It had been a day, twenty-four long hours, and in those twenty-four hours, Merli had not said one word to him. It was disconcerting, but he expected it, expected how quiet she would be, lost in her thoughts, on alert and unwilling to speak until she felt that there was no longer a threat on the premises. It was how she functioned, how she always dealt with things. He had no illusions of her bursting into tears, tackling him in a hug, bombarding him with question after question; that wasn't how she was. He took her silence in stride as he had brought her into his apartment and helped her to settle herself and her younger sister in, both by allowing Merli use of his shower and lending the girls some spare clothes.

Yet, even in the face of her usual behavior, he became more than a little worried. She wasn't hurt as far as he could tell, but what reasons would she have to wind up in a filthy alleyway with an unconscious princess and such panic in those azure eyes? It didn't make any sense, and the longer that Merli's silence reigned, the more concerned he grew for his ex-subordinate and the blue-haired girl who was sleeping, blissfully unaware, in his guest room.

He was the one who wanted to tackle Merli and bombard her with questions, but he would restrain himself. Wil knew the girl well, and so he knew that forcing her into anything would only produce the opposite of the desired results. The ex-warrior settled instead with keeping himself busy, be it by tidying up, making dinner for his unexpected guest, or as he was currently, fixing himself and Merli some tea. Turning around, the two mugs in his hands, he watched as his ex-protege paced anxiously around his apartment, looking out windows, checking the locks and, more than anything, constantly peeking into the room where the princess slept. She was nothing but a ticking time bomb at that moment, and, if he wasn't careful, the littlest thing could set her off, detonating an explosion he definitely wanted no part of.

Carefully, making sure to make enough noise to let her know he was still here, but quiet enough as not to alarm her, he sat down in his favorite arm chair, setting down the mugs carefully in hopes that, when she was ready, she would finally sit and drink to calm her nerves. Picking up his own mug, he sipped from it carefully, jade pools following her small form as she made another loop around his apartment, as if waiting for someone, or something, to come barging in. It was painful, watching her. He knew she wouldn't let it show, but Wil was well-versed in reading the subtle nuances of Merli's body language, thanks to decades of experience. She was scared, truly and utterly terrified, and he still had no clue why. It unnerved him, to say the least.

She paced incessantly, her bare feet making little to no sound against his floorboards. He thought for one terribly inappropriate moment given the circumstances, that she was going to slowly form a rut in his wood flooring if she kept up that pace. He was nearly finished his tea now, and knew that hers had gone cold in her mug, left completely untouched. Picking up her mug he went to rinse out the cups and refill them, when she suddenly stopped pacing. He watched the tenseness in her shoulders ease, just the slightest bit, as she finally stood still before sinking wordlessly to a seat on his couch. Wil quickly refilled their tea and rushed back out from the kitchen, placing a fresh mug in front of the young fae. It eased his own nerves to watch as she slowly picked up the mug, taking a cautious sip. He sank into his own seat, feeling considerably more calm already.

The silence between them turned slightly less tense, slightly more peaceful. The two sat quietly, sipping their tea, so the only sound in the room was the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. He waited patiently for her to speak, not wanting to push her. She tended to shut him out when that happened. It was a subtle thing, really, how she did it, but he knew when he had crossed the line with his questions, and he had learned to tread carefully. Merli trusted him, but she was a secretive person, and preferred to keep painful experiences to herself, even if doing otherwise would be to her benefit. However, this wasn't just about her. He knew it, and he knew she knew it, and that she would have to give him an explanation eventually, otherwise he could do nothing to help her in whatever it was she got herself tangled into this time.

Wil sipped his tea, and was debating fixing himself some coffee instead when his attention was drawn away from his cup by the quiet but firm "clink" of an empty mug being set on the coffee table. He looked up, jade eyes focused solely on the lilac haired fae who sat across from him, staring at her tightly clasped hands. He sat forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees.

"Would you like some more tea?" he asked, eyes not leaving her. He watched her knuckles whiten, fingers twisting into the fabric of her borrowed shorts. She didn't look up as she spoke, voice cracking slightly with disuse and something else that he knew she would rather he didn't identify.

"How?"

He remained silent, thumbs running over the lip of his mug as he thought, gathering his words. It would only be fair, if he expected the same out of her eventually. Wil sat back in his chair, gazing into the distance as he thought back on much-reviewed memories.

Clearing his throat, he began. "Let's see… It wasn't too long after you were assigned as the royal bodyguard. The General had been having me do solo work, special op stuff. Some of the lesser nobles had been caught planning to rebel, and obviously they had to be taught a lesson so that they didn't attempt any such things again in the future. I agreed with that much.

"What I didn't agree with was when I was expected to murder the youngest daughter of one of the heads of the insurrection as punishment. She couldn't have been older than her fifth decade or so, just a little girl who had nothing to do with anything. I refused to kill her, so instead I took her home and saw to it that she was tucked safely into her bed before heading back myself and turning myself in. The General didn't take defiance very well, all things considered, and of course he didn't want any stains upon his or the family's honor, so the whole thing was kept very quiet and taken care of quite quickly. Within three days of returning from my mission, I was court-martialed and convicted of defying direct orders and high treason, and was sentenced to banishment. So, they cut my hair and threw me through the portal, of course not without roughing me up a little first."

