Mending

Three weeks. That's how long it takes for the alliance to shift from emergency mode to something that looks like routine.

The patrols are regular now. Killin, Balboch, Drymen, Mugdock. Rotating coverage. Shared intelligence. Joint supply runs that come back with fewer losses because there are more eyes on the roads.

I'm on the road more than I'm in the castle. Coordinating. Translating. Carrying manifests and messages between settlements. The horse I've been assigned is a patient mare who doesn't startle at crossbow fire. I've named her Nothing, because that's what she responds to.

None of it is glamorous. It's the same numbers, the same routes, the same arguments about grain distribution and patrol frequency and who's responsible for maintaining the western bridge.

It works.

They don't like each other. They need each other. That's what holds.

---

Zoe finds me in the stables. I'm brushing down Nothing after a run to Balloch. The mare stands patient and warm in the cold air.

"You're spending a lot of time with that horse."

"She doesn't argue with me about grain allocations."

"Maybe I should try that approach." Zoe leans against the stall door. She's been working double shifts in the medical bay since the defence. The dark circles under her eyes have dark circles.

"How's Dr. Fraser?"

"Overworked. We all are." She pauses. "I wanted to talk to you. Not about work."

I set down the brush. Turn to face her. The distance between us is different now. Negotiated. We've found a shape that works.

"I've been thinking about what I said. In the warehouse. About not knowing how to be your friend."

"I remember."

"I think I was wrong." She shifts her weight. Uncomfortable in a way I haven't seen from her since before the cabin. "Not about the not knowing. About the framing. I said it like friendship was this thing we had to figure out from scratch. Like what we had before didn't count."

What did we have before?

"We survived together. We kept each other alive. You taught me how to shoot. I kept you from starving. We talked about nothing and everything in that cabin, and it was the realest thing I've ever had with another person."

The cabin. The piano. The cold mornings and the hot chocolate and the arguments about whose turn it was to check the perimeter. It feels like another lifetime. It feels like yesterday.

"I don't want to go back to that," she says. "We can't. Too much has happened. But I don't want to pretend it didn't exist either."

"What do you want?"

She considers. Really thinks about it.

"I want to know who you are now. Not who you were in the cabin. Not who you were when you had the knife. Who you are now, today. And I want you to know who I am now. Not the vet. Not the person you saved. Me."

That's the most honest thing anyone's ever said to me.

"I'd like that," I say.

"Good." She pushes off the stall door. "Because I'm not saying it again. That was exhausting."

"Friends, then."

"Friends." She says it like she's testing the word. "Yeah. I think we can manage that."

She leaves. I turn back to Nothing. The mare looks at me with large, incurious eyes.

"What?" I say. "It's a start."

---

Evening. The great hall. It's warmer than it used to be. All those bodies give off heat. People from different settlements eat together, share stories, compare notes on survival.

I'm at a table near the wall. Old habits. Anya sits down across from me.

"Busy day?"

"Balloch needs more crossbow bolts. Killin wants our grain surplus. Drymen is complaining about patrol overlaps again."

"The exciting life of a coordinator." She steals a piece of bread from my plate. "I heard you and Zoe talked."

"News travels fast."

"It's a small castle. People talk." She takes a bite. "How'd it go?"

"We're friends."

"Friends." She says it carefully. Like she's measuring the word against something else.

"That's what she said."

"And what did you say?"

"I said I'd like that."

Anya nods slowly. Her eyes are on me. Steady. Clear.

"Jamie."

"Yeah?"

"I'm not going to ask you anything tonight. I'm not going to push anything. I just want you to know that when you're ready for something that isn't friendship, I'll be here."

She's not rushing. She's not waiting. She's just... present.

"I know."

"Good." She finishes the bread. Stands. "Don't let it get cold."

She walks toward the kitchens. I watch her go.

When you're ready.

I might already be ready. I'm not sure. The thought of it sits differently than it used to. Low and steady in my chest. The kind of thing you build on.

Not tonight. But soon.

I eat my dinner. It tastes like something.

---

Later. Much later. I'm on the wall again. The same wall. Different night.

Hugh finds me there.

"You did good, kid."

He says it simply. No elaboration. No context needed. We both know what he's talking about. The defence. The alliance. The coordination. The radio room. All of it.

"I had help."

"Everyone does. That's the point." He leans against the wall next to me. "The alliance is holding. Kirsten wants to formalise it. A proper agreement. Shared resources, mutual defence, regular coordination meetings."

"What about Callum?"

"Callum came around after the defence. Hard to argue with results." He looks out at the dark. "You know what I keep thinking about?"

"What?"

"Ewan MacLeod. Nineteen years old. Dead on a frozen field because I asked people to stand together instead of alone."

He's carrying it too. Every death. Every decision.

"His mother wrote to us. To the alliance. She said he believed in what we were doing. She said he'd want us to keep going."

"Did she?"

"Mhairi told me. Killin delivered the letter."

Hugh is quiet for a long time. The wind moves through the gaps in the stone. Below us, the castle lives. People talking, eating, surviving. The ordinary business of staying alive.

"This is home," I say. I don't know I'm going to say it until I do.

Hugh looks at me. Not surprised. Just... noting it. Filing it away.

"Good," he says. "It's about time you noticed."

He walks away. I stay on the wall. Looking out at the dark. Feeling the cold. Touching the leather cord in my pocket.

The alliance holds. The patrols run. The supply convoys come and go.

It's just the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.

The cold hasn't let up. It probably won't for a long time.

We're still here.