I wrote a fic.
Dec. 8th, 2007 01:06 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
harahelI am shocked. It hasn't happened in nearly two years. I watched Tinman, the new sci-fi miniseries, and was impressed with the homoerotic implications of Glitch and Cain. If you're interested:
The Salve of the Wounded Saint
The last light faded from the Central City and the streetlights pulsed on spilling over the streets and crowds. Traffic backed up along the twisting roads and office workers streamed from the skyscrapers to make their way home. As they passed the north entrance to the Winter Palace, some bowed, others raised a hat and some still disgruntled few spat at the doors.
The generous balconies of his suite allowed Wyatt to watch all this activity without anyone the wiser. It felt paternal to stand above the busy city, knowing that he had helped preserve it from irreconcilable harm. In the distance, he could just make out the black tower where so much evil had spilled. The Queen had left it standing. A reminder, she said.
“There’s still so much to do.”
Wyatt willed himself not be startled, only the slight twitch of an eye giving him away.
“Lot of years of things to unbury and a lot of dead yet to find a place to lay down.”
Ambrose leaned next to him, looking not down or at the dark tower, but out beyond all of that to the last glimmer of the setting suns. The twisting scar where the zipper had been looked obscene in his dark hair.
“Are you coming to dinner?”
“No.” Wyatt looked over the street again. “Work to do tonight.”
“There’s always…always work to do.”
Before Wyatt could retort, he was gone again just as quietly as he had come. Off to one of the Queen’s dinners, he assumed. Every night now they sat down to eat together, the royal family, the intrepid adventurers and key leaders of the revolution, including Jeb. It was like a family dinner combined with a grand state affair and had all the confusing rituals one might expect of such a mish-mash. Loud and busy, Wyatt preferred to avoid the whole thing if possible. Everyone thought this was sign of his deep inner tragedy. He saw it as a sign that people in large groups got collectively dumber no matter how much magic they had.
~*~
In the days directly after the eclipse, no had had time to sit for a meal let alone institute an evening ritual. They flew around each other in a tizzy of business and collapsed in corners for sleep. The Winter Palace had not been used in over fifteen years and it looked it. Supplies were taken from the Witch’s Tower to stock the larders. That may also have explained the early lack of interest in long meals.
D.G. had been drawn instantly to the massive palace library, where she could still be found most hours of the day. There she read as much as she could about the rich past of the O.Z. and the particulars of magic and her own long line. Azkadelliah stayed at her side, not reading, not talking…just constantly there like a pale shadow.
It was here that D.G. had called Glitch late on the fifth night after the eclipse.
“What’s up?” He sat, limbs akimbo in one of the wide chairs.
“Do you want your brain back?” Her curiously flat voice as expressionless as ever.
“My brain?” He tilted his head, staring at her across the field of books. “I…why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, there’s a lot of bad stuff in there. Things that probably will make you…more unhappy.”
Of course, he had said yes. Of course. But…it was pleasing that she had asked. Let him have a choice and not just assumed that was what he would want. There were many things to regret in that other half of his. Many things worth burying without examination.
“When?”
“We think now.” D.G. said quickly, before he could process that we meant her and her silent sister. “Before it has a change to degrade.”
They led him, silent and foreboding to the back of the library. The tank with his brain was just sitting there among the history section like an artifact.
“There’s a way for us…I think…easier then trying to find and train another surgeon.”
“You don’t sound that sure.”
“You can still say no.”
He was still considering this as they joined hands and drew him closer. He could smell the sweet perfume of their bodies; feel the warmth of their hands on his. It was closer then he liked to be to Azkadelliah reformed or not. Before he could protest or struggle, his body went limp and would have fallen to the floor if they had not held him up.
When he woke, he was Ambrose. Glitch, the quirky misplaced misfit only glimpsing through the surface of his serious, scientific demeanor.
Wyatt resented not having a chance to say goodbye.
~*~
On the streets, he wore his familiar outfit. Though he now had more then one and they were kept pressed and neat in closet far too big for his needs. No one stopped to speak with him though most of the citizens of the O.Z. could now recognize him on sight. There story had already spread, taking on even more wild permutations.
