He was tempted to just leave the damn thing in the woods and be done with it.

The Nutcracker growled in frustration, twisting his right arm against the connecting arm socket. Clara, Major Mint, and Candy Captain were setting up camp for the night, while the Nutcracker had offered to collect firewood. He had spoken up before anyone else could, anxious to have a few precious minutes to himself. Being in the captain and major's presence all day had become an exhausting task. He had to be on his constant guard around them, contemplating everything he said before speaking, to avoid accidently revealing who he was.

The major was determined to discover everything he possibly could about the Nutcracker. His unending interrogation had added another layer of weariness to the already tiring day, and the Nutcracker could not help casting Clara a look of gratitude when she distracted the major by asking him to tell her some stories from his military career. The major had happily obliged, and the remainder of the day had been mostly filled by his chatter, which the Nutcracker and the captain quickly tuned out.

It had been at least half an hour since the Nutcracker had left camp. He had filled his arms with a sufficient amount of firewood and had been ready to turn back. But then he lifted his right arm too far, and it had unhitched from its socket, tumbling to the ground with the gathered wood.

He'd been trying to hook it back in for what felt like at least ten minutes. He found a tree stump near the edge of a drop-off in the forest to sit on while he worked, having abandoned the firewood to the thicker mass of trees behind him. Frustration had long seized him by now, and his left arm was starting to ache from the awkward angle it was in as he worked with the unattached limb. Finally, he let out a sound of disgust and tossed the arm to the ground.

He sighed, resting his left arm on his knee as he stared out over the rim of the drop-off before him. He supposed he should find the entire concept of his arm falling out so frequently ridiculous. But he was just tired. And annoyed.

And much lonelier than he had ever felt in his entire life. Despite the fact that he was in the company of his best friend, his old tutor, and…well, if he was being honest, he wasn't sure what Clara was to him. An acquaintance? A friend? Something more than both of those?

"Nutcracker?"

The Nutcracker turned around. Soothing relief flowed through him at the sight of Clara stepping out of the shadows of the trees. She smiled softly at him, but her expression sobered as her gaze fell upon the discarded limb on the ground.

"Are you alright?" she asked in concern.

He glanced at the arm in embarrassment. "Yes. I just…" He sighed, whatever excuse he had planned dissipating into the air. He was too exhausted to bother continuing the stoic façade he had hidden behind all day. Or perhaps he simply felt comfortable enough around Clara to be honest with her. "I am sincerely missing having arms made of muscle and bone. They did not have the vexing habit of falling off frequently."

Clara walked forward, her lips twisting into a sympathetic grimace. She bent and picked up the arm.

"You don't need to –" began the Nutcracker.

"Oh, hush." Clara flashed him a shy smile. She stood beside him, as she was short enough to reach his arm socket without needing to kneel. He remained sitting on the stump, though he turned his head to watch her as she rotated the limb in her hands.

When he had been hoping to meet Elizabeth Drosselmeyer's niece, he hadn't thought their interaction would be so extensive. He almost wanted to laugh at what could be seen as extraordinarily good fortune on his part, or some kind of mocking joke from fate. He had never quite freed himself of that strange desire to meet her once he had given Elizabeth the folk tales book. Clara had not been a constant presence in his mind in the four years since, but she had lingered at the edges, just enough for him not to forget the faceless girl.

It had been quite the surprise to wake up to her in the parlor.

She was slightly different than he had imagined. She had that reserved nature her aunt had described, but there was a quiet fierceness to her he hadn't been expecting. A determination to complete whatever task she undertook, mixed with a bravery he supposed he should have anticipated from the niece of Elizabeth Drosselmeyer. It was a contrast he found vastly interesting.

Clara narrowed her eyes, studying the inside of the wooden socket. "Hm," she mused. "Well, I hate to judge another's craftsmanship, but I'm afraid that whoever designed your body did not do a very good job. It's no wonder you're having trouble with your arm. The hook on it is barely arched enough to lock into the socket properly." She tapped the wooden rod running through the socket. "Not to mention the worn state of the wood."

