fanfic: A Fish Out of Water

[bellaknoti]

An AU to Wings of the Storm Crow

Title: Mere Mortals (Chapter Eleven)
Rating: AO
Pairing: Zev/Lily
Summary: PTSD. Do they even have a word for that here? Nothing I can do about the scary things I see when I close my eyes. Life here is hard, and deadly. I miss home, but not for its comforts or the life I left behind, but for the simple fact that there, this would not be happening. I would not have had to take up the life of a character I can only pretend to be. I've never felt less like myself than I do now. I don't even recognize me. Fuck me; what the hell have I got myself into? Oh gods, can you even hear me out here? I feel so lost.

scarylady is very awesome, and fixes all the injustices and horrible liberties I take with the language without even meaning to.

1smut_princess keeps me sane and pokes holes in my plot for me.

There is silence in the room, when I wake next, but Ponka’s presence, barring the door from opening without his express permission, is a comfort. Bright sunlight filters through the slatted shutters, throwing shadowy stripes across my lover’s face. He looks so drawn and worn it makes my heart ache, and I know he’s not okay by the fact that he doesn’t stir as I sit up. I sit and stare at him for a moment, trying not to be terrified by that. We’ve spent so much time unconscious. His unbound hair is a tangle across his cheek, and I want to brush it away, but I know that even if my movement doesn’t wake him, touching him certainly would, and he needs to sleep as much as possible.

I have a sudden vivid memory of the blood-soaked horror that was us, yesterday, and have to cover my mouth as my stomach rolls. Oh, ohhh... don’t think about it. Don’t think about the way the blood sprayed, along with a little gob of flesh, as the arrow suddenly burst from the servant/Crow’s throat. Don’t think about the dead maid’s eyes, and how blue they were. Don’t think about the guy with the mace, alive one moment and then dead, by my hand, the next. I went in there innocent, and came out having lost count of how many lives ended because of my blades. I close my eyes, trying to block out the images, and shake my head, but nothing wipes them away. Closing my eyes is actually worse.

Don’t think about Zev hanging there in chains.

I flinch, taking a quick breath and covering my face with my hands, even though the force of my eyes flying wide ought to be accompanied by the sound of breaking glass.

You don’t think about it, when it’s just a game, how many people’s eyes you have to look into, in order to kill your way through a building full of hostiles. You don’t consider how the people you’re playing are sinking sharpened lengths of metal into flesh and bone, over and over again, being spattered by bits and the life’s essence of an actual person, someone’s child. You don’t think about the crunch, and the ripping sounds, and the screams, what that really means. And you don’t have to smell it, or feel the fatigue in your joints as you take another swing. Oh gods, I have got to get a grip. Welcome to the life of a soldier, right? I can’t complain to anyone around me about how this is freaking me out, because everyone here is seasoned, and I’m supposed to be, too.

It might be okay for me to lay it on Zev, because he already knows, so I can cry on him about it later if I can’t figure out how to stuff it in a box and bury it. I shake my head. Just think of it like a horror movie. It’ll fade. I shudder, remembering how hot and slippery my hands had become, once they were covered in blood, and the teeth-shattering sound of metal on metal. Taking a deep breath, I shove the thoughts aside. I haven’t got the luxury of being weak. We might still be alive, but it is now clear that the Crows know we’re here. If we’re going to do something about this, I have to get him back on his feet, and I have to be able to stand strong beside him. There is no other option. I’m not allowed to drown in this. Just keep swimming, just keep swimming. Oh, gods.

One thing at a time. I’m right here, right now, and there are things I have control over and things I don’t. First order of business: take care of those things I do have control over. Right.

Ponka raises his head and looks at me, and I put a finger to my lips, asking for quiet. He stands up and comes over to me, laying his head against my thigh. I reach down and scratch his ear, and he closes his eyes, leaning into my hand. I’m not a dog person, as a general rule, because I find them to be rather stupid, for the most part. They drool, jump on you, and eat their own poop. Gross! But it’s sometimes scary to me, how smart this dog is. I mean, with most dogs, you could sit there and talk to them, and they’d just be content to hang out and listen to your voice, because you’re their human, but not this dog. When he looks at me, while I’m talking, I know he understands every word, because he’ll react like a person.

