give a damn, worth a damn.

[Danicka] They have had some fights in their day. In the past two years they, like any couple that gives a damn or is worth a damn, argue. But they don't argue about wet towels on the floor or putting the dishes in the washer wrong or ignoring the obvious organization of the linen closet while putting away laundry. To some extent, that's something they have to be grateful for: they know what matters, and they only argue about the things that do.

The downside is that when they fight, it matters. There's no point where they can simply set aside their differences as not really all that important, learn to accept each other's quirky little foibles, and move on with their day with a renewed committment to making sure that if you finish the milk,you at least have the courtesy to put milk on the grocery list. When they fight, it sometimes feels like everything is at stake. Someone has to give, someone has to bend, and by god if they don't then everything will break.

Most of the times that they fight, it comes down to the simplest and most destructive of differences: they don't see the world in the same way. They don't deal with the world in the same way. And if it seems like there's no way to get around that, the only explanation for why they're still together is that ultimately, they want the same thing. They value strength. They are ferociously protective. They want a family. They want each other. They've made the choice over and over, at every turn, during every conflict, against every obstacle, that as vicious as their fighting can get and as difficult as they know their lives are going to be, this is worth it.


It's one very long Saturday before they talk again. During that time it's entirely possible they trade a few text messages; they both know better than to simply cut off all contact when any second, they could lose each other. That's just their life. Which is, ostensibly, worth it.

Danicka's, at least, go something like this:

I'm sorry I walked away.
I was angry, and we weren't getting anywhere.
I want to talk to you, but I need some time.


Maybe things will be better when they're under sunshine and not moonlight. Maybe things will be better as Luna starts to wane away from Lukas's phase. Maybe things will be better when they're not standing out in forty-degree weather. Maybe things will be better when, on Sunday afternoon, Danicka shows up at the Brotherhood and knocks -- if only to let Lukas know, if he's inside, that she's coming in. She lets herself in. Nothing between them is so marred that she has to suddenly act like a stranger to him.

She's wearing her hair in a braid, a rare thing. She's carrying a small tray from the kitchen, not for the sake of appearances but because somewhere along the line she figured out the genius tactic of placing two bowls full of hot stew and two beers and a couple of napkins on a single mode of transport rather than trying to balance everything on her forearms. It also helps, when she walks over to his bed, to give it all a steady flat surface to rest on while she crawls onto the mattress.

If he's sitting in bed, she sits facing him, cross-legged on top of the covers. And if he's anywhere else, she waits for him. She doesn't ask him to come sit with her if he doesn't on his own. Regardless: she's brought food and beer, and she takes a brief gauge of his mood before she starts to talk to him. It's clear enough, in part because she makes it clear, that she's not exactly happy.

"I'm a very good liar," she says, her voice measured. "And the reason I'm able to be convincing is that I understand people. They believe what they want to believe, and neither you nor I is exempt from that no matter how aware we are of that.

"Now about the other night," she continues, with a sigh. "When you told me that I wasn't there, I admitted that no, I wasn't. I was furious with you when a few minutes later, and repeatedly, you snapped at me that I wouldn't acknowledge that. That was the point when I was done talking to you. You weren't listening to me and frankly, there was no sense in continuing the discussion if you were just going to hear what you wanted to hear." There's still tension in her. Frustration -- with the situation. But, bluntly, with him.

"I want to talk to you about this," Danicka says, quieting her voice again. "But only if you agree to stay calm, and take a break if you can't. I need you to listen to what I'm actually trying to say, and try to believe that the only reason I said anything last night was not to attack you or lecture you because I disapproved of you, but because I care about you and want to help you. If you can hear what I'm saying from that perspective, and not the stance that I'm out to condemn or judge you, then we can talk about this. And if you can't, then we're just going to end up yelling at each other again, and not getting anywhere."

Danicka's brows pull together. "Lukáš, miluji tě. Já jsem vždy na vaší straně."

[Lukas] There are text messages during the day they don't see each other - small apologies like stepping-stones, reforging a bridge that had the night before been so threatened by a flood of anger.

I'm sorry I got so angry, his read. I'm sorry I was irrational by the end, and I'm sorry I frightened you.


When she comes to the Brotherhood, it's early afternoon. There's no answer when she knocks, but when she opens the door he's pushing himself up in bed, hair tousled, eyes sleepy. He rubs his face as he watches her come closer. Then, wordlessly, he holds his hands out to help her with the tray as she climbs onto the bed.

She sits facing him. His knees tent the covers up -- the soft downfilled comforter she bought him, the sheets she bought him. Because he's her mate. Because she'll care for him not because she has to or because it fulfills some prescribed role of the kinswoman, but because she loves him.

It helps to remember that. It helped, coming home after their fight, to know at least that when he got into bed and turned out the lights.

He reaches out to her as she settles; he draws her forward and wraps his arms around her, mute as an animal, warm with sleep, drowsy and primal still. He holds her for a while until his human mind returns to him, and then he nuzzles her briefly before letting go. They settle again: she crosslegged facing him, he leaning back, putting a pillow between his bare back and the headboard.

There's a growing alertness, intelligence, in his eyes as she speaks. He's listening. He's hearing her. When she's finishing he takes a moment, rubs his hands over his face -- but his eyes skate back to her face as she drops into the language he knew first, before all others, before english and before the language of the wolves. There's a flare of awareness there as her words sink in.

"Vím," he says softly -- a little ruefully. "I just ... "

And he doesn't rush into it. He thinks. Lukas puts his head back, rests it against the wall over the headboard, looks to the side as though he might find the answers written on his closet door. On his desk. He takes the time to arrange his thoughts, to put it all in order; takes the time when last night he just reacted, reacted, reacted.

