Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Two holographic screens the approximate width and height of porch doors stood in parallel behind Ivo. The right blazed crimson of a ferocity that nearly made her eyes water; she could see every whorl of his magnified fingerprint as though it had been etched in neon blood. This one proclaimed the deed done.

ACTIVE.

The left emitted a timid pale blue, flickering questions in their silence.

Awaiting authorization.

Stray cinders flitted about him. "Maria," he said, voice chillingly serene, "won't you do me one last itty-bitty favor? All I need is your signature on the dotted line. Then we can put this nastiness behind us, just like he wanted."

She gazed past the Cannon's barrel to the planet Grandfather loved, shining blue, full of life and promise.

"He never wanted this."

He laughed. "The old goat died bleating, and you're still hopping to it."

He is two and she is eight.

When Grandfather asked her what she wanted to do upon her discharge from the hospital, she replied she wanted to visit the train store to pick a gift for the baby. In his letters, her uncle had reported the baby liked to line up toy cars and trains, stacking them in meticulously neat rows, only to knock them down, reveling in the chaos.

Ivo, look. He refused, even after she had fished the train out of her bag and held it out for him. Look at the train, Ivo.

She didn't mind his fussiness; it was just that Grandfather had helped her select one they were both confident he would appreciate. Though the model name eluded her, it was long and black and gleaming, with gilded wheels and intricately-painted details.

The more she implored him to look, the harder he shook his head. He didn't even cry; he simply mashed his face into the lapel of Grandfather's tweed jacket, muffling incoherent protests in the rough material.

Grandfather indulged a chuckle and jostled the boy in his arms. Come now, lad. Don't be a spoilsport.

She saw eyes the same bright blue as hers, framed in a toddler's flushed cheeks and scrunched frown. He was cute, but why was he so stubborn?

Miracle of miracles, the baby stopped thrashing and looked at the train. She swore he almost took it. But in one unannounced move, he knocked the model from her hands and buried his face once more in Grandfather's shoulder.

Grandfather patted him on the back. You're a hearty one, aren't you?

Indignant tears pricked her eyes. All that time, all that—

Her scrunched fist relaxed, relenting the bag handle.

(He's just a baby. He doesn't know any better.)

The sound of their grandfather's soft laughter melted the sharpest edges of her own childish, nascent temper. Maria slowly looked up from the marbled floor, where one of the train's axles had snapped.

She, too, began to laugh.

Questions were her only weapon.

"Ivo," she said, "what is this?"

"Grandpa was a little naughtier than we thought."

He is ten and she is sixteen.

One at a time she crept up the carpeted stairs to Grandfather's room.

Her foot must have caught on some snag, for when she reached the top, her stumble caused the whole tray to come crashing down in a heartsinking clatter. The cookies scattered; the tea seeped into the carpet.

No doubt about it. Her uncle was going to kill her.

Ivo whipped the crumbs from his laptop, showering the carpet in a sprinkle of confection. "Watch where you're going, idiot!"

She bit her tongue, grabbed a napkin to sop up tea. "You have so much space to play in—"

"I get good reception here. Rest of the house is a dead zone."

Right. "What are you working on, anyway?"

"What does it look like?" he huffed. "Great, now you've gone and messed up my program." He button-mashed several keys in vain.

Suffice to say, her twinge of sympathy was short-lived.
"You're not—"

"For the last time, I wasn't playing video games!" Wrenching around, he glowered at the door, a stark and forbidding sentry. "…He's not letting anybody in. Just the mutt."

"Ivo," Maria said, and punctuated the thought with a sigh. "Now do you see why camping in front of the door was a bad idea?"

"Tell it to somebody who cares."

"Why are you being so rude?"

"Because they diagnosed you stupid from birth." Picking up a lemon cookie, he chucked it at the wall. Maria winced at the solid thump it produced on impact; too much baking soda again. "There are easier ways of assassinating him, you know."

"You're such a little brat," she said. His stuck-out tongue didn't do much to disavow her of the notion. "If you won't help me clean—"

"—you'll go crying to the mutt?"

"His name is Shadow," she said, "and I would appreciate it if—"

"Mutt," said Ivo in sing-song. "You want him to do a trick? Playing dead's a good one. Woof, woof, Fido." A brief clap to his ear shut him up nicely, if for a blessed moment, before he vigorously scrubbed a palm over it with a glare. "Ow! Hell you'd do that for?"

"If only Grandfather knew about that potty mouth of yours."

"He knows. He's just not as delicate as you are."

"Et tu, Ivo?"

"'A no-no word! How obscene! I think I shall have the vapors!'"

The door to Grandfather's room opened just a crack. Sunlight shone against the figure eclipsing it. His red eyes, unflinching, fixed on the pair.

"The Professor needs his rest."

"How long is he gonna sleep?" Ivo jabbed a thumb into his chest. "If I slept in, Pop would never let me hear the end of it."

"He's sick," Maria said, brushing the crumbs from her skirt. He needed frequent reminder.

"You said it was just a stupid cold!"

The door closed. Ivo immediately rushed over to jimmy his hands into the edge and force it open. "Hey, we're not done here!"

A weak cough issued from the other side, followed by a hollow, wheezing laughter. Is that you breaking my door down, lad?

"Yeah!"

Oh, for heaven's sake. Let the boy in, Shadow.

"Finally." Ivo stormed in the moment the door allowed him enough berth, laptop tucked under his arm, and flung himself across the foot of Grandfather's bed. "You know how long I've been waiting?"

"I'm sorry, lad. I was dreaming. This new medication, it makes me a tad—"

"Look." Ivo thrust the laptop in Gerald's face. "Is this the right syntax?"

Grandfather blinked, his gaze sluggish, before reaching for his glasses on the nightstand. Hairless brows slowly knit together. "Well," he said, "it's a little complex—"

"I'm not looking for complex. I'm looking for something that works."

"I see," said Grandfather, in his usual placid tone. "Although you know, temporary becomes permanent after a while. You may wish to fix the bugs now before they settle in the bedrock."

"I don't make mistakes."

"Never said you did."

Ivo resumed typing while Maria entered. Shadow, who had situated a chair beside Grandfather's bedstand, held a scrapbook.

"We were just taking a stroll down memory lane before I fell asleep," Grandfather said. "Weren't we, Shadow?"

Silent nod.

Gracious, where had they found that dusty old thing? It must have been stowed away in the attic. She hadn't seen it in ages.

