He’s not weeping, but there’s an odd set to his shoulders, the furrow of his brow; like he might, were he encouraged in one direction or another. He’s thinking on his sins, as one does when faced with the reality that they don’t deserve the goodness given to them. He’s without words, mouth open uselessly, then closing, lips in a firm line. Quietly: ‘This ka-tet has been a gift to me.’

     ‘Is there a reason she keeps running in circles like that?’      Abraska, that is. Eddie’s little fox-daemon. Taka’s as unimpressed with the spinning as Roland is (yet equally fascinated, and silent, on his shoulder).

     Tell him you don’t want to share.      Tell him there’s not room in this for anyone else.      Roland would leave anyone behind if Eddie told him to. Between Maika and his marriage, between Ka and ka-tet, the choice is easy. He’d rather not make it, but he will, and without blinking. ‘The four of you need a better dinh.’ It strikes to self pity, but he kisses Eddie’s stomach chastely through his shirt and leans away to look up at him, and there’s something quite like determination in his expression. It’s a promise. ‘Believe it or don’t. I don’t mind.’ A hand pats and warms and settles itself at Eddie’s waist. ‘The proof is in the action, not the words.’

     “ — when the situation demands it, yes.” But the situation, thus yet, has never demanded it, mostly on Aziraphale’s part. Still. There’s a slightly malignant damp patch on the ceiling right above this newcomer’s head that he should notice in a few seconds when it oozes a drop of alarmingly brown water right onto his skull. Hopefully he’ll take a step back, rather than forwards.

     “ — haben Sie etwas dagegen? I’m trying to think. You’re crowding my headspace.” Fingers go fluttering around the bush of her hair like it’s charged with static. She squints at him and then away and then back again, this time a longer look, a deeper look. A momentary glint of something darker in her gaze.

     “World-shifter. Der Dekan. Here aus Versehen, no? Mistake, accident, and now you’re lost. Sie sind durch eine Tür gestolpert. I can smell it on you. Die Tür and him, too.”

     Costume. October 31st. Halloween.

     “Oh — ” Her first instinct is to say oh, Eddie, no in a placating sort of voice, like he’s cheerfully suggesting they walk into traffic as a fun Sunday afternoon outing. “I’m not getting a costume.”

     Roland doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s exhausted his small reserve of words, just contents himself with the fact Eddie is touching him, touching his hair. Not completely giving up on him yet. He feels worth giving up on. He won’t repeat now how he doesn’t deserve Eddie or their ka-tet; the truth of it would be outweighed by sounding like self-pity. He loathes himself for this, for continually hurting Eddie. His eyes close, forehead settled against the warmth of Eddie’s stomach.     ‘I want to go home,’ he says, rather decisively, and now that does sound pitiful. ‘With you and our wife and my son. With or without Maika. That can be undone.’ She wouldn’t be the first person Roland left behind. She won’t be the last. Love or no love. Roland’s still cold enough for that. ‘I won’t –– be thoughtless, not anymore.’ He’s afraid now that if he’s thoughtless again he won’t have Eddie anymore. Roland expects to lose his ka-tet eventually – he’s either fatalistic or the Tower makes him so – but not yet. Not this way. He won’t allow that.