Sora held his breath and crossed his fingers. Leon and Aerith shifted the door frame a little more, then finally settled it into place. A strikingly red bit of Fire Nation décor in the midst of the Bailey's gray stone walls.

"Come on…" Sora muttered. "Please?"

"Pleasepleaseplease!" Aang agreed from next to him.

"Now." Leon held up the key card. "Let's see if the connection works."

He slid the card. The light above the door glowed brilliantly crimson.

Aerith knocked on it, and from the other side, Zuko opened, gaping at the Bailey beyond. Meanwhile, those on the Radiant Garden side were treated to a truncated view of the Fire Nation palace's back hallway.

"IT WORKED!" Sora and Aang cried together.

"This hardly feels real," Zuko admitted. "I'm looking at a whole other world inside my closet."

"This is SO COOL!" Aang rushed forth and seized Zuko's hand, pulling him forth across the threshold.

"Wait – hey – AANG – "

"We can explore this whole new world together!" Aang babbled. "I actually held off on most of the exploring and intentionally saw as little of it as possible so I could do it with you! Wait." He stopped in his tracks. "You do have time, right? Or is this bad? You need to get back to some big important meeting, huh?"

And he turned and gave Zuko the biggest set of puppy eyes he'd ever seen in his life. Zuko, who was still reeling from the fact that Aang had actively held off on seeking out the places to have fun in Radiant Garden for the sole purpose of experiencing it all with him.

"No," Zuko said with a smile. "I don't. It's my day off. I have plenty of time to look around."

(Well, that wasn't quite true, but it wasn't the first time he'd rescheduled with the Cabbage Merchants' Association, and they could wait.)

"Where are we going first?" Zuko asked.

"I – " Aang cut himself off. "Uhhh…see, the thing about waiting to explore this world is that I kinda have no idea yet what there is to explore."

"Start with the castle," Leon advised. "You'll need to know your way around it no matter what."

"You guys are gonna love the lift station!" Sora emphasized. "Oh, and the library, and the lifts on the OUTSIDE that give you a great view, and wait until you see the Chamber of Parties!"

He took off running, with Zuko and Aang in hot pursuit.

...

Roman was rather enjoying finding the new features he had as of his mutation. He sat on his and Snatcher's mutual bed with shirt stripped off, picking and poking at his now thoroughly green skin and its healthy coat of scales.

"This is so gross!" he laughed. "And also…REALLY doing it for me right now."

"If you tell me you don't want us changed back so as to cater to your new…proclivity…" Snatcher sighed.

"Nononono," Roman said quickly. "Don't get me wrong, I'm all for living the human life. You? Can do whatever you want at this point."

"Human. I refuse to remain this way permanently."

"Cool, cool. But before we go…" Roman looked up at Snatcher with exaggerated pleading eyes. "Just once, while we're still both like this? Then I promise to drop it."

Snatcher shrugged. "Well, all right."

In an instant, he was straddling Roman atop the mattress, kissing him hard. As he gasped for breath in between, Roman sighed out, "Gods, you're still beautif – "

"No." Snatcher put a clawed finger to Roman's lips. "Not another word. I'd prefer you didn't lie." He then grinned; "I've always been a repulsive, disgusting creature. And that's what you want, isn't it?"

Well, if Roman agreed to that, he would be lying, but Snatcher seemed to be in the mood to be insulted, which was really not how he usually operated outside of delineated roleplay, but Roman wasn't averse to trying something new. "Yeah," he said once the finger was removed. "Enough to make a guy's stomach turn. Now let's see how sick you can make me."

After a tousled, tangled session of much noise, the postcoital period was eerily silent. Usually, if they were planning on staying in bed, such as to sleep afterward, Roman would roll over to face the edge of the bed and Snatcher would spoon in behind him. But this time, they faced each other, bound by a gentle embrace.

One of Roman's new-grown claws delicately traced the edges of the scales on Snatcher's back, the very tip drawing patterns, finding its way to the sensitive skin beneath. (Very sensitive. This had been something they'd both been overjoyed to discover not a long time ago.)

He didn't like apologizing. Not even to Snatcher. The act of saying he was sorry was more disgusting than being mutated, really. He could admit he'd been wrong, especially in indirect ways, but an apology in words would've been far too humbling in the worst way possible. But he wanted to make it up in some way, and the light tracing around the edge of each scale was his wordless way of stating his regret.

Snatcher pulled him closer. Rested an ear against his heart. He didn't really like verbally acknowledging apologies, either. Not from Roman. But he did want to – and manage to – convey that Roman was utterly forgiven.

...

Garfield flopped down onto the couch, letting out a satisfied sigh. "Now, that was an adventure," he remarked.

"Indeed," Peter replied from where he was seated on a stool at the kitchen island. He had all five pieces of Spinel out on the counter, spinning the shards idly. "You know, I was going to put this back together, but after all the fun we had with arts and crafts in Beach City, I rather think Harley would want to fix it up herself."

"Yeah, not to mention you'd just overglue it and make a mess."

"Give me some credit, please, Garfield."

"Only where it's due, Peter."

Peter's smile widened by one degree. Then lessened by two. "Garfield…might I talk to you about something rather…personal?"

"Huh?" Garfield had to process what he'd just been asked and make the mental space for it. He sat up, leaning his back against the couch rather than sprawling across it lengthways. "Yeah. Sure. Go for it." He stared at Peter intently.

"Well," Peter began, "it's just that there are some things occurring to me that I wasn't able to consider earlier on in life."

"Yeah?"

"Such as the idea that I didn't have to…subscribe to certain ideals."

"Ideals?" Garfield repeated. "Can you get to the point? Wait. Are you NERVOUS?"

"No. Of course not. Don't be silly."

"Why shouldn't I be? You're silly all the time!" Garfield put out his arms dramatically. "I swear whatever you have to tell me, I won't laugh and I won't tell anyone else. Unless you want me to."

"Very well." Peter stopped toying with the Spinel shards. "You know in my time, there were ideas about whether you were a man or a woman, and that began at birth. Over time, I'd learned that wasn't always the case, sometimes you were one they never said you were, such as certain illusionists we know."

"We do? Wait. Neo?"

"She showed us the pride flag in Asgard. Don't you remember?"
"Oh, yeahhhh." Garfield scratched his head. "Almost forgot. Did forget, actually. Anyway, is this going where I think it's going?"

