London, England
May 2016

A fighter by his trade

I knock loudly on the heavy door and wait, listening for a reaction.

"Come in!" calls Persis's voice from inside.

I do as told, stepping into the hospital room and carefully closing the door. As I walk towards the bed, I quickly survey the scene in front of me. Owen is sitting upright in bed, leaning against a thick, downy cushion. Persis is by his side in a hospital chair, brandishing what appears to be a copy of Horse & Hound and talking animatedly.

"…selling poor Uthopia at an auction!" she exclaims, clearly indignant. "Can you believe it? It's not even a real horse auction! He's to be sold among sports cars and tacky jewellery. It's so undignified!"

"How do you know the jewellery will be tacky?" I chime in, sharing an amused glance with Owen.

"I just know, okay?" Persis gives me a withering look. "Besides, no horse should ever be sold at an auction because that way, no-one is able to make sure that the horse will be in good hands. And Uthopia is an Olympic champion to boot! He deserves better!"

"I'm sure he does," I reply agreeably and pull up a chair of my own.

Persis eyes me sceptically, but when I just smile back innocently, she lowers her gaze back down to her magazine and mumbles something unintelligible. Looking at Owen, I find his eyes twinkling amusedly.

"Did his rider plan on competing Uthopia in this year's Olympics?" I enquire as a sort of peace offering and turn back to Persis.

She shakes her head. "Carl has a new tournament horse. The teams haven't been chosen yet, but baring an injury, he should be in and Charlotte, too, of course. They have a real shot at getting another team gold, but I fear that the Germans will have an edge again in the end."

"What about eventing? Do you think we'll have a good team this summer?" I ask. Of course, I know full well that Persis hopes to be part of the team and now that Owen is on the mend, she might allow herself to actually work towards that goal again.

There's a nervous little twitch near her right eye, telling me that she does indeed still harbour hopes to make it, but when she answers, her voice is mostly even. "We have quite a few strong pairs, so I imagine our team will do well, whoever ends up being on it. The French are looking surprisingly good this year though and of course you can never discount the Aussies or New Zealanders, nor those pesky Germans. Eventing is just harder to predict than dressage and when it comes to show jumping, all bets are off anyway."

"Show jumping always does feel like a bit of a toss-up," I agree.

"It's really much more about luck than those show jumpers would ever admit," Persis remarks airily, sounding a little condescending towards the absent show jumpers.

Before I have a chance to reply and tell her so, Owen makes a sound, causing Persis and me to fall silent immediately and turn to look at him. He has his eyes fixed on Persis. Clearing his throat, he hesitates for a moment but then speaks, if with some difficulty. "You… must tra- train."

Persis shakes her head, clearly unwilling. "It's fine."

Her father frowns at her. "You must… train," he repeats.

He's got a point. After he was woken from his coma, Persis threw herself into the task of keeping him company with the same zeal she showed when teaching circus tricks to the police horses. She's rarely found not by Owen's side and while I'm sure their handlers are relieved not to have any more police horses randomly starting to bow or stamp their feet, her constant presence in the hospital means Persis hasn't been training her own horses for a while now.

Owen tries to motion with his left hand to emphasis his argument, but his hand barely rises two inches before dropping back down on the blanket. He looks down at it, clearly displeased, and uses his right hand to poke at it experimentally.

"See?" cries Persis. "Who cares about –"

But Owen silences her with a shooing motion of his right hand. "Train," he insists, looking meaningfully towards the door.

Persis frowns, confused. "Now?"

Her father nods, extending a finger to point at the door. Persis turns to me, looking for help, but I just shrug and hold up my hands. I'm not getting involved in this!

Slowly, Persis gets up from her chair. It's apparent that she doesn't want to leave but also that she won't disobey what amounts to a direct order from her father. "I will come back later though," she asserts.

Owen nods again. "Yes. But… but now –"

His daughter sighs heavily. "Now train," she finishes for him. "I understand."

She scrapes her chair back and makes for the door, dragging her feet visibly. Owen, on the other hand, looks quite pleased and shares a conspiratorial smile with me. When Persis suddenly stops near the door, he furrows his brow critically, but she takes no note of it.

"I will see you again before you leave?" she asks, turning and looking at me suspiciously.

