I sat on the sofa as Adrian meticulously built up a fire. It was quiet, and cozy, and comfortable. For all my brain had refused to turn off for the last hour or so, I felt…peaceful, now. The only sounds that penetrated the silence were the crackling of the pinewood and the wind from outside.

I let my gaze be drawn to the window, appreciative again of just how far from the city we were, and how prominent it made the stars. A multitude more than you could see in Manhattan, and just when you think you've seen all of them, there are more.

What looked like clouds…was actually, literally the Milky Way.

A white hill for sledding angels.

"It's beautiful," I finally said aloud, when Adrian finally finished being finicky about the fire—he was obsessive and finicky about the weirdest things—and came to sit next to me on the couch. "A winter snow and a blazing fire. I never had a real fire in a fireplace before I met you."

"Especially for you, milady," Adrian said magnanimously, and I giggled.

"Where are Will and Magda? Watching the ball drop, I guess?"

"Or they were tired and went to bed," Adrian shrugged, a clearly feigned nonchalance set in the way he carried himself; the deliberation of casual that I knew he wore when he had something planned.

"Hmm," I said skeptically. Uh huh. He'd probably asked for them to skedaddle after our unusually quiet and contemplative dinner. "It's so quiet," I said, allowing him his charade, and stretching. "I've never been anyplace so quiet before."

Adrian opened his mouth, and I smiled, standing quickly and rotating, kneeling on the sofa to look out the window. I was closer to him, now. Not that he noticed. Silly boy. I'd thrown him off, his posture was more normal, now, and I'd forced him to kind of turn, too, so he could see where I was pointing out the window. "And it's dark. I bet you can see every star in the world here. Look!"

"It's beautiful," Adrian agreed. "I think I could live here forever and never miss the city."

He was gearing back up for his plan. I let him, this time. He took a breath. "Lindy?"

"Hmm?"

"You don't still hate me, do you?"

I smiled and didn't let out the incredulous laugh that threatened to spill from my mouth. I couldn't look at him, or I'd crack. "What do you think?" I said evenly instead, looking out at the stars.

He smiled, too, that bigger smile where I could see his pointed canines. "I think no," he said, bowing his head. "But…would you be happy to stay with me forever?"

I looked at him then, and he seemed to be holding his breath.

It was…bizarre, actually.

It was like he'd…been reading my mind.

And he was so earnest.

I…I wanted to kiss him.

Maybe I should have.

"In some ways, I'm happier than I've ever been," I started softly, looking him in the eyes. This was important. I wanted him to hear me. To understand me. "My life before this was a struggle." I swallowed, and Adrian, I saw, did the same. We were on the same page. He was with me. "My father never took care of me," I said. And…if that wasn't a big truth I'd never spoken aloud, I didn't know what was. "We scrounged for money from the time I was a child, and when I got older, one of my teachers told me that I was smart and that education was a way out of my life." His eyebrows furrowed at that, but I continued. "I wanted out, Adrian. I. I did. So. I worked and struggled at that, too."

"You're…you're really smart, Lindy," he said, and I let out a laugh. Poor boy didn't know what else to say but was showing me he heard me. He was listening. He understood.

"But here with you, it's the first time I've really been able to play," I smiled so big, and he did, too.

"So you're. You're happy, then?" he said. He. He seemed…not relieved. More. Oh my God. He. He was…satisfied. If that wasn't the beginnings of a cocky, shit-eating grin!

I shoved him, but I was laughing. What a dork!

I shifted a little, on my knees, looking back out the window. "I'm happy, Adrian. So happy."

And then I frowned.

My goddamn hangup of a stupid father.

I sighed loudly. "Except," I said begrudgingly.

"Except what?" Adrian said immediately. "If there's anything you want, Lindy, all you have to do is ask, and I'll give it to you."

I rolled my eyes, nudging him with my shoulder.

Way to keep it close to the vest, nerd, I didn't say.

"My father. I worry about him. What might happen if I'm not around to run interference. He's sick, Adrian, and I was the one who took care of him." I swallowed, again. "And…I miss him."

Adrian stayed quiet, only watching me, contemplatively.

I groaned loudly. "I know," I said.

"I…didn't say anything," Adrian felt prudent to point out.

"You thought it. I know you did. Because I did, too. It's stupid. It's," I turned again, settling back into the sofa the correct way, pressing my head back against the soft cushion, vaguely annoyed at the lack of a satisfying 'thonk.' "It's so fucking stupid. To miss someone who's. Who's been so mean. Who. Oh my God, I sound like. Like I'm six. He. He left me, without a look back, he fucking—" I wiped crossly at the tears that had no business leaking down my face – "He sold me," I said furiously. "Again!"