"Let me finish," Peter bade him. "Now, I knew for certain I wasn't a woman. That much is clear. But there were times that are…difficult to explain. Times I wasn't certain I felt much of a man, either. I mostly chalked it up to patriarchal standards. I'm not the picture of traditional masculinity, which really only has one very stringent definition, so that seemed to answer that question. Until I learned there were…other options. Neither one nor the other. Not he, not she…'they.'"

"So you – "

"But before anything's set in stone!" Peter interrupted, so quickly it was clear he was worried about the wrong conclusion being drawn. "It's a consideration! A curiosity! Not a conclusion. Merely something that caught my fancy. But you do know well I erased all physical insignia long ago."

"Yeah," Garfield replied. "I kinda got the sense that you sticking with the 'he' pronoun through that meant it was definite, but I could be wrong."

"Think of it more as…never feeling the need to physically conform, and never missing the proof. Never feeling any sense of wrongness, should someone turn up my naked and unconscious body after what I can only imagine would be a harrowing and adrenaline-filled heist and be unable to decide what I am. Not to mention this is strictly discussing my identity as Peter Merkel. Ragdoll is…something even less defined by gendered qualities."

"Okay." Garfield shrugged. "So you're just questioning right now."

"Yes."

"Before I say anything," Garfield told him, "I want you to know that I'm still in. This doesn't change you and me. I love you, and I'm pretty much down for whatever. Pronoun change, anything."

"I'm not certain yet," Peter told him, "but I wonder if I am…what was the word for it?"

"Nonbinary."

"Ah, yes! 'Nonbinary.' Such an eccentric word. I rather like the sound of it."

"Wait," Garfield realized. "Isn't that one person Harley's doing therapy on also enby?"

"Enby? Why, that's even more delightfully eccentric! But do go on."

"She called Ainsley 'they' and mentioned something about them accusing Once-ler of tokenizing them," Garfield recalled. "Not sure if this is relevant. Just made me think of it. So. You gonna try anything out?"

"Not yet," Peter told him. "No pronouns. Nothing like that. Can't go too far in case I'm wrong, you know."

Well, he definitely could, Garfield thought, but rarely did you see him feeling this delicate. Obviously the confusion was stirring Peter up more than usual.

"But perhaps smaller changes to see how I feel," Peter went on. "How do you think I would look with my hair just a stitch longer?"

"Hot."

"That's what I figured." Peter's smile was at full power. "A ponytail, perhaps. Something a little more androgynous. From there, consideration might go to a skirt or two. And if it begins to feel like it's all been an error, then it can be as though it never happened."

"I mean, you do have the legs for a skirt," Garfield pointed out. "So yeah, just…keep me posted."

"Consider it done." A pause. "You know, if I DID put this gem together incorrectly, why, half the fun for Harley would be undoing my mistake – "

"Doooooon't you dare."

...

Roman and Snatcher were each situated on a cot in the med bay, IV hoses pumping a bright blue liquid into their unconscious bodies. Vexen paced back and forth in front of them, boots clicking on the floor as he monitored their vitals on the screens beside them.

"Could you stop doing that?" Drakken seethed.

"Stop doing what?" Vexen spat. "My work? The transformation of two of our founders into something far less outwardly despicable?"

"Pacing and making that NOISE," Drakken clarified. "It's ANNOYING."

"It helps me to think."

"You're an evil genius!" Drakken argued. "You're plenty good at thinking without MAKING ALL THAT RACKET!"

"Is that so?" Vexen didn't just step forward; he stomped. It echoed.

"YOU'RE JUST ACTING LIKE A CHILD NOW!"

"I'm not the one having a toddler's tantrum." (Stomp.)

"Do I even want to know?" Mozenrath sighed as he entered the bay.

"HE'S BEING ANNOYING!" Drakken pointed accusingly at Vexen.

"I'd thought everyone here had gotten used to it," Vexen said with a smirk.

Mozenrath nodded toward his unconscious friends; "They're coming along well. Decidedly less green around the gills…literally. But that's not why I'm here."

He loosened the drawstring on his enchanted bag, emptying out the Flashback Lights and the lacrima on an empty cot. "The data," he declared. "Just like you wanted."

"Excellent." Vexen's smirk grew more crooked. "Now the question remains of which avenue to pursue. Am I correct in assuming that this is every single student that participated in Game V3, including the mole?"

"Copying the data was so easy, I just figured, 'Why not?'," Mozenrath explained. "That way, I wouldn't have to put up with you yelling at me for leaving the wrong one behind. Because contrary to your hypothesis, some of us here can't tune out your PEAK of annoying." He turned to leave the bay, cape swirling. "Have fun playing God!"

"Even the mole," Vexen repeated as Mozenrath left the room.

"Erm…Vexen?" Drakken asked. "You sounded eerily ominous when you said that."

"Indeed," Vexen affirmed. "Drew…I should like you to pay a visit to Jack Spicer over in the engineering wing when it becomes appropriate."

"Um. Why?"

"Because I recall a certain project of his that I'd dismissed earlier," Vexen stated. "One that would match our new data nearly exactly."

"Vexen, you're scaring me."

"Oh, trust me." Vexen turned to give Drakken a look that wasn't reassuring at all. "This will be up YOUR alley further than mine."

...

After leaving the lab, Mozenrath checked the itinerary on his scroll. "Technology," he muttered with a grin. "Who would've thought it could be so compatible with a sorcerer?"

He really did appreciate how much everything could keep him organized. A to-do list could remind him how much he had to get done, with sub-bullets and footnotes that accounted for multiple possibilities based on the outcome of each task. At the moment, his next appointment was…

"Greet the recruit they picked up without my blessing and who wasn't at all on my list. Wonderful."

Though he'd heard enough good reports that he did trust Randall's presence here. It was more that he liked to complain.

With a wave of his hand, he was gone from the laboratory level, reappearing in the quarters that Randall Boggs had been assigned to live in.

"Well, well," Mozenrath greeted. "So you're the one who – "

Then he did a double take as he processed what he was seeing.

He'd caught Randall with the oven door down, preparing to slide a tray of what was unmistakably cupcake batter into the center rung. A bowl of thick, handmade pink icing and a piping bag trailing purple sat on the counter. Randall froze in place, looking at Mozenrath with wide eyes, and Mozenrath did the same right back.

After some time, Randall said, "This isn't what it looks like."

"It looks like you're making…pastries," Mozenrath observed.

"Cupcakes," Randall corrected. "Pastries are more of a crust-like consistency – "

And then he shut himself up.

"Can I make a recommendation?" Mozenrath said.

"Um."

