Chapter Text
Bear returned to consciousness as a blade of sunlight slipped through the curtains and struck him across the face. He sat up almost methodically, moving as though he had repeated the routine a thousand times. Perhaps he had. At this point, the motion felt less like a decision and more like something carved into the foundations of his personality. The room remained cool, though the warmth of morning had already begun spreading across the walls.
Bear attempted to stand.
Something tugged against his left arm and stopped him.
He looked down.
Sarah lay curled beside him, her head resting against the pillow and her entire body wrapped possessively around his arm. She clung to him as though he were an oversized stuffed animal she had claimed during the night. Bear could not help but smile.
She was beautiful, as always.
Her pyjamas were surprisingly cute, particularly when compared to her usual style. Not that Bear cared what she wore. Nothing could make her appear less beautiful to him.
That thought encouraged his eyes to wander. His gaze followed the gentle shape of her body beneath the blanket before he abruptly looked away, his face turning red.
*Right. Don’t be creepy.*
Despite his tall frame, Bear could move with surprising grace when necessary. He carefully slipped his arm from Sarah’s embrace without waking her and climbed out of bed.
His phone rested upon the nightstand.
Bear picked it up and frowned. He did not remember plugging it in. It should have been dead after everything that had happened the previous day, yet the battery was full. He sat at the edge of the bed as morning light flooded the room and stared at the notifications covering the screen.
Ian.
Nikki.
Sarah’s father, who was also technically his boss.
And an unknown number.
Bear considered the messages for a moment before turning back towards Sarah. She was still asleep.
He leaned down and softly kissed her forehead. After everything she had done for him, the gesture felt natural.
In the corner of the room sat Sarah’s open duffel bag. Clothes and various personal belongings spilled from it in every direction. Either she had packed in a great hurry or Ian had simply grabbed everything within reach and thrown it into the bag.
Bear decided to clean it up.
Organisation had never been one of his strengths. In fact, he was practically the antithesis of an organised person. Still, for Sarah, he would try.
He gathered the scattered clothes and began folding them as neatly as he could. The task proved more complicated than expected. Sarah owned garments in countless shapes, materials, and styles, while Bear’s own wardrobe consisted almost entirely of sweaters, shirts, and more sweaters.
He picked up a top and stared at it.
It had no sleeves.
Bear turned it over.
Then he turned it back.
“How the fuck do you fold this?”
The garment offered no answer.
Variety, Bear’s oldest enemy, had defeated him once again.
He carefully placed the top upon the duffel bag and decided he would ask Sarah for help when she woke. It was better to admit defeat than destroy it with his terrible folding technique.
Bear left the bedroom and entered the kitchen.
The moment he crossed the doorway, he noticed the cold.
It was not the gentle chill of morning that slowly faded beneath the rising sun. This cold was different. It reminded him of an aeroplane cabin, a spacecraft, a voidship drifting between distant stars. It felt artificial and absolute.
Bear continued through it.
When he reached the kitchen, he stopped.
A giant sat at the dining table.
The man was easily eight feet tall. He hunched forward in a wooden chair that bent dangerously beneath his weight, most of his mass supported by powerful legs to prevent the furniture from collapsing entirely. Even seated, he dominated the room.
His body was encased in metal armour. Enormous pauldrons rose from either shoulder, while a battered tabard hung from his waist. The cloth was torn and weathered, as though it had survived centuries of war.
His face looked ancient.
Not merely old, but worn by battles that had outlived entire civilisations.
The giant studied Bear in complete silence. His expression remained impassive, yet Bear felt as though the stranger were staring directly into his soul, searching for even the faintest trace of corruption.
Apparently, he found none.
The smallest change crossed the giant’s face. It was little more than the movement of an eyebrow, something only an observant person might have noticed.
Bear noticed.
Oddly, he was not afraid.
The man carried a broadsword large enough to cut Bear in half. When he partially drew the weapon, its dark metal seemed to shift beneath the light.
Still, Bear felt no fear.
The sensation was more confusing than frightening. It was like meeting a relative he had never seen before and somehow recognising the blood they shared.
The giant noticed Bear’s lack of fear and released a quiet grunt.
“I am the Crusader,” he said.
His voice was deep and grizzled, carrying the weight of countless years.
“Many know me simply as Sigismund.”
He paused, apparently expecting some reaction.
Bear gave him none.
Sigismund continued.
“I came here without the knowledge of our lord so that I might look upon the one they call the Penitent.”
His gaze travelled over Bear.
“I am not impressed.”
Bear allowed him to finish.
“I agree,” he replied. “I think you came here expecting someone I’ll never be able to match.”
Sigismund’s expression shifted again.
Bear folded his arms.
“So why are you really here?”
A faint smile appeared upon the giant’s face.
“To give you this, brother.”
Sigismund tapped one armoured finger against the table. Several pieces of paper rested across its surface.
Bear cautiously approached. At first, he could make out little more than numbers, itemised lists, and official-looking headers.
Then he understood what he was reading.
Receipts.
All of them had already been paid.
A tailored suit.
A reservation at an expensive restaurant.
Several prepaid cards containing amounts that felt genuinely criminal.
A collection of clothing appointments.
A vehicle.
Bear stopped.
He picked up the receipt again.
“A car?”
A myriad of additional purchases remained scattered across the table.
Bear slowly looked towards the giant.
“What is all this, Sigismund?”
Sigismund glanced dismissively at the papers.
“A gift.”
He settled farther into the suffering chair.
“I take no pleasure in such trivial possessions, but I will not deny a brother the means to pursue happiness.”
He gestured towards the receipts.
“The Phoenician informed me that you lacked several things required to properly care for your partner.”
