When Fenix took his hand, Alphonse smiled and returned the handshake with a firm, professional grip. Alphonse may have embraced Emma, but it was easy to discern that he was a businessman at heart. He lived in a trade hub, he dressed with class, and he had a firm handshake.

"Nice to meet you, too," Alphonse replied.

He released Fenix's hand and returned to a comfortable stance next to Emma. Emma leaned forward again, and if Fenix was looking at the girl's face, hidden behind a mess of bangs, he might see that there was a hint of heartbreak when Alphonse took a seat beside of her.

"Well, I run the pharmacy down the road from here," Alphonse replied, "We supply Hillcrest and Galaens both with medicine of all kinds--and, well, I never used to want to admit it, but Emma was the key to it all."

Emma, with her head hung slightly, spoke just above a whisper, "I wasn't that important. You had others . . ."

"Yes, well . . . none at the same frequency. None at the same cost. None at the same quality," Alphonse replied; he did, however, admit that he had others, and it was they that likely kept him in business. Alphonse turned his attention back to Fenix, however, when he realized that he hadn't answered his question yet. "Emma grew most of the ingredients we used. Coca, cocoa, thyme, ephedra, cannabis, the penicillium fungus, lilacs, you name it. She even tended these great white oaks for their bark. There's no end to the list, honestly. She grew the materials, I bought them, and synthesized medication for the whole area. I even taught her how to synthesize some of those drugs herself."

Alphonse smiled warmly as he said the last part. He put his hand on Emma head and looked at her with a hint of pride in his eyes. Emma was his protege. She was twelve years old, but she absorbed knowledge so quickly that it sometimes felt like there was no task she could not learn to do, and do effectively.

She had all the potential in the world to make something amazing of her life.

Emma returned Alphonse's gaze with a look of both bashfulness and guilt. She had no intentions of working for Alphonse again, and doubted she'd ever go to the academy at Greoul like she always talked about.

It was then that Alphonse saw a hint of the scars upon her cheek, as her hair brushed aside by his hand upon her head. He furrowed his brow in concern, but said nothing. Emma averted her gaze from him. It was a silent exchange that Fenix might not make much out of.

While Fenix didn't know much about medicine, he figured that growing medicinal plants wasn't the kind of thing people as young as Emma usually did. He couldn't help but wonder what her life before being hospitalized was like; certainly if she had such fierce loyalty from the doctors, Mayako, and now this man, she couldn't have always behaved this way.

He got the distinct impression that he was supposed to say something next, but he wasn't sure what. His question had been answered, and he didn't have any more--at least, any that wouldn't offend Emma or make her more uncomfortable than she already was. Upon seeing some of her reactions, he did, however, make a mental note to ask her something later.

He was forced to think of what people said in these situations. If not another question, then an observation? Sometimes when he noted something it prompted others to keep talking. "She does seem to be quite bright for her age," he sad, recalling the name she came up for him.

Alphonse's focus changed when Fenix spoke. He looked up, away from the scarcely concealed cuts upon Emma's face, and to Fenix. When Alphonse wasn't as focused on her, Emma made sure her bangs were covering the scars on her cheek.

"A genius, I'd argue," Alphonse nodded in affirmation. "Did you know she took up clock making? Learned the ins and outs in just a few weeks, and look--"

Alphonse rolled up his sleeve and showed his wrist to Fenix. There, he wore a small leather strap about his wrist, on which a metal time piece was kept. It was a simplistic watch, holding no colors beyond shades of gray. It was clearly minimalist in design, but everything was in its place, and functioned properly.

"Quality craftsmanship in just a few weeks of learning," he nodded sagely, "She'll pick up technical manuals, read them cover to cover a few times, and put them to practice. I wish I had that kind of patience when I was her age."

Alphonse was obviously proud of Emma's achievements and intellect. This, in turn, both embarrassed the girl and added onto her guilt. She hung her head slightly. The very fact that he still wore the watch she made for him made her cheeks burn and filled her heart with a stir of emotions.

This was why she did not want to come to Galaens. Not like this. To a stranger, she'd have been fine. To an acquaintance, she'd have put on the perfect, unbreakable mask. But to someone like Alphonse, someone she was attached to and knew very well--who was likewise attached to her and knew her just as well--she just couldn't do it. She used to be able to, but not now. Emma felt her breathing becoming heavier, harder to muster. She felt claustrophobic with extreme suddenness; she felt like she needed to escape, but knew that she couldn't. There was no way to leave without tipping Alphonse off that there might be something very wrong with her. At least, no way for her to initiate . . .

While he was vaguely interested in hearing more about Emma--as he certainly hadn't thought she had the kind of aptitude Alphonse spoke of--he became a bit concerned at her state the longer her friend went on.

At first, Fenix intended to not interfere; whatever the reason for her discomfort when she was around friends, it was something she'd need to get over. But rather than just a steady uncomfortableness, she got increasingly more agitated; he didn't think Alphonse noticed, or he did he certainly didn't think he was the cause, but he couldn't help but worry that Emma was looking increasingly like a small, cornered animal in fear of its life.