Maria needed little invitation to join Grandfather. Nudging aside Ivo's legs, she nestled on the edge of the mattress.

"Come look at our pictures."

He grunted.

"Ivo, look. Here's a picture of you naked in a bathtub."

"What?" He scrambled toward them, peered his red head over the plastic laminate. "Jeez, Maria, stop playing games!"

Grandfather chuckled. "Look at you," he told Maria, tapping a finger to a picture of a toddler clasping her grandfather's hand for dear life, eyes wide as the twin moons behind her. "You were hardly bigger than a pea then. We were all so frightened of losing you somewhere on the colony."

Ivo brightened at the mention. "Oh, yeah. When are you gonna show me around?"

"I'm sorry, lad, I wish I could. Nothing would make me happier."

"So?"

Grandfather flipped the page. Stars and constellations faded to sepia snapshots of her and Ivo sat together in a wagon. Both were beaming; to think, such a time once existed.

"…I can't."

"Why not?"

Grandfather took a cup of tea, steeped it.

Rolling his eyes, Ivo flung himself across the bed. Before Maria could chide him that he was going to hurt someone, Grandfather cleared his froggy throat.

"My dears," he said, "you'd know I would never leave you."

Her tongue caught on a sliver of ice. "Don't be silly, Grandpa." A brief glance from Shadow told her to dim the sunshine. "You'll be up on your feet in no time," she said, lightly kicking Ivo's legs, "if he lets you up."

"Make me."

Grandfather sat, teacup cradled in his pale, tremulous hands. "Here, lad, you have my tea. I can't finish it."

"I hate tea."

"It might pair better with one of her cookies, don't you think?"

Slowly Ivo sat up, scrutinizing the two of them. "You're so weird."

They waited until the door slammed, causing a picture mounted to the wall to skew crooked. After a moment, Shadow silently rose and trailed in his wake.

Grandfather's shoulders stooped. "I fear for that boy." His admission relented to a more ferocious cough, rattling him to the bone.

"Please listen, my dear." He gently rebuked the hands Maria offered to brace him. "He huffs and puffs, but he's lost without you. He'll need a friend after I am gone. Be his friend," he said, her hands cradled so gently in his cold ones. "If you can do nothing else, do this."

"Ivo," she said again, both knowing and fearing the answer. "What will this accomplish?"

His smile widened.

He is eleven and she is seventeen.

It happened in Grandfather's sleep. That it did provided little comfort, a scant flame to ward against the brutal cold of that winter.

The snow fell as though it had held its breath for far too long. No longer a gentle drift, but a creaking gale to wheeze the manor's bones.

Every morning, without fail, Shadow wrapped himself in the plaid scarf Maria had knit for him and went out to shovel the driveway: a long stretch that culminated in a wrought-iron gate, where the drifts piled highest, anticipating a car that seldom arrived.

He insisted on working alone. He rejected help and returned trembling, though his stoic mien never wavered.

Maria watched him nod off behind clouds of steam rising from his mug of hot coffee. You're going to make yourself sick. She didn't know how many more times she could bear to hear her pleas fall on deaf ears. He may have been the key to eradicating disease, but that didn't mean he had to wear himself to the bone for them.

Ivo immured himself in his room, opening the door only for offerings of food she deposited on the floor. She contemplated stationing herself there, catching the door on a rare opportunity, before deciding against it. He'd probably wind up breaking her fingers.

She passed the time mending their clothes. Since Ivo outgrew his in matters of weeks, she often took it upon herself to let his out. She figured he'd need a new set for the upcoming school season.

That was, if her uncle allowed Ivo to attend school. He had pinned the onus of the boy's education on Grandfather, and it was unlikely the school board would allow an exception after his passioned argument that none of their 'overcredited quacks' were qualified to handle his son's genius. Only the greatest mind of a generation could speak the language of the next. One half of a flame, now dimmed.

As she pulled the needle through a rend, a sharp prick stabbed her fingertip. Cursing softly under her breath, she stuck the red pearl in her mouth. Careless.

Tears pricked her eyes. That provided the pressure to open the dam. She sobbed, burying her face in the fabric.

Shadow observed her with an unusual pointedness at dinner. Her faltering flicker of a smile deepened his frown.

She couldn't tell him what Ivo had said. It would have been too cruel. It was something he had said in the throes, surely, while his hands were still frostbitten from the snow he'd hurled onto the—

Why wasn't it you?

Stupid girl. Sheltered, coddled bird, preened and soft. She thought it some kind of morbid joke, an off-the-cuff remark steeped in even blacker parody of his usual dark humor. So she made the mistake of laughing.

What?

Ivo's stare. His eyes a pale, colorless ice.

Her dreams lessened over the years.

Her tremor did not.

She jumped when Shadow materialized at her side, announcing in his low voice that her uncle had just pulled into the drive. Pressing a hand to her rabbit-thumping heart, she admonished: Don't scare me like that.

"He wants to speak with you."

Maria, her uncle said. I'm not going to ask twice.

"Coming!" She hurried into the opulent living room, now occupied by a rare guest. She wondered where he had been this time, what business had called him away, whether he had seen the headstone and paid his…

She slowed, then perched on the edge of the sofa.

Her uncle was a big, broad man. Unsmiling, unlike her grandfather. His mustache was auburn and sagged at the corners, beset by the occasional gray strand, more frequent these days. He wore clear pence-nez lenses to correct his astigmatism. His suits, pressed to perfection; Maria admired the meticulousness of the tailoring.

Regardless, their connection remained fraught. Uncle had folded her under his wing since her mother and father passed some years ago.

She didn't mean to sound ungrateful, really. There were worse places to live than a thirty-thousand square foot manor flanked by willow trees.

Yet as the years marched on, she and Shadow found it best to approach him as if he were a catastrophic event in the making. He needn't have said a word when his mere presence threshed like the warning hum of a live wire. The slow rise of hairs on your nape, the creep of an elephant's foot, a presence better felt and eluded than faced directly.

Although she'd never heard Uncle speak it aloud, Ivo had adopted his father's lovely habit of calling Shadow mutt. No matter how many times Grandfather corrected him, Uncle remained stalwart in his belief that Shadow was some kind of pet Grandfather had inexplicably grown attached to.

Shadow reciprocated her uncle's warm welcome and departed the room every time he paid visit. She couldn't blame him; if a relative had treated her with the same regard as the furniture, she'd hit the bricks as well.

