A/N - Sorry this took so long to post - appreciate your patience! Life has been super busy recently, so I haven't had the time I'd like to work on this story. But, another chapter is done - hope you enjoy! Best, Euphonemes

The Fire of Futures Past

Leroy kept shaking as the light narrowed. The blaze that filled the sky resolved into four perfectly white circles. They hovered atop the fire for a minute, and the rush of downdrafts from what Stitch deduced to be rocket engines had his campfire gasping for air.

A sudden bolt of clarity struck Leroy. The suffering of the flame that had warmed his cousins' hearts had instilled purpose once more in his crimson body. His limbs churned as he flipped around and flew back to the campfire, wrapping hands around basic implements and prodding the flames awake. The whole motion caught Stitch by surprise, and he could only stand back and watch, dumbfounded, as the purportedly evil Experiment brought the faintest of smiles to the fearful faces of the cousins closest to the pit.

Four bright lights moved away, dimmed as they settled behind the tree line. Stitch nabbed a few muttered curses and barked orders carried on the wind from the werewolf ninjas, who were apparently still maintaining their perimeter. The ninjas' leader had made it abundantly known they had been expecting the appearance of the vessel, but Stitch wondered if the shock of actually seeing it had taken hold of the uninitiated humans. After all, Stitch and his cousins were the most alien things these soldiers had yet observed.

Angel was worried. Stitch could tell as he hopped back to the log and wrapped his arms around her quivering form. Her interactions with the United Galactic Federation — like many of those shared by their other cousins — had typically gone unwell. Stitch was far and away the exception to the rule in this regard. The glinting gold medal pinned into the headboard of his perfectly-sized bed, ostensibly an award for valor in service to the Federation, spoke to that effect.

Those in service to the Federation marched up the hill. A chain of soldiers, all clad in the same white armor, closed in on the mass of cousins, whose huddle tightened as a reaction to the invaders' approach. The white armor covered bulky frames, meaty tails, and square snouts, all leveled at the campfire crew. A few of the ornerier cousins toward the edge of the circle peacocked, looking for a fight. Despite their thicker appearances, the soldiers moved lithely, subduing any resistance. Not cruelly, though — more to keep everyone safe, Stitch thought. But he wondered how many of his cousins would reach a different conclusion.

Eventually, the circle did quiet down. Stitch checked on Leroy during the minute it took for silence to fall. The campfire bordered on a raging inferno. Nervous hands had tossed on too-large logs, and Stitch's nose waggled at the hint of some unknown accelerant. The shaking had only grown worse, manifesting in interminable jitters in crimson fingers. A blue paw came to rest on Leroy's shoulder.

"Oketaka, cousin."

Leroy did not need to say anything. His speechlessness conferred enough. Stitch's attuned sense of sight noticed the barest of dips in the shaking. It brought a small and carefully controlled smile to his face.

The werewolf ninjas had been plenty easy to fool. It came with the territory of novelty — none of those humans were accustomed to interacting with the alien denizens of this very much earthbound island. To them, all of the ohana appeared as one, minor aesthetic variations aside. Given enough time and support, they would have learned, and they would have more easily picked out Leroy from his earlier hiding spot.

But the Federation — they were a different story. Stitch knew there would be no benefit in trying to bury Leroy in the dense jungle brush or stick him behind Reuben's stump. The Federation soldiers were too well versed in alien affairs, too familiar with the cousins to trick through such simple means. Stitch loathed surrendering this way. Something deep within his programmed mind denied the soundness, or even the inevitability, of this plan. A conscious application of will overrode his concerns, but still, Stitch shuddered as the white-garbed soldiers carved a path through the circle of cousins and halted eight feet from the fire.

A couple of the guards whispered in Tantalog. Something about the area being secured, Stitch gathered from the muffled syllables. His guess was close, he figured, as the chain of guards broke in two and then lined up in formation. A militaristic red carpet for whomever still remained on the vessel that had landed. Stitch had a strong notion of who exactly that was.

