Hanna laughed at Cooper's suggestion that she might consider trying something else.

"My dear man, I've never been much good at anything but racing. But if you think there's something I could learn then, why not? Try everything once, I always say," she said, with a wink.

"Well, I suppose I'll stay here and-"

She paused as something caught her attention from the corner of her eye. A large gruesome-looking quadriped- a species Hanna had never seen before- casually wandered into the backstage area through the rear entrance to the big top and was sat watching them, its mouth, complete with a set of kitchen-knife-sized teeth, hanging open and drooling slightly. No one else was appearing to pay it a jot of notice which told Hanna it must be part of one of the acts and (hopefully) not as vicious as it looked. She was about to politely edge away when she realised it was wagging its long whip-like tail; far too canine an action for the alien to be too dangerous.

"Whatever is that extraordinary creature?" she asked Cooper, indicating in the direction she was looking. "One of your acts? Does he er- like to play?" she added, digging her hand into her bag for something suitable. She had a metal spanner. That might do; the creature looked as if it might snap any wooden stick in two if she attempted to play 'fetch' with it.

"Here boy!" she called, tentatively, holding out the spanner.

Laine felt suddenly self-conscious as Cooper stared at her, his eyebrow raised. She knew it was an effort for him to do that. Her statement had caught the ringmaster off guard. Laine had known it would. For years she had been telling Cooper that she would not love, could not love and would not allow someone to feel deeply for her. He had tried to gently push her to find some balance, to allow affection to be given and returned. Laine had resisted and yet now...

His laughter, as he grabbed her hand to stop her from leaving caught Laine by surprise. She had known deep down that it would be okay but it didn't stop the feeling of relief that came over her. Cooper and she were friends, even closer than friends. Laine helped him with the circus, kept his acrobatic team at their best and beyond that they had been there for each other in some of the toughest times in their lives. Death, violence, anger, happiness...they had shared it all. Laine knew she would have his acceptance and support in this.

His question however, made her pause. Why Atticus? She knew why he was asking it was simply that she hadn't asked herself that same question. A small shrug and a blush was all the answer she could give him as he continued to smile at her. Laine smiled back at him as her mind turned. He kissed her cheek and gave her the apple.

His offer of his cabin made Laine laugh out loud, “I will keep that in mind Cooper.” She knew immediately that she could not bring Atticus there. The view was breathtaking, it was true but the fact that she had shared that bed with Cooper on occasion could not be ignored, clean sheets or not.

The ringmaster was chuckling and nearby Entek was playing with the woman Laine had seen Cooper speaking to earlier. In an effort to turn the focus from herself, Laine nodded towards the woman. “New recruit?”

As Cooper answered, Laine's mind drifted back to his question. Why Atticus? Yes, he was grumpy but that didn't bother her. They had an almost easy relationship, if anything with the tattooed man could be called easy. She watched others get offended or annoyed at his comments or attitude but there was more than that to him. Laine honestly didn't know why, other than it just was. It wasn't one thing in particular and she would not be able to say for sure when it started.

Laine's mind thought back to all the times she had sat with him as he helped her with the letters she would receive, his snarky comments about this man or that making her laugh. The feeling of the blade as she plunged it into his body when he didn't feel like having an audience member do it. How many times had she done that for him?

She would never be able to say what made her ask that day to take care of him after his act or what forces were at work that made Atticus agree but that had been the turning point. That agreement had brought to the surface what Laine now knew had been sitting there for years. It had ebbed and flowed but it had always been there, just never acknowledged for what it was.

Laine inhaled slowly and smiled. Today had made everything worth it. There had been hurt, sadness and fear but all that was pushed aside because something else lay underneath. That was the answer to Cooper's question.

Laine was antsy now for the show to start. The sooner she performed the sooner she would be done. Never had Laine wanted an evening to pass so quickly. She tried to focus on Cooper, Entek and the woman. The creature's enjoyment of the game easing some of her eagerness to begin. Laine rolled her shoulders and went back to stretching her arms. Focus was key if she was not going to make a mistake and there was little room for error with her act. There would be time enough later to enjoy Atticus' company but it would not do either of them any good if she got hurt.

Her mind went from the tattooed man to her act, her music playing in her mind. Laine's eyes closed as she walked though her act.