In the hallway, beyond their reach, Ivo hovered at the threshold. When their eyes met, he gave her a glower to melt steel. Oh, so now the prince takes an interest in the affairs of the pauper?

She made to get up when a raised hand from her uncle halted her. Ivo's doleful frown morphed into a grin, which she leered at for a split second before he ducked and ran.

She stubbornly planted herself back on the sofa. Just you wait.

Her uncle narrowed his eyes. "Where is—"

"He's resting."

Pouring himself a glass of whiskey without ice, he lorded over the mantel, one arm tucked behind his back. He did not drink the foul concoction.

(Ivo once swiped the bottle and dared her to smell it. No idea why she obliged other than morbid curiosity; a strong chemical reek, like the acetone in her nail polish, immediately made her clap her hands over her mouth. Who would ever want to drink such a thing? You don't drink it for the flavor, dummy. You drink it to get drunk.)

"It's been two weeks," he said. "He'll lag."

The boy wonder? …Likelier the skies would crack open and rain candy.

Maria rearranged her spine so that she sat straight, hands tucked in lap. There was a loose stitch in the hem of her skirt that she quickly yanked.

"Grandfather said he's performing at a university level," she offered. "You could… " Amended her statement as one eye looked her askance. "We… could start thinking about sending him abroad."

"He'll get an associate's." Best laid plans, she supposed. Her uncle swirled the meniscus in his glass. "That will give me time to come up with a substitute."

Maria remained rooted to the lush sofa. She could hardly believe what she was hearing, a man of her uncle's standing speaking of his own blood with such utter disregard. Your father just passed. Show some—

Instead, her voice forced itself into that chipper tone where she lay belly-down. "A businessman?"

"Unless you'd like to run the board?"

Horrific idea, though she had to admit he had a point. But, she wondered, as her uncle continued to study the meager fire with the whiskey glass untouched in his hand, what was all of this for? Ivo was a child. Surely he didn't expect an eleven-year-old boy to assume the mantle?

"Grandfather had plans for him."

"I should have seen this coming." Every word an insult, every pause a slap in the face. "He always chose work over other considerations."

She swallowed. Chanced a different question.

"What about Shadow?"

"I was under the impression he'd stay with you."

A migraine approached, one she tried to starve by pressing a hand to her temple. "Uncle," she managed as evenly as she could, "I'm going to graduate in the spring. Ivo will need someone here to—"

"I will not have an animal raise my son."

Her pulse, a drowning, suffocating din in her ears. Suddenly, the doubt and decorum drained from her, leaving a stiff marionette in her place.

She stood. Uncle did not look at her as she wrenched aside and darted into the corridor, blowing past Ivo. She neither knew nor cared whether the little brat was gloating.

Shadow must have arrived to ask her what she was doing. With a mechanical automation that nearly frightened her, she retrieved her travel valise, propped it on her bed, and filled it. Clothes. Medication. Notebooks. It all seemed so clear now, what she had to do.

She'd not give them the satisfaction of crying. She'd wept enough after the wake. They would not watch her leave with whispers of she's hysterical hanging off their lips. This place was a gilded cage and a beautiful madhouse, and as long as she lived here, she would not stand to hear Shadow, poor Shadow, who wasn't even afforded the dignity of a name—

Shadow folded his scarf and tucked it beside her clothes. The scrapbook was too big to fit, he said. He'd carry it.

She would later dream of the clumsiness of her departure in fits and snatches. It didn't matter, the cold that bit their flesh, nor the messy snow that mourned in their wake.

Nor had it occurred to her, the irony of clasping Shadow's wrist and damn near fleeing down the paved drive, almost slipping on the ice. How she had hauled him along like a pet in a carrier. Her uncle had merely been more overt about it.

I gave you no choice, she told him.

He shook his head. I chose to go with you.

Grandfather's cure was never meant to be a silver bullet. They bolstered it with medication that operated in a manner akin to transplant rejection pills. Without them, her body would subsume Shadow's blood and resume its original trajectory.

She found the pills bitter, but the fact that her immune system would pitch a fit without chemical intervention… Well. Price of admission for the circus one calls life.

White, chalky tablets. Easy math. She took a pocketknife and diced the pill in half. Then in quarters. Then ground it into a powder and dissolved it in water, plugging her nose before taking the necessary sips.

She could have sworn she'd packed at least several months' worth, enough to hold her over until one of them found steady work. Two of the three bottles were empty, and to her panic, she found the third had only been three-fourths of the way full.

Pressed for options, Maria chose not to mention this little snag to Shadow. He'd cart her to the doctor, where they'd wait for hours only to be told to return later with bloodwork. She'd have to practically have her head fall clean off her shoulders before anyone would admit her. Besides, who knew how long they'd wait on a prescription?

Not to mention the cost. Suppose the pharmacy charged an arm and a leg just because they could?

No, not when they were this close. She needed their money to go to work on a security deposit; they managed groceries well enough on Shadow's odd jobs, and she took on a temp position as a seamstress. The sooner they secured the temple grounds in the pine forest, the better. All temporary, she assured herself. We'll be out of here before we know it.

Shadow prodded the fire into a flare with a bent poker.

"There's got to be somebody in this town who'll take you." She winced at the idiocy of her comment. Why did she speak just to fill the silence? Why couldn't she simply let a moment be—

Shadow looked up. "Without paperwork."

"Someone always needs their steps shoveled," Maria said, "or their lawn cut. Don't worry! You'll find something." She sniffed. "As soon as I finish mending this dress, I'll—"

"Maria?" Shadow stood, his contours swaying. His guarded expression shifted to a brief flicker of shock. "Maria!"

"Don't shake me," she murmured. "I just…"

"The headaches?" he asked. "That's it. I'm taking you to the hospital."

Please don't. Her feeble plea died the moment she vomited water on the threadbare couch.

Be his friend.

Grandfather, laughing hoarsely at his own joke.

be his friend be his friend be his friend be his

She spasmed awake. As her eyes adjusted to the dim, and her stomach churned at the scent of faded candle wax, she saw not their squalid temp house but a clean display of religious idols. Angels, saints, gods, all lined on a simple wooden shelf.

She found Shadow sleeping under a patchwork quilt on one of the pews. The pastor said he refused his offer of a bed, for he had wanted to wait until she awoke.

Maria placed a hand on his feverish brow. Scooting down, she lay with her head resting on his slumbering form, staring up at the wooden arches in the ceiling, hands tucked over her heart.

He's not one for prayer, the pastor said, not unkindly. Battered the doors down, just about.

