What if Cillian hadn't died? What if he met Viola, the girl who gave his son strength, the girl who acted as his son's conscience when his own was being crushed, the girl who saved his son's life, the girl who refused to break under the Mayor's Asking, the girl who endured the death of both her parents, the girl who played just as much of a role in ending the war as his own son did, the girl who the Land called Todd's one in particular?

"Aren't you a bit young to have a 'one in particular', Todd?" he would ask, as Todd sat down at the kitchen table for dinner.

"She ain't my 'one in particular'. She's my friend. The goddamn Land don't know what the eff they're talkin' 'bout," Todd would say, folding his arms and turning his face towards the floor. This would almost hide his blushing face, but it would do nothing to hide the annoyed embarrassment growing in his Noise.

Watch yer mouth, Todd, Cillian's Noise would show. Respect, and don't be rude, and goddammit where's Ben. But he wouldn't say this.

"No, no. Of course not," is all Cillian would say, smirking. "But if she were, I think she would be good for you."

Todd would bury his face in his arms with a "huff."

"She's an impressive girl. All I'm saying is she's a bright girl, she's strong, she don't slack."

"And I do?!" Todd would say, indignant.

"Honestly Todd, I think you could learn a thing or two from her," he would say, flashing images of Todd forgetting to do his chores and his reading practice in his Noise.

Just that moment, the door would open. As Ben walked into the kitchen, he would say, "Come on, Cillian. He helped stop a war. He was shot! I think that excuses him from chores for at least a few more weeks." His Noise would darken slightly at this, which he would try to cover up with the brightest smile he could muster.

"Yeah, what Ben said. I'm a hero, and heroes don't gotta do no chores," Todd would say. "And besides, look at me! I got effing shot!"

"Todd, language!" Cillian would snap, pushing images of Todd bleeding on the shore out of his head. "A hero's gotta do chores and learn to read, just like everyone else. And getting shot don't excuse you from nothing now that you're healed."

"Have a heart, Cillian," Todd would say.

That would get a bit of a rise out of Ben's Noise. Todd wouldn't say that if he had seen the way Cillian broke at the sight of his son's broken, bleeding, almost lifeless body—the way he refused to leave Todd's side, refused to sleep for nearly three full days and eventually had to be sedated—the way he and Ben and Viola slept in shifts so that someone would always be awake by Todd's bedside to comfort him in his sleep and welcome him if woke up. No, there was no doubt. Cillian had a heart.

Ben would start to speak up on Cillian's behalf, but Cillian would grab his hand and squeeze it, shaking his head. Just now, things were almost back to normal, Cillian would show in his Noise. The way they were before. Cillian was all "work, work, work", Todd was backtalking and slacking and trying to get out of any work he could, and Ben was trying find some sort of middle ground. Above all of these vague ideas drifting through Cillian's Noise, he would show one clear plea. Can't we just forget all the shit that's happened this past year? Please?

Todd would play along effortlessly. "So, why don't we talk 'bout how much time the guy who saved the world, stopped a war, and got shot gets off from feeding those effing sheep?" And he would say "effing."

And for a moment, they would almost be not broken. They would be almost normal again.