"Do that in the communal kitchens next time," Mozenrath told him. "And use darker icing. Swap that pink for some blue, maybe black. You'll get more clout that way. Oh, and make it non-dairy. All of it. That part's important."

"Gotcha." Randall slid the tray into the oven, shutting the door on the cups of dough. "So…" He leaned against the counter that held the icing, trying to look casual. "You're the big man in charge around here."

"That I am."

"You lookin' for a figurehead to do the dirty work and take the heat off you while you preserve your reputation?"

"Wha – no!" Mozenrath shook his head. "What kind of villains did you work for? I want all the infamy I'm due! What I WANT is a soldier who's practiced at the art of camouflage and has a working knowledge of machinery! The cupcakes are admittedly a bonus."

"I've also got a Bachelor's in scaring," Randall stated.

"Intimidation is an invaluable tactic," Mozenrath noted. "My question is whether you find scaring enjoyable. Gratifying."

"You ever made a little kid traumatized for life before?" Randall grinned toothily. "You never go back after that."

"And I have an understanding that you and Mim made some kind of agreement for a power source based on Unversed," Mozenrath brought up.

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Just that I think you might be interested to talk to our new weapons technician," Mozenrath told him. "Not to mention the roboticist we already have on staff and the roboticist-geneticist we just picked up."

"Sounds like a real scream."

"Okay, any more puns like that and I'm throwing you into the unknown."

"Noted."

"All right." Mozenrath retrieved his scroll once more. "I'd call that a sufficient introduction. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a washing machine reserved, and if I find out Ashley has left her black catsuit in over her appointed time slot AGAIN, she'll just have to see Yzma about getting A NEW ONE!"

Then he promptly vanished.

"The guy's got spunk," Randall remarked to himself. "This could work out."

Then he glanced around the countertop, mulling over Mozenrath's words regarding the cupcakes.

...

Ah, how Archibald Snatcher did love having human features instead of scales, fins, and slime.

Roman had woken up from his transformation still groggy from the anesthesia and desiring nothing more than to just go back to sleep. The fact that he tried to do so down in the med bay had miffed Vexen and Drakken to a rather entertaining degree, but in the end, Snatcher had shaken him awake and dragged him up to their quarters to lay him down on the bed there. And then not spent five minutes admiring how tranquil he looked asleep, if anyone is asking.

Afterward, he'd decided the best way to celebrate his return to humanity was with a toast to himself down in the bar. He entered to find a frustratingly familiar face already seated there.

Gill had spent every moment he could steal away from Amy trying to find the correct combination of cola, yorka juice, and hard liquor to be able to actually drink without the alcohol playing havoc with his taste buds. With the precision of Yzma's alchemy, he'd finally managed to secure the perfect balance. And also colored it green. As he downed a glass of ninety percent soda, seven percent juice, and three percent spirits, he caught a flash of red in his peripheral vision.

Though it was Snatcher who was seeing red more than he was.

"Ah, Mr. Moss." Every syllable came out individually gravelly. "Funny we should meet again under these circumstances. Last time the both of us were here, you left rather a MARK on me."

Gill let out a chuckle. "So," he asked, turning to look up at Snatcher with a smug grin, "how was it walking a mile in my fins?"

"If you think you've taught me anything," Snatcher seethed, looming over Gill with a fist clenched, "then think again. You think I've only JUST learned what it's like to be spurned and scorned simultaneously? To be jeered at in the streets? To be rejected by those I hold in high regard? I'll have you know I was acclimated to all of that long before your little trick. You think you've gotten me to understand? YOU UNDERSTAND NOTHING OF ME."

"HA!" Gill barked. "You think I was trying to teach you what it was like to be ugly and mocked? No way! The lake's not that deep."

He slid off the seat, straightening up as tall as he could get to glare down Snatcher. "What I taught you was not to MESS with me," he growled, his smugness turning cold. "Next time you have something to say about me being 'subhuman,' you better do it behind my back."

And as Gill's finned feet slapped their way out of the bar, Snatcher realized he couldn't quite argue.

...

Megavolt jauntily walked down the hall, singing to himself; "Do do do do do doooooo, so close I can taste it, I see what's mine and take it…"

"And where do you think you're going, Sparky?"

"OOOOOOH…DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Megavolt rounded on the one who'd addressed him. "WHY, I OUGHTA FRY YOUR BRAINS LIKE – oh, hi, Mozenrath."

Upon making eye contact with his leader, he swallowed his rage in exchange for displaying his fear.

"Was that a threat?" Mozenrath crossed his arms, glowering down at Megavolt.

"Uhhhh…can I say no? Is that believable at this point?"

"Think again, Sparky," Mozenrath grunted. "Anyway, who said you could just walk around my warship singing idiot songs?"

"I mean, no one said I couldn't," Megavolt pointed out.

"I'm assigning you bathroom cleaning duty because I don't like your face," Mozenrath told him.

"WHAT?" Megavolt cringed. "But all that water! I'll short out anew in every bathroom!"

"Not my problem." Mozenrath waved him off. "Hop to it."

"But what did I even DO?"

"Existed. NOW GO."

"Fine," Megavolt grumbled as he stormed down the hall to the nearest supply closet. "Geez, you give a guy the best technokinesis you have to offer, and whaddaya get in return? …Exactly what every boss I've had before this gave me, so really, why am I surprised?"

Plunger in hand, he headed down the hall into the nearest bathroom – where Mozenrath was exiting a stall.

"Um." Mozenrath flinched. "You just walked in on me."

"Your pants are in place!" Megavolt pointed out. "That's what the stall's for!"

"I don't CARE," Mozenrath told him. "Also." He pointed to the plunger. "What is that?"

"You TOLD me to clean this place up!" Megavolt reminded him.

"I never said that!" Mozenrath spat. "For invading my privacy, you've now earned the wonderful prize of mopping up the karaoke room. WITH WATER."

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT KIND OF STAINS ARE ON THAT FLOOR?" Megavolt protested.

"Well, I seem to recall Hannibal Roy Bean having a chili dog," Mozenrath mused. "I also recall him dropping said chili dog on the floor and shuffling it under the table when no one was looking, then never doing anything about it. And that was…what, a week ago?"

"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO DO THIS TO ME!"

"Actually…" Mozenrath clenched his right fist, looming over Megavolt. "I think I do."

Megavolt flinched. "Yes sir, sorry sir, on it sir!"

Back to the supply closet to swap out the plunger for a bucket and mop. Then into the karaoke room to assess the damage.

Only Mozenrath was there waiting for him, sitting on one of the tables.

