a/n: i forgot to mention this whole fic is pretty much from Cassian's POV, unless for whatever reason I decide to change my mind... if anything i'll write something supplemental from Nesta's POV in the future.

also, thanks so much to my talented girl easkyrah for beta'ing this part for me~ :) go CHECK OUT HER DARK!WRITINGS. i'm sorry ahead of time for how this part ends, but i hope to have the next part(s) out sooooon! leave a review/fave if you enjoyed hehe~

"I can't stay away." [Part 2]

"You're just like your father
Buried deep under the water
You're resting on your laurels
And stepping on my toes

Whose side are you on?
What side is this anyway?
Put down your sword and crown
Come lay with me on the ground"

- Moth's Wings (stripped down) by Passion Pit

Cassian

As he shot through the clear skies, his newly repaired wings beating steadily, Cassian's thoughts drifted to the events that occurred during the battle last week.

The King of Hybern had been so close to turning him and Nesta into nothing but a pile of ashes and dust. Cassian could still feel the snapping of his wings, the tearing of his membranes, all while the king's bloodless lips were curled in a vicious smile… he could still see the king's gleaming teeth, hear Nesta screaming his name into the wind as he lay broken on the ground…

Cassian wrenched himself from the memory, but Nesta's hoarse scream still rang in his ears… He could see her face in his mind's eye, that beautiful face contorted with rage and pain, as she begged the King of Hybern to release her father.

Nesta… she had lost something, something she thought she had already given up–her love for her father.

Cassian could sympathize somewhat, but he couldn't fully empathize. He was a bastard, and no one ever let him forget it.

He recalled one of their prior exchanges in the library a few days ago…

"What do you even know of your own father, you being a low-born bastard?" she had retorted, her eyes narrowing to slits after he asked how she was coping. But there was a flash of guilt and agony in her eyes. "Don't presume to speak to me as if you knew my father or my relationship with him. The King of Hybern took everything from me, your people have taken everything from me, from my sisters… And all Feyre ever tried to do was protect us."

Nesta's chest was heaving slightly, and blue flames flickered in her steely eyes but they weren't flames of anger… no, they were flames of grief and sorrow. Cassian recognized the helplessness and regret swirling in her eyes before she closed them and inhaled deeply.

He tilted his head to the side and opened his mouth to ask if she was okay–

Her gray-blue eyes snapped open, more gray than blue.

"Leave," Nesta said, waving her hand dismissively, once again a cold and unyielding queen. She drifted back to the armchair she'd been nestled in and flipped the book open, staring at a page. But Cassian knew she wasn't reading; he wasn't even sure she was breathing because she was sitting so still.

"Nesta, I just–" Cassian tried, taking a step forward.

"Leave, I said," she repeated, louder. She didn't take her eyes off the page, but he could sense the leash on her rage loosening. The lethal expression on her face indicated that she would not forgive him for a very long time if he took another step closer.

So Cassian turned on his heel and left.

Frowning, Cassian thought of his own, long-forgotten father. His father had certainly never rallied an enormous fleet of ships to fight for him like Nesta's had. Cassian recalled how stunned he'd been, how stunned they'd all been to see a huge armada of ships sailing to their aid, flanked by Queen Vassa and Drakon and Miryam's legions. And as the fleet approached, they discovered that the father of the three Archeron sisters was leading the charge towards the coast, undeterred and standing at the helm of the Nesta.

Cassian could sense that out of the three sisters, Nesta took their father's death the hardest. After the war and countless meetings, the Inner Circle had finally gathered in the House of Wind one night to retell their own battle stories and set the record straight within the circle.

Nesta had been present as well but she didn't speak, just watched, and when Cassian told the story from his point of view she just stared at him, a complex of emotions storming behind those blue-gray eyes.

As Cassian neared the townhouse, his wings beat powerfully to slow him down before landing. The door was locked, and he glanced at the black watch on his wrist–it was nearly 10PM, but Nesta shouldn't have been asleep yet.

He walked up to the ornately carved door and raised his fist to knock.

And held it there.

He stood outside the door, his heart pounding and his mind swirling with thoughts. Maybe I should just leave, he thought tiredly, I'm not particularly feeling up for a verbal spar, especially after Mor's confession…

He was still standing there with his arm up when the door swung open.

Of course, Nesta was standing in the doorway, barefoot and wearing a knee-length, pale-blue nightgown that was nearly the same color as her eyes. Cassian quickly dropped his arm to his side.