"Forgive me, Mister Alphonse," he said as he stood up, "but we've a long day ahead of us tomorrow. Miss Emma, perhaps it's time we retired...?" The inn rooms were all upstairs; Emma didn't need to know which one to go to, so long as she led him upstairs.

Emma followed Fenix's lead without question or hesitation. The two of them acted in what should have been practiced synchronization, yet completely impromptu. An acting instructor may have regarded it as unnatural, yet it came across as perfectly natural--perfectly honest.

Fenix even faked a good Greoulian accent.

"Yeah," Emma nodded quickly, but agreed in a much more passive way, a vaguely believable way, "Yeah-- and . . . well, I'm sorry."

Alphonse tilted his head to the side inquisitively, "For what?"

"Not talking so much and . . . all that. I'm just really tired," Emma said with a weak smile--an attempt of feigning tiredness. She was mostly successful.

"Oh," Alphonse trailed off, "No, no, it's fine."

Emma stood up from her stool and moved to Alphonse. Without even the slightest of warning, she threw her arms about his neck and planted a light kiss upon his cheek. It wasn't in the least bit sexual or suggestive, however; it was perhaps the last remaining suggestion that Emma might still retain some sort of child-like innocence, however small it might be. It was an innocent, familial display of affection--something she couldn't show Mayako, because truth be told, Emma had never actually harmed Alphonse in her entire life, physically or emotionally.

Alphonse was at first surprised, but he soon smiled warmly and briefly returned the girl's embrace.

Emma let go of him, and he in turn released her. She stepped back and looked up at him with a sad smile. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"You, too, Emma," Alphonse replied, a sad smile upon his lips just the same--one of realization. "And remember, if you ever need something, you know where to find me."

"Thanks, Alphonse," Emma smiled much more genuinely this time.

It wasn't too long ago that she was once all smiles around Alphonse. Back then, she was a lot more girlish. Back then, she dressed her age and made an honest effort to try and hide from a new apprentice of Alphonse's, and when he wasn't around, she giddily asked Alphonse about him all the time, about what he liked, who he liked, and what he thought of her, and she always blushed and giggled and lost hold over her drawl accent whenever Alphonse said that the apprentice thought highly of her.

But that apprentice was gone, and she couldn't think of working for Alphonse anymore without thinking about him. It was a sobering reminder of the past. It was with that thought that she walked away from the bar, took a right, and started for the stairs.

Fenix really didn't understand Emma; at first she seemed to be afraid to be too close to Alphonse, but then she embraced him warmly, and as far as he could tell sincerely. Was it because she avoided having to explain why she hadn't seen him? Or was there some other reason?

Whatever the case, she seemed better now than she had been a minute ago, and he appreciated that she was quick to catch on and willing to follow his lead. That would help on the road; it was certainly an improvement over his mentor, who had a good chance of breaking any facade he was involved in if it became too tiresome for him.

Though perhaps it was justified; a facade on top of a facade was probably emotionally draining.

Once they were upstairs he led her to the room without further incident; he was actually about to ask her something, but as soon as he unlocked and opened the door he stopped. For several moments he stood in the doorway, simply staring into the room with his eyebrows furrowed in displeasure.

While nothing was immediately alarming, if Emma looked into the room she'd see why he hesitated: only a single bed occupied the room, with only a rectangular patch of dust to indicate that there was once another.

"Uuuuuugh," Emma groaned shortly after Fenix found himself disappointed by the state of affairs of this room. The girl stomped forward and thrust her arms over her chest, folded tightly, just as her "This is just great."

For a few seconds there, Emma said no more. She paced from one side of the room to the other, though she didn't seem to pay any glances to the lone single bed. She had already deposited her stuff nearby it, actually--something Fenix could interpret as he pleased.

"You just had to say it like that, didn't you?" Emma grumbled directly at Fenix, finally; "That we were . . . we are . . . ugh, TOGETHER!"

The girl ceased her pacing with a stamp of her feet upon the floor. For the time being, she didn't give a damn if the people below them heard her.

She clearly looked angry, but not violently so. Fenix was only at risk of being yelled at here. "Now he's going to think I'm some kind of whore."

Fenix couldn't quite hide his confusion. "What do you mean? I don't think I said anything to suggest that."

Had Alphonse asked, Fenix had been ready to explain that he'd been violently ill until recently and that Emma had volunteered to escort him home to ensure he got there safely. It never came up, though, so he never bothered adding it in.

Frowning, he went over his words in his head--all he'd suggested was that they both go to sleep. Perhaps it was presumptuous for him to speak for Emma, but given their difference in age it seemed only natural that he act as though he was somewhat looking after her. As he didn't know what Emma was like before, he didn't realize how unlikely this would seem to anyone who knew her.

"We've a long day ahead of us tomorrow? Perhaps it's time we retired?" Emma replied immediately, recalling the socially offensive statements that Fenix used, "I mean, where else are we going to retire but here, Fenix? And just what are we gonna do together when we retire so early?"

