By the next day Puck's release had trickled to almost nothing more than a field of cold in the air right around his form and it was only slightly chilly. Just before dinner time Rem and Ram came round to all of the doors telling everyone to dress their best and come to the up stairs reception room that was attached to the Western balcony that ran along the back of the manor.

There was the one tuxedo that Peter had pilfered from the closet full of clothes that didn't fit him, he would wear that and when he stepped into the hallway Steve just happened to be coming out dressed in a dark blue tuxedo that was much the same as his. He looked the older man over, a man that he had grown up idolizing as the ideal of the perfect hero.

"Any idea what this is all about?" Peter asked.

Steve cracked a wicked smile. "It looks like we're ready to go pick up our dates for the prom," he said.

"You had prom when you were in high school?" Asked Peter.

"Yeah and even if we didn't, I've seen Riverdale," Steve said.

Peter nodded as if that explained it all and as if the CW, as a network could teach someone everything that there was to know about American teenager culture. They made their way to the far end of the West Wing where dinner was being held only to find that Ram was standing outside, not in her maid outfit, but in flatteringly cut red dress with a gold loops dangling down over one hip and a slit cut halfway up the leg.

She turned to look at them as they approached. "Ah you found it," she said. "I was beginning to think that we would have to toss your plates off the balcony."

"If you cooked them, we still might have to," Steve shot back. Ram's face turned to utter shock, her face changing colors to match her hair until Steve cooled her down with what he said next. "You're looked really sharp, Ram."

"I like your dress, Miss Ram," Peter added.

She shooed them through the double doors of the dining room. "Go inside before you food gets cold!"

This was a dinning room that Peter and Steve hadn't seen on their tour or come across in the last several days of living in the Mathers Manor, which was a testament to how large the place truly was. The carpet of this room was a lavish red with an ornate golden design set into a navy blue circle at its center. There was a round table set up almost dead center on that circle with a short buffet to one side of the room for them to serve themselves with various foods and drinks.

Across the room, near the side of the buffet stood Rem in a strapless black dress that had a silver design starting at the center of the bust line and hooking down until it dipped around behind her at the hip. She was drinking something from a long stemmed glass and glancing about the room nervously. Peter had always found Rem to be beautiful. He imagined that most people would, but he had never seen her look like this. All at once she seemed older and more confident.

"Peter! Oh look, Puck, it's Peter!" Emilia shouted as she took some shaky steps toward him. Puck was actually at the table laying down against Beatrice's arm as she talked to him. Why was Emilia commenting something to him when he was that far away.

And all at once, when Peter turned to look at her, he was awestruck. Emilia was dressed in a tight, purple dress with a lace shale that was draped over her bare shoulders. She clutched it in her hand to keep it situated while her other hand was holding the stem of a wineglass filled with dark red liquid.

There was this kind of overwhelming radiance to her, Peter was almost frightened to look directly at her. Then again, looking away would be rude and glancing down too much would put his eyes square on her breasts, which this outfit was doing a lot of favors for.

The purple of the dress seemed designed to to deliberatly match the color of her eyes and compliment the tone of her skin and hair in balance. Peter cracked a half smile, unprepared to really respond but knowing that he had to say something. He spoke the first words that came to mind.

"Miss Emilia."

Emilia threw her arms around his neck, leaping up against him and forcing her to catch her around the back. This dress was backless. His hands gripped her skin and on instinct her stuck himself to her to keep her from toppling back onto the floor. She didn't seem to notice.

"Mister Peter," she said, her voice close to his ear but muffled through layers of hair. He placed her on the ground.

"What's going on, you seem excited to see me," he said.

"I am, but I'm also mad because you were really unfair to me—you never told me how good wine was. I mean, at first I didn't like it, it tasted kind of sour and it burned my tongue. Then I drank enough that I got over that and now I love wine!" Emilia rambled her story off while swaying side to side and kicking her feet out as if she were trying to do a dance or shake off excess energy.

Peter chuckled. "I didn't tell you anything about wine, I've only had it at like New Year when my Aunt made me toast with her."

"Oooo, toast with wine. That sounds like the bees knees. I'm going to go find some bread, tell your Aunt I said she's a genius," Emilia said as she waddled toward the tables to find bread.

It had totally slipped Peter's mind that Steve was standing next to him until he heard him speak. "I think maybe the girl can't hold her alcohol," Steve said.