"I was already very angry by the time we talked. And it was hard for me not to react poorly to everything you said, particularly when ... "

Another pause. He rubs the side of his face, beard bristle scratching his palm; then lowers his hand, looks at her frankly.

"I know this isn't really about Martin. And I know you have something to say to me. But I have to start with Martin, and I have to start by explaining myself. Okay?"

If she nods, he takes another second to think. Then he starts from the beginning:

"It's... hard for me to change my opinion once it's set, good or bad. You must already know that. Everything I've seen from Martin has already led me to form a terrible opinion of him. I know you and I judge people by different standards, and I know you've seen sides of him I haven't, or wouldn't. None of that changes the fact that I don't like him. At all.

"Still, when I saw him at the fountain yesterday, I wanted to bury the hatchet, I suppose. For your sake; for Kate's. But it's not possible for me to simply wipe the slate clean. And maybe my preexisting opinion of him -- and vice versa -- made us both see the worst in each other, and react in ways that escalated the situation.

"That's the first thing I wanted to say.

"The second thing is, regardless of how I got there, I ended my conversation with Martin with a worse estimation of him than I entered with. I was fed up with his insincerity and snideness; with his selfishness and self-righteousness. I was already angry. When you walked away from the conversation, it looked like an act of silent protest in Martin's favor, and that made me feel publicly humiliated on top of everything else. I felt undermined by my own mate."

A pause.

"Betrayed, I suppose."

And another -- a breath drawn.

"And I know that wasn't the case. But that's how it felt. And so by the time we started talking, I was already angry and embarrassed. I was already ready to hear you defend Martin. And when you did, I instantly assumed you'd taken his side from the start, against me. That's why I reacted so badly.

"The last thing I want to say is this. No matter how much I might be superficially irked by Martin's charming personality traits, the bottom line is that if you hadn't slept with him in a way that made me feel so betrayed, I probably wouldn't care nearly as much. I wouldn't care if you disagreed with me; I wouldn't care if he was a dick. I can handle and have handled a lot worse than him without losing my cool because I'm not personally invested. I've defended my honor against all manner of bullshit, but it was always different. No matter how personal it looked, it's always been ... professional, almost, not personal."

A huff of a laugh, dry, ironic: "Even the first time I dunked Martin in a toilet was different. Even that was professional.

"But now Martin's different. He gets under my skin because of the history I know about now. And when you get involved, it becomes painfully personal. I've forgiven you, but I haven't forgiven him. I haven't even come close to forgetting.

"I'm not telling you all this as an accusation. I'm telling you so you understand why my tolerance for Martin is so low. And why, especially when I'm angry, it's so easy for me to lose perspective and to misread and mistrust your relationship with him."

A pause, then. He raises his hands again, rubbing at his face the same way he had. He just woke up, but he looks tired again, as though saying all that -- thinking through it all -- has drained him somehow. After a moment Lukas looks back at his mate.

"But you should know that I do trust you. I know it sounds like I don't, but I do. I love you. I know you love me. I know everything else I might feel in the heat of the moment is just ... shadow and smoke. It's letting that roll off of me that's hard.

"Anyway. That's all I had to say about why I was so angry. If you want to tell me what you were actually trying to tell me the other night, I'll listen now. I can't promise I'll do as you say or even agree, but I'll listen to you."

There's a faint, rueful smile here. He repeats her words back to her like it's ritual, "Because I know you only want to help me."

[Danicka] It wasn't what she was expecting, frankly, when Lukas sleepily, warmly drags her into his arms to snuggle her. She doesn't instantly melt into him, and perhaps that hurts. Maybe he senses the awkwardness that isn't quite resistance, the simple feeling that she's not there yet. That when frustrated, when -- frankly -- angry for several things, before any resolution to them, curling up into his arms doesn't immediately help the way it did when they didn't know how to talk to each other.

Maybe it helps, right now, to know at least that: she loves him. Even if, when Danicka puts her arms around him as well, he knows by instinct it is something she is doing for him, even if it's not what she wants right now. Maybe. Maybe it makes no difference to him.

They part, though, Danicka sitting facing him and Lukas sitting with his back propped and his legs bent. She waits for him to think, because going quickly on this won't help anything. And she listens, because otherwise it won't work at all.

But as he goes on, the tension in her only goes up. Frustration flares to anger at a few points. She lowers her head against steepled fingers, staring past her thumbs at the bedspread, when he talks again of Martin, of feeling betrayed, of the fact that she slept with him once upon a time. Her fingertips are white as he talks of forgiving her, and though Danicka never interrupts or stops Lukas from talking, it's hard to tell if she's listening or just counting to ten to keep herself from taking the step from frustration to outright anger that she never took on Friday night.

Her hands, however, flat out curl into fists and then flex open again slowly at that huff of a laugh as he brings up the goddamn toilet incident. Lukas can't see her face, and that likely only makes this more difficult. Danicka doesn't raise her head until he's getting towards that Anyway, and there's color in her cheeks. She waits for him to finish. There's a rueful, faint smile on his lips as he tells her he'll listen because she only wants to help. There's not much of an expression on Danicka's face, at all.

Strangely, though, she doesn't say anything. It's possible right now she doesn't trust herself to.

[Lukas] No question about this: Lukas is not nearly so attuned, so perceptive of emotion as Danicka is. No question about this either, though: he can feel it when she doesn't immediately melt into his embrace. Not that he expected her, but still -- he can feel that.