As soon as Entek nudged her hand and crouched on the floor, waiting on tenterhooks for her to throw the spanner, Hanna knew he has as much inclination to hurt her as a puppy. With a laugh, she ducked through the open canvas entrance and flung the spanner in a high arc across the performer's area to the back of the tent. It landed with a thud into the dirt, much to the astonishment of several nearby circus people, and she laughed at Entek's eagerness to retrieve it.

She glanced back to see the ringmaster talking to a blonde woman dressed in a scanty sequinned costume. From the familiar way in which they spoke, she supposed they had known each other a long while; from what she had heard, circus performers often spent their whole careers in one show. Or perhaps they were more than just friends... She'd heard carnies could be fairly liberal when it came to relationships, too. Not that Hanna was one to judge, of course. What other people got up to was their business and she could hardly begrudge them their fun. Cooper did seem a little old for the blonde woman, however...

"Fantastic," she replied enthusiastically to Cooper's introduction. If there had been any doubt as to the nature of the relationship between him and the woman, it was extinguished by the tone in which he pronounced her name. "Excuse me, I rather think I'd like to get a decent spot to watch her act," she added, slipping past him to take a place by the curtain at the wing, where Laine would be performing on the midnight-blue silks that had already been let down from the roof of the big top.





Back in his quarters, Atticus watched Laine leave. As soon as the door closed behind her, he tried to force himself to relax, to come down from the intoxicating high of a few moment's earlier. He tried to summon back some of the guilt and wariness he'd had when the possibility of he and Laine had first gradually come into being. But it was impossible and he found himself aimlessly flicking through old notebooks of tattoo designs, picking one up then putting it down seconds later because all he could think about was her.

Still, he somehow managed to wile away the time until the start of the show and just before he knew the acts would be beginning, he limped across the performer's compound in a slight daze, the box of knives in one hand, his cane in his other. Usually, he approached his performance with a grim determination; it had gotten easier over the years but the struggle to force himself to face the pain still remained. But this time, he was looking forward to it with a hungry anticipation, simply because with the end of the night's performance he was a few hours closer to waking up in Laine's quarters.

Walking past an overly-excited Entek, he went into the big top and was, as he'd expected, confronted with Cooper who'd taken up his usual spot backstage before a show. He had no idea if Laine had had the chance to talk to him yet and wasn't about to broach the subject himself, so he simply nodded at the other man and dumped his case in the wings. There was a woman, a few years older than himself, who he didn't recognise watching the empty stage from behind the curtain. As he approached, she turned and beamed at him.

"Oh, hello! You must be one of tonight's performers, am I correct?" she said, seizing his hand and wringing it. Atticus raised his eyebrows and shot Cooper a side-long glance. "Hanna Freeman," the woman continued. "I'll be joining the show from tomorrow. Hoverbike stunts, that sort of thing. I say, those are some interesting tattoos." She kept Atticus' hand in her own and was now examining the figures inked over the back of it with interest. "Is that an Ace of Spades?"

"Atticus Tanner. You know what that is?" said Atticus in surprise.

"Oh yes. Daddy used to collect old Earth artefacts. He had at least seven playing cards in his collection back home," she said, letting his hand go. "What do you do for your act?"

"I kill myself."

Hanna laughed. "No, really." Her laughter faded when Atticus' expression didn't change. "Really?"

Laine was smiling as she stepped through the curtains. New act joing, new planet (despite how wary the place made her) and the prospect of the night ahead of her. Her stomach fluttered. Atticus would be out of it when John brought him in but she would clean him up and this time when he awoke there would be no harsh words.

She stepped to the centre of the ring, her ribbons already hanging behind her. The music started and Laine began a slow, sensual dance. She turned and swung on one of the ribbons, leaning back with just her toes on the ground. Her mind blocking out everything but the music and the silk in her hands. Anything else and she risked screwing up. While on the ground it wasn't an issue, in the air however was a different story.

Laine climbed up the ribbons. The movement was slow and slinky, like a snake slithering on a branch. Laine moved higher up the ribbon. About half way up, Laine began to stretch and contort her body. Unlike the day show all the poses and tricks in the night time act not only showed off her flexibility and strength but her body to it's fullest. Her costume glittered in the lights. It was only a matter of time before pieces of the green garment fell to the floor.

Laine moved to the music, a slow and sultry song. Her legs wrapped around the ribbons and leaning back Laine arched. Her hands reached behind her and released the clasp of her top. The garment fell and looking down Laine watched it hit the ground. She remained upside down for a few more seconds before grabbing the ribbons and releasing her legs, rolled down the ribbon slightly.