One afternoon, I was sitting next to him in the library, with certainly no-one close enough to hear me whisper, and I confessed to him that being here is frightening to me, that this isn’t the world I come from, and he turned and looked at me, just like anyone might. He sighed, shook his head, and laid it across my leg, just leaning against me. When I didn’t do anything at first, he shifted, and shoved his nose under my hand, flipping it up onto his brow, demanding a scratch. I looked down at him as I obliged, and said, “So, everything is better when there’s mabari scratchin’ involved, hm?” and he grinned and nodded.

I shift, and he scoots away, giving me room to get out of the bed. My bare feet hit the floor, and I realize I’m only wearing a tunic, again. I need to get something to eat and visit the loo. Turning, I see that Zev hasn’t moved an inch; when I leave he might panic, if he wakes. Remembering yesterday, I tuck my hand under our pillows, and find that the dagger never made its way back. He’ll really panic if there’s no weapon close to hand. From the chest at the foot of the bed, I grab a pair of breeches for myself, and then pop open the little compartment at the bottom, pulling out the backup-backup dagger. I slide it under my pillow, watching his face, but there’s not even a flicker of an eyelid, and this makes my heart clench with worry. I want to stay, but my body has other demands.

Kneeling down next to my mabari, I whisper in his ear, “Stay here and protect him for me, okay? I’ll be back soon; I’m going down to the kitchen to get some food. Are you hungry?” He snuffles at the side of my face and dances back and forth a little bit, wiggling his tail, and I whisper-laugh. “Okay. I’ll make sure they’re ready to feed you when I get back.” For this, I am rewarded by a lick to the side of my face, and I smile at him, ruffling his ears.

With a last glance over my shoulder for Zev - and my good dog sitting staunchly at his side - I slip out into the corridor, quietly shutting the door behind me. I wait a handful of heartbeats, torn with warring desires, but I finally cannot put it off, and head for the washroom. One thing I like about Antiva is that they’ve got actual toilets. They don’t flush - it’s just an open pit - but it’s no worse than a biffy, and infinitely better than a chamber pot. Those things are just disgusting.

I head down to the kitchen, starting to feel tired before I even get there. I hate this shit. I’ve never been a very patient invalid at even the best of times, but this is just horrible, the worst possible time to be useless. I pass several Wardens on the way down, and they all dip their heads to me. I don’t know how or why the people here know who I am - probably loud-mouthed servants, really - but they all look at me with barely concealed awe, half the time. It’s... really embarrassing. I haven’t done anything to deserve that, not really. I’m not the person they think I am. I still hear ‘Mahariel’ and ‘Hero’ whispered behind my back, but at least people don’t say any of that to my face anymore. I can’t seem to stop them from trying to salute me, though.

Eating in their customary place at one of the long tables outside the kitchen are a handful of Alistair’s men. The sideboard, with its ever-present array of munchies, stands half-wrecked, a testament to the latest influx of the Wardens’ hunger. I grab a wooden bowl and fill it with random items - I really don’t know what most of the food here is, but all of it is pretty tasty, so I just try to get what looks to be about a square meal - then sit a little way down from them to eat.

“Ehi,” one of them says, his voice rising above the murmur of their chat to reach my ears. It takes me a moment to register that he might be talking to me. “Ehi, the Blight tales, they say you were an elf,” he says, and I look up in time to see the man next to him punch him soundly in the shoulder.

“Zitto, Raffaello,” the other man growls, and I shake my head, but ‘Raffaello’ will not be dissuaded, and he turns to argue with the other man, batting his arm aside.

“No, Angelo, I will not be silent. We all know what the price is to slay an Archdemon. Everyone wants to pretend as though we do not know who she is, but we do.” Turning back to me, he looks me up and down, frowning. “Enzo, he has told of a night when he overheard you in conversation with the Warden Commander.” He turns and looks at another one of the men, who shifts uncomfortably.

“Scusi, I did not intend any intrusion, but your voices, they carried to the courtyard. You said that you are no longer a Warden,” Enzo says.

I close my eyes for a moment, a long blink, feeling myself go pale. Of course. The stupid, gods-damned open window. At least one other person heard all the shit that went down between Alistair and me. Great. That’s just great. “The Taint-- You know how to escape it. You must tell us, how did you survive the Archdemon.” Raffaello’s voice is flat, not carrying the cadence of a question. It’s practically a command, and as this soldier levels me with a very serious stare, I swallow. I’m not used to dealing with people of this calibre, and I constantly feel outclassed, everywhere I go. Oh, intimidation, I feel it.

