"Amnesia"

Nicholas Fury had two soulmarks; anyone who knew him would be surprised to learn that he had even one, let alone two. He accustomed himself to swearing as he grew up, swiftly growing out of a reflexive flinch every time he heard the F word, because one of his marks said 'The fuck is going on here?'. The other was also a question, far less worrying: 'Who are you?' Also, unfortunately, far more common.

But having a second soulmate, even one who possibly swore like a character on The Sopranos, made him feel confident that even if he missed the second one once, they'd find each other again. It was Fate.

Clint Barton had two soulmarks, but he didn't give a toss about soulmateship. It was a load of romantic crap. Even platonic relationships didn't have to work out. He was better off creating his own destiny and making his own family. Sure, after his brother skipped out he didn't actually have anyone to turn to, but he'd find someone one day; someone he could trust, words or not.

Still, in his weaker moments, he wondered what would happen when he met 'What do you think, punk?' and 'Are you here to save me?'

(He doubted he'd ever find the second one, though. He was more deserving of whichever asshole was pretending to be tough. Who even said 'punk' anymore?)

Leo Fitz had two soulmarks. He was born with them, just like everyone else, so he had no starting off clues date-wise. If only marks formed at birth! If he was the youngest of the three that wouldn't have helped him, of course, but it would've helped his two soulmates find him. Unless they didn't have records… but that was all academic. He trusted Fate, and knew he'd find his soulmates.

In fact, he didn't even have to trust Fate. Science had proven that ninety-seven percent of Marked people found their soulmates. It was the Unmarked, the Blank ones, you had to pity. Would they die young? Would their future soulmate's first soulmate die young, and the Unmarked person became the runner up?

No. He was lucky, because he'd have two people to depend upon when times got tough.

And best of all… he knew at least one of their names. Even if Clint Barton wasn't his soulmate, Nick Fury apparently was, or someone impersonating him, so that narrowed down the field a hell of a lot. It was just a matter of finding the right one.

"Coulson, you'd better have a fucking good reason for this," Nick hissed over the phone. His best friend probably didn't bat an eyelid.

"You gave me a free pass to use my instinct with a total of five potential assets of my choosing," Coulson said. "No questions, remember?"

"I can't believe you're wasting a free pass on this guy."

"Have a little faith, sir."

"Faith my ass," Nick said, and he hung up as he rounded the corner. Coulson walked down a Quinjet ramp, a junior agent following with the infamous Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, in hand. From what he'd heard about the mercenary, Nick was surprised he'd come quietly, and could only assume that the reason he was here was to do reconnaissance.

"Welcome to SHIELD," Coulson said. Barton – again, surprisingly enough – was looking more at the ground than his surroundings. Maybe those sharp eyes had already taken in everything they needed to see? "This is Director Nick Fury—"

"Uh-huh," Barton muttered, and he scowled at Coulson. "Cut the crap. Where are you stashing me until you take me out?"

"Sir, did you bring the probationary papers?" Coulson asked, ignoring him. Nick rolled his eyes, and handed the forms to Barton, who stared at the paper, and then turned his glare on Nick.

"The fuck is going on here?" he said.

A couple of things became very clear. One, Barton didn't know that Coulson intended to recruit him, not execute him. Two, one of the best assassins SHIELD had ever captured was Nick's soulmate. And apparently he had an attitude problem.

Well, revenge would be sweet.

"What do you think… punk?" he said, savouring the moment Barton's eyes widened comically. Yep, it seemed he was right. If he was stuck with 'fuck' in his soulmark, he was sticking his soulmate with 'punk'.

"Punk?" Barton squawked; Hawkeye was an apt name on more than one level. "You saddled me with punk?"

"I'd probably swear a lot less if it wasn't for you," Nick pointed out. Coulson's usually blank façade cracked as he glanced from one to the other. He handed Nick the key to the cuffs.

"I'll let you take over from here, if you don't have any objections, sir?" he said.

"None at all," Nick said, and he grabbed onto Barton's elbow. He wasn't taking any chances. "Come this way. It's comfier in my office, and more private."

He led Barton through the base, both of them silent as they observed each other using peripheral vision. Once they reached Nick's office, he locked the door behind them, and then unlocked Barton's cuffs. He gestured to the visitor's seat opposite his chair, and they both sat. Nick hated the atmosphere of officialdom, but picked up a pen nonetheless, and gestured to the blank space on Barton's side of the desk as he passed the ballpoint over.