"She's safe here," Peter said. "I mean, she's around friends and I think she's old enough to handle herself…" he actually wasn't sure how old Emilia was.

"I'm pretty sure a couple of twelve year olds could get married legally here, so I don't know if there's a too young to drink," Steve said.

Peter swallowed hard and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Um, yeah—I think I'm going to go check on her. Maybe I'll say hi to Rem."

Steve nodded and moved over to the side of the room where he passed Beatrice and Puck, he stopped and said something to them, but Peter couldn't hear it. Especially since Roswaal closed in at his side with a flute full of yellow champagne.

"What's your favorite, Peter? Wine? Beer? A hard liquor?" Roswaal asked.

"Dah—um, I'm kind of too young to drink," he replied.

"Too young?" Roswaal spoke the words with this tone that made it sound like he had heard the most incredulous statement of his life. He pressed a hand to the ruffled collar of his shirt. "Peter, you're more than a man in the eyes of the laws here. You wouldn't want to project the wrong idea to Rem and Ram, or dare I say it, Emilia?"

Peter narrowed his eyes at the Margrave. "Are you trying to peer pressure me?"

"Has Puck's over protectiveness had an influence on you?" asked Roswaal as he shook the glass side to side with the champagne sloshing about.

"Give me that, please," Peter said taking the glass from Roswaal's hand and taking a big pull from it. "People are going to hear that you're passing out wine to teenagers in your mansion and have all kinds of things to say," Peter muttered.

"There are enough rumors about me that it would hardly make a dent in my public perception," Roswaal said.

He was right, Peter supposed. And as long as it were in this controlled environment around people that he could more or less trust, he felt that it would be fine. Peter took another drink. Besides, Steve was here. Steve would look out for him and he would look out for Steve.

Steve had made his rounds through the room a few times, making sure to speak to everyone in turn and he had a few drinks. The thing was that the mixture of the of super soldier serum in his blood and having been around people like Tony Stark for just enough time had made him rather tolerant.

While Peter was picking through the foods on the buffet, Steve had stopped near Emilia to talk to her. They had spoken in three separate times tonight and she had been progressively drunker each time. She was using her hands to talk more, even now while dual wielding a bread stick and a glass of dark liquor.

"Captain Rogers." Speaking seemed to cause Emilia to wobble more than she expected, it was as if the act of speaking took vial energy that she needed elsewhere to hold herself upright and be still. "I saw this type of Metia, on the little Metia that Peter showed me, it was a car Metia. And I was wondering if you've ever driven one. Is it like a Ground Dragon."

"Peter showed you a car?" Steve asked confused.

Emilia nodded, taking another pull from her glass as she braced her bread-hand against the table. "On his cellphone Metia."

It hadn't occurred to Steve, he wasn't the most used to cellphones and he had spent the years right before coming back to the Avengers on the run from several governments and Tony Stark. It hadn't been smart for him to have a cellphone that he planned to keep long term, so when he got to this world he hadn't really thought too much about it.

"A Metia is a type of machine, right?" Steve asked.

Emilia nodded again, trying to drink from her glass, but for some reason this time she started to giggle and had to stop herself before she cough the liquor up. When the laughter had subsided to a point that she could control it, Emilia took a bite of the bread. It was baked hard and buttered and the crumbly bread was getting all over her shirt.

Thinking the better of it, Steve decided not to mention it as she was already in a bit of a state and she didn't need to feel self conscious about what she was doing in a place where no one would really be likely to notice. Puck was laying in a bowl while Roswaal poured more alcohol into his little mouth. Beatrice was eating her food slowly. Peter was with Ram talking to her about something that was making her look increasingly upset.

"Do you want to know how you drive a car?" Steve asked her. "I can explain it."

"Sure," Emilia said with a kind of enthusiasm that Steve wasn't sure he had ever experienced himself.

"So there's something inside of the car that makes it go, but—I guess it needs gas to run—"

Emilia cut him off. "Like a cloud?" She asked pointing her finger at him as if he had given her some kind of vital insight into the inner workings of cars.

"No, like a liquid that we call gas…" Steve hadn't realized how difficult this might be to explain to someone who had never seen any kind of motorized vehicle. Though she had obviously seen them in Peter's phone, so she knew something.