It was a lucky thing his job no longer relied on anonymity.
“Give me the agenda, Dirken.” He snapped at his chief officer, stepping into the brightly lit precinct and heading towards his office. Dirken caught up with him reading off his list as they went/
“Three identified agents of the Witch were found consorting in the basement of the Ugly Camel Bar. They’re in room three. A graffiti artist by the name of Blow Hard decorated a city hall building with the words ‘The Queen Sucks Donkey Dick’. He’s in room five. We also have a suspect in custody for the Gasty girl killing.”
“What evidence?” He looked over the roster himself.
“Confession. That’s it. Probably just another nut.”
“I’ll talk to him and room three. Let Mr. Hard off with a warning about civic property and bucket of soapy water for clean up.” He handed back the clipboard and went to open his door.
“Um…sir?” Dirken lingered in the door.
“What?”
“Er…there is someone waiting in your office.”
“You let someone into my office?” Wyatt threw open the door.
“Let isn’t quite the right word.” Dirken mumbled under his breath.
“I bullied him, Dad.” Jeb swung around in his father’s chair and smiled at him. He could feel Dirken retreat. He rubbed a hand over his face wondering what he’d have to do to regain the man’s good graces.
“Shouldn’t you be at dinner?”
“Right back at you.” He gestured to a bag with grease spots. “I brought enough for both of us. Excellent greasy sandwiches.”
“Thanks. What’s the occasion?”
“I wanted to ask you something.” Jeb leaned back in his chair, reaching into the bag and pulling out something hot that reminded Wyatt of the old days. He reached in and took out his own, settling in the guest chair.
“Shoot.” He managed around a mouthful of meat and onions.
“What would you think of me leaving the city for a while?”
“To go where?”
“I’m not sure yet. Just…away. Out. I feel sort of restless here. Like there’s something more I could be doing.”
“You’re doing great work now. I’ve heard great things about your work. Who else could lead your troops?”
“Anyone with half a brain.” Jeb laughed then stopped as Wyatt looked away. “Sorry. I mean it though. All we’re doing is keeping the peace. That’s your job now. They’re all getting restless, they want to go back to their farms and their towns. I’ve already talked to the Queen about disbanding the entire operation.”
“Did she agree?”
“She spoke onto me and sayeth that I shall let loose the hounds of war to return to their warm and tidy homes.” The mockery didn’t escape him. Senescing the motivation behind it…for now he let slide.
“What about some kind of…surveying?” He suggested instead, his mind already working over the idea. “The maps of the O.Z. are all out of date and there hasn’t been a proper census in over a centaury.”
“You’ve been talking to D.G.”
“She’s worth listening too.”
“Especially now that she’s chockfull of useful knowledge.” Jeb finished off his sandwich. “It’d basically be rambling with occasional reports.”
“Sounds like just the thing for someone with itchy feet.”
“I’ll send the Queen a message tonight. How about you?”
“How about me, what?”
“Are you going to spend the rest of your life in this office interviewing the dregs of society?”
Wyatt looked around his office. It had been large and spacious when he moved in six months ago. Now piles of paper gave it a claustrophobic feel. The walls were bare of decoration and his desk was pristine. A single framed picture created from his memory and a street painter’s brush of Adora was the only betrayal that a person not a robot occupied this space. Beyond the frosted glass door that bore his name in neat letters were two rooms full of questionable scum. Potential conspirators, murders and thieves that damaged his already crippled world. Everyday, he came in and tried to make a dent to stem the flow of crime.
“Yes.” Absolute conviction rang in his tone. “This is my place.”
~*~
It was difficult at first to say how exactly Glitch had ever emerged, even as a half-wit from a man like Ambrose. Soft-spoken, intense and deep as a forest well, the man moved through the world like a concentrated beam of energy. Whatever his focus landed on became charged with potential. Yesterday a scarp of metal and circuits, today a fully functional robot maid with adjustable dusting modes.
Wyatt watched him from the corner of his eye, trying to find traces of the man he had known. A broad smile flashed here, a stumbled word there were like breadcrumbs leading back to Glitch.