"Read through the paperwork at your own pace," he said. "Ask me any questions you may have."

"We're not gonna talk about the fact that we're possibly soulmates?" Barton said.

"Not until I know where your loyalties will lie," Nick said. "I'm the head of an international spy organisation. There's no such thing as too much paranoia, even between potential soulmates."

"Especially the potential ones, I'm guessing." Nick inclined his head, and Barton sighed. But he dutifully began to read, and Nick pretended to go through his correspondence while keeping watch over the slippery assassin. Eventually, Barton signed, and handed the pen back. Nick dropped it into the pen holder Coulson bought him as a Secret Santa present one year. If there was one person he could trust not to bug his office, it was Coulson.

"I'll get this processed ASAP," Nick said, accepting the paperwork. He sat it in his out tray, and began to peel off his leather duster. Barton raised his eyebrows. "Hey, it's a bitch trying to roll leather up, okay?" Then he shoved up the long sleeve of his shirt, and showed Barton his soulmark. He knew it matched the writing on the probie forms Barton had just filled in, but this was traditional.

"In the interests of full disclosure, I have a second mark," Barton said.

"So do I," Nick said.

"And I don't hold much stock in soulmateship."

"…Why not?" It stung, but Barton said it in such a tired way that it was something he probably repeated to himself – or others – often. Which meant that he maybe no longer believed it.

"Seen too many bad relationships supposedly created by Fate," Barton said. Nick considered this for a moment before replying.

"Did it ever occur to you that bad relationships exist as a How Not To guide?" he suggested. "A demonstration of what not to do when you're with another person, platonically or otherwise?"

Barton blinked rapidly, and his gaze wandered.

"No," he said. "Guess it just seems like… like that'd be pretty stupid. Why can't everyone have someone else perfect for them?"

"The world would be boring if everyone was perfect," Nick said. "And we wouldn't have jobs."

Barton laughed hollowly. "Yeah. What a terrible world if doctors and police weren't needed."

"Barton—"

"Look, I get what you're trying to do. But I think you're better off waiting for our third, if we share whoever it is. I didn't build up any preconceived notions about my soulmates—"

"Except that you figured we'd be terrible together due to seeing only bad examples growing up," Nick said, frustration setting in. "I know you grew up in a circus. Didn't you see happy families then?"

"I… I guess…" He sighed again. "I just don't think I'm soulmate material."

"Fate thought otherwise," Nick said. He raised his hands when Barton opened his mouth. "No, I won't push this. I don't wanna see you give up on the idea of having any kind of relationship with your soulmates, that's all. Take as long as you need to think about it. I haven't met my other soulmate yet."

Barton hesitated, and then drew off one of his arm bands, exposing Nick's writing.

"I don't like wearing sleeves, but at least cold weather means I can wear these," he said. "Sucks during summer."

"I'll get someone to take measurements for your uniform, and they can work something out for you."

"Thanks… boss."

Not long after aliens attacked Manhattan, and Phil Coulson nearly died, Fury's right hand man was transferred to become the Avengers' handler. The team reportedly went their separate ways for the most part, which was good for Fitz. Because he and Simmons had been transferred to the New York base, and as long as Barton was still working for SHIELD there was a good chance that Fitz would meet his soulmates.

He hadn't told anyone his soulmarks, especially the one belonging to Nick Fury, not even Simmons. He wasn't sure about attending the academy when he was first approached as a teenager; but when he heard the director's name, he accepted, and then worked his arse off to get to America. There, he met Simmons, and the rest was history.

Of course, at their age they were still too lowly to address the director directly, and since Stark was now working on trick arrows for Hawkeye that reduced the chances of meeting him anytime soon. But he didn't worry. He'd meet his soulmates sooner or later. It would be a huge coincidence if one of them wasn't the head of SHIELD, but in their line of work… well, stranger things had happened.

To be honest, the R&D Department was often the cause of strange things. No matter how innocently a project started out, sometimes explosions resulted. Apparently the same thing applied at Stark Industries, because something happened in one of the labs, and FitzSimmons were on the team sent to monitor the situation.

