Chapter 15
Darkness.
There had been a lot of that recently. He shifted a little, although there was no indication that he'd moved. There was nothing here, other than the darkness, and a lingering sense of something hidden just beyond it.
Light. Pain. Silver, for some reason, and blood.
Memories.
If he stayed here, none of it would matter. Stay in the soothing, calm, empty darkness. Let someone else face the rest.
The trouble was – that was a little too damn close to giving up.
Richard's eyes opened. In the moments before consciousness really kicked in, his brain performed its usual awakening-checklist, informing him that all limbs seemed to be present, and nothing was reporting any particularly unpleasant signals. Then the memories awoke. He watched them dispassionately as they flowed at impossible speed across his mind's eye. The last forty-eight hours of consciousness, condensed into a few moments little longer than a drawn breath. They rose, wheeled through his thoughts, crashing and mixing into each other, crescendoed as the present whirled closer amidst the storm of recollection – and focused. The memories broke away, fading back to the empty dullness of before, and then he was looking at the present. Well, at a darkened ceiling, dappled by sickly amber flecks of Muggle streetlamps, but at least it was a current ceiling.
His nostrils twitched. Ah, he wasn't alone, then.
"Kate's dead, isn't she?" he asked softly. His words were followed by the sound of someone nearly swallowing a cigarette, the corresponding set of coughs, then a final silence before Jackie hesitantly replied.
"Yes."
"And I'm alive?"
"Yes."
Richard stared at the roof for a while. Then he sat up abruptly – noting the dull aches that movement prompted from most of his major muscle groups – swung his legs onto the floor and straightened up. Opposite him, Jackie leapt to her feet, tossing the soggy stub aside.
"Richard – " she started, then stopped and her eyes swung down " – your hand…"
Richard looked down. He blinked. His left fist was balled, his fingers clenched so tightly that blood was starting to well between them. He watched it bead between his knuckles.
Blood.
"Don't feel it," he muttered, "Don't feel anything."
"Right, you're going to lie back down, and stay there," Jackie said firmly as she strode over. "You're not in any kind of shape to be doing anything but resting."
"Neither is anyone else." Richard picked his wand from the top of the nearby pile of dark material, and cleaned off his bloodied digits. It took a surprising amount of effort to unclench his fingers. They still twitched a bit as he pulled his shirt on over the bandages, under Jackie's half-worried, half-disapproving gaze.
"You're been spending too much time around Elsa." He tried a thin smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. A hand landed on his forearm and he shook it off. Richard found he couldn't meet the mismatched stare boring into him, and fixed his attention on getting dressed. Jackie shook her head.
"You don't have to do this."
"You know damn well that I do!"
The shout echoed, even in the small room, and it took a few moments of shocked silence before Richard realised that the yell had come from him. He span round and stared hard at the wall as he pulled the rest of his clothes on, avoiding the look on Jackie's face. His cloak settled onto his shoulders and he drew a deep breath, forcing calm through himself.
"I can't – " he stopped and felt the rough skin of the scar as his left fist twitched. No. There wasn't time for that yet. Richard gritted his teeth and turned, finally meeting Jackie's gaze.
"What's happened so far?" He saw her expression and met it with a small glare. "Look me in the eyes, Jackie, and tell me I'm not needed."
Silence. Then Jackie looked away.
"Nearly thirty wounded, though Elsa's on her usual brand of miracles, so they're improving. Nine dead. Most of the conventionally-ground floor is habitable again, if a tip, the Infirmary's been relocated to the Hall and we've re-done most of the major wards. Level one Field teams are dismantling any unpleasant additions we've gained, and I think Luce is setting up a temporary Field station in the break room, presumably because of nearby caffeine."
"Luce? She's alright? And Darek?"
"They're both okay," Jackie cut in, her words accompanied by the ghost of a smile. "Luce looks like she's been through a toaster, I'm afraid, but apparently having over two-thirds of your body covered in burn salve and bandages isn't enough to slow one of your lot down." There was a pointed glance in the direction of his chest after this, which Richard chose to ignore. Jackie sighed.
"All in all, we're physically fine. The problems are up here." She tapped her forehead. "Everyone's rather… disorientated. We're back, but everything's changed and it's going to stay changed. Humanity's a difficult thing to have dropped on you."
"We were always human." More words Richard hadn't meant to say, but this time he let them flow. "Even before this. Those things were never us, they just had the wheel occasionally. All we are now is free of them."
