Disclaimer: I do not own Ib.

Chapter 1

Garry stared the the door, frozen. Simple, green, no carvings or designs. A painted-on, white "27" and a standard grey doorknob. A swirling gust of wind weaved through the hallways, causing his keys to clack against each other like wind soft clanging of metal on metal startled him more than it should have and he jumped, keys slipping through his fingers and letting out a discordant sound as it collided into the ground. He picked them up, hands shaking, intaking a shuddering breath. Running his free hand through his hair he glanced around, hoping no one noticed him standing like a statue― hand outstretched, key in hand, unblinking―in front of his door for what he knew to be an excessive amount of time. He took another deep breath to steady himself and moved. In a single fluid motion―lest he become tempted to hesitate again―he unlocked the door, slipped inside, shut the door and locked it.

The tiny apartment was dark and the air thick with dust and heat. Dropping his bag carelessly on the tattered sofa, he moved towards the window. He nudged the curtains open, though it did little to brighten the room. He reminded himself, again, that he needed to buy window cleaner. Gripping the window with both hands he tugged, huffing in annoyance as it refused to open. He tightened his grip and yanked, putting his whole body into it. Garry thudded the floor as the window relented, slamming open, the sound bouncing off the walls. Light flooded into the room, making its condition plain. Clutter and second-hand furniture. Dust and discolored wallpaper. The added light made the dust visible in the air, sparkling like diamonds and feeling like them, too, as they traveled down his throat with every inhale. The wind, loud and blustering outside, didn't slip through the window as he intended, mocking him as the heat remained, thick and heavy. He left it open regardless and entered the kitchen.

He flipped the light switch, the area dimly lit by a single, uncovered bulb in the ceiling. The cupboard held a single box of macaroni, a small bag of sugar, and a box of peppermint tea. The cupboard was emptied as he placed all of the items on the counter and moved to the refrigerator. Relief flooded him as he saw the almost empty gallon of milk and stick of butter. They had enough for the night. With the exception of his shuffling about the kitchen preparing dinner, the apartment was silent.

Two pairs of mismatched bowls and mugs thudded as they were placed on the counter next to the sink. He pulled the only chair to rest in front of one of the servings, wincing as it scraped loudly across the floor. Plopping three textbooks and an old phonebook onto the seat, he left the kitchen and moved down the short hallway that had a door on each side. On the left, the bathroom, the door ajar. On the right, the only bedroom. He knocked and waited. Gaining no response, he opened the door, the old hinges creaking in protest.

He'd be inclined to believe the bedroom was empty if not for the tiny lump under the covers of the too large bed. As it was, one hand reached out to nudge the curled up form softly. Unbidden, a smile spread across his face as the top of a head slid out from under the covers, revealing messy hair and tired crimson eyes blinked hard, once, twice, before closing as she stretched out and yawned, arms emrging and stretching out from the blanket and legs uncurling. Looking at her stretched out over the bed, he noted absentmindedly that the bed could comfortably fit six of her, more if they all curled up when they slept, as was her habit. As he favored her with a simple smile as greeting and a muttered "Dinnertime," she kicked off the covers and hopped off the bed.

They walked into the kitchen together. Garry picked her up under the arms and sat her down on the books on top of the chair, not releasing his grip until he was certain they wouldn't topple, bringing Ib crashing with them. Not for the first time, he wished he had a proper table. He stood beside her, in front of his own plate. They ate side by side, as Garry filled the silence with tales of what he'd learned in class that day. As always, Ib listened attentively, interrupting periodically to ask for clarification on words she'd never heard.

Rinsing off the suds from the last plate, his eyes sought out the form of his friend. She huffed in frustration as she folded up the sleeves that refused to stay in place. She glared at them, seemingly trying to command them to behave. He turned away to put the plate in its proper place, but turned back around as a soft thud sounded behind him. Face down, hair splayed out all across the floor, lay a very annoyed Ib. Garry chuckled, walking over and kneeling beside her. He carefully untangled the bottom of the shirt she was wearing from her legs and helped her up.

She frowned up at him, glaring, though her cheeks had a distinct rosy hue that betrayed her embarrassment. Affecting a severe look that was ruined by the endearing sight she made―arms she crossed, one sleeve already coming undone―she accusingly stated, "You're too tall."

"Yeah, I know," he replied, ruffling her hair fondly. "Why don't you change into your clothes and we'll go get you something your own size?"

She left the room to change, carefully holding the bottom of the shirt up, like a lady trying to avoid getting dirt on her dress. She didn't want another mishap. Pulling on her clothes, she wrinkled her nose in distaste. She'd been here a week now, and they had not yet been able to do the laundry. Looking herself over in the mirror she was grateful to find there were no stains or tears. She'd come out of the gallery sore and covered in bruises from being dragged, grabbed, and other forms of rough handling, but her clothes from the adventure had miraculously remained unscathed, if rumpled. The clothes were the only things she had left from Before the Gallery and she was adverse to the idea of tossing them. Hands moved over wrinkles without success and she went out to meet Garry.