Bear blinked.
Before he could respond, Sigismund reached towards his belt.
“There is also this.”
He drew a dagger.
Compared to Sigismund, the weapon might have been little more than a large knife. Compared to Bear, it was practically a sword, nearly the size of a Roman gladius.
Sigismund placed it upon the table.
“When our father sent us to raze the Willow, I used this blade to draw blood from the corporeal agent that once hunted you.”
His expression darkened.
“It wore your face, brother.”
Disgust entered his voice.
“Such hubris enraged me. The audacity of warped gods knows no limit.”
Bear examined the weapon. The blade was ornate, perhaps excessively so. Strange patterns ran across its surface, and the hilt looked as though it had been designed for an armoured hand rather than a human one.
Bear attempted to lift it.
It did not move.
He placed both hands around the hilt and pulled.
The dagger remained stubbornly upon the table.
Sigismund watched him struggle.
For the first time, the ancient warrior appeared to experience something resembling guilt.
His brother was merely a fledgling.
Sigismund lifted the weapon with one hand, slid it into its scabbard, and rested it against the corner of the room.
“You will know when you must wield it,” he said. “When all hope appears lost and those you love require protection, you will muster miracles.”
Sigismund’s eyes settled upon him.
“You will wield the blade as intended.”
Bear stared at him.
None of this had made the situation any less confusing.
Before he could ask another question, a voice called from the bedroom.
“Bear?”
Sarah sounded frightened.
“Bear, where are you?”
She had probably woken before her mind had fully caught up with reality.
Bear turned towards the doorway.
When he glanced back, Sigismund was gone.
The damaged chair, the strange blade, and the papers across the table were the only evidence that he had ever been there.
Sarah stumbled through the doorway moments later. Her hair was dishevelled, and panic was written across her face.
“Bear, there you are!”
She rushed towards him.
Bear expected a hug.
Instead, sharp pain shot through his ear.
Sarah pinched it between two fingers and pulled him towards her.
“You scared the shit out of me! You can’t just disappear like that. You should have woken me up!”
She released his ear only to strike him repeatedly across the arm.
The blows did not physically hurt, but the affection behind each one wounded him emotionally.
Bear laughed.
Sarah finally stopped.
He wrapped both arms around her and kissed her cheek.
“Morning, love. Sorry for scaring you.”
Sarah would have described herself as affectionate, strong-willed, and determined above all else. Still, the simple gesture immediately disarmed her. She melted into his embrace.
Bear’s affection felt so natural and unconditional that remaining angry with him became nearly impossible.
He wore his heart upon his sleeve.
It was both one of his best qualities and one of his most dangerous weaknesses.
Sarah could also feel the tension within him. His body shifted uneasily while he held her, as though part of him remained prepared to flee. She did not want to place any additional pressure upon him.
Sarah wriggled free and gave him an exaggeratedly angry look.
“Don’t do that again.”
She pointed towards him.
“You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, I would’ve hit you with a frying pan for scaring me like that.”
Bear smiled, recognising the affection behind her threat.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He offered her a mock salute.
Sarah’s attention shifted towards the kitchen.
She slowly examined the room.
Papers and envelopes covered the table. One of the chairs appeared to have aged several decades overnight. A massive sword rested against the wall.
It was an eventful collection of objects to discover immediately after waking.
Sarah turned back towards Bear.
“Well,” she said, “busy morning?”
“Yep.”
“Did someone come by?”
“A relative.”
Bear’s answer sounded more like a question.
Sarah narrowed her eyes.
“Do I know this relative?”
Bear considered it.
“I doubt it.”
“What did they want?”
Bear hesitated. Sigismund had claimed that he only wished to see the person known as the Penitent, but there had clearly been more to the visit. Bear did not want to conceal anything from Sarah.
“A welfare check?”
Sigismund had been brutal and painfully brief, yet everything he had done had ultimately been intended to help Bear. He had offered him a weapon. He had given him advice. He had made a promise.
The kindness had been buried beneath a rough face and even rougher words, but Bear recognised it.
Sigismund had come to make sure he was alive.
Then there was the stack of papers.
Bear returned to the table and began sorting through them. Sarah followed closely behind him, peering over his shoulder.
At first, they saw only plain black text printed upon white paper.
Then the details became clear.
A receipt for a new car.
An appointment at a boutique.
Several gift cards.
Restaurant reservations.
At the centre of the collection sat a bank receipt.
Bear picked it up.
Sarah leaned against his shoulder and raised herself onto her toes so she could read it.
Her body went still.
A transfer had been made into Bear’s account.
The number was so large that he had to count the digits twice.
Seven million dollars.
Beneath the transfer was a brief message.
**A gift to a weary brother.**
The sentence was undeniably ominous, though its effect was somewhat diminished by Bear knowing exactly who had sent it.
Sigismund was the only person aware of their conversation.
The transfer also confirmed something Bear had only suspected. Whatever strange god or ancient being had intervened in his life now considered him family. They had waged war against another supernatural entity for him. Now one of their own had entered his home bearing gifts.
Bear smiled.
How fortunate he was to receive their support.
Behind all their armour, weapons, and brutal language, they seemed strangely gentle.
They were family.
Sarah did not share Bear’s sense of comfort.
She stared at the receipt with undisguised horror.
“Bear,” she whispered, “is this some kind of loan shark situation?”
Fear filled her voice.
Bear turned towards her and smiled reassuringly.
“Don’t worry. It looks like my relative is extremely wealthy and decided to give us some money.”
Sarah’s eyebrows rose.
Bear continued before she could interrupt.
“I guess after everything that happened, he thought this might motivate me to keep going. I would’ve preferred it if he had simply visited instead of doing all this, but I appreciate the thought.”
