[center][h3][i][b]A Walk In The Dark - [color=82ca9d]Grace[/color] & [color=ed1c24]Cillian[/color][/b][/i][/h3][/center]
[i]A Collab By [@The New Yorker] & Me[/i]
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	At the invitation from Cillian, one that Grace would not refuse, she smiled at his words, how he teased her for waking them all with her big-mouth as he put it. He still sounded the same, after all, she was just as loud back on Falkirk as she was now, that was something neither of them could forget, yet she was pleasantly surprised that he had teased her like so. She rose to her feet, dusting off the seat of her pants now covered with sand, and set out with Cillian into the dark of the night. As they strode along side-by-side, Grace kept quiet until they were well out of the way from camp before she began to explain what had awoken her.

“[color=82ca9d]I don’ mean to wake ye, I really don’.[/color]” She began, pausing in her steps as she gazed at Cillian, his eyes were darker, without the presence of light, and had she not known him, she would have felt a twinge of fear. Of course, Grace O’Faolain never felt fear, or so she liked to believe. “[color=82ca9d]I couldn’t sleep right, ‘tis hard to come by these days. I ‘eard footsteps, at first I thought it was just Emmett sneaking out for a piss. Then I ‘eard a second set, much smaller, so I assumed it had to be Floure. Well, by then, I couldn’t sleep worth shit, so I got up meself, and I went for a piss. While I was out there mindin’ my own business, I ‘eard voices. I thought to meself, that it must be slavers or someone else stalkin’ us. So I went to go find out who it was. When I found ‘em, there was Floure and Emmett lockin’ lips, ‘course I don’ think nothin’ o’ it. I picked up Emmett’s bag, convinced that if I took his bag, he’d have to come back to camp…[/color]” She started walking again, not wanting anyone nearby that may have strayed after them to hear what she had to say. A gentle breeze blew across the sands, the sound rustling through the stunted desert scrubs.

“[color=82ca9d]Cillian… Emmett’s usin’ the Desert Flower.[/color]” Here she reached into her pocket and procured the flower that had fallen out of Emmett’s bag when she lifted it from the desert floor. “[color=82ca9d]Floure tried to protect him, and Emmett, that damned idiot, lied straight to my face. Said they were out pickin’ flowers, that Floure needed a flower that only bloomed at night, and he picked the wrong one. I took the flower with me, and I gave him back his bag… I don’ know if he has anymore innit, as I don’ have the chance to look. If he doesn’t, then he’ll start withdrawals dependin’ on how bad his dependency. I don’ think Rook knows what he’s gotten himself into. That’s why ye heard me yellin’ so loud.[/color]”

Cillian walked briskly along the desert floor, the fine grained sand crunching under his feet as a wafting cloud crossed the moonlight casually. Grace's comment on not getting enough sleep perked Cillian's ears. For normal people, doing the things that Cillian had done would make it so they couldn't sleep at night either. Was that what had happened to Grace? Cillian felt a knot of embarrassment tying itself in his stomach. He slept so well because his imagination could work freely in his subconsciousness without the beating weight of clear-thinking and rationalism. Cillian's deep sleeping was a sort of coping mechanism his body developed in order to grant respite from the constant guilt which wracked his waking mind, it was a horrific truth which he counted among his few blessings. He didn't envy Grace her normalcy or stability now. 

Cillian's mind focused on the present moment as Grace mentioned taking Emmett's bag. She began walking and Cillian followed hesitantly behind, he wondered if she had realized that he'd blanked out. He knew she hadn't when she said the next thing. She was so somber as she spoke about the desert flower and Emmett's lies, she looked so brilliant in the moonlight now as her hair billowed in the light wind. When she finished speaking she looked exasperated, though he wasn't sure if it was because of the situation or something else. 

"[color=ed1c24]Rook should know,[/color]" Cillian said simply, his world traveled accent biting in the darkness.

     As she came to a stop this time around, the silvery beams of moonlight that filtered down through the lone cloud drifting across the black velvet sky illuminated the petals of the Desert Flower. Pinched delicately between her thumb and forefinger, her gaze shifted from the flower to Cillian.

"[color=82ca9d]Aye, I ought to tell him. That's what has me so torn, Cillian. I want to help the boy, after all, he may not that be far into his addiction, he might be able to recover without much notice from the others. O' course I don' want to be held responsible for his behavior when things go south, eh?[/color]" With a heavy heart-felt sigh, Grace pocketed the flower again, careful not to crush it.

"[color=82ca9d]Enough o' that talk, that's all that had me riled up tonight. I'd rather talk about ye. Ye' r told me that ye used to live in Lusk, why did ye come all the way to Red Rock? Did ye get into some sort o' trouble?[/color]" She prayed that she hadn't touched on a delicate topic, after all, while she knew Cillian, she had no clue what he had gone through, or the man he became. Even now, as her storm grey-blue eyes fixated upon him, she noted the way he covered his hands with cloth wraps. She had seen the scars on his knuckles before in daylight, but now, in the dark of the night, he appeared a different man. Yet, she couldn't place why she felt like this around him, was it fear? Was it lust? Was it the sheer excitement of seeing her long lost lover again after all these years? Perhaps.