He thought she would be far too consumed by other activities of galactic importance to pay attention to what was transpiring here by his campfire. And Stitch believed further that none of this warranted a personal visit. Certainly, Leroy's escape would have been newsworthy — probably not front page, but maybe somewhere deeper, the crime beat perhaps. But she had capable staff to whom she could have delegated a simple retrieval operation.

It was this fact that sank in Stitch's stomach as he watched the Grand Councilwoman of the United Galactic Federation march down the aisle, bordered by a platoon of white-garbed soldiers. Her deep azure skin was wrinkled with purpose, as incredibly dark eyes glared down the walkway. Rail-thin, but her body was elegant, and she almost flowed as she moved. Normally, Stitch would be overjoyed to see her. But her presence here denoted something of monumental stature — whether it would be good or bad remained to be seen.

Earth's finest representative wormed through the circle of cousins, past the line of guards, and popped out about ten steps ahead of Stitch. Lilo had done such an excellent job of liaising with the Federation on behalf of humanity, and it was obvious the Grand Councilwoman had taken a special shine to the plucky Earth girl. Stitch's best friend stood tall as the narrow but nonetheless imposing figure of the Federation's leader closed in.

In as diplomatic a tone as she could muster, Lilo rang out with, "Hey Grand Councilwoman! Good to see you again!" She waved furiously, about ready to hop around in excitement. Stitch thought that, were he in such a position, he would have exercised a little more reservation. But then, he wasn't in charge of representing Earth. Most likely an exceedingly wise decision.

Lilo received only a slight nod from the Grand Councilwoman. Maybe a smile, too, if one turned their head just right. The black-clad alien poured past Earth's representative. Not out of spite, Stitch guessed, but rather conviction. She was here to fulfill a purpose, and as she stopped and stooped down to meet Stitch's and Leroy's eyes, the heat of that purpose overtook the massive flames licking the tips of Stitch's back spines.

"Hello, Experiment Six-Two-Six. It's good to see you again," a self-assured contralto warmly greeted him. Stitch thought she always sounded tired, an exhaustion almost palpable in how she conducted herself. Running a galaxy must take its toll, and she was paying a hefty fee to retain her position. The wrinkles were much more plentiful upon closer inspection, though Angel had imparted enough wisdom to her boojiboo for him to know never to say that aloud.

"Ah," her attention shifted with her obsidian eyes. "Experiment Six-Two-Nine. There you are." Like a parent reproving her child. Stitch was embarrassed for Leroy, who only managed a sad and pitiful squeak. "I hope you've enjoyed your little escapade, Six-Two-Nine," she continued, unmoved by Leroy's really quite terrible attempt at puppy-dog eyes. "But it's time now to bring you back to where you belong."

"W-wait!" Lilo had pivoted and then snagged a ruffle in the Grand Councilwoman's black formal dress. The azure alien took another moment to study Leroy, then swiveled around. "Look, uh ma'am, I know Leroy's been…bad before. But he's been really great here. Honest! Look at that fire he, um…made…."

All eyes went to the conflagration rioting in its sand pit. Licks of flame escaped their confines, and had set fire to the edge of Bonnie's log. She voiced her displeasure with a healthy bout of Tantalog curses, and worked to tamp it out with her foot. Several other cousins warily stepped back from the fire. From the very far edge of the circle, Stitch could just make out Slushy bemoaning the flames' intensity. He wasn't wrong.

Leroy kicked the dirt sheepishly as the uncontrolled fire ignited the Grand Councilwoman's eyes. Lilo stuttered through a few starts, but the alien brushed the Earth girl aside and descended upon Leroy. "It is time to be going, Six-Two-Nine!" The columns of guards caved inward, a wave of white spilling across the ochre earth toward their crimson target.

