October

Houston, Texas

"The world is so unpredictable. Things happen suddenly, unexpectedly. We want to feel we're in control of our own existence. In some ways we are, in some ways we're not. We are ruled by the forces of chance and coincidence." – Paul Auster

Until the clock chimed, Allen wasn't sure what time it was. The dreamless sleep he had lapsed into only seconds after hitting the cobblestone street below was something of a double-edged sword, oddly comforting and somewhat distressing at the same time – comforting in the sense that he hadn't woken up in a cold sweat for once, but distressing in that his nightmares had become sadly comforting. At the very least, they were one of the few constants in his life.

Once he had fully awakened, though, and adjusted his vision to the gently flickering, lavender-scented candles illuminating the room, it was clear that the past hours had done little to ease the pain from his injuries. It was all very ironic, laughable even, that he could count on one hand the number of times he'd hurt this badly. At some point in his life, although he wasn't sure when or where, he'd heard it said that something as trivial as a paper cut could cause more pain than a life threatening injury. Under the circumstances, it seemed like a fair comparison.

Surveying the room as best as he could – his head hurt and his vision was still somewhat blurred – it was clear that he was definitely not in a doctor's office, and certainly not a hospital, but rather the bedroom of a residence, likely a small house. Judging by the furnishings and décor, it was reasonable to assume that a woman lived here.

"What happened to your eye?"

And apparently, a young child.

Turning his head, Allen was met by a curious little girl of no more than seven or eight years, with shoulder-length, light-brown hair and hazel eyes, dressed in a pink, long-sleeved cotton nightgown fringed by white frills. Evidently, he was still somewhat dazed, otherwise he would have noticed the girl standing right next to him. Unsure of how to answer the girl, or whether to change the subject entirely, he decided to sit up first, only to be forced back by a sharp, searing pain in his side.

The little girl frowned. "Momma told me to tell you that you shouldn't try to move around too much yet."

Allen winced and groaned softly. "That…would have been more helpful if you had told me five seconds ago, but thank you. I'll keep that in mind." Carefully, he took in a slow breath before regarding the small creature kneeling beside the bed. "What's your name, little one?"

She smiled brightly, shifting her weight on her knees. "Emily Mae Dawson, but Momma usually just calls me 'Emi' or 'Em' for short." She tilted her head. "What's yours?"

He brought a gloved hand from beneath the covers, offering it to the girl, smiling as she tentatively wrapped her small fingers around his. "It's very nice to meet you, Emily Mae Dawson. My name is Allen Walker."

Emily pulled back her hand, still studying him. "I'm supposed to tell her if you need anything." She inched closer. "So?"

"So…what?"

"Do you?"

Allen shook his head, amused. "No, thank you. Where is your mother, anyway? Surely you aren't here by yourself."

Wide-eyed, she mimicked him, shaking her head, as well. "Uh-uh. Momma's washing the blood out of your clothes. She says you got hurt real bad."

Allen blinked. "My…clothes?"

Emily nodded, folded her hands on the side of the bed, then rested her chin on them. "Mhm."

Suddenly things had gone from absurd and mildly amusing to awkward and uncomfortable, in more ways than one. Maybe he hadn't noticed immediately, due to being covered by two soft sheets and a heavy comforter, or the strange, dull, tingling sensation coursing through his skin. "So…is your father a doctor?" It was a reasonable conclusion, given the circumstances.

The girl shook her head. "I don't think so. Momma says he's in Heaven."

He glanced away for an instant, and then back, her matter-of-fact tone sounding more like she had just stated something obvious, like the sky was blue, or water wet. Truthfully, even though her answer made him feel guilty, Allen was relieved that he wouldn't have to deal with a potentially jealous or controlling husband. Unfortunately, he'd witnessed similar situations while under General Cross' so-called mentorship. "Oh...I'm very sorry for your loss."

She tilted her head. "Why?"

"Don't you miss him?"

Emily shrugged. "I never met him."

