Amy.

She was here, right in front of his eyes. Just as he remembered her. As if he had never left.

Just as he remembered her? He said it as if it had been a long time.

Desmond didn't know how long it had been since that fateful night. How many times it had been dusk or dawn.

But it couldn't have been long.

Couldn't it?

Desmond swallowed hard. There was a lump in his throat.

What to say, what could he even say? He had turned his back on her. On them and their past.

Therefore, he had no right to fall back on the past when it suited him.

But...

He wanted to talk to her.

He wanted to know how they were both doing.

And he wanted to see them, he wanted to see them, he couldn't take his eyes off Amy.

Amy was also silent. He supposed this was just as hard for her, even harder. But he noticed that she didn't look surprised.

So this wasn't something Abigail had suddenly done, but something Amy had agreed to.

She wanted to see him. She cared about him.

There was no reason to think otherwise. But the thought made him feel warm, as if it had soothed a secret insecurity.

"Desmond. You look terrible," Amy said, at last.

Desmond couldn't help but laugh.

He wasn't offended. He had no mirror to look into, but he was sure Amy was absolutely right, so he couldn't be offended.

"Sure. You, however, look as beautiful as ever."

He would feel a little weird saying something like that, except that he knew Amy wouldn't take it in a weird way.

After all, she had told him she was a lesbian.

So after hearing that she wouldn't think he could be in love with her or anything like that even if he said stuff like that.

Amy smiled. A small, sharp smile, with a hint of bitterness.

"You know, from your lips, I almost believed it and everything."

Wait a minute.

"Believe? Do you have to believe that the sun is going to rise to make it dawn? Amy, you're a beautiful girl. Inside and out. And someday you'll make someone very happy who will appreciate you as you deserve."

Amy's smile grew a little wider.

"Thank you... But I'm not here to talk about myself. Desmond, how are you?"

"I..." Desmond took a deep breath. "I'm a mess. I'm not able to do anything right."

"What do you mean?"

"It's been... one disaster after another and I feel... I feel weird. I feel like I'm not myself. No, that's not the way to put it."

I feel like I haven't been the same with you guys.

He didn't know how to express that feeling without sounding bad. Desmond licked his lips. Abigail was off to the side, watching. She appeared to be sitting on a rock, her hands on her knees. Desmond wondered if her projection, so to speak, was limited in the same way as herself or not.

That is, if right now Abigail could move freely.

Or if it was possible that, despite the fact that nothing seemed to be going wrong, they were now experimenting with her body.

No, that was too mild a way of putting it.

Being tortured.

No, that... that was important, but he didn't have to think about that now.

Desmond shook his head.

He was just trying not to think about more painful things.

About facing... about facing this situation. He wanted to see her, he wanted to see them, both of them.

And so far, so good.

But even if he wasn't accused, even if he wasn't condemned for what he'd done, it didn't stop him from just talking to Amy knowing she was so far away, knowing she could surely never come back....

He took a deep breath.

I chose this. So I'm not going to cry.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Desmond."

She sounded sincere. But I asked for it. You don't have to be sorry.

I'm to blame. Me and only me.

"I believe in you," Amy continued. "I believe you can do it."

I want to believe it, rather.

He was sure that was what was hidden beneath her words.

"I'm the one who should apologize. I know an apology is useless, but I'm really sorry... for hurting us. For leaving. I'm really sorry, but..."

"You couldn't give up Abigail. As much as it pains me, I understand. You don't have to explain it to me."

"But it makes me feel better to do it. A selfish reason, huh?"

But that's just what he was. A selfish bastard.

"A human reason."

"It's the same thing, isn't it?" He didn't feel like crying. Not anymore. Strangely. His mind understood that he wasn't back. That nothing would ever be the same again.

But maybe understanding that wasn't so easy for his body.

He could see it, hear her.

She looked as solid as if she could reach out and touch her.

As long as he didn't try to touch her, the illusion wouldn't break. The only thing missing was the smell. Which still formed a very powerful, intoxicating illusion.

"If it makes you feel better, you can explain anything you want."

"Not better. And Christina?"

There was silence.

He supposed that was the answer enough. She'd taken it worse than Amy, or at least shown it with more intensity.

That night, she had yelled at him in such an intense way.

She had yelled at him that she never wanted to see him again. Apparently time, distance hadn't improved those feelings.

Of course, that was only natural.

He didn't want to be forgiven. What he had done was unforgivable.

As much as it hurt, that was okay.

But...

What he wanted wasn't to be forgiven. It was okay to never forgive him. But he wanted Christina to feel better. The best thing for her, for both of them, would be to forget him.

Would that be impossible?

He didn't know. For him it would be completely impossible to forget them, that was for sure. Even if he wanted to. And he didn't want to, not really, although he sometimes thought about it. It occurred to him that it would be for the best.

"Bad. Just like me. Hurt and angry."

"Yes." How could she be?

"But she doesn't hate you. Desmond, nothing she said that night was serious. You know that, don't you?"

"Maybe it would be easier if she started to really hate me."

Maybe it was the inevitable result, in fact, of the separation. As the days passed, the weeks passed, the years passed, at some point the affection would turn to hate.

What was he saying?

That was an overly optimistic prediction. Eventually, affection would turn to simple indifference. That was the truth. And indifference was far more terrible than hatred. For him, not for Christina.

As he had said, he wanted her to feel better.

To hate him. To forget him.

Anything would do. But he didn't want to cause her any more harm. He didn't want her to have to live with the absence, with the fear that he would die far away from home or worse. Because there were many things worse than death. If the Empire caught him, they would most likely not let him die, really. Just like Abigail. If he failed, he probably wouldn't die, but would share the same fate as Abigail.