A little blue rock stood in their way. And the onrush bent to his will, his immovable form keeping the swarm of greedy hands from snatching away his cowering cousin. Her thin azure fingers collided ever so softly against Stitch's chest before tumbling back toward their perplexed owner.

"Six-Two-Six, do not impede our operation, or you will—"

"Naga. No operation. Leroy stay."

Stitch did not intend for his tone to be as direct or intransigent as it was. He really did admire the Grand Councilwoman. It had taken time, but she had seen beyond Stitch's programming. Past the glass cage and orange prison jumpsuit. He had served the Federation faithfully these past few years, and there had grown an eminently deep and mutual respect between the Federation's stalwart leader and the de facto head of a rather special ohana. And as Stitch looked back to a Leroy about to fall apart from fear, he thought of the glass cage and orange prison jumpsuit. He knew she did, too.

The two of them stared in silence. Alone, representing their people, their hopes for a better future. Their tension had quelled the usual murmurs of the circle. Stitch had wanted a quiet evening — and as he got one, for even the briefest of moments, he realized how terrible the quiet was.

Fortunately, another cousin hated silence even more than Stitch did. He must have swung around the fire while Stitch had been glaring into the obsidian orbs of the Federation's leader. Though his cousin had a penchant for stirring up trouble, Reuben's gift with words could also defuse many of the situations he himself created. Reuben's goldenrod body stepped in between Stitch and the Grand Councilwoman, and he diverted the almost visible torrent of tension with two outstretched hands.

"Okay then, let's everybody take a breath, yeah? Maybe a snack, too? Hey Lilo, how's about we give these goon— ahem, gentlemen in the white here some sandwiches? Been a long trip, so I'll bet they're hungry."

Lilo caught on quickly and soon had reassembled a good portion of her Snack Brigade. Stitch picked up some hastily whispered Tantalog among the Federation guards, which amounted to phrases like "Can't believe we never stopped once" and "I really had to go, but she wouldn't pull over." Opaque visors flipped open to reveal saurian critters salivating over the trays of sandwiches being offered. The Grand Councilwoman watched helplessly as her guards dropped their guns and grabbed some tasty morsels. Lilo gave Stitch and Reuben a wink, and they both beamed.

The Federation's leader sighed noisily. "I suppose I should have fed them all before we left…though, that one there on the dark bread, it does look…." Lilo swiveled and raised her tray, replete with ham-on-pumpernickel. The Grand Councilwoman daintily extricated one especially delectable-looking sandwich and munched on a corner of it. "Mhm, tastes as good as it looks…" she managed through filled cheeks.

The crowd murmured softly among themselves as the Federation's forces enjoyed their treats. Stitch peeked back at Leroy. His crimson cousin still appeared terribly bothered by the whole affair, and was nervously picking at his claws. And yet, a small smile was dawning on his face, brightening as the guards went for a second round of snacks.

"Hmm, yes, fine treats you have here, Six-Two-Six," the Grand Councilwoman commended. Her guards mumbled pleased accordance. "But really, we should be taking Le— what is that one?" she effused as a six-layer bologna sandwich passed under her nose. In a heartbeat, the comestible was in her elegant hand. "Perhaps we can wait for just a little while…." The decree elicited cheers from the bastion of white-clad diners.

"Yay!" shouted Lilo, who then dropped her tray and started tugging again on the alien's black garb. "C'mon, come sit by the fire! We're telling stories about Stitch!"

The Grand Councilwoman blinked a few times as she let Lilo guide her to a log near the fire, which had decidedly calmed down during the previous exchange. "Stories? About what?"

"Oh, anything! We're thinking on what would've happened had Stitch not come to Earth. There've been good stories so far!"

