettled mind? One part of him screamed that he was being ridiculous. Of course he loved her. Why wasn't it obvious?

But then the other part laughed and mocked him. Had he really traveled this far to let the wall between him and the world be broken by some silly woman?

"After that, I believe it is best to let your instincts handle the rest."

Jet was familiar with his instincts. He trusted them far more than he trusted himself and, by now, his own mind. Thinking made everything so complicated, but maybe trusting his instincts would pull him through. Again, like they had done so many times before.

He felt slightly stupid for his outburst before. Clive was probably right, he guessed. Trying to fight both sides of his bickering feelings was useless. He only had less than and hour before the sun set completely, and his brain was throbbing from being under so much pressure.

Jet looked up, and cursed the sky. It had faded into a smoky, dark blue. The lights of the houses across the street were already on, illuminating the streets with their soft glow.

"There you are, Jet!"

He nearly fell over in surprise, barely managing to catch himself on the side of the fountain before he was able to balance himself. Then he directed his attention to the source of the voice, and his stomach dropped.

Her face paler than usual, but smiling cheerfully all the same, Virginia strode to the other side of the fountain. "You really shouldn't disappear like that without telling me," she scolded mildly. "Just exactly what have you been doing out here all by yourself?"

Jet's words froze in his throat. He felt like he was trying to swallow a small cactus, rather than giving a straight answer.

Virginia seemed to ignore his lack of response. "One of the villagers was nice enough to let our horses stay in his barn tonight. He was…very willing to let them stay, actually. Clive spoke to him the other day and arranged it."

Jet's heart skipped a beat. Clive? How had Clive known to arrange special care for the horses, unless-

At once, Jet's face flushed red. Virginia took note of this and wore an expression of concern.

"Jet!" she exclaimed softly. "You're burned, aren't you? Don't tell me you stood here all day!"

Forcing his sudden anger down to a menacing glint in the back of his eye, Jet snorted characteristically. "So what?" he muttered. "The sun's gone, isn't it?"

She sighed in return, "That's not my point. Come inside Cheville's house before you catch your death!"

This inspired Jet, even a little. She had invited him into the house. So far, she was making this task a lot less difficult than he'd presumed it would be.

And then he frowned inwardly. Instincts, he reminded himself. Damned, stupid, annoying, useless instincts.

She did not waited for him to reply, most likely because she was not expecting one. He followed her quietly, side-glancing at the row of houses opposite of the street warily. Somehow, he had a vague feeling he was being watched. It was unlikely, but his sudden realization of Clive's abnormal trickery had set him on edge.

Something else occurred to him. There were only two beds in Cheville's house, and much to his benefit; they were in the same room. If Virginia was expecting him to stay the night, she was obviously expecting to share a room. Now he wouldn't need an excuse to be in the same room with her.

Same house, and now the same room. Jet winced inwardly. He was sure his luck had run out. Just how was he going to ask her to share the same bed?

When he entered the house, she was already sitting at the table. Her attention was focused on the cup of tea nestled in her hands and she didn't bother to raise her head.

And now for the awkward moments, he thought bitterly. He hated conversation and enjoyed silence. Right now, unfortunately, he needed conversation and surely silence would kill any chance -- big or small -- he had with her.

The way she was acting -- it was strange in itself. Had he not known better, he would have assumed that she was expecting something from him. Whatever 'something' was, it could not possibly have anything to do with his intentions. He forced himself to believe that.

He was surprised when she spoke. "There's two beds," she said expressionlessly as she rotated the cup in her hands. "I hope you don't mind, but I took the one by the window. Is that okay?"

Jet swallowed, but did not manage to cure his parched throat. "Yeah, whatever," he said, failing to maintain his composure. "Um, ergh…Virginia?"

Her eyes snapped towards him, "Yes, Jet?"

The silver-haired youth opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. He closed it again and apparently struggled to rephrase what he was going to say. "I, uh…" He looked away. "Never mind. Forget it."

Her face softened, much to his wonder. She pointed to the chair across from her. "Sit down," she ordered and pointed next to another cup of steaming tea set upon the wooden table. "I made you some tea, but if you don't like it, you don't have to…"

They way she said it invoked generous suspicion in his mind. Eying her carefully, he sat down at the opposite end of the table and glared conspicuously at the concoction she had prepared for him. To her own surprise, he reached for it and brought it to his lips. He was polite about it, too.

