. . .

"According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves..."

—Plato, the Symposium

. . .

...she looked like she'd been with him all along.

Alastor can feel the all too familiar chill radiating off of her very being now, goosebumps forming on his skin at its wake. It was what one can only expect from the presence of something powerful and... and something that no longer belongs to the living world.

The goddess of shadows. Proserpina.

...His mate.

The solid and very much real press of her smaller body as she remains firmly seated by Alastor's side so there is no lingering space to be crushed between them leaves him with a sort of cold feeling, a numbness creeping down his spine that he was so sure wasn't there before as he slowly turns his head to look at her, wide eyed with surprise.

His voice was hushed, startled–

"...Where were you?"

The question came off as a demand.

"Gloucestershire," at the reasonably confused look on his face, she immediately deigned to add: "... it was somewhere in Southwest England. Cayden notified me of a lead in the Ancient Ram Inn. There were vampires. I had to personally step in."

"Oh, I see," Alastor murmurs, deflating a bit on his seat, "I'm just... w-well, I'm glad to know you're okay... welcome back, Winters."

She must have been away for some important business then, if she personally had to step in (whatever 'lead' Athena's kid was supposed to have over there) and that was in England, so far away from this place and... Alastor has to consciously keep the resentment out of his tone... because he knows, okay?

He's aware that her work was serious.

That people could really die if she just ignored it. But it's really not okay that there wasn't so much of a word on her end.

Cellphones exists for a reason, damn it!

"And yet, you don't seem pleased to see me," she notes, rather bluntly. "You... are upset with me. What did I do?"

His eyebrow twitched.

She just really had to ask, huh?

Very astute.

"Not that I'm complaining but why are you here now?"

"...You."

"Me," he said flatly, "What about me?"

Her void-like eyes calmly met his through those distractingly long lashes, "...You weren't with my brother. When I got to Japan, I couldn't find you. You weren't there. Why?"

He feels his heart begin to shake at the idea that she was looking for him, his stupid heart hoping for stupid things, such a fragile thing. And now, that he really thought about it, he suddenly felt really stupid, "It's just... I thought... well, I assumed w-we'll go together, the three of us, I mean. I didn't know you were going to wait for us there and you or your brother didn't really say anything about splitting–"

"So... you were waiting for me?"

(The word 'always' was sitting on the tip of his tongue.

Because these days... waiting and not knowing if he'll still see the very few people he had allowed himself to care for feels like what Alastor has been doing all his life.)

Unsure how to respond to that, Alastor at once decides to just let his head flop down on top of her own in lieu of answering, his cheek pressing in comfortably and he inhales, the scent of honeyed vanilla making him close his eyes.

It smells sweet and nostalgic.

Like a place he knows but could never return to.

"Alastor?" she shifts, almost uneasily underneath him but he simply presses his face to keep her still, "I think you should know..."

"It's worse if you drag it out like that," he warns lightly, not really bothering to get off of her. If she didn't like him being draped over her person like some sort of housecat, then she has to speak up because he seriously wouldn't be the one pulling away first. Her scent has always calmed him and he's...

He's tired.

He missed her. So much.

"Nothing isn't that far for me," Winters murmurs beneath Alastor's cheek, a steady hum that he almost missed against the other sounds that almost seemed to quiet down just so he could listen more clearly to her, "We could just travel through the shadows... if you want?"

Something warm and delicate flutters in Alastor's chest.

It almost sounds like a placation.

An unspoken apology.

...At least she's trying.

"I don't really mind. How about flying? You don't want to take the plane?" he asks, moving his head a bit so that he was able to meet her gaze.

At the same time, she gives him another one of those lengthy, side-eyed looks that confused and gratified Alastor at the same time. Winters always, always looked like she was actually weighing if he's messing around or being serious.

"...I've never been on a plane before," she says at last.

His eyes blinked at her, once, twice before he smiles widely, hopeful, "Wait. For real? Well, I've been on a plane and while I personally prefer land transportation, getting on a plane is fun! And besides, now's a good time for a first—"

Her expression shifts.