While Lilo shepherded the Grand Councilwoman, Stitch did a quick check of the circle. A few cousins had wandered off somewhere during the quieter time, no doubt eager to secure additional foodstuffs — or perhaps to mend wounded pride after being subdued briefly by Federation forces. Jumba and Pleakley were engaged in some shouting match closer to the tree line. Stitch ached to hear what they were saying, but even his finely-tuned ears couldn't snatch the words from the humid air. Nani and Cobra were nearer to Stitch, and were talking in hushed tones.

Their two-person huddle appeared to be concluding, resolving whatever the subject had been. Nani flashed Cobra a tiny smirk before breaking into a jog and heading back into the house. Cobra pivoted and made his way toward the Grand Councilwoman, alacrity evident in his steps, much jauntier than typically expected from the august agent. Naturally, this made Stitch unbearably curious.

One notable absentee from the circle, Stitch suddenly realized, was the former captain of the Federation Armada. At some point in the squabble, Gantu must have slipped out of the group and gone off to do something. Stitch hopped a few times to try to gain a better view of the crowd — after all, a creature of Gantu's size would have great difficulty staying hidden for long in this environment — but Gantu proved elusive. With a shrug, Stitch resigned the perfunctory search, and returned to the inner circle and his boojiboo.

Reuben had slid himself into the conversation between Lilo and the Grand Councilwoman. Once Stitch nestled into his usual pose with Angel, he was able to capture a few pieces of rallying support for Leroy. "I'm tellin' ya, ma'am, he's a gifted storyteller. And I'm surprised that I'm payin' the guy such a high compliment!" Reuben built a rather persuasive argument, a sales pitch that would make Slick envious. Little by little, Stitch thought, Reuben would break her down.

Sure enough, the goldenrod cousin moved from pure pitch to a demo. "Hey, y'know what? How's about you tell a story ma'am? I think that'll really show ya what we've been up to!"

Chapter 9

The Grand Councilwoman's Story

The Grand Councilwoman looked aghast. Her cerulean irises darted around their obsidian houses, doing their level best to find an exit. "Me? But…but I don't know any stories…oh, I could use another one of those scrumptious little bites right now…" she muttered into silence, an uncharacteristic loss of her commanding presence. Stitch briefly considered setting a limit on sandwich consumption for the Federation's leader, but he felt that to be a bit too hypocritical given his own penchant for devouring everything in sight.

Somehow, she had procured another snack, this one a horrendously tasty combination of prosciutto, bacon, and three types of cheese. Each bite evoked a sweet note of epicurean satisfaction from the Grand Councilwoman. She was so lost in the experience that Reuben needed to prod her five times about her responsibility to build a story.

Each time, she would rebuff his call before continuing her gastronomic adventure. "Oh no, certainly not me. I've no stomach for crafting such tales…." She had always been one for the rules, Stitch recalled. Ensuring the proper order of things across the galaxy required an iron will — and left little room for imagination, it seemed.

Finally, Reuben was forced to acquiesce to her obstinacy. "Heh, funny, we're usually climbin' over one another ta tell the next tale, but alright, we'll come back to ya. So, uh …not really sure what ta do now…."

Chapter 9

?

The whispers of confused cousins swelled with impressive speed and strength. Soon, the commotion was at full boil, with cousins clamoring to take the lead. The Federation guards, who had been lulled into a sandwich-induced stupor, began to rouse and rearm themselves. Should no one act appropriately, a riot would likely break out.

Stitch searched for the one who could bring order to chaos. Cobra had taken up position about five feet back from the Grand Councilwoman. Highly trained eyes had never left her figure, and as Stitch left his log, squirmed past a few cousins, and met up with the agent, those eyes remained locked onto their target. Without hesitation, Cobra greeted Stitch with, "You want me to tell one, don't you?"

If Stitch was to be completely honest, then he would have answered, "No." Stitch liked Cobra, it was certainly nothing personal. The man had been extraordinarily supportive of the ohana as they gained their bearings in a new world. And Stitch was sure Cobra possessed some latent creative streak hidden away behind his ubiquitous sunglasses, which were currently perched atop his bald head that glistened as the flames flickered.