“I am still him, you know.” Ambrose had remarked one night when Wyatt wandered into his lab. Neither of them slept much and Wyatt often found himself wandering down the short hallway between their rooms.
“Hm?” He had been intent on small mechanical thing that looked like it might be an advanced egg boiler or a particularly vicious torture device.
“Glitch is Ambrose and Ambrose is Glitch. What they left of me to wander still contained a great deal of my personality. The childishness was mostly due to a lack of a past. I had no memories of growing up. So…think of it that way. Glitch all grown up.”
“What is this thing?” He pointed to the egg boiler/torture device.
“It’s a prototype for a carnival ride.” Thin white fingers were suddenly cupped around the spoon like object and set the machine into motion. Ambrose watched, eyebrows slightly knit, as the whole thing shuddered and spun before falling to pieces.
“Looks…dangerous.”
“Well, it won’t do that.” He sounded so put out that Wyatt had to laugh. To his surprise Ambrose laughed with him. It had a deeper sound now, a bit rougher and darker. He liked it.
~*~
“Hey, D.G.”
“Hey Cain.” She fanned a series of articles over the library table.
“You called for me.”
She looked momentarily confused.
“Nope. Though now that you’re here, take a look at this.” She gestured to the pile. “Milltown was based on a town on Earth. My parents…well the robot ones. They’re trying to rebuild it. It’s like a museum.”
“Huh. Well it was a real nice place once.”
“My mother thinks I should get out more. Well…not that she said that exactly, but it’s what she meant. She actually said, ‘You look a bit dusty.’.”
“She’s not wrong.”
“I’ve been away for so long. And even when I was here I didn’t really know anything. We were so isolated. What if I never get it? You know? I don’t want to always be an outsider.”
“The O.Z. is a big place.” He said quietly. “There’s got to be some corner of it you can call your own.”
“I want to be with my parents, for now.” She held tight to the articles and he’s not sure which set of parents she means. “It’s just been so long.”
“Then stay. But don’t lock yourself up in here. History doesn’t care much about you one way or the other.”
“That’s probably why I like it.”
They talked for a few minutes longer, but when Wyatt left he wasn’t sure if he really understood what the whole conversation was about. Still preoccupied he almost collided with Azkadelliah.
“Here.” She handed him a worn envelope. “I got this, but I think it must be for you.”
~*~
Dear Azkadelliah,
I have been on the road now for two months. The Central City has been out of my sight for nearly almost all that time, but I still see you. I fought against you for so long that it should be hard to see you for who you are now. It’s not. I hope you will not mind my letters, but I want to tell you all about this world that we share now. Official reports are so dreary and I spend most of my time counting things, missing the good.
People heal remarkably quickly. Already towns that were abandoned are full of life and babies seem to fall from the sky. I stopped at orphanage and found it nearly empty. The woman running the place told me that adoptions are at an all time high as people rebuild their families without fear.
One of the houses I stayed in was owned by an old blacksmith. He was pressed into service making guns for the army, but now free at last, he spends his days making delicate filigrees. Before I left, he gave me a flower and soldered it to my gun. It unbalances it and makes me think twice before firing it.
But the thing I really wanted to tell you about was this little church, barely large enough for an altar and a few pews. I thought it was abandoned and slept a night there. In the morning, I nearly gave the proprietor a heart attack! The church, Church of the Wounded Saint, is dedicated to one of D.G.’s ancestors I think. Not the Grey Gale, but a lesser known relation. Once they were renowned for the healing arts and the miraculous salve they made. It is said that anyone who uses it will be healed not of physical pain, but the pain of the soul.
The recipe for this still exists, but the ingredients are difficult to find. I have made it my secret quest to find all of them and bring them back here for Father Bresse. He says that he will make it for me if I can do so. He probably doesn’t think I’m serious.
I will find everything and I will get that salve.
And I will give every drop of it to you.
Yours,
Jeb Wyatt
~*~
He tucked the letter back into her hands after dinner the next night before going to work.
“This is yours.”
“Oh.” She held it tightly for a moment before slipping it into her pocket. “I’ll take good care of it.”