Rightside up again, Laine turned, twisted and played in the ribbons. She grabbed one, releasing the second blue silk to swing slightly. She reached down and slowly undid the ribbon of her skirt. Teasing the audience, Laine removed it and let it flutter to the ground as well.

Now, her body exposed Laine twisted herself into a few more poses. The song was coming to it's end. Slowly, even slower than when she went up, Laine let her body slide down the ribbons. Her feet touched lightly on the ground and Laine swung around on the ribbon, one foot on the ground and one extended up in the air. Her movement slowed as the music ended.

Laine placed both feet on the ground, stopping the slow swing. Releasing the ribbons, she faced the audience and bowed deeply. Turning she walked slowly out of the ring. Now, her act done her mind focused back on the Atticus. Laine was smiling to herself as she stepped between the curtains and entered backstage. She moved to one of the dressing tables and pulled on her robe. She spied Atticus, waiting as usual.

In the ring there were crew gathering her costume and preparing for the next act. It wouldn't be a long time before it was his turn. Moving slowly, Laine came to his side. Her hand reached out and gently found his.

Atticus felt Laine's hand slip surreptitiously into his own and spent the rest of the show unable to pay much attention to what was going on beyond the curtain. He'd seen it many times before, of course, but it wasn't that. It was that the contact of her skin on his own somehow made it difficult to dwell on one thought for much longer than a few seconds before his attention was drawn back the sensation and what it heralded. It was difficult, too, to force himself to relinquish her hand and get ready for his act but he managed it and went out into the ring without any of the grim determination he usually summoned for his act. Instead his head buzzed.

The bench and knives had already been set out for him, just as they always were, and he took his time opening the velvet box, listening idly to the steadily-rising chatter that was coming from the stands. When he spoke, they quieted immediately, but it wasn't with the nervous apprehension of the royal crowd back on the previous planet rather the excited anticipation of an audience about to indulge in bloodsport.

"This is usually when I talk about taboos," he said, to a few thousand faces, before he let his voice rise. "But what taboos are left here?"

The crowd jeered in wordless agreement and one or two of the roustabouts shifted to man-handle one of the drunker members back into their seats.

"Many of you will have seen people die. Some of you are killers yourselves," Atticus added, his top lip curling. The crowd bayed louder and one or two of them shouted incomprehensibly above the din. Half a minute into the act and he already felt grubby; walking about the streets was one thing but doing this, here, in front of people who had been self-selected as the most voyeuristic and sadistic of all was another entirely. Some of them might be here for the spectacle, or because they were curious. Most of them weren't. Not for the first time during one of his acts, Atticus suddenly wished he was on a trapeze high above an audience who hadn't come here to be turned on or whipped into a frenzy of blood lust but to be awed instead.

"None of you have seen someone come back from the dead. Come back tomorrow and you will. I'll be here as if this-" He paused to draw the stiletto blade of a knife straight across his chest. He gritted his teeth and blood leached in fat rivulets down over the ink. The crowd roared. "-Had never happened."

Another slash across his thigh and through the searing agony, the headache that Atticus knew would only die away when he was close to doing the same began to blaze behind his eyes. Above the noise and the stamping in the stands, he heard a clear cry of 'Bullshit!' sound across the ring. It had originated from a man in the front row with a shaved head criss-crossed by scars and an narrow piggish eyes who was grinning at Atticus in a way that made him want to beat him senseless. With a gesture to the roustabouts, the man was hauled over the barrier and shoved towards him. He stumbled for a few steps then swaggered over the sawdust, still grinning.

"Bullshit?" said Atticus, limping closer. The man was short, but with the hunched shoulders and string-like sinew of a bantamweight. As Atticus advanced on him, he stood his ground, his grin only faltering slightly when he saw him move his arm, knife still in hand. It came back broader than before when he saw that the hilt was pointing towards him.

"Go on then," said Atticus flatly. "Prove it."

Unlike Princess Kathleen, the man wasted no time. He took the knife from Atticus and he touched the blade tentatively. His heavy brow dipped as he found that it was razor-sharp; he'd clearly been expecting some trick-knife or false blade. Despite this, with a gleeful glance back towards his friends in the front row, as if he was hardly able to believe what he was about to do and get away scot-free with, he set to work. A gash appeared across Atticus' bicep and the man stopped to roughly examine the wound with the prying tips of his calloused fingers. Atticus hissed but allowed him to do it.

