I thought this chapter was going to happen like three chapters ago to be honest.


True to her dreaded suspicions, Victoria leaves a trail of flower petals all over the shop whenever she stands up or turns too fast. She'd feel guilty for Elizabeth, who already has enough cleaning to do with the state of the shop, but at least Mime is willing to pick them all up one by one like a puppy inhaling dinner scraps dropped on the floor.

As the sun begins to set, heralding night, they start making preparations to head to the tavern. When asked, Michael cheerfully dodges each question about the minstrels and how he knew of their arrival.

Victoria tries not to feel too guilty about making Kaidan stay at the shop, especially since he'd done well in staying inconspicuous during the day, but he accepts the decision with equanimity. If Goldner's men are going to show, they have a better chance of recognizing Kaidan than most—after all, even Michael's surprising level of costuming expertise has its limits when it comes to slate-colored skin and glowing blue eyes.

Morgan offers to stay with him, but he shoots them down quickly.

"I'm sure both you and Mime would like to see the minstrels," he says with a small but warm smile. "Just tell me all about it later. Elizabeth might find something for me to do in the meantime."

"Actually, drinks and music aren't really my scene either," Ann declares, hefting her leather messenger bag that is definitely bigger on the inside, given the amount of stuff she pulls out of it. "If you want, you can come with me to Quinn's. They built half the shelves in their storage room too high because they're absurdly tall, like a human beanpole-"

"I'm pretty sure they're average height, Ann," Michael points out. "You're just-"

"As I said, their shelves are too high," Ann continues primly like Michael never spoke. "I could use a walking stepladder again."

Kaidan sighs, but with a rueful half smile. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to walk with you back to Quinn's shop anyways, seeing as it's getting dark."

They part ways in front of the flower shop. Halfway through their walk to the tavern, the skies open up, starting to pour rain, to their dismay; Victoria thought they would be able to make it before the weather.

Michael, quick as ever to make a joke out of a situation, flaps his garish coat with a grin. "Hurry, Mime, get in!"

With a noise halfway between a squeal and a giggle, Mime dives under his coat. "Okay, let's go!"

The two run shrieking with laughter towards the nearest shelter—what that looks like to anyone who can't see Mime, Victoria has no idea—with Morgan hot on their heels. Victoria would berate them for being idiots if she wasn't rapidly becoming soaked as well, so with little other recourse, she hurries after them.

In half the time it was supposed to take, they arrive at the tavern looking like a quartet—well, trio to everyone present—of drowned rats, despite their attempts to hop between as many sheltered spots as possible. They soon find a table relatively near the fireplace and close to the bar, where any commiserating miners would be drinking and hopefully loudly complaining their woes away.

With a relieved sigh, Victoria flings her sodden jacket on the back of her chair, thankful for her mostly dry shirt and pants (down to where the jacket hits her knees, at least). The jacket is actually part of the Demon Hunters' uniform, not the Knights'. Call it sentimentality dressed up as pragmatism, but it's a good article of clothing, sturdy enough to serve as a light armor; thus, she kept it and has been grateful for it many times over. Unfortunately, her hair is another story. Wringing it out like a wet towel produces a rather sizeable puddle on the floor.

Mime shakes her head violently, scattering water droplets from her horns and ears. "So is the weather good because it'll make everyone want a warm drink, or bad because it'll make everyone want to just go home?"

"It could go either way," Michael admits, not looking particularly worried. He too has removed his outer coat, leaving him in plain black pants and a dark plum colored button-down, a surprisingly tame getup for him. "But there's entertainment tonight, so hopefully it'll be the former."

They order drinks—wine, ginger tea, coffee, and hot chocolate. Michael is in the middle of walking Morgan through some of the old meanings of various cards when three slouching figures walk in and head straight to the bar, covered in grime and exhausted. At a meaningful look from Michael, the four of them quiet down.

From the sounds of it, Goldner recently received some kind of magical safe and put it in his office. The miners mention having to haul the thing up two flights of stairs, confirming its location on the third floor.

"Jackpot," Michael remarks softly, lips curled into a satisfied smirk.

Victoria frowns. "Hardly. It'd be nice to know if there was increased security detail or patrols, or where exactly the office is, or what kind of safe it was so that Ann could prepare ahead of time, or-"

"It would also be nice to magically sprout wings and fly straight to the window of Goldner's office," Michael points out, "but alas, we'll take what we can get."

Reluctantly, she acquiesces. "Fine. If nothing else, I suppose that does confirm our suspicions."

He steeples his fingers, leaning forward on his elbows. "Do you think we need more?"

She pauses, caught slightly off guard by the earnest question. "No," she responds carefully, "I don't think we'll learn more by passive observation, and I don't want to risk alerting Goldner to our plans by forcing it out of his underlings." Nor does that sit well with her in itself. "We'll have to make it up as we go. Morgan, the potion?"