He can feel it, too, when what he says doesn't seem to clarify anything for her at all. Only seems to make her more angry. So maybe there isn't much of a rueful smile at the end after all. Maybe there isn't so much of a burden lifting from him as the growing, inescapable realization that --

well. There's no light at the end of this tunnel yet.

Afterward she's silent. And he's watching her, caught somewhere between apprehension and frustration and a mounting impatience. Or perhaps it's simply tension: like pressure before a storm.

[Danicka] It's the mounting impatience she senses that triggers it. Not the anxiety, not even the aggravation, but that sense that his readiness to snap at her is only growing even if his moon is staring to wane -- not enough, though, apparently.

Of course she'd be foolish to attribute this argument to the phase of the moon. But it doesn't help.

Eventually -- and it does take awhile -- all Danicka says is this, and it takes a deep breath and determined quietude to her tone to get it out: "I hear you. I've heard you over and over on this. You're never going to get over the fact that I slept with Martin. You're always going to see it as a matter of me doing something wrong that you've ma--" She stops, pressing her lips together, and thinks better of it: "forgiven me for. And even if you say you know it's not about Martin... for you, it is. It was about Martin and me from the second you saw him, and every single thing since then has been about that."

Danicka shrugs tightly, once, and lets her shoulders fall. "I'm sorry my walking away made you feel undermined and publically betrayed. That isn't what I was trying to do, and I didn't realize it would make you feel that way. I apologize." She takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. She's had one drink of beer; neither of them have touched their stew.

"If you're never going to get over it, and if it warps your perspective this badly, then alright. It's unfair," she admits. "It's unfair to me to have to make this whole part of my life taboo in order to keep the peace with you, which -- before you say anything -- is really how it feels to me. It's unfair to me that after all this time, last night you still threw that 'you chose Martin over me' crap at me. It's unfair that you offhandedly talk of shoving his head in toilet as something 'professional' and, apparently, something kind of funny to you, without quite realizing that was something I had to forgive you for.

"But alright," she whispers. "If it's between someone who matters so much that I didn't even know he was coming back and really have no intention of seeking him out, and between someone who I've nearly died for, then we don't ever have to talk about him again." She sighs. "As long as you agree, too. Because I didn't bring him up -- Friday night or today. You did that. For you, it's about Martin. So right now, I don't want to try talking about the other night, period."

[Danicka] [That 'last night' in paragraph four should be 'the other night']

[Lukas] "Danička," there's a certain tightness in his tone that wasn't there before, "if you'd actually heard what I said, you would have heard me explain why I had to talk about Martin all over again. You would have heard me admit that yes, all this goes back to the fact that you slept with him. You would have heard me admit that yes, I need to get over that, and yes, I'm working on it, but no, I'm not quite there yet.

"You would have also heard me admit I know I shouldn't make this about Martin. And that I'm only bringing all this up so you would understand why I was so angry. And that you would understand that I understood why I was actually angry, and that I need to move on from it. That's what I was trying to get across, Danička: that I'm self-aware enough to know I'm working through this shit still, and I don't want to be mired in it, so I want you to help me look past it and focus on what you were actually trying to tell me.

"At no point was I actively trying to dredge it all up again. It was explanation. It was apology. It was me trying to be open with you, and all you got out of it was that I was blaming you all over again and laughing about something you despised."

A muscle flexes in his jaw. He rubs his thumb along his forefinger, a restless gesture -- wide awake now, not a scrap of sleepiness left to him.

"I wish you'd stop being so defensive about all this. I wish you'd hear me when I'm trying to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but I realized I'm not quite over that shit yet. I'm sorry I'm not over it, and I'm trying."

A long pause.

"But as for forgiveness and fault -- yes. In my mind, what you did with Martin will always be something I have to forgive you for. I understand why you did it. I understand that you thought I hated you, didn't care for you; I understand that you were angry at me and that you felt like you owed your friend something, or maybe just wanted him to stop connecting you to a man you thought hated you. I understand all that, and that's why I can forgive you. But it's not something I can pretend was unimportant or trivial, and it never will be."

[Danicka] It's the second time in the past few minutes that she's been simply unable to look at him in all this. She looks down. She has the heels of her hands against her temples and it hardly matters when, it doesn't seem like there's some particular phrase that's a trigger for it. She just can't look at him.

So when she lifts her head, maybe it's surprising that this time it's not anger in her expression but tears in her eyes. "I am so tired of this," she says, and that's all, but again: "I am so, so fucking tired of this."

[Lukas] "Baby..."

It's a sigh, that. They're still an armsreach apart or more: he with his back to his headboard, lower body under the sheets; she sitting atop the comforters crosslegged. There are tears in her eyes. There's ache in his face, and in his tone.

"I'm tired of it too. I am. I'm tired of getting angry when I think of it. I'm tired of not being able to get over something that happened almost two years ago. But we don't have to talk about it. Just ... understand that that's why I reacted so badly. And let me work through it on my own. Okay?

"If it means anything," he adds after a while, quietly, "I thought I'd moved on until I saw Martin again. It was unexpected, and it jarred me. It's something I'll get over. But I wish you'd tell me what you were really trying to say the night before last. Because if I understood that, then I won't be stuck with this ... raw instinctive reaction that you're just defending him, when I know you're not."

[Danicka] "I think you can be a real self-righteous dick sometimes," she says, and it's blunter than she was going to say before Ilari Martin was brought up again. It's not the way she was going to say it when she walked in today with a peace offering of stew and beer, not quite sure if an omelette and coffee would be better because his schedule is not, has never been, set in stone. Still: food. Something like a peace offering, when she wasn't quite up to trying to bake something.