The man uttered some appreciative gutteral-sounding syllables. "Good trick. Very good fucking trick," he said, ever-grinning. Atticus rolled his eyes.

Satisfied, he continued and it was only when his back had become slick with blood did Atticus block his next effort.

"Enough," he managed. The pain was immense but somehow, perhaps because of the man's quick handiwork or the knowledge that Laine was waiting in the wings for him, it wasn't as consuming as the last time he'd performed. Control had come easier and it was slipping away with less rapidity. "Now- Prove it properly. Right here-"

His hand had barely moved before the man lunged forward impulsively. The blade went in at the base of Atticus' belly and he brought it upwards, not drawing back. Atticus didn't even have time to realise what had happened before he was utterly gone and the blood poured from his stomach whilst the nano-particles anchored to his flesh fought for his life. He fell back from the blade with a sickeningly slick sound and hit the sawdust wish a thud, his cane clattering down a foot away. The man's eyes widened for a moment then he let out an uncertain giggle; half-triumphant, half-shocked. He still convinced that the act was faked, or else he didn't care now that Atticus had given him permission and there were thousands of witnesses to prevent his punishment.

The crowd was deafening and with the drumming of stands as people stamped and slammed their fists, it was like the heartbeat that was absent from Atticus' chest had escaped from him and echoed through the big top.

Laine held his hand, feeling almost shy but comfortable. They knew each other and yet each had held back so much that there was so much to still learn. Laine barely registered the passing of the show. Acts came and went, performers passed them heading out and coming back, yet they never moved.

Then, just like that it was Atticus’ turn. As his hand moved from hers, Laine realized he hadn’t asked her to make the killing blow. Her heart jumped to her throat. He was going to let someone from this crowd kill him. She wanted to call him back, beg Atticus to let a performer do it, if not her maybe Kayne or even Cooper. Not them, not this crowd. They were rowdy and out for the kind of time that could only lead to trouble. She didn't though. Laine stood like a statue and watched.

Atticus, cane in hand made his way to the centre. She could hear his voice and the crowd’s reaction. Laine’s hands knotted in front of her. The noise was deafening. The crowds at Bottom’s Up, the seedy club it had been, were better behaved than the population of this planet. Laine swallowed the bile that had pushed its way into her throat.

The sight of Atticus running the blade along his own skin didn’t worry Laine. When the roustabouts hauled the jeering man over the barrier only then did Laine’s worries cause her breathing to increase. Her arms wrapped around herself now. The man slashed Atticus and the grin on his face made Laine want to run into the ring and take the blade from him. Gritting her teeth, she kept her place backstage.

The man circled Atticus, slashing him with a delight that made Laine want to vomit. Turning she looked at Cooper, “I hate this place.” She was sure, knowing Cooper the way she did, that he took no more pleasure in watching Atticus than she did. This crowd didn’t respect his performers, the people Cooper valued more than anything in the world. Laine could see it, under his exhaustion of the day; Cooper was holding back his own dislike of the crowd.

Laine heard Atticus tell the man to prove it properly. As she turned back to look at the ring the man was plunging the blade in. Laine’s breath caught in her throat, “Oh god...” Atticus hit the ground and Laine moved forward, stopping at the very edge of the curtain. The sawdust was soaking in the blood as it poured from the wound. Laine’s face was pale but her jaw was set. Catching John’s eye she nodded. The head roustabout moved to the ring, the other’s filling in his spot to keep the crowd back.

Laine turned again to look at Cooper. “It’s done.” Her hands were shaking. There was so much blood, more than when she had done it for the princess’ show. Laine had done it cleanly though and while this man had been swift it was far more brutal.

Laine waited. In the ring the man was escorted out, the crowd was roaring, John had picked up Atticus and the lights were dimming. The curtains split and the large ebony skinned man appeared, Atticus a limp form in his arms. John was covered in Atticus’ blood. Laine began to lead the way out to her tent, pausing briefly to place a hand on Cooper’s arm. “I will take care of him. I will send John to make sure you get to bed as well. The crew have security, it will be okay.” Laine’s tone was calm but there was underlying current of concern. Her eyes met Cooper’s silver pools.

