The car is warm, and in the close quarters, I take advantage of my lycan furnace. Placing my hand in his lap to leech off his heat, I question if we are doing the right thing. A previous version of myself would have stayed and ensured things got done the way they were supposed to, yet now it felt as though it was our time to step back. 

I felt almost at a loss. Willingly giving up the identity I'd worked so hard for over the past few years was a decision I'd never envisioned for myself. 

What would I do with the rest of my life if not this? We'd talked about it, dreamed and wondered what it would be like-- hell, I'd yearned for it. But now that we were on the cusp, I couldn't help but feel frightened by the prospect. 

Who would I even be, if not this?

Tilting my head back, the lights on the highway fade in and out of my vision as I allow my mind to drift. 

We were heading towards the world we had always wanted, one that would no longer need us. 

"What are you thinking?" I ask him, finally. 

How did he feel about this? 

Did he see what I saw between Tyler and Helen? 

Was he planning on hunting down Grayson? 

Verando's hand rested on the shifter; in the background, the gentle hum of classical music was a welcome reminder of what we might have heard if we frequented an event in our own time. It's soothing,  a small reminder of the past. 

With a long exhale, he keeps his gaze fixed on the road. "The past. I don't remember being so excited about killing people." 

The comparison hadn't entirely crossed my mind in the same way. Curling my fingers on his pant leg, I don't quite think it's the 'murder' that they're looking forward to, but the liberation. The chance to do something was quite intoxicating to a young soul, hot on the trail of freedom. 

I'm quick to remind myself of our different upbringings. Verando had stepped into this role knowing he must take lives to get what he needed, and I had been forced into it with the understanding that my participation would slow that process.  

The pessimist and the optimist rest on our shoulders, and I believe that's why we work well together, capable of seeing both sides, even if we don't always agree. 

"Maybe they will find a way to do it with as little killing as possible. It's frowned upon in this day and age; at least now they can prove who did it. I hope we will be pleasantly surprised. Truth be told, I was wondering more about your thoughts on Helen and Tyler." I press on, determined for an honest evaluation, which he seems reluctant to give. 

Taking my hand in his, he brings it to his lips and kisses my knuckles. 

"I'm unhappy with it. With all of it. Nothing is going the way it was supposed to, and now I'm uncertain of which path to take; it's too many moving parts. It's obvious someone has been trying to keep us apart, Red, certainly, but perhaps others as well? 

We keep managing to get separated; I have to believe it's intentional, fighting it causes ripples that I can't predict the outcome of. I'm finding the future very... uncomfortable. It's as if someone knows the script, I can't help but think we are one step behind." 

I really hadn't thought about it that way.

Peering at him through my newly darkened locks, I brush my hair back out of my face to focus better. "As in, someone has seen this before and they're altering it in real time?"

Verando looks uncertain, his eyebrows knitted together, his jaw tight. "Perhaps? It all just feels like organized chaos. When Red told me that she brought back Marisol, what if she did that because we succeeded? You remember your reaction when you found out she was pregnant; you were upset. What if Red knows what's going to happen? I can't help but feel she's done this before."

"I think you're giving her entirely too much credit." I have a hard time believing she could have such an ability. 

She wasn't my sister; there was no way she could control people and see into the future. 

Pursing his lips, he steals a slight glance. "How did she get here? Someone had to be here to open the portal on this side. What if someone else is going forward to see what happens and coming back?" 

My eyes drift down to watch my lap, taking all this in. I pull my coat tighter around my body, considering the possibility of a second solomonari. 

"If there were more, why didn't they come for Tyler?"

"Tyler's been traveling the world with Helen, trying to find us. He wasn't exactly skilled when you found him; he wasn't a threat before. Maybe he doesn't become one?" 

I flashback to the brothel, my eyes widening. 

Red had a collar already; someone had sent a dragon back in time, and she'd found the collar and was coveting it. I place my hand over my mouth, slowly dragging it down to clutch my throat, strangled by the feeling that this was far from over. 

The layers kept piling on, one after another, adding to the turmoil of the fact that this woman was still alive and causing havoc. There was a time when I would have said there was no woman more evil than my sister after what she'd done to me. 

But as the reality of a 'time jumper' settles in, I feel sick. 

"She had a collar." I breathe. "One of the tracking beacons that gave her the idea... she must have communicated with someone," 

Verando says nothing, as if he'd been waiting for me to catch up all along. 

"We need to do something. If this is what is happening, she can see all of our moves, she knows what we're going to do, she knows we're going to get Fergus--" 

I feel the panic begin to climb, and he places his hand on my thigh, squeezing it gently.

"We are going to figure this out. We don't even know if this is what is happening; it's just a theory Marisol had, and I've been building on it. An off-handed comment that it would have worked in her favor if I had loved Marisol the way that I love you, that moment when she kissed me in the cellar..." He sighs, gritting his teeth in regret. 