Cillian could see how moral and ethical imperatives were conflicting in Grace's mind. She was compelled to halt Emmett's addiction, but just as compelled to maintain professional boundaries. As a navigator, Grace required a level of trust from her party members that no one beside perhaps Rook could empathize with, and maybe not even then. Of course the difference between Grace and Rook was that Grace actually retained that trust, and this little event was poised to ruin it for her. She wanted to talk about him, but Cillian knew what was important right now. 

"[color=ed1c24]Hand me the flower, Grace.[/color]" He said suddenly. "[color=ed1c24]We can talk about me some other time.[/color]" His bandaged hand held out in the dry air, Cillian smiled briefly. "[color=ed1c24]I'll take care of this problem with Emmett. You need to stay focused.[/color]"

	Slender, arched copper brows rose in unison at his words. He wanted to help her? Of course he would, she wasn't expecting an answer like that so suddenly. Without any form of hesitation, she gingerly plucked the flower from her trouser pocket, and handed it over without complaint to him, her fingertips brushing against his extended hand, and then, of her own accord, Grace placed her hands around his bandaged hand, and curled his fingers around the flower, careful not to crush it. A ghost of a smile danced across her lips as she gazed up at him, she didn't mind that he brushed the subject of himself away, she would do the same; while they were both tall, Grace still felt smaller by his broad shoulders and muscular build. His arms were twice as thick as hers, and the span of his chest could fit two of her heads upon them, if she had two heads that is.

"[color=82ca9d]Cillian, thank ye.[/color]" Her voice soft with empathy. "[color=82ca9d]Ah, I know yer right. Did I tell ye how I found that blasted map? Readin' a book I was, when all of a sudden, it slipped out of the leather cover. I heard rumors of an expedition starting up with the lead explorer by the name of Rook Warde. 'Course I didn't think anything of it, I grew tired with sailing the waters around Falkirk, Raughlaih, and Dunohwain. I've been as far as the coast, north o' Red Rock, but I've never seen anything beyond.[/color]" She wanted to say so much more, but she couldn't even think of the words to say, she wasn't even sure it would matter to him. With a drifting gaze, she found herself staring at their feet, numb with uncertainty.

Cillian gingerly wrapped Grace's arm around his own, and led her back to the camp without hesitation. He felt the peddles of the flower tickling the inside of his palm, opened his soft fist and saw the flower there in his hand, dancing in the soft wind. He closed his fist again and carefully tracked their path back the way they came. He chuckled as he thought of the current situation he was in. Guiding his hometown sweetheart by the arm in a far off land, a decade later, a flower given to him by her providing a deep warmth in his hand. If it weren't for his annoyance at Emmett and his peeking paranoia of hidden assailants he could be giddy. 

He'd done this with Grace before, some ten years ago. She'd talk about her life into excess and Cillian would simply feel honored to have listened to her, after which time he would lead her back home. It was a familiar thing, and in some ways infantilizing. He felt like a foolish man-child again, one who'd never experienced sacrifice or loss. He felt stupid. He removed her arm from his under the pretense of placing the flower in one of his belt pouches. As he did they breached the firelight from the camp. 

"[color=ed1c24]You should try getting some sleep. I'm going to take a look over this ridge,[/color]" Cillian said, referencing a mound of sand which sat behind the camp.

	With his arm entwined with hers, Grace did not withdraw from him. Instead, she allowed herself to be led back to the boundaries of the camp. When the light of the campfire appeared like a beacon in the dark, her heartbeat faltered, she did not wish for this moment to end. It felt...painstakingly familiar. Just like the time when they had tied their horses to the branches of a hawthorn tree on the moors, and went for a long stroll across the rolling green hills, the way he listened to her while she prattled on had always soothed her heart. Yet she felt a pinch of guilt, for he had always listened to her, and what of him? Had he no pains of his own? Alas, that would be dealt with in due time, Cillian was a stoic, patient man, a man of little words when he meant to be. She leaned into him, the crown of her copper tresses resting against his bicep, their footsteps falling in rhythm.

	When they came to a stop just outside the circle of light from the campfire glow, Grace pulled away and gazed up at Cillian, her eyes searching his own, for what, she could not say. Perhaps an answer that her heart longed to hear? Whatever the reason, she could only manage a smile at his own words. “[color=82ca9d]I will try, if sleep will come. G’night then. Be careful out there, eh?[/color]” With that, she rose up on the toes of her boots, wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace before releasing him all at once. She gave his forearm a gentle squeeze before turning to face the fire, and entered the camp. She did not speak another word to anyone left awake in the camp, and headed straight for her bedroll, where she climbed beneath the sewn-on wool cover that served as her blanket. For a while, she could only look at the twinkling stars above her, as if they would provide the answer for all her problems that she had sought for in Cillian’s dark eyes. She twisted and turned for what seemed like hours, but was only minutes, before the familiar heaviness of sleep encroached upon her tired eyes. She tucked her arm beneath her head, and with one final thought, she knew that deep within, she still loved Cillian.