He frowns and shakes his head, digging in his pocket for his pick wallet. We trudge up the snow-clogged path, careful on the slippery verandah. Davis flips the leather wallet open, selects a pick, springs the lock and steps back.

“I should get one of those,” I say, suddenly afraid. I picture flinging my arms around his neck and begging him not to leave me by myself. “Thanks for the jacket.”

He nods, watching me closely. The van rumbles on the street. “Okay. Well, try not to go nuts.”

My laugh is more like a choke.

He shoves the pick wallet in my hand and jogs down the path.

“Hey!” I call, holding it out.

“Forget about it. I got plenty.” He jumps in the van and it pulls away.

TEARS

It’s freezing inside. I hate that it’s freezing. No Buffy to greet me. I hate that too. It all shouts, alone! Alone! Ethan said the Gallaghers took the cat; it must have been Kitty’s idea. I can’t imagine facing them to go and get her. I don’t look through the glass door to Miriam’s studio. I walk past the empty living room and stop by the thermostat and flick the heat but it will take ages to thaw. I stand and stare at the readout, unwilling to go into the kitchen; it’s even more Miriam’s space than the studio. I don’t look at the Virgin in her alcove shelf. I go upstairs.

The hard bit is reaching the landing. Don’t look right. I go straight to my room but it’s freezing there too. Despite the duffel coat, I’m starting to shiver. My body seems to have forgotten the science. I’m a Shield. Our core temperature is supposed to recalibrate.

My bed, which I didn’t make, is made. My dirty clothes, which I didn’t pick up, are in the laundry hamper. My chest aches. I close the curtains, turn on the light, the bedside lamp and stand in the middle of the room. I leave my coat and boots on, wrap the quilt around me and lie on the bed. The shivering doesn’t stop. The central heating blows cold, stale air from resentful floor vents. Alone and cold is worse than just alone. It strokes my fear.

I heave myself up, duffel coat, quilt and boots, grab my pillow and shuffle out into the hall to the bathroom. There’s an unavoidable throat-grabbing glimpse of Miriam’s empty bed. I did this. She’s gone because of me. I shove the bathroom door shut and yank the cord to the wall heater. It’s as rowdy as a lawnmower and produces an instant volcanic jet stream of hot air. I push the shower curtain aside and climb in, propping my pillow on the end, legs curled up, my face tipped to the wall heater.

I cry a bit. The heater muffles the sound and dries my tears. Eventually I stop shivering and fall asleep.

* * *

“Bloody hell, it’s sweltering,” Kitty whispers, cutting off with a small gasp. “Oh, Jamie, look at her. He said she seemed fragile, didn’t he?” A strangled sob. “Why didn’t they let us know she was coming home? Leaving her here by herself. It’s disgusting. Goes to show you what heartless bastards Affinity–”

A panicked rustling.

“Jamie. I said the ‘A’ word.”

“You did. I expect the kill order will come through any moment.”

A muted thump. “It’s a demerit. That’s like five, today.”

“Yes. Knox is just pulling up now. He looks very cross. Perhaps you should go down and explain.”

“That is not funny. Not even remotely funny. Two hours in that underground fortress is more than I ever want to experience again.”

“Then stop talking.”

“Can you turn that thing off?” she says, muttering. “It’s giving me industrial hearing loss.”

The click of the wall heater and quiet like cotton wool in my ears. I crack an eyelid open from the top of my cocoon. “Why are you not saying the ‘A’ word?”

Kitty drops to her knees beside me, teary, runny-nosed and grinning. “Hey.” She strokes my hair, my face, sniffing, her cheeks bright pink. “We didn’t know you were coming home. Davis called Jamie and said you were – that he just dropped you off. He was worried, with no one being in the house. So we came. Is that okay? I brought Buffy – had to drag her from Dad’s study, hissing and spitting. She loves Dad. We thought – we thought it might be a bit rough coming home to an empty house. We didn’t want you to be alone.”

Aching, I close my eyes and smile into my quilt.

“We knocked but you mustn’t have been able to hear the door with the rocket engine going.”

“I was cold.”

“Oh? Well, thank goodness for that.”

“The central heating was taking too long, so I shut myself in here. I must have fallen asleep.”

She exhales in relief. “I was afraid you might be, you know … having an episode.”

I lift my eyes in question to Jamie. His face is hard to read but I don’t mind because it’s been four weeks since I looked at him and he’s beautiful. “Episode?”

“She’s worried you might have lost your marbles.”

“Why do people keep saying that?”

“You are sleeping in the bath,” Kitty says, her voice tender. “Are you sure you’re ready to be home?”

“The psych team felt a familiar environment and normal routine, school and friends and stuff, would be the best path to recovery. I seriously agreed but it means I have to see one of their psychologists every Thursday.”

“Ethan said you had a hard time.”

I groan and sink low in the tub, pulling the quilt up over my head. “So I blew a few things up. Only at the beginning.”

“A lab,” Kitty says.

I yank the quilt down. “Not a whole lab. It was just a couple of cabinets and doors … and one wall.”

“Cabinets, doors and a wall?” Kitty raises her eyebrows.

“Well, everything’s made of glass! It’s not my fault.”

“All right!” She lifts her palms at me. “Stay calm - it’s a small room.”

“Okay – okay, now you’re giving me an episode.” I thrash my way out of the quilt, suddenly overheated, and sit up. The duffel coat is bulky and it’s hard to move. I pull at the toggles and glare at Kitty. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you not saying the ‘A’ word?”

She grimaces and touches the back of her neck.

Jamie’s expression closes in. “Barb and Dad’s phone lines, computers, digital footprint, you name it, will be monitored for the rest of their lives because I broke protocol. Kitty has an interim tracker for six months until they can be sure she’ll keep her mouth shut.”

I stare at him, the slow, horrible reality sinking in. “And … how did they cope with that?”

“I think they figured it was coming when I went in for my hearing.”

I nod and watch his face. He looks tired. He looks sad. “And how are they now after … everything?”

Jamie’s brow tightens and Kitty makes a wretched face. I give up on the toggles and drop my hands in my lap. I feel the tears on my face but I don’t sob or shake. “They must really hate me.”

“No.” Kitty starts crying again, rubbing my back. “No, they don’t hate you. How can you even think that? Nobody forced me to do anything. I’m not a child and I’m sick of having to explain that to people. I made my own choices.”

“Okay, maybe they don’t hate me but they must be incredibly disappointed and angry and hurt and terrified that their daughter nearly died because of me.”

Jamie heaves a sigh and gets down on the floor next to his sister, leaning his back against the tub. He sinks his face into his hands, elbows on his raised knees. “You know,” he begins, low and quiet. “It is possible to be incredibly disappointed and angry with someone … and hurt and terrified by their choices … and still be in love with them at the same time … isn’t it?”

I hear the additional words in that statement, and the question at the end, making it more than it was, making it declaration and forgiveness and a request for forgiveness all at the same time. I can only see the side of his face, his hands covering his eyes. There’s a slight pout to his lips with the build-up of pressure, colour forming at the tip of his nose, a careful brush with the side of his thumb to remove moisture from his cheek, a hint of a tremor in the deep draw of his breath and that’s all I see before I’m blinded by my own tears.