But that's how it comes out. A blurted, worn-out burst of opinion from her, coming out somewhere between a gasp and a huff, wishing it were or could be humorous. Maybe Lukas won't snap, hearing it. But from the sound of things, she almost seems to expect him to.

Or, maybe not.

"And I know that's harsh, but I'm tired of tiptoeing on eggshells. I try really hard sometimes to tell you what I think and how I feel, even if what I think is that you might actually be in the wrong, and I try to be gentle with you about it, but sometimes the message gets lost and I'm just... tired of this. I don't want to insult you or be mean to you, but I shouldn't feel like I have to be so careful so you don't flip out, especially when I think you're strong enough to handle it."

[Lukas] Lukas doesn't snap. He flinches.

And then he's silent, watching her.

[Danicka] [EMPATHY]
Dice Rolled:[ 7 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8 (Success x 4 at target 6)

[Lukas] [NO YOU CAN'T READ MY POKERFACE.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 3, 3, 4, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Lukas] [...or maybe you can.]

[Lukas] [1) flinch was OW.
2) he's not talking because he's waiting for the other shoe to drop! i think he thinks she's about to give up entirely. several times in the conversation she's made some kinda fatalistic "welp THAT'S IT"/"i'm so tired of this"-type statements, and he's expecting her to either dump him or at least close herself off in a way that'll change everything.]
to Danicka

[Danicka] [...Aww, LUKAAAS.]
to Lukas

[Danicka] Nothing. He flinches, and her eyebrows draw together. It isn't rage. It isn't that burst of fury that so often accompanies something like that from him. It's pain. And he says nothing, as though he's waiting for her to just finish... whatever this feels like, to him. An attack. A ripping. A rending. An ending.

"You're so proud," she says quietly. "If something can be taken as an insult, that's how you take it. If we're all alone, even if we fight, you can bend. If there's even a chance of others seeing or overhearing, you have to put on a show of strength, or... something. And you seem to take some kind of pride in reacting so viciously to even the slightest insult that nobody ever thinks of coming near that line again, even if what you're really doing is acting like a --"

Danicka exhales, a little heavily. "Like a stereotypical Shadow Lord. Scorched earth tactics, killing a whole family for the sin of one son, all of it. And that side of you has always, will always, frighten me. It's a perilously thin line to walk to keep from becoming an all-out monster."

She watches him, knowing that nothing she's saying is going to make him feel ...better. Feel good. And saying it anyway. "Last night the thing I heard that I wanted to bring up to you wasn't that Martin didn't deserve whatever anger you had for him. What I heard was you telling Katherine that you respected her right of discipline, and that you were asking her to deal with it. And when she told you how she was dealing with it, you snapped back that it wasn't good enough. You told her no, deal with it the way I would deal with it. Deal with it like a Shadow Lord. Deal with it the way I think you should."

A pause. "I know you might want to tell me again now that you were dealing with your packmate, but even I know well enough that in this case, you were talking to her as the Silver Fang elder, not as a packmate. You undermined her authority right in front of her kinsman. And I know you well enough, and I remember how you used to be well enough, to know that if your positions were reversed -- if it were me, and some other Garou were bringing me to you for discipline -- you would have torn Katherine or anyone else three new holes for behaving the way you did. And you would have been well within your right to do so.

"That's why I said I was surprised and disappointed," Danicka says quietly, softer now. "And you immediately thought I was talking about how you were treating Martin."

[Danicka] [GAH. I keep saying 'last night' and it WASN'T.]

[Lukas] Like any couple, they fight. Unlike most couples, every time they fight it matters. It's important; it's dire; it could make or break everything.

And he gets so angry sometimes when they fight. He's frightened her more than once. Terrified her, once. Sometimes she needs space just to get away from his rage, his ... viciousness, his brutality. Sometimes he can't make himself let it go long enough to give her that strength, and if she's ever thought of ending this, drawing the line, perhaps it's times like that. It's when he's chasing after her, slamming his hand down on doors, snarling at her back.

It's when he thinks she's thinking of ending it, though, that he becomes quiet. That his anger subsides and becomes a sort of sad wariness, a hushed expectation of the inevitable in which he pulls on every piece of armor he has and hopes she won't see him fall to pieces.

In the end it's scant enough. She sees right through him. She always does.


And there is some measure of relief when the next words out of her mouth aren't I can't take it anymore. When she goes on to explain herself; when it becomes more clear that what she said wasn't an invective, wasn't the leadup to the breakup, but simply the bluntest, harshest manifestation of what she's telling him now. It's hardly a complete relaxation, though. What she says is difficult to hear; but moreso, it's difficult to respond to. He's silent for a while afterward, drawing his knees up under the covers, putting his elbows on them and the heels of his hands on his temples.

"I think you're not going to like what I'm going to say," he says quietly, "but I have to say it anyway.

"I know I react viciously. It's not an accident, nor something I do because I don't know better. It's not something I take particular pride in either, but it is a conscious choice. I do it because it's what I know. It's what I've been taught. It's what works for me, and it's what I believe in.

"I am a Shadow Lord." It's almost a whisper. "Nothing will ever change that. And in the end this is the tribe I chose because I believe there's no such thing as true equality. There's a hierarchy in the world. The strong rise and the weak fall. I believe that.

"Within that framework, I try to be a good man. I try to be just. I try to be gentle when I can. I try to use my strength for what I know is right. For what matters in the long run. I try to be fair -- but not equal.