"That's supposed to make it easier?"
"Less sparkly, perhaps."
"Hah," Jackie managed a small grin, "I admit, if I never see a firestorm gain, I'll be happy. Oh, I nearly forgot…" she trailed off as she picked up something from a nearby table and pushed smooth material into his hand. "Thought you'd want these back too."
Richard looked at the black gloves draped over his palm. Wordlessly, he nodded, pocketed them and started towards the door. He stopped very suddenly, staring unseeingly at the woodwork.
"Tomorrow morning."
"What?"
"We've got a story to finish. For old times' sake."
-x-
Sam hadn't known the Terrace had a garden. From the outside, it looked like nothing more than a neighbouring series of small, fenced yards, but from the inside… well, it was rather different. A lawn the size of a football pitch was surrounded by greenhouses – some with several storeys – and raised herb bed, their occupying plants swaying gently to hidden breezes. There was even a small pond in one corner, its water unusually black and calm. The garden seemed to have escaped the damage done to the inside of the building, but for a few broken greenhouse windows, and a couple of shallow hex-grazes in the grass.
However, few eyes were drawn to the meagre damage, and there were many eyes present. The whole Terrace was spread out across the lawn, arranged in rows around a square of nine wooden tables. Each one was piled high with wood and each pyre – for they couldn't have been anything else, however you looked at them – was occupied by a still figure, shrouded in thin grey cloth up to the neck. Sam didn't recognise most of them, but one of the exposed faces she did know. Kate was set a little further away from the rest, just in front of a low podium. She looked very different to last time Sam had seen her. Almost younger, somehow.
The crowd had been quiet already, but a complete hush fell over them as two figures took to the podium. Jackie spoke first. She was actually wearing less black than usual, and her now-auburn hair bore marks of unaccustomed attempts to tame, but her words carried smooth and strong when she spoke.
"It's not fair." She gestured with a set of white-painted nails towards the prone figures. "But we've been though hell, and its fires are seldom fair to those they scorch. We're here, now, to honour our fallen." She continued, with names, remembrances, personal messages from other residents. Her expression was open, genuine as her words, and as Sam glanced round she saw people drawing closer to each other. She saw Kipling, briefly, burying his head in Chris' shoulder as his own shook. Sam turned back to the podium, feeling strange. She wasn't crying. She'd shed so many tears in the last few days that she doubted she had any left; so she listened. When Jackie finished the eighth eulogy, she stopped and a different kind of silence fell over the crowd. Only one left, and everyone knew which one it was. Wordlessly, Jackie stepped aside, making way for the moment of weighted silence.
"I expect you're all waiting for an explanation." Richard's voice cut through the air like a verbal scythe, missing no one as it swept from ear to ear. He stepped forward, his cloak uncharacteristically still. His features were as immobile as a statue's, his expression barely even shifting when he spoke.
"This is no time for explanation or for weak words spoken in pretty ways to justify, or worse, excuse what happened. It should never have done so, but every one of us knew that one day something like it would. Well, we've seen that day and for what it's worth, we won." He nearly spat the word. Out of the corner of her eye, Sam saw his bare hands clench a little. Richard shook his head and his gaze moved over to the shrouded forms.
"This isn't the time for celebration. We've lost nine of our own and we will mourn them. And I do mean them." His eyes flashed dangerously as he spoke, and suddenly the brown stare was impossible to meet. "Whatever else you may believe, whatever else you think you know, know this: we are nothing more or less than what we have chosen to become. With Sues, or without them, you are yourselves, and as far as I'm concerned, you always have been. So –" he straightened up and something almost like a smile reached his lips, if not his eyes, "– I extend this offer to everyone here. You're free. That means you can leave, if you want to."
The shock was palpable. Sam stared at Richard, her eyes very wide. Leave? Leave the Terrace? The idea grated oddly against her mind, even if a small part of her felt it knew why he'd offered. Almost all of the residents were completely human now, so even the Ministry couldn't touch them outside. No risk of Sue resurface, because there was no Sue left to do so.
Everyone here. Sam looked round, trying to find Luce or Darek in the crowd. It extended to them, too? They were the only other ones she knew still had their unconscious lodger. But he'd said it. Everyone. Free to choose…
The murmuring took a while to die down. When silence returned, Richard stood forward again. He nodded.