Her blue-gray eyes were already trained on him, registering his surprise which he quickly replaced with an easy grin. Peering over his shoulder, he saw the rooms behind her were dark, but the hallway on the second floor was illuminated. Cassian vaguely recalled Feyre and Rhysand were away on business for the night.

He carefully placed one scarred hand on the doorframe and assessed her appearance, noting the pale nature of her skin, the dark purple bags under her eyes.

Nesta's eyes were expressionless. His eyes flickered over her shoulders and chest, where the scooped neck of her nightgown revealed the swell of her breasts.

Cassian refocused his attention on her face.

"I heard you land outside. Were you going to knock or just stand there all night?" Her eyes narrowed as she studied his expression.

Cassian exhaled quickly and tried to smile, but the smile didn't quite meet his eyes. "It's nice to see you too, Nesta."

"What do you want?" Ooh, so cold… Cassian felt a wave of exhaustion hit and suppressed the sudden urge to yawn, opening his mouth to speak instead.

"Actually, I'm… here to ask you that. What do you want?" He murmured, leaning against the doorframe, careful not to… get too close. Mor's words echoed in his head, she's not like us…

"To be left alone," she replied simply.

Even though he expected it the rejection still stung, and he half-expected her to slam the door in his face then and there. Quickly scanning her face, Cassian tried to school his expression into one that wouldn't… piss her off. At least immediately–he was sure his presence alone pissed her off a good 99% of the time.

"Really?" he said quickly, noticing that she hadn't shut the door… yet. Her eyes roved over him as well, and he knew she was taking in his Illyrian fighting leathers and reading his stance, his actions…

Even though he put up a front with the Inner Circle, Cassian was exhausted. Kissing Death's door so many times in the past few weeks had taken its toll, and more than anything, Cassian wanted a good night's rest.

Without insomnia or the persistent nightmares. Without seeing slain soldiers for miles around him whenever he closed his eyes.

Nesta remained silent as her stormy eyes met his. He wondered if she knew what he was thinking. Sometimes, it seemed like she did, even though Cassian couldn't sense her probing through their bond.

And as he looked into her eyes, at least he saw nothing there that spoke of the Cauldron's power; Cassian wondered if she had lost the fragment during the Remaking of the Cauldron, or perhaps after she unleashed it on the King…

They just gazed at each other, expressionlessly, for a while. A night chill picked up and blew into the house, brushing back strands of golden-brown hair from her face. Nesta merely crossed her arms without breaking eye contact. Goosebumps raised on her arms.

"Can I come in?" he finally asked, and then added, "I promise to be on my best behavior."

A shadow of amusement flickered over Nesta's face. "Does it differ from your normal behavior?"

But… she stepped back and allowed him into the townhouse. She moved towards the staircase, and Cassian followed her in.

"I think Elain and Lucien are at the House of Wind," she said, without looking back at him.

He watched as she glanced between the dark sitting room and the winding, oak staircase that led upstairs. To the bedrooms on the second floor.

"Uh," he swallowed, "Wherever's fine. Here. The dining room. Even Feyre and Rhysan- ah, okay, maybe not there, but you get what I mean." When did he become such a babbling idiot? And why did it sound like he was offering places to have sex in?

His insides twisted as the annoyance on her face turned to a mix of pity and impassiveness. He clenched his fists.

"I'll just leave," he said warily, moving back towards the door. His heart grew heavier with every step. "I forgot… I needed to speak with Rhysand and forgot he wasn't here tonight." He hated how lame his excuse sounded.

"No, you didn't." Her eyes were blazing as she took a step towards him, her feet bare.

He slowed, his muscles tense.

"Stay," she said softly.

Cassian could almost see the word hanging in the air between them.

"Come." She moved towards the staircase again, her pale, slender hand grasping the oak banister.

Hesitantly, he shucked his shoes off by the front door and padded after her, up the staircase and down the hallway lit by chandeliers overhead.

Nesta led him to her room, and without hesitation she opened the polished door and stepped in.

Does… she expect me to follow? Or is she going to knee me in the groin again? Cassian hesitated, and she smiled sardonically at his wary expression.

"Didn't you promise to be on your best behavior? Or is that not possible when you're visiting a woman's bedroom?"

Cassian's face heated at the challenge, and he straightened. "I say what I mean, and I mean what I say." He stepped into her room.

Well… This was certainly more progress than he had made in the past week. Tread carefully, the walls and carpets whispered to him as his heart pounded in chest.