"HOW ARE YOU MOVING BETWEEN THESE ROOMS SO FAST?" Megavolt screamed.

"I've been sitting here for the past two hours and have no idea what you're talking about," Mozenrath responded. "Also, you interrupted my train of thought, and that's just not forgivable. So now you're going to head on down to the exercise room with all the bikes, get on a bike, and pedal as fast as you can for three continuous hours."

"WHY?" Megavolt yelled. "WHAT IS THE POINT OF ME DOING THAT? WHAT DO YOU GET OUT OF IT BESIDES SEEING ME SUFFER?"

"Asked and answered, Sparkles."

"DON'T CALL ME – wait. That was the wrong offensive nickname."

"Do I look like I care? Exercise bike. NOW."

Megavolt didn't really know why he was putting himself through these paces, but he ran all the way down to the exercise room only to find Mozenrath sitting on the central bike. Not pedaling. Just sitting.

And when Mozenrath wordlessly fired Megavolt the most venomous glare he'd ever seen, the rat simply said, "Uhhhh, I just remembered I left an argyle sweater in the oven and I need to water it!" before dashing away.

The Mozenrath who'd scared him off with a look dismounted the bike, checking the clock on the wall. Right on schedule, in walked the Mozenrath who'd sentenced Megavolt to bathroom duty, the Mozenrath who'd ordered him to clean up the karaoke room, and the one who'd told him to come down here to the bikes.

After all four shared a nod, Neo dispelled the illusion visage of Mozenrath, Mim and Hannibal Roy Bean each molded back to their default shape, and Dmitri Smerdyakov peeled away the rubber mask he'd painstakingly molded of Mozenrath's face. Then they broke into threefold laughter, with Neo silently heaving alongside them.

"Oh, we've GOT to keep this up!" Mim chortled. "Who do we want to make our next victim?"

"Well, it sure wouldn't be very nice of us if four Snipes should show up around Yzma's stompin' grounds, now, would it?" Hannibal proposed.

"I'll go get my muscle suit," Dmitri volunteered.

...

As a wonderful unintended side effect of the mutation episode, Snatcher had actually let Roman talk him into accompanying him to the pool to swim. In a bathing suit, no less.

Though while he'd insisted he wasn't going to let others' scrutiny get to him, he was inwardly very, very relieved to find that the two of them had the pool to themselves.

"I will warn you I'll be nowhere near as good in the water as I was with fins," Snatcher stated.

"No skin off my nose," Roman told him. "Listen. I'm just here to have fun and kick your ass in a splash war."

"A bold assumption. That you'll win that war, I mean."

"Ohhhh, if you think I lose to ANYONE at splash war, you haven't talked to Neo enough." He gave Snatcher a playful clap upon the shoulder. "Anyway, enough chitchat. Let's get this staycation under way."

He took a run at the deep end and arced into a gorgeous swan dive, piercing the surface with the gentlest of splashes and sinking far below into the waters. The welcoming waters, the refreshingly cold waters, the surprisingly firm pressure of the depths, just like the lake, just like the bird, sinking deeper, no way out, no way to breathe, only one way this ends, no no no no not again get out get out GET OUT GET OUT –

It all blurred as he launched himself out of the pool, scuttling across the tile to get as far away from the water as fast as he could, and it took him far too long to realize there was someone calling his name: "Roman…ROMAN!"

Reality clicked back into place and he realized he was sitting on the cold tile floor, dripping wet, hair slicked to his face, while Snatcher was kneeling right in front of him, practically pleading: "Roman! Are you all right?"

No. Not here. Not like this.

"No…" Roman said, barely a whisper. Out of shame, yes. But also because he was breathing too quickly to be able to properly enunciate. Reality was solid again and it was just a pool rather than a chamber of death. But still his heart rammed at his ribcage repeatedly, his lungs demanding air faster than he could give it to them. "No, no, no…"

Snatcher wasn't supposed to have seen this. Ever.

Which was why he began crying. Legitimately. No onion required.

"What do you want?" Snatcher begged. "What do you NEED?"

It didn't really make sense from a logical standpoint, but there was only one thing that could get Roman to anyplace better. Other than isolation for a good long while, which was definitely out of the cards.

"I need…" he gasped. "To breathe…"

And at first, Snatcher had no idea what he meant, until Roman surged forth to kiss him, and when their lips connected, so did the logic. Beneath the lake, this had been how Roman was able to breathe at all. Of course.

Snatcher racked his memory, trying to recall if he'd ever seen this particular brand of vulnerability in Roman before. As best he knew, he hadn't. As best he knew, Roman simply hadn't been this sort of vulnerable. But now the redhead's arms were wrapping tightly around his upper body, clinging onto him for dear life, and Snatcher responded in kind with a gentler touch, laying an arm very lightly around the back of Roman's shoulders while the opposite hand rested on the other's forearm.

They stayed like that for a while. Until Roman's breathing sounded less like a bellows being pumped too fast. He was the one to break the kiss, and when he did, he made eye contact with Snatcher for a full five seconds before it became clear that the wetness on his face was not just from the pool water. His sobbing was louder now, his whole body trembling.

"Dammit," he said so that his voice cracked, "you weren't supposed to see this. You were NEVER supposed to fucking SEE this – you weren't – fuck – "

His head tilted forward, his forehead lightly touching against Snatcher's chest, and Snatcher was nothing short of flabbergasted. To say this was unprecedented would be putting it lightly.

He'd never been a nurturing man. That much should have been apparent to anyone who'd known him for five minutes. But all the same, his reaction, once he assured himself this was in fact reality, was to keep his gentle hold on Roman, transferring the hand from his forearm around to his back to lightly stroke up and down, and to whisper to him, "Hushhhhh…"

No words were exchanged for a time of indeterminate length. Then, at long last, Roman said something in his usual register. No cracking, no gasping. "So. We have a few things to talk about."

"…It does seem that way," Snatcher noted.

Roman wriggled a bit, prompting Snatcher to let go of him. As Roman stood, he gave Snatcher a plaintive glance. "What happened here stays here," he said softly.

"Ah, yes." Snatcher rose alongside him. "It would be a humbling experience indeed for me should anyone learn that you got me all the way to the water's edge only for me to balk in yet another fit of insecurity. Am I not supposed to be over it already?"

"Yeah." Roman had to pour all his willpower into ensuring no more tears would fall. "We'll go with that."

He led the way back to the locker room, ruminating on all the things he had to admit now.

...