"When she kissed me, I felt it. There were two options: go with her or stay, and it was clear as day to me which I wanted to do. What if there were a possibility that I would choose the other direction? A timeline in which I went with her?" Scratching his head in frustration, the concept had been eating away at him.

There was a version of him that left me for her. 

"I'm sorry, darling, I've been watching too much telly... What I'm getting at is that our decisions are our own; if she brought Marisol and it didn't change anything, maybe she doesn't know the exact outcome yet. She can only guess?"

The last thing I wanted to hear about was him kissing Marisol, yet I couldn't turn the image off, leaving me spiraling with how things might have gone if he had decided to remain with her.

I wouldn't have been able to defeat Red when we faced off in the city, yet it might not have happened without Marisol bringing me to that point. 

My mind feels turbulent, wheeling out of control with possibilities. I played right into her hands like a fool-- an idiot. I turned him away, risking everything. 

There was a time when my hot-headed warlord wouldn't have forgiven me so quickly. I suppose that is in my favor; she doesn't know him, she doesn't know who we have both become. 

Red can only play with what she's seen since she knew us. As we pull into the driveway, I feel anger wash over me. 

I hadn't been kind to her when she was in the brothel; she'd beat the man I loved, and I wanted to see her suffer. 

Could revenge span over so many years?

As we enter the home, I remove my jacket, hanging it on the coat rack, then the next one, and finally, I pull off my sweater. Watching as he removes his coat and hangs it in the closet, my eyes are unseeing. 

"Don't think so much into it, darling, we've done it before and we'll do it again. If any of this is true and not just some crazy theory, then the fact that she brought Marisol back proves we have succeeded."

Kissing my forehead, he removes his watch and sets it neatly on the counter. I slide out of my shoes and steal over to the couch to grab the remote and search 'Super hero' on the menu. 

Rolling his eyes at my interest in such things, he departs, and I force myself not to watch him leave. I need to look into this; I should conduct some research while it's still fresh in my mind. Thankfully, he has the night routine of a grandmother, and he insists on meticulously placing his clothes in designated hampers and restoring order to his home after Marisol roams through it all day. 

I notice the bag of chips and snag one to nibble on as I watch trailer after trailer of these designated videos, trying to decipher the excitement of this youthful group. The nice part about living with a pregnant woman is that she has good taste in treats.

Title after title flashes across the screen, unbelievable people in unfortunate circumstances. The movies are action-packed and fast-paced, with explosions and drama-filled tales of hidden identities and self-turmoil. 

It was quite a romantic thought to be a lone vigilante in charge of protecting a city from evildoers. Little did people know these things did happen. They were just written off as natural disasters or tragedies. It wasn't common knowledge that these people existed in some form or another. 

As Verando returns, he's in his boxer briefs and a simple t-shirt. Flopping on the couch beside me, he relinquishes his findings of sweat pants and one of his personal shirts that I happily accept. 

"What are the chances of you coming to bed?" My warlord requests, though his tone already reflects his acceptance of defeat.

The attempt is half-hearted as I scramble out of my clothes and into my stolen goods. 

"I'd like to do some research." I manage through the muffle of the shirt.

 With a sigh, he reclines into the corner of the overly plush couch and offers me his hand. I accept as he pulls me into his lap, and I lean my head back against his chest. 

"You don't have to stay up." I flush, peeking up at him. 

"I'm not going anywhere without you; I can be comfortable anywhere." Folding one hand behind his head, he reaches with the other for the end table and produces a pen and notepad. "Notes, I'd assume?"

Wrinkling my nose at him childishly, I roll over to lie face down and rest the pad on his broad chest. "You make a mighty fine table, Mr.Mercer." 

Selecting a movie, I press play to hide from his prying gaze. Suddenly feeling shy around him, I was exposed to how one might feel before a long-anticipated kiss. 

Perhaps it was because he hadn't kissed me yet? 

As the movie begins, I feel almost silly watching this with him. It's not his thing, more so something he would never be interested in. Fantasy and a lack of realism had never appealed to him, nor did the independent hero. I can almost fathom the boredom and do my best to focus on anything but the hard body beneath me. 

The gentle rise in his chest, the warmth radiating so invitingly into my body, as the scene shifts from a man fighting crime to being passionately entwined with a woman, I'm stunned by the fact that I haven't been exposed to this kind of television before. 

I'd never even seen two people have sex, let alone know that it was broadcast on television for the world to see. When I finally managed to pry my eyes away from the floor, amidst the heavy breathing and calls to a god, I noticed his eyes were closed, and his lips slightly parted. 

He's either asleep or pretending to be; I fast-forward and try to block the images from my mind.