Somehow, he believed her.
~*~
“Is it possible to create something entirely good?”
A litter of metallic pieces littered the surface of the massive work table. Ambrose stared down at them looking melancholy.
“Things aren’t good or evil. It’s what people make of them.”
“That’s not quite true.”
“Guess not.” Spinning a bolt, Wyatt cast around for something to distract the both of them. It was the First Anniversary of the Return of the Light. Outside the revelry and tumult was deafening. Their clothes were littered with sparkling confetti and their hand ached from shaking and waving. The official festival was to last three days. They were both told to take much needed time off.
“I’d like to make something beautiful and utterly useless then. Maybe a symbol.” He started to get a dreamy look, retreating into the world of invention.
“You need fresh air. Let’s go.”
He hauled him up, stumbling Ambrose forward. Their bodies touched briefly, setting an electric current through Cain’s fingertips. Then they were apart again and making their way the courtyard where Ambrose taught him some of his finer fighting moves getting them both bloodied in the process.
~*~
“I hate all three of you.” D.G. gritted her teeth and glared down at the laughing men. Ambrose had held out the longest, clenching his fist so his nails bit into his palm, but the sight of the Wyatt and Raw snickering like naughty children finally set him off.
“Look like princess.” Raw finally offered, coming up for air.
She did, a very pissed off, all too girly princess. Her dress belled out around her in waves of white glittering taffeta and the crystal crown on her head gleamed in the morning light. Even her shoes were glittered.
“I knew I shouldn’t trust a fashion designer named Glinda. That hag is so not getting a tip.” The door slammed behind her and renewed the gales of laughter.
~*~
Dear Azkadelliah,
I am currently staying with friends as my shoulder heals from the griffin attack. It was all a large misunderstanding and I was able to get the egg shell I need for free once I explained myself. She was very gracious after that.
The census is going well and I can nearly write my reports in my sleep now. I’ve gotten so far off now that some folk around here were almost completely unaffected by the Witch’s reign. Their lives just went on out here, their crops yielded poorly but steadily. It’s funny how foreign they seem. It’s like they are from another place entirely.
A longer letter another day my shoulder is beginning to ache.
Yours,
Jeb
~*~
“Could you invent a machine that does paperwork?”
“I did.”
“Can I have one? I won’t use it for evil, I promise.”
“Evil paperwork?”
Wyatt gestured at the stack he’d brought into the lab with him.
“Evil loves paperwork. It causes sane men to turn into gibbering morons.”
“Well, it didn’t work anyway.” He scratched absently at the shiny pink scar on top of his head. “It was too expensive to make something with that much memory just to fill out pieces of paper.”
“Much cheaper to use human labor.”
“If a bit harder on the ears.”
“I do not complain that much.”
“No.” Dark eyes penetrated his for an instant before looking away. “You don’t.”
~*~
D.G. was seeing some geeky looking boy that worked under the royal accountant. She didn’t say much about it, but Wyatt had seen them running about having ‘secret trysts’ in closets and empty guest rooms. He mentioned it to the Queen during a tactical discussion regarding heightened crime in mid-town.
“Albere is a perfectly fine fellow.” She said as warmly as she said everything. Wyatt was starting to understand how someone as cynical as his son (and himself) could get tired of it. “D.G. needs to have a little fun.”
“He’s got a wart. And his skin looks blue.”
“I think that’s indicative of everyone from his village. Something in the drinking water. I find it charming.”
Wyatt found it nauseating, but after that he kept his opinions about D.G.’s flings to himself. Mostly.
“He looks like a frozen frog.”
“Thank you!” The two of them leaned over the balcony and watched the ‘secret’ lovers kiss in the moonlight.
“Is that a wart on the end of his nose? Those are contagious!”
“I know! Have you heard him laugh?”
“Nails on chalkboard. All around terrible.”
They watched for a while longer.
“They look happy.”
“I know.”
~*~
Dear Azkadelliah,
This may be my last letter for some time. I journey next to the Wandering Isles and there are no documented citizens, let alone post offices, there. The census does not require my attendance to those abandoned wastes, but my quest does. It is the last ingredient that I must seek.