"Is…it good?" she wanted to know. Had the room been any brighter, the slightly red tinge in her cheeks would have shown.

"Yeah, thanks," he said with a touch of appreciation. "It's, uh, pretty good….I guess."

She sighed into her own tea. "Are you sure?"

Now he knew there was something up. "I'm sure," he said sternly. "It's just tea, right? There's nothing wrong with it."

"Good," she said simply, and stopped spinning her cup. She looked up at him. "Jet, is something else wrong?"

Yes. Yes, there was.

"No," he lied. He was a poor liar, but he poured every ounce of meaning into that one word he knew how to use. "I'm just…well, uh, thinking."

Virginia smiled then, in the same way she did when she shared camp stories and poems with either Gallows or Clive. "Thinking about what? You almost never tell us…me what's on your mind."

"That's because there's nothing to talk about," he replied immediately. He felt a pang of guilt at her crestfallen expression and growled impatiently. "That's not what I meant," he corrected hastily. "I mean, uh…dammit, I'm not good at using words."

Her smile returned. "I don't mind. Tell me anyway."

There was definite skepticism in his brief glance to her face. "I was thinking, well, about things. I don't really…think about them that often."

To his relief, she did not inquire as to what things he thought about. Instead, she leaned forward and placed her chin on her hands. "Why not?"

Jet paused. "I didn't want to, really. I do now, if you're wondering. So don't ask."

She giggled. "I won't. But, isn't it better to share your thoughts when you're sad?"

"Sad?" He narrowed his eyes slightly. "Hey, I'm not sad! What makes you think I have anything to be sad about?"

"I don't know," she said. "Well, if you're not sad, why not tell me what's bothering you?"

"Just…because," he said sourly. "They just might involve you. Maybe I don't like putting what comes into my head on the table for people to gawk at, okay?"

But Virginia only shook her head. "Then how come I'm getting the feeling you want to tell me?"

Dammit, why'd she have to be so damned annoying when it came to having a decent conversation? Jet pushed his teacup away from him. "I just don't like sitting around, drinking tea and babbling about my secrets," he told her bluntly.

Her placid face finally molded into exasperation. "Jet, why won't you just…tell me? Haven't I made it clear enough that I already know? I can't stand sitting around either, and now my tea is cold, and you're only moving away from me instead of…of…"

Jet stood up abruptly, jolting the table and causing the teacups to rattle. "I can't!" he snapped. "I can't even follow my instincts, 'cause I don't have any damn instincts telling me what to do! I don't know anything about this sort of thing, Ginny, so I guess that makes me pretty useless!"

Her eyes were watering slightly. Of all nights, this one was supposed to mean something and now it was ruined. Why? she thought furiously. Why can't he just for once be agreeable? Why can't he admit that he even cares whether or not I die?

"You're not useless," she said, just above a whisper. "Do you know what, Jet? I told the others I wanted you. After Gallows…he told me, but I'd guessed…I couldn't figure it out at first, that I…what I really feel…"

The cage around Jet's heart exploded. What was he really hearing? Was she saying this, or was his already confusing mind tricking him into believing that she had feelings for him? Seriously, was this what it was like to go insane?

"You…" His voice cracked, much to his embarrassment. "But, I thought…since we fight a lot, and you get so angry all the time-"

"What?" she wondered aloud. "You thought I couldn't possibly have feelings for you? That I couldn't possibly love you?"

While he stood in discreet, dumbfounded elation, she turned on her heel and stalked towards the bedroom. Her heavy footsteps came to an end, as did his stupor. After using every curse word he knew on himself, Jet half-ran into the room after her.

"Say that again," he said quickly, as if he'd finished sprinting a thousand miles.

Virginia, who had positioned herself at the window with her back facing him, turned around. Her face betrayed her grief as the tears threatened to spill. "Say what?" she demanded to know. "I'm not in the mood for games, Jet."