"When the liquid is inside of the car, you put this special key in that only works on that one car to start it. Then you push these pedals to go and another one to stop. There's a wheel in front you turn right and left to turn the wheels."

Emilia took a drink while nodding her head. "So that's how it works," she said.

Steve chuckled. "When I was a kid there were some cars you had to crank to start—crazy to see how far things came."

"How old are you, Captain Rogers," Emilia asked. Then she gasped sharply, slapping her hand to her mouth. "Oh, that was rude, huh?"

"No, not at all," Steve said taking a drink. "But you're going to have some questions when I tell you."

"Oh?" Emilia asked leaning in, the smell of the alcohol on her breath was flooding in on him even at this distance.

"Well, this year on Earth I would have been exactly one hundred years old on July fourth."

"You look good for your age," Emilia said, her purple eyes going wide. "To tell the truth, I am not all that sure how old I am. I'm at least seven though and that's old enough for more wine. I'm going to go get some."

Steve wasn't sure what she meant by not knowing how old she was, but there was no time to question it as she walked back over to the buffet bar. Steve moved to the side of the room where they were a table out of the way, figuring that he would at least enjoy this drink for a while longer when Rem appeared at his side and practically hollered his name at the side of his face.

"Captain Steven!"

"No one's called me Steven in a long time…" he said before Rem started to talk over him again.

"Steven. Steven. Steven."

"Okay, so you've got my attention," Steve said turning to face her.

Then, Rem tilted her head to the side to line it up with his arm and lunged forward to bite into his forearm. She even said the word chomp as she did this.

"Are you doing alright, Rem?" He asked.

Her head jolted upright and she was staring up at him, her bangs disheveled and split off so that there was a bit down the middle leaving her eyes otherwise visible. "Usually I have to be on my best behavior, but Lord Roswaal has ordered me to relax and since today s supposed to be about fun I have let my guard down."

"I see," Steve said. "Aren't there special occasions like this some of the time," he asked.

Rem plopped down in the chair next to his and shook her head. "It would seem that the way Lord Roswaal sees it, you and Peter being here are the special occasion," Rem said. She reached out and absently ran her fingers through his beard. Then she leaned over into him forcing him to lift his arm up so that she could hug him around the waist. She held on to him like this for a long time, humming lightly to herself.

Finally, Rem spoke again her voice small and muffled against his jacket. "It's all your fault, Steven."

He could see where Rem was coming from. Most of the changes in her life had originated with the arrival of Emilia before them and then with him and Peter more recently. An honored dignitary like Roswaal had to be used to receiving guests though. The manor was practically built for it with its curved drive perfect for a procession of carriages and, by Steve's count, dozens of rooms with multiple dining rooms. You could easily tell Roswaal enjoyed his finery, but an opulent home like this usually wasn't solely for one's own enjoyment.

If the house had seen guests in any of Rem's time here she had to be used to new people, though maybe the kind of guests Roswaal entertained were likely to overlook the twin maids he employed. It was hard for Steve to imagine not noticing Ram's fiery personality or Rem's attention to the smallest detail.

And there was the fact that even he had to admit, Rem was gorgeous with her powder blue hair and pudgy cheeks. Then there was this dress she had worn—Roswaal must have chosen it because it seemed like something she wouldn't choose herself. Plus she had made it clear that the only clothes she saw fit to have were her uniforms.

The low hums that Rem was emitting turned into little purrs like that of a kitten. With a nervous hand, Steve patted her head. "Are you a cat all of a sudden?" He asked.

Though Rem didn't answer he could tell my how she settled in against his lap that she was satisfied with his assessment.

With his third glass of this vibrant purple juice mixed with a shot and a half of clear liquor from the bottle he couldn't quite read, Peter figured that he had chosen a favorite of the drinks that had been laid out before him. It had been Ram that had taught him to make it. Her instruction, he noticed, while under the influence of what he could only guess was more alcohol than he had had, was noticeably more cordial with her taking the time to gently guide his pouring on his first try.

His body had grown warm, even with Puck's continued (albeit lessened) release of extraneous mana. Part of him wished to remove his coat, but he refrained if only because he thought it would ruin his whole look.

That and well there was the fact he was still wearing the bulky web-shooters concealed under his suit. His time as Spider-Man had taught him he could never be too cautious.