They are all watching me, and I let out a breath, putting down the piece of bread I had so desperately wanted to eat, my heart in my throat. What the hell do I say to these men? I’m not their saviour. I don’t want to be anyone’s hero - that’s the escape, not the reality. “I didn’t,” I say, watching their faces. They all stare at me, and I shift uncomfortably. “Look, I don’t know that I’ve got any more answers than you do when it comes to certain things, but I can give you a list of facts. Yes, I was once a Warden and an elf, and I died to end the Blight. From what I understand, I am buried in the Brecilian Forest, returned to my clan and the earth. The Hero of Ferelden, Lily Mahariel, is dead. Yet, I am Lily.” I spread my hands and shrug.

There is a moment of silence as they all exchange confused, sceptical, and surprised glances, so I grab the jug in the middle of the table and pour myself a cup of what turns out to be simple water. Eventually, one of them slowly says, “Are you a demon?” clearly not expecting his question to be even a plausible explanation.

I can’t help but laugh a little. “Nooo... Y’think Anders’d let me wander around? I’m human, same as you.”

“Yet, you act like an elf,” Raffaello protests. “You even speak Elvish. Many have heard you.”

“And clearly, you are alive,” Angelo puts in.

“Yes. I speak Elvish, and yes, I am alive. Touch me, I am solid; cut me, I bleed and curse a lot. I breathe, and eat, and sweat, and shit, and sleep. I’m a woman. I get confused sometimes, and other times I’m clever; I hate wearing shoes, I appreciate a good spiced mead, and I recently discovered I really don’t like figs.” I shrug. “So, I am clearly real, and just as mortal as the next person. I don’t honestly know how I can be here.” I grab a piece of shredded chicken and stuff it in my mouth while they look at each other again, and then I get half a dozen pairs of furrowed brows in my direction.

I wave a hand, swallowing. “I know this doesn’t make much sense; I don’t really understand it very well, myself. What I can tell you is that the only escape from the Taint is death, I’m sorry, and dead is dead - there’s no coming back from that without a terrible price, whether you mean to do it or not.” I swallow again, and shake my head.

Angelo takes advantage of my pause to interject. “Your price - you are no longer a Warden, yes? Nor an elf?”

I blink. “Uh... You know, that’s not even the half of it, and... I try not to think about it. My existence here is tenuous, at best.”

The knowing look in Enzo’s eye makes me think not all he overheard was unintentional, but that the others don’t share it tells me he has kept his own counsel, at least. He may even have heard the whole thing. If so, he’s got a pretty damned good idea that I’m tied to Zev somehow. I wonder how dangerous that information is going to become to us.

I try to change the subject. “I wish I could tell you that there’s a way to avoid the Calling. I am... I’m an impossibility, sort of like a ghost. Don’t look at me as proof of anything except the unpredictability of the gods’ whims.” I shake my head, taking a bite of what turns out to be mango. “I can talk with you about anything, sure; ask me questions about my experiences as a Warden, and I’ll try to share what I know. As for how I got here, why I’m still alive, any of that? I have no answers, brothers, only guesses.”

There is another pause, so I drink some of the water and eat a few bites of bread. Eventually, one of them says, “I heard a tale of a Warden in Ferelden who became possessed by a spirit from the Fade. After he died. They say that he could be smelled before he was seen.”

I glance at the man sidelong. “And? You sayin’ I need a bath? Wow, way to make a girl feel pretty.” As the other soldiers laugh, I cover my smirk with another bite of bread. “I’m not an abomination, either. I’m just me, same person I’ve always been.”

“You claim us brothers, yet you are no Warden; I cannot feel you,” the last soldier says, the one who has been silent, up until now, and he fixes me with a sceptical gaze that feels a little reptilian to me. “Tell me, what was your Joining like?” The tone in his voice tells me that this is a test, so I look him in the eye when I answer, even though he’s freaking me out.

