He was so tired. All he wanted to do was go to bed and stay there. For the rest of his repulsively long life, maybe. If he had any feeling left, it was gratitude for the silence of the newly-appointed guards, and that the none of the staff were in evidence. Kid couldn't imagine having a polite conversation at the moment. He trudged up the stairs, head hanging so low that all he could see were his shoes.

One of Sid's hard-looking soldiers was stationed on the upstairs landing, keeping watch over the halls. Kid felt the guard's eyes on the back of his neck as he slogged toward his suite and realized that the man was not just there to protect the household from his mother, but from him as well. He quelled an absurd urge to go back and explain himself to a total stranger and apologize for being an inconvenience.

He entered his bedroom and was shocked to find a low fire burned, and a couple of lamps lighting the room softly. A clean pair of pajamas lay across his bed, and someone had turned the sheets back for him. A tray on his nightstand held a covered plate, and a monogrammed notecard bore Liz' untidy scrawl.

Eat something and go to bed. Things won't be any less shitty if you stay up all night and starve yourself. We'll figure all of this out together. Don't be too mad at your dad - he fucked up, but he was legit trying to protect you. We won't bother you, but if you want us, Patty and I are here. XOX

A thermal carafe beside the plate bore a pink sticky note from Patty.

I'm sorry things are so messed up, but I love you SO much! P.S. I made you hot chocolate with cinnamon and vanilla in it!

A row of hearts underlined her round, loopy signature. Kid smiled, and the expression felt foreign, as though his facial muscles no longer wanted to move in that particular direction. Like he hadn't smiled in years. It didn't seem possible that only hours ago he'd been blissfully happy in these rooms, loved and loving. He glanced at the nightstand on the far side of the bed, where someone had stacked Maka's bulging training notebook atop the battered copy of The Cider House Rules she'd been reading before bed two nights ago. She'd been wearing a polka-dotted nightshirt and occasionally gave him a break from working on his father's Death List by reading passages aloud to him...

No. He wouldn't think about that. Could not, or he'd go mad. Kid tried to distract himself by changing into the pajamas but fell apart when he went to put his despair-tainted clothes in the hamper. The staff had cleaned the bathroom and closet. The sweaty practice clothes he and Maka had discarded, the sand on the closet floor, the towel he'd dried her hair with; all gone as if Maka had never been there. As if she hadn't come to him for comfort, distressed by a problem that seemed ridiculously small compared to the ones they faced now. He flashed back to the feel of Maka's chin in the crook of his shoulder, heard her whispered words of adoration in his ear, felt her hot, urgent body as he thrust into her against the cool white tile-

A wave of panicked anguish washed over him, too deep to be dispelled by tears and too dark to be pushed to that back of his consciousness. It consumed him, set him shaking, took what was left of his rational thought, and left him struggling to breathe. There was a time when such torment was his constant companion. A time before Maka had healed him with a bit of her soul; a bit that he had to carry even though she had gone, taking a piece of his own with her. Kid had grown used to the constant bond between those pieces, and the blocking of it left a blank space; a black echo chamber where his sweetheart was supposed to be.

He ran back to his bedroom, where his eyes lit on the quilt his mother had made so long ago, and the sight of it nauseated him. He yanked it off the bed with a vicious tug and hurled it across the room. Pillows flew, and the sheets hung halfway to the floor afterward; disorder that Kid couldn't stop staring at while gasping and fumbling for his phone.

I need you he posted to the group chat that was always open between him and his weapons. Five minutes later, his head was resting on Liz' shoulder, with Patty's arms wrapped around him from behind. Liz initiated a low-level resonance that Kid resisted, afraid to let anything disrupt the tenuous hold he had on himself. It was, she thought grimly, just like old times. Eventually, they got him to sink into the soul bond, silently reminding him could always trust his sisters with his troubled mind and soul.

"Let's go to my room," Liz suggested gently when she knew that words were okay again. She glanced through Patty's hair at the ravaged bed, "This isn't a good place for you right now."

"That would be nice," Kid replied. He sounded odd, but at least he was speaking, and that seemed like a good sign.

Patty took the tray, and they headed for the west hallway, stopping briefly in the upstairs foyer when the guard questioned them.

"We're going to my room," Liz told him haughtily.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Miss Thompson," the man replied, staring meaningfully at Kid.

Patty gave a little snort and said, "Bad move, mister," under her breath.

"Listen, you," Liz snapped, "When my father isn't here I'm in charge of this house. We're going to my suite, and if we need help controlling my little brother, you'll be the first to know. Until then, you stay put and don't bother us. Got that?"

"Yes, Ma'am," The guard didn't flinch under the verbal assault, but he immediately stood aside. And saluted. Patty giggled uncontrollably, and If he hadn't been so miserable, Kid would have joined her. His spirits somewhat improved, he allowed himself to be fed, fussed over, and distracted until sleep finally found him, and he sprawled across Liz' bed into blissful unconsciousness.