"And I will not lay down for anyone. I will not yield to those weaker than I. I'm not ... capable of that. That alone is not something I can choose. So I have to structure everything else around that. And I'd rather react overwhelmingly to any hint of transgression from a lesser, because at least then I can still control myself. I can control how far I go. And I can deter any thought of a second trespass so that I never have to do it again. The only other alternative is to bite my instinct back until it one day it consumes me. And then when it finally boils over, I will be a monster."

He rubs his brow with his fingers. Rubs his temples. Then he lowers his hands and looks at Danicka.

"I know it's a dangerous policy that won't win me many friends. I know that it may make me enemies, and one day that will come back to bite me. But I can't imagine living any other way."

A long pause.

"And ... I know it frightens you. But it's different between us. You're my mate. We share a den. Food. Warmth. I'd lay down my life for you, and I know you'd do the same for me. We share, and there's no hierarchy in that.

"Every circle outward from that, though -- my blood, my pack, my Sept, my Tribe -- greater and lesser matters more at each step.

"That's how I am, Danička. I'm sorry. I can't change that."

[Danicka] "I'm not asking you to," she says quietly. "I'm not saying I ever thought it was an accident, either. I know it's a choice, and..." a huff of a laugh here, mirthless. "Baby, everything you just told me, I already know. But I'm talking about the times when it doesn't make you strong, it just makes you look and act like a dick who gets off on crushing others because he can. And I don't think that's who you are, but it's something you have to be careful of. I also don't think there's many other people in your life who are willing or able to tell you when those times are without getting their heads torn off."

[Lukas] Perhaps startlingly, a ghost of a smile flits over Lukas's mouth at that. "Oh," he says; soft and wry. Then he thinks for a moment. "Well... good."

And another silence while he thinks. His eyes are on his hands. His hands are half-folded together, fingers idly moving over one another, lacing and unlacing. After some time, he looks at Danicka again.

"If tables were turned, if someone dragged you before me and then contested my word, I would never stand for it. And while I would sometimes dominate another wolf like that and feel justified -- if I felt I was dealing with a wolf so devoid of honor or respectability that that was the only way to achieve a satisfactory outcome -- that wasn't the case this time. I could have spoken to her after the fact to establish appropriate reparations in private. I could have called for a neutral Philodox to mediate.

"I didn't, and the truth is I wasn't hard on Katherine because I was treating her as a tribal elder who didn't deserve respect. She deserves respect. I know that better than anyone. I was hard on her because I was trying to prove a point to Martin: that when he acts out, she suffers for it."

There's a pause there.

"And that wasn't my place. At most, I should have advised Katherine of it. If she wanted to punish her kin for it, that's her prerogative. If she doesn't mind, then that's her prerogative, too.

"For what it's worth," he adds, "I didn't do it to embarrass her, or to be a bully. But I did it because god knows of all people Katherine has trouble dealing with her kin. I wanted to help. I forgot that she's an Alpha of her tribe and her auspice. She's almost an Adren in her own right. I shouldn't fight that battle for her, and I certainly shouldn't fight it by making an example of her."

[Danicka] Danicka is watching him with expressionless eyes, the sort of blankness he learned to be wary of early on because it so often meant she was drawing away from him, concealing something that she thought might get her smacked. It's when he admits that he was out of line -- that it wasn't his place -- that some of that veil drops from her regard of him.

"I don't think anyone thinks you were trying to be a bully to Katherine," she says to him, with some wryness, when he's finished. "But you need to talk to her about it. And that was the only thing I was trying to talk to you about the other night."

They could leave it there. They could stop, hug, eat stew, cuddle with a couple of beers, and it would be fine. Leave it alone. Let it go. But Danicka takes a deep breath, and she goes back to that taboo, that dangerous swamp, that mire they get so lost in.

"About Martin..." she says, looking down at the stew, still steaming, though less than when she first brought it up. There's cornbread, too, on top of the napkins. "I was defending him to you the other night. I thought, from what I did hear and from what you were telling me yourself, that you were... being unfair. Reacting more to the fact that it was him, The Guy Who Fucked My Mate, more than his actual behavior. I know very well that he doesn't have any reason to like you, either, so... why even bother 'trying to make nice' or whatever it was you were doing." She shrugs, takes a breath, exhales. "I defended him because I thought deeming him outright useless and worthless was going too far. I thought it was based solely on what you'd seen of him, and damn what anyone else knew."

She looks up to him. "Nevermind if your packmate and your mate both seem to think that he isn't completely worthless. Just dismiss that. You're right and they're wrong, because you haven't seen what they've seen. And that was insulting, Lukáš. But you've defended people to me who have shown me their absolute worst sides. Katherine invaded my apartment, abused someone I considered a friend, terrified me, treated me like a whore. Sam could have, and I think would have -- if he'd gotten the chance -- raped me. He hit me. And at some point or another, you defended both of them to me, despite how badly they'd personally disrespected or harmed me. Not because you were choosing them over me, but because you knew them better than I did. You had seen sides of them I never even saw evidence of."

Danicka pauses, taking a small drink of beer. She looks at the mouth of the bottle as she lowers it. "The thing is, that's only part of why I was defending Martin. He's not really a part of my life now. I don't care very much how he feels, but I care how you are. I don't want you to be the sort of man who dismisses someone as worthless just because you don't get along with them and they've never shown you the better side of their nature." She lifts her eyes to his again, meeting them. "But I understand why you reacted the way you did, irrational or not. I understand why hearing me of all people defending Martin felt like getting cut off at the knees. And I'm sorry. I should have thought more about how you would feel about that."