"Don't say that. "Amy crossed her arms and shrunk in on herself, as if to protect herself from the next inevitable blow. "Please. Don't talk like that."

"I'm sorry," he said slowly and after a while.

No matter how hard he tried.

No matter how hard he struggled. In the end he was only capable of hurting them. If only they hadn't met him, they wouldn't have any problems now. They would be next to another third partner. A person who, at the very least, would be more suitable for them than someone like him.

A person who, even if he or she could not complete them, wouldn't be able to hurt them as much. It would have been better if we had never met. It would have been better if he had died then. Desmond curled into a ball, overwhelmed by his thoughts. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. His chest hurt like it was going to explode.

I don't know what I'm doing. He thought it's not the first time and it wouldn't be the last either.

I don't know how much longer I can go on like this.

Desmond was alone, in the middle of the forest. Sheltered in a dark, damp hole. Being chased, and so far from home, on top of it. So far away.

I can't go back. I can't go back to that home, no matter how much I want to.

I...

"Desmond, don't cry." Amy's statement took him by surprise.

Desmond put his fingers to his eyelids. He felt around, realizing she was right. He could be such a cold person. But they had the ability to blast through that wall of ice as if it were only made of paper.

"The time we'd spent together had been shorter than I'd hoped. Than I would have wished. But I don't regret meeting you. Not at all. I still think the three of us meeting is a miracle."

Yes. A beautiful miracle.

But nothing lasts forever. Even miracles would 'fade'. Or crash.

Nothing lasts forever. Nothing ever did.

"Now Christina will speak. And I'll relay everything she says to you, okay?"

Desmond nodded his head. He felt like shit. He was a piece of shit.

"Desmond. You're not wrong. Having a weight on my mind and in my heart won't do me any good. So I should hate you and, if I can't, at least forget you. But if only I was able to do what was 'right' for me, I wouldn't have ended up as this mess."

Her words.

It was Amy's voice, Amy's face moving, reflecting emotions.

Still, it was Christina.

He knew it was Christina really speaking and not Amy attributing words to her when in reality Christina didn't even want to see him, to make him feel better.

Those were her words. Her feelings.

"No, life is not like math. There is no right answer. So... you just have to hope things don't go wrong and, at best, make the decisions you won't regret at the time."

It sounded like she had agreed, albeit reluctantly, because he had chosen this path, as had Amy.

But where was she going with this?

That wasn't so clear to him. He didn't think it was an 'I forgive you,' though.

"So... let's not say goodbye. It doesn't have to be this year. Or this decade. But someday, let's meet again. In a quiet place, in the sunlight, with nothing to stop us."

Amy was getting emotional as she repeated Christina's words.

So was he.

It wasn't like Christina, talking like that. She had caught him off guard, moreover, by the memory of the expression on her face the last time they had seen each other.

He had known (or wanted to believe) that she didn't hate him.

But to believe it and hear it from her lips, to feel it in his heart, was a different thing.

In the end, I'm going to cry.

The thought didn't elicit any kind of rejection from him.

The strange thing, he supposed, was that he hadn't started crying already, by now.

"No matter how much time passes, we have to keep believing that such a thing is possible. Someday, somehow."

"Someday, somehow," Desmond muttered.

His eyes were filled with tears.

"Someday, I swear," he said, staring at Amy.

Desmond took his promises very seriously.

——

They continued talking.

Holding a conversation between three when there were only two people present was technically difficult.

But they managed it.

Because there was time. And also the desire.

He asked them if they'd had any problems because of his absence... beyond the obvious. A barrage of questions, but that was all.

Desmond didn't know what else he had expected to happen.

It wasn't as if he'd escaped from some sort of prison with help from the two of them and they were punished instead.

Still, he had felt the need to ask and had done so.

They had talked, too, about nothing in particular. As friends that they were.

He desperately wanted them to remain.

Then the subject of their current situation, of what exactly he meant by one disaster after another had come up.

"It's a shame things turned out that way. But don't blame yourself, you did the best you could. It's just that things got out of hand. It happens. You have nothing to reproach yourself for."

Actually, I do.

But Desmond had told things as it suited him.

He hadn't mentioned that the fight earlier, and the chase, could have been avoided if he hadn't reacted so impulsively. So that's why Amy thought he wasn't at fault.

"As much as I blame myself, I can't change what happened. I have to deal with this one way or another. But...I don't even know where to start."

Time was passing.

He was wasting time, but he felt no urgency to get up. To move on.

He could be like this forever. Forever.

Desmond bit his lower lip. He hadn't tried to hold back the tears. But he had. For the moment, at least, he hadn't cried.

As they spoke, he heard footsteps approaching. The rustle of underbrush.

His whole body tensed.

"Desmond?" Amy asked.

"There's someone here," he whispered, though he should have been silent.

He wondered how long that someone (he could only hear a series of footsteps) had been there. How much he had heard of the conversation, that could get the two of them in trouble, not just him.

Desmond unsheathed his sword.

He rose to his feet.

If he had heard someone, and if it was a guard and not a normal person, then....

Then he would have to kill him.

In spite of everything.

To protect his friends from the consequences of his own actions, Desmond would have to kill them, even if it was someone who was blameless. Someone innocent. No, was that really okay, could he really do something like that?

It was too selfish to crush a life because of what might happen... but, to himself, it would be tremendously selfish to do nothing when misfortune could befall Amy and Christina. Not because of what they had done, but only because he had come into their lives. He had hurt them enough.

When Desmond could very well do something about it.

It didn't matter.

It wasn't his morality that would decide how this would end, but necessity.

He had no time to think, only to act.

Desmond squeezed the sword so hard his knuckles turned white, the hand he held it with began to tremble as if in fear.

The moment of truth was approaching.