…Shadow.

Maria reached up, fingers probing the air. As a child she used to believe she could catch angels midflight, pluck a feather as they sailed past on their invisible tasks. To hold just one, a single pearly souvenir to clutch and let go.

No angels here but the one asleep beside her. The thought filled her with a nascent warmth she'd not felt since leaving, the relief of a flickering fire; and at last, she sank into rest.

"Then do it." Maria upheld her index finger, the one scarred from a needle when she was young and foolish enough to believe in the better of him. "Cut it off and put it on the scanner," she said. "If you hurry, you might just have enough time."

She stepped forward. A twitch of a frown bristled his mouth.

"You won't," she said. "My death won't bring you what you want any more than this global tantrum you've thrown."

Slowly, with equal weight of motion, he reached up, pushed the bridge of his glasses with his thumb. "So that's how we're playing the game, eh?"

"It is."

"Well, then," he said, "don't say I didn't warn you."

Chapter Text

He is seventeen and she is twenty-two.

The telephone's shrill shattered her dreamless sleep. Her fumbling hand dropped the receiver on the unvarnished wooden floor before she reeled it back up by the cord. "Hello?"

White noise crackled through miles of cable and wire.

Good news! I'm officially an orphan.

Her struggling mind waded through a fugue. "Pardon?"

Two days. Maybe three.

"…Ivo?"

I don't know. I wasn't there.

"How did you get this number?"

They're at each other's throats, he continued, deadpan. You should see it. Real funny stuff.

She squinted at the clock: twenty after three. In less than four hours she'd have to be at the bus stop for work. Licking chapped lips, she said: "I'm sorry," feeling not an ounce of compunction in telling him such a bald-faced lie.

Ivo seemed to sense this, stretching the white noise. And she, eternal fool she was, misinterpreted his silence for a moment's reflection. It had been years since they last saw each other. She had hoped his father's business plan might have injected some much-needed humility into that ego of his.

Maria often contemplates what might have happened had she ended the call then and there. What made her linger, prolong his silence. She regrets she cannot warn herself that extending him an olive branch is just a death wish with a flourish.

"Ivo, do you have anywhere to go?"

He wasn't his father. His father wouldn't have bothered with a phone call. So went her internal calculus.

In hindsight, she recognized glimmers of pettier motive. Perhaps some part of her had wanted to show him she was not only alive but doing fairly well for herself, thank you. Certainly, their house on the outskirts of Matsu Temple, an oasis in a sea of pine trees, would never compare to the splendor of Grandfather's manor. But she hoped he'd be persuaded still to give it a chance.

Of course, she had been keener than to use the words fresh start - she wasn't that stupid.

Ivo neither agreed nor disagreed. He let her babble in her drowsy stupor before saying: You know you're a real sap.

The remark brought a morbid smile to her face. "Good night, little orphan boy."

Whatever.

The sliding wooden door opened. "Who called?"

"No one." She pulled the covers over herself. "Go back to sleep, Shadow."

Even as he huddled inside his damp leather jacket, jaw jutted in a childish pout, he now stood half a head taller than her and at least fifty pounds heavier. Behind shaded lenses - she noted their dark maroon tinge, the loose manner they sat on the bridge of his nose - his eyes darted around the room.

Maria tried on a smile. "You've shot up since the last time we—"

Noncommittal grunt.

Fair enough, she thought. She was hardly roses and tea at that age herself. "Why don't you sit down? As you can see, we've arranged our furniture for Your Majesty's pleasure."

Ivo inspected the hearth instead. He peered into the grate and recoiled, overtaken by a violent coughing fit. "Jeez, when was the last time you cleaned this, a hundred years ago?"

"Maybe you'll do us the honors." She poured him a cup of coffee: black, like he preferred it. He and Shadow had that in common. "I can't believe it poured all the way from the bus stop. The weatherman said it'd be sunny skies today."

"Yeah," Ivo said, almost idly, "reading their tea leaves." He sneezed.

"Sit down." No longer a request. He slung his jacket over the back of the nearest chair before planting himself squarely on the cushion, one leg slung over the other. When she lifted a brow, tilting her chin toward a wooden nook in the corner of the kitchen where they kept her shoes - Shadow's policy, not hers - he leered. All right, then, bucko, you sign your own liability waiver.

Ivo picked at a scab on his leather boot. "Haven't seen the—"

"—the mutt," she said pointedly, "is at work."

"Say it ain't so?"

"Construction. He'll be back for dinner."

She couldn't fault him for being quick on the draw. Perhaps she was imagining things, but she swore he seemed to find a perverse enjoyment in their bandied words. "Trouble in paradise?"

She pushed the cup across the table, ignoring the flush threatening to claim her cheeks. "Your coffee, sir."

Ivo grinned. "I'm on a diet."

She rolled her eyes. "Ivo," she said, "have you discussed arrangements with the board and—"

"What's there to arrange?" he asked. "Dig a hole, stick him in it."

"I didn't mean—" she began, and dropped the matter. There was another issue she wanted to bring to his attention, anyway. Wiser to pick your battles.

"You broke him when you left," Ivo remarked. "Like popping a balloon. Let all the hot air out."

Maria slipped her hand into the breast pocket of her denim shirt, withdrawing a pill bottle. Silently she placed it on the gingham tablecloth: challenge and accusation.

"Heck's this?"

"My medication."

Realization dawned on him; his soft chuckle rankled her nerves. "Oh, yeah." The empty bottle, yellowed in his hand as he turned it. "You'd puke if you didn't take it on time."

"You stole it." Her hypothesis, formed over years of rumination and process of elimination. She had been more meticulous than to waste such important medication; Uncle was never home, let alone interested in her affairs; Grandfather was bed-bound; Shadow would never compromise her health. That whittled the list of suspects to one spiteful little boy.

A Cheshire grin claimed his face. "I was eleven, Maria. I did not 'steal' it," he said, obnoxiously dragging out the word. "I flushed it down the toilet."

The tea in her mug ruffled as she shot up. "I could have died!"

"Yeah, but you didn't."

"You—"

"What do you want me to say, sorry? You and the mutt took off without a word." Threading his hands over his stomach, he leaned back, the chair's wooden legs creaking under the strain. "Never occurred to you I might have wanted to tag along, huh?"

Maria reeled just a moment before regaining her composure. Don't let him knock you off your feet. You do that, you're never getting back up. "You said…"

"Yeah, yeah. I know what I said."