[Lukas] So far, Lukas hasn't touched the food and drink Danicka brought. One might read that as a gesture of implicit rejection, but it's not. He simply hasn't had the presence of mind. He couldn't even think of it when their relationship seemed to hang by a hair.

Now, as she looks at the fare, he looks with her; seems to see it for the first time. He takes one of the beers and unscrews the cap. He breaks off a small piece of cornbread and eats it, chewing thoughtfully, eyes down, as she speaks.

When she looks at him he looks at her. In the sunlight her eyes are blue, too, but even then: a softer hue than his. Not so clear, not so glittering and icy. There are many who wouldn't believe his eyes are ever capable of softness, of gentleness, of love. She is not one of them. She's seen otherwise.

"Thank you," he says, quiet. And then, "I don't really think Martin is utterly worthless. I don't think I've ever really thought that, except in anger. I do think he hasn't proven himself worthy of my respect. I'll try to keep my eyes open for evidence otherwise, and I'll try to treat him fairly. But that ball's in his court."

[Danicka] The painful difference between them now is that while for Lukas there were moments this afternoon when their very love seemed to be hanging on by a thread, it was never that way for Danicka. It never felt that way. She never feared it.

That may be because it's possible he would never leave her, never want anyone else, never think of being able to breathe if she weren't his mate. Which means that all the so-called power for ending this is in her hands. Which means that she has to be so careful, if he's to feel safe. If he's to feel secure that even if she thinks he's an asshole sometimes, it doesn't mean she wants to leave. But that's another discussion. That's another jagged area between them, where she says I'm so tired and he becomes instantly wary of hearing I can't do this anymore.

She huffs a small laugh. "That's what you don't get about him. If someone slammed my head in a toilet I wouldn't give a good god damn after that about 'proving my worth' to them. And Martin's the type to just make it his mission to prove to you just how little he cares what you think of him. Or what you do to him." Danicka shakes her head a little. "Nothing you dish out is ever going to get anything from him but more of his snarky bullshit. I could have told you that two years ago, but I don't think it would have helped matters then any more than it's going to now."

Danicka shrugs one shoulder. "Not that it really matters, either way. The only reason you'd ever have to try and be truly civil with him is if he and Katherine get together."

[Lukas] But Lukas shakes his head at that. "It matters," he disagrees quietly. "It matters because I'll treat him with the respect I think he deserves, whether or not he and Katherine are dating, mated, or utterly estranged. And I'm afraid we'll fight over that."

[Danicka] Danicka just looks at him. "We might," she says quietly. "I meant that since neither of us is likely to go out of our way to interact with him and since you can always shove him off on Katherine, it doesn't really matter if you and he ever 'make nice' or if you ever see anything better of him. But yes. If it comes up, we'll probably argue about it.

"Neither of you are willing to be the first to start treating the other with patience and respect, so you'll both go on being pricks to each other. And since you're the one I care about, you're the one whose behavior is going to matter to me.

"So we might fight about that," she says softly, and leaves it at that.

[Lukas] Lukas gives a faint exhale, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh and a snort. He takes a sip of his beer, then puts it aside on his nightstand.

"There's a lot I can say to that," he says, wry, "but they all pretty much boil down to he started it. Which is childish, but even so -- if he starts something again, I'll respond.

"But I'll try not to let my personal antipathy rule my actions. And if you do feel like you need to point out behavior you don't agree with to me, it might help if you reminded me first that you're not taking his side over mine. At least until I can put this behind me again."

[Danicka] There's a few seconds where she just watches him following that exhale, that weird noise he makes that she knows isn't really humored, isn't happy. None of this really is, even if they're talking calmly now. Even if the plan seems to be that they'll relax, they'll eat together, they'll come to some kind of accord even if things have been strained since it came out that Danicka didn't quite get over his frenzy as quickly as she seemed to.

"I wasn't there," she says, finally. "But for what it's worth, I used to know Martin. And I know you very well. And everything I said, every assumption I made, took both of those things into account."

Whatever that means.

She takes a drink of her beer, not having touched her food yet. So far, Lukas hasn't pushed it on her. He hasn't worriedly nudged her bowl closer, or flat-out asked her to eat something, please. He hasn't made a keening, whining sound in the back of his throat, tail wagging unhappily and ears low. Danicka shrugs, lowering her beer again. "I wish you wouldn't see it as me scolding you about behavior I don't 'agree with'," she says, sighing a little. "I'm not lecturing you like an errant child. I care about the sort of man you are, and I assume you care how I feel about how you act."

[Lukas] "Of course I care." That's spoken on an exhale, too, touched with ache; traced with the faintest frustration. "But it'll make it easier if you remind me that you're telling me how you feel because you care for me. And it'll make it easier, too, if you remember that sometimes I won't be able to act in a way that makes you happy. Danička..."

A short silence then, his chest rising and falling with a long breath.

"Baby, I'm tired. I want to come to an accord we can live with, even if it's not perfect, and stop talking about Martin."

[Danicka] She interrupts. Not because she knows there's more and she wants to cut him off, but because during that silence she thinks he's trailing off. She thinks: he's done. Lukas takes that deep breath and Danicka is looking at him with the faintest wince to her expression. "I'm not talking about making me happy," she says, just barely stopping herself from snapping that last word. "I just said I wish you wouldn't see it like I'm just jumping down your throat because I know best and you're not good enough. Jesus."

An exhale of frustration. "I thought we'd finally gotten somewhere, if you could just have understood why I spoke up at all. Now I'm wishing I hadn't bothered."