"Another choice. Whatever you decide, I'm proud of you all. And so was Kate."
The moment stretched with the tension of over two hundred caught breaths. Richard turned to the final pyre. His lip twitched, and when he spoke his voice was so soft as to be only just audible.
"I shouldn't have to speak for Kate. You all knew her, have your own thoughts to bring to her memory. Don't let the events of the last few days cloud that." He stopped, and took a slow breath, then raised his left hand, with the palm held towards the crowd. Visible clearly now was a thin scar, about the width of a finger, etched into the skin. It seemed paler than when Sam had glimpsed it before.
"Kate has been with me, with us, since the first spork. She grew with us, and kept everything running smoothly as the Terrace became something far more than anything we had ever dreamed it could be. Yes, she was hard, and she demanded nothing less than everything you could give. But that's what she put into this place. Her heart belonged here, and at the end I swear to you she was her own!" his voice rose suddenly, ringing out almost harshly across the group. Daring anyone to disagree.
No one would. They wouldn't have dared. Sam remembered Richard's reaction, an eternity ago, back in the gestalt. Remembered the hollow moment of agony in his eyes as he'd torn his own spork from Kate's lifeless chest.
…oh Merlin…
"I've never claimed to have all the answers," Richard broke his own silence with a more normal voice, "nor do I know what happens when people pass through the veil of this world. But I do know two things. Firstly, whatever lies ahead for our fallen, they've gone to meet it as themselves. And second –" suddenly, he flung his cloak aside, levelling his wand at Kate's body, "– the best we can do is give them a damn good send-off!"
Several figures stepped out of the crowd and silently took up positions around the pyres, wands drawn. Luce, Darek, the Jennys, Elsa, and a few of the older Terrace residents that Sam didn't recognise as well. There were tears streaked visibly down the women's cheeks, and even Darek's eyes were glistening slightly, but the outstretched wands were held quite steady.
Jackie stepped forward until she was standing next to Richard. She made a very quick movement, an almost invisibly short squeeze to his arm, before drawing her own wand and pointing it at the pyre.
Silence.
Then, in perfect unison, the armed group shouted. Sam couldn't tell what they'd said, if it were a spell she recognised, something new or just pure emotion in sonic form, but in the same moment the tips of a dozen wands exploded and blue light lanced home. Each pyre erupted in blue-tinted flame, their occupants vanishing in new shrouds of white-hot fire.
"Goodbye Kate," Richard said, so quietly that Sam wouldn't have realised he had even spoken if she hadn't been watching his face. "Be free."
The pyres burned without sound. The flames were clearly magical, giving no smoke, and Sam couldn't feel any heat coming off them. If water could burn, it would look like that, she decided. The light was strangely soft, brilliant without being blinding, and it swam in the heart of each tear that ran down cheeks already bright with liquid grief. The firelight sparkled around Jackie's mismatched eyes, tracing shining rivulets down her face as she led the outpouring of loss; but above it all the dark figure was highlighted harshly against an empty sky, his expression as hard and steady as the statue he so resembled.
-x-
The pyres burned quickly, with the kind of elegant completeness that normal fire could never have achieved. Jackie tightened her grip on her wand, feeling the unspoken signal as the blue flames began to drop. As one, the wand-bearers muttered the final incantation and the last tongues of flame began to spin. Faster, lower, tighter, until there was nothing but a fist-sized ball of spinning blue light in the centre of the unscorched tables. The globes held for a moment, and then the light peeled away and died, the brilliance fading, leaving behind a simple, small white urn.
Carefully, Jackie holstered her wand, and wiped the fallen tears from her cheeks. She stared at the little urns and swallowed, trying to moisten her dry mouth. Funerals always got her like this. She'd been to quite a few – life in the Terrace could be dangerous, after all – but this…
Her gaze settled on the nearest urn. She had said her own, personal, goodbyes last night, before they started setting this up, but seeing the little white shapes lying there brought a very final sense to the whole thing. It was so strange to think that Kate wasn't going to be there anymore. She had been there, ever since Jackie, well, became Jackie. Her earliest clear Self memory was of a tall, slightly icy girl in Gryffindor robes and a prefect badge, charming bandages over Jackie's ragged spork wounds.
Nine years was a long time. Odd, now, how fast it seemed to have gone by.
