Molly gets to her feet with philosophical good humor and wanders back over to Daine. Sarge takes the opportunity to roll up onto his own paws and go investigate the work Peeta's doing.

Daine keeps half an eye on Peeta's progress as she starts to brush Molly. There's a comforting familiarity in the motion of his drawing, and the design - though meaningless to her eyes - is rather pretty. But it's Peeta's face (Peeta's face, she thinks to herself, fiercely) that she finds her gaze returning to more often as he works.

Daine slowly gets to her feet, curiosity getting the better of her. She sidles up to her door, stopping a couple of feet away from Peeta and looking at the ward. She doesn't know about any other universe's magic, so it's impossible for her to be impressed on that front. But it's clear in the neat lines and steady curves how much… how much care Peeta's taken with it, to get it right.

She ought to thank him. It's only polite. But when she turns to face him, her throat seems to close around the words, almost as if the Graveyard Hag had silenced her. She struggles for a moment, but she can't do it, she can't thank him for what he's done.

For the first time in three days, she wishes she could.

"I'm sorry," she finds herself saying - sobbing, almost, and she pulls in an unsteady breath. "Peeta, I'm sorry."

Daine takes a small, aborted step toward him when he starts to open his arms and then stops. Miserable and uncertain - she hates this, she hates not knowing what to do or what to say, she hates feeling so dratted helpless - she sways on the spot, not knowing if she ought to move forward or retreat.

"What are we going to do?" she asks, as if he'll have any answers. She's not even sure what she's asking about. Lucifer? Them? She shakes her head in confusion and self recrimination. She's so useless.

Part of her rebels at the thought of trying to back to normal. In Carthak - and in Snowsdale, so long ago - she might have lost her head, but at least she did something. There had been grim satisfaction, or even a sort of comfort, in avenging her family and in tearing down the emperor's palace, brick by brick. It had felt right, at the time. It had felt fair.

She hadn't been proud of herself afterwards, though. When all the dust had settled, she hadn't been pleased with what she'd done. But would it really have been better if someone had stopped her? She can't even imagine it. No one's ever kept her from fighting an enemy before, not one who so clearly needed to be stopped.

Not that she could have stopped Lucifer, anyway - not according to Aziraphale. Maybe Peeta's right. Maybe getting back to normal is the only target she can shoot for right now.

What if she misses it?

She's feared losing herself before, but now that old terror rises up again in a new guise. The wall in her mind isn't going to make it easier to go back to the park. Or control her temper. Or keep her friends, and she doesn't think she can stand to lose any more of those.

Especially not Peeta. And she's been so awful to him.

Daine's face crumples, and she closes the little distance remaining between them, wrapping her arms around him and hiding her face against his shoulder. "I don't know if I can," she admits, voice muffled.

When Peeta says they won't live in anger, Daine remembers an earlier insistence that she wasn't angry - and the Graveyard Hag's response. Nonsense, dear. Even if she doesn't feel angry, that doesn't mean it isn't still there, just buried deep and waiting.

But Peeta's still here. She hasn't lost him, at least. With his arms around her, and the friendly pressure of the dogs on either side, she can almost begin to believe that things will get better.

Daine turns her face into his neck, wondering if she could get the words out if she tried to thank him again. And that's when she notices the beginnings of a scratch mark running beneath his collar. What? Frowning, Daine lifts a hand to tug the fabric aside, revealing the rest of a long, red mark down his shoulder. And it's not just that - his whole back is a mess of scrapes and bruises.

Daine gasps. "What happened?" she asks, dismayed, before the answer presents itself. She happened. Maybe she hadn't been trying to hurt him during her struggle to get away, but she hadn't been trying not to hurt him, either. Not hard enough.

"Peeta…" her eyes fill with tears, and she starts to push herself away. All that anger, all that magic, and the only person she'd managed to hurt with any of it was him.

He takes her by the arms, and for a moment, it's as if none of the intervening years between Snowsdale and now have happened, and Daine just wonders how he can stand there and look at her without any trace of fear, anger or disgust - how he can not see her as a dangerous wild animal. Accident or not, look at what she did to him. But when she searches his face, she sees nothing but kindness. If there's worry, it's for her, not because of her.

Peeta's her friend, and he's not going to reject her. Later, it'll seem silly how the realization sinks in. He was her friend before; it should be obvious that he's still her friend now. It shouldn't feel like a brand new gift.

Daine hesitates, then steps forward again, hugging him more gently now. "I'm sorry," she says softly. Shamefully.

Daine can't help thinking that it's a little too late for that. But she doesn't want to argue with him. At the moment, she doesn't want to do anything but stand here, just as they are, and try not to cry.

The dogs allow them a few lingering moments before Molly circles around behind Peeta to look up at Daine, and Sarge noses at one of Peeta's hands. Daine huffs out a watery laugh against Peeta's shoulder, then reaches up to wipe at her eyes. "The dogs need walking," she says, pulling back a little. She gives Peeta an uncertain look, then cautiously asks, "Do you want to come along?"