"I'm not leaving until tomorrow morning," I promise her, smiling. "You go take care of those horses of yours now and we'll say goodbye tomorrow. Pinky promise!" I even raise my right pinky for her to see.

Persis nods slowly, considering my words. Instead of leaving the room, however, she quickly rushes back to draw first me and then her father into a quick, tight hug. I manage to briefly hug her back, but Owen with his delayed movements doesn't even have a chance to react before she has drawn back again and rushes through the door without so much as another word, probably so we don't catch her emotions.

Both Owen and I look after her until the sounds of her footsteps can no longer be heard from the hall.

"Well…" I begin, smiling and shaking my head slightly.

Owen turns towards me, a look of concentration on his face. I know he's trying to say something, so I wait patiently until he has found the right words. Speaking, like moving, is still a struggle for him and one that takes quite some effort to master, though he's made great progress compared to the day when the doctors first woke him up. After the combined effort of Dad and Dr Fallon took care of a blood clot sitting dangerously inside his brain and threatening another haemorrhage or stroke, Owen is getting better by the day, but he still has a long road ahead.

"You… you're…" He pauses and takes a deep breath. "You're leaving."

Something I've noticed is that even as he fights to get the words out, Owen always makes sure to use correct grammar and full sentences whenever required. It makes things harder for him, but I know more than one person who would definitely approve of this respect shown towards the English language.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," I confirm. "That's part of why I'm here, actually. I have to be at the airport by 8am, so I thought it would be easier to say goodbye this afternoon."

"It is… easier," agrees Owen, forming the words carefully.

"I mean, if you think I should stay longer, I can totally do that," I continue quickly. "Things are much better now than they have been and I think my presence is no longer required, but please tell me if I'm wrong. Ken and Teddy seem to have the household and the paperwork under control between them and Leslie is much better, too, so I thought… well, that they don't need me anymore, you know? Not, of course, that I mean to imply that me being here made such a big difference. That would be preposterous and –"

I fall silent when Owen reaches over to lay his right hand on my arm.

"Right, I'm rambling," I realise, feeling a little self-conscious. "I'm sorry."

Owen shakes his head to deflect the apology. "You… were ne- needed," he insists, his expression almost stern.

I shrug and smile wryly. "It was just lucky that I could be here at the right time," I point out. "Any number of people could have provided the support I did."

Again, Owen shakes his head and if possible, he looks even sterner doing so. "You were… the only… one."

"The only one?" I repeat quizzically.

"Ted… Teddy said… so," explains Owen. "They couldn't… couldn't have… have…. have…" He jerks his head, clearly irritated with his lack of eloquence as his brain gets stuck on the word.

"Couldn't have done it without me?" I supply gently, guessing at what he means to say though not necessarily agreeing with it.

Still looking annoyed, Owen nods to confirm my suggestion.

"That is very kind of you to say. And of Teddy, too, of course," I reply, choosing my words with care. "I can't accept that sort of praise though. Half of the time, I was just running interference and a lot of people could have done that."

Owen purses his lips unhappily as he considers what to answer to that. I have a feeling that he has quite a bit to say but knows that he isn't up to actually vocalising all these thoughts right now. Finally he sighs and points towards a tablet lying on his bedside table, just out of reach. "Please gi- give it… to me."

Quickly, I get up from my chair and walk around the bed to pick up the tablet and hand it to him. Owen takes it carefully with his right hand, deposits it on his legs and starts typing. He has quite good control over the right hand, but nothing about this is easy for him right now, so it takes a few minutes of him typing slowly with only his index finger until he deems his works to be done.

"Please… read." He holds out the tablet for me, his hand shaking slightly because of the weight of it.

Hurriedly, I take the tablet from him, before sitting down in the chair Persis vacated a while ago and looking at what he wrote.

You were the only one who could have done what you did. You understood what needed to be done, you have the skills for it and you have the trust of my family. They all told me about how much of a support you've been to them. You were there for my family at a time when I couldn't be and I'll be eternally grateful for that.

I lower the tablet to lie on my knees and meet Owen's expectant gaze. "There's really no need to thank me," I assure him. "I'm here because I truly want to be and I'm so glad I could help. I wasn't the only one though. The entire team rallied and did what they could."

Owen signals for me to give him the tablet. As he types out a reply, I lean back and let my gaze drift through the room aimlessly, only sitting up when he pushes the tablet my way again.