I have seen a great many wonderful things and some that shrink my own tragedy to clear minuscule proportions. I don’t itch any more nor long to wander. I think I am ready to come home. Not the city…but a small house somewhere quiet. Somewhere that I can write about everything I have seen. I’d like to write an entire book if I can and I think I can make some pretty fantastic maps. There are places connected in ways no traveler has ever dreamed.
I hope that you will join me there. In that house. If not there…we can live anywhere you want. Even in the Winter Palace.
Yours,
Jeb
~*~
Jeb’s last report lay on the Queen’s desk. The pages were wrinkled where water had leaked into the postman’s bag over his long journey. Only the core remained, the other officials had trooped out of the meeting a long time ago. D.G. was already hugging his left side and he absently draped his arm around her shoulders.
“I wanted to wait as long as I could.” The Queen started slowly. “To ensure that I was not jumping to conclusions.”
“I understand.” It all seemed very distant and he wondered what he would do with Blow-Hard the repeat graffiti offender.
“Cain…Wyatt.”
He sighed and looked directly into her lavender eyes.
“It’s likely that your son is dead.”
One hand clasped his and suddenly afraid, unanchored he clasped at it.
“I won’t believe that. Not yet.”
“I have sent a search party. They are scouring the Wandering Isle. Already they have reported a broken raft.”
“But they haven’t found his body.” Ambrose squeezed his hand. “We will take my propulsion balloon and look for him ourselves.”
“I thought that was still in the experimental stages.” The Queen protested. “You could both be killed!”
Ambrose shrugged, already leading Wyatt from the room. The man was buried too deeply in himself to do more then follow.
~*~
“We’ve got a stowaway.”
The remark was not really directed at Wyatt, who had sat nearly catatonic through the first two days of their voyage. The airship was doing quite well in Ambrose’s humble opinion. It looked like a boat that had been swept out to the ocean by a colossal balloon. A pet project back in the days before the Witch, it had lay dormant all that time. The symbolism of it rising again made the otherwise grim trip pleasant.
“It’s Azkadelliah.”
“How did you know?”
He’d only just found her in the storage bins, sitting as still as a statue. There was no other to choice, but to take her with them now.
“Jeb’s was writing her letters this whole time. Love letters. He’s got a way with words that I didn’t think…well his mother and me, we weren’t big talkers. Not sure where he got it from.”
“She let you see them?”
“The first one. The rest…” His eyes flickered over the cabin. “I opened them before they reached her. He wasn’t writing to me. I felt bad about it before. Now…”
A hand rested on his shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time, even when Azkadelliah crept into the room and took up a place next to the wheel. Even unprocessed, her bearing was undeniably regal. So the three of them, still as statues glided onward.
~*~
Pain lanced through his legs and arms. It had been days since he had something to eat. Only the constant lapping of water against his head kept him hydrated. Sometimes he stared up for hours counting stars, only to realize later that he had never opened his eyes. Death whispered in his ear, cajoling him and it was so very tempting.
“Quick! Over here!” He heard distant splashing and tried to turn his head.
“Don’t move, son. We’re going to get you home.”
He tried to speak, but his voice was gone. With all the force of will that remained to him, he pryed open his eyes. Too close and fuzzy, his father’s face and beyond that, the sun setting a dark halo about her head was Azkadelliah. Death had come to him at last. He reached out to her, past all pain now and let the dark take him only when he felt the warmth of her hand.
~*~
They were half way to home when he next opened his eyes.
“Azkah..”
“She’s sleeping and don’t you dare wake her. Poor girl hasn’t gotten a lick of sleep for a week.”
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hi yourself, you crazy ass. What were you thinking going into that haunted place on your own?”
“I needed…” Panic struck him. “The leaf!”
“I’ve got it.” His father drew out a small glass jar and set it next to his bedside. A single crumpled, but still brilliantly golden leaf was inside. “Don’t move too much. You’ve got pretty bad sunburn on most of your skin and a nasty cut across your stomach.”