The young alchemist sits up a little straighter. "Right. Given the number of blue cornflowers we've got, I think I can make enough to last us each an hour, complete invisibility."

"That'll have to do," Victoria accepts. "I think I know which room is his office already anyways. I've gone to watch the mansion a few nights now."

Mime shifts in their seat nervously. "So…when are we going?"

"Tomorrow night, assuming it doesn't rain again."

"Tomorrow?" Morgan echoes, voice jumping in pitch. "That's…isn't that a bit soon? Don't we need to, I dunno, work out a plan?"

"Best to strike soon," Victoria explains, "when Goldner's gotten complacent from not having heard anything from us for a few days. We already have a plan, and with no safe way to get any more information, we can't exactly add much to it."

Morgan hangs their head, face drawn with worry. Their hand presses against their chest, where the spirit locket rests. "I—okay…sorry, I know why we're doing it, and I know it's necessary, I'm just…nervous, I guess…"

Feeling a sudden pang of something in her chest, Victoria opens her mouth, but Michael beats her to it.

"We're not going to let anything happen to you," he says with the most conviction she's ever heard from the man. "You're the one who has a life here to get back to after this is all over, and we're going to make sure you do."

At the hopeful, trusting expression on Morgan's face, Victoria has to look down and bite her lip to keep from smiling like a fool.

o0o0o

Truth be told, Michael was half expecting Victoria to insist they leave the tavern as soon as they got the information they required, but it turns out that even she'd rather brave noisy chatter and a crowded tavern in favor of at least waiting out the rain. In the meantime, Michael has been keeping one eye on the door while regaling Morgan and Mime with some of his travel tales—the ones in which he doesn't break that many laws, at least.

When the door swings open to admit a group of four figures, he recognizes them almost instantly. Doing his best to school his features into a knowing facade of indifference as they do a double take at him, he lifts his drink in their direction in a silent greeting.

Of course, not all of them are so subtle. A small, sleek figure springs forward from the group, tossing back her soaked cowl hood and throwing her arms around his neck.

"Michael!" she squeals, filling his vision with a mass of frizzy brown hair. "You sneak! Why didn't you tell us you were here?"

He tries to take her enthusiasm in stride. "Merry, I can't breathe," he gasps out, patting her back frantically. Through her curls, he can see Victoria looking almost amused, definitely ignoring his plea of, "Some help here?"

Airflow returns to his lungs as a pair of large hands pick Merry up under her arms, pulling her away with a dry, "He probably didn't say because he knew you'd try and asphyxiate him the first chance you got."

Michael slumps down in his seat, rubbing his throat with one hand with a dramatic grimace. "Thanks, Char. I swear, you still have no grasp on your own strength, kid."

Merry giggles sheepishly and squirms out of her brother Charlie's hold. "But I missed you!"

Charlie rolls his eyes and instead gives Michael's table a once-over. "So who's the new band of misfits you're running with now?"

Victoria looks about to protest at the term misfits but then seems to think better of it, given that it's entirely true. Michael grins, waving with a flourish at the newcomers.

"Everyone, these are the traveling minstrels I was talking about, a group of oddballs and deviants just as colorful as we are," he declares cheerfully, dodging a swipe from Merry for his troubles. "This lovely lady here is Merry-"

"Hello, hello!"

"And that's her brother, Charle-"

"Just Charlie," he interrupts flatly, crossing his arms and daring Michael to pronounce his full name.

"Just Charlie," Michael agrees, as innocent as can be. "Best not to ask what it's short for. Then there's Daimon and Phoebe. They're the real troublemakers." In response, the twins, both a few years older than Michael, give matching toothy grins. "Don't worry, they usually don't do anything illegal."

"We don't get caught doing anything illegal," Daimon corrects slyly.

"Big difference," Phoebe adds, big brown doe eyes twinkling with innocent mischief.

Victoria pinches the bridge of her nose, and Michael stifles a snort.

"This here is Victoria, an upstanding Alethean Knight serving the Empire," he continues light-heartedly. "I'll try to make sure she doesn't wave that sword of hers around at any of you, but no promises."

"Just because I've got one injured hand doesn't mean I can't knock your lights out with the other, Michael," Victoria growls, her unbandaged hand twitching threateningly, and Merry covers her mouth with both hands in a poor attempt to stifle a giggle.

Blithely pretending to ignore them both, Michael gestures at Morgan, who's watching the proceedings with a distinct amount of fascinated wariness. "This here is Morgan, the local alchemist's apprentice who's been dragged along for the ride. They're a good sport about it, though."

Morgan waves shyly. "Hi there…"

He's on the verge of introducing Mime when Victoria gives him a warning look containing something heavier than her previous irritation, and he quickly shuts his mouth. Mime's face falls in realization, but she smiles wanly when Morgan reaches under the table to squeeze her hand.