"Well, unfortunately the person responsible for this hadn't bothered to ensure that his work was of the best quality." The Nutcracker shook his head ruefully. "I'm certain the poorness of it was a purposeful choice."

Clara's fingers faltered on the socket rod. She studied the wood solemnly, pressing her lips together in anger at the state of the Nutcracker's body. "Well then," she said, brushing aside her indignation for a matter-of-fact tone. "I suppose the responsibility of fixing it falls upon me." She leaned in closer and brought the arm up to the socket, her brow creasing as she lined the limb up.

Clara twisted the arm upwards, guiding the hooked end into the socket with care. The Nutcracker watched her silently, unable to hold back a smile as she pursed her lips in concentration. With a complicated twist, Clara hitched the arm in place. The Nutcracker grimaced at the odd sensation, still unused to it even after having done it countless times.

Clara glanced at him worriedly. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." The Nutcracker rolled his arm back, trying to adjust it into a more comfortable position. "It's fine. Thank you."

Clara returned her gaze to his arm, frowning critically. Reaching up, she untied a pink ribbon from her hair. She waved at his arm impatiently, gesturing for him to raise it. He did so, though bewilderment passed over his face.

"What are you –"

"I'm not sure this will work," interrupted Clara. "It actually might make it worse." She pushed the Nutcracker's arm up further and bent her head so that she could see into the now-exposed part of the socket. "But if I tie the hook of your arm to the socket rod, that should keep it together."

The Nutcracker raised an eyebrow. "Won't that just hinder the movement of the arm?"

Clara shrugged. "Maybe." She threaded the ribbon around the hook of his arm. "But I'm using a taut-line hitch on the arm hook. That kind of a knot will move along the ribbon, so it shouldn't impede your use of it. Much." Her lips twisted into an uncertain grimace. "Hopefully."

"You know how to make a taut-line hitch?" the Nutcracker asked in surprise.

Clara gave him a rather smug smile. "My brother had wanted to be a sailor a couple of years ago. He got a book on knots for his birthday, and made me learn some of them with him." She snorted. "He hasn't opened the book in a while, though. Now I think he wants to be a captain in the army." She shook her head in affectionate exasperation. "He's eleven, so he changes his mind on the matter often."

"That sounds wonderful. Having that freedom of choice for your future." He hadn't meant to voice the bitter thought out loud. Upon realizing that he had, he glanced nervously at Clara. She gave him a sympathetic look, but did not respond. Not sure what to say, the Nutcracker returned his focus to her work.

It was fortunate that Clara's fingers were so thin and long, for any thicker hands would be unable to perform such a task. The Nutcracker shifted, the faint tingling of her fingers moving inside his body strange.

"Stop moving," snapped Clara.

"Sorry," he said, obediently stilling.

With the ribbon gone from Clara's hair, a few of the golden strands tumbled loosely into her face. She frowned and blew at the lock, trying to move it to the side. The piece puffed outwards – only to fall back against her nose. Unable to free her hands to move it, Clara sighed in annoyance.

The Nutcracker smirked, finding her exasperated expression rather endearing. He reached around with his left hand. The hand was clunky, and lacking any digits besides a thumb, but the Nutcracker managed to brush aside the lock of hair with little problem.

Clara looked up at him in surprise. He stared back, startled by his own audacity, despite at how natural the interaction had felt. He hadn't even thought about it; it had been a reactionary gesture – one he felt strangely comfortable doing.

"I'm sorry," he stuttered. "I –"

"No, no. It's fine," reassured Clara. She glanced at his arm, then snapped her gaze back to his. "I…thank you. For…well, thank…you," she repeated lamely. A rosy blush blossomed on her cheeks, and she ducked her head, focusing intently back on the job she had initiated. She hastily tied the other end of the ribbon to the socket rod. Picking up the trailing length of the ribbon, Clara glanced at the sword hanging from the Nutcracker's side. "May I use that?"

"What?" He followed Clara's gaze. "Oh, yes." He grasped the sword's handle with his left hand and pulled the blade free, carefully handing it to Clara.