"Do you?" she asked, and slowly relented. "Ivo, I thought you hated me."

His shrug paved the way for a fraught silence, punctuated by a ticking clock.

"So… What are you going to do?"

One arm slung over the chair back, he studied the hearth again. Must have been fascinating. "Well," he said, "I'd say 'cure NIDS,' but it looks like somebody beat me to the punch."

"Very funny."

"Ever hear of the Chaos Emeralds?"

The gems of legend, she thought, heart sinking. Oh, Ivo, what now?

"Grandfather spoke of them sometimes. Why?"

"I was looking through his diary," he said. "Don't get too excited, there's nothing about you in there. Just boring stuff, like a planet-wrecking cannon." He swilled his coffee.

"Don't tell stories, Ivo." She unclenched her fist, deigned a fuller look at him. "Why would they—"

"That's the fun part," he said. "Nobody knows. The government's got it locked up tighter than Mutt's sense of humor."

The wooden door slid open with a clack, an otherwise mundane noise that squirmed in her guts. No, no, he wasn't supposed to be home yet. Another hour, at least—

Shadow froze the moment he entered, ax slung over his shoulder. He never brought his tools inside unless he intended to clean them in his room, which sat adjacent to the foyer. His gaze locked on her guest, unrelenting.

"Morning, mutt!" Ivo toasted him. "Am I sitting in your spot?"

You are such a jerk! Maria pivoted. "Shadow, wait!" And again to Ivo. "Stay there," she ordered. "Don't move."

"Hey, it's not my fault he's got a stick up his—"

She left before he finished that lovely thought, making a beeline across the lawn. Shadow stuck the ax in a tree stump he'd freshly felled the week before; splinters sprayed around the blunt edge.

Don't be like this, she thought. Ivo I can handle, but not you, too.

"He's not staying," she said. "Please, Shadow."

"I don't trust him."

"Neither do I," she said. "Just one night, and he'll be out of our hair for good." She grasped his shoulders, forced him to break gaze from their modest, hard-won home and look, instead, at her. "We've been through worse."

Mouth scrimped in a taut line, Shadow snatched the ax.

Rise and shine, Maria!

Golden light, touching her eyelids. Too hot, too close, too flickering to be the sun.

What—

An explosion. Ears flushed and ringing, white noise buzzing, pulse a deafening din drowning out all other sense. Am I hit? Did he— But no, it's the pillow which bears the sickening smell of singe. Mere inches' worth of shave.

Too frightened to tremble. She can't command the muscles in her face, can't gather enough strength to form words. This transcends words. There are none to soften the sheer hatred masquerading as a grin.

He is pointing a gun at her.

We're gonna play a game, he says. Hide and seek. See how long it takes the mutt to sniff you out. Come on, up and at 'em!

How many heartbeats do you stockpile as your eyes fixate on the curling of the finger, covetous for the life you assumed plentiful? You'll offer any bargaining chip, painfully aware your scraps won't buy you a second longer on credit.

Ivo, she pleads. If you refrain, my silence is guaranteed. I won't whisper a word of this to anyone. Please, please don't.

Smoke seeps through the edges of the closet door.

Oops! …Your cookies are burning.

Fingertips pressed together, Eggman grinned.

You don't like dark places, do you, Maria?

She tried to use her indignation as fuel. Beat fists on a soundproof glass square, her only view into the control panel while he attempted to circumvent her half of the Cannon's authorization.

Let me out.

Ivo.

This isn't funny.

Now, Ivo.

This has got to be bothersome for you.

Let me out?

Please.

Where are you going?

Don't wave at me, you sick—!

Don't turn off the lights.

Come back.

Ivo.

There's no room in here.

There's no air in here.

Ivo, please
please let me out please
out I want out

IVO I'M SORRY JUST
LET ME OUT

Sheesh, grandma, calm down. It was just a little time-out.

Shadow sifted through the ashes until he uncovered his wakizashi, cloaked with soot but otherwise mercifully untouched.

Most of the basement had survived the fire thanks to the reinforcement of the shinbashira, the central pillar upholding the ground floor. Her relief waned at the gleam of sunlight on the blade as he carefully withdrew his wakizashi from its knit sheath. Singe flew from the edge, a cloud of black flies.

He strode to the nearest pine and paused before the dark trunk, one hand flattened to the bark as if in apology.

A steel lightning bolt. The swiftness of the blow cleaved the blade in two, beheading also the cry in her throat. A horrible clanging scream rang through the air, and the blade broke against the pine like tides on a rock. The break was incisive, more final than any spoken word; the wakizashi's blade lay in glittering halves.

He genuflected, one hand crushed around the hilt. Only the smallest tremor moved the tips of his ears.

Maria wrapped her ragged shawl around her shoulders and sank to her knees in the parched grass.

The next time they heard of him was four decades later, when five thousand, four hundred and eighty-seven people drowned.

Chapter Text

He is [AGE REDACTED] and she is sixty.

With the tenderness of fingertips probing the contours of a bruise, people will ask, Where were you when it happened? I was at the grocery store. We were picking up our children from school.

Her answer joins the chorus banal. Doctor's office, a routine appointment. Nothing wrong with me, just a check-up, really. Take my blood, then I'd have gone to that cute little café that just opened up down the street, brought Shadow home a black coffee and a bag of chocolates.

She was reading a magazine in the waiting lobby when the news flooded TV screens. Murmurs abounded as nurse and patient alike congregated around the screen.

Maria let out a soft gasp at the footage of the devastation. Skyscrapers twisted into husks, steel and rebar dribbling water. Broken glass, lives uprooted, homes

(destroyed like her own, fire-washed from the inside-out)

The moment she heard that name, the name she'd shed like a too-tight unbreathable skin, Robotnik, her heart beat so loud she thought it might burst. The smell of smoke she considered a faint dream in her more arrogant moments clogging her nostrils. The faces around her becoming a blur, eroding the years—

He's here.

He never left.

She dropped her magazine, hands shaking.

They never did pester her to reschedule.

"There's nothing we could have done, Maria."

"I know."

"He made his choice."

"I know."

That day she helped Shadow plant a plum sapling in the garden, the two of them working under the shade of swaying maple trees. She felt it deserved something fresh and new growing there.

As the cool black earth opened up in her hands, crumbling through her fingers, she began to cry. I shouldn't be here, she told Shadow, vehemently shaking her head. I should be out there, helping, somehow—

You're doing the best you can.