While using a DWARF to examine the area, Fitz went over the readings. Simmons was on the team examining the people who'd be covered in whatever substance had exploded. Why an astrophysicist was working with an engineer and a chemist, Fitz wasn't quite sure, but the results from Sneezy were fascinating.

In the background, he could hear a lot of yelling, and eventually someone stalked into the room. A curvy brunette wearing a beanie (indoors?) approached Fitz.

"Talk non-science babble to me," she said, and he blinked.

"Eh?" he said.

"Look, I need to get my boss's notebook out of there. Nick Fury's being a pain in the ass, but of course he's gonna back up Coulson, Mr. Supernanny. Anyways, if you could just let me past I'd be super grateful, and I'll be careful. I know the equipment in there. I helped build it. Well, I mean, I passed Jane the tools and the duct tape, but I know what not to touch."

"I can't let you go in there," Fitz said, holding out a hand. "Look, I'm wearing a hazard suit. You said it's a notebook?"

"Yeah, on one of the desks." She pointed. "That one, see? It's got a blue cover."

"I'll get it for you. You're not wearing the right clothes."

"Gimme a suit and I'll—"

"No, I can do this. The DWARFs know me, and they know the fabric this suit is made out of. This is my job, miss. Doctor?"

"Miss."

"I won't be a minute," Fitz promised. He checked the readings again, and then stepped into the lab. He kept the monitor with him, and picked his way around lumps of debris until he reached the right desk. Notebook. Blue… ish colour. Looked more like a StarkPad, but since it wasn't SHIELD tech Fitz couldn't swear to that. He touched the screen as he picked it up—

BOOM!

Fitz was knocked off his feet, monitor and notebook flying from his hands. He hit his head against something, hard, and it dazed him. He was barely aware of moving until he realised he was in the corridor again, and that it was Simmons dragging him by the wrists. She knelt beside him, calling his name and waving a hand in front of his face. Things were a bit blurry, and that wasn't helping. He tried to say as much, but words were proving harder than normal. A dark shape crouched beside Simmons' blurry form, and Fitz squinted.

"Who are you?" he asked. He barely noticed Simmons being shooed out of the way, before he was scooped up in strong arms.

"I'm Nick Fury, and the man carrying you is Clint Barton," the shape said. Fitz realised he was being held against a chest, and his head flopped onto the person's shoulder.

"Hey," whoever it was said. Clint Barton, was it? Why was Fitz having trouble with this? His brain wasn't usually this fuzzy.

"Are you here to save me?" he asked. He meant help, but save seemed right. Didn't the damsel in distress usually get carried to safety? Not that Fitz was a damsel.

"You're rambling," Simmons said. That was a voice he couldn't forget.

Forget…

Phil noticed Fury and Barton having one of their silent conversations. They weren't Bonded, as far as he knew. He didn't even know whether they spent that much time together. Hell, they saw each other even less now that Barton spent half his time on the Avengers Initiative. What could've prompted the looks?

"Gonna let me in on the conversation?" he asked testily. Even though Fitz wasn't one of his people, the young engineer had still been injured while (sort of) under Phil's care. Certainly in the building where Phil lived part of the time. (There was only so much of Tony Stark he could stand, without even having to interact with the recalcitrant billionaire.)

"Nothing," Barton said.

"Oh, wow. So convincing that I'll leave it alone. Not."

"You should," Fury said. His tone wasn't hard enough to match the glare, and Phil straightened up. He saw Barton and Fury exchange another indecipherable look, and wondered why they were even still there. They had no reason to hang out in the waiting room while Fitz was examined, especially Barton. Phil was sure Fitz had never had contact with either man…

"Oh," he repeated. "Wow. I'll… I'll go see how they're getting on. Unless you'd rather…?" He gestured to the examination room, where Banner was helping out, but Fury and Barton shook their heads. "If you think he's your—"

"Don't," Fury said. His voice was stonier this time, and Phil shut his mouth. He headed into the room, and stood on the other side of the bed from the doctor. Fitz's partner, Simmons, was prowling in the background. The contamination turned out to be harmless; the only injury was to Fitz's head.

"How is he?" he asked. Banner looked up.

"Won't know for certain `til he wakes," he said. "Shouldn't be long. I disinfected the wound and patched it up, but I don't want him waking up in the middle of an MRI. Could you ask Simmons whether he has claustrophobia?"

"He doesn't," Simmons said, clearly monitoring the situation with bat-like hearing.

