Table of Contents

heartsways - The Sixth Way: Revelations

LOST GIRL - BO/LAUREN

“Ways To Tell You I’m Sorry” series

The Sixth Way: Revelations

heartsways

Title: Ways To Tell You I’m Sorry - The Sixth Way: Revelations

Author: heartsways

Rating: NC–17

Fandom: Lost Girl

Pairing: Bo/Lauren

Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for–profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

Summary: Lauren wants to tell Bo she’s sorry, but what will it take for Bo to listen?

Author’s Note: Thanks for the awesome beta and advice. Truly appreciated.

The Sixth Way: Revelations

heartsways

Lauren lifted the beer bottle to her lips and took a long, thankful swig, glancing around at the other customers in the bar with critical, thoughtful eyes. They looked just like everyone else. Just like any other disparate group of men and women, even though they weren’t. Her gaze fell on a few faces that she recognized as patients, and more than a few that she knew were Dark Fae. They all came here, to Trick’s bar. And, for the most part, they managed to socialize without enmity. It was a strange place that Trick had created; a sanctuary for Light and Dark alike. Some sort of no–Fae’s–land where loyalties and grudges could be put aside, at least for a few hours.

Humans weren’t welcome here, but she knew that nobody would question her presence in the bar. It was widely accepted that she was under the protection of The Ash; she was important to him and that kept most naysayers at bay. But because of that, many patrons also avoided her. She wasn’t like them and that she was alone at the bar only served to emphasize that fact. Lauren had learnt long ago to shrug off the sidelong looks that she received here as a human. Her sense of self wasn’t found in approving glances or false friendships – the Fae who worked for her in the labs respected her and that was enough. They had found that she was a hard taskmaster but in a way, her stoicism and unswerving devotion to her work had created a mutually beneficial working relationship and there were times when she was convinced that they didn’t see her as a human at all.

There were times when she barely saw herself that way, either.

So she was able to hold her head up high and live in the Fae world without being part of it. She came to Trick’s bar to remind herself of that. Somehow it seemed important to know that she was set apart – to understand and feel that she was, too. Complacency had never really been a large part of her life, not even when it came to her work – which was her life, to all intents and purposes.

Work couldn’t really replace what was lost, though, she mused, replacing the bottle onto the bar. And it couldn’t heal all wounds, either. Which was ironic, if she thought about it.

She lifted her beer again and tried very hard not to.

“Drinking alone?” Trick sidled up behind the bar and leaned over it, elbows resting gently on the glossy wooden counter. He fixed her with a quizzical smile that she knew was a prelude to something far less innocent than his verbal questioning.

“Just drinking,” she nodded graciously, giving him a tight smile. “I don’t have much choice about the being alone part.”

“Welcome to my world,” he said with a chuckle. Lauren couldn’t help the genuine smile that pulled at her lips and swigged at her beer again. There was something about Trick that was endearing and charming in all the right ways. It quite distracted most people from the power he possessed and could wield if he wanted to. Thankfully, she wasn’t most people and was only too aware of his position among the Fae. There was very little that Trick didn’t know, or could know if he so desired. Setting her beer down again, she swallowed and shifted slightly against the bar. He was looking at her like he wanted to know something and that made her a little nervous.

“I’m waiting for Bo,” she told him, before he asked, which she knew he would. “She’s off her feeding pattern and I’m hoping to convince her to re–establish it. As her doctor,” she added, a caveat she was clinging to lately.

“Ah,” he nodded, wiping at the bar top with a rag that Lauren could have sworn bore Celtic symbols along the edges. He swished it over the wooden bar before glancing up at her again, almost absent–mindedly.

“I know what you’re doing, by the way,” he said innocently.

“I’m sorry,” Lauren gaped, feigning confusion. “You know – ”

“What you’re doing. Yes.”

“Um…drinking?” Lauren lifted her beer bottle and tilted it to one side, gesturing at it with her eyes and a hopeful smile of distraction.

Trick smiled indulgently and shook his head, leaning further over the bar and lowering his voice to a near whisper. “She won’t thank you for it, Lauren.”

