---
They stopped once in the lee of a mile stone to let the engine cool and to let Fizz tell the shrubbery how fast they had been without using numbers. John checked the bind on the empathy field —still tight. He checked the egg in the void— still turning, still patient, still faintly greedy in the way of all children not yet born. It was eating all the beasts they killed.
"Are you going to tell her," Fizz asked suddenly, goggles pushed up, eyes soft in the way trouble gets soft when it remembers home. "About the road and the bike and the fact that you came back early just to breathe the same building as her for longer."
"She will know…" John said. "When the time comes."
"That is not the same as being told," Fizz said, but he did not press. He looked toward the city and licked a crumb of wind from his whisker. "I will allow this to be a grand romantic gesture with minimal commentary. For now."