Nesta's room was a private space, a sacred space for her, and he tried not to look like he was taking in all of the details of her room, storing them away to analyze later.

Faelights illuminated the room, and Cassian took in the canopied king-sized bed; the polished, oak dresser with a gold-wrought mirror hanging over it; the beautiful, carved armoire standing against a wall; and the reading nook with a bookshelf in the eastern corner by the windows. The carpet was thick and plush, beautifully woven and true to Rhysand's exquisite tastes.

But it all paled in comparison when he looked back at Nesta, who was standing in front of a mirror finally letting her hair fall from her tightly-wound bun and loosening the braid that crowned the front of her head.

"I have a headache," she remarked when she turned and caught his gaze. Cassian's breath hitched in his throat.

Nesta shook her long, wavy golden-brown hair out and drifted over to the bed, perching herself on the edge of it. She crossed one ankle over the other, the column of her back straight.

His eyes followed her motions and snagged on the dagger that lay atop her bed-stand, beside a lamp. It was the dagger he had given her before walking onto the battlefield.

Cassian strode to Nesta's rosewood desk and grabbed the chair, turning it around before sitting down. She watched him expectantly, and his knee jiggled nervously.

He coughed and tucked his wings in tight. "Ah… So we haven't really talked… about what happened…" he trailed off, keeping a careful eye on her reaction.

"Do we need to?"

He swallowed and shifted. Now that he was sitting here, he needed to hold her attention, he needed to–

"I do," he replied roughly, "I do. You–you saved me."

Her voice was like morning frost. "Do you want me to apologize for it?"

"No." He couldn't help but remember what she had said in the library a few days ago, about how everything had been taken away from her.

"I was one more thing the Cauldron could have taken, wasn't I?" The words were out of Cassian's mouth before he could think better, and fury and pain raged in Nesta's eyes even though her pale face remained expressionless.

"I'm sorry," he apologized stiffly, "I didn't mean that. I'm… tired."

A ghost of a smile twisted her lips. "Aren't we all."

His voice softened; it was low, pleading. "The war is over Nesta, we have all sacrificed… Our losses could have been… much worse. The Cauldron has been Remade, and there are no more threats. You're safe, Nesta. You don't need to stay cooped up in here."

Nesta wasn't so sure about that. She didn't walk around or sleep without the dagger Cassian had given her. She kept it with her at all times, often brushing against it for comfort and strength. Along with the small, wooden figurine her father had carved, all those years ago… I'm safe? Nesta wanted to scream.

"I like it here. I'm content," she replied simply, but the lie was thinly veiled.

Cassian wished she would just relax, even if it was just for a moment. He wanted her to lay down that stolen crown from the Cauldron… In his mind's eye, he could see her with a carefree expression, how her slender, pale neck would lengthen as she tipped her head back to laugh, how the lines of her face would crease when she genuinely smiled…

But right now, Nesta wasn't smiling or laughing. In fact, Cassian couldn't remember the last time he heard her laugh. It must have been before the War.

Nesta's eyes were gray ice, the color of the calm before the storm.

He didn't stand down, instead settling more firmly into the chair.

She did not scare him. He saw her, and she knew it.

He saw her.

He saw her.

"I see you, Nesta," he said quietly, so quietly, "And I'm not afraid."

But she was afraid. Of him. And he could feel it down the bond tugging at his ribcage, the apprehension, her fear of being exposed and vulnerable…

Her fear of trusting others. Of trusting men.

So Cassian let down all his walls. One by one, the walls of his mental fortress shuddered into the ground, and he let her feel him through the bond, memories and images and words shooting across the bridge that linked them.

And she stilled, stunned. Emotions flew across her face but then Nesta slammed up her mental walls, and Cassian couldn't feel her through the bond anymore… Amren had taught her well.

All was silent, for a moment.

"Nesta?" Cassian said lowly, his voice slightly hoarse.

"I can't help you, Cassian." She wasn't looking at him, she was rejecting him again, and he didn't understand why. Was it because he was weak?

"I didn't–I didn't ask you to help, Nesta, I just wanted to–"

"What?"

Cassian fell silent. Then he stood abruptly, the chair nearly toppling behind him, flexing his wings slightly. "I wanted to show you that… you can trust me." He paused. "Good night, Nesta."

He walked to the door, half-hoping she would stop him, half-hoping he would hear that word stay again…

But she didn't say anything.

The sound of the door shutting behind him rang with finality in his ears. Cassian knew he wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight, either.