Wil paused to clear his throat again, sipping at what was left of his tea and scratching anxiously at his shoulder blades. Taking a breath, he continued.

"By the time I actually was in the human world, I could scarcely lift my head. Probably wouldn't have made it at all, had it not been for the landlady. She found my sorry ass in the alley and took me in, bound my wounds and nursed me. She's fae too, actually, decided to come here on her own long before either of us were born. You'll probably meet her if you stick around; she comes by for dinner fairly often. Once I was fully functioning again, she gave me an apartment to stay in and taught me how things work here, helped me to find a job so I could take care of myself. So, that's what I've been up to."

He set his empty mug down, rubbing absently at his tattoos through the sleeves of his long cotton shirt; they were just barely visible through the thin white fabric. Wordlessly, he watched Merli, waiting for her response. Her eyes were locked on his arms, staring at the faintly visible ink.

Wil smiled, a small, sad smile. "Would you like to see?" he asked.

Merli nodded and he stood up from his chair, pulling his shirt up over his head and casting it off. He turned away from her, showing her the full expanse of his back. Night black ink covered the dark skin, following the curves and ridges of his toned back muscles, starting at the small of his back and flowing upwards and outwards over his shoulder blades and down the expanse of his arms. The markings reminded Merli of the runes they used to describe wind.

Her eyes traveled the artfully swirled tendrils of ink, oh so carefully placed to follow the lines of his muscles. They were mesmerising, and, somehow, their appearance marked something different for him, something significant. She could feel it, like lead settling deep into her bones, as if looking at his tattoos were revealing a carefully kept secret. Her brows furrowed and her frown deepened, not liking the feeling, and that's when her eyes spotted them.

They were faint, nearly impossible to distinguish under the dark ink, but they were there. Two fine, jagged lines of puckered flesh, striking downwards from his shoulder blades and towards the base of his spine. She found herself still, that pit in her stomach settling into something dark and foreboding. She traveled the short distance between them and ghosted her fingers over the scars. Scars. Where his wings should be. Where his wings should be, but they're not. She felt the air leave her lungs, and her body tremble. No, not his wings. They took them.

"Your wings..." Her words were all but muttered, muffled by the ringing in her ears.

He didn't move, but she could feel him tighten beneath her fingertips. "Yeah." His voice was quiet, oh so quiet.

Her chest constricted tightly, even though she could feel her heart slamming against her ribcage unevenly, painfully. She pulled her hand back, nursed it against her body with the other, as if she had been slapped, and perhaps in her mind she had. They had hurt him, hurt Wil, one of the only people she's learned to trust in all her years of living, through all the nonsense she's been through. He had been the first to welcome her when she had arrived at the barracks, been the first to take time to understand all her quirks, all her fears, understand how she functioned, and worked around it to teach her, to mentor her. He was the strongest person she knew, and his wings, well, his wings were always an extension of who he was. It was like his body was nothing but a vessel, something his wings held on to, while they thrived and hummed with his heart and soul. She could never, in a million years, imagine him without them. Flightless, unable to soar through the clouds as he always did.

Yet here they were, and there he was, stripped of a part of him that was so integral to his being, forced to live a life devoid of what he loved more than anything, and the only symbol of that tragic day was etched into his skin, a reminder of what had happened, and what it meant for him.

Her lips parted, all she could do was breathe out his name, still too frightened to use her voice fully, not yet, not until she had control, but it tremored, revealing the earthquake she felt in her limbs. So many 'what-if's ran through her mind, one after another, in succession like flickering lights, lighting up one idea before being distinguished to bring forth a new one. What if roles had been switched, what she had been faced with the choice he had to make. What if? What if? But none of that mattered now, not when it had already been done, and there was no reversing it.

Her legs felt like lead and raw dough all at once, making her body teeter dangerously before she let herself sit hard on to the table, millimeters from sending his mug flying across the room. She felt anger, raw and rabid, like a grease fire out of control, then regret, deep and consuming, as if she were drowning in the murkiest of waters, and sadness, washing over her in violent waves, stripping her of any coherent thought to bottle away these emotions as she always did, and she knew, that if her friend had turned around in that moment, he would see it too.

She sat there, limbs shaking with barely contained grief and rage, not moving as she saw Wil put his shirt back on from the corner of her eye. He turned to face her again, crouching down so that he could meet her eyes.

"Merli," he breathed, soft yet firm. The storm inside of her calmed some. She didn't move as she felt his warm hands cover her tightly balled fists. "Look at me."

Slowly, she obeyed. Pulling her head up to meet his jade eyes, she memorized the familiar lines of his face. There was such a difference to him now, such a sadness in his eyes, but…

"I'm still me," he told her, gently squeezing her hands. They were so much bigger than hers, softer than she remembered, and warm. She soaked up that warmth, letting it melt some of the ice that had lodged deeply in her bones. Letting out a shuttering sigh, she leaned forward, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. He still smelled the same. Like a thunderstorm and fresh earth.

Her voice cracked. "I missed you."

She felt his hand lift up and begin stroking her hair. It felt nice. "I missed you, too."

They stayed like that for a long time. If there had been wet spots on his shirt where she had buried her face, neither of them said anything.