Exiting the big top and crossing the grounds quickly, Laine opened the door to her tent. John had done as she asked earlier. There were two beds, side by side, in her room now. “Put him on one. I have it from here.” Laine tossed off her robe, uncaring about her naked form with John there. The man laid Atticus out while Laine tossed on clothes and tied her hair up.

“Thank you John.” Laine smiled at him. “Make sure Cooper gets to bed, okay?” John smiled white teeth against dark skin and left the tent, closing the door behind him.

Laine looked at the still form of the man on the bed. Picking up the towels, she began by putting pressure on the stomach wound. It took time but it slowed eventually. Wiping her brow on the back of her hand Laine began washing down Atticus’ body, bandaging him as she went.

Finally, Laine had cleaned ever inch of his body and discarded the bloody towels and water. Covering him with a blanket she was finally satisfied with her work. Exhaling, moved across her tent to the small vanity. There a second bowl of water and more towels waited. Laine washed her face, removing all her make-up and glitter. She brushed her hair leaving it loose and changed into a clean t-shirt. Cleaned up now herself, Laine climbed slowly into the second bed.

Laine reached out to hold his limp hand in her own. She watched him until eventually her eyelids grew heavy and sleep overtook her.

In the same way he always did after a show, Atticus didn't so much as wake up as gradually surface from the depths unconsciousness. He knew, as soon as he did, that the injury had been a bad one without even having to look at the clock on the panel on the wall that told him it was already morning and he'd been gone for far longer than usual. That rat-faced bastard must have really gone for it. He didn't even remember hitting the floor. That was odd; Laine was always unflinchingly precise but never cruel and thought any member of the audience he picked out usually refused to land the final blow, when they did they were so terrified as to follow his instructions to a tee. But what had he expected from this planet?

Most of the time, when he came to the pain had receded into a manageable ache. Now it was different; the pain was much worse than usual and he could already feel himself setting his jaw and shifting to curl himself around it. He'd taken painkillers- the strongest available from the medical supplies of the circus- on only two occasions since he'd begun his act, both of them not long after his first time. If Laine's hand hadn't been clasped in his own he'd have been too stubborn to even consider taking them. But if he didn't he wouldn't be able to concentrate on, well, anything but the pain for the next few hours.

Laine. He turned his head and there she was (in the adjoining bed rather than on the floor, he was pleased to see), still asleep beside him. Although her normal self always looked very different to the person she turned into for her act, daytime or nighttime, this Laine, hair ruffled by her pillow, completely unguarded and quiet and soft in her sleep, was more different still. It was this that had made him so uneasy the last time she'd taken him back to her room after his act. And it was this that made him more eager to take the painkillers now.

Gently, so as not to wake her too suddenly, he bent his head to press his mouth to the back of her hand then watched. Though he should have been seeing it all in the cold and sobering light of the morning (not that it much of the morning sun filtered down through the hives to the skylight in the roof of Laine's tent), it was as if his act had made his apprehension a distant memory. He refused to think about where he recognised that heady feeling he got when looked at her from and focused instead on her.

There was no dreams of falling, there was no dreaming at all. Laine's eyelids fluttered just slightly and a bit of frown began to form. Slowly, she opened her eyes finding a pair of green ones looking at her.

Atticus.

He was awake and still here. Laine smiled at him. Her hand was in his, just as it had been when she fell asleep. Laine stretched out her legs a little, a small noise escaping as her muscles stretched out. Her eyes never left his.

Morning had snuck up on them. "See, no floor." Laine wiggled a little, her body waking up from her sleep. Last time, Atticus had woken up while it was still dark and left her tent in a huff. This time... Laine's heart was beating hard in her chest. Her mouth felt dry and her stomach was doing somersaults.

The beds, pushed up against one another left no space, no gap between them but Laine found herself unsure of what to do. This was not like anything she had ever done before. She was always so careful, so guarded and now she felt open and exposed to him. Laine wondered if he could feel her trembling, her hand still in his. She was still staring at him, her gaze meeting his green eyes. So stormy at times, they held no anger or frustration now. Laine's pulse jumped.

Her mind focused on Atticus' injuries, the brutal way the man had stabbed him and the blood. Laine's other hand shifted to touch his chest, her palm resting flat against his bare skin. Her eyes searched his for a sign that her touch caused him discomfort and silently prayed it wouldn't in any way.

"How is the pain?" Her voice was quiet as if she feared talking too loudly would break the scene in front of her and reveal it to be simply a figment of her dreams.