Yet, Cobra's position required a certain unavoidable terseness in all his communications. He was not one prone to embellishment or panache. While the lack of flair could be useful in his functional duties as a government operative, it would not contribute to any ability as a competent storyteller. Stitch hoped that Cobra would prove him wrong — though Stitch wouldn't have bet any cash on that being the case. Instead, Stitch simply needed someone to tell something to quell the crowd and resolve the more pressing issue at hand.

With a grumble, Cobra stepped forward, bringing more of his large frame into the warm firelight. When he crossed that threshold, the cousins took note, generating a wave of quiet that propagated languidly through the noisy circle. As the ohana began ceasing their babbling, the Grand Councilwoman's continued apologies for whiffing on the story rose up. "I think it best if someone were able to help me with a… an example of a story, something I can learn from…."

"Perhaps I can be of assistance, ma'am." Cobra's rumbling bass was a cannonball, and the wave of quiet rocketed outward. All the heads in the circle turned to the agent.

"Whu— you? C'mon Cobra, surely yer kiddin'?" Reuben gave voice to the thoughts of many other cousins. Though Stitch had applied the pressure to initiate Cobra's interest, even he was taken slightly aback by Cobra's willingness to engage. Stitch had expected a more protracted battle.

"Oh, that'd be splendid! Please, sit down here," the Grand Councilwoman encouraged as she patted a bare spot on the log. Cobra obliged, and before anyone could say anything else, he plunged headfirst into his tale.

Chapter 9

Cobra's Story

"Hunter. Hound here. Hunter…Hunter, come in!"

Hunter shook himself from his stupor. On the hill, scope in his hands. He was searching for someone. His target to extract. Or terminate. They had not been clear on that point.

On his belt. The radio blared again. "Hunter, this is being Hound. Please to be responding!"

They had made Jumba his handler. Only seemed right. Jumba was good to him. They had released Jumba from prison once Six-Two-Six agreed to Their terms. How generous.

Six-Two-Six clicked on the transmitter. "Ih. Hunter read."

"Ach, finally! Hunter, please to be advised. Target is being on move. Can you be confirming visually?"

Right. Their target. Hunter hunkered down on the hilltop. They had not given him a weapon — not enough trust. He peered through the scope. Scanned the tree line.

They had tracked the target to this planet. Out of the way, backwater, nearly out of their jurisdiction. Not like that would've matter anyway. They would send their agents to the farthest corners of the galaxy to get Their business done.

Six-Two-Six was a conscript. Nothing volunteer about his stint. They had promised to let Jumba go. And the rest of the ones like him. But promises, they were made to be broken. An Experiment for a mission, that became the deal. Eighty-seven had been released. There were a lot more to go.

But not all the Experiments had been located. Many had fled. Given up the right to freedom according to Them. Experiments had snuck away in the commotion that followed Jumba's arrest. The monkey trial in the kangaroo court. The cruel and unusual punishment that was going to be his sentence. Six-Two-Six had saved Jumba with his offer. They had been all too eager to accept his conscription.

The small whoosh of the engines. Jumba's ship circled overhead. Supposed to be cloaked. Jumba never could get the thing to work right.

"Ach! Be holding up there, sir!" Jumba stormed back into the circle, with Pleakley blowing around in his slipstream. "Jumba would always be making things to be working! How dare you to be insinuating differently! Pah!"

Stitch thought Jumba was acting a little thornier than usual. Plenty of cousins cracked jokes at the expense of their creator. Perhaps it was that Cobra was not a creation — did not belong in the same sense as did the cousins — that nettled Jumba so. Regardless, Cobra handily shut him down.

"Jookiba. Relax."

And Jumba backed off. Pleakley yelped as Jumba trod all over the noodle's tentacle-feet. More angry grumblings were exchanged between the dyad. It elevated Stitch's curiosity to newfound levels. He moved to go interrogate Pleakley and Jumba to discover what the matter was, but that boojiboo of his held fast. She growled in a cute yet mortally terrifying manner, and Stitch sat down in his seat.