"First Davis," Emma grumbled, "Then you, not even a couple months later. He's going to think I'm a whore, and word's going to go back to Hillcrest about that and . . ."

Emma stamped her foot down again, let out a resound "UGH!," folded her arms over her chest, and averted her eyes from Fenix's general presence. Stubbornly, she had no intentions of acknowledging any counterpoints.

If marriage was something that Emma was at all concerned with, she'd have felt like she was in a constant state of shamefulness, and consistently afraid of the day that she might marry someone, who might discover upon consummating their marriage that Emma was not, in fact, a virgin bride.

But she didn't. If a stranger thought of her as whorish, Emma didn't care. It was only when someone she knew thought of her as a loose girl that she felt embarrassed and upset. Alphonse was not a stranger; Alphonse was someone she actually cared about, and knew that he cared about her, too. He might not have just outright taken her in like the Tsukimonos did, but he was still her friend, and if she ever came back to this area, she didn't want a slew of people lecturing her on promiscuity.

"I never said we were sharing a room," Fenix pointed out. "And I know you looked tired, and I'm sure I did too."

"Besides, I doubt with our difference in age we look like a couple."

Unaware of the irony in that statement, he entered the room, but only to put his bag down. "I'll go check to see if they have any other rooms available." After all, one bed for two people was not going to to cut it.

And with that, he left, leaving Emma to her own thoughts for a few minutes.

Emma was briefly shocked by Fenix's observation: that their age differences were great enough that they couldn't possibly seem like they were dating. It wasn't that he was on to something, though--quite the opposite, in fact. Her last--and first real--boyfriend was about Fenix's age, if not a little older. By the end of their relationship, Davis Pavlin definitely look ten years older than Fenix. It was in no way out of the question for age difference to be problematic for someone when picturing Emma in a relationship with a man . . .

She was ready to yell this at Fenix, but by the time she realized it, he was already gone--downstairs somewhere, to go see if there were other rooms.

Why?

She glanced around. This place didn't look too terrible. She honestly had no problems with the room itself, just the way Fenix worded things when he figured it was time to go. Sure, she was a tiny bit grateful that he found a way to get her out of the uncomfortable situation she was in, but the method he went with just put a bad taste in her mouth. Were it not for the fact that he helped her out back there, she'd have slapped him as soon as they were in private.

Emma paced a bit, letting this function as the means of working out the rest of the hate fumes she had built up for Fenix's earlier statements.

A nineteen year old male and a twelve year old girl had fundamental differences in how they thought, all other things aside. While Fenix could see no reason that anyone would think they were a couple, Emma could only see reasons people would interpret it that way.

And of course, neither was particularly likely to see the other's viewpoint, either.

It wasn't long before Fenix returned. "There's no other rooms with two beds available," he intoned. He did get half his money back for the mix-up, but that was somewhat irrelevant.

He braced himself slightly, figuring Emma would probably not like this turn of events.

Emma was sitting on the bed by the time Fenix returned to the room. She looked at him with a dumbfounded expression. That's what he was doing down there?

"Uh . . . . . . . and?" she asked.

It didn't really matter to her. One bed was fine. That was never her problem. Convinced now that they were saying in this room, she opened her pack where she had it by the bed. She dug through it for a moment, until she realized that she hadn't any other clothes to her name. Mentally, the girl cursed to herself. She didn't even have a bra, actually. Not that she always needed one--just when wearing certain shirts. There was just no way she was going to get to sleep wearing this kind of thick coat. It was warm an pretty comfortable, but not so comfortable to lay in.

"Hey, you still have Eld's old shirt?" she asked shortly after this revelation.

If Fenix had any doubts that Emma didn't care about the sleeping arrangements, then they would have definitely been debunked when she started talking and acting as if she were getting ready to go to sleep in this room. Of course, there was also the question of who was sleeping where . . .

Fenix looked at Emma quizzically. She didn't seem to be getting it; perhaps she was too distracted by running into her friend.

Though he responded to her unspoken request first. "Yeah." He'd figured at the very least someone at the church could have used it, since from what he'd heard no one expected this Eld back in the near future. But if Emma wanted it for some reason that was fine too.

"Here," he said, digging it out of his pack and tossing it to her. "Well, I'm not sleeping on the floor with my injuries, so either you are or we're sharing the bed."

She caught the shirt and held it up to judge its size. While it barely fit Fenix--embarrassingly so, in fact--Emma was probably going to be swimming in this thing. Unlike her older sister, Emma was extremely skinny, frail and twig-like. Eld's clothes were massive on her.

"That's fine," she said as she dropped the shirt into her lap and looked back to Fenix, "We'll share."

For a moment, she simply sat staring at him, not moving, not saying a word. She genuinely didn't mind sleeping in the same bed with another person; she and another person could easily fit on a single person bed like this. It was just a matter of angling and positioning. She already had it in mind how this was going to go.

"Turn around," she finally declared, as if Fenix wasn't going to get it if she didn't tell him otherwise. Of course, she was going to turn around when she changed into this shirt, but both of them showing their backs to each other would ensure that much more modesty.