[Lukas] "Oh for god's sake Danička," it comes out as a single phrase, a rush, "I know why you spoke up. I appreciate it. But it comes down to opinion in the end, doesn't it? Your opinion of what makes me a better man. Mine of what I should do, or have to do."

[Danicka] "Yeah," she says, the word like a huff. "My opinion. Which you reduce to some ridiculous notion of toeing the line to keep me happy, or something."


Tension rides across Danicka's face, pulling it taut for a moment. It's just as unpleasant as Lukas looks when he's angry. It's far less frightening. It wouldn't occur to him to be frightened of her, frightened of anything she could do

other than leave him.

She exhales slowly, meeting his eyes. "I know you just want this to be over. I do, too. I didn't mean to start anything up again, I just wanted to tell you that the things you're saying are making me feel like you think I'm ...mommying you, or being this impossible, overbearing girlfriend, and it makes me uncomfortable and sad.

"It takes a lot for me to decide to speak up to you when I don't like what you're doing, and a lot more for me to try and talk to you about it, listen to you, and work it out," she says, ache entering her expression. "That's not how I'm used to handling problems with anyone. I am not used to talking to someone about my opinion and expecting them to care enough to at least consider changing. I'm just as new to navigating these 'I think you're wrong / well I think you're wrong' conversations as you are."


She winces. "I wasn't trying to dredge everything back up, I just wanted you to know that I'm really sensitive to feeling like you think I'm your governess."

[Lukas] The first things out of her mouth don't help. They only make Lukas's face close up more. He's holding emotions in check; holding his tongue in check, perhaps, to keep from saying something he'll regret.


Then she speaks again. Finds his eyes and meets them -- and he does meet her eyes -- and his expression changes, eases, if not quite softens.

"I think you're hearing me say something I'm not," he says quietly. "I'm not ... bucking your imaginary yoke, baby. I'm just trying to prevent a future fight where you give me your opinion and I disagree and you get hurt because you think I don't care about what you think. I do care. But I may not always agree. Sometimes, I might even agree, and be unable to act any differently.

"I just wanted you to know that. Okay?"

[Danicka] Danicka's brow is furrowed, her expression one of ache. Considering how ferocious his anger got on Friday night, and considering how even a day and a half later neither of them is perfectly calm, perfectly 'over it', they haven't raised their voices.


They say things they regret. They've said things, frankly, that have hurt each other. And if they were better at this they wouldn't, they wouldn't make those wounds. If they were any other couple, if they weren't who and what they are, it's possible they wouldn't need to sometimes go that far.

"I don't think that's what you're really saying," she answers. "But sometimes it's how I feel. And I know you care. I was just..." she shakes her head. "I was telling you how I feel, not telling you to fix it."

[Lukas] "But how you feel makes me want to fix it." His lightning-touched eyes drop to the food, the stew they haven't touched, the cornbread they've barely made a dent in. "And I feel bad when I can't. I guess I just want to know that you're okay with it if I can't. So I can be okay with it too."

[Danicka] The sort of wry tilt to Danicka's mouth is more sad than amused. She knows how he was when she was sick, as delirious with fever as she was at some points. How once she woke up and he'd placed the little desktop fountain as close to her as he could, as though the water spirits awakened for the safety of the home would Fix Her by proximity. She remembers how he tensed, eversoslightly, at even a pretend cough on his name day. She remembers that when she was knocked to the ground and had teeth digging into her leg, that was the moment when Lukas lost all control, all sense of himself, everything.


Danicka doesn't know that when he was buying her medicine he was asking himself what he missed. What he could have done. He was planning, planning, obsessing, going over and over it in his mind the way he goes over so many things to the point that sometimes -- rarely, but sometimes -- she worries that he's losing sight of what matters. What's worth it. She doesn't know that he was standing there looking at Robitussin and Nyquil and trying to figure out what would Make Her Better while asking himself How Can I Fix It?

She doesn't know that part of that perking alertness when she played hooky from school was instantly a question of how he could fix it. If his mate was sick, it was his job to make her well. If she's cold, it's his job to make her warm. If she's hungry, if she's sad, if she's angry, if her class is difficult, if the dough is too hard to knead, if the door needs to be locked or the lights need to be turned off or the check needs to be paid or a thousand other miniscule, unimportant things, if he can do it for her, if he can take care of it for her, then

well, then

everything will be okay. If he can fix it.


Danicka doesn't know every thought in his mind. But she knows him. And she hears what he says as he looks at the food she hasn't eaten, and she wonders if he'll feel better if she starts eating. If that will help him, because as mind-numbingly rational as he is sometimes, it's an exercise. It's a learned behavior. It's a trick: Be Human. Be Smart. Plan Ahead.

Even if much deeper than that is simply the saturating satisfaction of seeing her eat her fill and then wrapping her in his arms. She knows, not because he's ever said it but because she just knows, that all this talking they do is anathema to an animal. Just be here. Be safe, and warm, and fed, and mine. She knows, because she understands him, that no matter what he needs to get off his chest, sometimes he listens and talks and tries to understand and works things out with her just because ...it's her. And she's his mate. And he's never going to extend even a fraction of that courtesy or care to anyone else. Even if she wishes he would. Even if she thinks he should.

Danicka tips her head slightly to the side, watching him. "It's not about being okay with it, baby. It's rare that I want you to 'fix it'. It's rarer still that I expect you to." A small shake of her head, a smaller shrug. "I'm just talking to you."

[Lukas] So much of how Lukas behaves toward Danicka, how he treats her, how he protects her, is rooted inextricably in who she is to him. It's rooted in a deeply protective instinct; tempered by a much more hard-won, learned respect for -- or at least understanding of -- her need for freedom. Her need not to be utterly stifled and dominated by who and what he is, and how much he wants to protect her.