Jackie watched the crowd start to disperse. Grief was one thing, and a very necessary one, but there was still a lot of work to be done. A tiny smile reached her lips as she saw Sam helping Chris move a pale Kipling towards the main building. Even now, the Terrace showed its strength. We look after our own. Even if some decided to leave, Jackie hoped they'd take that much with them.
The urns were being moved now. It wasn't an organised event, but gradually people broke out of the crowd and carefully lifted a white shape – the table vanishing once it was empty – and moving towards the far end of the garden with their charge. There were still tears on some of those faces, and grim expressions of determination on others. Either way, by the time the garden had nearly emptied, eight urns had been moved, and their bearers had joined the last lines of the crowd as it vanished back into the building.
Richard had been still for so long that Jackie jumped a little when he moved. Silently, he stepped off the podium and moved over to the final table. He stood beside it for a while, before reaching out and lifting the tiny urn with a care so slow it bordered on reluctance. The table vanished as he turned and began walking, strangely stiffly, along the same route the others had taken. Jackie followed him.
At the far end of the garden was a small grove of yew trees. Tall enough have a reasonable canopy, the trees formed a lightly shadowed green cave, carpeted with fallen needles and hidden from the rest of the garden by walls of crossed branches. Richard moved through the opening in his usual way – effortlessly fitting through a space that everyone else had to duck to pass – and Jackie quietly dodged in after him. At the back of the arboreal cavern, a large, black granite plinth stood against the trunks. The eight urns had joined the older ones set on the top, stark against the dark stone. There were a lot more than eight names etched in silver into the headstone. Time had its harvest here too.
As Richard made his way towards the memorial, Jackie watched him. He was moving very oddly, as if having to override his own limbs' reluctance to move with sheer force of will. It was painful to watch. He didn't want to be there. She didn't want to be there, if she were honest, wanted everything to somehow un-happen and for it all to be back to normal. They both knew that it never would be.
There was a light chink as Richard reached the stone and gently laid his burden down. The sound was followed by a faint scraping, and both stares watched four letters carve themselves into the headstone.
"That's it then."
Jackie blinked. She'd never heard Richard's voice sound like that. Dull. Empty. She made her way round until she could see his face. It was as blank, as statuesque, as it had been ever since he'd woken up, and he was staring at the silver letters of Kate's name.
"I killed her. You know that."
Jackie swallowed the lump in her throat.
"We all promised, Richard. You know that." Through the eyes of memory, Jackie saw the old scene play out. She could almost feel the shade of the spork under her fingertips, hear her own shuddering heartbeat as the three gazes had met. As they'd promised. Alone, together. A pledge to themselves, to do what must be done.
"Would you have done it? If it had been you?" Richard asked quietly. Jackie hesitated.
"I'd- I'd have tried. I think." She swallowed again, not wanting to voice what she had to say. "But it was never going to be me, was it? I don't… have what it needed."
There was silence for a while.
"It hasn't stopped." Richard shook his head. "The Sues'll keep coming, and we've got to be here. I've got to keep this place running."
"We've got to keep this place running," Jackie said firmly, "I said I'd be watching your back, didn't I? We'll manage."
Richard a mirthless laugh.
"Oh yes? And how many are going to stay here now?"
"Most of them. No, I'm not kidding," she added as she saw the flicker of surprise on his blank face. "We might need to diversify a bit, but having some operatives in the wider world on a more permanent basis could be useful. No one's going to leave, Richard. Not while you're here. They believe in you. And so did Kate. She's never been wrong about that."
Richard didn't move. Very slowly, a tiny smile crept onto his lips. His shoulders squared as he straightened up, and -
The statue shattered.
Jackie let out a gasp as Richard suddenly slumped forward, hands barely taking his weight on the plinth as he sank to the ground. His forehead hit the stone with a dull thud and he leaned heavily against it, but it wasn't that sound that drew the ear. It took several heartbeats of pure shock before Jackie actually realised what was happening.
He was crying.
She snatched her wand, sealed the area and then flung it aside as she dropped down and wrapped her arms tightly around him. For once, he didn't resist. Jackie pulled him close, away from the stone, and rested her chin on his head as he shook violently with each shuddered breath, his muscles spasming erratically. Half-strangled sounds choked haltingly from his throat, but there were few actual tears, as if his eyes were closed too tightly to let much escape. She muttered softly to him, the nonsensical, half-wordless comforting babble she used on others when they broke down. She couldn't tell if it was doing much good, but she was here, at least, as his shields collapsed; a decade of bottled, suppressed and rigidly-controlled feelings bursting free in an emotional tsunami.