My best? I ran from home. Her gloved hands slid from her face. Be honest, she told him. Where do you think he was all this time? He didn't return out of the blue for—

Maria, he said. It's not worth thinking about.

Her gaze shifted to the tiger lilies Shadow said he'd planted for Grandfather. His favorite.

They're beautiful, Maria said. He had good taste.

Shimmied by a gust of wind, a whirlybird latched onto one of his quills.

Hold still.

Shadow waited.

If we clean up quickly, she said, we might be able to catch the—

He shook his head. Just let it be.

All right.

They worked in silence.

Shadow said, "The Professor said his day couldn't begin until he saw you smile."

"Now you're making that up."

"It's true." He paused. "Unless you're calling me a liar."

"A liar, no. But if your trousers are feeling warm, I've got a few theories up my sleeve." Her chuckle subsided while he stared, simply stared. "Shadow?"

On dates with acquaintances, she managed the polite peck, quick and clean, the duration less than a heartbeat. What did it mean, then, that they lingered for two and three and four, her heart beating up through her throat as if to spill over, softly parting on a brief rush of air?

Mortification and regret. "Shadow, I'm sorry—"

"Your happiness is important to me."

Maria shook her head, grasped his hand tighter. "Forget about me. What about you? What do you want?"

"Peace," he said. "This world is dangerous, but it's also as beautiful as the Professor said. I want to keep it that way for as long as I can."

"That's really what you want?"

Though he gave a solemn nod, a trace of melancholy lingered in his eyes.

They didn't speak of the incident again. As far as they were concerned, it had never happened.

But something had indeed happened. Maria's heart had split from stem to ventricle in a delicate hairline fracture, too fine to be repaired, almost undetectable.

Even now, she swears no damage occurred. Whenever hope fills her being, the fracture leaks, drop by painstaking drop, to prevent overflow. Shadow chipped her fragile foolish heart to avoid shattering it.

You're stronger than you think, he later said. As if a heart ought to pride itself on its refusal to break.

Chapter Text

The temperature plunged a few degrees the moment she left the summer sun and entered Matsu's thick canopy. Her first act, naturally, led her to rub the gooseflesh from her short-sleeved arms.

Dry beds of pine needles snapped underfoot as she gingerly picked through the first few layers. The forest wasn't very thick at the outskirts, but once you reached the heart, it became positively labyrinthine.

Maria touched the trunk of each pine she passed, feeling for the usual markers: one notch for on-path, two for off-path. Shadow regularly came here to cut down old trees for firewood. He maintained a small station of sorts next to the temple. If she just kept to the markers, she'd hear him splitting logs in no time.

Matsu Temple preceded them both. The tiered pagoda roof resembled a maple leaf, whose faded green lacquer had chipped and cracked over time. Shadow had bolstered the shinbara inside the central structure, which held a small altar to a weathered oak idol. Inside the stone bowl set for offerings, they had found acorns, rainwater, and bat droppings.

It must have been a splendor to behold in its heyday. As it stood, the most respect they could pay to such an ancient structure was to maintain it in its current condition, no more, no less.

Although far from cold, Maria found herself shivering due to the wind. It pursed invisible lips and blew the leaves into a rattle.

"Shadow?" She became a little less sure of herself with each forward step. The most obvious explanations faded from her mind the longer she dwelled with the silence.

An incredibly strong current knocked into her back like a fist, sent her toppling down. Impact bit into her hip, leaving her to cry out as she scrambled to grasp the nearby bramble for support.

Not bad. But you'd better step it up if you want to keep up with me.

Maria's head snapped up. A distant voice - decidedly not Shadow's, brimming with vigor and mischief - rolled along the disturbed leaves.

Answered by whirring.

Come on, let's play!

Thunder crackled, sending tidal waves of moss and needles spraying around her. Maria only had time to raise an arm to shield herself, but she swore she heard laughter in that wind—

The forest became a vortex of whirling pines. Abruptly her head and feet switched places and she floated for a couple of moments, weightless, just another leaf tossed up, before gravity claimed her with a vengeance. She crashed to the ground, this time with a shriek.

Just as suddenly, the wind grew a voice. And hands and feet, with it concern. All at once it crystallized into a sheer sensation of blue - the deep vibrant hue one conjures when picturing the ocean.

I thought we were alone, the waves breathed as they crested over her vision. Are you okay? Nothing hurt? Before her dry mouth could fumble a response, they supplied one for her. Shoot, he's spotted us. Hang on tight! It's gonna be a bumpy ride.

Gloved hands like Shadow's tightened around her smarting ribs, shifting her weight. Her arms draped around a pair of shoulders on natural instinct.

Air, crushing, compressing, the sudden blast of wind at hundreds of miles per hour pressing down on every square inch.

Dirt flew up in blinding clouds behind them.

Sonic looked straight ahead without reservation. "He's a stubborn tin can," he assured her amidst the steady rhythm of his feet. So light, it was as if they barely touched the ground. "But he'll give up the ghost sooner or later."

"What are you doing here?" Maria asked.

A grin lifted the corners of his mouth before they settled into a straighter line. "Just doing a little sightseeing."

Chapter Text

You heard stories. Of course you did. People repeated the myths so often they turned to showers of glitter which scattered to the far corners of the world. You saw the earnest young face on television, but didn't think it attached to a real boy.

His cause, you thought, was noble but misguided. Surely no one could oppose him, let alone with a smile.

"Sheesh, Metal," Sonic remarked while tightening his grip on Maria, "give it a rest." He shook his head. "Sorry, lady. He's always—"

He stopped abruptly before Shadow, who dropped the robot's head in the dirt with a deep, sonorous clang. A mysterious green gem glittered in his hand.

Sonic let out a long whistle. "Guess that explains why he was so fired up."

"He looks just like you." Silence. "Oh, come, now. You can't take offense to that."

Shadow sat cradling the gem in his hands. Maria sank to her knees on the futon beside him, until the cotton sighed.

"Is that a Chaos Emerald?"

He nodded. "I thought they disappeared."

"Grand… " She glanced across the living room, to Sonic admiring her painted kimono displayed on the wall as if it were an art gallery, finger touched to his nose and a bemused smile on his face. "He used to study them, didn't he?" She tugged on his wrist. "Shadow?"

Lost in his own little world.

"Please stay for dinner," she said. It was the least she could offer their guest, since Mr. Personality seemed too absorbed in his affairs to be a proper host. "Shadow always makes too much."

Sonic needed little encouragement to eat.