"Good to know," Banner said. "I don't want to sedate him until I'm sure there's no brain damage… but I can't scan him if there's a chance he'll start moving around in a panic."

"Do what you can, doc," Phil said. He looked back over his shoulder, and saw Barton and Fury trying to look like they weren't worried. To Phil's eyes, they were failing.

"Of course. FitzSimmons are among the brightest minds I've encountered. I'm not letting them down if I can help it."

"Maybe Stark or JARVIS could help you?"

"Tony said he has a portable scanner… looks like he's waking up."

"What?" Phil said, and Simmons nearly skidded into the bed as she bolted to his side.

"Fitz!" she exclaimed. His forehead wrinkled and he groaned.

"Who's…" He opened his eyes gingerly, before shutting them against the bright light of the ward. "Ugh. Who's there?"

"It's me," Simmons said, leaning over so he could see her. Pointless, since his eyes were still closed. "Do you remember me, Fitz?"

"Couldn't forget you, Simmons." He half-smiled. "I've got the worst headache. Why would I get drunk?"

"Head injury, not alcohol, Fitz. How much do you remember?"

"If the last thing he remembers is going to a bar, we're in trouble," Phil muttered. He turned around and signed that Fitz was awake, in case Barton and Fury couldn't see that. Barton nodded, and obviously translated for Fury. If Phil's soulmate (if he even had one) had any kind of hearing problem, he would've gone to the trouble of learning sign language. But their lack of a relationship… no, Phil refused to think about it, and returned his attention to Fitz.

"I remember working on the, uh, the latest upgrades to the cloaking—"

"Classified," Phil interrupted, smiling apologetically at Banner, who shrugged.

"Do you remember what day it is?" he asked.

"…Thursday?" Fitz said.

"And the date?"

It turned out that Fitz recalled leaving SHIELD for Stark Tower, but he was having trouble remembering past that. It was understandable; once FitzSimmons got lost in their work, apparently the outside world ceased to exist. Chances are he'd remember if he looked at the readings from their drones. But Banner would probably advise against Fitz returning to work so soon after sustaining a head wound.

He did, however, convince Fitz to consent to a head scan. Simmons, as his designated partner at SHIELD, accompanied them to the MRI room. Phil explained the situation to Barton and Fury, before calling Agent Weaver to text him a sample of Fitz's handwriting. She didn't ask questions, probably guessing the reason.

"Show me your soulmarks," he said.

"What?" Fury said.

"I can't pull rank on you, but I can pull rank on Barton, and I'd prefer not to. Doesn't exactly promote a healthy relationship between asset and handler."

Barton huffed a sigh, but he pulled up his shirt. In the easy-to-read print of a SHIELD engineering specialist was 'Are you here to save me?', which matched the section of a form Weaver had scanned and sent. Fury eventually uncrossed his arms while Barton tugged his shirt back into place, parted his coat, and lifted the black polo he was wearing underneath. The same writing, saying 'Who are you?'

"It's him," Phil confirmed, before thoroughly deleting the file from Weaver.

"He's a kid," Barton said.

"He's a SHIELD agent."

"Yeah, but not field."

"I didn't know you were so biased against the people who've provided you with the tools necessary for your work," Phil said, blinking innocently at Barton, who scowled.

"You know what I mean, Phil," he said. First name terms, huh? That was telling.

"You think that he can't defend himself if anyone finds out who his soulmates are."

"It's a good point," Fury said. Phil wondered whether he really meant it.

"The fact that he works for SHIELD in research and development already makes him a target," Phil said. "I was there when you spoke to him. He has your names in his mark. If no one's captured him yet to use as bait, there's a good chance it'll continue that way. Don't give up on him because you're scared."

"Look… I'm not comfortable with this," Barton said, hunching his shoulders. "I'm gonna go. Ask JARVIS to let me know if there's an emergency."

Fury didn't comment as Barton walked off. He waited until they were alone before turning to Phil.

"He's never been happy with the idea of soulmateship," he said. "Childhood… didn't give him the best examples."

"What do you think?" Phil asked.

"I think…" Fury pulled out his phone. "I wanna get to know my other soulmate. But I have to do it covertly."

"For both your safeties. I understand. If someone wanted SHIELD science secrets, they could kidnap you to get Fitz to comply."