I keep my voice as level and bland as possible. “There were three of us, and Alistair, with the Warden Commander of Ferelden at the time, Duncan. Daveth was the first to take the cup; he fought, his eyes turned white, but he almost made it. Jory tried to defect, and pulled a blade on Duncan, so Duncan killed him. I took the cup, it was vile, I choked on it, and then... the world went green. Everything was blurry, but not like the Fade. The screaming... I saw the dragon. The scary part? It saw me. Fighting my way clear of that was... was...” I shake my head. I don’t really know - it was a cutscene. Scared the shit out of me when it happened, because I’d been playing in the dark. “I woke up with them leaning over me. I got the Oath, and then, well, a lot more happened besides, but that’s how it went. Sometimes, I’ve wondered if the reason my nightmares were so hellish is because it knew I was coming for it. Then again, we were the only Wardens in Ferelden at the time, so maybe it just wasn’t hard for it to find us. ‘Course, that theory doesn’t really explain why it saw me as soon as I Joined.” I shrug.

I look back down at my food, but I’ve lost my appetite. I drop the bread back into the bowl and dust off my fingers. “You really are the Hero,” one of them says quietly, and I squeeze my eyes shut, hanging my head, my tangled hair falling over my face. I need to get back to Zev. I’m starting to feel antsy being away from him, and I really don’t want him to wake without me there, after everything that happened.

“Brother, I’m no-one’s hero, and I’m certainly not the ‘Hero of Ferelden’. My name is Lily. Don’t call me anything else, for the love of the gods. I’m not who I once was; that name, that title, it’s very, very dangerous to me, and to everyone here - surely you can see that.” I stand up, carrying my bowl back over to the sideboard and loading it up with as much food as it can hold. “I was her, once, but not anymore. It’s weird, and doesn’t make a lick of sense, but there it is. Unfortunately, I have to get back upstairs,” I tell them, turning around again. “Since you guys were the ones who had the guts to ask me the questions that have apparently been preying upon everyone’s minds for a while now, if you six in particular ever want to corner me and ask me for a Blight story, I might tell you one - I wouldn’t do that for anyone else. But in return, I want you to do just one thing for me.” I look around at all of them, and they exchange glances, then look at me again, some sceptical, some open. “All I ask is that you pass on the fact that I don’t want to be referred to as ‘Hero’ or ‘Mahariel’, because they’re neither my title nor my name. Not even amongst ourselves.” I look at them, and wave a finger, adding hastily, “And no bowing or anything, either. Do we have an accord?”

There are nods and general murmurs of agreement, even from the quiet one, and I nod back, once, in acknowledgement. “Right. Thank you.” Grabbing the pitcher and tucking my cup into my elbow, I head through the kitchen door and address the cook. “Scusi, uh, I’m going to be sending my mabari down here to eat, soon, just so you’re aware.” She gives me a long-suffering look, but nods. “Oh, hey, he doesn’t give you any trouble, does he?”

“No, signora, he is simply very big, and very hungry.”

I smile. “No worse than the other Wardens, I hope?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “No, but they do not eat in the kitchen.”

“Ah, Ponka doesn’t have to, either. You can send him to eat with the Wardens, or ask him to take his food elsewhere, you know. He will understand you, and I’ll tell him to listen to you.”

She smiles gratefully. “Grazie.”

I nod and head out the other door to the hallway, not wanting to go back in where the men are. Outside of our room, I run into Anders, who is just coming out. “Has he woken up yet?” I ask, worried.

Anders shakes his head. “Not yet, but soon.” He peers at me closely, leaning in, and I lean back a bit out of reflex. “Are you all right?”

I smile wanly. “I’m tired, and I just got interrogated by some of the Wardens, but I’ll live. How is he?”

The healer gives me a reproachful smirk. “He’s fine now, of course.” The humour falls away just as quickly as it appeared. “He was in bad shape, Lily. I’m not sure which of you was worse, to be quite honest.” I shiver. Mine was instant, and I wasn’t conscious. Everything was done to him systematically, over the course of a couple hours of hell, things that should’ve killed him, repeatedly, but they wouldn’t allow him the escape. A tear springs to my eye before I can stop it, and I blink it away, but my hands are full, so there’s no hiding it, at all. Slowly, so that I have time to back away if I want, Anders reaches toward me, and since I don’t move, he brushes it off my cheek with the back of a finger before letting his hand drop to squeeze my shoulder comfortingly. “Shh, I know. He’s going to need you,” he says, his eyes sympathetic.

I bite my lip and turn my face aside, nodding. “Thanks. I mean that. Is he... I mean, are you done? Does he need any more?”

