Four Months Later

"And then Kazap said, 'I know how to drive.'" Razalu thrust out her chest and clucked her tongue in an unflattering impression of the stubborn lad. "But he nearly drove the excavator straight into a tree! So that's when I took over."

Kazap just rolled his eyes. "You've been telling this same story for four months, Raz."

Fennikk grinned and grabbed Razalu's hand. "Never gets old."

"But I was the one who spotted the excavator in the first place," said Kazap.

Fennikk and Razalu looked unimpressed – actually, they looked entirely focused on their joined hands – but Pakket patted the bigger boy's arm. "I think you did a great job, Kazap," he said, brown eyes bright.

We sat in the living room of the fortress, where I had slept when I first stayed with Rekkan. The room had certainly never received this many visitors before. The once-dusty mantle now glowed orange, spilling a warm glow over faces with a variety of colors. Each armchair seated a person or two, and several chairs had been dragged in from the kitchen for additional seating. Fluffy observed the gathering from the tank on the end table. I reclined on the couch where I had once slept, and one of my legs edged halfway into Rekkan's lap beside me.

Halfway too little.

I snuck a glance at him now, taking in the relaxed posture. He had been nervous the first time we invited people over, but his anxieties had gradually eased. Now I was the nervous one – not because of the guests but because of The Plan already nestled in my sweater pocket.

Serigg smiled and nodded at the children. "We owe our lives to all of you."

"Very true, Mayor Serigg," said Miss Fluff – Zazu. She probably deserved a name, especially since she had given up on Rekkan and now pursued the slightly-less-disinterested Uzmed. "And we owe Zafaru for teaching them how to climb and Uzmed for teaching Razalu how to drive. And whoever left just enough gas in that excavator for the job. Ether truly blessed us!"

"Let's drink to that!" said one of Kazap's parents.

Kazap's parents clinked their glasses of whiskey, and Serigg, Nikkla, Zazu, Rekkan, and I all lifted our own glasses to our lips. Uzmed sipped water, soft eyes fixed on his daughter. Razalu pried her gaze from Fennikk long enough to flash her father a proud smile.

But one person was not smiling. Serigg's shiny eyes dropped from her glass to the bracelet around her wrist, carved with a name none of us would forget.

The name of one other person we owed.

Rekkan followed my gaze to Serigg, and his smile slipped. The room quieted in response to the change in their new mayor's mood. Mayor Serigg might as well have been called president of both the North and South, since no other real leaders had yet arisen. Only Serigg's community thrived, housing most of humanity in the rebuilding town just a half hour's walk from our fortress.

Fennikk slipped her hand from Razalu's and trotted to the corner of the room, where a glossy guitar propped upright, glistening in the light – Mekkar's guitar, which Serigg passed on to Rekkan. Fennikk plucked the guitar from the stand and carried it to Rekkan. "Play for us?"

"Uh..." His brow furrowed and chest rose.

"Please, Mister Rekkan?"

He released his breath on a sigh. "Yeah, alright."

When Rekkan stood to accept the guitar, Fennikk plopped down beside me and gestured for Rekkan to take her chair. The room gradually hushed as he adjusted knobs. Ether, so handsome in those worn jeans and a flannel shirt the color of my eyes. The lighter strands of his hair matched the medallion gold of Mekkar's guitar. His gaze lifted from the guitar to cock a little crooked smile at me.

My stomach somersaulted with a giddy flutter of nerves. To hide the nerves, I returned his smile a bit too brightly. How was I going to pull off The Plan when he could melt me into mush with a single smile?

His fingers slipped over the strings, coaxing out a gentle arpeggio, and his bass filled the room.

"Freedom, freedom at last. Isn't there such joy –"

Gasps drowned out the music. Rekkan's lips spread into the kind of self-satisfied grin that really deserved a punch. If only I were sitting closer. And if only my punches actually did anything.

"What?" he said. "Too soon?"

When the gasps drifted into grumbles and chuckles, he plucked a new tune – sweet and melancholy. His voice joined, and the melody seeped into every corner of the room and settled into my chest, a mingling of joy and pain. I recognized that song, too, but I hadn't heard it for a while.

Rekkan sang that song with Mekkar.

In the four months since Mekkar's death, Rekkan had not once talked about what happened. And whenever I mentioned Mekkar, Rekkan changed the subject.