Fury snorted, and half-smiled. It was more than Phil usually saw. "You think anyone could take me?"

"I don't think anyone could take Fitz while he's under your watch."

"Jumping the gun there, aren't you, Coulson?"

"Not going by your smile."

"Yeah, but I'm just a third of the equation." Fury's smirk dimmed, and Phil sighed, before tugging him back to the waiting room and forcing him to sit down. He sat beside his boss, and pulled up Fitz's file, studying it with new eyes.

"Doesn't make it any less valid, you know," he said. Fury hummed. "Soulmateship isn't settled until bonding. Anything can change… well, consider yourself lucky that you're marked at all."

"Never took you for a soul lore cynic," Fury said.

"Not a cynic," Phil said. "Fitz doesn't remember much of today at the moment. But when he wakes up, I suggest you be there. Introduce yourself again. Say that you met before, but Fitz was out of it. Don't push, because I'm pretty sure Bruce would advise against it, which means the Hulk would as well. He's young, and you're his boss, so put the power of the relationship in his hands. But don't give up hope if he's unsure at first. Finding out your soulmate is your boss, or someone you admire… it's a huge deal. Give him time."

"This won't be repeated."

"JARVIS, this conversation is highly sensitive in nature," Phil said. "Please wipe it from your records. Thoroughly. We can't afford anyone to get hold of it."

"Of course, Agent Coulson," JARVIS said.

"Thanks," Fury murmured to Phil.

"Not a problem, boss."

Thank God Simmons was right there. A familiar sight when Fitz woke up. He recognised the man – hopefully doctor or agent – at the end of the bed, and judging by Simmons' look of adoration he was either her soulmate or a hero of hers.

"Did I miss something?" he mumbled.

"Oh, Fitz!" She jumped to his side, and Fitz squinted. "Do you know what day it is?"

"I've only just woken up, Simmons," he said. "I could've been out overnight."

She rolled her eyes. "You haven't been out that long. You fell asleep not long after the MRI."

"I… I think I remember the tunnel?"

"Do you remember anything which happened before that?"

"Maybe I should ask the questions, Dr. Simmons?" the stranger said.

"O-of course, Dr. Banner," Simmons said, fluttering her eyelashes (unintentionally) as she backed off. Dr. Banner pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and Fitz braced himself for a headache-inducing barrage of questions. He was surprised when the doctor began with a non-standard question.

"Do you remember your soulmarks?" he asked.

"…W-what? My soulmarks? How… how did you know I have two?"

"You have two?" Simmons said. "You didn't tell me that!"

"I haven't met them yet," Fitz said, trying not to sulk. Dr. Banner cleared his throat.

"Are you sure about that?" he said.

"I'm sure I'd remember meeting my soul…" It was easy to put the pieces together, and Fitz groaned. "Don't tell me I met one – or both – of my soulmates while I was unconscious?"

"No," Dr. Banner said, and Fitz relaxed. "But you might've met them while you were dazed after hitting your head. Part of the day you've forgotten."

"No." He moaned, rubbing his temples. "No, no, no. Damn it! Waiting my whole life for it, and… and I can't remember…"

"It'll come back to you," the doctor said. Being tended to by the Hulk; that was what Fitz's life had come to. "Your memory's not gone forever. You'll find it."

"I bloody well hope so," he grumbled. "Did they, uh…"

"Here," a deep voice said, startling Fitz into turning his head too quickly. He moaned as it brushed the surface of the pillow, putting pressure on the bandage, and swallowed down the nausea. His gaze finally settled on the most imposing person he'd never actually met before. Until today, apparently.

"Hello," he said, feeling small.

"I'm Nick Fury."

"Y-yeah, I got that. But… are you my Nick Fury? The one in my mark? I wasn't sure. I hoped it wouldn't be someone impersonating you, or anyone else named Nick Fury. Do you, uh, know who our—"

"Hawkeye. He's our third. We've checked your writing against both our marks. He's… not sold on soulmateship." Fury – because Fitz couldn't possibly call him Nick, let alone think of him as Nick – glared at Simmons and Dr. Banner. It was impressive enough with one eye; imagine what it'd be like with two. "Can we be alone for a minute?"

"As long as you need," Simmons said, wide-eyed. Dr. Banner coughed again.

"At any signs of fatigue," he began.