He froze.

That sad look in her eyes again.

"...I can't."

"Oh."

"...sorry."

"It's fine."

They were quiet for some time.

Except for the nurse's occasional snore.

"Can you tell me why?" he finally asked, keeping his voice light.

"Zeus had made it pointedly clear long ago that he would blast me out of the sky if I ever tried to be at his domain," she confides, leaning right back against his shoulder to rest with a half-hearted grumble.

"Okay. So, a plane's not cool. What about your other uncle then?" Alastor hums, faintly amused when he felt one of her gloved hands tugging almost curiously at the ends of his scarf as she inspects it, "Can you travel at sea? Or ride a boat or... I dunno, something else?"

She shrugs, "It's okay... I guess."

"What does that supposed to mean?"

"That the sea is unpredictable."

He winced at that. Whelp, fair point.

"Hey, Winters..."

Those eyes met his through long lashes.

"Have you... ever travelled in the shadows with someone else before?" Alastor asks, a bit hesitant, "I mean, it sounds cool and all, but have you ever tried?"

She stares, doesn't answer for a moment.

They passed another tunnel.

One that holds not a speck of light.

And the sudden blanket of darkness reminded Alastor where they are. Hey, we're underground. Is this okay? What about your old man? Are we going to be attacked? he almost asks the questions out loud... but as though she was already expecting it, a heavy, dark look brewing within Winters' eyes stops him right before he could even so much as think to open his mouth.

Meanwhile dazzling, morning light streamed through and all over them once more. But those eyes remained against his. They were dark, fathomless, unchanging.

And while there is absolutely nothing painful or threatening about her hold on his neck... her hair, soft and comforting against his face, but with the shadows that have been gathering beneath their feet like spilled ink are blacker than they have any right to be against the light.

Like a solid, living thing.

Alastor swears he couldn't feel the sun's warmth anymore, not with the underworld's heir right by his side. There's a flash of something that was too black, too cold in her gaze as she steadily looks at him.

A glimpse of the void.

There and gone.

"...I have," she finally answers, unblinking.

Two deceptively simple words.

And even he can tell they were anything but that.

He only nods, at a loss of what to say.

There was a slew of... of something else past that eerily dimming gaze that appeared almost unseeing, dead, something dark and foreboding running so deep it might actually drive a man to insanity. And seeing Winters, with that horribly detached look on her face, instantly reminds him that his mate isn't just someone or a regular being.

Alastor inaudibly swallows the lump that suddenly formed in his throat as he closes his eyes, not wanting to see this, suddenly not feeling like talking anymore.

Seeing her like this hurt so much.

And isn't that ironic?

All his life, the most hurtful wounds he had ever felt always, always came from things that he can't even see, let alone touch, or hope to help with.

In this, he is useless.

"...Next time," Winters suddenly begins so softly the moment Alastor feels himself beginning to doze off, comforted at the very least with her just being there.

"Hm?" he hums, barely awake.

Like this, her voice reminds him of a distant chime of church bells, quiet, but resonating with a steel-like undercurrent of power that sounds something like a command, more like a vow as she finally releases her death-like grip on his scarf, smoothing it down, her eyelashes brushing against his neck as they seemed to flutter into a close as well.

"...I swear I will try not to wander off too far, not without informing you at the very least," she promised, "Will that be enough?"

Alastor manages to nod his assent before he falls asleep there and then, one of his arms moving on their own accord to drape around her shoulders, his body pressed unmoving against her side as he keeps her close to him.

A sad attempt to keep her warm.

Listening to his heartbeat for a few seconds, assuring herself with the fact that he's breathing, safe and very much alive, Proserpina releases a sigh before she turns to look at their reflection in the clear window.

Her lips were curved into a wry smirk.

'It is once said that in the beginning of time, when humans were first created, they had a form so different to the ones that they have today. They were both man and woman, had four arms, four legs and a single head made of two faces...'

Strangely enough, they looked almost exactly like that. That their bodies look as though the two of them had somehow molded together.

Like this...

The two of them looked like they're a single being.