Serigg interrupted the song with a half-muted sob. Rekkan's fingers stilled as his eyes fixed on Serigg. She sank low in her chair, fiddling with the gold band. Shoulders hunched, nose scrunched.

"Serigg?" said Rekkan, voice low and rough.

"Can –" Her voice squeaked, and she cleared her throat and sniffled before speaking again. "Can I hug you, Rekkan?"

His eyes widened, but he jerked his shoulders in a shrug. "I won't stop you."

She swung up from her seat and tottered toward him. In stilted movements, she leaned over and wrapped her arms over his shoulders. His jaw clenched, and his guitar slid low on his lap.

At that point, The Plan had basically slipped my mind. Luckily, Serigg remembered. With another sniffle, she withdrew from Rekkan. Tentatively, she combed a couple fingers through his hair, fixing a cowlick created by the hug. Then she turned toward the rest of the group.

"Well, we better get going to make it back for our weekly town meeting."

It was a town meeting she had already told me they could easily skip. But I didn't want them to skip the meeting. I still had The Plan to enact.

The dozen or so guests departed with warm farewells. Serigg departed last, pushing Pakket just ahead of her. He stopped at the door and turned back for one last look. His shoulders and lips raised in a sheepish smile, but I couldn't help thinking his gaze looked... longing. Maybe even sad.

When I had expressed concerns about Pakket to Figgel before, she had shoved them away with a bark of defensive laughter. "He's fine! I helped save the world, and you think I can't take care of my own grandson?"

After Serigg guided him through the door, she turned back toward us. "Oh, one piece of good news – Figgel is recovering."

"That's good," I said, though her statement did little to quell my unease. I struggled to articulate my concerns tactfully.

Rekkan skipped the niceties. "Really? Because Pakket doesn't look happy."

Serigg darted a glance at the shut door before responding. "That's what I wanted to tell you. Figgel has recovered enough to realize she is no longer able to provide for a six-year-old. She wants me to find Pakket a better home – one she would hopefully be allowed to visit."

I bit my lip and darted a hopeful glance at Rekkan. Maybe this was something we could talk about in time, but I didn't want to push him before he was ready.

"Ah," said Rekkan, expression unreadable.

Serigg turned back toward the door. On the way out, she called, "Enjoy the picnic!"

Rekkan arched a brow at me. "Picnic?"

"Oh, yeah. Uh... do you want to go for a picnic?"

His eyes flicked toward the nearest window and then to me. "Right now? It's a little cloudy, isn't it?"

I almost agreed with him, but The Plan weighted my sweater pocket, forcing me ahead. "I think it looks alright."

Rekkan studied me a bit too closely, but he cocked his head in agreement. "Alright then. Give me ten minutes to get ready."

Rekkan disappeared to the bedroom, and I packed a backpack with whiskey, cheese, and crackers. When ten minutes stretched into fifteen and he did not reappear, I knocked on the bedroom door.

"Rekkan?"

His response came two seconds late and a little choked. "Present."

Concern tightened my chest. I eased the door open and peeked inside. Rekkan sat on the bed, holding a creased letter in his hands. I recognized the miniscule movement of his shoulders.

He was crying.

My breath caught. I approached the bed and sank down beside him. "Rekkan, what happened?"

He shook his head, sniffed once, hard, and rubbed his palms over his eyes. Then he handed me the letter. It was the one Mekkar had given him before the Implant Era began, the one he had never opened—until now. As my eyes darted over the page, my tears blurred the curled letters.

To my beloved nephew,

Do you remember your first day at our house? You were ten years old, but you had this strange maturity about you. You left every room cleaner than it was when you got there, and you always thanked us for every meal. Most of all, I remember that your things were all packed so neatly in your suitcase, and you didn't unpack them for at least a month. You were ready to be sent away again at any minute.

I wanted so badly to keep you.

Then I saw what you did to Marvikk. I still wasn't scared of you—I never could be—but I was scared that I had caused this somehow, and scared that I was failing Jekkana and failing you. It seemed clear to me I was not the father you needed. I should have worked to be better, but I let my fear control me, and I did what everyone else did.

I sent you away.

I'm ashamed to send you this letter instead of visiting. Whenever I see you, the words don't come out right, and I'm afraid I just hurt you more. But the truth is, you are one of the best things that has happened in my life, and you inspire me.