“I don’t know yet. We’ll have to see how things go when he gets up and walks around a little. Sometimes people spring a leak, once pressure is applied. I’ll check in with you again tonight, unless you end up needing me sooner,” he assures me, and I nod again. He reaches behind himself and opens the door for me.

“Oh, thank you,” I murmur, going to move past him, and he steps to the side. Ponka stands up, and I say, “Okay, go on down to the kitchen, and you listen to the cook if she tells you to eat someplace else. Good manners are important.” He snorts, but then nods, and trots out.

I sit on the trunk, setting down my spoils, and wave to Anders as he ducks out, shutting the door behind him. My hunger has returned; now that I’m back here and can see that Zev is indeed okay, I tuck in and eat. Besides a small pile of some kind of curried, spicy chicken and the sweet berry bread I picked up, there are slices of tomato, some kind of mild cheese, something that tastes like rosemary focaccia bread, what I thought was spinach turns out to be basil, and what looked like salami turns out to be some kind of sweet and spicy ham-like thing, as well as the remainder of my slice of mango. I arrange the rest of it into piles so that the bread doesn’t get soggy. By the time I’m finished, and pouring myself another cup of water, Zev suddenly sits up, naked blade in hand, startling me with the ferocity of the look on his face. I freeze, feeling like a mouse in the middle of a field when the hawk cries, waiting for him to register where he is. After a moment, his eyes focus on me, and his face transforms with relief.

The dagger disappears and he slumps, suddenly flopping back with a groan. I set down cup and pitcher and crawl over the bed to him. “You’re awake,” I murmur, so glad to see him, and brush my fingers across his forehead to draw the trailing strands of hair away from his eyes. “Are you hungry?”

In response, he makes a querulous little growl, wraps his arms around my shoulders, and pulls me down to lay beside him. I knew he would be weaker - I had barely been able to move when I first woke up after being crushed - but the proof of it in his embrace is frightening on a whole new level. He pulls me against him tightly, tucking me in along his side, one of his hands buried in my hair adjusting the position of my face against his neck. I wrap an arm and a leg over him, my hand curling around his opposite shoulder as I fit myself as close as I can, knowing that this time it’s up to me to hold us together, to make us wound just as tightly as we usually are.

He doesn’t say anything for a long time, never releasing me from his grasp. It’s so scary. His usual bands of steel are mere mortal flesh, no more safe than my own. His jaw rubs against my forehead as he turns his face, and lips soft as velvet press firmly to my third eye. Ever since that day on the beach, there’s been a curious little spark to it, when he does that. The way my temple presses against his skin, I can feel how fast his heart is beating through the pulse of the vein in his neck, and it takes my breath away. It never occurred to me that he could be frightened, not really, not like this. My Zev is as immovable and eternal as a mountain, strong and fearless and deadly. The fast pounding of his heart thrumming beneath my ear, the fluttering under my palm where it rests against his neck, the way he clings to me, drawing deep breaths with his nose buried in my hair, they put the lie to it. He is a man, and this last twenty-four hours has proven it to me, very vividly, with such crystal-clear detail that I’m undoubtedly scarred for life.

“You are unhurt, amora?” His breath is hot against my temple, and we are pressed so close, I can feel the movement of his mouth.

I hum in agreement, not wanting to bother him with how hurt I had been when he is the one who was being... mutilated... while fully conscious. “Mm-hm; Anders saw to both of us.”

Trembling fingers work their way through my hair, wandering down to my jaw, tipping my chin up to make me look into his honey gold eyes, and his gaze is direct. “I could feel you, in there, when they were having their... ah, shall we say, ‘fun’.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and nod. Duh. It doesn’t go just one way; hadn’t I already guessed? The memory of how I found him assails me again, the tacky blood on my knees, the smell of his mortality, blood all over my hands, trying to pull the pins when my fingers barely worked. I open my eyes again quickly, trying to stop the flood of images, and it is his face, whole and unharmed, that finally quiets them. I kiss him passionately, banishing the fear for just a few, precious seconds. “There were... so many of them... It took so long...” I say when I draw back, and then cling just a little bit tighter. “I figured it out, the third time I felt it, what was going on, what they... were doing. I tried, I tried to stay on my feet, to be strong and quick, but I wasn’t, I just wasn’t, and I could feel it affecting you. I’m so sorry... I couldn’t get there fast enough.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw. “No, amora mia, you got there fast enough. We are alive.” I feel his lungs fill as he draws a deep breath, holding it for a moment and then releasing it in a heavy sigh. “Perhaps we should leave off the Crows, find some small mountain village, start a cult, worship some dragons, yes? Surely it would be somewhat less exciting.”