"Bad enough to take something for it," said Atticus, reluctantly letting go of her hand and forcing himself to sit up despite the touch of her other palm on his chest. The wound in his abdomen protested with unusual ferocity and he knew that if he didn't take the painkillers, he would indeed be useless for the next few hours. Which he didn't want. Definitely didn't want.

He reached for the bag that John always knew to drop off with him after a show and took out a bottle of tablets, still full, from next to his spare change of clothing. Deftly taking two of them, he dropped the bottle back inside and lowered himself back onto the bed. They'd take fifteen minutes to kick in of course, but he could bear it until then.

Laine was watching him and she looked so... unsure of herself. It was utterly different to how he'd always known her to be; kind, carefully considered and warmly confident. She looked more vulnerable now than at any point Atticus had seen her perform stark naked on a set of ribbons in front of an audience of thousands. Perhaps he should feel vulnerable or apprehensive too. But for the time being, he seemed to have left all of that behind at some point during his act the previous night and all he could think about was how he needed to be closer to her than he was.

Shifting himself as best he could whilst his wound still screamed at him for the slightest movement, he propped himself up on one elbow beside her and, after the briefest hesitation, reached out to touch the sliver of skin visible between the hem of her t-shirt and the blanket on the bed. Beneath his fingertips the curve of her hip was fluid and it soon slipped into the narrowing of her waist, the line of her collarbone, the angle of her jaw. It was strange, how easily it came to him when for four years it had only ever been glancing touches in a narrow corridor, a brief squeeze of an elbow or a fingertip indicating the desired spot for the end of his act. And yet, it didn't take anything at all to lean down and kiss her.





Hanna stood a little way away from the others, watching the acts go on and off from her vantage point in the wings backstage. The acrobat Cooper had been talking to before was one of the first to go on and her act was... explicit, to say the least. Hoverbike racing was not a sport for the shy and retiring but this was something altogether different. Well, it wasn't as if it wasn't anything she'd seen before; she just have to get used to it, she supposed. And Hanna prided herself on being adaptable.

When the aerialist came off stage, she was mildly surprised to see her take the hand, not of the ringmaster, but of the tattooed man with the limp and the kind of expression that could crack stone. Hanna decided that she wouldn't bother second-guessing whatever love triangle was going on there, but it was all very messy. She distrusted people who's lives were too neat; they lacked imagination. This place had plenty of that.

The rest of the acts came on, performed then came off again. There was more of what she'd been expecting- a more theatrical, spectacular version of the sort of thing that went on in a thousand back-alley clubs in this city- and the crowd was loving it. Perhaps a little too much. Even from here, she could hear the appreciative roars and glimpsed the stern-faced roustabouts struggling to contain some of the rowdier drunks in the front rows. Finally, it was the tattooed man's turn and he limped off-stage. Hanna watched keenly to decipher the truth in what she'd assumed to be a joke. But as the act went on, she was coming to realise that it wasn't a joke at all and she rapidly considered exactly how he'd survive what she saw he intended to do... Some elaborate stage trick? But the audience member who was joyously ripping a blade through his flesh was clearly fooled if it was. Or maybe something else. She'd make a point to ask Cooper in the morning.

Despite the fact that she'd always considered herself a staunch, practical kind of person; not the type to be squeamish, she had to turn away when the volunteer landed the final blow and only briefly watched, perturbed, as the performer's body was brought back backstage. It was this image and the agony that was clearly discernible on the face of the acrobat as she watched that was left in her mind as Hanna took the map that Cooper offered her and made her thoughtful way through the maze of performer's tents to where her own was situated.




When Hanna woke up, the circus was already beginning to stir and when she came outside, into the dim light of the Hives, the vendors and stalls were unpacking across the way in the open end of the circus compound. Whistling as she went, she idly wound her way between the temporary shelters to where the shower block was situated and, once inside, found a stall and slipped inside, turning on a stream of blissfully hot water. She emerged ten minutes later, drying her dark hair, with a bathrobe tucked tightly around herself.

"'Morning!" she said brightly as Cooper appeared from one of the other stalls. "Smashing show last night, by the way. Jolly well done!" She cleared her throat. "But I was wondering... Whatshisface- Atticus, he er- He's alright isn't he? I can't imagine he do it if he wasn't going to be but... I've never seen anything like that before."