Peter was in a good place, he felt, and the stories about the woes of drunkenness might have been embellishment, he thought. Then Emilia wandered over with a glass in hand that was dangerously tilted to the side and threatening to spill. He went to right her hand, pushing the glass upright and catching a whiff of her.

"Peter," Emilia giggled. She had said his name in a way that would have usually been followed by a question, but nothing else followed.

Still, he loved the way Emilia said Peter

He loved the way Emilia's sweat mixed with perfume smelled.

He loved alcohol.

"Hey you," Peter said. "You doing okay?" He took her arm at the elbow and lifted his thick flat bottomed glass to drink. He had traded in his champagne flute at Ram's insistence because he had to use the right kind of dispenser for this glorious drink.

"Mm-hm, though I am not sure why you would acquiesce such a thing now?" Emilia seemed to be trying to pepper her own speech with flowery words at a higher rate than usual to counteract her current circumstances. Her habit of using antiquated words was one of his favorite things about her.

Come to think of it, he had a lot of favorite things about Emilia.

"Though if we're being truthful, excuse me," Emilia hiccuped, "it was hard choosing which of the three Peters I had seen was the real one. Either you've mastered the complicated Yang feat of creating simulacrums or this drink has something to do with it."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Maybe it's just one of Spider-Man's many powers."

"Ooo, has he got any other tricks I should know about?" Emilia laughed, leaning into him so that her weight rested on him and her silver hair bunched up against his neck.

Peter caught her at the waist to keep her from falling over, a short blast from his tingle seemed to warn him of her bad footing and, even in his inebriated state, he was more than quick enough to keep her upright.

The act of concentrating so hard on that one action drained him much more than normal.

"Not that he can think of now, but if any come to mind he'll let you know," he said. "A bit ago you, um, said my name like you had something to tell me, though?"

"Weeell," Emilia started. "I just came to say, you're lovely Peter." Then she sniffed at the air. "Your breath is delicious—can I try some of that?"

Without waiting for him to reply she dipped her lips down to his glass and waited for him to pour a bit of the mixture into her mouth. She sloshed it around, nodding at him before she swallowed.

That right there, that was a second hand kiss, Peter thought. That had to be something, right? Like half way to first base?

If Peter were going to kiss Emilia he wanted her to be sober. And for him to be too. Not only to make sure that they both remembered it, but also to make sure it was what they wanted. Though watching her lips, still sparkling and wet from his glass , he couldn't think of anything more he wanted in the moment.

"That's really good—did you invent this? You're amazing," she laughed again, this time so hard her eyes closed and the sides of her nose crinkled up.

She had grown more unstable with each passing minute and he wasn't sure if his reaction time would be enough going forward.

"Let's take a seat," Peter said before he, without thinking about it cocked his glass-hand to the side and pressed hard into it to fire a web at the two seater sofa in the corner.

He hit his mark and dragged it easily toward them. Emilia turned, and seeing what he had done, began to clap.

"You did it," she said dropping onto the cushion with her body still pressed to his and pulling him down next to her.

"I did it," Peter said nervously. He hadn't had enough not to be nervous around Emilia, he guessed.

Roswaal, Ram, and Steve glared at him for his little stunt, but seemed to loose interest when they realized no damage had been done. He was now sitting on a couch with Emilia wrapped around him, her body radiating a kind of comforting heat.

"You know, I haven't seen that Metia of yours in a while. Take a memory of us, right now—like this," Emilia said, pressing her cheek to his with her glass held out to the side. It was all a pretty standard pose, one that Peter had seen employed in pictures on various social media over the years. He wondered if it was somehow baked into people's brains and if not, where Emilia would have learned such a thing.

He did as he was asked, taking out his phone and turning it to the side to get the selfie of the two of them together. Peter had no idea what he planned to do with such a photo or even what he could do with it. There was no internet here for it to go to and not many people he could easily show without a lot of explanation.

"You're eyes are, like, really pretty," Peter said examining the picture. While he was looking at the picture of them on his phone, Emilia instinctively hit her face against his shoulder.

Peter hadn't realized, but it had taken a short video of them instead. He could save a frame from it as a picture, ti was no big deal. Happened all of the time. He was fiddling with the settings when he heard the distinctive wish of something passing by his head.

"She's not sleep is she?" Puck asked.