Teddy told me about how much the team did, but they needed someone to coordinate them and my family needed someone to give them emotional support. There was no other person in the world to do that but you. I know it was asking a lot of you and I'm not taking it for granted.

I read the message twice while I consider my reply. "I wasn't even a question to me," I tell him finally. "I know Ken and I broke up, but that doesn't mean I stopped caring about him or any of you."

This time, I place the tablet back in Owen's lap automatically and he immediately starts typing. Halfway through, he stops briefly and looks at me thoughtfully for a moment, before he resumes typing with renewed focus. When he passes the tablet back to me, I read the text curiously.

And we care about you! I understand you needed space after what happened between you and my son, but I also know I speak for my entire family when I say we hope you won't be a stranger from now on. Also, if I may say so – I respect that this decision is between you and Ken and I don't want to intrude at all, but let me just tell you that you would have been very, very good at this.

Looking down at the screen, I knit my brows together. "This?" I repeat quizzically, raising my head to meet Owen's expectant gaze.

"Be- being a part of… of… the Firm," he answers.

A part of the Firm. A part of it as a princess, he means to say, and eventually a queen.

"Are you offering me a job?" I ask, smiling, though I know very well that a salaried position isn't what he's talking about.

He knows I know, of course, but he responds to my joke. "We need… a new Ma- Master… Master of the… the… the Household." His eyes twinkle amusedly. "You'd be… good… at it… too."

I laugh. "I'll keep that in mind. It's not like I have better options right now."

"You… will," Owen replies. "Give it… it… it… time. You have… much to of- offer."

My laugh mellows into a smile. "Thanks. That's a very nice thing to say."

Owen smiles back and if the left corner of his mouth doesn't rise as high as it used to, that has absolutely no effect on the kindness and sincerity of his smile.

Impulsively, I reach out to cover his hand with mine. "We're all so incredibly glad that you got better. Everyone was so worried and…" I swallow heavily. "I can't imagine what would have happened if… if…" I hesitate, shaking my head slightly. "Look, what I want to say is, I'm just so grateful you're better."

"So… am I," agrees Owen, his good hand patting the back of mine, before he is overcome by a yawn.

"You must be tired," I remark quickly. I know how exhausting even little things still are for him. "I'll leave you to rest now."

"I am… gl- gl- glad you came," replies Owen. "We… will miss… miss you."

That draws another smile from me. "And I will miss the lot of you. I won't be a stranger though, not this time around."

"Good." Owen looks pleased. "T- t- take care."

"You take care!" I insist. "And get well very, very soon."

"I will… try," he promises solemnly.

Getting up from my chair, I lean forward to give him a careful hug, making sure not to touch his head or jostle his weak left side. Owen raises his right hand to pat my shoulder and smiles fondly at me. He keeps smiling as I step back again and turn for the door with a goodbye and a promise to be in touch soon. My last image of him before I close the door is of him sitting upright in his bed, still looking weak and thin, but smiling like he used to. I hate to see him unwell, but at the same time, seeing him gives me hope. He has a long way to go still, but he's strong, Owen is, and though I dislike leaving before he's fully recovered, I don't doubt that he'll make it.

Having thus said goodbye to Owen – for now –, I take my leave from his family the next morning, before it's time for me to leave to the airport. (Heathrow again, which does leave me a little disgruntled.)

Persis comes to my room early in the morning, as I'm haphazardously throwing clothes into my suitcase. Having packed for winter in Canada originally, there are far too many heavy pullovers that no-one has any business wearing in London in May, and they don't really pack well.

"Can I come in?" asks Persis. She's standing in the doorway and is dressed, I notice, in her riding gear.

"Sure!" I wave her inside, before pointing at the clothes and toiletry scattered around me. "You must excuse the mess though."

Persis shrugs. "Like I care!"

I didn't really expect her to.

"Are you going riding?" I nod at her breeches.

"Yes, I'm leaving for Windsor in a few minutes. I thought I'd better get an early start so I can go see Dad this afternoon," she explains.

Nothing about this surprises me, of course. Owen told her to go train, so train she will, but at the same time, nothing could stop her from seeing her father every day, not even a direct order from him. It'll be quite the balancing act, but Owen getting better gave Persis her positive energy back, so I'm quite confident that she'll wrangle things just fine.