Nodding, Allen considered his own childhood, or lack thereof, if only briefly. Single mothers were something of a rare species as far as he knew, most staying with family until another suitable husband agreed to marry her and provide for them. If not that, occasionally there was an even rarer type of woman, the prostitute who found herself pregnant, but actually decided to keep the baby. Both scenarios had always left him feeling quite bitter the few times he bothered to think about them, despite not having any firsthand knowledge of either.

Pushing these dark thoughts back out into the universe, a much lighter question replaced them, and he turned his attention back to the child. "Tell me, do like clowns?" Considering the company, and that he was at a marked disadvantage anyway, it seemed like a legitimate topic for conversation.

She shook her head. "No."

Allen blinked in disbelief. That certainly wasn't the answer he had expected. "Why not?"

Pensive, she frowned. "Momma says clowns are scary and evil."

Allen raised an eyebrow at this. "Scary and evil, huh? That's a bit harsh. Why would she say something like that?"

"I dunno." Suddenly bored with the conversation, the little girl bounced to her feet, a sudden light sparking in her hazel irises. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."

He exhaled, turning his attention to the ceiling for no discernible reason than it was there. "Right." It was just as well.

Left alone, he pushed through the same sharp, burning pain he'd experienced before and sat up, lifting the covers just enough to see underneath. A blood-soaked bandage was barely visible under a thin hospital gown, its gauze encompassing the area from just under his lower ribs downward toward his hip on his right side.

Sighing in relief that he was at least wearing something, he then arranged the pillow to a more comfortable position, and carefully leaned back. He'd found himself in more than a few strange predicaments before, but this wasn't one of them. A brief moment later, his ears perked at the sound of two voices not far away. One he assumed to be the girl's mother, while the other was clearly Emily's.

"Excuse me. And just what do you think you're doing up so late, young lady?"

"I'm taking Mister Jellybeans to meet Mister Allen."

An exasperated sigh followed. "I thought I made myself perfectly clear when I told you not to bother him! Never mind that it's way past your bedtime!"

The little girl replied without missing a beat, and he could practically hearher mischievous grin. "You said not to bother him while he was sleeping."She paused for a brief instant. "I like him. He's interesting."

The woman sighed heavily, her response laced with a slight groan. "Of course he is…" A brief second passed and the older woman spoke once again, this time her tone much lighter. "Alright, take Mister Jellybeans for a visit and then it's back to bed with you."

"You're no fun. I'm not even tired," Emily pouted.

"I'm going to be even less fun if you keep sassin' me, smarty pants," the older woman replied, her stern words contrasting with the smile in her voice.

Within a few seconds, the little girl entered the room, followed closely by her mother – a petite, sapphire-eyed young woman, wearing a powder-blue dress and slipper-flats, her sunshine-blonde hair pulled back into a looped ponytail-bun.

Emily reclaimed her previous place beside Allen's bed and offered her favorite stuffed animal – a white unicorn with multicolored yarn for its mane and tail and pieces of felt for eyes. She smiled, and her eyes lit up when her new friend accepted the toy. "This is Mister Jellybeans. He always helps me feel better when I'm not feeling good."

The girl's mother smiled. The abyss had nearly swallowed her only child nary a few short years earlier, and yet her childish wonder and innocence remained firmly intact, despite the side effects the incident had caused. She tried not to think about it – there wasn't any point, really – that because of her ability, she was rarely able to make friends with other children, and the few times she had, those friendships hadn't lasted. "Happy now?"

Emily nodded, then turned to Allen before padding over to her mother. "Goodnight!"

"Goodnight, Em. It was nice meeting you." He held up the small toy. "And don't worry, I'll take good care of him." Toys were important to children, or so had gathered by way of watching them and their parents during his time with Mana and the circus, as well as his travels with General Cross, and later, his comrades.

The blonde let Emily go ahead of her and turned to her unfortunate guest. "I'm so sorry. I hope she didn't bother you too much."