Clara's arm sagged beneath the weight of the weapon. "It's heavier than I thought it'd be," she muttered. She adjusted it in her hand, eyeing the Nutcracker's arm socket. "Perhaps this is not the best idea, but neither of us are carrying a knife, so…" She pulled the ribbon taut with her free hand, then rested the sword against it. She added only the slightest bit of pressure, but it was more than enough. The sword sliced cleanly through the ribbon, and Clara clumsily yanked the weapon free of the Nutcracker before the blade could damage him.

"There," she said, holding out the sword proudly.

The Nutcracker lowered his right arm. He took the weapon, re-sheathing it.

"Well, come on now," prompted Clara. She straightened and motioned for him to stand. "Tell me if it was a horrible idea or not."

The Nutcracker stood. He walked forward a few paces, bending and twisting his right arm about to test it. "Hm," he muttered.

"Is it dreadfully terrible? I can cut the ribbon out, if you'd like."

The Nutcracker frowned thoughtfully, turning the arm over. "No," he finally said. "No, I think it should be fine. It feels incredibly strange, and the movement in that arm is a little stiffer now, but I don't mind so long as I do not have to constantly reattach the limb." He smiled at her warmly. "Thank you." A humorous glint flashed in his eyes. "I'll have to start paying you for your medical services, at the rate you keep tending to me."

Clara grinned and slipped the remains of the ribbon into her nightgown pocket. "I'll hold you to that promise," she teased. She tucked another loose strand of hair behind her ear and turned away from the Nutcracker to look out over the ravine before them. "It's a beautiful place," she murmured.

The Nutcracker nodded in agreement. "It's so strange," he said. "Being here, so close to home, and yet not being…who I was. Everything has changed so much from before."

Clara glanced at him sadly, but the Nutcracker kept his focus on the scenery.

"My father had taken me here often when I was a boy. We had gone hunting on a few occasions." He chuckled. "I'm afraid I was terrible at it. Couldn't bring back even a pheasant for a prize." His gaze drifted upwards, to the sliver of the setting sun barely visible over the treetops. "But the hunt was not what I remembered the excursions for. Father would tell me stories. Folk tales about Parthenia, or stories Mother had collected over the years. We would watch the sunset, just like this, and he would recite them to me." The final word had been spoken stiffly, cut off by the Nutcracker to conceal the emotion wavering beneath it.

Clara stepped closer and placed a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I know what it feels like to lose your parents."

The Nutcracker let out a shaky breath. "I thought it would be easier the second time. I had already gone through it once, and I am much older now. It should have been."

Clara shook her head. "That does not matter. He was still your father." She took his hand in her free one. "Time will dull the pain. I promise."

The Nutcracker looked at her. "I'm sorry you lost your mother and father."

She gave him a sad smile. "Thank you."

"What were they like?"

Clara tilted her head thoughtfully. "They sound similar to your parents. Father worked at the bank, but he loved anything to do with knowledge. Books, articles, attending guest lectures at the university. He got so excited talking to us about it all. For Mother though…her love was the ballet." Clara's gaze wandered along the trees on the opposite side of the ravine wistfully. "She took me to see Giselle when I was five. I didn't fully understand the story then, but the dancing and costumes were so beautiful that I was completely enraptured." She sighed. "She only took me to the ballet two more times before…"

The Nutcracker curled his hand over Clara's. She smiled up at him, tears shining in her eyes. Then she gave her head a brisk shake, composing herself.

"Perhaps we should be getting back," said the Nutcracker gently.

Clara nodded and pulled away from him. "Yes, I suppose." A grin pricked the corner of her mouth. "I'm sure the poor captain is in agony waiting for us. We left him alone with the major for a terribly long time."

The Nutcracker laughed. "That was rather horrid of us, wasn't it? We had better hurry then." He turned to head in the direction of the camp.

Clara fell into step beside him. "We'll have to make it up to him."

"How?"

Clara tapped her finger against her chin. "I'm not sure anything we do will suffice," she finally joked. "But we shall have to think of something."

The Nutcracker chuckled. "I will let you know the moment I do."

Clara grinned, following him into the thickening trees to the pile of firewood he had abandoned. Together, they gathered up the wood and headed back to camp.