She had spent much of her adult life hiding from people – or at the very least, hiding her true self from people. Her seriousness was often the flag she waved in front of their eyes along with her dedication to work so that they couldn’t see the turmoil beneath the surface. Claire had once said that her still waters ran deep and underneath them was a huge sucking whirlpool. It had been a joke at the time, but Lauren had often wondered if that was what her life was to be – a calm exterior that imprisoned a maelstrom of emotion, never quite allowing it to break over her in a thunderous storm of feeling. She’d become adept at the disguise, sometimes so much so that she even half–believed it herself. It was easy to indulge in the mask she wore when everyone else around her seemed to accept it as fact.

Only, Trick didn’t. He probably never had. He knew why she worked for The Ash; he knew the circumstances in which she had made her choices and the sadness that shaded his gaze often prickled at Lauren’s conscience. Because anyone who could see her internal struggles and losses must have experienced them too. Masters of disguise always recognized their own kind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She gave him a tight–lipped smile and finished her beer, setting the empty bottle down on the counter with a faint thud.

Trick nodded. “Of course you don’t.” He shrugged, wiping at the bar top again. “But she’s not like other Fae, is she?”

Letting out a sigh of submission, Lauren’s mask slipped for a second, revealing a look of wonderment that flickered across her features at the thought of Bo. “No,” she said, looking down at her hands, joined together on the bar. “She’s not like anyone else at all.”

Trick let out a noise of agreement and reached for her empty bottle, tossing it away underneath the bar where it fell into the bin with a jarring clang.

“You will be careful, won’t you?” he urged, the corners of his mouth turning down. A request. A command, even.

Lauren considered his words with a faint laugh. It was alarming, really, how much this little man could get to the heart of the matter without really trying. And wasn’t that the issue, after all? The heart, and its matters? Pushing at her hair, she looked him in the eye and nodded slowly.

“It’s what she wants,” she told him, her voice low, resonating with the emotion she tried so hard to keep at bay. “It’s what she needs.”

“She can take care of herself,” Trick said lightly, before his eyes widened and he looked at her almost regretfully. “I was talking about you, Lauren. Be careful. I think you’re not like anyone else at all, either.”

Her mouth opened to respond in surprise but Trick leaned back, standing up straight behind the bar and throwing open his arms towards approaching customers, a bright smile replacing the grave expression he had directed towards her only seconds before. But as he moved down the bar, he glanced back at her, worry etching lines briefly around his eyes.

She was still smiling when a hand crept over her shoulder and she turned to see Bo standing behind her.

“Hey!” she said, a little too brightly, before her eyes fell onto the figure behind the Succubus. “Oh,” her smile dropped. “Hi Kenzi.”

“Hey Doc,” Kenzie shrugged non–committally, although her gaze flickered between Bo and Lauren with gimlet eyes.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight,” Lauren spoke to Kenzi, although she looked firmly at Bo, who shifted slightly and gave her a weak grin of appeasement.

“Well I thought I’d tag along and hey, look, now it’s turned into a threesome,” Kenzi began, then stopped herself and frowned. “Although, you know…not a threesome threesome. Because that would just be – ”

“Awkward and wrong,” Bo grimaced, grabbing Kenzi’s arm and shoving her towards the bar, shooting an apologetic glance at Lauren as she did so. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to spend time with Kenzi – the girl was her best friend and confidant, after all. But she’d been experiencing an overwhelming desire to have Lauren all to herself of late, especially over the last few days. Combined with her growing hunger, it was a heady mixture of need and want that surged a faint irritation into her chest as she moved closer to the doctor.

“So how are you?” she said in a low voice, standing next to Lauren and enjoying how the other woman swallowed briefly and took a short breath. The most wonderful thing about being a Succubus was that she seemed to exude an aura that put its recipients into a state of disarray. And Bo enjoyed nothing more than seeing the collected doctor a little frayed around the edges. She smiled slowly and watched as Lauren let out a little laugh, shaking her head. Yeah; Lauren felt it too: this frisson between them. Always. It was somehow comforting.

“I’m fine. But you’re not, are you?” Lauren’s eyes crinkled around the edges as she gazed at Bo. She knew the Succubus well enough by now to diagnose her, and by all accounts, the fevered gleam in Bo’s eyes indicated that she was ready to feed. Long past ready.

