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*
Going solo turns out to be harder than Farfarello imagined; somehow he'd begun to depend on Crawford's planning, Nagi's knowledge, Schuldig's constant presence. It's true he's not really alone; he has Sally, has that strange, unidentifiable warmth she makes him feel - but it's different.
There's never been something for him to protect before, something so precious and easily broken, something that the whole rest of the world wants. But one man can't stand guard as well as four; though he tries, the way he watches makes her nervous, reminds her of Eszet.
He's hurting her, trying to keep her safe.
**
She suggests they leave the boat, move inland, and he agrees; it's all the same to him, and he finds he wants to please her.
They sell the boat cheap, no-questions-asked, and go in through Bruges. The sudden flood of humanity means more men looking at Sally, talking to her, trying to touch her: he fights the ones who talk and kills the ones who try for more. She patches him up each time and doesn't tell him not to do it.
Her fingers are light on his skin, like feathers, and he realizes he hasn't touched electricity since Schwarz.
***
Sally buys a bottle of hair dye and new clothes with the money from the boat and colors his hair a strange, rusty off-red. She sits behind him, brushing the color in slowly, thoroughly; he bows his head as if he's praying: Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum.
When it's done, he doesn't think it makes him any less noticeable or any less obviously himself. In the mirror, it just looks like he has blood in his hair, half-dried, like it should still be sticky-wet and coppery.
He thinks about Schuldig until her lips brush the nape of his neck.
****
When she kisses him, they're in Lille, a week out from Rotterdam. They're passing as tourists, now: he speaks his native English, she smiles and laughs and doesn't talk in public. It keeps people from noticing her accent, but it doesn't make them want her any less.
They go to the Jardin des Plantes when she notices he's starting to jump at shadows, wander quietly from the roses to the dahlias. She admires the flowers, pretty, fragile things like her smile, puts her arm around his waist, turns and leans up into him, and it's so easy, just like that.
*****
In London, they get a cheap flat mostly on the power of her charm. The first night he sleeps on the floor; the second, uncertain, awkward, he joins her in the narrow bed.
It seems wrong to touch her: she's holy in a way that Earthly creatures shouldn't be, an unspoiled, pure way; there's no cruelty in her. But her body is soft and sweet, welcoming and lush, and she pulls him into her, whispering encouragements, endearments, love.
Farfarello doesn't understand everything she wants from him, not yet, but he has time to learn; he'll never let her abandon him.