It's highly suggested that if you're going to read this, to swallow your pride for a moment and youtube the songs 'Crawling Back to You' and 'Siberia' by the Backstreet Boys.

I KNOW! That's so 1999! But still! XD Enjoy the story, as I enjoyed the songs…

Back to You

He knew they were going to be mad. But here he was.

'The truth has been revealed by the only one who could speak it.'

He couldn't stay there anymore, in Vale. He was happy there, yes; family, friends, opportunity, what was there to not want? He had so much, but there was still something missing.

He had a letter frozen to the inner pocket of his tunic, the winds weren't high but he was still losing the feeling in his limbs from the final leg of his journey. The letter had come to him in Vale; crumpled, creased, and thoroughly abused by the elements after its trans-continental journey from the north. A letter with rigid script, the mark of an indignant writer. The Proxian Chief had scratched out his own poorly veiled threats of what might happen to him if Felix returned to the northern outpost ever again. But what perhaps should've sent him scurrying even farther south out of fear was now what was bringing him back to the frozen tundra.

'Consider it not exile; you who never found a home here to begin with.'

He'd come alone, though it hadn't been for lack of support. He'd left Vale the day right after the letter came to him- no one had time to really stop or question him or the contents of the letter. Felix hadn't explained, or if he had he'd done a poor job and had left too quickly. For all he knew, there might even have been a very moody, disgruntled party following him from the crater of Mnt. Aleph.

But what lay behind wasn't as important as what was in front. He'd been doing his best to take it at a moderate pace, the freezing trek from the South over the mountains towards the edge of the world. The few tundra trees were scattered and obscure across the horizon, blue mountains pocketing the distance, but finally after what seemed like weeks of traversing only the white wasteland, his destination was finally in sight.

'Do not return.'

The first of the village's blue-green pennants was a welcome sight to him, despite the warnings. His plan didn't have any steps after what he was here to confirm, something the letter had hinted at too strongly to ignore.

Travelers were so rare and so easy to spot across the tundra, by the time he passed under the stark wooden arch of the village, every street was silent. No one was about, but that didn't mean the town was empty- fresh footprints littered the frosted white avenues, half-built snowmen and tracks from children's games in every patch of undisturbed snow. He could smell baking stews on the wind, heavy wood smoke- but not the same as any place else. In a region so filled with Mars adepts, the flames just burnt differently.

He should've gone to the inn first, it made sense. He was tired and freezing, hungry and weighed down with traveling gear, and just to top it all off he was filthy. He should've gone to the inn first, it made sense. But he didn't.

There was a nervous tingle in the air, a sharp static which built quickly as he made his way hurriedly down the main street of the small outpost town. A storm was blowing in. How strong? He couldn't tell, but there were soft, minuscule flecks of snow feathering down over his head by the time he came within sight of the largest and most impressive private home in the settlement.

Twice as large as most of the dark wood houses, the Chief's residence boasted two chimney tops, both exhaling wisps of grey smoke. He was forced to stop at the gates however- a small barrier of waist-high wooden posts- as the door swung open and a familiar figure appeared.

The red-black locks of the Proxian Chief's hair framed the long, harsh lines of his salamander-skinned face. The thick, dark robes of his office billowed around him despite their weight against the cold, and he felt the older man's gaze fix on him immediately.

The silence was not only awkward, but deafening as it only stretched on. Finally,

"Chieftain-"

"Why are you here?" Even with the distance between them, he had the strong impression that the other man was looking down his nose at him, arms folded and stance defiant. "And in such poor condition, no less…" He dropped the pack from over his shoulders, tossing it heedlessly into the snow piled up alongside the fence.

"Chieftain, your letter, you said-"

"Not to come back, you were never good with simple orders." The comment... stung... but he couldn't take it to heart, didn't have the time as he moved through the barrier.

"I know, but you must-" He made it only a few steps inside before words halted him again.

"Find it in my heart to forgive your transgression? Never."

"No, I-"

"Have come to apologize?"

"Puelle!" He had his hands on the fence, leaning forwards as the snow continued to spiral down, the wind blowing harshly from across the tundra. Neither one of them uttered a word more however, the Proxian leader slowly closing his eyes with a rough exhale, and Felix couldn't feel his legs.

Bowing his head slightly with gritted teeth, Puelle's robed form swung back and around against the door frame, a much smaller figure stalking up from behind him. The rosy orange light from inside seemed a safe retreat from the building snow fall, but despite her lesser stature, the woman who had broken through their argument had perhaps more strength to her presence than the Chief next to her.

A heavy brown shawl was draped over her shoulders, hooking along her elbows. The white, high-necked blouse of a proper Proxian woman was buttoned up to her chin, and thick woolen skirts fell from her small waist down, cutting off abruptly before her booted ankles. It wasn't the apparel of either a child or a soldier, her rose-red hair no longer bobbed around her chin as it fell gracefully to her shoulders instead, but rather that of a woman with at least a little standing in her community.

He couldn't tell if something died inside of him when he saw her, or if instead it came back to life, like a bed of embers raked back into open flame. Her expression was unreadable though, the cold shocking his legs as he felt his knees slam into the snow. He couldn't hear anything, his vision fading to white... and then... black.

He'd come too far, too fast it seemed.

'Should've let him freeze on the tundra.'

'Fine, don't help. Get out!'

It was horrible, feeling yourself burn and freeze at the same time... Seeing without sight, hearing without sound...

He didn't know how long he remained like that for, not until something cool and damp was pressed onto his brow. The sensation bothered him; clammy, uncomfortable, and bringing a tender ache up around his eyes.