This gives me pause. It’s the exact opposite of his earlier statements. I want to agree with him. I’m a coward; I want to run. This shit is crazy, and hard, and full of blood and pain and death. I hate it. But he said it himself... There’s no outrunning the Crows. If we stay here, we can’t stop until he’s got enough power to command them to leave off, and then it’ll still be a constant vigil, followed by a someday bloody death at the hands of another who has grown fast enough to take him - us - down. But if we run, we’ll be followed, hunted down like animals, and we still will never be safe, because there will always be someone coming. There will always be someone else we have to kill, no matter what we do. There’s no such thing as peace, not for me, not for us. Never again.

“If you think it best...” I say, slowly.

He kisses me softly, then shakes his head, reluctantly. “No.” He sighs. “What I think is ‘best’ does not matter to the Crows. There is only one true way to leave - boots first, into the fire. Any other way is nothing but a fool’s dream.”

What does that make me, then? “We seem to be figuring out ways to make dreams reality, lately. Impossible ones, even,” I whisper, knowing, even as I say it, that there isn’t any escape.

He rubs his face with his hand, shaking his head again. “There are only so many dreams one can have before awakening.” He sighs and twists to face me, forcing me to loosen my grip a bit. “We have only so much grace and luck; it is best to not reach for too much more, lest what we do have be taken away.”

He’s right, I know he is, but... “Aren’t we reaching for that, no matter which way we jump, really?” We’ll need plenty of grace and luck to make it through, either way.

Zev shakes his head, a small frown on his lips. “No, for while one is improbable, the other is foolish impossibility. Better to go for the improbable than the impossible, yes? If it were just myself at risk...” He hisses in irritation, his brows furrowing, and I feel bad for just being here, all over again. I’m such an anchor around his neck. “No matter; things are as they are. The lots have been drawn; best to work with what is available.” He reaches up, tracing the curve of my eyebrow and the arch of my cheekbone with one fingertip. “The Crows are naught but mortal men and women - they bleed just the same as any other, and so we must make them bleed, more than ourselves, until we are the ones standing afterward, until there are none who yet stand in opposition.”

I have to swallow twice before I can speak, because the prospect of this life terrifies me beyond words. Constant vigil against poisons, and daggers in the dark. Intrigue and blood. “We could never lay down our blades,” I whisper, agonized. “Where does it end?”

“No one ever can; there will be time enough for rest when we are dead.” A callused thumb drags over my lower lip, his gaze focused on its path. “Life is always a struggle, in some way or another. Vigilance is what guards and protects the struggle, holding the inevitable at bay for a time. Eventually, it will come - that is the only true universal thing in all of Thedas. All of us, from peasant to Divine, we meet our Maker when it does; any other thought is little but the addled belief of the mad.”

I never really appreciated just how soft my life was, before. I wonder if I’ll ever know a time of relative peace like that again. Probably not. I should talk to Anders about birth control. If we’re going to do this, if we’re going to kill our way to the top of a pile of killers, there’s no way we can afford someone to gain that kind of leverage over us. And I can’t afford to be that much of a liability, any more than I already am.

I squeeze my eyes shut for just a second. “I wish I could’ve taken you home with me, instead. They could never have reached us there, and we would’ve had peace. I don’t know. Maybe my world was too soft. I’ve been thinking I am too, really, but I’m trying to catch up.”

The look he gives me is knowing. “Ah, but what would I do in such a world? And with no magic, how would you be healed? No, this is best - otherwise your injuries would have robbed me of your presence far too soon.”

I sigh and shake my head. It’s all immaterial anyway. No matter what, the whim of the gods notwithstanding, we have to play the hand we’re dealt. “Life is life; I don’t care where we go, not really, just as long as at the end of the day, whatever I’ve had to do to earn it, I can lay down again next to you.” I would never say this, because it’s ridiculously sappy, and I’ve already been about as mushy as I care to get, but the real fact is, he is my home. I’ll never have any other.

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