Even with all his preparation, he still wasn’t prepared for the moment the SummerClan leader actually appeared. He stopped fussing immediately and sat up straighter, greeting him with a fumbling, over-eager smile; in another world, he’d have dropped his folder and sent papers scattering all over the floor. “Foxstar,” he greeted deferentially, trying to assess some measure of how he felt towards him, trying to work out how he had to act, because simple honesty still didn’t truly cross Doe’s mind, even with all his salvation — but he had barely gotten the name out before the younger tom was speaking. I had been warned that you might appear, and here you are. Doe gave a slightly agonised smile — he hadn’t been expecting such outright hostility, such dismissiveness, and any hopes he had harboured of greeting him with perfect charm crumbled away, leaving faint humiliation in its place. He let out a breathy little laugh, eyes not leaving his. While he’d been in exile, the thought of being talked about back in SummerClan, of haunting Sunstar’s every waking moment, had been like a nasty drug to him, narcissistic and petty. He’d hoped he’d consumed their lives — poor Doefreckle or Doefreckle, that bastard. Now, with his friend gone, it all felt bleak and unimportant. Childish. In reality, it wasn’t a pleasant feeling at all. He didn’t like having to be warned about, not like he might have expected, not like he might have had Ratstar still been leader. “Here I am,” he agreed weakly, his shoulders rising, an attempt at a soft little laugh gurgling and dying in his throat. “You’ve gotten very—“ Lovely. The word died on his tongue; it probably wasn’t the right approach to flirt with him to make him more amiable towards him, not when such behaviour had gotten him into this mess, and so he closed his mouth and gave a slightly sad smile instead, lowering his paw from where he’d been gesturing at him. With what clearly took a lot of effort, he stayed silent, letting the leader direct him instead.

I suppose you should come on in. His eyes widened, and for a moment it looked like he would protest, leaning back and fumbling slightly at the earth. He hadn’t wanted to go inside — he didn’t want to see his home, not if he wouldn’t be allowed back after all. He didn’t want to have that torture dangled over him. It would remind him of what he truly had to lose if he failed. But, finally, he got himself under control again — a momentous feat when he’d lived his whole life giving into every temptation, every whim, equal parts utterly repressed and utterly reckless — and gave another tight, beaming smile. “Thank you,” he replied, like he’d just been handed a little teacup to hold. He waited for the leader to brush back through the camp entrance and then, with a breath, followed him. On the inside, he tried not to look at anything. He wasn’t ready, not if this was what he’d lose. He caught a few glimpses out of the corner of his eye — the dens around the edges, kits playing by the nursery, flowering plants — and felt his heart break; more resolutely, breath quivering in his throat, he stared down at the ground. He didn’t want Shaded to see him; if he failed, it would be better if he’d never known he’d been there, or if he only heard about it after he was already gone. If he saw him now, he would get himself exiled with him with the fuss he’d cause. With an upward flick of his eyes, he saw where Foxstar was leading them — his old beech den — and drew in another breath, feeling his heart flutter and stammer in his chest as he kept his gaze on the ground.

… and that I will be occupied for the afternoon. Doe looked agonised again, opening his mouth like he would protest and watching Foxstar pass with something like pleading in his eyes, half-turning; but again, he stayed silent, only nodding quickly with a stupid sort of bewilderment. The afternoon? Doe mouthed to himself, turning away and looking down at the earth in faint terror, brows pressed together. The whole afternoon? How much was he going to have to talk? Fresh terror washed over him; his resolve, his confidence, took another hit. But, trying to muster up some faint courage, he limped the rest of the way himself, disappearing into the cool shade of the leader’s den. He sat down first close to where he’d once made his nest; it still smelled faintly of Sunstar. Then, thinking that was too close and too forward, he stood and limped a little way back, into more of a nook where the hollow sloped downwards towards the ground. Then, thinking that made him look guilty, like he had something to hide because he was in the shadows and, you know, symbolism, he stood again and shuffled more to the sandy centre of the den, to a small patch of sunlight streaming in from the camp. And there he stayed, letting it warm his side and trying to steady his breathing with deep, purposeful exercises he’d been teaching himself in the League, breathing exercises to calm down his anxiety and his temper. When Foxstar finally slipped in, he greeted him with a bright, wide smile, sitting up straighter like this was nothing out of the ordinary, and he’d always been in SummerClan, and he was just here to inform him of a border patrol. As the silence stretched, he just kept on smiling, though it became slightly strained around the edges. Was he supposed to break the silence? Was he supposed to speak? He was just about to, rocking forward and opening his mouth and drawing in a breath, when the young leader spoke.