Bo tossed her head dismissively and let out a horribly false blurt of laughter. “I don’t know what you mean,” she scoffed. “I’m in great shape, I mean, look at me!” She swept a hand up and down her body and Lauren took in the tight clothing, accentuating every curve. If that was all it took to sustain Bo’s Succubus nature, then she’d be fighting fit all day, every day. But the consequences of Bo not feeding were all too present in the gleam that filled eyes raking hungrily up and down her own figure. It wouldn’t be long before Bo was unable to control herself and feeding became a necessity, not a choice.

So much for all the work they’d done together to help Bo control her desires.

“Bo.” Lauren’s voice held a faint reprimand that was colored with genuine concern and the Succubus demurred somewhat, rolling her eyes and avoiding Lauren’s gaze.

“I’m just hungry. It’ll pass.”

“No, it won’t.” Lauren frowned and put her hand on Bo’s arm, squeezing gently. “Bo, you need to feed.” She didn’t have to explain what that entailed. Both women were more than aware of what neither of them were saying: the consequences of having to sustain the inherent desires that were rocketing around Bo’s body.

Shaking off Lauren’s grasp, Bo turned and leaned back against the bar looking almost petulant. “Just when I want to be with you, you’re trying to push me into the arms of someone else,” she commented in a hurt tone. “Anyone else, in fact.”

“I’m really not,” Lauren smiled gently. “I’m being realistic about the fact that you’re a Succubus and I’m…well, I’m not.”

“Yeah,” Bo leaned in and was gratified to see the glimmer of want that flickered in Lauren’s deep brown eyes. “But some of us like that kind of thing.” Lifting a hand, she trailed her fingers through Lauren’s long hair and their eyes met in tacit understanding. In spite of what her medical research had proven and the stark facts that she clung to, the doctor in Lauren stepped aside to allow the woman to take precedence. And the woman in her wanted Bo so much that she almost forgot everything else that surrounded them, letting it fade into the background until they were just two people alone in the world who had found one another.

“Drinks!” Kenzi elbowed her way between them, holding out glasses of something that looked suspiciously strong and casting a bemused look between them both. “What?” she asked, as Bo shot her a glare that was terrifyingly dark.

“What?” Kenzi insisted. “It’s not like this is a date or anything, is it?” She looked at Lauren, who lifted her eyes heavenward and shook her head.

“Not even remotely,” she muttered under her breath. Taking a sip of the drink that Kenzi had thrust at them, she winced at the taste and swallowed with difficulty before putting the glass down onto the bar. “That’s disgusting,” she commented dryly.

“Not after you’ve had three or four,” Kenzi offered brightly, but Lauren glowered at her and shoved the glass Kenzi’s way.

“Help yourself,” she said, as her cellphone trilled in her pocket. Grabbing it and flipping it open, she stared at the message on the screen for a few long seconds, a visible pallor draining her cheeks. Snapping it shut, she let out a sigh and turned to Bo. Reality, like her own humanity, always crept in between them sooner or later.

“I have to go,” she said softly, trying to ignore the expression of disappointment that flooded the Succubus’ features. “It’s – ”

“Official business,” Bo intoned in a voice that was vaguely envious of the demands on Lauren’s time that didn’t relate directly to her. “Can’t you stay? Just for a little while?”

“I really can’t,” Lauren said, ignoring the judgmental look that Kenzi was giving her and instead reaching forwards and putting her hand onto Bo’s shoulder. “How about I come by your place afterwards? Okay?”

“Hey hey hey,” Kenzi pushed in between them again and shook her head. “So Bo has to give up painting the town Fae to wait in for you? Nuh uh,” she shook her head. “That’s harsh. Right, Bo?”

She glanced over her shoulder to see the Succubus staring at Lauren with a smile of expectant pleasure on her face that brought a sigh rushing from Kenzi’s chest. “O–kay…” she murmured to herself. “Wrong, Kenzi.”