Sarah had already caught the detail he attempted to bury.
“What do you mean by *us*?”
Bear’s smile faltered.
He had never been much of a poet or speaker. His attempts at subtle wording rarely succeeded.
“I was thinking of turning it into a joint account for you, Nikki, Ian, and me.”
Sarah stared at him.
“Obviously, you and I would be the primary account holders,” Bear added.
Her expression only grew more shocked.
“Bear, this money is for you. What are you thinking?”
Bear looked genuinely confused by her reaction.
“You all deserve it more than I do.”
“Bear.”
“If it makes your lives easier, then it’s worth it. You could pursue whatever you wanted. You could pay for school or start something of your own.”
He glanced down at the receipt.
“It’s not like I have any real ambitions. Watching all of you grow would be the greatest thing this money could buy me.”
Sarah immediately attempted to stop him before he committed himself to the idea.
“But, Bear, you could do anything you wanted. Why would you give away everything when you could finally build something for yourself?”
Bear gently pressed one finger against her lips.
“Sarah, I know you want to go to Luther.”
Her eyes widened.
“What? How could you possibly know that?”
“I remember.”
Bear lowered his hand.
“You told me in the parking lot where we used to hang out. You would talk about Luther Art School for hours. You told me you wanted to prove your dad wrong, that your love for art would be enough to carry you through anything.”
Sarah stared at him.
“You used to describe it with so much passion,” Bear continued. “I admired that about you.”
A faint smile crossed his face.
“I remember joking that I wanted you to give me a tattoo one day.”
His eyes began to water.
“I know it sounds sappy and stupid, but I want to be there for every step. I want to see that passion again.”
Sarah’s eyes filled with tears as well.
“But you have dreams too, Bear. You must.”
Her voice began to shake.
“This money was given to you. You can’t simply give it all away.”
Sarah looked towards the bank receipt.
“You could do so much with it. Why is your first thought to hand it to us?”
Bear remained silent.
“You act like we don’t care about you,” Sarah continued.
The pain of the previous day returned to her expression.
“I watched you try to end your life.”
Her voice cracked.
“Were we not enough? Did we push you away?”
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
“How can you offer us everything after acting as though you had nothing to live for?”
The tension from the day before remained painfully fresh. In Bear’s desperation to do something good, he had failed to consider how his actions might appear to Sarah.
The money had appeared without warning, and Bear had immediately decided what he wanted to do with it.
He should have chosen his words more carefully.
“Sarah.”
Bear cupped her cheeks and gently lifted her face towards him.
“I want to share it because I love you. Not because I feel obligated to.”
She held his wrists.
“If money can help you reach your dreams, then that’s the only purpose it needs.”
Bear carefully wiped a tear from her face.
“What I tried yesterday wasn’t done out of spite. I wasn’t trying to punish any of you.”
He struggled to continue.
“At the time, I thought it was the only way I could protect you. I thought I could stop everything by removing the root cause.”
“Don’t say that.”
Sarah gripped his arms.
“You’re going to make me cry again.”
More tears had already begun forming in her eyes.
Bear’s resolve weakened immediately.
He pulled her against his chest and rubbed her back.
“Don’t cry, love.”
He rested his chin against the top of her head.
“I want to do this for you. For all of you.”
Sarah buried her face against him.
“You’d better not leave.”
Her voice emerged between quiet sobs.
“I’ve been happier than I have in a long time.”
She tightened her arms around him.
“Please stay. At least for me.”
Bear continued rubbing her back.
He nodded, but Sarah could not see the gesture.
“Promise?” she asked.
“I promise.”
Sarah pulled away and studied his face.
“Good.”
She wiped at her eyes.
“If you break that promise, I’ll kill you myself.”
Bear smiled faintly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Finally satisfied, Sarah looked towards the pile of receipts.
“Do you want to sort through all this while I make breakfast?”
Bear frowned.
“What about work?”
“Dad’s closing the store for now,” Sarah explained. “He knows we all need a break.”
Bear released a long sigh of relief and sat down. The wooden chair creaked beneath him, its frame still suffering from Sigismund’s earlier presence.
Sarah walked towards the pantry and opened the door.
“What do you want for breakfast?”
Bear glanced at the papers covering the table, the enormous blade resting in the corner, and the damaged chair beneath him.
Then he looked towards Sarah.
“Something normal.”
Sarah laughed.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Actually,” Bear said, stopping her before she reached inside. “Maybe there’s somewhere you’ve wanted to try. A café or something.”
Sarah glanced back at him.
Bear opened the pantry and stared into it for several seconds.
There was very little inside.
“I apparently own a whole lot of nothing.”
Sarah laughed.
Bear pulled his phone from his pocket and held it out to her.
“Here. Find somewhere you like and put it into the maps. I’ll drive.”
Sarah accepted the phone, but her eyes narrowed slightly.
“Are you sure?”
“Yep.”
“I mean, if we’re going somewhere expensive…”
“No budget.”
Sarah stared at him.
Bear raised an eyebrow.
“Go wild.”
The certainty in his expression silenced whatever protest she had prepared.
“Fine,” she said. “But I’m remembering you said that.”
“That sounds threatening.”
“It is.”
Satisfied, Sarah wandered towards the sofa and collapsed onto it, immediately beginning her search.
Bear returned to the dining table.
The gifts were even more absurd once he began organising them.
Gift cards.
Prepaid accounts.
Appointments.
The car.
A black card whose existence alone made Bear uncomfortable.
Documents concerning a house in Bel-Air.
Bear paused at that one.
“A house?”
He looked around his grandmother’s home.