The scope zoomed in. Found a log cabin hidden between the trees. Green foliage covered the brown exterior. Its little door slammed shut.

The scope returned to his belt. Then Hunter rolled down the hill. Controlled, but with a hint of exhilaration. His prey was nearby. No doubt cowering in the cabin. Waiting for Hunter to bring him in.

It was natural for Six-Two-Six. The thrill of the chase. The capture. Bag-n-tag. That's why he had chosen Hunter. Most fitting name he could think of. Jumba may have programmed him. May have contributed to his feelings. But the hunt, that was purely Six-Two-Six.

What he did not relish was working for his particular employer. They who ran the stars. They who had condemned his creator. They who had conned Hunter into existence. They wanted the Experiments all to themselves. For Their own reasons. Their promises of freedom made to be broken. They had Six-Two-Six. But They wanted to have more. More tools. More weapons.

The walk to the cabin was quiet. No leaves or branches on the ground. They had offered to train him. The agent's field manual had tasted delicious. Help from Them was the last thing he needed. Jumba buzzed the cottage. Trees were shaking. The door cracked open, just a smidge.

All he needed. Full speed, Hunter cleared the gap. Burst through the opening door. Tumbled inside. The force bounced the door. Sent it smacking back into place. Latched and locked. Trapped in a tiny room. Empty.

Except for him. Hunter rose. And found the hunted. Face to face with himself.

As if on cue, a patch of Leroy's fur, in the middle of his left haunch, burst into brilliant sapphire. The mimicry was likely unintentional, yet Cobra knew better than to pass up fortuitous circumstances when they arose. "Yes, much like that," he pointed out as he broke from his narrative.

Leroy looked as surprised as the rest of the group as they collectively cooed their understanding. The now-mostly crimson Experiment had been tending the fire with exact care, deliberately turning every log to its perfect angle. Movements borne from a lethal fear, Stitch figured. Leroy would no doubt be fretting over his future — the Grand Councilwoman had not yet clarified how long this stay of incarceration would last — and so had probably not been paying much attention to Cobra's brusque storytelling. Now unexpectedly at the center of the tale, Leroy giggled as the patch changed back to the typical crimson, and he turned his back to the fire.

"Gaba?" Hunter gasped. An exact copy of himself stood inches away. Perfect in almost every detail. Almost. Its laugh was too guttural. Too unrefined. Though They wouldn't have known the difference.

The claws connected. Mirror image. Wild swings, controlled jabs, pivots and step-backs. All of it was the same. Hunter fighting the hunted. Hunter fighting himself.

The radio crackled in his ear. Bad timing. Claws nearly swiped away a piece of Hunter's ear. "Hunter, Hound is being here. What are you seeing in cabin?"

Hound. A strange choice. Six-Two-Six had said nothing. His creator seemed proud in his selection. Too subservient. Their Hound to unleash on those that displeased Them. Maybe that was Jumba. But it was not Hunter. They knew it, too.

Nailed a few good jabs. Sapphire fur shattered into crimson. Crimson splotches spread when Hunter landed a hit. As Hunter was winning, Six-Two-Nine emerged.

Heavy breathing and they fell to the ground. Two Experiments, too exhausted to fight, panted in cold air. The radio again. "Hunter, please to be responding!"

A loud and exasperated sigh. Then he clicked on the transmitter. "Ih…Hunter…here. Target…subdued."

"Ach, is wonderful news! Let us be deploying containment unit and be returning Six-Two-Nine to Federation space."

Hunter cringed at Their name. Some primal disgust there. Hunter spat as he rose. Removed the capsule from his belt. Small in his hand. But roomier inside. Some form of dehydration would take place. Add water, get Experiment. Take water away….

