A/N: It's my friend Bethany's birthday today and this one is for her.

"When your enemy has the size advantage," Astrid told a class of underaged Hooligans, "you use the size against them. Bigger you are the more energy it takes to move your body." Astrid turned to Snotlout, her assistant for the day. "Okay, charge me."

Having really bought into his part in this demonstration, Snotlout's face scrunched with concentration as he charged Astrid, releasing a phlegm-clogged battle cry that echoed through the sunny arena. She stepped out of the way with a flourish, and Snot crashed into the corner, panting and grabbing the wall for support. They repeated this pass two more times, until on the third run, Astrid grabbed his arm and deftly pinned it behind his back.

"See?" she said to her students, grinning. The kids, who were all about thirteen or fourteen, broke into small groups to practice, looking alternately terrified and impressed by their instructor and instructions. She helped Snot up from where he lay collapsed on the arena floor, groaning about how this wasn't what he'd signed up for, even though she'd explicitly used the words "exhausting" and "miserable" when inviting him to participate.

When she straightened up, Snot's arm slung around her shoulder, she spied a familiar figure in the otherwise deserted stands. Hiccup gave a little wave; she shut her eyes and went on helping Snot back to his house.

She didn't get through the door—Spitelout appeared and started going off on his son, and she was smart enough to get out of there before the situation imploded.

Unfortunately, Astrid didn't make it two steps from the Jorgenson house before running into Hiccup, his arms folded across his chest.

"Stop following me," she grumbled, pushing by him, to no effect—he fell in step with her.

"Three weeks, Astrid."

"I needed some space."

"You could've let me know."

"I'm letting you know." She turned on her heel and stomped off again—except he was with her again, he was a little faster than her, she'd never hated that as much as she did today.

"Okay, space, I get it, but I want to talk to you."

"You're definitely doing that," she sighed, still trying to surge away from him.

But Hiccup threw himself in her path, suddenly taller, but his tone softened. She glared at the leather lacing on the neck of his shirt. "I have something to say to you in private."

She swallowed, looked everywhere but at him. He was right that people could see them here—they were in plain view of the well, the Great Hall, and the Haddock house itself. Astrid wouldn't want to shatter anyone's perceptions about their future—future whatever she was, now. In the past three weeks the approach of winter had been colder than she could remember, and it sat on her heart, draining her of color and warmth. This was the closest she had been to Hiccup since their quiet flight home from Berserker Island: she wanted to hug him, she wanted to sock him right in the eye, just like Dagur.

"Fine," she told him at last. "I have to go finish my class. I'll come by the forge later."

"Promise?"

Astrid shook her head, looking past him; nothing to disguise her annoyance. Not worth the energy. "Yeah, promise."

"Astrid," he said, and when she reluctantly glanced at him, he was holding up a pinky. Oh, that's low. The freeze she felt melted a degree. Biting her lip, she raised her own little finger, and locked it with his. He smiled at her, and she drew away at once, marching back to the arena where he couldn't win her over, not an inch.

It was late, nearly sundown, when she went to him, but she knew he'd wait there until she arrived. He was stupid like that, utterly devoted. She had something to say to him too, she supposed.

The forge door stood open; Hiccup was at his little table, sewing a bit of leather. She knocked anyway, waiting to enter. That felt weird, but symbolic. He looked up, waved her toward the stool beside him.

With a deliberate frown, she took the stool and dragged it an additional foot from Hiccup's own chair before she sat on it, and then gave him a look that said, plain as day, you did this to yourself, buddy.

Hiccup sighed—a huge, billowing sigh, cheeks all puffed and round, rustling the papers on his workspace—and ran a hand through his hair.

"You talk first," she demanded. He'd called this meeting, after all.

"All right." Another sigh, this one smaller, but it rifled the forelock of auburn hair hanging down his forehead. "How's your leg?"

Astrid harrumphed, smashed her boot on the floor. "It's fine. That's not what you wanted to say to me." The wound had finally turned to a scar, but it still pinched slightly when she moved her thigh a certain way—probably some kind of permanent damage to the tissue, but more than bearable.

Hiccup rubbed his chin. "You're right. It's not." With a deep inhale, he said, "I'm sorry." It had the affectation of meaning it, but after the words had drifted out and dissolved between them, he stayed silent.

"That's it?"

"No." Agitated, or maybe nervous, he climbed from his stool and started to wander the forge. He must've done that a thousand times—he didn't even look where he was going, he just knew to step over the shield someone had dumped on the floor, the head of a mace poking out at knee-level. "I was really stupid, Astrid," he told the rafters. "I worried so much about my dad not wanting us to be together that I hurt you. That doesn't even make sense. And then I spent that whole time we were with the Berserks worried about whether or not you were still going to…" She tensed, and he knew, he must've known what verb to use. "Want me. In the meantime, you could've died. I could've died. We could've started a war." He turned away from the ceiling and saw her, finally. His eyes were green and wide and wet. "So, it would be pretty funny if I lost you because I was too afraid that would happen."