It was old. Some of the paint had begun to fade, and several pieces of furniture should probably have been replaced years ago.
Yet he loved it.
It was Sandy’s home.
It had been his grandmother’s home.
It was his.
Bear carefully placed the property documents into a separate pile.
That particular conversation could wait.
Then he found the dinner reservation.
Bear read it twice.
An exclusive restaurant. A private table. Everything prepaid.
Tonight.
He stared at the paper.
“Well.”
There was something almost mischievous about it.
For someone who had introduced himself with the emotional warmth of a brick wall, Sigismund seemed unusually invested in Bear’s romantic life.
Bear was about to place the reservation aside when another receipt slipped free from beneath it.
A boutique appointment.
Also prepaid.
The entire establishment had apparently been reserved for them.
Bear rubbed his forehead.
“Subtle.”
Sigismund might have possessed the social finesse of a siege engine, but apparently someone involved in arranging all this had a sense of humour.
Bear looked towards the living room.
He needed to tell Sarah.
He found her lying on her stomach across the sofa, feet kicking lazily through the air as she scrolled through his phone.
The moment she saw him, her face brightened.
“Bear.”
“Yes?”
“Look.”
She held his phone towards him.
Bear leaned closer.
The screen displayed a plate of waffles shaped like cats.
Sarah looked genuinely delighted.
“They make them into little cats.”
Bear smiled.
For some reason, her excitement over something so stupidly simple made his chest feel warm.
“Cat waffles?”
“Yes.”
“That seems extremely inefficient.”
Sarah lowered the phone.
“Bear.”
“I would love to eat cat waffles with you.”
Her smile returned instantly.
“Good answer.”
Bear sat on the edge of the sofa.
“Actually, there’s something else.”
Sarah immediately became suspicious.
Bear had learned very quickly that she possessed several distinct expressions of suspicion.
This one suggested she believed he was about to do something stupid.
“I was wondering if you had anything planned today.”
“No. I’m taking the day off.”
Her eyes narrowed further.
“I don’t like that face.”
“What face?”
“The one you’re making right now.”
“I’m not making a face.”
“You absolutely are.”
Bear sighed and handed her the boutique receipt and restaurant reservation.
Sarah took them.
Her expression changed almost immediately.
She read the boutique receipt first.
Then the dinner reservation.
Then the boutique receipt again.
For several seconds she said nothing.
Bear waited.
Finally, Sarah looked up.
“No.”
Bear blinked.
“No?”
“No.”
She pointed towards one of the numbers.
“Bear, this costs more than Dad’s entire store.”
Bear glanced at it.
“Probably.”
“There are too many zeros.”
“I noticed.”
“This can’t be real.”
“I’m beginning to think reality stopped caring about what I consider reasonable sometime yesterday.”
Sarah stared at him.
Bear shrugged.
“It’s already paid for. Apparently the boutique is ours for the day.”
Sarah opened her mouth.
Bear raised his hands before she could argue.
“But if you’re uncomfortable with it, we don’t have to go.”
She paused.
“I mean that,” Bear continued. “I don’t care about the restaurant or the clothes. I just want to spend time with you.”
That seemed to catch her off guard.
Sarah looked down at the papers.
For a moment, Bear could almost see the argument taking place behind her eyes.
Then she asked something unexpected.
“This relative of yours.”
“Yes?”
“Were they sincere?”
Bear thought about Sigismund. The immense warrior who had broken a chair simply by sitting on it. The man who had called him unimpressive within minutes of meeting him. The same man who had crossed realities, entered Bear’s home, left him a weapon, given him enough money to never work again, and apparently organised an entire day for him.
“I think so.”
Sarah watched him carefully.
“He wasn’t very good with words,” Bear admitted. “Actually, he was terrible with words.”
That earned him a small smile.
“But I think this might be how he shows support.”
Sarah looked at the receipts again.
“Then wasting it would probably be rude.”
Bear smiled.
“That’s roughly the conclusion I reached.”
“I just…”
Sarah traced a finger across the boutique receipt.
“I can’t imagine somebody spending this much money on me.”
“On us,” Bear corrected.
She looked at him.
Bear shifted slightly.
“Apparently.”
Sarah smiled.
Bear nudged her legs aside so he could sit properly beside her.
“I suspect he’d be more offended if we didn’t use any of it.”
“Probably.”
“So whenever you’re ready, we’ll go wherever you want.”
Sarah stared at him.
Then she glared.
Bear immediately became concerned.
“What?”
She cleared her throat.
“Today is your day, Bear.”
“My day?”
“You’re supposed to be resting. You’re supposed to be recovering. So you decide where we go.”
Bear had no immediate response.
He was not accustomed to being asked what he wanted.
That question had once been easy.
Nikki.
That had been the answer to everything.
Now the possibilities seemed endless.
Bear hummed thoughtfully.
“Pancakes sound nice.”
Sarah jabbed him in the ribs.
Bear recoiled.
“Ow.”
“Waffles, love.”
“Right.”
“Cat waffles.”
“Very important distinction.”
Sarah stood.
“I’m getting ready.”
She disappeared into the bathroom before Bear could answer.
That left him alone with his wardrobe.
Bear opened it.
A sweater.
Another sweater.
Another sweater.
Bear stared.
“Fuck.”
He shifted several hangers aside.
More sweaters.
“How did this happen?”
Buried among the sea of knitted fabric was something unfamiliar.
A neatly pressed dress shirt.
Bear pulled it free.
Behind it hung a pair of trousers. Beneath them sat polished dress shoes.
Something glittered inside one of the shoes.
Bear reached inside and removed a watch.
A Rolex.
Of course it was.
There was also a note.
Bear unfolded it.