Another tray of cupcakes went into the oven in the communal kitchen. Dairy-free, as ordered. While they baked, Randall placed a bowl of egg whites, honey, and corn syrup over a boiling pot of water, then whisked vigorously. Checked the time. Threw in vanilla extract, cream of tartar, cocoa powder. Enough of the latter to make it go very, very dark, the color of the old jacket he'd worn during his high-school edgy phase.

"The whole thing's a lifetime edgy phase no one grows out of, if you think about it," he muttered as the chocolate marshmallow fluff thickened. There was already a batch of purple royal icing – meringue powder and powdered sugar in water – waiting for the piping bag.

The vanilla cupcakes, risen to fluffy perfection, came out of the oven. They were slathered with off-black marshmallow fluff, then began to receive artistic designs piped in purple.

"Are you making bloody cupcakes?"

Randall flinched, squirting a little too much purple on his current cupcake for the symmetry to remain intact, and fired a glance back at the speaker: a young man with almost luminous-blond hair, dressed mostly in shades of green.

"Yeah," Randall told him. "I am. What's it to ya?"

"You're going to share," Draco Malfoy told him. It wasn't a question.

"Fine, kid." Randall pried one of the cooler cupcakes he'd finished decorating out of the tray, handing it back to Draco. "Knock yourself out."

"Why are you making cupcakes?" Draco asked. "What, did the WHAM ARMY need a professional pastry chef?"

"FOR THE LAST TIME, THEY'RE NOT PASTRIES!" Randall snapped, rounding on him. "And NO, my job is not CHEF. Mozenrath just told me to come down here and do this in public for the clout. And believe me, I'll go a long way for some clout. Though so far, all I've got is one brat kid MOCKING me. You know what I do to kids who don't fear me?"

"Perhaps to Muggles," Draco said with a smirk. "Not me, of course. You try, and I'll have you writhing in pain on the floor before you've got close." He took a bite of the cupcake. Through a full mouth, he went on: "I'll have you know I'm a Pureblood wizard. My family is – " He stopped. His eyes widened. "This is bloody fantastic. Did you spike this with some sort of potion? No Muggle makes cake this good."

"I didn't SPIKE it," Randall growled. "I'm GOOD at it. Like most things in life, I worked hard to build up my skill at it and then went completely unappreciated. You know how many of these I brought to frat parties and got laughed at for?"

"Do YOU know how stupid it looks to bring assorted cupcakes to a fraternity party?"

"Also, I'm not a 'Muggle.'" Randall folded all four arms. "I'm a MONSTER. And no snot-nosed KID is gonna – "

"I'M NOT A CHILD!" Draco yelled at him. "I'M A GROWN – damn, this is excellent – THAT ISN'T THE POINT; I'M A GROWN MAN!"

"Sure not acting like it."

"Now hold on." Draco had to pause to finish off the cupcake in entirety. "Where was I? Right, you were about to give me another."

"Says who?"

"Says Mozenrath, if I tell him you've been disrespecting me."

"He won't bloody care and you know it."

"I'm not giving you this because you threatened me." Randall handed over another cupcake. "I'm giving you this because the sooner you admit you like it can taste the sweat I poured into it – "

Draco grimaced.

" – FIGURATIVELY, the sooner we can call this whole fight off."

"NOTHING like this at Honeydukes," Draco went on, simply admiring the cupcake in his hand rather than biting into it. "Is that a flower you've drawn? How pathetic."

"I'm…starting to legitimately think the only way you know how to deal with people is to insult them," Randall realized.

"And what of it?" Draco spat.

"Just that you're not going to get any adoring fans that way," a new voice broke in. "You're that sorcerer, right? Malfoy?"

"What – " Draco spun to see Drake Stone leaning in the door frame behind him. "And who the bloody hell are you?"

"Drake Stone," Drake replied. "What. Haven't heard of me?" He cheekily took a bite of the cupcake in his hand.

Which Draco realized, upon seeing it, had been the one in his hand until one second ago. "YOU JUST USED MAGIC TO TAKE MY FOOD!"

"Pretty hilarious, right?" Drake smiled around a mouthful of off-black and purple icing. "You should see the look on your face now. You're all red. Looks like you've been sunburned."

"YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO DO THAT!" Draco yelled, getting all the redder.

"You want it back?" Drake offered the bitten cake back over.

"NO! IT'S GOT YOUR SPIT ON IT!" Draco looked about ready to explode.

"Got people back home who'd pay good money for my spit," Drake informed him.

"Do you…" Draco stormed toward him. "Have ANY IDEA…WHO I AM?"

"Obviously, you think you're someone important," Drake replied. As Draco got closer, it became all the more apparent that Drake was taller even without heels, and that day, he was wearing very high heels. "From what I've heard, some sort of ex-neo-racist-terrorist. See, that does the opposite thing for your reputation than you think it does." Another bite of cake. "See, I knew if I leaned into actual sorcery as stage magic right away, the love letters roll in, the autographs roll out. And I was right."

"And have you ever done anything of IMPORTANCE?" Draco asked.

"Got fame and fortune!" Drake responded. "What about you? Importance?"

Draco went silent, though one could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

"That's what I thought." Drake smirked. "You're that type with a stick up his bum, I take it. You're yelling at me over a cupcake and you haven't even done anything magic about it. You ever think making a little re-evaluation of your life choices might do you some good? Compare show business versus…whatever it is you've been doing…and lighten up a bit?"

"What did you even come here for?" Draco seethed. "To poke fun at me?"

"I smelled the cake," Drake told him. "I came down here for the cake. Then you started yelling at me for no reason."

"BECAUSE YOU STOLE MY FOOD!"

Drake held up the remainder of his cupcake; "These are good, by the way."

"I KNOW that!" Randall snapped at him.

"Right." Drake stuffed the rest of it into his mouth. What he said next was almost unintelligible around the dough and marshmallow fluff: "See you around, then. Think over what I said. Or don't."

He turned and left in a jingling of beads.

"YOU WAIT UNTIL MOZENRATH HEARS HOW YOU'VE BEEN DISRESPECTING ME!" Draco yelled after him.

"Villains!" Drake yelled back without turning around. "He won't care!"

Draco gritted his teeth. "Can you believe the NERVE?" he yelled as he turned back to Randall. "I've NEVER met anyone who managed to offend me with his very existence so quickly. Even Potter seemed reasonable at first! And he, whatever his name is, he thinks he can come here, steal my food, tell me to take up SHOW BUSINESS, and – you're laughing. Why?"

Randall snickered. "'Cause I think I just got you figured out. Insulting people's how you make friends, isn't it?"

