Disclaimer: Still don't own it.

This is a shorter chapter. Ha! I will make you suffer in your deficiency! I'm trying to keep up a good pace, but sooner or later I'm going to get stuck. Just a heads up.

Chapter Four: Rest, Recoup, and Chunky Stew

The underground stream surfaced one hundred yards from where the two had rested. Locke needed to get to Narshe, but Celes desperately needed rest, not to mention a decent meal and suitable clothes.

"Come on. There's a cabin up north we can stay at. It's a bit out of the way, but it'll be more comfortable than the ground."

Celes just nodded tiredly. She was losing strength, and fast. They happened upon a traveling merchant who sold them medical supplies and some simple leather armor that would keep Celes a bit more protected than just her torn uniform. Locke also bought a gray cloak for her, as her white one was too identifiable, especially with the Imperial Eagle embroidered onto it.

The walk to the cabin would normally take only an hour, but with Celes' injuries it took triple that. When they finally reached the tiny cottage, Locke helped her over to one of the cots.

"Why don't you lay down while I see if there's any food around?" he suggested.

Fortunately, she laid down without complaint. She hadn't said much since they left the underground passage, and Locke safely assumed she was exhausted. Setting his pack and new supplies next to the cot, he went on a quest for something edible. An ice chest was set against the back wall, but when he tried to open it, the lid wouldn't budge. He tried to lift it with all his might, but to no avail. He attempted one last time with a heaving tug, but instead of jerking the lid open, he wrenched his back. He bit his tongue to keep from screaming and foolishly kicked the chest, only adding to his agony as he fell to the floor, clutching his foot and letting out a loud string of curses that won't be repeated here. He looked up at the chest in contempt, and from his pitiable position, he saw his problem: there was a padlock on the lever hindering it from opening.

Another long phrase of curses rolled off his tongue.

"Who in all the nine circles of Hell locks their ice chest?" he muttered bitterly, taking out his lock pick. "This is so beneath me. How utterly humiliating."

Within seconds, the lock fell the floor, barely missing Locke's already throbbing foot, and the lid lifted open easily. Inside was a single pot filled with some sort of frozen chunky substance.

"Um…I think I found some frozen stew," he announced to Celes. "It could very well be older than I am, but at least it's food," he joked with a laugh.

There was no response. Abandoning the stew temporarily, Locke walked to the cot where the general lay.

"Celes?" he called quietly.

There was still no response, and he realized she had fallen asleep, and for some reason, the sight made him smile. Returning to his previous task, Locke lit a small fire in the hearth and hung the pot on the hook over the flames. Even when the stew had warmed thoroughly, she hadn't awakened, and Locke let her sleep. After draping a blanket over her, he pulled a chair to the window overlooking the fields, wanting to make sure Imperial scouts didn't sneak up on them. He occasionally got up to stoke the fire just enough to keep the stew simmering, and then he'd check on Celes and watch her lay so still, looking so peaceful.

Just like her… he thought.

Without his permission, his mind wandered back to her, laying lifeless in some dark cellar, with no one but some crazy herbalist to keep her company. He tried going back once. To see her. He got as far as reaching for the doorknob to the basement before turning and walking away, never looking back.

Behind him, he heard Celes begin to stir. He went to the fireplace, ladled some stew into a cup, and brought it to her just as she was sitting up. Locke could see she was biting back the desire to whimper in pain, but when he tried to help her, she just pushed his hand away. He handed her the cup, and she gave him a tired nod of thanks. Locke then filled his own bowl and returned to her side.

"We shouldn't stay here long. The Imperials are probably tearing their hair out looking for you, and I doubt it'll take them long to find this cabin. Besides, I have to get to Narshe…"

She stared at him for a long moment, holding her cup close to her face, and Locke felt as though she were mentally dissecting him.

"You're a badly wanted man, Locke Cole," she finally said. "Extortion, grand larceny, sabotage, espionage, and all against the Empire."

"You know, it won't do you a lot of good to start holding that against me now."

Celes ignored his comment. "And now you're adding release of an Imperial prisoner and harboring of a condemned traitor."

"You're forgetting breaking and entering, assault with a deadly weapon, and posing as an Imperial officer, but your point would be?"

"Do you have a death wish?"

"I think the better question is do you?" She dropped her gaze. "Celes, if you want to leave and get yourself captured or killed, then I can't stop you. I just wanted to give you the chance to live you wouldn't have gotten in South Figaro."

"Why do you care so much?" she asked almost resentfully.

"Because I know what it's like to feel lost. Alone. Betrayed. And I vowed long ago not to let another suffer that if I could do anything about it."

Celes noticed the tears threatening to fall from Locke's eyes and the spoon rattling in his cup as his hands trembled, but she said nothing.

"If there's one thing I've learned, Celes, it's that the gods don't close a door without opening a window."

"They have to leave something you can jump out of," she muttered quietly.

Despite himself, a smile tugged at the corners of Locke's mouth. "My point is… Look, just come with me to Narshe."

"Why?"

"There's someone I want you to meet. Someone who I think can relate to you better than I can."

She didn't respond, and they were both silent for a long time as they finished eating. After Locke disposed of their dishes, he sat on the edge of Celes' cot, earning a suspicious glance.

"Is it alright if I take a look at your ribs?"

Too tired to argue, Celes just leaned back in consent. Locke was pleased with what he found.

"The bruise has diminished. Faded a bit, too. That's a good sign. Wow, you must have super healing powers or something," he joked.

"Accelerated healing, actually. Result of my magic."

"That's fortunate. Well, for good measure, have another potion." He pulled a vial out of his pack. "If not for your ribs, then for your ear. That doesn't look too pleasant." A thought occurred to him, and he dug in his pocket and withdrew the earring he had found in South Figaro. "By the way, here. I'm assuming this is yours."

Celes stared at the piece of jewelry, then took it and set it on the nightstand. Wordlessly, she laid down and closed her eyes. Obviously something upset her, but Locke chose not to inquire. He said a quiet goodnight and returned to the window to keep the night watch.

"Do you have a death wish?"

That's what she had asked him. Locke was well aware of the risks that came with his job. For years now, the threat of death had been hanging over his head, but that hadn't stopped him. A part of him still clung to the hope of reviving her, but maybe he really did have a death wish. Maybe he was no different from Celes in his desire for his pain to end. He scoffed inwardly at his own hypocrisy, then sighed.

Rachel…if only you hadn't pushed me out of the way…