Adrian shifted his own position, letting me lean my head on his shoulder and look…not at him. I looked at the fire.

"No, I understand," he murmured. I had the thought that if my head was on his chest, I'd feel him say it, instead of just hearing him. "Your parents are your parents, no matter what. Even if…they don't love you back. They're all you have."

Shit. He got it. He…he understood it, like I did. He had a fucking perspective on it I hadn't thought of.

He loved his father, too.

"Right," I whispered. Cleared my throat. Wiped away more traitorous tears. "Adrian…I am happy here," I assured him. "It's just…if I could only know he's okay. You know? If I could just…see him for a moment…"

What a pipe dream, huh? To just be able to check and see if he was okay, so I could give myself permission to continue merrily ignoring him, leaving him to my sisters and his own god-awful choices.

"Then…you'd stay here with me?"

I frowned. Sat up. That…was not what I expected him to say. He seemed…obsessed. Panicked? Sad?

"Yes," I said, without hesitation. "I want to, only—"

"You can," he blurted, abruptly standing up. "Wait here."

And. And then he left. I. I heard him…running up the stairs to his room. And. He returned, a few minutes later, holding…that mirror. I recognized it. From that day, all those months ago, when we'd explored up on the fifth floor of the brownstone. He pushed it into my surprised hands, settling back down next to me.

Silver filigree, ornate, yet delicate, curved around a square-ish shape, with a long handle, comfortable in my hand.

"What's this?" I said after a moment, not really sure where he was going with this. I peered into my reflection.

I looked worried.

"It's magic," he said, and I smiled, despite myself.

"Oh," I said, looking at him, waiting…to be let in on the joke.

"Enchanted," he insisted. "By looking at it, you can see anyone you want, anywhere in the world."

I frowned. "Yeah right," I said…a little testily. Still waiting to be let in on the joke.

He gently pulled it to himself, and I let him take it. "It's true," he insisted, angling it so I could see both of us reflected in the face. "I want to see Will."

And. It was. It was the most bizarre thing. The. The mirror, or spy cam, or whatever it was…changed. And instead of reflecting us, I…I saw Will. Wearing the same clothes he'd been in at dinner, sitting in the dark…reading? Yes, I saw his hands moving deftly, illuminated by the moonlight, no glasses.

Oh…wow. Well, magic or not…this…was intense. I mean, I'd thought he had everything money could buy, but I'd never even imagined…this technology was amazing! I hadn't even been able to see any cameras, but…maybe he didn't…have them everywhere?

And how was it so advanced? Voice activation? I felt like I was in some…episode of Star Trek.

"Can…I try it?" I asked, and he nodded, giving it gently over to me. I stared at it, and sort of giggled, for want of something clever to actually say. "It…It really works?" I asked, wondering if…I don't know. Did. Did it need to analyze my voice pattern, or? "I can ask it to show me anyone?"

Adrian nodded.

Had. Had he ever used it? To. To look at me?

"I…want to see…" I wanted to choose someone Adrian didn't know, in case it was a trick. "Sloane Hagen," I blurted.

Adrian looked at me, the question on his face, even if he didn't ask. "She was this…snobby girl. At my school," I hedged, a little embarrassed that hers was the first name that had popped into my head.

And sure enough, there was Little Miss Perfect. Sloane, peering into a mirror herself. Picking at a zit.

"Ew!" I exclaimed, and Adrian laughed, and I laughed. "This is fun." And I wanted to see more people. My sisters! Ooh! Kyle Kingsbury! I'd been wondering whatever happened to him! "Can I look at someone else?"

"You…said you wanted to see your father. We can do other stuff later, if you want. You can even see the president. I saw him in the Oval Office bathroom, once," Adrian said, and I giggled again.

"Wow, you're like, a threat to national security. Okay. That next. But first…" I took a breath, looking into the mirror again, seeing my own face reflected, settling into a serious frown. "I want to see my father. Daniel Owens."

And the image changed. It panned like a movie scene, revealing a gloomy street, not one lit by the lights that I knew illuminated Times Square. Dark and dirty, snowdrifts and garbage.

Then the garbage moved. Coughing, shaking, sick. A man. Homeless.

My father. On the street.

And my throat clenched.

I'd wanted to not care. I'd wanted, I think, to see this. Some level of me had wanted it because…I'd expected it.

This was just…my life. "Oh, God," I heard myself breathing hard, crying. "What's…what's happened to him? This is…this is what he comes to without me there!"

I was crying, babbling, and I couldn't stop.