Charlie tilts his head. "An alchemist, a Knight, and a wild mage walk into a tavern, huh? Sounds like trouble. Or a bad joke."

"You have no idea," Victoria mutters into her tea.

"I take only partial credit," Michael agrees cheerfully, turning to the band. "Need any help setting up?"

They wave him off, so he sits back down. At the silent question on everyone's faces, he can't help but laugh.

"They're old friends of mine," he explains succinctly. "I ran with them for a few months after I first left my…when I was younger. We run into each other every so often."

Victoria blinks, seeming to pick up on his stumble, but Mime quickly chimes in, "Wait, does that mean you're a musician, too?"

"I suppose you could say that," he admits with a wry smirk. "It pays, sometimes in more than just coin. People hardly ever pay attention to the entertainment when they're not entertaining, and once you've sung a few songs, they talk like they've known you their whole lives. You pick up some fascinating gossip."

The band quickly sets up their things. Charlie, the voice of their group, puts on his showman's smile and asks for requests, and within no time, cheerful strains of music brighten the room. Michael has seen them tailor their repertoire to any number of audiences, and they always seem to know the right kinds of tunes to get people up and moving, Morgan and Mime included. The young alchemist gets some funny looks but doesn't pay any heed.

Watching them with a pinched brow, Victoria sighs. "Sometimes I wonder if they just forget the meaning of keeping a low profile."

"And sometimes I wonder if no one taught you how to have fun, ever," Michael counters with a snort of laughter, leaning his face on one hand lazily. "Haven't you ever danced?"

Whatever retort she had planned is derailed by his question. "I suppose." At his 'go on' hand wave, she makes a long-suffering expression. "Well, if you remember me telling you about my mother's aspirations for me, ballroom dancing was part of those aspirations." With a shrug, she admits, "The lessons were boring, but looking back, they did somewhat prepare me for learning footwork in swordsmanship."

"I see." Lips twitching, he says aloud, "Somehow, for the life of me, I cannot imagine you in any sort of ball gown."

She shrugs. "I didn't mind dresses as long as they weren't so long or heavy that I couldn't move properly in them. Still, I'd usually just wear my uniform, or borrow or rent a suit for formal occasions if I really had to."

Now he can't help but imagine her tall, broad shouldered frame cut in distinct black and white shapes with razor sharp lines, splashes of color in her red collar ribbon or perhaps a tie. Her striking ruby eyes would set her apart from everyone around her in both appearance and demeanor. He wonders if she would roll her blazer sleeves up to the elbows.

The room suddenly grows warmer, and he inwardly shakes his head at himself.

"Dance with me?" he invites, a bit more abruptly than he intended.

Her ruby gaze refocuses on him, startled. "What?"

Clearing his throat briefly, he puts on a winning smile, ignoring how much he wants her to say yes, and repeats, "Dance with me."

Surprise turns to stony annoyance. "I don't dance."

"Hmm, shame," he purrs, smirking as he stands. "I suppose you wouldn't be able to keep up. Hey, Merry!"

Merry glances at him, her face lighting up, and prances over to loop her arm through his with a giggle. As she pulls him away, she asks slyly, "Got shot down, huh?"

Keeping a smile fixed, he twirls her on the spot, her curls flying. "Not a word, Merry."

Her giggle sounds more like a snicker from where he's standing. As they gambol and cavort, moving with little intent beyond having fun, he carefully keeps his eyes trained away from Victoria. Thus, it comes as something of a surprise when, after a few songs, she suddenly appears behind Merry, politely tapping the girl's shoulder.

"May I cut in?" she asks.

Merry's eyebrows shoot up as she glances between Michael and Victoria, a slow smile curving up on her lips. "You may," she agrees coyly.

Behind Victoria's back, she mouths, Don't screw this up, at Michael, adding a sly wink. He tries to ignore her, which becomes very easy when Victoria steps closer, a gleam of accepted challenge in her expression. Her sword is unbuckled from her belt for once, safe in Morgan's hands, the alchemist and Mime grinning eager encouragement from their seats.

Behind her, Merry scurries over to Charlie, whispering in his ear with a conspicuous look in their direction, and he takes one look at them and grins. A lively beat starts up, and Michael smiles to cover up the nerves twisting inexplicably in his stomach. He lifts his arms in invitation, hoping his hands aren't shaking.

"Think you can keep up?" he murmurs.

Victoria blinks slowly, taking another half step into his space. "I think," she says deliberately as she takes his hands, "that you're the one who'll have to keep up with me."

They take their first steps, and Charlie's voice sings loud and true.

"I hear the drums echoing tonight, but she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation."