“I won’t be long,” Lauren persisted. “I promise.” Her heart thudded against her ribcage as she realized that these days, her promises meant very little. She promised she wouldn’t hurt Bo. She’d promised herself that Bo wouldn’t hurt her. In the greater scheme of things, her lofty ideals were discounted in light of the realities that pulled her every which way. She felt fractured, broken into pieces by her loyalties and her emotions, which seemed determined to set against one another in an internal battle of wills. Life had become complex in the most wonderful ways, but also the most trying and as she smiled at Bo, Lauren knew that it wouldn’t be long before a victor would emerge. After that, there would only be the carnage of the battlefield to survey and grieve over. Still, she told herself, triage had always been one of her talents; if she couldn’t heal the wounds completely, then perhaps she could apply a salve to them to make the suffering a little easier.

“Hm.” Bo pretended to think about the offer Lauren presented; she even screwed up her face dubiously as she looked at the doctor.

“I won’t be long,” Lauren repeated in a gentler tone.

“Okay,” Bo nodded curtly, ignoring the sigh that rushed critically from Kenzi’s mouth and instead focusing on Lauren’s grateful smile. “Don’t be.”

* * * * *

Slowing the car to a stop and switching off the lights, Lauren sat back in the driver’s seat and let out a sigh of consternation. Things were moving faster than she’d anticipated, which meant that her time with Bo was running out. Of course, she had expected this all along and had even prepared for it in part, but the reality of it, sitting stark and cold in her chest just like the air outside, was a little more shocking than she realized. She’d only ever become involved in Fae politics at The Ash’s behest. Doing it voluntarily felt like stepping off the edge of a cliff and hoping that the fall would only bruise a little. The Morrigan had little time for humans and their curiosity. She had even less time for a human aligned to the Light and less than that for Bo. She hated that Bo, with all her strength and power, wouldn’t align herself to the Dark. Her response had been to get rid of the problem by killing it – a solution she often employed. The Morrigan hated problems that threatened her control, and Bo had flitted between Light and Dark so often that she was fast becoming visible.

Being seen wasn’t what Lauren had in mind for Bo. She needed to be hidden away; protected and cherished until she reached her potential and could sufficiently stave off the enemies that were mounting up against her. Bo asked too many unanswerable questions about her parentage; too many questions that made her known among those who could hurt her. Sometimes it was all Lauren could do to swallow the panic that rose in her throat when she considered just how dangerous life was – could be – for Bo should she continue to overturn stones that were set and solid in the rigors of the Fae political world. They clung to tradition and due process as though it could excuse their antagonistic relationship. But The Morrigan had a way of working the system that always, always bent in her favor. When she came up against something – or someone – that didn’t, she exacted horrific consequences.

A tapping on the passenger window made her jump and she whirled around to see Sagi standing calmly outside the car. He smiled at her and gestured to the door politely before opening it and sliding inside. Lauren frowned at the interior light, momentarily bathing them with a hard yellow glow that flashed over his dark skin, lighting it in bright tones. Then they were plunged into darkness again with only the gleam of his eyes signifying his presence beside her.

“I have news,” he said slowly in a measured tone. “And may I just add that the Elemental you directed me to is a wholly unpleasant being.”

“He’s one of The Morrigan’s favorites,” Lauren intoned. “What do you expect?”

Brushing at the gray suit he wore, Sagi considered her rhetorical question and let out a faint chuckle. “I expect some common courtesy,” he answered. “And a little respect.”

For a Fae who had a compulsion to deceive others, Sagi was very proud, Lauren thought. From what she knew about him, Sagi considered himself above the machinations of most of the Dark Fae and rarely got involved in their political wrangles. He claimed to be a man of science and if he held anything sacred, then it was his insatiable curiosity about the workings of Fae physiology. But the manner in which he conducted his experiments and discoveries were shrouded in the lies he would tell and manipulations that he justified with his findings. Becoming involved in her little plan was beneath him; that was only too clear from the look of distaste that pulled at his lips. But the promise of her life’s work with the Fae was too much even for him to refuse.

Perhaps pride was overrated, she thought, waiting for him to speak.

“His name is Agni,” Sagi began. “He takes care of some of the more distasteful aspects of The Morrigan’s business. You would be wise to avoid this line of questioning, child. There is nothing Agni hates more than feeling threatened.”

“I’m not threatening him,” Lauren interjected quickly. “I just want to know what he knows.”

“Yes,” Sagi nodded gravely. “But a threatened Salamander is likely to act without thought. And if he were to discover that I was in collusion with you, then the consequences would be dire. For us both,” he added.