Shadow disappeared with the Emerald shortly thereafter: an oddity that piqued even Sonic's curiosity.

"I'm gonna go check on him."

"Wait," she said. "He'll be back. He doesn't like being followed."

"Come on." Sonic smiled. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

Shielded by dense pines, they maintained just enough distance to keep Shadow within their sights but out of earshot. As she clung to Sonic's neck, she feared any twig snap would immediately give them away.

Sonic, however, held no such qualms. "Nothing like an evening stroll, huh?"

Maria shivered. "This isn't normal."

"What, going off in the woods to play? Sounds pretty normal to me."

Shadow scrutinized the gem in his palm. Thrusting it outward, he shouted: "Chaos—!" and the surrounding forest plunged into an instant hush. The wind quieted; the leaves stopped whispering; the birds and squirrels fell silent.

She could hardly understand what was happening. Pinecones that had detached from their branches hung suspended in the air. It was like— Time itself held its breath—

"Shadow!"

The illusion shattered, and chaos reclaimed the forest once more: noise and motion resumed their natural thrones.

"Maria," he breathed, taking a step forward before immediately halting at the sight of Sonic. "Why did you bring her here?"

"Shadow," she said again, "what was that?"

"Nothing you were supposed to see," he said, albeit a bit severely, in Sonic's direction. "I wasn't sure if—" He clutched his head. "—it was something I… remembered how to do."

"It's like riding a bike, though, right?" Sonic offered. "Once you hop back on, you pick it back up pretty fast."

Shadow pivoted. "Leave. There's nothing for you here," he said. "Go and engage the Doctor somewhere else. This place isn't—"

"Shadow, don't be rude. Honestly, what's gotten into you?" Maria admonished before turning to Sonic with a stiff bow of apology, hand flattened to her chest. "I am so sorry. He's normally more polite than this—"

"No sweat," Sonic said, sticking a finger in his ear. "We've all got our off days."

"They called it Chaos Control." Placing the gem in her hand, Shadow overlaid it with his own. The Emerald emitted a pleasant warmth, like sunshine. "They trained me how to use a Chaos Emerald to stop time, but I never had the chance to practice the technique. I'm sorry, Maria."

Her gaze drifted over to Sonic.

"Come on," she told Shadow, voice a bit strained. "Let's get you to bed."

She sewed on the porch while the ARK marched a slow trail across the sky. Each dip of the needle glimmered under starlight.

It didn't take long for Shadow to join her.

"What else do you remember?" she asked.

"Not much."

"A weapon?"

"What weapon?"

"The day that Ivo… " No; revise. "…He mentioned something about a cannon Grandfather developed for the military. I thought it was just another one of his tall tales."

Shadow stood at her side, bathed in soft blue light. "The Professor entrusted me with security codes to a project."

Sensing the unspoken 'but,' she finished it for him. "You don't remember them?"

"He never told me what it was."

"Meaning it could have been anything."

"Or nothing."

"I highly doubt that." Turning, she asked: "Does the Chaos Emerald always feel warm in your hands?"

"It reflects what's in your heart."

Maria gave a quiet smile, offering him her hand. He took it, without hesitation or falter, and together they watched the colony sail the Milky Way.

All it took was a single photograph to tumble out of a drawer, and for Sonic to pick it up.

What could she say? What words fumbling en route to her mouth could possibly make it okay, make it right, realign everything that had been bent askew? Couldn't she offer more than this crushing silence?

Sonic only stared.

One gloved hand rose noiselessly. More patience lingered in the gesture than she deserved.

"You've been away from the world for a while, haven't you?"

Maria caught the gasp in her throat. She pressed her hand to her mouth in vain.

She couldn't speak. As her throat clenched and forced out some semblance of sound, the tears she so bitterly feared began to flow. The first slipped out unnoticed, caressing the curve of her cheek, before dropping and bursting on the wooden floor.

They'll hate us.

She loathed how brittle her voice crept out. It was not the voice of an elder made rich by experience. It was a child's, begging for forgiveness. The thin plea of a powerless young woman staring down the barrel of a pistol, whispered raggedly to a deafening silence.

The ghosts that haunted the halls had come to rest inside the creaking joists, allowing her a nervous detente. How could he in his fifteen short years possibly understand?

For a moment, she became lost, and forgot whose gaze held her next breath hostage. She trembled in the reflection of ice-blue eyes, which softened as the tint thawed to grass-green.

Protesting the beating of her heart, she reeled herself back to the present. Breathe; let the smoke dissipate. Sonic was not him, calcified by a hard mask of cruelty. He would not rob her of life and dignity and control for a sick prank. His only offer: kindness.

"You miss it," Sonic said.

"I do," she said, and lingered. "They'll condemn us."

"Who cares what they think?"

The same idea could be so simple to one, yet so radical to another. She lived under duress, prey to every invisible judge to take up residence in her mind. It hadn't occurred to her she could walk away, a realization that made her feel beyond foolish. Had the solution always been this monstrously simple?

"I can't," she said. "I failed to keep my promise to Grandfather. And now the rest of the world is paying the price. Everything he's done—" Sonic closed his eyes. "Those poor people—drowned—because I was afraid. Because—" her voice caught, breaking again, "—I let him happen."

"Chin up, Maria." Amidst the quieting of her hiccups, Sonic smiled. "Let's go introduce you."

Chapter Text

"Then do it." She upheld her index finger, the one scarred from a needle once when she was young and foolish enough to believe in the better of him. "Cut it off and put it on the scanner," she said. "If you hurry, you might just have enough time."

She stepped forward. A twitch of a frown bristled his mouth.

"You won't," she said. "My death won't bring you what you want any more than this global tantrum you've thrown."

Slowly, with equal weight of motion, he reached up, pushed up the bridge of his glasses with his thumb. "So that's how we're playing the game, eh?"

"It is."

"Well, then," he said, "don't say I didn't warn you."

Maria neglected to tell him of the golden streak that arced across the cosmos and rocketed ever closer. She smiled right before a spectacular explosion of glass stole the air in the room, forcing him to his knees.

His lenses fell, cracked. His hands flew to his throat; his eyes boiled to their whites.

"Soniiiiiiiack!"

Maria dove into the boy's arms. Eyes squeezed shut, she had expected to fall into the merciless void. Instead, she clung to Sonic's neck. The light he emitted felt so warm.

"S'up, Eggman?" He grinned. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

Hatred, pure and blinding, in his noiseless scream. He turned and dove into the darkness, into the bowels of the facility.