“There was a storm…” He couldn’t remember the details. Only the feelings of regret and anger that welled up in him at the point of failure so close to the end. How he had held on to those until he’d made it to shore.
“I know…go to sleep. If you rest up, your burns should heal by the time we get to Central City.”
“We can’t…I have to make a stop. At a church. There’s something I have to do.”
“There are some things that should stay legend.”
“You read my letters?” He considered anger, and then discarded it. They were both too tired.
“I did. I’m sorry for that. Next time, write your dad too and he won’t have cause to go poking around where he doesn’t belong.”
“I promise.”
~*~
The church was on the top of a gentle hill. There were no adornments or religious symbols outside. Inside were the few pews and plain wooden altar Jeb had described in his letter. The two young folk had already disappeared with Father Bresse into the small backroom, leaving Ambrose and Wyatt to stare at the walls.
“Have you ever heard of this stuff before?”
“Once, when I was a boy.” He rubbed at his scar again. It was becoming something of a nervous habit. “My mother used to say it was the only thing that would have helped my sister after her husband died.”
“You don’t talk about your past much.”
“Not much to say. I grew up in a place like this one. Quiet, peaceful. I fixed a lot of the local machinery and broke more then that. My parents thought I might have a talent and sent me to school in Central City. I did well there. The Queen was much younger then.”
“How’d she come to choose you?”
Ambrose looked away, studying the ceiling.
“She liked my dancing.”
There was a long pause and then Wyatt gaped in understanding.
“You and the Queen?”
“We were both very young and it was a very long time ago. I became her advisor and confidante and little more then that as the years went on. She met her husband; I lived more in my work.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“It is.”
They listened to the distant rumble of cooking and magic.
“We could all use some of that stuff if it works.”
~*~
The salve wasn’t much to look at. It’s green and had a sweet smell. The jar containing it once held something sticky. Now anyone who touched it was left with tacky fingers for hours. Jeb had immediately followed the old man’s directions and applied it gently to Azkadelliah’s forehead. When he was finished, she took the jar from him and repeated his gestures.
“But this is for you.” He protested. Silent and smiling, she continued her task. Then setting the jar aside, she took his hand and led him into the surrounding forest.
“Do you think…”
“Do not finish that sentence. He’s my son. They are going to go pick flowers.”
“But…”
“Flowers.”
Wyatt and Ambrose turned to regard the sticky jar.
“Probably just local superstition.” Wyatt said finally.
“Just a few bits of herbs and tingling after effect.”
Neither of them moved.
“Still, it couldn’t hurt.” The salve did tingle as he scooped some onto one finger. “Come here.”
Eyelids half closed, Ambrose moved to his side. Delicately, he traced the same patterns across the thin skin of his friend’s forehead. When he was finished, he cupped his hand around one cheek and regarded his work, all too aware of the warmth pressing into his palm.
“How do you feel?”
“Better. It’s actually quite soothing. Here.” He took the jar from him.
The sensation was one part greasy, one part tingly and one part electric.
“What do you think this really is?” He asked as a thin finger tidied the already neat lines.
“My guess is a local aphrodisiac.”
“Sold in a church?”
“Where else? There were lots ecstatic cults back in the day. You must have policed one or two of them.”
“How long have you actually suspected that?”
“Oh, since you told me where you were going.”
“And you willingly let me smear this stuff on you?” His eyes widened. “And on me?”
“I’m really quite tired of loneliness. Aren’t you?”
There was an empty spot in his gut where Adora ought to be. His son was very nearly a stranger. Most of his hours were spent working and nearly all his off hours for the past few months had been spent in a cluttered laboratory.
“I haven’t been lonely.” He slid his hand around the back a steady neck and laced his fingers into black hair.
Their bodies pressed tightly together, the effects of the mild aphrodisiac winding lazily threw them, they spent the rest of the afternoon exploring each other’s body with fingers and tongue.
~*~
The funny thing was that no one noticed at first. Not that they went out of their way to hide it. They settled on Cain’s suite of room, leaving it with significantly fuller closets. Otherwise went about their lives. The only difference was that at night they shared the bed instead of the laboratory, talking more of their lives then of abstract theories.