"No, I think she's hiding," Peter said. "Emilia, we can see you. Look Puck's here."

"Puck! Oh Puck, I'm having the most wonderful time," Emilia said spreading her arms wide despite one of them being around Peter and the other one still holding a glass.

Puck looked at both of them. "I'm glad you're having fun, Lia, but it's time for me to check out," he said with a yawn. "I'm kind of burning the candle at both ends here."

"Oh," Emilia said. "That's alright then, good night Puck—thank you for your assistance," she said bowing her head slightly.

He flew over closer to Peter to fist bump him. "Good night, Pete. Take good care of my daughter."

"Um, I will sir."

A blue light surrounded Puck and he transformed into dozens of little orbs of light that swirled around and zipped back into the green crystal Emilia wore around her neck. She looked down as he disappeared into the stone and then looked into Peter's eyes.

Emilia upended her glass at her lips, drinking the rest of it down in one go. "I have a brilliant idea. Perhaps, yes, the most brilliant idea," she said.

"Oh yeah, what's that?" Peter asked.

"You have to dance with me—that was a command!"

"There's no music," Peter said.

"Then I will hum!"

"I don't think it's safe, but I will take you up on it when you're sober later—it's a promise."

Emilia's expression sank. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"Huh?"

"It's just," Emilia paused to blink as if trying to hard rest her senses. "I'm a spirit magic user and contracts and promises are very serious to us."

Maybe it was the alcohol, but he was unsure of why she would think he was lying to her about this simple thing. "Sorry, Emilia, I don't get it."

"You shouldn't promise me something in the future that you don't plan to be here for."

Where was this coming from? Was this because of what had happened a while ago with him and Roswaal?

"I don't plan to just leave you," Peter said lowering his head. He took her hand in his and intertwined his fingers through hers. "I don't know if I could just leave you, Emilia."

Her eyes were filling with tears now, before long everyone would be looking at them. He thought back to Liz in the hallway the day that she walked out of his life, he thought back to how he left her standing in the school waiting for a dance-date that would never return.

Peter was for sure capable of that kind of thing. He had broken promises before. He had lied to people he cared about before.

"Emilia," Peter said. "Not you—I couldn't leave you here."

She stared into his eyes, but said nothing.

"If the time comes that I can go home there's no reason that I have to do it right away, right?" He said. "I'll see this through with you, this whole Royal Selection thing and then, after that, maybe I can go home—"

"You would do that for me?" She asked.

"I've been instructed to protect you, right?" He laughed, though he figured that they both knew the truth. Roswaal's command wasn't keeping him here. It wasn't making him say this.

"I can't keep you from—from being happy," Emilia said.

"I've been happy here with you—and Puck and Rem and Ram. Steve's here too and I'm sure he'll agree and if he won't we're not really obligated to do what the other does and—and I want to make sure you're okay before I just leave."

Emilia was shaking her head crying. It looked like she wanted to say something, but there was no way for the words to find purchase on her tongue.

Peter wiped the tears from under her eyes with his sleeve. "And if your duty here is done and you really don't want to rule this land—you can come back with us. Maybe we'll find a way to move back and forth whenever we want even!"

Her tears were flowing even faster now, she stopped trying to contain them and laid down against Peter weeping openly on his leg. For a long time he rubbed the side of her head and held her there until he realized she had passed out. Her breathing was even and she had reached up and taken his hand in hers to hold.

Peter's eyes were too cloudy for him to really see very far and he turned away so no one could see the tears that had gathered. When Steve walked up with Rem riding on his back and spoke, Peter wiped his own eyes before turning to answer him.

"Everything okay, Queens?" Steve asked. Rem's chubby cheek was pressed into his shoulder from how she was resting on his back and she had drooled on him quite a bit.

"Yeah, we're okay," Peter said.

"You want to walk back with us?" Steve asked.

Peter shook his head. "Nah, I thought I would sit here with her for a while. I'll see her to bed soon."

Ram was next to Steve with a bottle of champagne dangling from between her knuckles. "If she vomits you have to clean it up," she said. "I am off duty."

"I'll look after her, she's my responsibility," he said.

"Well, it looks like our job is never done," Steve said. "This one her tried to pull her ball and chain out and show us how fast she could swing it—that was when we had to start winding her down."

Peter chuckled. "Glad that didn't get out of hand."