"AND?"

"And you really wouldn't let up on that guy," Randall reminded him. "You must really want him to be your pal. Take a tip from me: cupcakes don't really work as a friendship offering."

"OF COURSE THEY BLOODY DON'T!" Draco screamed. "HE STOLE MINE! AND YOU'RE WRONG, YOU KNOW! I CAN'T STAND HIM! I DON'T WANT HIM TO 'BE MY PAL' OR ANYTHING CLOSE TO THAT WHATSOEVER! I NEVER WANT TO SEE HIS FACE AGAIN, AND I'M GOING TO PETITION MOZENRATH TO HAVE HIM REMOVED THIS! INSTANT!"

He stormed out of the kitchen, and Randall sighed, shaking his head. "You're about as brainless as Wazowski on this front," he muttered. "But I guess this counts as clout, so it wasn't a complete waste of time."

...

Roman and Snatcher sat across from each other at the island countertop, a steaming cup of tea before each. Snatcher was first to drink from his, watching Roman's every move. Roman seemed disinterested in the cup, brewed as it was in a generally therapeutic manner. Well, rather, he seemed disinterested in drinking it. Staring into it like it held the answers to all of his insecurities was another matter.

"I recall you were the one who said we needed to talk," Snatcher pointed out.

"Yeah," Roman sighed. "Guess I did. Heh." And no more.

Snatcher waited, then cleared his throat; "I assume this is regarding the…trauma you've quite obviously been left with. The lake, was it?"

"Damn." Roman shut his eyes. "You know, I could just say yes. I could say yes, and things would go to shit, but not as much as they could."

"And yet you've already felt the need to hint at an alternate truth."

"It'd need to come out eventually," Roman huffed. He pried his eyes open. "So let's start with the lake. It was just like the bird."

"The bird…that devoured – "

"YES, that bird. You ever been swallowed before? No. You haven't. So let me paint you a picture of what it's like." Roman finally made eye contact with Snatcher: a sharp, hard gaze. "Everything is closing in around you as tightly as possible. You feel like you're gonna just be crushed to death at any moment. But you don't get that luxury. No, you get thrown through the wringer, and I mean you get WRUNG, for, what…I don't know how long. Felt like two hours. Definitely wasn't two hours. You can't breathe. You can't move a thing. You could scream, if you were the screaming type, but no one would hear you. Definitely not your soul sister who just went flying off into the void with no indication as to whether she'd survive the fall. But you're starting to get jealous of her, maybe, because falling? You can at least see things and feel things and BREATHE. Inside the bird…that's the other thing. You don't see. It's just…black."

He needed a moment to compose himself, lip quivering. "So that's the first part and the worst part. Then you get the drop. You know, after your bones have been shattered and you've just spent the past not-two-hours wishing to die. You drop and you hit acid. And that shit fucking burns. But the lake didn't bring that one back. Just the ride down. Anyway, maybe about two seconds sitting in acid, wondering how the HELL I'm gonna get out of this, when the whole damn thing explodes."

"I was under the impression you'd thought your demise was a mistake," Snatcher reminded him. "You'd said as much, to Lord Hades."

"If you went out that way," Roman told him, "you'd try to convince everyone, including yourself, that it never happened. Just a fucking nightmare. And of course, after I hit the acid and realized I had maybe the slimmest chance of surviving, I no longer wanted to die because that's just not how I work. The fact that I was hoping for it on the swallow is probably one of my least fine moments. I don't do that. I NEVER do that. So I wanted a do-over. Like it never happened." A long pause. "But I can't escape it. And getting thrown into that lake was like the swallow. Can't move, can't breathe, can't see, can't do anything. Just…one thing different that time."

"The consistency of the water."

"No." Roman's glare intensified. "You. You were the variable. You were the one thing I could pour all my attention into and not worry about old memories or wanting to die or any of that shit." He sighed, his expression softening. "Well, as you can figure out, I guess it's all water now. Didn't help that I linked it back to that weird bottle thing in Atmos that the genie turned up to torture me. I'm hoping it's just deep water. If this fucks up my ability to shower, I might as well have died, all considered."

"…You do know certain of us have gone a while without the luxury of showers. It's doable."

Roman's lips flickered into a fleeting smile, gone as soon as it had come. "I just wanna swim in a fucking pool. Or a lake or whatever. And not feel like I'm back in the bird."

"Hrm." Snatcher began to think it over. "Quite the conundrum."

"But like I said…that's…not everything."

"Go on," Snatcher said casually.

"I mean, you've noticed I have a thing about birds," Roman went on.

"It's rather impossible to miss, yes."

"I'm pretty good at playing it off," Roman stated. "But there are other times that I…" He rooted around to find the least incriminating words. "You remember when the huge-ass stuffed owl got thrown at us and I had to chill out in the middle of that library for a bit? That was…more about not letting any of you see how bad it got to me. Little birds are fine, and it was better earlier on, and I really thought it would just go away…" His voice cracked. "But it was that big and the same color and I NEEDED a minute."

"I think I'm beginning to understand," Snatcher stated.

"I don't know if you do." Roman began to quiver. "See, the thing is…you sleep like a log."

"How on earth is that relevant to our conversation?"

"Because it means you never see it any of the times I wake up and – " Roman's breath hitched.

It took Snatcher a moment to put it together. "You've been having…fits."

"Yeah, could say that." Roman gave the lightest, meekest of shrugs. "Sometimes I forget where I am for a bit. Sometimes I'm just…on edge. I mean, you noticed when you fished me out of that lake and I couldn't even walk a straight line? But I'm ALWAYS grateful for the fact that you miss it. Because if you saw it…if you saw me…"

"How long has this been going on?" Snatcher asked.

"Since we…" Roman's voice trailed off.

"Yes?"

"Since we MET!" Roman's shivering had peaked. "I thought it was a phase, I thought it would wear off, I NEEDED it to wear off – " He gasped, once again unable to stem back his tears. "You see this? You FUCKING see this? I told you once that I didn't cry, and I was PROUD of that, and I knew you wanted that, and then this goes and it fucking happens and I can't stop it." His arms instinctively wrapped around himself. "And I get scared. Me. Scared. Of shit that isn't even here, shit that happened a long time ago, and that was never supposed to be who I WAS. And I break down and I'm just fucking BROKEN. You remember what you said to me when we first hooked up? 'Cause I sure as hell do. You said you liked my ambition, and I still have that, for now anyway, but also how I took what I wanted when I saw it, and I've been TRYING to take back my sanity and it doesn't WORK, and then you said I had an unquenchable fire in me and I couldn't let you know THAT FIRE GOES OUT." He was now fully, openly sobbing. "This isn't what you wanted. This isn't what I wanted! This isn't who I was supposed to be! I thought I was stronger than this."