*Hello, Penitent One.*
*I have taken the liberty of inspecting your wardrobe, and I must say it was a depressing sight. Not quite as dire as some of our brothers, but still. You are better than these sweaters.*
*I have left you something sharper. Wear it well.*
*You are escorting a fair lady today, and I expect to hear how your “date” progresses.*
*XOXO*
*The Phoenician*
Bear read the note again.
Then once more.
He slowly lowered it.
“Expressive.”
He had absolutely no idea how this stranger had entered his home, inspected his wardrobe, acquired his measurements, or placed thousands of dollars of clothing inside without waking anyone.
Bear decided ignorance was probably healthier.
He placed everything into a laundry basket.
If nothing else, Sarah could tell him whether the outfit looked ridiculous.
The bathroom door eventually opened.
Bear looked up.
And promptly forgot what he had been thinking about.
Sarah emerged wearing a black skirt and a dark corset-style top beneath a light jacket. Her makeup was simple, though the deep red lipstick immediately drew Bear’s attention.
Around her neck rested the pendant he had given her.
It suited her.
Nothing about it was extravagant.
It simply looked as though it belonged there.
Bear felt heat rise through his face.
Sarah noticed immediately.
That only encouraged her.
She approached him and kissed his cheek.
Bear’s brain offered him several possible responses.
Naturally, he selected the least sophisticated one.
“You’re beautiful.”
Sarah stopped.
Colour rose into her cheeks.
For once, she had no immediate comeback.
Bear smiled.
It was strange.
Only days ago, he had believed happiness required some impossible achievement. Some perfect relationship. Some grand fulfilment that would finally justify his existence.
Yet here he stood in an old house with ugly carpet, surrounded by too many sweaters, blushing because someone he loved had kissed his cheek.
The room felt warmer.
Maybe that was enough.
Sarah sat beside him and immediately wrapped both arms around his left arm.
Bear noticed the gesture.
She had been doing that frequently.
Holding him.
Touching him.
Making sure he remained within reach.
The previous day had left wounds that no amount of money could heal.
Bear leaned gently into her.
If this was what she needed, he would give it willingly.
Sarah rested her head against his shoulder.
For several quiet seconds neither spoke.
Then her eyes found the laundry basket.
“What’s that?”
Bear followed her gaze.
“Oh. Apparently another relative broke into my house.”
Sarah lifted her head.
“What?”
“Maybe broke in is the wrong phrase.”
“Bear.”
“They left clothes.”
She stared at him.
“And you’re just accepting that?”
“After yesterday, this barely reaches the top ten strangest things that have happened to me.”
Sarah could not argue with that.
Bear picked up the basket.
“I was going to try them on.”
“Well?”
Sarah gestured towards the bedroom.
“Go.”
Bear obeyed.
Several minutes later, he emerged.
Sarah had expected an improvement.
She had not expected this.
The outfit had been tailored perfectly. The dark trousers emphasised Bear’s height, while the fitted shirt gave structure to a frame usually hidden beneath several layers of oversized knitwear.
For the first time, Sarah understood something she had somehow overlooked for years.
Bear was handsome.
Painfully handsome.
Not handsome in spite of his awkwardness either.
Somehow the awkwardness made it worse.
Bear stepped into the room and smiled uncertainly.
Sarah felt warmth rush into her face.
*Oh, shit.*
If he kissed her right now, she might actually faint.
Bear, completely oblivious to the crisis unfolding inside her head, extended his hand.
The gesture was embarrassingly theatrical.
Almost princely.
A knight inviting a lady to dance.
Had anyone else done it, Sarah might have laughed.
Because it was Bear, she indulged him.
She placed her hand in his.
Bear pulled.
Much harder than intended.
Sarah shot forward and nearly collided with him.
She caught herself against his chest.
Bear froze.
“Sorry.”
Sarah looked up at him.
“Careful.”
Her eyes narrowed playfully.
“You need to treat a lady with more respect.”
Bear recognised the teasing tone.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He laughed.
Sarah did too.
These moments felt fragile.
Bear knew that.
Some part of him still insisted that he did not deserve them.
But perhaps that thought itself had always been part of the problem.
He had used self-hatred as an excuse to isolate himself, almost as though loneliness were some noble punishment.
It was not.
It had only made him worse.
Bear could regret what he had done without rejecting every good thing that followed.
He could carry guilt without worshipping it.
He could move forward.
Together, they approached the front door.
Bear reached towards the bowl where he usually kept his keys.
They were gone.
In their place sat a key fob.
Bear picked it up.
The three-pointed star upon it was unmistakable.
Mercedes-Benz.
Bear closed his eyes.
“No.”
Sarah leaned closer.
“What?”
“I think I know what’s outside.”
He inhaled slowly before opening the door.
There it was.
A Mercedes G-Class occupied the driveway.
Large.
Black.
Immaculate.
Completely absurd.
Bear stared at it with quiet horror.
His old car was nowhere to be seen.
Sarah stepped around him.
Her eyes widened.
“Bear.”
“Yes.”
“Is that yours?”
“Apparently.”
“I’ve never been in one of those.”
Bear looked at her.
Excitement shone in her eyes.
He could practically see the question forming.
“If it’s okay with you,” Sarah said, “and your increasingly terrifying relatives, could we take it?”
Bear looked back at the vehicle.
It had the aerodynamic qualities of a filing cabinet.
Driving it through Los Angeles sounded mildly horrifying.
Then he looked at Sarah again.
“Of course.”
Her smile made the decision worthwhile.
Bear unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for her.
Sarah placed a hand against her chest and adopted an exaggerated aristocratic expression.
“My, what a gentleman.”
“Please get in the car.”
