A/N: This one's been written almost from the beginning, and it's taken this long to be posted. Pitiful, huh?

Enjoy.


Patiently.

That was how it waited. Enduring, solid, ready to be used at a moment's notice. During the sunlight hours it was often alone, empty save for the memories, but at night it was visited often by those in need of somewhere to hide. Now that was what it waited for, anticipating someone to come in response to the needs of the day. Endlessly, patiently, it waited.

It had heard pleas for help and rants of anger, seen tears of frustration and the lassitude of despair. Whatever it witnessed it contained within its walls, private, secret, the only observer to the weakness of the people. It never answered, but it didn't need to; all it needed – all they needed – was to absorb, retain, and remember.

It was the last resort, the place where people could unload their anguish and know that when they left it would remain there. It didn't need, nor want, it simply remembered. Yet despite the company, it was the solitude that it anticipated the most. People only went there when they were walking the precipice, the point of collapsing and never arising again. It encouraged fear, despair, anger; it had welcomed a steady stream of desolate individuals into its walls.

And so it waited for someone, anyone, to arrive again. They always did. They always would.

Day turned to night and it waited, unaware of the sombre gathering far above, in the nub of the city, toasting brave men, brave women, bravery.

It would not be needed this night.