_________________________________________ 

I'm brought to consciousness sometime later by the jerking of his body under me. The trailer plays on repeat, and the sun spills in from the large windows towards the back of the house. His jaw is taut, and his body is covered in sweat, soaking through his shirt and rendering me sticky.

 Verando's chest heaves, heart pounding as his muscles contract and spasm under me. Slowly rocking back, I sit on his hips. Brushing my fingers over his cheek, I sleepily rub my eye with the back of my hand. 

"Babe, wake up. You're having a bad dream." I attempt gently. 

A low growl rumbles in his chest, and I pat him more firmly.

"Randy," I say a little louder. 

"Nic." He almost pleads, effectively breaking my heart. 

"Randy, wake up." I shake him this time, and he jerks awake, gripping my wrist with his free hand. I wait patiently, praying that my poor limb is still attached as he releases me and comes to the realization that I'm still here. 

Panting, unable to take his eyes off me before zeroing in on my hair, Verando recoils in horror at my new appearance. 

"Alright, now I don't feel bad for you." I move to get off of him, but he grips me, pulling me back down to envelope me in his arms.

"I'm sorry, darling, I forgot... I forgot you were even here, truly." 

Plucking his shirt, I frown at his state. "You're having nightmares again? You're soaked-- I'm soaked. What were you dreaming about?"  

"The agony of sleeping on a couch when I have a rather lovely bed." My warlord responds with a yawn, stretching in protest of his aching body, his muscles and joints pop in a way that makes me shudder. "I'm stiff as a board." 

Caught off guard by such a startlement, I grind against his hips with a coy smile, before shrugging. "I've seen better."

It's one of the few times I've seen him blush, and he clears his throat, embarrassed. "It's the morning...." 

My hand slides back to rest on his thigh as I lean back in appreciation for the way his shirt clings to that well-defined physique. My hand promptly lands on the squishy, furry little cat curled sweetly against his thigh. 

In horror and disgust, I spring off of him at a speed I didn't find myself capable of and land unceremoniously on the floor in a heap of bristled panic. Brought back to reality by the hearty chuckle he gets from my theatrics, the man dares to stroke the still-purring cat.  

"Churro." Verando scolds affectionately.

"Churro?" I demand, frustrated at his lack of concern for my physical state. Stroking the cat, he lifts it to put it on the back of the couch. 

"It's a sweet treat... with brown sugar and fried."

"Oh, that makes so much sense. Churro, the cat. Why do you even have a cat?" 

As if the answer was so obvious, he rolls his eyes at my lack of vision. "Um, he's adorable. Have you looked at him?" Stroking the furry little belly, the siamese mewls, pawing at his hand like the devil that it is. 

Standing up in offense, I take my leave to go and shower, as it seems the two of them need a moment alone.

I hear him jump up to follow me, and I'd almost be tempted to slam the door in his face if I weren't missing him so badly. I can't explain why I'm so unreasonably mad about a cat, why it causes me so much malice, but the thought of him finding comfort in anything but me was a selfish emotion I couldn't quite put into words.

I felt as though I had been replaced, yet he would be livid if I got a dog.

Verando pulls off his clothes, stepping into the shower. I follow behind him, and he promptly steps back to give me space as if I were capable of harming him. 

"Am I to understand that you do not like Churro?"

More than anything, it had altered my persona that I'd built for him. Verando was always an entirely masculine entity, though I'd seen him play with children; picturing him cuddling with a furry animal had thrown me through a loop in more ways than one. 

"I guess I've just never seen a feminine side to you? I didn't think you'd have a cat, and I didn't think you'd name it something so silly. It's not that I don't like the cat, it's just... a pet? Really? I would think that would go against your moral ethics."

"Furry companion, darling, pet is so derogatory." His serious expression makes me pause. "Feminine?" The gray-haired man, the picture of male health, tests the phrase. "Can't say I was expecting that one."

Annoyed, I press my hands to his chest and shove him firmly against the tiles. "Can we talk about something else? Anything else? Like, why haven't you kissed me yet?" I demand, attempting to pull him to me, yet he resists. "Seriously, why haven't you kissed me yet?"

His expression darkens, as if he had hoped I'd move on without that minor detail. For a moment, panic sets in, and I touch my hair, but he quickly takes my hand, kissing my knuckles. "It has nothing to do with how you look, love."

"What then? Are you just pissed at me? Because if that's the case, then have at it--"

"I'm punishing myself." Verando finally allows, cringing at my expression. "It's my fault that Red is still alive; it's my fault that she tried to kill you. I should have ended her; I should never have given her another chance, so I'm punishing myself for the damage I've caused. How can I forgive myself after she almost..." Hesitating, he captures my face in his hands, gritting his teeth audibly.

 "Pretending as if you were dead has been excruciating, and I deserve it. I should never have let her go."