"All this time," Snatcher realized. "When I doubted you'd want me, and you said you were the same as I, and I didn't see what you meant in the slightest…"

"I MEANT FUCKING THIS! LOOK AT ME, ARCHIE! I'M A MESS! IS THIS WHAT YOU SIGNED UP FOR? NO! YOU SIGNED UP FOR SOMEBODY BETTER THAN THIS! AND SO DID I WHEN I MADE MYSELF!" He held up both hands. "I act tough, I act gangster, and it all works so well until I can't get my hands to stop FUCKING SHAKING – "

In a flash, Snatcher had leaned across the counter, somewhat laying on it in order to reach, as his own hands molded around Roman's. "Well, now they aren't," he stated, matter-of-fact.

Roman was struck silent, emerald eyes as wet pools. Filled with regret. Pleading? No. Because he didn't know if he should even. As much as he wanted his and Snatcher's bond to remain stable, he didn't want to stoop to begging for Snatcher to accept a broken man. "You deserve better," he said hushedly. "And I need to…I need to figure out how to fucking stop."

"No, you don't," Snatcher said firmly. Still lying across the counter, which was getting horribly uncomfortable, but perhaps that was the symbolism of it all. "What you've got to do now is breathe. No arguments."

"What do you – "

Roman's lips were stopped by Snatcher's own. Ah. This was what he meant. Instantly, Roman calmed in the physical sense. When the kiss broke, however, he was simply able to say more evenly, "You were never supposed to be my lifeline. Or my therapist, or my babysitter."

"I'll decide what I am in your life, thank you VERY much," Snatcher insisted, running a hand through Roman's hair. "Now, I want you to listen to me, and don't you forget a WORD of this. Are we clear?"

"Depends. What am I listening to?"

"You are not broken," Snatcher insisted, cupping both hands around Roman's face. "You've a setback. As I did. As I DO. Have you given into it, rolled over like a dog and let it consume you like some sort of dog-eating predator?"

"That metaphor could use work…"

"You say your fire goes out," Snatcher went on, "and yet here I see you trying so desperately to re-light it. And in time, it will light. Just not with you frantically striking the flint like that. But you think I can't see the embers smoldering in you still? You're fighting. You ARE taking what you want. You're going about it all wrong, but I can see in you what it was I wanted in the first place, and that's not been replaced by some sniveling weakling."

Roman wasn't quite sure what to say.

So Snatcher let go of his face, sliding off the counter to be able to walk around and stand by Roman's side. "However," he stated, "even if you were, I've unfortunately become all too attached to you, and I don't think I could leave if I wished. Pity. Suppose you'll have to live with me, then. So do what you must. Get it out of your system. Or implode altogether. We'll carry on, as we've done."

"How…can…you…" Roman forced the words out and yet still was unable to finish the sentence.

"What concerns me at present more than anything is your ability to just TAKE a compliment," Snatcher told him. "I'm giving you permission to break and a vote of confidence you won't stay broken. The least you could do is have a REACTION."

So Roman reacted. First, he stood, throwing his arms around Snatcher so tightly, nuzzling into his shoulder. "Why?" he whispered.

"Don't make me repeat myself, Roman. You know why."

Snatcher could feel Roman beginning to quiver once more, so he resumed stroking that soft orange hair, muttering a little smugly, "Oh, my poor, dear Roman. That's it, just have it out."

And finally, it did leave Roman's system. Mostly.

"Now." A firm hand on Roman's lower back. "To my observation, you could be in need of a diversion."

"Diversions good," Roman muttered. "I like diversions." He reached back, taking Snatcher's wrist, moving that hand a bit lower.

Good. They were on the same page. "I'll let you set the scene, given the circumstances," Snatcher announced.

"There's…actually something I'd like to try out," Roman admitted. "It's pretty vanilla, but if I can get through the first act of it…"

That was how he found himself proving later that shower water did not trigger any sort of negative reaction. He stood beneath the hot water, letting it run over his skin, thanking the gods of Light and Dark that he could still bathe in a sense (he didn't want to try out actually lounging in a tub full of it, not yet). But the entire point of this was just to get as wet as possible.

He stepped out. Didn't bother laying down a towel on the tile. Just threw one around his waist to have something to strip off; didn't want to make it too easy. Then adopted his most haggard expression (not hard, given what had just taken place) and opened the door into the bedroom.

That was Snatcher's cue to go ham. "ROMAN!" he cried, seizing the slender redhead. "Thank the lord you're all right – I'd nearly thought we'd lost you – if I'd been but a MOMENT later – "

Now, this was better. Revisionist history. The lake, without the lake. "What, you don't think I could've managed?" Roman snarked, proving already he was on the mend. "I was practically free before you showed up. All the same, I'm pretty grateful."

"You've no idea – if you'd been lost – I couldn't have LIVED with myself, Roman – "

Snatcher did love playing the role of the concerned. Sure, it was based in a reality that had taken place, but at present, he was more invested in pouring himself into the art than actually being afraid for Roman's sake. The point was to fawn, to act as though he'd thought they didn't even have the luxury of necromancy.

"Come, come sit, you must be absolutely distraught after all you've been through – "

And for the sake of the act, Roman didn't mind that accusation. "Nope. Cool as a cucumber. But man, are you losing your cool! I think you might be the one who needs to lay down for a bit."

"Perhaps, perhaps…"

They transitioned to the bed, and eventually the towel was discarded, along with several layers off Snatcher's ensemble, and they acted as though desperate, relieved.

At the end of it, once again, they didn't take the usual position. Instead, upon a quick and soft agreement, they faced each other once more, and Roman slid down in the bed so that he could rest his head against Snatcher's collarbone (having to bend at the knee so as not to have his feet dangling off the edge due to his height). Without a word, and with the lights dimmed, Snatcher went back to combing his fingers through Roman's hair, again and again, every now and then pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, until Snatcher had fallen asleep and Roman was almost there.

To think Roman had actually rather enjoyed being coddled, and he was feeling all but re-energized. Adding water to his repertoire of things to avoid was definitely not ideal, but at least he felt less hopeless. In general. Actually, it was strangely a relief to have admitted it all, and why hadn't he just done that a while ago when it had started to be a problem?