Astrid pushed one of his pens across the table. "I think your dad was right about us."

Hiccup's face fell so fast, the air pressure in the room seemed to descend with it. "Are you kidding?"

"No. I distract you. You'd be a better chief without me."

"I'm not chief yet, Astrid," he said, echoing her from—it had been years now, she realized. "All these circumstances, they're against us, we haven't gotten to be just us."

She found herself frustrated with his resistance; she hadn't expected a fight, though perhaps that had been wishful thinking. Boar-headed. "We're never going to be just us. You and me and all of Berk, we tried the whole secret thing, it lasted a week."

"We'll try again." He started closing the gap between them, which made her seize up, she didn't think she stood a chance in closer quarters.

"No."

"Is that what you want?"

But she was too slow to say, "I want what's good for Berk," he had caught her, he was pointing a long thin finger right in her face.

"You want me."

"Nope."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I don't."

He had made it across the room, and he spun her seat around, forcing her to face him; he leaned down so their eyes were level, close enough that she could make out the freckles on his nose. There were at least twelve. That seemed like a lot.

In a low voice, almost a rumble, Hiccup said, "Don't lie. If you're going to do this, tell me the truth." His chest rose and fell with more vigor than usual, he was a little winded, his cheeks flushed red. It had been weeks since they'd kissed. If only she hated him at his most passionate, if only she didn't admire this insistence on truth, if only he hadn't been right—she was lying. And the want she felt for Hiccup was very acute in that moment.

Unable to come up with a coherent sentence, Astrid threw back her head and shrieked through clenched teeth. Hiccup didn't flinch. When she kept sitting there with her eyes shut saying nothing, he pulled away (she felt the air near her empty of his warmth) purposefully.

"Let me show you something."

Slowly, Astrid lowered her head and peeked at him. He was standing over his table, puzzling at the bit of leather he'd been working on when she came in. He glanced up at her.

"Will you let me? Show you, I mean. It's cool."

Her throat still refused to work. She nodded, feeling that her face must've been so peculiar, just then. Frustrated lust and surprise.

"Okay. Go get Stormfly, I'll meet you on the green."

"It's late to be flying," she informed her dragon, who merely cooed and nudged her. They had been waiting for Hiccup for fifteen minutes; in half an hour, there would be no light at all. Perfect for a Night Fury, not as fun for a Nadder. But Astrid fed Stormfly another fish from the feeding station, and kept waiting. She was curious, and it was Hiccup. The weeks she'd not spoken to him, even if it was for her own good, had been miserable.

She wouldn't have noticed him arrive if not for Toothless appearing behind him—he looked different. Gone was the lovingly worn green tunic stretched and refitted by his growth, and the fur vest that made him look even squarer than reality. He had outfitted himself in brown quilted leather, and a hard black breastplate; she could see Inferno bound to his thigh, and all sorts of nooks in the layers of buckling and straps where gadgets might've been stored, secreted away. On the shoulder in red was a skull, the Hooligan symbol; a smaller red badge on his chest was the outline of a Night Fury. The outfit made every step he took seem faster, lighter, and more confident. Blushing, she found it was a lot to process.

"Do you like it?" he asked, aglow with pride as he hopped on to Toothless, and she on to Stormfly.

She managed to get out, without giving away any serious opinion "What is it?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Just thought it was time for a change. I've been working on it for a few months." Hiccup gazed out at the sea, then patted Toothless. "It does more. Let's go, bud."

And off they went. The dying light washed them in purple and gold, and she pulled up her hood at the biting winter air. Stormfly stayed a length behind Toothless, Hiccup and his dragon leading the way. She had no sense of where they were going, but it didn't particularly matter, she was busy examining Hiccup's new suit from the advantageous rear perspective.

After they'd flown for a time, Hiccup and Toothless began to climb; she imitated them, though apprehensive. The wind up here howled in her ears, stray snowflakes found her bare, freezing fingers. They were nearly in the clouds when he turned back to her and shouted something—the gusts caught the sound, but it looked like he was saying, watch this. She nodded.

Hiccup detached his lines and leapt from the back of his dragon.

Astrid screamed; she couldn't help it. The surprise strangled the sound out of her, and she clamped a hand over her mouth. He is going to die, she thought, the most gutting and stark sentence ever to pop into her head; she had wished death on so many people, she had witnessed him nearly die before, but knowing the certainty of death this way was sudden and different. A split second catastrophe; a split second and the vacancy on Toothless's sleek back confirmed everything she suspected she had ever felt for such a dumb boy. Hiccup was disappearing below her—Toothless kept flying, but he must've felt her staring at him aghast, because she saw the glance of a huge green eye, and he dove for his master. Without a command, Stormfly launched after him: maybe she could feel Astrid shaking through her saddle.