Self–protection, Lauren thought to herself. It was Sagi’s nature to ensure that his own needs were met before anyone else’s, no matter what he’d promised. It was highly likely that if he felt his position within the Dark was becoming unstable, then he would offer her up as recompense for any snares he might find himself trapped in. The Fae’s war of attrition was ever thus: protect one’s own interests no matter who got hurt along the way. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled slightly and she tried to ignore the burgeoning fear tugging at her chest.

“So you couldn’t get the information,” she urged, hoping that her voice wasn’t as unsteady as her heart, clattering inside her ribcage.

Sagi turned to look at her and smiled, baring his teeth in a combination of self–satisfaction and complacency. “No, Doctor Lewis. I got the information you require. You underestimate me.”

“Never,” Lauren said, with a deferential bob of her head. “That’s why I contacted you in the first place. So what does Agni know?”

“Ah,” Sagi lifted his chin and let out a soft laugh. “So eager. This Succubus must be very important to you.”

Glad of the darkness of the car so that Sagi wouldn’t see her blushes, Lauren turned away from him and gazed out of the window to the barren wastes of the dead industrial area where they’d met. Everywhere she looked, she could only see the withering effects of the encroaching cold that seemed to emanate from the very heart of her. No matter how hard she tried, the frost crept in, turning her flesh and the ground outside to stone. “The information is important to her, Sagi. She’d never be able to get it on her own.”

“Your humanity is charming,” Sagi remarked, brushing at the lapel of his suit again before holding his hands out in front of him and inspecting them carefully. “Misguided, but charming nonetheless. Agni told me a story about two Dark elders from opposing clans who had a child borne out of defiance and daring. You know, for an Elemental, he possessed quite a descriptive narrative.”

Dropping his hands onto his lap, he watched as Lauren’s gaze turned to meet his own and his ever–present smile faded a little. She looked shocked.

“She’s…she’s Dark?” Lauren whispered. She hadn’t expected this. Dark Fae were allowed to choose their allegiance in the same way that Light–born Fae were, but few of them ever crossed that line. The Dark allowed their patrons to indulge in Fae activities in a way that The Ash would never condone. And even if the boundaries of good and evil weren’t as clear cut as most of them liked to think they were, being fully Dark indicated a preternatural disposition that individual will could rarely deny.

“Entirely,” Sagi confirmed with a nod of his head. “Her parents belonged to clans that were quite at odds with one another, if Agni is to be believed. I suppose that even among the Dark, harmony isn’t always easy to find.”

“Belonged?” Lauren echoed, eyes widening in acknowledgement of Sagi’s inference. “Were they…were they sent away?”

Sagi laughed, a silken, indulgent sound and tilted his head onto one side. The predisposition of humans to always hope for the best was really quite amusing. They were such unwittingly hopeful creatures, constantly believing in the inherent good they thought existed in every living thing. They had no understanding – could have none – of the questionable and fragile society in which he lived. Fae law and tradition had existed long before humans were Neanderthals, walking the earth barely upright and sentient. When they were dragging their knuckles along the ground, the Fae had already established order until the pestilence of humanity had overrun the earth and forced them to retreat. But they still clung to their traditions and even if humans allowed integration to blight their society, the Fae most certainly did not.

“Dark clans are fiercely protective of their own,” he said, enunciating his words slowly as though talking to an ignorant child. “Some of the oldest ones prefer not to mix their blood. So no, they weren’t sent away. They got rid of the child as best they could so that The Morrigan couldn’t find her. Having her live with humans was the safest way to ensure that no Fae would ever go looking for her.” The look of undisguised revulsion on his face sent a chill down Lauren’s back and she shifted slightly in her seat.

“Does The Morrigan know all of this?” she asked in a voice no more than a whisper.

Shrugging, Sagi’s mouth turned downwards in quiet contemplation. “Who knows what The Morrigan does or doesn’t know?” he asked. “The Succubus’ parents refused to tell her where they had sent the child.”

“But…the Elemental…Agni. He knew?”

“No,” Sagi shook his head. “He only knew that the child had gone. Not where. And the parents were less than forthcoming with information.”

“They’re dead, aren’t they?” Lauren asked, knowing full well what the answer would be and letting it droop her shoulders a little.