"Just say it again," he insisted. They were practically the exact same height, which made her eyes bore straight into his. "Alright, please say it again. I want to make sure. I don't know, maybe I heard wrong…"

"That I couldn't possibly love you?" she struggled to say. "Is that what you want? Don't worry Jet, you don't have to answer me. You've made it perfectly clear just how you feel. About me. About anyone!"

It was right about then Jet's instincts kicked in. "Not yet I haven't," he breathed.

It took one step, one moment and one gesture, which did not give her much time to prepare. Before she knew what he was doing, he was kissing her with such intensity it caused all strength in her knees give way. Had he not been holding onto her so tightly, she would have collapsed into a pile.

Their mouths battled fiercely for endless moments. Out of sheer thrill of the moment and certain passion, she had encircled his neck with her arms. Suddenly, nothing was wrong. Nothing about this seemed wrong. Every ounce of her body screamed out that this was right.

Eventually, they needed air. Even as they drew apart, their faces lingered but a scarce inch from each other. A few precious, silent seconds pass before Jet slowly captured her lips in his own again. Their next kiss was slower, more sensual than the first. His mind had already sorted itself out. Now he could think, and act.

Did he want this? Hell yes.

When Jet closed his arm around her waist, she agreed with him by moving towards the bed. By the time either of them remembered that their clothing was intact, Jet's so-called 'instincts' had full control of his body.

Indeed, the night was rather sleepless. As for the rest…well, what are imaginations for, anyway?

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Clive and Gallows rode into town the following morning. Before they had a chance to dismount from their horses, they were greeted by a sight that caused their jaws to drop in unison.

Virginia and Jet were standing, as ordinary as any other people, just beside the post in the middle of town. Only, Jet's arm was fitted snugly around her waist. His expression was rather ordinary -- the same 'touch-me-and-die' look mixed with sarcasm. Only, something about his eyes changed his entire demeanor into something closer to 'touch-Virginia-and-die'.

As they approached, neither of the couple said anything. Finally, Clive cleared his throat and humbly adjusted his glasses. "I hope everything…went well?"

Virginia continued to say nothing, but she nodded. Her face was clearly tired, and she didn't appear willing to waste energy on speaking.

Gallows had already abandoned his horse. Jet's protective grip around Virginia was disrupted when the Baskar slung his arm roughly around the silver-haired Drifter's shoulders and grinned widely.

"Jet, you ladies man! Just when I was beginning to doubt you-- OW!"

Virginia readied another pebble in her hand, as if threatening to aim it somewhere more unpleasant for Gallows to handle. Quickly, the towering Baskar backed away with a meek, but mischievous expression. "Geez, sorry…"

"Don't piss me off," Jet warned with and edge of weariness to his voice. "I'm too damned tired to do anything about it now, but don't think I won't kick your ass later on."

"Duly noted," Gallows grumbled, scratching the back of his neck in thought.

Clive frowned slightly. "Leaving today is a bad idea, it seems. What do you say to spending yet one more night here? Leader?"

Virginia smiled weakly. "I'm all for it," she said with evident relief. "Now that I'm better, we can start planning other things."

"Like the wedding?" came Gallows oh-so-expected comment. He flinched. "Just kidding! Spare me, oh wise leader!" he pleaded, mock-shielding his face with his arms.

"Like our next mission," she replied carelessly. "Any ideas, anyone?"

Jet gave her a look that clearly said 'don't care' and he shrugged slightly to prove his silent statement. No one else said anything for several moments.

"All right," she sighed. "Let's just relax for now. And someone--" she added crossly "--owes me an explanation."

All three men exchanged guilty expressions. They immediately changed into surprise when their leader began to laugh, and loudly. For a moment, they stood (and sat), staring rather stupidly at Virginia as if she'd lost all sense.

The streets of Humphrey's Peak were soon disturbed by the sounds of several laughing people.

And Jet joined them.

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Gasp. Wow. Shock. It's over. And I'm tired…it's late. And I'm tired. Wait, I already mentioned that. Bah, what would books say if they had mouths, anyway…

Klox: All in favor of escaping this raving lunatic, say 'aye'.

Aughus: Nay.

Klox: Not even for a vacation?

Aughus: What is a 'va-ca-tion'?

Klox: …never mind.