Allen smiled obligingly. "Not at all."

The woman backed out of the room, pulling the door to behind her. Between Doc Baker's steady stitching hand and her healing ability, Lucinda was confident he was stable enough to be left alone for a few more minutes while she put Emily to bed.

:::

Several minutes and a light nap later, Allen woke again just as the blonde re-entered the room. She closed the door lightly and turned on the bedside table lamp before pulling a chair up next to the bed and sitting. "I swear, that girl will be the death of me someday." She turned her attention to him, silently assessing the situation. By no means was she a medical professional, nor had she ever claimed to be, but in her mind, her unique ability required the same amount of professionalism. She offered her hand. "Lucinda Dawson."

He reciprocated, adding a charming, yet somewhat ill-at ease smile, while absentmindedly fiddling with the multicolored yarn affixed to his temporary good luck charm. "Allen Walker. Pleased to meet you, Miss Dawson."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Please, call me Lucinda. Luci works, too, or even Cin." Suddenly, her expression seemed vexed. "Walker?" Aunt Charlie always told her to 'assume nothing'.

Allen nodded, finding the change somewhat worrisome "Yes… Is something wrong?"

Lucinda shook her head, quickly letting her annoyance fade. "It's not a big deal, really. Just that I taught Em it's impolite to call adults by their first names."

He chuckled softly. "Ah- I don't mind. Really."

She sighed. It was a minor nuisance, one that she would deal with another time, likely in the morning. "So, how are you feeling?"

Allen's expression turned sober, and he returned to fidgeting with the stuffed toy. "A little confused, to be honest."

Lucinda was visibly concerned, shifting slightly and leaning in just a bit. "Confused?"

"Yes. Can you tell me how I got here?"

"You don't remember what happened?" He seemed lucid enough. Still, he had taken a pretty hard fall and a mild concussion was still a possibility.

Clearly, she was much more worried than she should be. If he were a normal human being, she would have had good reason to be. "Oh, it's not that. I just don't remember how I got here." He shifted slightly once again, careful not to aggravate his wound any further. "Or where this," he glanced to his side, "came from."

Lucinda sighed, relieved. "Oh, well, a piece of wrought iron fence decided it wanted to slice you open like a ripe avocado." She paused. "That's what I was told, anyway. The hospital's under quarantine, so they brought you here to recover after Doc Baker patched you up."

He frowned and looked away, now aware of irony's full contempt, as if the entire incident was some kind of cosmic practical joke. "I see." Admittedly, it was his own fault, but under the circumstances, it couldn't be helped. The area was simply too crowded at the time to use Clown Belt without anyone noticing.

Lucinda sighed, shaking her head. "You're lucky you weren't killed."

Allen nodded, feeling somewhat guilty about intentionally misleading her. "I suppose that's true." He looked away, his voice softening. Being a burden on others was not something he took lightly, even when it seemed he had no other choice. "I-I'm sorry for inconveniencing you like this."

Lucinda offered him a reassuring smile. "Sometimes accidents are unavoidable."

Allen shook his head. "Well…you see I…I hammered my own thumb and then lost my footing on a loose shingle before falling." Given his role in fighting in a war very few people knew about and prophesied title, the incident in itself was regrettable to say the least.

She laughed softly, wondering if he had any idea how utterly charming and adorable he was, not to mention easy on the eyes. Thankfully, she had never been the scandalous type. Not that she wouldn't consider it should he express an interest, though.

She took in a cleansing breath, grounding her thoughts and energy. "You know, I'm going to have to see to your bandage at some point, right?"

Allen quickly held up a hand in protest. "Really...that's not-" Just then there came a light knock on the pulled-to door that no doubt belonged to Emily, and Luci pushed back a few strands of loose hair in frustration before crossing the few steps to open it.

Half asleep, the little girl stood in the doorway, rubbing her sleepy eyes and looking past her mother to Allen. "Your friend is here."