Sometimes he did it because he wanted to. Sometimes he did it because he needed to. Sometimes he did it because he was curious about what would happen. Sometimes he did it because he thought it was deserved. Most of the time, though, he did it because it was an itch: an unreasoning, irrational, unrelenting itch.

This time, though, it was because he wanted to.

He needed to commemorate his newly claimed freedom, after all. Or, perhaps, his escape, instead.

When his mother left that day, not long ago at all, he knew it was time to leave, too. He knew where she was going. She would see what he had done, see what he had taken, see what the taking had wrought, and then she wouldn't let him go out any more. And that... that was unacceptable. He couldn't live if he never went out, never found new things, never added to his Collection again. What would he do with himself? How would he ever feel right again?

So when she left, so did he. He carefully packed up his Collection, lovingly wrapping everything that might have broken in everything that was soft enough to cushion it, gave his small pocket of the realm a final look in farewell, and then left it behind forever.

But where to go? Who to visit? What to take? It would have to be something special. Something unlike anything he'd ever taken before. Something that would mark his new freedom, his new way of life, change his Collection by its mere presence. Something from somewhere he'd never been before. Something that meant something.

He left his Collection in its new niche-- still carefully packaged rather than set out; the want needed attending to before he could give it the time it really deserved-- and went out into the realms to see what he could find. He found himself at a place that hung in the emptiness of space, a huge city enclosed and protected from the vacuum but connected to the planet below it by a cable of some sort. It was full of people-- all different kinds of people; it was fascinating how many there were-- and full of great loves and great needs.

It was perfect.

~~~~~

Ian's apartment was the perfect picture of a young family's dream. It was a decent size for husband, wife, and toddler, and a decent price, with appealing colors, matching furniture, and just enough clutter to make it feel lived in but not messy-- mostly comprised of a few scattered children's toys and stacked magazine-panels. It was inoffensive, friendly, and thoroughly domestic. Zale was never entirely certain whether it made him envious, amused, happy for his brother and his family, or a little sick. Maybe it was a little of each.

But that didn't stop him from coming over every time he was invited. Ian was his little brother, his best friend besides Wiro, and the only one who still had faith in him after the roller coaster of his life. When even the rest of his family turned away in disgust, Ian still kept up contact and still tried to help him out, had even let him crash on his couch a few times. He'd always wanted him to clean himself up, of course, and was certainly disappointed at how badly he'd had to fall before he could start climbing up to living again, but when he'd started getting back up there, he'd been hopeful and proud.

Now that he was cleaned up-- for the second time-- and had been for over a year now, they could just be friends and brothers without all of that getting in the way. They seemed to get along well enough, anyway, without a lot of expectations-- thankfully; Ian didn't even seem to mind that he didn't talk a whole lot, though he had been getting better and better at conversation. Besides, he loved playing with his niece Bethany, especially now that she was old enough to actually play instead of just gurgle and grab onto his fingers.

Zale wasn't entirely sure what Ian's wife Nova thought of him-- she'd seen him at his lowest, and had never really understood Ian's attachment to him-- but they got along well enough, now. She was a pretty woman, light brunette with nice eyes and an attractive smile, and she and Ian seemed happy together. That's what mattered to Zale, not some vague feeling that he was disapproved of. After all, he hardly had much about him to be approved of, especially to someone with a three-year-old daughter and a husband who worried too much about him. 

She greeted him with a smile on the surface and a kiss on the cheek, no matter what she felt, so all was well. 

When he left later, after a pretty good dinner-- he was amazingly on his way to being able to enjoy food again, which he'd been certain would never happen-- a short show on the holo, and a lot of chatting, Wiro was waiting for him outside. She couldn't come inside, as the apartment was human-sized and she was decidedly not, but she'd waited outside and listened in on the conversation, though him. Zale leaned a moment against her cheek as she lowered it to nudge his chest affectionately, then patted her neck and, since he'd ridden here rather than walked and took the lift, scaled the straps on her silver shoulder to settle between her wings.

:You had a good time?: she asked, though she knew he had.

"I usually do," he answered, stroking her hide gently as she rose and started padding down the street. He hooked his feet securely into the straps meant for them.

:I'm glad,: she said fondly. :Maybe one of these days they can come to see us, and I can be involved, too.:

Zale chuckled. "Maybe."

:They seem really happy,: Wiro said, looking over her shoulder at the apartment receding behind them. She sounded a little wistful.

Giving up on vocal speech-- he'd nearly exhausted his capacity for it, over the course of the evening-- he replied silently. They do seem happy. Ian certainly is.

:He loves her.:

Chuckling again, Zale asked, Which her? Wife or daughter?

:Well, both of them,: Wiro smiled back at him.

He does, he smiled, too. I'm glad for them. They're good people.

:So are you: Wiro pointed out, pausing at the edge of the street, where it met the main deck thoroughfare and the dragon-sized airspace, spreading her wings.

And I have you, he replied, patting her neck again. So I'm just as lucky as he is.

Glowing happily, Wiro took off the edge of the street, and they made their way home.

Chapter Two

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