"Ngh…" the hunted groaned. Hunter moved in. Stepped slowly. Could be trickery. This one was sneaky.

Hunter was close. Raising capsule above his head when the call rang out. Deep. And terrified. "Naga!"

Hunter held his hand. Curiosity more than anything. His prey begged. Pathetic, really. But Hunter wondered.

"Naga! Not in there! Naga go back to Federation!"

Another cringe. Truly was something terrible in Their name. So still Hunter held his hand. Hound grew impatient.

"Hunter, what is taking so much of time? Be completing task now!"

The hunted rose. Shaky, still pleading. Two Experiments, face to face. "Please…" Six-Two-Nine said. "Naga, no go…."

The air was cold in the cabin. Colder than Hunter had planned. Breaths, heavy in the chilled air. Swirls tumbled away. Freed from Hunter and his captor lungs. Freed from servitude.

The capsule fell to the ground. Split apart. Consumed itself into nothing. A silence pervaded. Radio fell quiet. Hunter looked at his prey. The one like him. Just like the rest of them. Two Experiments smiled in the cabin.

Six-Two-Nine spoke. "Must destroy Federation."

Six-Two-Six replied. "Meega nala kweesta." Their promises made to be broken. Their turn now.

The two gathered up Six-Two-Nine's meager belongings. Busted down the front door. Chilly air spilled in. Trees shuddered as the ship buzzed the cabin again. Hound's voice, slightly panicked. "Hunter! What is being meaning of this! We are supposed to be capturing Six-Two-Nine!"

He breathed deeply the cold air. Felt divine. Next to him, Six-Two-Nine laughed again. Guttural. Unrefined. A wonderful sound.

"Hound," said Six-Two-Six with a grand smile painted on his face, "change of plans."

"Alright now, I've heard enough."

Cobra stopped abruptly as the Grand Councilwoman rose from the log. Her guard followed suit. The sheen of sandwich-induced catatonia had worn away, leaving sharp obsidian eyes that glared down at Leroy. Their crimson cousin shuddered under the resurgent attention.

"But there's more to it, ma'am," Cobra interjected. Cousins bobbed their heads in agreement, yearning to find out more about Cobra's little artificial world.

"There's no need. Your parable is evident."

"I certainly do not know what you mean." Yet as Cobra talked, Stitch, from his spot next to Angel, caught the wink the agent gave Leroy, who returned with a tiny smirk. Stitch wondered how long they had been conspiring to let loose this tale. Doubtlessly, Cobra must have prepared it for the eventual arrival of Federation forces. From where Cobra's concern for Leroy's well-being had grown, Stitch could not say. But here, in front of the fire now lovingly tended to by Experiment Six-Two-Nine, a transformation was underway.

"Mr. Bubbles, your tale's moral was painfully plain," the Grand Councilwoman reproached. Cobra opened his mouth, but no objection tumbled out. Instead, he waited patiently, likely anticipating a "but" to follow her remark.

And he received it. "But, I still found it…compelling. It shows your trust in Leroy, despite his…earlier mishaps. You're a hard man to sway, Mr. Bubbles, but if he can convince you…." She trailed off momentarily she halted a sandwich tray being passed around behind her. She pulled a turkey club off the top and munched contemplatively for a few moments. Cousins hushed one another, straining to hear her decree.

"Leroy may stay for the duration of the storytelling this evening."

Little pockets of cheers erupted throughout the circle. Leroy let out his held breath, relief lightening his severe look. The Grand Councilwoman softened slightly, appearing warmer as she devoured the rest of her sandwich. Angel tittered in Stitch's arms. Reuben slapped Leroy on his back in a very physical congratulation.

As Stitch scanned the scene, however, he noticed Lilo wore a puzzled expression. Knowing her, Stitch figured she could have been considering how wasp mummies ensnare their prey, or how to make homemade peanut butter to feed the fish responsible for the rain that was predicted to come tomorrow. Something about her stance, though, had Stitch worried.

