The station was emptying. All fled, and those who didn’t shortly regretted their lack of foresight. Vasilia flew down the corridors of the Yakanov unimpeded now, accompanied only by the crashing, shattering chaos of an army in full retreat.

Then, amid the noise: Downbeats, to an unconventional time signature. No machinery ever broke so  clean, if you had the ear to catch the pattern. A sign of the Starsong. A call for allies. Which meant-! 

Vasilia snagged a pipe to send herself tearing down the corridor, towards the rhythm, towards the sound, towards, 

“Dolce!”

She careened down the hallway, and a  flash of white streaked towards her, and when they met it was with all the force of a soft summer breeze. At last. At last! Alive! On his feet! Hardly a hair out of place! Let her bury her face in that precious wool. Let her check, let her count the curls, let not a one be missing. Against her bare stomach, she felt him. His mouth, straining to form words. Hands,  gentle, insistent, pushing away. Giving him room to see. And stare, mouth agape. “What...what happened? Are you alright?”

“Fine now, darling.” She wouldn’t let him go. Not yet. Her one good arm snaked around his shoulders and pressed him close to her, heedless of how it stung her or stained his vest. “Fine now. Are you in danger? When did you last see Alexa? We’re not safe here-”

“I know, but-”

“Good, good, less time to explain.”

“We don’t have to-”

“I’ve fought this far, I can manage farther. So tell me; what’s the situation?” 

He said nothing.

“...Dolce? Darling?”

He reached up, and stroked her arm gently, the most priceless treasure he’d ever been tasked with caring for. “Everyone’s safe now.” He soothed, in his warm, crackling fireside voice. “We won. We don’t need to do anything more.” He turned his eyes on her, and for the first time she noticed them glistening. “Vasilia...what did she do to you?”

Aphrodite. Who knows the secret voice within us all. Nothing and no one hides from your sight. Hear her, now, when no one else will believe her. You who have drawn her heart out as drawing a dagger from her chest. Let her testimony stand that she gave no thought to her actions. No motive, no scheme, no shameful plot crossed her mind. She ached. She acted. He did nothing wrong. And she drew away from him, only because she could not bear feeling him beside her a moment longer. Not when her neck drowned in steaming memory.

And her prayers were answered.

Dolce’s eyes flashed wide, shocked, but only for a moment. Blessedly, only for a moment, before they drew softer. Before he took her hand in his. Before he fought through a waking nightmare to offer his most battered and patient smile. All for her.

And her prayers were answered.

“Come.” He said, and already he’d teased the first finger loose from the pistol. “We ought to regroup with Alexa and the others.” He took the divine weapon in his own hand, leaving the other to clasp hers. “It’s over, now. We will get you to an autosurgeon. All will be well. I promise.”

And her prayers were answered.

Her Dolce did not leave her. Alight with insight and no way to know any better, he walked for the both of them. For the Captain whose strength had all but left her. For the one he swore to be ever faithful and true. And all the marvels of Hermes, the spite of Demeter, and the plans of Artemis combined did not wound her deeper than the gentle hand of Aphrodite.