"I know, I know. I won't be long. His health is more important." Fitz blushed, especially when Simmons shot him a thumbs-up and mouthed 'Go, Fitz!' from the doorway. When the door was shut, Fury perched on the edge of the bed.

"My mark… it's here," Fitz said, pushing down the covers weakly. Embarrassing circumstances under which to meet his soulmates. He thought it was bad enough having 'Hey' as one of his marks; this was ten times worse. He was glad he'd been left in his own clothes, much easier to manoeuvre than a hospital gown. After a few seconds of fumbling, he was able to expose his belly, revealing the mark with the names. Fury's hand hovered over the print, and when Fitz grew impatient he caught the director's wrist and lowered his palm to Fitz's skin. There was a tickling sensation along the many lines of his mark, and he summoned the courage to meet his soulmate's gaze.

But Fury was staring at Fitz's mark, tracing along the letters. It was like nothing he'd felt before, and he was pretty sure his look of awe matched the director's.

"Barton's never…" He trailed off, and Fitz cocked his head.

"Doesn't believe in soulmateship?" he asked lightly.

"He believes it's more a suggestion, but that you make your own future," Fury said, still fixated on Fitz's soulmark. "He's seen too many soulmate relationships go sour."

"And you?" Fitz said. If he'd been hooked up to a heart-rate monitor, it would probably be going crazy. Wait. He was hooked up to a heart-rate monitor, and it was going a wee bit fast. But this was important. He'd pinned his hopes on finding his soulmates and… and maybe he should've abandoned those hopes when he realised that Nick Fury and Clint Barton were way out of his league. But his family had a tradition of perfect soulmateship. "Will you reject me, too?"

Fury met Fitz's eyes, and his lips tilted up at the corners.

"I'm not like Barton," he said, and Fitz shivered involuntarily as that deep voice seemed to travel through the mark into Fitz's very soul.

"You're not like anyone I've ever met before," he whispered.

"Not saying that because you're my soulmate, are you?"

"No, sir."

"Or because I'm your boss?"

"Definitely not, no. But… that complicates things a tad, doesn't it?"

"A bit. Only if you want it to. I'll… do whatever I can to make it easy for you."

"What do you want me to do?" Fitz asked. It was a reasonable question, he thought, but Fury rolled his eye.

"It's your choice," he said. "I'm not pressuring you one way or the other. This is entirely in your hands. There's no deadline. There's no right or wrong answer. Take the time to think things over and decide what you want. I can't speak for Barton, whether he'll change his mind or not."

"But what do you want? You have a say in this, too—"

"I'm the head of SHIELD, and you work for SHIELD," Fury said. "Just because I'm not directly above you doesn't mean I don't have control over your work, or where you work. I'm in charge there. When it comes to the personal, I'm putting you in charge. Don't make any hasty decisions. Let me know when you're ready. Ask Weaver, and she'll put me in touch with you."

"No!" Fitz said. "I need to know where you stand with this… sir. If I said I wanted this but you didn't, that… no means no! Consent—"

"I wouldn't say no," Fury said, standing up. "I've known Barton for years, but things have never moved there because he didn't… doesn't want a relationship with his soulmates, outside of a working one. I'm much older than you, Fitz, but if that didn't matter to you then it wouldn't matter to me. I want a life – whatever there is of it – with my soulmate. Both, if Barton ever came around to the idea, which I don't see happening anytime soon. Maybe you could change his mind? But, Fitz, you could never make me do anything against my will… including you."

He smiled wickedly for a second, shocking Fitz into speechlessness, before he strolled out of the room. Simmons and Dr. Banner entered a moment later, and Simmons was practically bubbling over with excitement.

"Well?" she squeaked.

"Uh… classified."

She huffed. "Spoilsport."

I don't even know. This ship was requested? I know, I know, I've taken ages getting around to updating, and I haven't replied to all the reviews I received since I posted the previous chapter. Partly because I was in Canberra, and the few times I did get internet access I was catching up on other stuff while surrounded by family; and partly because I've been so damn listless these holidays that I've been entirely unproductive and mostly played Nancy Drew computers games. Earlier to bed than usual tonight. Sigh.

…Anyway, enough about me. I know this wasn't the most satisfying of chapters, conclusion-wise, but that just leaves more to be written for the headcanon continuation thing, right? (And I've really gotta get on with the companion pieces at some point. Oops.)

Please review!