Note: Many people have asked for a "Deryn comes home" or an "Alek meets Ma Sharp" story. Well… okay! :D

.

.

.

"Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in."

- Robert Frost

.

.

.

When Deryn turns up at Alek's door first thing in the morning, suitcase packed, airship ticket in her pocket, and nerves just beginning to twist, she's a bit startled to find Volger still sitting to breakfast.

He's dressed for the day, of course (looks as if he's been awake for hours, and he likely has) but there's no sense of hurry to his movements. In fact, he's more absorbed in the Times than in the toast and sausages on the table, and if his coffee's not stone cold, it'll be a wonder.

"Good morning, your countship," she says.

"Good morning, Mr. Sharp," he says without looking up from the newspaper.

Alek's dishes have been cleared, she can see; they're propped up to dry by the kitchen sink. "Where's Alek?"

"Fetching his belongings." Volger turns a page and refolds the paper.

"D'you want that?" she asks, meaning the food.

He makes a noncommittal noise. Deryn reckons that's a go-ahead, so she takes a seat and helps herself. The toast is burnt, but the sausages aren't bad.

"Laying in provisions for your trip, I see," Volger says, dry.

She shrugs, determined not to let his needling ruin the prospect of an airship ride. "Aye, might as well."

There's a harrumph and a rustle of paper as he turns another page.

Your trip, he'd said. Not our trip. Around a mouthful of sausage, Deryn asks, "You're not coming along?"

Volger coolly tells his newspaper, "Alek has no need of a fencing tutor on his vacation."

Deryn lifts an eyebrow. She doesn't believe that yackum for a moment; Volger meddles where he pleases, and he quite likes mucking up Deryn's plans. "What if German agents come after him?"

"I'm sure you will capably fend them off." Volger folds the newspaper and lays it on the table beside his empty breakfast plate. "Forgive me if I do not accompany you to the airship terminal," he says, standing.

Deryn watches the count leave the kitchen for the parlor. Barking spiders, was he actually telling the truth? He can't possibly mean to send the pair of them to Glasgow. For a full week. Alone.

Her nerves twist again. Not exactly alone, though.

"Mr. Sharp!" a wee voice exclaims, and she turns her head to look just as Alek and Bovril come down the stairs, Alek carrying his valise.

"Aye, it's me, beastie," she says, grinning and rising herself. Bovril stretches out its tiny paws to her, and Deryn takes the beastie from Alek's shoulder. "Good morning, love," she adds.

"Good morning to you as well, Liebe," Alek says. He smirks at her. "I was beginning to feel slighted."

"Dummkopf," she says, but fondly. "D'you have everything?"

"Yes." His valise is leather, with gold-leaf initials stamped by the handle – not "AH", though. Deryn had taken him round to a pawnbroker's when they realized he'd need luggage. Her own suitcase is on loan from Mr. Barlow. "Shall we?"

They make their way to the front door, where Deryn picks up her suitcase. She looks back, expecting the count to emerge with a parting riposte.

Volger's nowhere to be seen.

Sodding strange, if you ask her. Even stranger that a man who steadfastly trailed Alek around the world in the midst of war wouldn't make a quick jaunt up to Glasgow.

Alek doesn't say a word about the matter. He locks the door behind them, returns the key to his pocket, and walks to the kerb as if nothing's amiss.

"What was that about, then?" she asks as they cross the street to wait for the omnibus. Alek had spent his first week in London fussing about the smell, the noise, and the inconvenience of being crowded together, but has since become inordinately fascinated with public transport.

Deryn suspects it has more to do with tight purse strings than anything else.

"Hmm?" he says, withdrawing his pocket watch (a gift from the Zoological Society) and checking the time against the posted schedule.

She rolls her eyes. "That business with Volger."

"Personal affairs," Bovril announces from her shoulder, its nose up and its tone haughty.

"Indeed," Alek says. He glances at the other folks waiting for the bus and says, too casually, "I requested that he stay here."

"Blisters, why?"

No one's paying them a squick of attention, but he switches over to German anyway: "I know you're hardly looking forward to this reunion. I assumed that not having Volger with us would make it easier."

It sounds likely enough. But Alek's asked – ordered, even – Volger to do all sorts of things, and the count has ignored most of them. Deryn's skeptical.

At the same time… they've no secrets between the two of them, and that's a vow Alek takes seriously. He's not lying. Volger probably decided that a week stuck in barbaric Scotland was too ghastly to contemplate.

"It'll make things more fun, at least," Deryn says in English. She shifts the suitcase to her other hand and gives him a grin. "We'll have to sneak topside soon as we can."

"The view from there is always exceptional," Alek agrees. A small, private smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. " 'Meteoric', according to some."

Bovril giggles. "Meteoric!" it says, delighted with the joke.

The omnibus arrives with a great deal of tromping and snuffling from the elephantine drawing it. Deryn and Alek sit far enough to the back that they can safely hold hands.

Aye, this'll be wonderful, she thinks, watching Alek's profile as he studies the city going past their window. His hand in hers is a warm and familiar weight. Eight hours aloft with her prince, and no Volger in sight.

If only her ma and the aunties weren't waiting on the other end.