I'm not a brave man, but every bit of bravery I have, I learned it from you.

Your proud uncle,

Mekkar

When I finished reading, I drew a shaky breath. "Well, that's... wow. He really loved you, Rekkan."

"Agreed." His voice was still choked and eyes still shiny. "And I let him die."

"No." I pushed the letter back into his hands and wrapped my arms around him. "You let him finally become the man he wanted to be."

* * *

Two hours later, we lay on our backs at the top of the hillside. Rekan's reclaimed and restored motorcycle hugged the less-restored road a dozen feet from us.

Rekkan pointed at the sky. "And what about that cloud?"

I squinted at the dark cloud overhead, tinged pink by the setting sun. "A Freshly-Baked eating an arm."

"And that one?"

"An Overcooked getting blown up by a mine."

Rekkan rolled to his side to look at me. A soft smile played on his lips, but his brow furrowed. "You wouldn't do very well in my Uncle Psych's tests."

"Is your Uncle Psych still alive?"

"Pretty sure he was one of the first to go."

"Sounds like he didn't do very well in the world's test."

"Hmm." His fingers absently traced my eyebrows and brushed my cheek. "You know what's fucked up? I was already a little attracted to you even when I used you as bait."

"Really? I was so filthy my hair didn't even fluff."

"Yeah, but you were funny and sweet."

I snorted a laugh and sat up. "Sweet? I was definitely more sassy than sweet."

He rolled up to sitting too. Brushing leaves and sticks from his back, he nodded at the nearby motorcycle. "You stuck your hands in my pockets during that motorcycle ride."

Though that day now felt like a lifetime ago, heat rose to my cheeks. "What? I didn't do that."

"Mm. You reached around me and just slipped your hands in, all carefully, like you were asking permission. Like you were praying I wouldn't push you away." He slipped his hands around me to demonstrate and slid his hands into my sweater pockets.

The Plan flipped out and rattled in the dust. I scrambled to grab it, but he plucked it up first.

He frowned. "What's this?"

I shot to my feet and raked a hand through my hair. This was not how this was supposed to go. I planned to breach the subject slowly before revealing the silver bracelet on the sly. I drew a breath, refocusing. Now was the time for suave and sexy.

Suave and sexy, Zaf!

Unfortunately, my nerves squeezed my vocal chords, and my voice squeaked. "You're supposed to, like... write my name on it. During our wedding. I mean, if there's a wedding. If you want to, uh... do that. With me."

Fuck. Worst proposal ever. He pushed up to his feet in front of me, but I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze. His silence rattled my eardrums and echoed across the hillside. The residents of Serigg's neighboring town probably dropped their dinners and cringed.

Finally, he spoke softly. "Zaf... was that a marriage proposal?"

"If you want it to be."

With a growl, he hooked two fingers into the belt loops of my pants and tugged me a little closer. The inch between us hummed with heat and electricity. With a carefulness at odds with the tension through his body, he dipped his head to kiss my nose.

"Yeah, Zafaru. I want to marry you."

When I tipped my head up to meet his eyes, his lips found mine, warm, soft, and sweet. But after just a few seconds, he withdrew with a frown.

"What happened?" I asked, breathless from the warmth still shooting through me.

"Do you think Fluffy would like to have a companion?"

I raised my eyebrows. "You want to adopt another cockroach?"

"Or a kid."

I stared at him. "Really?"

He scratched the back of his head, an impressive bulge of bicep. "I mean, if you want... after we fix things up properly and make all the preparations... maybe Pakket would like to come live with us?"

A grin spread wide across my face. "Yeah, I think he would."

One drop of rain splashed my nose. Then, a torrent. Rekkan pulled me toward the cover of a towering pine tree, but water still soaked us. Rekkan's shirt stuck to his chest, and the bracelet slipped from his wet fingers into the mud. I crouched to grab it, and a stray branch poked me in the side. With a grimace, I rose to my feet and offered him the muddy bracelet.

"You were right," I said. "Picnics are better in fantasies."

Rekkan pocketed the bracelet without bothering to wipe away the mud. He leaned down and found my lips once more, wet but still warm. When he drew an inch away, his breath tickled my face.

"Nope. This is better."