When I don't answer immediately, Persis looks despondently at my half-packed suitcase. "You're really leaving again, aren't you?"

"My plane leaves at 11:15," I confirm as I fold yet another pullover and throw it into the suitcase, where it promptly unfolds itself as if by magic.

"Are you leaving… you know…" Persis pauses briefly, "for good?"

I set down a pair of jeans on the bed and turn to look at her. "I don't know," I tell her truthfully. "I was still figuring out my place in life when your Dad fell ill, so I haven't really found an answer to that. I don't know yet where I'll end up."

"You could stay here," Persis insists stubbornly.

"Persis…" I sigh.

"I know, I know!" She raises both hands. "You coming here doesn't mean anything changed between you and Ken. Teddy told me in no uncertain terms. You're still broken up and I'm not to be a nuisance about it."

Grabbing a pair of tights, I roll them up tightly, lowering my head so Persis won't see my smile. Trust Teddy to warn her not to bother people about their private lives and trust Persis to do it anyway.

"I'm just saying," Persis continues, "that if you want to stay, it doesn't have to have anything to do with Ken. You like it here, don't you? And you fit in so well! Maybe your place is here, despite not dating him anymore?"

"Maybe," I reply, a little reluctantly.

Persis, however, doesn't pay any attention to my hesitation, instead ploughing right past it in her enthusiasm. "Look, this is just an idea and you can say no, of course, but before the stroke, Dad said I might have my own private secretary sometime later this year. If you want to live here, you'll need a job and… well, I just thought it might be a good idea. You wouldn't be staff to me, of course, so you don't need to worry about that. You're my friend and it would be like two friends working together, only you'd get a salary out of it on top. I think it could be fun!"

She's clearly taken with the idea, speaking very quickly, but it's equally apparent that she's also unsure whether it's okay to broach her plan at all. Her cheeks are slightly flushed and she keeps darting quick glances at me from the corner of her eyes.

"It would be lots of fun," I agree, choosing my words with care. "I don't think it's a bad plan at all and I'm honoured you'd trust me with this. I just can't say Yes or No right now, because frankly, my mind is mush. You know that those past weeks were more than a little stressful and I'm just really, really tired. What I need right now is to go home and rest and recuperate for a while, before I can even think about what my next step could be."

Persis considers me through slightly narrowed eyes as she thinks about my words. Finally, she nods briskly. "I understand. There's no rush at all and no pressure either. I just thought it might be a good idea and, well… I don't want you to go."

"That's very sweet of you," I reply, smiling at her. "Part of me feels the same way, too. I need to leave right now, but I promise I won't disappear again. We'll stay in contact and at the very least, I'll come visit."

"You will?" asks Persis hopefully.

My smile widens. "Of course I will," I assure her. "I can't miss you competing in the Olympics, can I?"

"I'm not even on the team yet!" protests Persis, but I can see that she's secretly pleased by the thought. There's no higher pinnacle in sports than the Olympics Games, after all, and its lure is still going strong.

"Well, you better go train then, instead of putting down metaphorical roots in my room," I point out, only halfway teasing.

Persis rolls her eyes at me sarcastically. "Haha, funny!"

But she seems to take the advice to heart, throwing a glance at the open door behind her. Before she leaves, however, she hurries over to give me a long, tight hug goodbye.

"You'll call?" she wants to know after having stepped back.

"I'll call," I promise. "And now, off you go to annoy your horses, okay?"

"Okay," she agrees.

I hug her once more, before giving her a pat on the back and gently pushing her towards the door. "Give the horses my love."

That makes her laugh. "I will!" she replies, before turning to the door for good and, with a last quick glance over her shoulder, leaving along the corridor to catch her car to Windsor.

While saying goodbye to Persis required some reassurance, neither Leslie nor Teddy are in need of promises or calming words, at least not of the vocal kind. Leslie stops me on my way down to breakfast, grasps my hands and holds it tightly between both of hers for several long and silent moments, her eyes communicating everything she needs me to know, before she sets off to visit her husband.