"Have a good night, Pete," said Steve.

"Don't mess up my floors!" Ram shouted as they both left.

At some point Beatrice had left, Peter hadn't even noticed it. Now it was just him and Roswaal alone in the room. There Margrave waited for a long time, looking at Peter with intent to say something.

Ram and Steve slipped back into the room to quickly grab the jackets and other things left behind.

This time, when they were gone, Roswaal spoke. "You seem to have had quite the time," he managed to elongate the word quite somehow. Peter wasn't even sure where he found the space for the extra letters.

"Things just got out of hand, but it was going to come up sometime," Peter said.

"You speak as if I know what went on between you two," said Roswaal.

"I think you can guess," Peter said.

The Margrave got up from his chair and finished his glass before sitting on the table. "I have an idea." As he headed for the door he gave a little dainty wave to Peter before opening it to leave. "Remember what I told you, compromise at nothing to see your goals fulfilled."

As Roswaal was shutting the door, he added one last request. "Could you clean your webs off my upholstery?"

While Steve laid Rem down in her bed, Ram leaned against the doorframe watching him. He was careful as he removed Rem's shoes, headband, and pulled the covers up to her chest and patted them flat at her sides. Steve was careful not to make it too tight and risk her waking up when she struggled to roll over.

After it was done he rose from the bedside and turned to Ram. "Making sure I do everything right?" He asked her.

Ram held the bottle up as she pointed with it in her hand. "You and I need to talk," she said.

He followed her out of Rem's room and into the hallway where watched her take a couple of swigs from the bottle.

"Shouldn't you slow down a bit?" Asked Ram.

"My tolerance is much higher than my dear sister's. Speaking of which, what do you intend to do with my Rem?"

Steve thought for a moment. "I don't really have intentions right now—there's the possibility that I could get taken back to my own world or find a way home for one."

"Right, but take that off the table. What do you see yourself doing with Rem?"

"You're really protective of her," Steve said. "It's endearing. You try to cover for your emotions, but it's clear you care."

"Do you know why Rem only has one horn?" Ram asked. "Most of the demon clan we belonged to have two horns. In fact, when twins are born they are usually sacrificed. It's only due to my status as a prodigy that we were allowed to live, even despite being twins and splitting a pair of horns between us," Ram explained.

Steve hadn't wanted to bring it up, but he figured as much. "So you have a horn too?"

"My horn is gone," Ram said. "It was sliced clean off by a member of the Witch's Cult."

First Beatrice and now Ram, the Witch's Cult seemed to be something of a taboo and he could only guess what they were. It seemed to him that they must have been worshippers of the witch Satella. If that were the case it would make sense that they would have weird feelings about Emilia because of how she looked. Steve didn't want to think about what they had planned for her.

"There goes that name again."

"What name?"

"The Witch's Cult," Steve said.

Ram narrowed her eyes. "Where did you hear it before?"

"Miss Beatrice brought it up when we were in town after the wolgarm attack. She was pretty adamant that I not go around just talking about them," Steve said.

"That would be good advice," Ram said.

"What are they?"

Ram took on a troubled expression, furrowing her brow and glancing down. Then she took a pull from the bottle in her hand. "Not much is known about their origins or what their true goals are. Most of the time time they ambush merchants or travelers on the road. Other times they will attack small villages and ransack them. They've existed for a long time and it is thought that their ultimate desire is to find a means to free the Witch of Envy."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, that does sound like bad news."

"Bad enough that the Knights of the Kingdom are instructed to eliminate any Witch Cultist on sight," Ram said.

"The more I learn about these guys, the more it seems like I'm slated to have a very bad disagreement with them in the near future," he said finally.

"If you're going to be standing with Emilia and Lord Roswaal after her candidacy is announced it's almost guaranteed," Ram said.

He reached for the bottle and Ram gave it to him. "Thanks. Well, there's no use fighting against the inevitable." Steve took a drink from the bottle.

"I welcome the chance to run into them again," Ram said, her tone dropping to almost a growl.

Steve handed the bottle back to her. He could sense that they had done more than just cut her horn off and attack her village, but he didn't ask about it. Ram wasn't being as openly combative as normal, so maybe he was making some headway.

"You don't really have to worry about me and Rem," Steve said. "Her fixation with me will probably pass and I keep myself a little too busy for relationships."

