Author's Notes: Wow, this has been a looooog hiatus. What can I say? I have an 8-month-old daughter, and it's not easy to find time to write. Thank you so much for the amazing reviews. I'm blown away by how kind you've all been about this story. I recently re-watched Tin Man and am once again feeling inspired to work on this piece, so I drug out my outline and tapped out a chapter. I hope it's not too rusty. If this chapter goes well, I'm tentatively planning regular updates again—I HATE leaving things unfinished.

Aftermath – Chapter Eight

DG's POV

Cain was out from underneath me and off the bed before I could even blink. We're talking warp speed. It was enough to give a girl a complex.

There was a second of silence, and then another knock, this one sounding significantly less patient—like whoever was doing the knocking was about three seconds from opening the door.

"Washroom—go get yourself—tidy," Cain whispered, tone urgent as he made vague gestures in the direction of my hair. I might have argued, but he was shoving me through the bathroom door and closing it behind me before I had time. And just like that, I was alone. I gave a rueful shake of my head.

Cain had made me feel—wow. Yup, wow. That was the best way to describe it.

My past sexploits had been limited, sure, but I'd learned a trick or two of my own. Once I had him underneath me, I'd been eager to show the Tin Man that I could give as good as I got. Really eager. Talk about bad timing.

I shivered and pulled the sides of my shirt tightly around me. Plenty of time for reciprocity, I promised myself. I couldn't hear any sound coming from the bedroom, but the knocking had stopped. I assumed that meant one or the other of us had a guest, and since it was technically my door under attack, I was willing to bet it was me.

I hurried to the mirror and winced when I looked in it. Yikes. Not looking my best on so many levels. What I wouldn't give for some concealer. The bags underneath my eyes were big enough to carry my entire wardrobe. Ok, so I technically only owned one outfit right now—but still.

My lips and hair were slightly better—they might even balance out the dark circles and pallid skin—if Cain were going to be the only one seeing them. Pink and a little swollen, it was pretty clear what my mouth had been doing for the last 45 minutes or so, and a team of trained professionals armed with hot rollers and a small fortune in styling products couldn't do a better job of giving my hair that I-Just-Rolled-Out-Of-Bed-And-I-Wasn't-Sleeping look.

I took 60 seconds and did the best I could. The hair I tamed, the lips I licked and decided to pretend like they looked chapped, but the glow in my eyes I couldn't do anything about at all. Maybe Cain was my Shield, maybe he wasn't, but spending time alone with him was definitely good for my mood.

I hustled out of the bathroom expecting to find Glitch, Raw, Tutor, or even—please God, no—my parents waiting to talk to me. Instead, Jeb Cain was standing beside the door, rubbing his temple, looking like he was having a very bad day.

"—understand, and I'm really sorry. I just—I'm in over my head here, and there isn't anyone else. I wouldn't interrupt if it weren't important—," He broke off and coughed when he caught sight of me. "Oh. Your highness, I—"

I rolled my eyes. "DG, remember?" I interrupted, hustling over to stand beside Cain. "Your highness makes me think of Prince Charles, and believe me, if you've ever seen him that is so not a good thing." Jeb was looking confused again; I got that a lot. Instead of waiting for him to figure out how to reply, I continued. What can I say? Patience is overrated. "So what's up? You look like it's been a long day, and since it's only—" I looked around for a clock but didn't see one, so I decided to just go with a time range, "—like the nines, that's saying something."

More silence from Jeb, accompanied by a helpless look at Cain.

Hm. Someone really needed to teach the Cain men how to speak English.

"I just needed to talk to Dad about—something," Jeb finally settled on saying. He shot a glance at his father. "It's, uh, not that big a deal."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. Right. Before I could tell Jeb what a crappy liar he was, Cain spoke.

"Organize them into platoons as they come in—how many of your resistance fighters have military experience?"

Jeb turned his attention back to Cain and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Not many. Why do you think I ended up in charge?"

Cain's voice was steady when he replied. "Because you knew what you were doing and you did it well—don't start questioning yourself now, son."

Jeb shook his head and shot me a glance. All at once I felt like I was intruding, and I looked down and took a step away to give them at least a little privacy. I racked my brain for an excuse to leave, but I was kind of stuck between a rock and a hard place. I didn't want to call attention to myself making a big exit, but I couldn't just disappear—I didn't have anywhere to go in the room, and they were blocking the freaking door. Before I figured out what to do, Jeb continued.

"You're wrong about that. A lot of it was the fact that my father—who everyone conveniently forgot that I hadn't seen since I was in short pants—was a Tin Man with a reputation that outlived him. It wasn't ever a conscious decision on anyone's part, it just sort of—happened. And I had," he paused and swallowed heavily, "a lot of help from Mom. The men wouldn't take orders from her, only two, maybe three of them even knew, but she was the one—"

Jeb broke off, and I could see pain in his face. It was funny—I didn't know him well, didn't know him at all, really, but the times I'd met him he'd seemed much older. Watching him fight to get control of his emotions, I was reminded of the fact that he had to be only about 18 years old—even younger than me.

"Son," Cain touched Jeb's shoulder but didn't seem to know where to go with the sentence after that. Jeb let his father's hand sit there for half a second, then shied away, expression masked.

"Anyway, that's not the point. The point is, I need—and the men are already thinking of you as their commander, anyway because of, well—look, could you just—" He threw his hands up in the air and let out a frustrated growl that went a long way toward wiping out the scared kid image. "Oh for the love of Ozma."