Teddy, on the other hand, eats breakfast with Ken and me and we make easy chitchat throughout, but right at the end, he earnestly tells me how glad he was that I came and how grateful he is for how I helped them. It's dangerously close to needless adulations again, so I shut him up by giving him a big hug and that draws the desired effect when he laughs and stops praising me. I make a point to tell him quietly that he can be proud of how he's been handling Owen's illness and that he won't have seen the last of me, both of which seems to please him.

With those goodbyes accomplished and having exchanged quick but heartfelt words with the staff members I worked closely with in these past weeks, there's really just one farewell left – and it's the hardest of them all.

"I'll drive you to the airport if you want," Ken offers as he accompanies me to my room (though I guess it's my room no more now), hovering awkwardly near the door and watching me zip my suitcase shut.

"One of the drivers can take me," I reply quickly. "It's no problem."

Ken considers that for a moment. "Okay, let me re-phrase it. I would like to drive you to the airport if that's alright with you," he amends.

Some part of me wants to ask why, but that's the paranoid part and I've never particularly liked it. Thus, I give him a smile instead. "Does your service also extend to carrying my suitcase? Because if so, I don't see how I could decline."

"Every good service includes taking care of luggage," Ken informs me grandly, but there's an amused glint in his eyes telling me he's joking. Nevertheless, he steps forward to pick up my suitcase, skilfully hiding his surprise at the weight of it. (Not that that's my fault, of course. The weight of all those pullovers just accumulates!)

Ken drags my suitcase downstairs without a word of complaint and even manages to somehow fit it into the boot of his small convertible sports car, which shouldn't be physically possible, given the size of the boot and the size of the suitcase. The nice thing about the sports car is, naturally, that it only has two seats, banning his PPOs to the accompanying vehicles. Despite the fair weather, we keep the roof closed so as not to invite attention from the public, and with no PPO hovering nearby, the small car offers a distinct sense of privacy – of intimacy, even.

Not, of course, that any use is made of that.

As he drives us expertly through London, I can sense that Ken's mind is going a mile a minute. He keeps looking at me out of the corner of his eyes and several times, I think he might speak now, but in the end, he always turns back to the road and remains silent. He's trying to think of the right thing to say, I know, and desperately failing at figuring out what the right thing is.

Me, I'm curiously calm. While Ken is tormenting his brain, I sit comfortably in the soft leather seat, hum softly to the music playing quietly in the radio and watch London fly by outside the window. Truth to be told, I'm not really thinking much at all.

Thus, the music remains the only sound until Ken pulls up the car at the passenger drop off point at Heathrow's Terminal 2. Only then, with the engine turned off and time running out, does he take a heart and speaks.

"I…" he hesitates and clears his throat, looking straight ahead through the windshield. "I'm sure you've heard this often enough from my family to be sick of it, but I just want to say how incredibly grateful I am that you came here and helped us like this. We couldn't have done it without you and I know not to take your help for granted, especially with how things are – were – between us. I… I can't tell you how much it meant to me that you came and that you stayed through it all."

I reach over to cover his hand with my own, causing him to abruptly turn to me, looking slightly startled. "You're certainly absolutely welcome," I tell him carefully. "That goes without saying, of course. But I also have to admit that not coming wasn't even an option. I knew I'd come before I even saw your message."

"Really?" His expression is surprised, but in a good way.

"Yes, really," I assure him, smiling a lopsided smile. "Look, the way I see it, we were friends before… before we became more than friends, and even with the way things are now, we never stopped being friends either. To be totally honest, I don't think I could not be your friend even if I wanted to. I simply don't know how not to care for you."

Whatever Ken expected, it obviously wasn't that. He needs a few seconds to mull over what I said, before finally asking, "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"I certainly think so," I reply, smiling for real now.

He nods slowly, his own smile breaking through. "Then I'm glad."

Our eyes meet and as we look at each other, I'm suddenly very aware of how small this car is and how close we are together. I can see the thoughts flashing in Ken's eyes, but I can't read what they say. A long, heavy moment passes before his lips part and I think that maybe, he will say something – or do something –, but then he suddenly shakes his head and turns away.

"Have a good flight."


The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'The Boxer' (written by Paul Simon, released by Simon & Garfunkel in 1969).


A/N: Apologies for not posting on time this week! This one is not on me though, it was the site that was broken. New chapters weren't showing up, so even if I had updated, you wouldn't have been able to read it. The glitch appears to be fixed now though, so fingers crossed it stays that way!