Neither of those are things he's easily able to extend to someone he doesn't care so deeply about. And even were he able, willingness may be another matter altogether.

She's just talking to him, she says. And he looks at her for a moment, as though this concept were still foreign to him on some level: talking simply to express an opinion, even a negative one, without expectation of change. Of a fix.

"Okay," he says softly after a moment. "I hear you."

[Danicka] This isn't perfect resolution. There's still confusion, and Danicka is too smart not to know it on some level. He's going to want to Fix It sometimes, and be frustrated if he can't, particularly if what he thinks she wants him to fix is something he's not willing to change. She's going to want him to change sometimes, and be frustrated that he won't, even if she doesn't necessarily expect him to always, completely, perfectly do what 'makes her happy'.


But it's something. No, I don't expect you to be perfect. No, I don't expect you to change to make me happy. No, we aren't always going to agree. And that's not a happy peace to come to, not a blissful reconciliation without reservation. It's the sort of resolution that starts to make relationships seem less rose-colored after a couple of years, the sort of thing that constitutes 'working' at a relationship, rather than just letting it happen to you.

Danicka gingerly crawls over, around, the tray on the bed between them, setting her beer on the nightstand. He's still under the covers. She has to move slowly to keep from upsetting the food, but she gets there. When she does, she curls up between Lukas and the wall, leaning against him and against the headboard, looking at him.

And smiles. Softly.

[Lukas] There's a reason Lukas, half-asleep and mostly-animal, drew Danicka close to him at the start of all this. That before anything and everything else, before all the difficulty and struggle, he needed to simply be close to her for a moment. To assure his instinctual, reasonless self that yes: she's here. Yes: she's his mate.


Then there was the rest of it. The conflict; the argument; the difficult discussion; the imperfect resolution. When all is said and done they move closer again. She crawls gingerly over the cheap, unsteady mattress. He lifts the food up from the covers to help her, and after she settles, after she leans against him, he leans back himself and turns his head to kiss her brow.

"Let's eat," he says gently, and passes her her bowl of stew: as though this could be some sort of resolution in and of itself. As though, if only he could keep her warm and safe and full, he could keep her from all hurt and harm as well.

It's not his logic that believes that. It's something at once more and less profound: his basic nature, his instinct, his core.

[Danicka] The divides between them sometimes seem depressingly insurmountable. That he's Garou and she's Kinfolk. That no matter what equality they strive for, it comes with the inescapable knowledge that to the eyes of the Nation, she belongs to him and her freedom is only what he gives her. That in order to trust the love they give each other, they have to both believe that if she wanted to leave him, he would still be her guardian.
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That, even if only speculation, is a stomach-wrenching thought. He has to believe that Danicka doesn't want to leave him, that she is with him not just because she pledged herself but because she longs for him when he's gone. He has to believe that there will never be a day when some suitor comes to him, Garou or Kinfolk, and says to him

I want her for myself. As my mate.

the words he said to her brother over a year ago. It's unbearable to imagine, just as it's unthinkable that if Danicka didn't want him anymore, he would abandon her to some other Garou, some other Shadow Lord. But these are possibilities, however improbable. They aren't a human couple. You leave, you cut each other off, your lives drift mercifully apart. There would be no mercy, if this were to end, if they were to choose to end it.

The real difficulty lies in believing, day after day, every time they fight, that the reasons they stay go beyond fearing the agony of what separation would really be. Believing, even when his stomach sinks and he waits for her to tell him she can't do this anymore, that the reason she can keep doing this is that it's worth it to her.

"Not yet," Danicka whispers, sliding her arm around his waist, closing her eyes as she lays beside him, between his body and the wall. Where he's always put her, rolled her even when she's come to bed here after him. Strange that at her apartment he can stand to sleep with her on the side of the bed that faces the door, that somehow that's okay even though here and at the den they so naturally took to sleeping with him as some kind of physical guard between her and whatever imaginary foe might come through those portals.

On the other hand, the first night she slept with him, she held him. Wrapped herself around him from behind and covered his heart.

She killed the things that dared shoot him. She killed the things that put him in a silver collar.

When he was frenzied and, all the same, threatened, Danicka aimed for the head. If nothing else, even if that little act of protection was followed by her own death, she couldn't -- wouldn't -- lie down and watch him get hurt. It still stands. Months later, dozens of nightmares later, it stands. She won't disagree with him to undermine him. She won't argue with him to punish him. She won't hate him if he can't -- or won't -- always do what she wants. She won't leave him just because they fight.

And if she should leave him one day, she would still die for him.


They don't sleep. Lukas woke drowsily, happy to see her on some basic, instinctive level and needing her to be close to him even more as the knowledge came back to him that they were in a quarrel. But he doesn't fall back asleep as he settles into his bed with Danicka, wrapping himself around her as she curls into him. Danicka doesn't close her eyes because she's sleepy. The air is cool, even inside, but they create a warm pocket of it between and around their bodies for awhile.

It isn't that she doesn't want to eat. She's hungry. The stew here is good, even though it's starting to lose steam. It isn't that she wants to make love to him right now, though if he were to lift her chin and start kissing her, Danicka would press closer, gasp as his hands moved over her.

She just wants to hold him for awhile, now. Needs it. Believes that, if she can just hold him and love him and let him feel her there, he'll know she can keep him from harm and hurt as well.

Believes it, beneath reason and perhaps even beneath instinct. At her core.