Fia wrinkled his nose at the smell of blood, not his own for once. Trickles of red in his hotel sink had finally dissipated to pink, and were nearly gone in the clear water and glimmering suds. He'd washed his hands raw in the water, but it was worth it.

Even if he'd only managed to kill one, the rest of them knew not to come looking for him.

The Springer flicked the excess water off his fingertips and shut the faucet off with his wrist before he grabbed a towel and patted his hands dry. He wiped his bruised nose too, shivering a little and suppressing the lingering pangs of guilt. It wasn't the first time he'd killed.

He was hoping it would be the last.

Even in self-defense, blood on his hands never seemed to wash off cleanly.

Fia dropped the towel on the counter and looked over the white marble top, making sure he'd cleaned up every trace of blood, both red and blue. As he looked, he noted his figure in the full-length mirror.

He stood quietly for a moment, looking at the battered, bloodied and bruised man that reflected back at him. His cheeks were darkened to nearly purple, so was one eye socket. His lips were split and scabbed, and his nose still had dark spots where black bruises were sure to form. He'd gotten new scars that day, and he'd given some too.

He looked away.

No amount of blood on his hands, however, would deter him from defending Yann. He was willing to die for her. He was more than willing to kill for her. If they wanted to threaten him, he could run, hide, and escape.

But if they came for her...

They would be the ones running. They'd never be able to hide, and they'd only die tired.

Fia patted his hands on his pants and turned to the bathroom door.

He glanced at the mirror once more, and exhaled.

Tired eyes looked back at him. Weary eyes.

It'd been worth it. But only because of what was in the next room.

Fia turned the knob and stepped inside.

The smell of powerful alcohol filled his nose, the dim and warm light from his personal back room at The White Dunes illuminating Yann as she sat on the edge of their bed. Her once-crisp newsroom shirt was creased and stained with tears, her shoes tossed to the side and her drink untouched. The sheets were bunched up from where she had been clenching them, and her eyes only jumped up to meet his for a moment.

Fia felt his heart tug.

"Yann..." He said softly, starting to pace towards her. "You need to eat. Or at least stay hydrated." He said, nudging her glass of vodka.

She nodded.

"I know." She mumbled, not looking at him.

Fia bit his lip.

"Are you upset with me?"

Yann looked up at him.

Fia met eyes with her. He felt his chest tighten, his instincts demanding that he remedy each tear.

"No." She said, her voice still raw. "I'm just..."

Her voice cracked, and so did his heart.

He sat, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and letting her lay her cheek on his chest.

Yann tried to wrap her arms around Fia, her whole frame trembling as tears wetted Fia's shirt.

"I-I-I'm scared."

She swallowed, and quietly cried for a minute.

"I'm scared for you. And for us." She took in a shaky breath, "What if we don't make it out?"

Fia stroked the back of her head quietly, soothing her and holding her close.

"Don't worry." He said, looking across the room at his weapon.

"We will."

She clutched him tighter, and he held on gently even though his love demanded he grab on tight. He wasn't losing her. He wasn't losing his family, his heart.

He'd already lined everything up. They had their escape. He'd covered his tracks, Quix had helped. They were safe, and he'd gone to great lengths to make sure of it. They would be off-world soon, enjoying a new life. Now, all they had to do was wait.

Fia looked at Yann, and stroked the back of her neck. He saw her tears and felt his heart turn in his chest. He grimaced and pulled her tighter.

He didn't want to wait to comfort her. He'd done all of this for her. He'd spent his time, his money, and his blood on her. Seeing her shed tears in his arms sent shivers of icy sadness across his skin and made his soul ache to comfort hers. There had to be some way...

An idea sprang to mind.

His face brightened.

"Hey..." he said, stroking her neck again. "We both need to unwind, and celebrate a little." He said, touching her chin up so she'd meet his eyes.

"We're gonna be parents, and I got our way out." He said. "We deserve a little break."

Yann sniffed, and cocked her head.

"It's not much," he said, standing up and marching to his dresser. "But I think we should get dressed up a bit, hit the restaurant, and maybe the bar."

Fia pulled open a drawer, and took out a poorly folded dress shirt he'd been saving. He held it up for her to see, and caught a tiny, fleeting glimpse of a smile on her face. He decided to press for it.

The former-MLA thug marched back to the bed, gave her a polite bow and offer his hand playfully.

She sniffed up a tear, giggled tenderly, and took his hand.

"May I take you to dinner, my lovely lady?"