It would be very easy to drown in that flood.
She wasn't got to let that happen.
Gradually, the shuddering began to lessen, and Jackie shifted her position, giving him more space to breathe as the tortured moans turned slowly into normal sobs. His features relaxed from agonised to merely twisted, and the tears started properly.
He spoke, then, more than he had for a very long time. Jackie listened. Some of it she already knew, some long suspected. All of it, she knew they'd never talk about again.
She just listened.
Eventually, even the tears ran out.
She didn't know how long she lay there with her back pressed into the granite and Richard wrapped in her arms as she gently stroked his hair. She watched his face slowly relax, the horrible tension draining out of his body. The pain wasn't over – not something like that – but at least he might be able to give proper grief a go now. He'd been so different since he'd woken up, missing all his fire, even his anger, that she'd been worried about what he was going to do. However he emerged from this, it couldn't be worse than the dead face of the last twenty-four hours.
"You ought to talk a bit more," she said quietly, brushing a few bits of twig off his cheek. So suddenly it made her jump, a hand shot up and caught her wrist.
"Between us, we make two normal conversationalists."
Richard's eyes opened. They were bloodshot and faintly swollen, but they were alive again. He sat up, disentangling himself from her arms, and brushed some of the dead leaves off his shirt. Jackie caught his arm before he could speak.
"Are you alright?"
He stopped, looked up at the silvery list of names above them, and then back at her. Pain still glittered at the back of his eyes, and his lips twitched oddly before he replied, but when he did speak his voice was strong, if quiet.
"Probably not. But I think I will be. … Jackie?" He suddenly looked uncomfortable, and Jackie nearly laughed at the contrast of it all. She managed not to.
"Yes?"
"Thanks."
Jackie grinned and leaned forward, capturing him in a fresh hug before he could dodge away.
"Anytime. And I mean that," she said, pointedly, as she released him again. They helped each other up and Jackie bowed her head towards the memorial for a moment, before scooping up her wand and stepping outside. She left the silencing ward up as she waited. A few minutes later, Richard appeared from the trees and gave her a small nod. They fell into automatic step as they set off across the lawn.
Jackie couldn't help notice the contrast between Richard's movements now and the stiffness of before. His stride was back, even his cloak was moving a bit more again, but somehow he seemed more… open. Some of those shields hadn't gone back up.
They reached the door just as it opened and Luce appeared. She saw them, and Jackie noted the usual split moment of situation appraisal that seemed to be the Field equivalent of a greeting. The blonde nodded.
"I was wondering where you'd gone. Ground-floor clearance is going fine. Darek's taking apart the ward on the Scanns staircase, and Jo and Ivy's team is opening the cellars again. Thought you'd want a quick appraisal before we went any further." Luce's gaze stayed a little longer than necessary on Richard's face, but if she found anything unusual in his appearance then she didn't mention it. Richard nodded thoughtfully.
"Anything less positive?"
Luce grinned.
"You know us too well. Alright, we've had two mild concussions, four gashed limbs and a broken ankle. Oh, and Darek says something called a 'foose-box' has melted."
Jackie met Richard's gaze. He gave her a slightly rueful grin.
"Business as usual, I suppose," he muttered. He turned back to Luce and his expression hardened to its more usual scowl. "Right, I'll join Darek on that curse. I want the Suescope dug out, a temporary Scanns set up somewhere that's clear and at least one fireplace cleared and hooked back up. We need at least an emergency Field presence on call, and since you and Darek are the only ones who haven't had a mental upheaval I'm making that you. Now, as for –"
Jackie stopped listening, and smiled to herself as Richard reeled off an increasing list of crisp instructions. Luce discretely produced a notebook halfway through. She snapped it shut when he'd finished and threw a joking salute.
"Nice to have you back, boss-man." She span on her heel and vanished into the building. They could hear her issuing instructions before she'd even reached the second room. Jackie nudged Richard in the ribs as they went inside.
"Hey. Buy you a coffee, or high-sugar equivalent? Before you go all dark, scowly and omnipresent again, I mean."
"I –" Richard stopped. Jackie followed his gaze, and saw the small figure carrying a tray of empty mugs and weaving her way through the team currently resurrecting bookcases.
Ah.