So, what do you think I can do for you, Doefreckle? It was entirely the wrong thing to ask him, because it immediately wounded his ego — and if he were more of the tom he used to be, he would have immediately shot something back with such boyish, smiling acidity. As it was, he just visibly deflated, hurt. Think. It was that word that hurt him. Like he was an imposition; like the outcome was already decided, and it wasn’t in his favour. But he tried to push through it with a smile, drawing his paws together and sitting up a little more. “I expect you know,” he began warmly, enthusiastically, politely. “I want to come home to SummerClan. I want, humbly, forgiveness. Final and total. I know that what I did was terrible — I betrayed my Clan, and worse than that, I betrayed my best friend. But I’ve paid for that. I’ve been separated from my family, from my friends, for moons now.” He wasn’t going to say that his exile had been an ultimately beneficial, renewing experience for him, because he didn’t think that was what an exile was supposed to be at all. But that was Doe — he always landed on his paws. He made it all sound too simple, too childish, like he was owed this, like he’d done something wrong and done his penance so clearly it was time he was forgiven. “And my exile — it was Sunstar’s decision. And we’ve made up now. I don’t know how much you know,” and here, something new appeared in his eyes, something that looked sly, like distrust if distrust were petty; he turned his head slightly, looking at Foxstar out of the corner of his eye, “but surely, with her gone, my exile goes with her. It no longer applies.” He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, there was something else in his voice as well, something challenging or competitive, his eyes narrowed infinitesimally. “What she and I shared on our journey…”

“Ever since I died… no. Ever since I was denied my lives by StarClan, I’ve wondered why. For over two years. Why was I left standing there — why wasn’t I enough? And now… now I think maybe it was always you. Maybe you and I, as much as it PAINS me to say it… maybe we’ve always been joined. Let me explain.” He’d repositioned himself anxiously, licked his lips, hurried on in a fervent rush. “If I had my lives, I might still be leader right now. Ratstar would never have come to SummerClan, and you would never have been born, let alone become what you needed to be. I had to die so you could live. So you could lead. I always thought I had done something wrong, that they disapproved of me, but even then my leadership wasn’t about me, it was about you — you were the leader SummerClan needed, not me. We were always connected. You were always my destiny.” He had gazed at her, and his eyes had shone in the setting sun across the rolling fields. He had grown fanatic, excited, shifting closer, taking her paw, so eager to make her understand his revelation. “And in a way, it runs even deeper. All I did in my reign was create the garden, the garden keepers. Such meaningless things. But if I hadn’t done that, you and your mother never would have become the greatest of them, and we never would have defeated NightClan. It all… it all comes back to you. Everything I did… did I even have a choice? Was it me at all? Or were we always waiting for you? Was SummerClan always destined to be led by you, and even my death was just laying the path?” There had been sadness, but no anger, no jealousy, not like before — when he’d gazed at her, there had been such melancholy love in it.

And now, here was Foxstar. In her place.

“… is between Sunstar and I. It doesn’t concern you.” His voice was prickly, withdrawn, so frostily arrogant, like he was not only looking down on Foxstar, but cutting him off from knowledge itself. Of course it did, of course it concerned him; it was his home. But SummerClan, to Doefreckle, was his — it had wilted because of him and Sunstar. You’ll never be her, he wanted to tell him, so sneering and sly. Already, with his haughty address, Foxstar had gotten off on his wrong foot; with Doe, you had a five second opportunity to win him over, like a royal court. Now, all his sweet, subservient nervousness melted away and he was left with irritation, with jealousy on Sunstar’s behalf. She was off doing things none of them could know of; what right did Foxstar have to sit here, not only in her place, but in his? Doe had always been clique-y, been about mean girl popularity; and the way he saw it, he and Sunstar were of a tier that Foxstar was nowhere near. It appeared that, as soon as he was back in SummerClan, he couldn’t keep his old personality away; all the soft, gentle healing, all the good, of his exile fizzed away like citrus and everything catty came back.

But, as best he could, he tried to hide it. He gave Foxstar an acerbic, pretty little smile, one that pushed the bottoms of his eyes up. “So,” he continued with such lemon-y sweetness, and it didn’t sound like there was any room for argument. A terrible way to talk to a leader. “I’d like back in. Please.” The pert little ‘please’ tacked on at the end sounded like an insult. Like a mockery. Foxstar wasn’t a real leader. Not yet. He hadn’t proved himself, not to Doe. He was just an interim replacement warming the seat until Sunstar came back. His brown eyes, so acidic and expectant, didn’t leave Foxstar’s, like he was daring him to deny him. He never did know what was good for him. He never could do anything but get himself into preventable trouble. Doe was a bit of a bully; he pushed and prodded, and when someone finally snapped back, he respected it and backed off. And so far, Foxstar had seemed happy to take it. He hadn’t done anything to make Doe sit back and submit — and if he didn’t, he’d never stop walking over him with needling, undermining little comments.

i am so sorry, i kept trying to get him to stop but he barged past me