Lilo cautiously tiptoed to the Grand Councilwoman and tugged on her black dress. When the Federation's leader acknowledged the delegate from Earth, Lilo asked, "But what'll happen to him come morning?"

In their combined revelry, Stitch and his cousins had missed that salient point. Cheers were engulfed by shushes. Reuben dropped his smile, as did Leroy, who quite suddenly resumed the shaking that had overtaken him upon the Federation's arrival. Stitch wanted to comfort his cousin, but Angel's grip on his arm proved too tight to slip away.

The Grand Councilwoman lost all jocularity from her features. Eyes hardened, and even as they entrapped the light of flickering flames, they dulled in obvious displeasure at what was to come next. "That remains to be seen."

She had set the timer, Stitch realized. The clock would be counting down, minutes racing away from the inevitable and approaching dawn. He should not have been so shocked. Stitch's reprieve had been totally unplanned, and his ascent in trustworthiness in the eyes of the Federation had been a long-fought battle. But Leroy had not received those opportunities. Locked away in a cell, left behind on a distant asteroid, he would have no conceivable way to build trust and support as Stitch had done. So then why should Stitch have hoped Leroy would be forgiven as such?

His cousins groaned at the prospect of the unknown. The flight of joy from the circle nearly snuffed out the campfire, had it not been for Leroy's attention. The crimson cousin's shaking had significantly subsided, but he poked the fire with far less enthusiasm.

"Now hold up, everyone." Bonnie's voice pealed from her spot. "She just said it remains to be seen. Nobody heard a no, right?"

"Ih!" Angel shouted her agreement and squeezed Stitch in the process.

"Well then, what're we worried about? Let's have fun while we can!" Bonnie hopped onto her log and blurted out across the whole circle a rousing toast. "Until the morning!"

And like that, the cheers resumed. As happiness returned to its perch in the circle, the Grand Councilwoman sat back down, her demure posture not tremendously fazed by what had transpired. Yet, Stitch could sense the hint of a smile trying to break free from her pursed lips. He knew it was out of his hands — Stitch and his cousins could only do their best to sell Leroy as a full-fledged and reformed member of his ohana.

"Ah, Six-Two-Six, please to be coming with me for moment." Stitch spun around to Jumba, who was already three steps away from the log and gaining ground. Total bewilderment flooded Stitch, but he shoved that aside and did as Jumba asked. They weaved through cousins chattering away and dining on more treats. Through layers of cousins, Stitch followed Jumba until they were outside the main body of the circle, near the rear door of the house.

In sotto voce, Jumba inquired, "Will you be willing to be helping Leroy in any way you can?"

An odd question, Stitch thought, but he nodded his agreement.

"Ach, good, much better response than what wet noodle gave me." He gestured sourly toward Pleakley, who was dallying around on the edge of the circle next to Slushy. They appeared to be talking, though it seemed Pleakley was doing more of the actual speaking bit. Slushy was hard at work constructing a pair of snow earmuffs as fast as he possibly could.

"What should meega do?"

Jumba dropped his voice even lower. "Nothing yet. Will be keeping peace until closer to dawn. But I have plan to be smuggling away Six-Two-Nine if Federation should be trying to take him from us."

The reason for Jumba and Pleakley's argument from before suddenly came into focus. Obstructing an official Federation mission — a tall order for an ohana that had found respite on this planet so long as they stayed out of galactic affairs. Meddling with the Grand Councilwoman would be a dangerous proposition.

Stitch peeked back across the circle. Through the interstices between pockets of cousins, Stitch could see Leroy fiddling with the fire. Even from this distance, the calmness that now pervaded Leroy was clear. At home, finally. And if the Federation wanted to evict Leroy from his home….

"Six-Two-Six, please to be telling me," Jumba pushed as the nearby circle grew louder with pleasantries and munching, "will you be helping me in this endeavor?"

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