"I'll meet you there." She nudged him again. "And you'd better arrive. Or I shall follow you around and chain-smoke until you surrender."
"Or petrify you."
"Always the charmer, Richard."
-x-
Sam hopped over a short-haired brunette who was doing something complicated half-under the floorboards, circumnavigated another woman mostly hidden by a stack of wobbling books, turned and nearly collided with someone else she could have sworn hadn't been there when she'd looked last. She stepped back, looked up, and gulped as Richard loomed over her.
A dozen images blurred across her mind, ending with the blank, empty face that had stared emotionlessly out across the burning pyres. She swallowed.
"Um…"
Then she realised that he was smiling. Or at least, what counted as smiling for Richard. He deftly plucked the tray out of her hands, deposited it on a passer by, and dropped a hand onto Sam's shoulder, steering her into an unoccupied side room. The door swung shut, cutting out a few curious glances, and Sam looked at the floor. She didn't feel she could meet Richard's gaze.
She didn't know what she was expecting. What he actually said was far away even from her wildest ideas.
"I wanted to thank you, kid."
Sam's head shot up, eyes widening as she stared up at him. The first thing that struck her was that, this time, the smile had reached his eyes. Then she realised her jaw was hanging open, and she shut it quickly.
"Wh-what?"
"You heard me. You did well."
"I… I didn't do anything!" Sam stammered, feeling her cheeks flush hotly under the stare, "I just… I don't know! I didn't know anything, even when I did something I just made it up, and –"
"And how, exactly, did you think I do it?"
Sam stared.
"But you always have a plan!"
"I think fast, when I need to." Richard looked at her hard, his face serious, "and from what I've seen, so do you." He leaned against the wall and nodded to her. "You've got good reactions, you're a damn sight tougher than you think you are, and you seem to have a decent grasp of which orders can be ignored. I'm impressed, kid, and that's notoriously hard to do. So – " he straightened up, business-like again, " – that's why I'm putting you in a Field Apprenticeship as soon as we're up and running enough to start the training again."
This time, there was no chance of Sam reigning her jaw back in. She was too shocked even to blush when Richard caught her hand and shook it firmly. Rough skin scraped her palm and she looked down, in time to see the thin scar as he released her hand. Richard followed her gaze.
"It's a spork wound. The spork wound, actually. First one we ever had. Kate -" there, a faint twinge in his voice as he spoke them name, but there was nothing on Earth that should have persuaded Sam to admit she'd heard it "- transfigured it, and I was holding the raw materials. We knew it worked when it put that mark on me. It's why all my Field teams wear gloves, although that policy might need a re-think now. And why I'm giving you these."
He reached into his robe and produced something dark. Sam stared as it was pushed into her still-outstretched hand. The black gloves were surprisingly light to the touch. She gulped.
"I can't take your gloves!"
"This isn't an optional gift, kid."
"But they won't fit me."
"Try them." Richard's eyes gleamed, and Sam found herself obeying. Apparently that part of his stare hadn't been lessened by the pause in shades. She nearly jumped as the soft material closed around her hand, shrinking until they wrapped snugly around her fingers. She stared at them. It was very, very weird to see Richard's gloves settling onto her own hands.
"See? They change to fit their owner. They're damn near impossible to tear, charmed against a lot of simple curses and some not-so-simple ones, impervious to fire, water and blood. Real Field gloves, kid. Look after them." With that, Richard turned, reaching towards the door. Sam was barely aware of herself moving, but suddenly one of her newly-gloved hands was clutching his arm. She had to know.
"I… I don't understand." She gulped again as he turned back, but persevered. "Back in the- the big Sue, just before we got to Katryna, you said you'd shoot through me if you had to. But you didn't, and you pushed me out of the way and you got hurt. Why?"
Richard regarded her coolly. Then he shook his head and grinned.
"One of the first things you'll get taught in Field is how to be a cold-hearted bastard. One of the hardest things you'll have to learn later is when to ignore that bit."
The door swung shut behind him. Sam stared at it for a while, then looked back at the gloves. Her mind was whirling, and she knew that soon she'd have to go back outside, find or be assigned something to do. She turned her hand round, flexing the fingers as she felt the material slide across them. Field. Was that what she wanted?
A dim memory flickered in the back of her mind and she grinned a little. Well, it was very far away from what Serena Amber Mercedes had intended.
It was a nice thought.
-x-x-