As they started to catch up with Hiccup, she noticed that he was falling much slower than she'd thought—probably because he had sprouted wings. He was a little dragon against the expanse of sea below them, the water glinting yellow in the sunset, all the buckles on his suit made gold by the low sun. He might've been a falling star—perhaps she ought to make a wish.

It came back to her: show me something cool.

The flight suit. He was soaring below her, and flipped over. He cracked a grin. He was fine, he was okay, he had jumped for his own crazy purposes. Astrid could feel tears freezing on her cheeks. She was going to murder him for this. He was going to wish he'd died crashing into the ocean.

Toothless ducked beneath him, and Hiccup flipped back on to his belly, trying to get to his saddle, but the wind was too strong. He flailed in the air, panic coming into the gestures. Astrid groaned and patted Stormfly's neck.

"Fetch, girl."

Stormfly squawked happily and swooped down, her claws circling around Hiccup's torso. Astrid thought she heard him cry out in surprise—good, honestly. He deserved a scare.

They were soaring straight for an island, so Toothless's solo descent wasn't a problem: he landed easily and Stormfly dropped Hiccup unceremoniously in the dirt beside him, then flapped down a few feet away from the boys. Hiccup sprung to his feet, adjusted his prosthetic, and was promptly knocked to his feet again by Toothless, who grumbled at his master. "It's a prototype, bud," he told the dragon, getting back up again, but Astrid had a feeling this explanation was intended for her as well. "Just like we talked about." In fact, she could sense him looking at her as she slid, stony-faced, from Stormfly's back. And when she turned around, there he was, smiling at her with naïve hesitancy. Waiting for a response. Silence hung between them, needing her attention.

It burst out of her: Astrid punched him in the stomach with every scrap of energy she could muster (he screeched and danced away from her), and she started to shout. "YOU WILL NEVER DO THAT AGAIN OR I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF YOU BIG OLD STUPID I hate that stupid suit so much take it off right now—" She started chasing him, trying to tear at the buckles and loose wing fabric hanging from his sides. "—take it off HOW DARE YOU SCARE ME LIKE THAT I hate you so much—" Hiccup caught her by the shoulders, making little soothing sounds. "Unbelievable, you ass, how could you not warn me about this—" His mouth found hers, swallowing up the words, and she fitted against him, neat in the embrace, like one of the straps on his perfect tailored suit. It was a kiss all drummed up on the adrenaline and emotion of the moment, angry and unapologetically greedy. She bit his lip, to remind him of her righteous fury.

"Sorry I didn't warn you," he mumbled, and kept kissing her—Astrid couldn't remember ever being kissed like this by him, it was bizarre and exhilarating. No more cloying gentle tongue or awkwardly searching her expression for approval. On this particular day for whatever reason (okay, so she understood; he was communicating an evolution to her) he had lost that boyishness, these were kisses that left her lips swollen, that stirred her blood. From a hard grip on her shoulders his hands slipped down her sides, to her hips, and rested there, though from the way he disturbed the fabric of her skirt she sensed there was more those hands wanted to do—she tried to take one and guide it across the flatness of her stomach, enjoying the sensation of being touched, but he pulled away.

Astrid drew out of their kiss, frowning. "Seriously?"

He was about as red as she, but his jaw flexed in a way that made her think she maybe needed to lie down for a moment. "Not here," he said gruffly. Her heart lurched. "Not outside, it's cold, and it's getting dark, it's not comfortable."

"So if not here, then—"

He nodded once, shortly.

Her pulse thudded, and not knowing how to respond in words, she dragged them together again in another snog, this one particularly sloppy. She imagined things were only going to get sloppier from this point on, anyway.

Hiccup broke this one off, groaning into her neck, a sound that did some very good things for her. "I really think we should be getting back now," he choked out.

She smiled, agreeing, and pecked him on the cheek. "I'll go home."

"Are you sure?"

"My mother's away tonight, I think, and even if she isn't, she doesn't care like your dad would."

"Okay," he whispered, frustration fading into nervousness as they started to pull apart and head for their separate dragons. But Astrid caught the whiff of his insecurity, and grabbed his hand before he went, kissing him one last brief time.

"Hey," she said, in a quiet voice, "I love you too."

It was a beautiful sight to see these words dawning across Hiccup's face, to watch him smile and attempt to flatten out the curl of his mouth unsuccessfully, probably in the interest of remaining serious or sexy or something. Whatever—he could try as hard as he wanted, the delight he felt radiated through the clearing where they'd stopped, it made Toothless and Stormfly start to stomp and roar, it made Astrid grin and laugh and push him toward his dragon, so they could start back for the dim light of Berk glittering on the dark horizon.