"What exactly are you too busy doing?" Asked Ram.

"Doing everything I can to keep everyone safe," Steve said.

Ram hugged the half empty bottle to her chest. "I think I'm going to head to bed, Steve."

"Goodnight, Ram," Steve said with a truncated wave before he turned to head back to his own bedroom.

The weight of Emilia cradled in his arms was negligible, considering that he could palm a small car to a full stop, but he still carried her with a kind of caution and care fretting over every step he took. Peter never dreamed that coming to a place would this would end up with him having one of those sappy teen movie experiences—the kind that May used to put on when they were cleaning and needed some background noise.

Things had gone from laughter and fun to crying in practically no time. Peter wondered if he would have to revise his stance on alcohol this quickly.

He had made that promise to her too. Even if somehow she forgot tonight, Peter didn't intend on breaking that promise. The only issue now was that he had to tell Steve exactly what he had said. It really shouldn't have effected Steve, he had left him some choice in the matter. Steve could agree to back home if the opportunity arose or stay in Lugnica with Peter and everyone else.

Peter readjusted Emilia's weight in his arms, shifting her so that her head was resting more against his forearm. Despite the fact that she was bunched up against him and passed out with her mouth open, Peter still thought she was the prettiest woman he had ever seen.

And she was his friend, perhaps he was one of her only friends? He had heard talk of the fear others held for her. Given everything else that he knew about what was going on here, how could he just leave Emilia to fend for herself?

"Mmm-ngh," Emilia made a soft sound in her sleep. "Peter…"

He glanced down at her to find that she was still gone and only talking in her sleep. Possibly reliving the last few hours of their time together. Peter wanted to call it a disaster, but had it been? Roswaal would probably say that as long as the goal is still in sight then nothing else matters.

Peter was not Roswaal though.

When Peter arrived in the hall where most of the rooms were situated it was empty. He had expected to find Ram and Steve maybe chatting outside Rem's door or Steve waiting up for him to make sure that he got back over here with Emilia safe. That was the kind of thing that most adults did around him, though Steve had been easy going with him so far. He didn't make Peter feel like a child or doubt his abilities.

It might have had something to do with the fact that when Steve was younger kids worked in factories or something. Steve probably had a different idea of maturity and age than most people, being that Steve had jumped seventy years in what would have felt to him like a blink of an eye.

Peter propped his knee up on the door of Emilia's room to support her weight while he used one hand to turn the knob. The door swung inward, but even with his dampened reflexes he was able to catch Emilia before she shifted hard enough to be disturbed.

He crossed the room and placed her the bed, being mindful not to touch anywhere he shouldn't even on accident. Peter slipped her shoes and stockings off and took the ornaments from her hair. Those he placed on the bedside table before he covered her up and packed the blanket in around her.

For a moment he stood back just staring at her, the way she was softly breathing with her hand up next to her face on the pillow. Her silver hair curled around behind her pointed ear and wrapped under her chin in a way that made Peter's heart swell. He didn't want to stop looking at her, but he knew it was creepy to watch someone sleep.

Then Emilia stirred, her purple eyes opening brimmed with moisture as she searched the room until she found her face.

"Peter," she said, her voice still laden with the effects of too much alcohol. "You carried me to bed?"

"Yeah, I couldn't just leave you there—I—well if you need me to go so you can take care of things—"

Her voice was soft as she cut him off with a bespoke plea the froze him in place as sure as any ice magic could have. "Stay with me. Please. Promise."

"There's not a lot of bed here," he said as a nervous laugh slipped out. "I wouldn't want to intrude on—this is all your bed. Your space kind of. Nothing against you. I just don't think you know what you're saying."

"Peter." This time there was a bite to her tone. She wasn't asking. She was telling. "Stay."

Peter stripped out of his suit jacket and used his foot to pull a bedside chair nearer to him. "I'm going to stay. I promise."

She hadn't moved or even lifted her head or hand, but there was something fierce about her in that moment. Peter wasn't scared of her, at least not in the way that the people in the village or capital were. But there was more to her bubbling beneath the surface, something covered up under the things that people probably saw and surmised to be the whole of Emilia.

He wished he had been brave enough to climb in bed next to her, not to have sex or do anything of the sort, but just to lay next to a girl he obviously liked and feel her weight against him and hold her through the night. Peter wondered if that was what she wanted too, had anyone even ever held Emilia like that?