To AnneShirley:
I am alright, just dealing with a lot of stuff at the moment on top of everything that's happening with the world right now. I don't mind critical reviews when the criticism is presented in a fair and balanced way (which I felt was true for your review), but it can be a little troubling when there's an unduly harsh tone to it, so I thought I'd add a little reminder that I'm human, too, and wouldn't mind being treated with a little kindness at times.
You raise some interesting points about Ken and about how he is being perceived by readers. I think that perhaps my view of him is so clear that I just expect others to have the same one, without laying it out fully in the story. That, of course, is on me. I can't expect anyone to read a character in a certain way when I don't succeed in writing them that way. You're right that Rilla is an unreliable narrator and because she hasn't always wanted to see the full magnitude of Ken's struggles, she didn't talk or think about them openly. But as the writer, I should still have found a way to get all that across, even if I have to slip it past her, so I shall mull on how I can do better on that front.
There should absolutely be little drones hovering above Rilla for however long she's in possession of any government papers! ;) No, but for real, you're absolutely correct that Rilla just really doesn't care about what's in those papers. She has her talents and strong points, but political interest has never been it, so as far as she is concerned, there's mostly boring stuff in there written in a needlessly complicated language. I have a feeling she uses those bright pink post-its (which, yes, can absolutely impair eyesight) to liven things up a little.
I like going through the world and taking note of the little details, which I guess influences my writing. I also think that a lot of humour can be found in the little things in life, be it pumpkin dresses or chicken sausages. I'm glad you appreciate that and enjoy the humouros aspect as much as I do!
No, I don't think we've seen an in-depth talk between Rilla and Gilbert since their chat about university. I meant to include one sooner, but whenever there was parental advice to be given, Anne kind of muscled into the foreground and took over. I mean, no-one can accuse Anne of being shy to voice her opinion! But perhaps the lack of Rilla/Gilbert talks in-between helps to highlight the comparison between those two even better. I like what you wrote about the first talk having a parental dynamic, while now, Rilla is truly an adult herself. She might still need Dad's comforting hug, but she doesn't need to be scolded or steered anymore, because she's handling this challenge just fine.
Thanks for that correction! I'd blame it on being a little foreigner, but I fear it's just one of these mistakes I keep making. I have them in German, too, so it's not the different language. Annoyingly, some mistakes are just stuck in my brain and won't be driven out, so you might find yourself having to correct that particular mistakes again in the future.

To Mammu:
Between 2 and 4 am seems to be a popular time for babies (and thus, their mothers) to be up! I friend of mine had her daughter in August and ever since then, she only messages me in the middle of the night. I write her a message during the day, get a response while asleep and message back during daytime again. I can totally chronicle her daughter's feeding times, just by the time stamps on her nightly messages ;).
Rilla has absolutely stepped in the big boots! She had to grow to be able to fill them, so I agree that two years prior, she probably wouldn't have been able to deal with this as well as she does now. She's doing a stellar job though, isn't she? Organising, planning and coordinating are some of canon Rilla's evident talents, so I took those and gave my Rilla a dollop of experience on top of it. In consequence, she's not ill-equipped to be doing what she's doing right now. Ken is even better trained, of course, but he's got all these mental issues that make it hard for him right now. He's slowly getting more functional, but he's still got work ahead of him because when the worst does eventually happen, he can't unravel like that again. Be assured that he realises this though and that the worst won't happen anytime soon. We can, for the time being, consider Owen to be safe and sound, even if not fully recovered. I do like him, after all, which is always a good thing for characters if they want to survive my stories ;).

To Guest No.1:
Thank you! That was such a very lovely thing to write. I'm very glad that you're enjoying my story and, selfishly, also glad that you took the time to tell me so. I always do love hearing from readers and it is encouraging to know that my writing is well-received. I actually never did the maths with regards to the word count, but you're absolutely right! 685 words per days isn't half bad, is it? ;) Anyways, I very much hope you will continue to like what I have in store for this story and these characters. If you want to, do drop me a line again. I always appreciate them!

To Guest No.2:
Here is this week's chapter! =) It's been waiting to get posted since Wednesday, but with the site being glitchy, there was no use in updating. I hope I can return to my normal schedule from next week and I hope this chapter was worth the slightly longer wait!