I'd been wrong to think it could be different. Of course I had. Things always went this way. It took a little longer this time, is all. Because Adrian had been there. He'd helped me, and he'd allowed me to actually take a step back and not have to deal with my reality.

But he couldn't survive without me. Obviously.

And I'd been wrong to think that I could just…choose not to care.

This. This was all my fault.

Well. And my father's. And. And Adrian's.

Oh, and I loved him for that. Adrian. He'd made me care about him, made me think I could be someone other than a junkie's fucking daughter, made me think things could be different, that I could be different, healing my wounded inner child. Playing in the snow, living out the fantasy.

Loving Adrian. Thinking of how to tell him I did. Sitting back and letting my dad…fester. In the harsh reality I'd left him in.

God, that's all I wanted. And goddamn it all, I fucking deserved that to be how it played out.

But I could see it shutting down. I saw that future as a possibility, as much as I hoped and prayed and dreamed that I could just ring in the New Year with Adrian and cement the "new normal" as my permanent life.

This was what I'd been pushing away. Since before Christmas, even. This. This was the well of emotions I had been avoiding with the skill of an expert juggler on crack. Disguising it behind my desire for there to be a choice.

There had never been a choice.

Things couldn't be different.

I couldn't be different.

Adrian…tried to hug me. Comfort me.

No, sir. Nope.

I pushed him away.

It wouldn't work.

Maybe he could live in this fantasy world, but I couldn't.

I had to have cold, bleak reality.

"You should go to him."

I looked up at him sharply. "Go to him?"

He tapped at the mirror, which obligingly showed a street sign. "Yes," Adrian said firmly. "Tomorrow morning. I'll give you money. I don't know if any buses are running on New Year's Day, but –"

"Go?" I repeated. The thought…somehow didn't compute. Go? Without Adrian? Alone? "But…"

Adrian frowned. "You're not my prisoner," he said firmly. "I don't. I don't want you to stay here because. Because you're my prisoner. You're not. I want you to stay because —I. I want you to leave."

"L-leave?" I repeated. It was all I could do. My mind wasn't allowing me to form my own words and to process his at the same time. I'd stopped sobbing, though.

"Go to him," Adrian repeated. He. He'd stopped looking at me. And…I was terrified, just then, to look at his face. He'd faced deliberately away from me. He was probably upset. But I didn't hear it in his voice. He'd always been so careful about that. "He's your father."

I almost started crying anew, at that.

Would Adrian do the same? For his father?

"Come back," Adrian said softly. "When you want. If. If you want. As. As my f-friend. Not. Not my prisoner."

"Adrian," I said desperately.

He didn't look at me. "I don't want you as a prisoner. You only had to ask. You only had to ask to leave. Now you have."

"But what about you?" I begged. This. This wasn't what I'd expected, at all.

"I'll be fine," he said slowly. "I'll stay here for the winter. I. I like being able to go outside and not have people stare. And. And in the spring, I'll go back to the city. And be with my flowers. In, ah. April. Will…you come to see me then?"

I smiled, then. That. I wanted that. He could. He'd find me. Or. Or I'd find him. I wanted that. I wasn't. I wasn't mad at him. I. I loved him.

Not that it mattered.

"Y-yes. You're. You're right. I can see you then. But. I'll miss you, Adrian," I said, crying again, mourning what…wasn't. What wouldn't be. "I'll miss our time together. These months…" I let out a sob, looking firmly at his profile, turned away from me. "You are the truest friend I've ever had."

He didn't…he wouldn't…look at me.

"You have to leave," he said, and his voice was low, and almost…a growl. "Tomorrow, I'll call a taxi. It will take you to the bus station. You'll. You'll be home by nighttime. But…please…"

"What. What is it? Adrian?" I leaned forward, trying to look him in the face. Why wouldn't. He wouldn't look at me.

"You can't expect me to say good-bye to you tomorrow," he said, his voice still low, still almost a growl, succinct and even. Then, "If I come down to say good-bye, I might not let you go."

More sobs. "I shouldn't go," I said. "If it would make you. So sad. I shouldn't."

"No," Adrian was firm. "It was selfish of me to keep you here. You go to your father."

I shook my head. "It wasn't selfish," I said stubbornly, aware that I sounded like a child. I didn't care. "You. You've been nicer to me than anyone I've ever known."

He. He wouldn't. Look at me. I seized his hand. His soft, fur-coated, clawed hand.

"Then be nice to me by leaving quickly," he said in that same even, low voice. "It's what I want."

He pulled his hand out of my grip.

And. He did look at me, then.

And. He. He was crying, too.

I nodded.

And fled the room.

-o-