Watching Ib disappear into a fitting room, Garry allowed his mind to wander. Looking around the small thrift shop, he frowned. He wished he could afford something better but his wallet wasn't that deep. Regardless, Ib seemed to take it in stride and managed to filter through to find things she liked. Collapsing onto a chair in front of the fitting rooms, he ran a hand through his hair as he thought of how everything had gone so wrong.

He stared at the statue in front of him. "Embodiment of Spirit," the plaque stated. An enormous rose bursting with life. The thin, thorny stem seemed inadequate to hold the bloom in place. Petals, bright red, were littered around it on the floor. Finding his eyes fixated on the fallen petals, he almost felt sad. His brow furrowed, he didn't remember walking here. He couldn't remember what he'd been doing before he'd stepped away from the "Fabricated World" painting.

He'd come to the gallery, shelling out money he was sure he should be saving. He'd wanted to see the new Guertena exhibit. An artist of many talents, Weiss Guertena had dabbled in many different techniques. As an aspiring artist, he'd hoped he could learn from his numerous creations. There certainly was quite a bit of variety among the deceased artist's creations.

He was roused from his thoughts by a tug upon his coat. Looking down, blue eyes met crimson as a young girl asked, "What does this say?"

"Embodiment of Spirit."

"Em-bah-dee-mint," she stated slowly. She looked to him in confusion.

"It means 'to give form to,' 'to give body to.'"

Her expression didn't change.

"Umm... think of an abstract idea."

She mouthed the word 'abstract,' brows furrowing.

He winced, he was horrible at explaining things. "Uh... try feelings for example. You can't see them, They don't have a concrete form, or body. Like love. You can't see it, right? But it is commonly embodied by a heart. The symbol of the heart would be its embodiment... Understand?"

She nodded.

"Well, I need to go," he excused himself. He didn't really but he had no intention of standing in awkward silence with a child. "I'll see you around, Ib."

He froze, puzzled. Shaking his head, he turned to her. "Sorry, I'm not sure where that came from. I don't even know anyone named Ib." It definitely wasn't a common name.

She pointed to herself.

"You? Your name is actually Ib?"

A nod.

Huh, weird. He shoved his hands into his pocket, opening his mouth to say something else. He was distracted as his fingers touched something he was sure hadn't been in his pocket before. Pulling it out, it turned out to be a lace handkerchief. He turned it over in his hand. 'Ib' was embroidered into a corner of it and... Was that blood?Wait.

Memories flooded his head. Hours of running through an alternate, more sinister gallery flitting through his mind. Oh.

"I remember! You, you're Ib! And we―the gallery―I remember!"

Whispers around him caused him to blush. At this rate, he'd be kicked out or arrested.

"I remember, Ib," he repeated softly. "Don't you?"

Shaking her head, she fiddled with her scarf, before looking down at her scarf. There was a slight bulge to her breast pocket that she'd felt as she had tugged at the red cloth around her neck. Reaching in she retreived a lemon drop. Popping the yellow candy into her mouth, he watched as realization dawned. Wide eyes met his.

"Garry?"

He smiled and she leaped at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. As the elation of the reunion faded, he took her hand and they went off in search of her parents.

It took them two hours to realize they were nowhere to be found. Unease curled within his stomach.

"Maybe they went home?"

"Without you?"

"We only live a couple blocks away. They trust me to walk farther than that to get to school."

The fact that she'd never walked alone was implied. He just didn't have the heart to shoot the suggestion down without trying, especially with the hopeful look in her eyes. The heavy feeling in his stomach intensified. He hoped he was wrong. Two blocks later, he was proven right. They stood in front of a small, homely clinic. Ib was still, the same shocked terror in her eyes that he remembered seeing as the stood in front of a painting titled 'Couple.'

He kneeled and turned her so they were eye to eye. "We'll figure this out. We'll find them, okay? But for now, let's go to my place. We'll rest a bit and then we can put our heads together and make a plan. Alright?"

She nodded, eyes filled with tears. As he straightened, she held out her arms, more vulnerable than he'd ever seen her. He picked her up, easily. She buried her head into the crook of his neck; he could feel the tears against his skin. He held her closer, trying to shield her from the cold though he knew that wasn't the reason for her trembling.

"We'll get them back. I promise."

Startled by a tap on his shoulder, he looked up to see Ib, a small mountain of clothes in her arms. He paid for them and helped her put on her new red coat before leaving the store.

"Well, since we're already out, why don't we pick up a few groceries?"

Her smile was answer enough.

A/N: I just had this thought occur to me and had to run with it. I hope you like it.

Thank you for being such lovely readers.

Until next time friendlies,

Dfsemina