Maria couldn't hold her breath any longer.

"Oh, shoot!" Sonic flew into a sealed chamber - a lab - where he gently set her down. "Are you okay?"

"You… " She clutched the wall, panting. "You have to stop him—"

"Leave it to me."

Shadow.

"This isn't over, Maria!"

His voice thundered through the colony's speakers like the proclamation of a deranged god, slithering through every crack and crevice of a mechanical mind long rusted, hoping to spark something in the gears—

The ground quaked beneath her feet, causing her to stumble into Shadow's arms.

A sinister stream of chuckles bubbled up. Shadow's hold on her tightened. Sonic aimed a glower at the ceiling.

"GRANDFATHERRRRR! MARIA'S THROWING MY TOYS AWAAAAAY!"

The colony won't be swayed.

The realization doused her in ice. Even if Sonic and Shadow were to halt the fall, the Cannon would still fire regardless. He'd overridden its failsafe systems.

There was no other recourse.

"Sonic! Shadow!" Her voice, a live wire crackling through the colony's neglected announcement systems, her message blood carried through its veins, a frantic attempt to revive the heart. "Listen to me! We don't have much time. I think we need to push the ARK off its collision course. I… " She swallowed. "I need to fire the Cannon. But… you must stop the beam before it hits the planet," she said. "If anyone can pull this off, you can. I'm counting on you!"

Hands hurtled out of the darkness and snatched her by the back of her collar. She hit the corrugated floor, pain dispersing needles throughout her being.

What do you think you're doing?

She scrambled.

You stupid old woman.

Through fire and shadow…

Do you really think…

She struggled.

…you're anything without me?

"Get away from me, Ivo!"

YOU ARE NOTHING MARIA

"You don't control me!"

ALL HIS ATTENTION FOR YOU WHEN

"The world—"

I WAS

"—is not—"

RIGHT

"—yours—"

THERE

"—to break!"

She slammed her hand onto the scanner.

He is fifty-six and she is sixty-two.

He screams in her face. Shakes her. Threatens vengeance and damnation, curses her every particle designed just to torment him.

He flings her around Gerald's lab like a doll he never expected to fight back. He punches and kicks and spits, the spectacle all so childish that she cannot help but feel her grandfather chuckle somewhere in the most implacable part of her being.

Oh, lad. A broken toy is nothing to pitch a fit over.

Chapter Text

Sonic pursued him. Didn't find him.

She laughed, the sound dry and airless. Let him lick his wounds.

Her own have healed, for the most part. Three or four days passed before she was able to apply her daily touch of lip liner without provoking the stitches.

The light tickle of the plastic hose whistling air into her nostrils reminded her of childhood days spent in bed, agitation growing inside her bones like agitated nettles. When she closed her eyes, she almost expected to wake on the colony, spools of yarn littering her lap. Grandfather's smile, his warm hand cradling hers. All just a nasty dream, my dear.

Maria yearned to work with her hands: she had read her monthly cache of books twice already, and television, though fun, became mind-numbing after a while.

Influenced by a little pestering, Grandfather relented and allowed her a small beginner's crocheting kit.

After a potholder - (Shadow accepted, but didn't mention he didn't know how to cook back then; to think, the same soul nowadays proclaims the kitchen his lordly domain) - she'd had enough yarn left for half a mitten.

The final product couldn't be called much but a child's clumsy first attempt: large, uneven stitches with holes too wide to block any sort of chill. Grandfather had glowed as though she'd gifted him gold.

Oh! Just what I needed. He slipped the pitiful thing over his fingers and wriggled them, making her giggle. Do I look fashionable, my dear?

Grandfather was a man of bounty: generous size, genius, heart. Why had Ivo only inherited two of his gifts?

Shadow's theory: He saved the last for you.

She gazes at him, her quiet sentry. Having laid down their spears inside her, love and guilt decide to embrace instead.

In one gentle motion, her arm slips free of the covers. She caresses his ear, brushing her thumb over the most sensitive end.

He's more than earned his rest. Let him sleep.

She is ten and he is four.

Because she had complained he'd grown too heavy to pull in the wagon, he demanded she sit in it while he hauled her around the manor instead.

The ride proved uncomfortable at first; without the cushion of a blanket or pillow, every bump and hitch jolted through her.

Eventually she adjusted to this strange, rare ride. She rather felt like a princess in a carriage, waving to the groundskeepers clipping hydrangeas as gravel crackled under the tires.

"They're not gonna wave back," he said.

"It's the polite thing to do."

"That's dumb," he said. "You shouldn't do stuff you don't want to."

She dragged her knees close to her chest. "Ivo," she said, "why are you taking me on a trip?"

"'cause Grandpa asked me to."

"Oh," she said. "That's nice." Willows, their long green tresses swaying in the breeze. "You know, it's perfect weather for a picni—"

"Get out. It's my turn now."

Shadow has not left her bedside. The vase beside her nightstand is filled with roses of the deepest red, blood-red, interspersed with flashes of blue forget-me-not. The aroma makes her slightly dizzy.

She turns her head on a slightly understuffed pillow. One cheek lifts.

Good morning, sir.

Shadow's closed eyes snap open. He blinks a few times before focusing on her. The link of their hands has persisted through the night.

Maria.

That's my name, she says, morphine lacing her voice with a dimly husky tone. She swallows. Would you—

Shadow uncaps a water bottle.

You're so thoughtful.

As he sits, observing her, she offers her hand again.

At length, amidst the beeping of machinery, Shadow deigns to ask.

"Is he gone?"

Maria tastes the iron in the word, the hatred and bitterness in it. And lets it dissolve. No, she tells him, not gone, exactly. He'll be back. She can't tell him about the single shred of perverse comfort she finds in that fact.

Her grip tightens. Shadow, she whispers. Did we… do the right thing?

I don't know.

A clamor from the hallway breaks their somber conversation. Sonic arrives with a tray of cupcakes balanced on one arm and a gaggle of balloons tied to his wrist, which clatter amusingly enough to draw a weary grin from her and askance from Shadow.

"Hey!" he greets. "There you are. How ya feeling, Maria?"

"I've been better."

"Yeah," he says, checked by a glimpse of sheepishness. Then brightens. "Cream made these. I say we dig in!"

"Sonic."

"Oh, Shadow, let the boy visit."

Shadow insists on unpeeling the paper covering for her, an offer she rebukes.

As the confection melts in her mouth, she can't help but smile.

- End.