*First off, I blame WinterlynDow. She sent me a picture on accident. And then my mind wouldn't shut up until I wrote it out.*

*Secondly, this is only a one-shot. However, I wrote it as an addendum and afterthought to my preceding story, The Contract.*

*That is all. Read on for fluffy goodness*

Coming home from her entirely unsatisfying job, Arya kicked off her stacked heels just inside the doorway of the apartment with a groan. The cursed shoes might give her five inches of height, but they caused every part of her feet to ache by the end of the day. She went straight to the bathroom and started to fill the bathtub with scorching water she knew would turn her skin bright pink. Arya added a few drops of peppermint oil, delighted to reap the benefits of both relaxing her muscles and Gendry's lips tasting their way across her collarbone in appreciation later in the evening.

Arya made her way to the kitchen as the bath filled. She dropped a couple of pieces of chicken and spices into a small crockpot to cook until Gendry came home after his late shift. Even if it was barely edible, he loved it when she tried to have dinner ready. Never the consummate housewife, Arya rarely had food ready on time or in appetizing fashion.

As she settled the glass lid onto the crockpot, the hairs on the back of her neck arose like miniature soldiers. Arya's hand slid towards the knife block and she wrapped her hand around a small blade while turning to scan the room. Nothing moved, yet she drew the knife to her side. Years of forgetting, forcing herself to leave her Beretta at home, slammed into her trained instincts. He was here.

No…I killed him.

Arya set the knife down, splaying her fingers onto the granite countertops until they stopped shaking. Counted breaths helped lower her heart rate while she walked to the bathroom to turn off the water, eyes forced to the floor. She refused to look for something – someone – who wasn't there, despite the pull of her intuition.

The bathtub full, she retreated to the bedroom and touched the Beretta in its holster under her nightstand. Satisfied, Arya told herself she wanted to make sure the crockpot had been turned on, knowing full well ulterior motives led her back to the kitchen. She tipped a bottle of merlot and filled a glass before discarding garments, one piece at a time, her trail of clothes a path back to the bedroom.

Lifting her chin in defiance, after downing the last of the wine, Arya dropped the last of her garments. For all of the years he had never been there, she'd give his ghost a show in the apartment she shared with Gendry.

She hissed as she lowered herself into the scalding water. Cursing because she had forgotten to turn on music yet unwilling to leave the cocoon of heat, Arya let her tone-deaf voice trot across a song long discarded. Her body unwound as the wine works its charm, sweeping the dark whispers of the past back into their corners.

Go away. I won't even say your name.

Plunging her head underwater, her eyes pricked with spots and her lungs burned before she pushed back through the surface and drained the tub.

Wrapped in a towel, Arya froze in the doorway to the bedroom. Curled into a fuzzy gray ball, a tiny kitten mewed.

"Gendry?" she called out, slinking towards the nightstand and retrieving her touchstone, its weight bringing everything into absolute focus. Knowing Gendry wasn't there, Arya called out again, trying to chase the demon away.

The kitty meowed again, teetering towards the edge of the bed. Arya's free hand snaked out to catch it as it started to topple off towards the floor. She gathered the kitten to her nose, smiling as its purr motor kicked into overdrive. Inhaling, Arya caught the scent she had worshipped long ago – reminding her, welcoming her.

She grabbed her phone and sent a text to Gendry before getting dressed and running out of the door.

An hour later, she returned, kitten asleep in the pocket of her oversized jacket. Arya unloaded her supplies, keeping the lights off in the apartment so her cargo didn't stir. She paused near the balcony door, squinting into the amber lights below.

At least you are alive, Jaqen.

Her pocket tumbled just before a panicked mew and tiny claws punched through the jacket and into the tender skin of her waist.

"Ow! Come on, let's get you to the litter box and get you some dinner, little Assassin."