She laughed and climbed inside.
Bear closed the door before walking around to the driver’s side.
The interior looked more like the cockpit of a spacecraft than any vehicle he had ever owned. Screens stretched across the dashboard. Buttons covered nearly every available surface. Leather wrapped the seats.
Bear sat very still.
Sarah looked at him.
“You know how to drive this, right?”
“I know how to drive a car.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Bear pressed the ignition.
The engine erupted.
He flinched.
Somewhere nearby, he was reasonably certain a neighbour had just been awakened.
Sarah burst out laughing.
Bear stared forward.
“I hate this thing.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I’m beginning to.”
He released the parking brake.
The vehicle rolled forward with surprising smoothness.
Despite its ridiculous size, it handled comfortably.
Bear hated that too.
Soon they were driving towards the café Sarah had chosen, two people utterly unaware of the eyes watching from somewhere far beyond their world.
Upon a voidship suspended beyond the boundaries Bear understood, Sigismund stood before a circular table. His armour was ancient and scarred. Around him waited his Marshals, warriors who had answered his summons after the destruction of the Willow’s realm.
Centuries of accumulated experience surrounded that table.
Yet none understood why their lord had gathered them merely to watch a mortal drive through Los Angeles.
One Marshal finally broke the silence.
“My lord.”
Sigismund continued watching the projection.
“Yes?”
“Why have you shown us this brother?”
Sigismund remained quiet for several moments.
Upon the projection, Sarah laughed at something Bear had said.
Bear smiled.
It was a small thing.
Almost offensively small compared to the wars these men had fought.
Sigismund finally spoke.
“When our lord placed these duties upon us, we accepted them without hesitation.”
His voice remained cold, but there was something beneath it.
“We revered the burden because we believed suffering in service was honour.”
The Marshals listened.
“For most of our existence, we have known only war. We have endured because endurance was demanded of us.”
Sigismund looked around the table.
“But this brother has been given something we rarely possessed.”
He returned his gaze to Bear.
“A chance to live.”
Nobody spoke.
“We have an opportunity to prevent him from inheriting every cruelty that shaped us. Perhaps we may even break the cycle.”
One Marshal glanced at the projection.
Bear had stopped at a traffic light. Sarah was pointing towards something outside the window.
Sigismund continued.
“He has not overcome every challenge. There are obstacles ahead that even he cannot see.”
His expression hardened.
“Redemption does not end because one survives the first trial.”
He placed both hands against the table.
“But if this mercy lightens his burden, even slightly, then we shall grant it.”
The Marshals remained silent.
They did not need Bear’s complete history.
They did not need to understand every failure that had brought him here.
The will to endure was enough.
On the projection, Bear laughed.
For perhaps the first time in their endless service, several of the warriors watching him smiled too.
Back in Los Angeles, Bear waited at another red light.
The city moved around him in organised chaos. Cars pushed through intersections. Pedestrians crossed streets. A delivery driver argued with someone over a parking space.
Earlier, Bear and Sarah had watched a small dog chase an empty bag of Cheetos caught in the wind for nearly half a block.
Sarah had laughed so hard she nearly dropped her waffles.
Bear had lived here for most of his life.
Yet somehow he had never truly seen it.
His obsession had reduced existence to a narrow tunnel.
Nikki at the end.
Everything else had been background noise.
Now the world seemed impossibly large.
There were thousands of people around him.
Thousands of stories.
Thousands of ordinary moments happening simultaneously.
The sky above Los Angeles was clear, an almost offensive blue. Sunlight warmed his arm through the window.
Sarah continued talking beside him.
She spoke about art.
About school.
About her father.
About things she wanted to create.
Bear listened.
Actually listened.
Time passed quickly.
Eventually, the navigation directed him into a strip mall.
Bear slowed.
“This can’t be right.”
Sarah examined the building.
“Why did we stop here?”
Bear checked the address.
Apparently the absurdly expensive boutique occupied one of the least impressive storefronts imaginable.
“Oh.”
Bear parked.
“We’re having dinner tonight.”
Sarah looked at him.
“So?”
“I thought we could get something nice to wear.”
She frowned.
“What’s wrong with my clothes?”
Bear immediately raised both hands.
“Nothing.”
Sarah stared at him.
“You’re absolutely gorgeous.”
Bear froze.
“I mean, your clothes are gorgeous.”
Silence.
Bear mentally struck himself across the face.
Sarah blushed.
“You can take my hand now.”
Bear looked at her.
She held it out.
“Please.”
Bear smiled gratefully.
He took her hand and helped her from the vehicle.
Together they approached the boutique.
From outside, it barely looked remarkable.
Inside, however, time itself seemed to have settled into the walls.
The wooden flooring had been polished so many times that the grain appeared almost black in places. Old tools rested behind glass displays. Brass fixtures had dulled with age but remained meticulously maintained.
The entire place felt frozen somewhere between eras.
Behind the counter stood a woman with a white bob haircut.
A fleur-de-lis was tattooed beneath one eye.
She straightened when they entered.
“Hello.”
Bear smiled politely.
“Hi.”
The woman hesitated.
“Welcome to the clothing store.”
Sarah glanced at Bear.
The woman continued.
“We sell clothes.”
Silence followed.
Bear decided mercy was appropriate.
“I have a reservation.”
“Yes.”
The woman straightened immediately.
“Mr Bailey.”
Bear nodded.
“We are prepared for you.”
She reached beneath the counter and produced two boxes.
“And for Ms Harper.”
Sarah stiffened slightly upon hearing her name.
The woman placed the boxes on the counter.
Both were simple white cardboard wrapped in black ribbon.
One bore Bear’s name.
The other bore Sarah’s.
