Bane

November 3, 1975

"Nadjia!" Jonathan stood up, his seat sliding along the hardwood floor of the lodge. Jonathan hurried to her, and they hugged. "You made it!"

Nadjia embraced him, and began crying.

"No tears. Please." Jonathan held her, stroking her thick black curly hair.

Nadjia bawled. "Don't go, please."

"Oh, Nadj. Come on. Come have some cake, and ice cream. It's pistachio. The ice cream, not the cake. It's your favorite." Jonathan gently pushed her away, and took her by the hands. He led her to the table, and put her at his place, pulling the chair to her.

"...this is your seat, Jon."

"No way, Nadj. I've got cake, and ice cream, and gifts for you."

"It's your birthday, Jon." Nadjia shook her head. "You're not supposed to get me gifts."

"Silly A-rab girl."

Nadjia began bawling again.

The other guests at the party graciously ignored her. Most of them experienced it on their twelfth, some of them - most of them the future brides of The Order - spent a long time crying.

Jonathan sat beside her.

"Jon, will you visit me?"

"No."

"Can I visit you?"

"No, Nadjia."

"Jonathan!" Nadjia's voice rose above the music. The guests ignored her, and continued their conversations about the instability in Saigon.

"Jonathan, four years!"

"Nadjia, remember. We're betrothed."

"That's supposed to make me okay with all this?"

"I was hoping you'd open your gifts first."

"I'm supposed to accept I will not see you these next four years, and you're going to marry me, and it makes it alright?

Jonathan nodded, but he looked nauseous. "Not how I expected this to go."

"How could you not imagine this would be any other way?"

"...because there's no choice?" Jonathan's face was bright red.

Nadjia put her palms on the table, and in a mockery of her sweetest voice, "What is your years? I'll get to be Mrs. Nadjia Natalie Walker."

Despite the tension, Jonathan snorted. "Natalie."

"Oh shut up, idiot boy!" Nadjia's face was unreadable. "I didn't choose my middle name."

"I like your name."

"That's besides the point. I'm eleven. You're only twelve, Jonathan. We can't be married."

"...well." Jonathan scratched at the back of his neck. "We won't be, not if I fail."

"If you fail what?"

"My advanced education."

Nadjia carved herself a large piece of Jonathan's cake, and cut out two scoops of pistachio ice cream. "It's all I ever wanted, you know. You to love me."

"Yeah. Love'n'stuff."

"No, Jon." She shook her head once, sharply. "Love. Real love, with a capitol "L". We're not even old enough to drive, but we're supposed to get married? I don't know what I'm going to wear tomorrow, or what music I'll like in a week... and betrothed, Jon."