Call me observant, but it seemed like Jeb was having trouble putting what he wanted to say into words. Now, that could be because he's a man and therefore naturally inclined to be both emotionally and verbally constipated, or it could be that there were a few things he didn't want to say in front of me. Probably it was a combination of both, but he was going to have to work on the verbal communication thing later.

Call me intuitive, but I was getting the idea that Cain's presence was needed below. And since best I could tell the O.Z. was on the verge of a complete meltdown, it seemed like a good idea not to let the only thing we had resembling an army on our side fall to pieces.

I decided subtlety was overrated. I looked at Cain and tilted my head toward the door. "As much fun as this father-son bonding thing is, it sounds like reality's calling. Let's head downstairs and tag back in."

Two identical pairs of ice blue eyes blinked at me like I'd grown a second head.

Jeb looked up at his father, eyes wide. "Dad, is she—ok?"

Cain at this point must have been getting used to my mysterious vernacular, because even though he still sounded doubtful, he nodded. "I think so."

I shook my head, disgusted. "Yeesh. You two are killing me. Let's go."

When they didn't seem inclined to move, I linked one of my arms through each of there's and pulled. Being dragged by the elbow by an Ozian Princess surprised Jeb enough that he actually moved. Cain, on the other hand, was about as mobile as a statue. I don't know why I wasn't surprised.

I looked up at him. "What?"

"You're not going anywhere, Princess."

Oh dilemma. What to yell about first—the fact that he called me Princess, and not in a sexy, I-want-to-worship-your-body kind of way, or the fact that he seemed to think it was his job to tell me where I could and couldn't go?

"Excuse me?" If we'd been back in Kansas, people would have been taking big steps back when they heard me use that tone of voice. Apparently people were smarter in Kansas, because Cain didn't even flinch.

"You are not going down stairs with the troops."

Count to ten. Count to ten. Count to—oh, screw it.

"Yes, I am!"

"No, you're not!"

"I am!"

"You're not!"

"Whoa!" Jeb yelled and waved his arms.

Cain's eyes flared. "You, be quiet," he ordered in my direction. "And you," his lips pressed together as he addressed his son, "Give us just a minute, please." He must have thought I was going to argue, because he shot me another warning look right after he said it. I glared up at him but kept my mouth shut, since I'd decided half a second after he told me to be quiet that I was never speaking to him again.

Jeb looked insultingly relieved to leave the room.

The door slammed shut behind him, and I whirled toward Cain. I was trying to figure out how I could tell Cain he was acting like a total jerk without actually speaking when he held up a hand.

"Listen to me for 30 seconds, Kid."

I could feel my teeth grinding against one another, but I nodded. Mostly because it was going to give me another half a minute to work out the not talking problem.

"It's not safe for you to go downstairs—"

Oh the Hell with not talking. I knew that's what he was going to say. I just—"Damnit, Cain! I'm not going to hide in this sarcophagus of a room while you—"

"Of course you aren't, but you also aren't going to put yourself in danger," he interrupted. "I asked for 30 seconds."

"Fine, go."

"Things are happening right now that I, for one, don't entirely understand. And I don't think you understand them, either. But from the way your old Tutor acted in your parents' room, I think he might know more than he's saying. Maybe your sister's just babbling nonsense, but I for one think we need to get a handle on the situation. Do you agree?"

So far he'd sounded reasonable, but I wasn't willing to take any chances. I could see him taking advantage of any ground I gave to use as an excuse to lock me up somewhere for safekeeping. "I don't disagree," I replied, careful not to commit to anything further. Apparently, that was enough to keep him going.

"We have exhausted resistance fighters keeping things going downstairs. And as more people come in—displaced Long Coats we don't know if we can trust, confused people from the country side, even representatives from other branches of the resistance—things are going to get more hectic, and more dangerous. There are some things we have to do now to get ready for that, and it doesn't look like it's going to get down without my help."

"I can help, too, Cain. I'm not useless." I interjected.

"No, you're not. But you are a distraction." I started to bristle, but Cain continued. "Like it or not, if you're in harm's way the only thing I'm going to be able to concentrate on is you."

"That's not my problem. Deal with it—these are my people, too, right. I need to be there."

"No, what you need to do is look beyond the end of your nose and concentrate on the bigger issue."

"The bigger issue! I don't know anything about magic, or the O.Z., or any Undoing."

"Well you'd better find out, Princess, because if half of what I got from your parents is really happening, it's not going to matter what I do with our troops. You're the only chance we've got. So what's it going to be?"

He looked down at me, a challenge in his eyes, waiting for me to make the right choice.

I knew I never should have agreed to listen.

Thirty-seconds my ass.

I hate admitting I'm wrong.

But sometimes it's necessary.

I blew out a heavy breath and tried to look on the bright side. At least he wanted me to do something useful, not just sit on my hands. "Ok, you might have a point. What do you want me to do?"

Cain smiled warmth lighting his eyes. "That's my girl. You're going to go upstairs and find Tutor."

"Great," I said glumly. "I get to put the screws to the pooch. This would probably be a lot easier if someone had told me to pack my Scooby Snacks when I jumped into that tornado."

Cain frowned down at me. "I—" He started, but broke off and didn't seem to know what to say.

"What?" I demanded.

He shook his head and didn't answer, then paused again to stare down at me. Finally, he half turned toward the door. "I was going to say that I'd love to know what you just said, but then I changed my mind. I think I'm better off not knowing."

I thought about that for a minute. "You're probably right."

"I usually am, Kid."