Bear handed hers across.
The attendant gestured towards the rear of the store.
“Ms Harper, if you would follow me.”
Sarah glanced at Bear.
He gave her a reassuring smile.
She followed.
Bear sat in an old wooden chair near the counter.
It creaked ominously beneath him.
For several minutes he was alone.
The quiet gave him time to think.
This was nice.
Dangerously nice.
But there was still work to do.
Ian.
Nikki.
Whatever remained of the Willow.
Whatever remained inside Bear himself.
He had been given a pause.
Not absolution.
Perhaps that distinction mattered.
There was still a future waiting for him.
For once, that thought did not terrify him.
Especially if Sarah intended to walk through it beside him.
A door opened.
Bear looked up.
Every coherent thought disappeared.
Sarah stepped into the room wearing a dark off-the-shoulder gown. Tiny stones had been sewn throughout the fabric, catching the sunlight until the dress resembled a night sky filled with stars.
Her boots remained.
Bear liked that.
They were unmistakably Sarah.
Elegant dress or not, she had apparently refused to surrender them.
She stopped several feet away.
Bear stared.
Sarah shifted awkwardly.
“Is something wrong?”
Bear blinked.
“No.”
His voice came out quieter than intended.
“Nothing.”
Sarah waited.
“It’s lovely.”
She immediately looked away to hide her face.
“Stop staring and put yours on.”
Bear smiled.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She grabbed his arm and hauled him from the chair.
Bear collected his box and disappeared into the changing room.
Inside waited a three-piece suit.
Black jacket.
Black waistcoat.
White shirt.
Simple.
No unnecessary ornamentation.
Yet the craftsmanship was obvious.
The buttons were metal, cold beneath his fingertips and engraved with details so fine Bear could barely distinguish them.
The suit fit perfectly.
Of course it did.
Bear put on the accompanying shoes and studied himself in the mirror.
For several seconds he barely recognised the man staring back.
He looked composed.
Confident, almost.
Bear knew better.
But perhaps appearances were allowed to become aspirations.
When he left the changing room, late afternoon light had begun entering through the boutique windows.
Sarah stood beside one of the display cases.
The sunlight found her immediately.
Bear stopped.
Again.
Her dress shimmered.
Her hair caught the light.
She was examining jewellery, one hand unconsciously resting around the pendant Bear had given her.
Sarah, however, was not searching for herself.
She wanted something for him.
Rings felt wrong.
Chains felt excessive.
Several bracelets were beautiful, but none seemed appropriate.
Then she noticed something simple.
A woven cord.
Black thread intertwined with faint gold accents.
Nothing spectacular.
Nothing extravagant.
Yet Sarah could not look away from it.
She pointed towards the case.
“How much is that?”
The attendant walked over.
Without answering, she opened the display and removed it.
She handed it to Sarah.
“No cost.”
Sarah frowned and reached towards her purse.
“No, I can pay.”
“It is covered.”
“I really don’t mind.”
The attendant had already begun walking away.
Sarah stared after her.
“That was weird.”
“Story of my life.”
Sarah turned.
Bear had emerged from the changing room.
Her breath caught.
The suit fit him unfairly well.
Bear smiled.
“Hey.”
Sarah suddenly became aware that she had been staring.
“Hi.”
Bear shifted.
“You look nice.”
Sarah laughed.
“You already told me that.”
“Right.”
She approached him.
“But you look very handsome.”
Bear immediately turned red.
Sarah enjoyed that perhaps more than she should have.
She extended a hand.
Bear gave her his.
Sarah removed the woven cord from her pocket.
“What’s this?”
“Hold still.”
She tied it around his wrist.
Bear watched silently.
When she finished, Sarah kept hold of his hand.
“I know it’s not much.”
Bear examined the bracelet.
Black thread.
Gold accents.
Simple.
Sarah smiled.
“But I want you to know I’m proud of you.”
Bear looked up.
“And I love you.”
His eyes immediately filled.
Sarah panicked.
“Whoa.”
She cupped his face.
“Bear?”
Tears slipped down his cheeks.
“What’s wrong?”
Bear smiled through them.
“Nothing.”
Sarah searched his face.
“I’m just really happy.”
Her expression softened.
Bear wiped his eyes before looking towards the attendant.
“What do I owe you?”
The woman smiled.
For the first time since they entered, none of her earlier awkwardness remained.
“Nothing, Baron Bailey.”
Bear went still.
The woman continued.
“You owe us nothing.”
Bear studied her.
He had never introduced himself by his full name.
For a moment he considered asking how she knew.
Then he remembered the people currently interfering with his life.
He decided he did not want the answer.
Bear nodded.
“Thank you.”
He took Sarah’s hand.
Together they left.
The ride towards the restaurant was filled with speculation.
Sarah wondered aloud how many forks they would be expected to use.
Bear insisted anything beyond two forks constituted psychological warfare.
They debated whether the portions would be microscopic.
Sarah predicted there would be a single leaf somewhere on Bear’s plate.
Bear argued the leaf would probably cost seventy dollars.
Then they arrived.
The restaurant was beautiful.
It was also immediately unbearable.
Luxury vehicles crowded the entrance.
Valets moved between guests dressed in clothes worth more than Bear’s old car.
People lingered outside solely to be observed lingering outside.
Bear watched one man deliberately angle his wrist so another could see his watch.
Something about the entire place felt hollow.
Beside him, Sarah wrapped herself around his arm.
Bear looked down.
She was trying not to appear uncomfortable.
He recognised it immediately.
There had been a time when Bear might have forced himself through the evening because the reservation was expensive.
Because it had been planned.
Because someone else might have expected it.
Not anymore.