Here, things were perfect. He would mend. But he didn't have to be mended, or broken. He was riding a fading wave of post-orgasmic bliss, and on top of that, he just liked being in such proximity to Snatcher, to know that their bond was firmer than he'd thought, to just pick out the thrum of his heartbeat and know everything would be all right.

As if he –

Roman snapped awake. He glanced furtively up at his partner; Snatcher was once again stone-asleep and unaware of Roman's movements. No. Roman wasn't having a flashback, or a nightmare, or an episode. He was having a revelation. And that was, potentially, worse.

He swiped his scroll from the bedside table. Fired off a quick text: "neo"

No response.

So he sent several more:

"neo"

"neo"

"neo"

"neo"

And finally received a "W H A T" in response. Followed by a "This better be fuckin good"

Roman couldn't do it. He couldn't type the words. However, that wasn't going to fly after all he'd done to get Neo's attention, so she texted to him, "ROMAN I SWEAR IF YOU DONT TELL ME WHAT THIS IS ABOUT IMMA COME UP THERE N KICK YOUR ASS I DONT CARE IF SNATCHERS THERE OR NOT"

"its about him" was the response.

"Yeah?" Neo replied.

Roman's heart was racing with panic. Well, now he had to tell her. Why had he made the horrible mistake of texting her five times to get her attention? At last, he made the confession, but only after he was very certan Snatcher was asleep and could not possibly be reading over his shoulder:

"think i luv him"

And with that on the table, Roman waited. For Neo to sympathize, or react with shock, or express her disappointment.

What he got was Neo typing "DUHHHHHHHHHHH"

Roman's brow furrowed. "not funny"

"You are literally the last person to figure that out"

"what do i do" Roman asked.

"TELL? HIM?" was the response.

"neo not helpful"

"What do you want here?"

"tell me how to stop 3ing him"

"Nope," Neo responded. "Cant undo it. Youre in deep now you just have to LIVE WITH IT! :-D"

"neo i cant"

"Hes a great guy. He survived all my attempts to kill him soooooooooo."

"u kno i cant"

"I know you're a scaredy little BIT CH who likes to pretend he doesn't have feelings ;-)"

Roman sighed. "neo that hurts"

"Good it was supposed to"

"ur no help"

"If you don't wanna confess….." A long pause before Neo sent the follow-up: "I'll do it for you3"

"no neo dont pleaseeeeeeeee"

"Then you know what you must do! MWAHA!"

She'd backed him into the corner. Why, oh, why had he initiated this conversation? Finally: "fine ill tell him but not now"

"YAAAAAAAY! :-D" After this, Neo sent one more followup: "Also dibs on being flowergirl!"

"were not getting married"

"YET!"

Roman chucked the scroll across the room. Macavity poked at it, sending Neo a quick "rzxcvgh" to which Neo replied "Hi Macavity (Delilah?)" and the conversation was over.

...

Gothel breezed into Maleficent's reading room airily. "You summoned me, your excellency?" she asked teasingly.

Maleficent smiled back. "I presume you have had the Philosopher's Stone implanted into your heart?"

"And I've never felt better!" Gothel proclaimed. "No more potions, no more tedious incantations, and the best part is I now feel even more inclined to break out into song!"

"Very good," Maleficent stated. "We may now proceed to other business."

"Right," Gothel laughed – almost nervously. "Zhan Tiri. Tromus and Sugracha and all that. I haven't forgotten, of course. That is why you called me to action."

"Think of it as more of a test," Maleficent said evenly. "I wished to see how well you would blend with my associates. As of now…you clear the bar Ozai could not. After all, I never was much interested in Zhan Tiri."

Gothel opened her mouth to reply, then flinched dramatically. "You…what?"

"Surely you didn't think we were ignorant." This came from Salem, who stepped out gracefully from behind a shelf. "Maleficent and I have both been around for quite some time. The real surprise is that we never ran into each other. But we have both…DEALT with Zhan Tiri."

"Ah," Gothel replied. "So you know she's a manipulative sewer rat."

"And more bluster than action," Salem replied. "She was so easily betrayed by Demanitus, unable to fight back."

"Not only Demanitus," Maleficent went on. "Her two most loyal acolytes, Sugracha and Tromus, were confined to the Netherworld by…oh!" She smirked. "Her other two acolytes."

"We were more interested in the traitors who were able to pull that off," Salem revealed, "and whether they'd be able to lead us to the sundrop and moonstone. When those two cosmic powers are fused…"

"We will receive quite the advantage," Maleficent stated.

"Traitor?" Gothel was sweating? "I wouldn't even DREAM of – "

"We would have done the same to the likes of her," Salem informed Gothel. "That's why you stand out to us so much. Even without the blessings of Manea, and with far less sorcery than Sugracha and Tromus possessed, you were able to cast Zhan Tiri away at her peak of power…and hoard the sundrop for yourself for centuries, to use for your own ends rather than recreating Zhan Tiri's scheme."

"We wish for you to help us acquire it," Maleficent told Gothel. "Forget Zhan Tiri. She can stay in the Netherworld. We aim to surpass her, which you have already done without our resources."

"Well." Gothel beamed. "I can't really turn down such praise. I would be more than happy to – "

Then it hit her. What they'd said. What they should never have known about.

"…You…said…two traitors?" Gothel paled. "But he – no one ever knew. He made CERTAIN no one ever knew there were four of us. The only ones who knew were Demanitus, Zhan Tiri, Sugracha, Tromus, and us. So tell me now. HOW DID YOU KNOW ABOUT HIM?"

"Why…" Maleficent's smile was more smug than ever. "Because he told us."

She gestured gently back toward the wall behind Gothel. Gothel whirled, gasping in utter shock.

"Hello, sister." The man stepped out of the shadows, tall and graceful. Coronan attire, just as Gothel remembered – a loose white blouse, a cinched black vest, and those awfully garish pink leggings. At least they brought out his cherry-blossom hair.

"No." Gothel gasped for air. "It can't be. You're DEAD. You don't EXIST ANYMORE! You've been dead for HUNDREDS OF YEARS!"

"Actually," Lauriam corrected, "you're right. I didn't exist. But as you can see…that's recently changed."

...

A/N: Forget everything you know about Union X. Forget everything you know about the Zhan Tiri lore. I'm doing an AU. I have something more interesting in mind for Gothel's story than what canon gave us…and something far more interesting in mind for the Daybreak Quartet than actual Daybreak Town. As far as this fic goes, Lauriam, Elrena, Demyx, and Luxord each came from elsewhere.