He opened one eye to the glimmer of candle light. There was a brush of hazy movement, and that aggravating damp was removed, but only for a moment before resting against the side of his face. He cringed, and tried to turn away.

"Stop that, the fever's finally broken."

"It's horrible..." The complaint was launched before his pride could rise to stop it. But there was a foggy haze over his mind still, so Felix just let himself sink further into the bedding beneath him. Finally, the cold was removed, and the soft warmth of a hand replaced it instead... he was going to fall asleep...

"And now you feel cold." She said quietly, and he was sure he could hear the frown in her voice. It was hard to make himself move his arm from the numb position it'd fallen in, but he brought one hand up to fall over hers, holding it there as he kept his eyes closed.

"Soft... for a soldier..." He expected a rebuttal, something for his ears. Instead something softer than her hand came down over his brow, and a warmth so close he could smell... pine... and cedar... she smelt like nature.

He reached for her, why not? But his arms felt heavy, hands thick and clumsy as he fumbled out towards her where she was seated on the edge next to him. He wanted the warmth, willing to ignore the heavy blankets and quilts around him if only for the excuse of being cold. She didn't pull away from his touch, though for a moment she stiffened as he drew one hand up, resting just below her shoulder. Forcing his eyes to open again, Felix's vision picked out only the reds and tender glows, but now there was also the haze of her blouse, and the blush of colour across the contours from the firelight. It was so different to see, something that was neither armour or wollen over-layers...

He wanted to look at her though- see her face, her eyes- but her lips had been against his brow, her body close to him as he felt the side of her face resting against his hair. One arm was resting half on his shoulder, fingers combing back through the lengths of his hair as the other rested just under his shoulder, and he could feel her touch rubbing softly back and forth across the cotton sleeve of his shirt. Burying his face against the hollow between her throat and shoulder, he wanted the smell of her again; breathing deep and releasing in a slow sigh... Cinnamon and nature... Sharp but so sweet and warm... He pulled on her then; too long apart, always having been apart. There was no such thing as too close now, only closer...

Felix had hardly realized it, but was thankful that something- be it bedding or the headboard or a wall even- stood behind his shoulders and head, propping him up as she slipped- by accident- under his hands. He'd been twisting her to bring her close, but hadn't thought of that and was suddenly ashamed when her hand struck the pillows next to him to brace her- keep her from falling away from him... His arms didn't even have the strength to make sure she didn't fall...

"S...Sorry..." He whispered, his eyes closed again as if he suddenly couldn't look at her. The journey had robbed him of his strength...

"...Are we even now?" Her voice wasn't music, he'd never heard her carry a tune, but Felix couldn't keep his eyes closed at the sound of it. The facets of her eyes captivated him, so much so that he nearly forgot that she'd spoken at all, his lips half parted with words he couldn't recall. Faceted eyes, the deepest of red... but without light. There was no sparkle, there was something dark and mysterious hidden inside instead...

He'd never wanted this woman, not until the moment she'd been gone. And now that he had her that look bothered him, but there were too many obvious answers to bring him to ask the question...

"...chance a... A second chance..." It hurt to speak, his throat was so tight, like a noose being slung around the words. His eyes beginning to burn; he was so cold inside, and there was no light in her... He'd come all this way, read the letter a thousand times, he just wanted, he just needed-

"Only..." Her fingers were so soft, bare of the calluses of a soldier's life, something she had left behind then? But she held them against his lips, stemming the flow of words he hadn't been keeping track of. His arms were like stone, solid and unfeeling stone at his sides- he couldn't even lift them to touch her again; how could he have killed that sharp, tangible little flame inside of her? He couldn't understand why he couldn't see her anymore, not until he blinked the hot itch out of his eyes, and saw the trails of yellow light trailing down her cheeks. No, no, no...

"If I get one too..." A chance? A second chance? They just needed a...

The tips of her fingers moved, the sharp and sweet scent of her filling his mind again before his chapped lips touched a pair they didn't deserve... Her eyes were tightly shut, and he saw that though his own were blurred because he held them open as wide as they would go.

The hearth-fire sparked, and stone arms moved. Anyone but her would have made it gentle, but he felt the marks of her clan dig into his arm through her clothes before he turned over in the bed, skewing the quilts and pulling her completely to him. And anyone but her would have kicked and shrieked and demanded release. But he didn't hold her like porcelaine, and she didn't fear him without knowing. There were no tears, at least not until the pain became too much, and then there were so many they began to laugh. And there was no touching, at least not that like lovers do. He couldn't bring his arms to bend and give her an inch of room even if they'd wished it, his lips drying away the cursed salt as if they were the cause of all the darkness. They couldn't speak, there was nothing to say that they didn't know, or couldn't share later. Even if he caught his lips moving for something other than to sooth her, or heard her voice just grazing the edges of his thoughts, they didn't talk.

He'd come back to her. He'd climbed and clawed and crawled his way back to her. And when he fell asleep again, the fatigue too much for him with the sense and smell and taste of her... He couldn't remember where he'd gone off too, why he'd considered staying there, or what... exactly... Pluelle had threatened to do to him...

Took forever to write, but it's SO FLUFFY. The spelling and grammar are atrocious though, many many appologies, but I wrote this on a foriegn computer with no English spell checker, and the site I found via google was... scary. So, yeah, please bear with till I get home, and once I do and I have a proper english-comb yanked through it, this read ought to be a bit more enjoyable.

SO FLUFFY.