Peter didn't know and at this point it would be dumb to try and wake her to ask for clarification or a lesson in the history of her. If she did want him in the bed she compromised on him sitting next to the bed, though she did stretch out her arm to hold his hand.

Maybe because she wanted to feel the warmth of another person's palm. But Peter thought it might be that she wanted to see how good he was at keeping a promise.

A formless, weightless sense passed over Peter's limbs like he were falling but not because gravity or some other force were tugging him downward, but because there was nothing. He couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not. The darkness was too potent, too limitless for him to even get a sense of his own body or self or the passage of time.

Then he felt something hard beneath his body and it was as if he had been splayed out on this object the whole time. There was definition to the world, an up, a down, light and shadow.

Peter pushed off of the ground to get onto his hands and knees. There was nothing as far as the eye could see except the silver haired woman wrapped in a black cloak that seemed to be made of mist that dissipated from around her though there never seemed to be any less of it.

He wanted to call out to Emilia, but he knew better. It wasn't her that was standing in this dreamscape with him.

"Satella?" Peter said her name easily enough. Maybe this time he could speak with her, now that she wasn't rambling about how much she loved him.

She turned, this time she was clearer. Her face was fully visible. She looked like an exact copy of though she was robed in black and the hair ornament she wore was on the left and her bangs favored the right side a little more. There was no flower at the side of her hair. Then the most telling thing was the sadness in her eyes, it had a depth that he had never seen in Emilia's face.

He didn't get why he could see her now or why she wasn't chanting this time. Maybe this was a real dream and not whatever those things had been last time. Peter had a feeling that there had been more happening there.

"I love you, Peter," she said with a voice that was almost Emilia's. Maybe that was all that Satella was—an almost Emilia.

"I don't understand," Peter said as he took a few steps forward. Then his hands brushed against his bare thighs and he realized that he was completely nude. Quickly Peter slapped his hand over his crotch to cover himself. "Jeeze, I wish you had said something."

Satella looked confused, her eyes were lined with tears now. "I've given you everything I could—brought you everything you could have—I saved you," Satella said.

"You saved me?" Peter didn't know what she meant. "We've never met before I got to this world and this isn't really meeting—this is like a dream, right?"

Satella stared at him, her voice was muttered and whispered. "…saved you…from nothingness…" more garbled words that moved past his ears like the sound of smoke. "…my Peter…"

Something was happening to her, he could see her struggling to hold the composure that she had this time as the cloak of smoke frenzied around her into a tempest. Satella gritted her teeth against whatever it was she was fighting.

"When did you save me? When—" Peter didn't want to get to close, he didn't know what she might do and he couldn't effectively fight her with one hand cupping his dick.

Then it dawned on him, the only thing that she could have saved him from was the last thing that had happened in his world. Thanos obliterated half of the known universe, then why was he here?

Because Satella had saved him.

Then had she saved Steve the same way, had she saved others? Why did she pick him? Why him out of all the multi trillions in all of creation.

"Why me, though?" Peter asked.

"…only you…you can…the gift I have given you…and the important people—" Satella let out a sharp shriek and it was enough to cause Peter to step forward and reach out for her. He couldn't stand seeing Emilia or someone who looked like her in this kind of pain.

"What gift?"

Satella looked up at him, her eyes blacked out now so that they looked like holes in head that lead to a void. The inky darkness that had been bound to her spread like unchecked wild fire and enveloped the space until he was standing with her in blackness. Then he felt something icy jab through his chest and coil its way around his heart. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move.

"Love."

Satella pulled him into her voice, choking and overwhelming him. Peter couldn't find his will to speak or maybe he couldn't with part of her snaking its way up through his mouth and around his throat.

"I love you."

Peter awoke with a jolt to find himself in the dark in Emilia's room, the sound of her softly breathing next to him caused him to look over. He found her staring back at him, her purple eyes watching his expression through the dark.

"Is everything fine?" She asked, her words still slurred and sluggish.

"Yeah, just a weird dream."

"Mmm, can we talk about it in the morning?" Emilia asked as she reached her hand out to take his. That was what had caused her to wake up, in the midsts of that dream he had snatched his hand away from her.

Without hesitation he gave his hand back to her, though it would a problem for him to settle down and sleep after what had happened.