“You know as well as I do that The Morrigan doesn’t take too kindly to not getting what she wants.” It was the only explanation that Sagi could offer and he shrugged again. “If she knew you had asked me to get this information, she wouldn’t take too kindly to that, either.”

“She must know who Bo is, then. She must know what she is. That she’s Dark.” Lauren’s statements came in short bursts as they exploded into her brain: fear, panic, realization. It wasn’t the confirmation of Bo’s Dark parentage that was worrying, it was more that, as such, The Morrigan would never give up until Bo reclaimed her birthright and took her place within the Dark court.

That’s not going to happen, she told herself. Not if I can help it.

“It’s not for me to assume what The Morrigan knows,” Sagi waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Whatever plans she might have for the Succubus are hers and hers alone.”

Silence fell between them for a moment as Lauren pondered the terrifying possibilities of what The Morrigans ‘plans’ might mean for Bo. Of what they might mean for them all, should Bo allow the Dark to demand allegiance. Fae heritage was something they held close to their hearts; it compounded who they were and consolidated how they lived. Bo might not want to choose a side, but if she had been borne from the Dark, then there was a part of her that belonged there despite her protestations.

“And now,” Sagi broke Lauren’s reverie, “I gave you the information you requested. Do you have my reward?”

It wasn’t the information she’d wanted though, Lauren thought with a sinking heart. Her aspirations for Bo had been thwarted, horribly so. Bo’s links to the Dark Fae had been strengthened, not severed. Disappointment buried into her gut and began to take hold, edging dissatisfaction into her gaze as she turned to look at Sagi.

“Here’s a flash drive with all my notes on it,” she told him, seeing a flicker of pleasure burn briefly in his eyes. She dug into her pocket and brought out the drive, pressing it into his outstretched palm. It was innocuously small for all that it held; everything she’d ever worked on that pertained to the Fae. Her hand moved away from it with a reluctant, sorrowful motion. Sagi’s fingers curled around it as though it were the Holy Grail itself, which in essence it was to Lauren. Everything she’d ever done – her whole life’s work – was contained on that drive and here she was, giving it up without so much as a second thought. She knew what she was relinquishing, but she also knew what she had to gain. She’d just hoped that it might be something more tangible; something more optimistic.

“The Morrigan must never know of this,” she told Sagi, a note of tentative fear entering her voice. “But thank you, Sagi, for your help.”

Sagi held up the flash drive with a flourish and looked at it carefully. “You would give up all of this for her,” he stated calmly.

“Yes.” Lauren’s answer was immediate, quite without reservation. The truth of the matter was that she would have given up her research a hundred times over if it allowed her to help Bo. If it allowed her to assuage the injustices that she saw as unfathomable and quite at odds with the ancient nobility the Fae claimed to uphold. If Bo had a right to know who her parents were, then Lauren had the same right to sacrifice what she held dear to make that happen.

“Interesting,” Sagi commented, with the sort of distracted fascination with which he viewed most humans. Nodding briefly to Lauren, he opened the car door and got out, leaning back in to fix Lauren with a cold gaze. “And my future favor? You haven’t forgotten about that?”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Lauren sighed. He nodded again and closed the door with a faint thud, leaving her alone in the darkness once more as the interior light faded.

Bo was Dark. By birth and heritage. And whether The Morrigan knew that or not, Bo would be a target for the Dark until she chose her alliance. A free Fae was almost unheard of in their society; nobody broke Fae laws without having to suffer the consequences. Self–determination only went so far, after all, until it was considered foolish and was dealt with quickly. Lauren had seen it happen before and although she tried to hope that for Bo it would be different, she knew otherwise.

Gunning the engine of her car, Lauren pressed her lips together in a firm line and tugged at the seatbelt. There was nothing to be gained by telling Bo about her parentage – nothing but a further connection to the Dark that worried and unsettled her. But Bo had a right to know. And Lauren had an imperative to justify that right.

Telling Bo was her own personal sacrifice to make – one that the Succubus wouldn’t thank her for. But the most unerring truths were always the ones that came with ramifications; the hard truths that were accompanied by regret and apology. Letting out a sigh that seemed to come from every part of her, Lauren released the brake and drove away with a heavy heart.

continued in

The Seventh Way: Honesty