He turned around.
Sarah nearly stumbled as he began walking back towards the car.
“Bear?”
“Nope.”
“What?”
He opened the passenger door.
Sarah stared at him.
Bear laughed.
“It’s fine. I couldn’t imagine enjoying myself in there anyway.”
“But the reservation.”
“Already paid for.”
“That makes it worse.”
“No, it means they already got their money. Everybody wins.”
Sarah hesitated.
“Are you sure?”
Bear looked back at the restaurant.
Then at her.
“Absolutely.”
She climbed inside.
Bear entered the driver’s seat.
Sarah looked at him.
“So where are we going?”
Bear started the engine.
“What would you like to do?”
Sarah thought.
Then her face brightened.
“Why don’t we cook?”
Bear smiled.
And that was how their extravagant evening ended with them standing beneath fluorescent grocery store lights while wearing clothing worth more than everything inside several aisles combined.
Sarah pushed the trolley.
Bear argued passionately about pasta shapes.
They bought tomatoes.
Cheese.
Garlic.
A bottle of wine that cost less than twenty dollars.
Nothing remotely impressive.
It was perfect.
Back home, jazz played quietly from Bear’s speakers while they cooked.
Bear nearly burned the garlic.
Sarah mocked him relentlessly.
Bear retaliated by adding an unreasonable amount of cheese to the sauce.
Sarah complained.
Then added more.
They ate together at the old table Sigismund had nearly destroyed.
No waiters.
No chandeliers.
No people trying desperately to prove they belonged somewhere important.
Just Bear.
Sarah.
Pasta.
Cheap wine.
And laughter.
Bear had never been happier.
The realisation almost frightened him.
Seven million dollars sat somewhere in his bank account.
A luxury vehicle occupied his driveway.
A house in Bel-Air apparently belonged to him.
Somewhere, supernatural warriors considered him family.
Yet none of those things mattered as much as Sarah laughing because he had somehow managed to get sauce on the sleeve of a bespoke suit.
This was happiness.
Not possession.
Not obsession.
Not control.
Company.
Choice.
Love freely given and freely returned.
Sarah suddenly stood.
“I have an idea.”
“That sentence concerns me.”
She ignored him and rummaged through her bag.
Eventually she produced her Polaroid camera.
Bear smiled.
“Of course.”
“We’re already dressed like this.”
Sarah gestured between them.
“We need evidence.”
“Evidence?”
“That we were once rich before our inevitable financial collapse.”
Bear laughed.
“You’re assuming I’m losing seven million dollars?”
“You bought cheap wine while wearing a suit worth more than your kitchen.”
“Fair.”
They positioned themselves together.
Sarah extended the camera.
The flash filled the room.
The photograph slid free.
They waited.
Slowly, the image developed.
Sarah leaned against Bear.
Bear had one arm around her.
Both were smiling.
Not posed smiles.
Not the awkward expression people adopted because a camera demanded happiness from them.
They looked happy.
Sarah held it up.
“We look like a count and countess three days before being executed during a revolution.”
Bear laughed.
“That specific?”
“Yes.”
She took a photograph of the Polaroid with her phone.
“Digital backup.”
Bear watched her.
Then something came to him.
The old photograph.
He walked towards the place he had kept it.
A photobooth strip.
The group together.
Once, Bear had treasured it.
He had treated it as proof that everything he wanted was within reach.
Now he saw something different.
Not evil.
The photograph itself was innocent.
His friends were innocent.
But the meaning Bear had forced onto it had been poisonous.
He had looked upon friendship and demanded more.
He had interpreted affection as entitlement.
He had mistaken proximity for destiny.
The picture had become both an omen and a taunt, though only because Bear had made it so.
He removed it.
For a moment he held the old strip in one hand and the new Polaroid in the other.
Past.
Present.
Perhaps future.
Bear did not destroy the old photograph.
That seemed wrong.
The people inside it still mattered.
Ian mattered.
Nikki mattered.
Sarah mattered.
Even the man Bear had once been mattered, if only because forgetting him would mean forgetting what he was capable of becoming again.
So Bear placed the old photograph carefully inside a drawer.
Then he put the new one where it had been.
Sarah and Bear.
Smiling.
Hope replacing obsession.
Not erasing the past.
Simply refusing to worship it.
Behind him, Sarah continued taking photographs.
Bear smiled.
His phone vibrated.
Once.
Twice.
Then several more times.
Bear removed it from his pocket.
Ian.
Nikki.
The names covered his notifications.
The warmth of the evening remained, but something inside Bear settled.
There it was.
Duty.
Not the cosmic kind.
Not the kind carried by giants in armour or warriors aboard ships beyond reality.
Something smaller.
Something harder.
His friends needed him.
Bear looked back towards Sarah.
She noticed immediately.
“What is it?”
Bear glanced at the phone.
“Ian and Nikki.”
Sarah studied his expression.
“Do you need to go?”
Bear thought about it.
Then shook his head.
“Not yet.”
He sat beside her.
“But I need to answer them.”
Sarah leaned against him.
Bear opened Nikki’s message.
His fingers hovered above the screen.
Once, duty had meant punishment.
It had meant suffering.
It had meant convincing himself that pain was the only proof he could offer that he regretted what he had done.
Perhaps he had misunderstood it.
Duty was not dying for the people he loved.
Sometimes duty meant remaining alive long enough to help them.
Bear began typing.
There was still work ahead.
There were wounds he had yet to mend.
Promises he had yet to fulfil.
Whatever second chance had been placed into his hands remained unfinished.
Bear would not rest until he had done everything within his power to see it through.
His fingers moved across the screen.
Only in death does duty end.
And Baron Bailey was still living.