They take turns leading as they trade advances and retreats, balancing each other with their weight, calloused and bandaged fingers curled and locked together. As they step and whirl, a pattern soon establishes itself, and he finds himself genuinely enjoying the challenge.

"It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you; there's nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do!"

Impulsively, he picks her up by the waist, spinning her in a half circle. Her face registers surprise in the same moment that he wonders if that was a bad idea.

Instead, her lips quirk up in a dangerous smirk. Her boots thud like a gavel, and he sucks in a sharp breath as she ups the pace, her long, dark hair clashing with her crisp white shirt and flooding his vision. It still smells like a myriad of flowers.

"Wild dogs cry out in the night, as they grow restless, longing for some solitary company."

Victoria moves like she does on the battlefield, each step placed with intent. As Charlie moves into the second verse, Michael can feel the burn in his muscles, being far less used to nonstop back and forth motion, whereas she shows no sign of such fatigue. He shudders to think what facing her on a real battlefield would be like.

Unbidden, his mind wanders back down that train of thought, that inevitable clash once their partnership of convenience and necessity, as she'd called it just this morning, comes to an end. He pays the price for his distraction and trips over his own feet, and he'd likely have stepped on hers if she wasn't too agile for that.

She slides neatly to the side, her hand leaping to his waist to steady him. She lifts an eyebrow at him; he could almost laugh at the irony of her catching him if he wasn't suddenly quite short on breath.

Merry's flute makes an appearance, whistling through the notes with ease and warm cheer as her fingers dance upon her instrument with uncanny precision. He feels almost like he's regained his footing, perhaps, but these days, it's easier and easier to be taken by surprise by the person who he thought was nothing more than a predictable puppet on strings.

Without really thinking, he pulls her into a pivoting spin, his hand settling at the small of her back. Her gaze registers surprise again before she steps frighteningly close. With their near identical heights, they are almost nose to nose. Something different charges the air, magic in its own right.

"Hurry, boy, she's waiting there for you!"

Both of them glance sharply at an openly grinning Charlie at the same time. Before Michael can school his expression, he makes an awkward apologetic face at Victoria with a tentative half smile, probably not the most elegant of combinations. Something about it seems to work, though, because she laughs quietly, actually laughs, and he feels a swooping feeling in his stomach that, in hindsight, really is completely unrelated to how she then picks him up off the floor with ease.

By the time they get back to their seats, chased by applause and a few whistles, she's back to her usual self, and he can't help but be a little relieved, though disappointed.

"So much for keeping a low profile," she groans, dropping into her chair.

"What's wrong with a few admirers?" he teases while trying to hide how fast his heart is pounding. "Besides, I didn't drag you along in handcuffs, so don't go blaming me for having fun." Smirking, he adds, "And you can admit that you had fun, it won't kill you."

"What I have are regrets," she says flatly.

Grinning ear to ear, Mime sing-songs, "That wasn't a no."

Even Victoria's formidable glare only makes her giggle, and Morgan hides a smile behind one hand. Victoria heaves another sigh, flexing her bandaged hand and looking weary in a way that Michael suspects has little to do with physical exertion.

"We should be heading back soon," she says aloud, glancing out the window. "We need to figure out the details of the plan. And a backup plan, in case this goes wrong."

If this had been just over a week ago, when they first met, Michael probably wouldn't have said a word, content and even smug to let the righteous Knight struggle to figure out that the law is riddled with problems.

"Hey," he says quietly, waiting until she looks up at him, "we're all going to be fine tomorrow. Between you and me, no one's getting hurt. Mostly because you keep insisting that we can't just kill the man and be done with it," he adds in a sarcastic mutter, earning himself a glare. "Relax, Victoria. No one's in this alone."

You included, he leaves unspoken, and her ire mellows visibly. In lieu of a response from Victoria, Mime beams and holds her hot chocolate up high.

"I propose a toast to tomorrow's success!" she declares.

"Put that down," Victoria hisses, pressing on Mime's arm until her mug thunks onto the table, nearly spilling over.

Mime giggles sheepishly. "Oops."

Morgan pats her on the shoulder reassuringly. "Good idea, though." They push their mug into the center of the table against Mime's. "To doing illegal things safely tomorrow!"

"But not too safely," Michael agrees, pushing his glass forward with a grin. "That would just be boring."

"You all are insufferable," Victoria mutters, but after a moment, she reluctantly adds her mug to the circle and her own two cents: "To our safe return."

"Cheers!"


No, Africa probably doesn't exist in this world, and I also don't care, it's a good song!

I know Victoria and Michael are definitely getting along better than they do in canon at this point in the story, but I've been giving them more chances to by rearranging some of the canon scenes and adding a few extras in between, so I hope it's still a realistic progression of their relationship :)

Also, I think they would look damn fine dancing together but maybe that's just me :3