“It’s nice.” D.G. had said at last when it trickled into the collective knowledge. “Sort of sweet.”
“I am not sweet.” Wyatt said firmly, but her laughter indicated she disagreed.
“I’m happy for you.” The Queen had kissed him on the cheek and Ambrose sighed. “He’s a better match for you then I was.”
“Happy.” Raw had confirmed without betraying a single hair of what else he might have fathomed with his incredible mind.
Jeb approved in the Cain way. He smiled, said nothing and left his father room to do what he wanted.
And it was nice and sweet and happy. And dark and bitter and in the depths of the night, sometimes very desperate.
When neither of them could sleep, Ambrose would lay one hand over his lover’s heart and count out the beats softly until they both drifted off.
~*~
My beloved Az,
I am standing on the spot of our new home having only just broken the ground. As soon as I have a rude shelter, I will send you notice by the fastest means possible. It’s lonely out here without you.
I have thought about what we spoke of for a long time. Family means very different things to the two of us and I spoke without thinking. Please tell D.G. that her welcome in our new home will extend to the end of the world and back. I have already altered the blueprints to reflect an extra bedroom for her comfort. It’s at the other end of the house.
Please do not despair over your mother and father. They have gone through so much and been both imprisoned for too many years. They will remember what it is to have daughters. Two loveable girls that deserve their attention and affection. If they do not…well, I will try my best to love you enough for the both of them.
My love, I have absolute faith in your ability to survive and thrive. Please, do not allow them to make you despair. If you like, I will ask my father to have you to dinner instead. In fact, you would do them a favor by taking meals with them. It is the only way to ensure that they will take enough food to sustain their crazed lifestyle.
With eternal love,
Jeb
~*~
She read the letter to them over a splendid tea. They had all taken to eating together every afternoon since Jeb’s departure and his suggestion met with gentle ribbing on the absent party’s behalf.
“What does he think we do all day? Run about in circles?”
“I think he remembers the city only as a mad rush.” Wyatt attempted to defend his son. “He’s never much liked it here.”
“He thinks that you are both doing exactly what you are doing. Working yourselves to an early grave and screwing each other silly in the spare moments.”
They both sat stunned, slightly opened mouthed.
“I think your boy is a bad influence.” Ambrose finally concluded.
“I need something stronger then tea now. Where have you hidden the liquor?”
~*~
The city sang beneath them, frothing over with music and laughter and the shouts of fights. Confetti still fell here and there without fanfare or plans. The graffiti artists had banded together led by a reformed Blow Hard and transformed the face of a local building into a cartoonish depiction of a heavenly Central City. Light flowed out from its bubbled walls and the painted people reflected the debauchery of the street. The second anniversary of the Witch’s defeat was careening off to raucous start.
“Let’s take a vacation.” The scar was no longer quite so pink, but his fingers still rubbed over it when he was stressed. “Somewhere no one will find us.”
“I can think of a few people who might object to that.”
“I object right back at them. We both deserve a break.”
“And what would we do with that kind of time?”
“Nothing! That’s the point of a vacation.”
“I’m not good at doing nothing.” Wyatt raised an eyebrow. “Is this about that explosion?”
“Absolutely not! Well, maybe a little bit. It was completely not my fault.”
“Of course not.”
“Any way, I can’t do much until my lab gets repaired.”
He pulled the nervous stroking hand away from the scar and pulled Ambrose close. They kissed, fingers knotted together.
“You can come teach some of my men how to fight properly. They liked it last time.”
“They were petrified last time.”
“Good. They need to get shaken up from time to time. Much better then a vacation. You’d be bored in a minute anyway.”
Ambrose rested his forehead on Cain’s shoulder and sighed when he felt the cool press of lips on his scalp.
“You’re right. In the end, there’s no place like home.”
The Salve of the Wounded Saint
The last light faded from the Central City and the streetlights pulsed on spilling over the streets and crowds. Traffic backed up along the twisting roads and office workers streamed from the skyscrapers to make their way home. As they passed the north entrance to the Winter Palace, some bowed, others raised a hat and some still disgruntled few spat at the doors.
The generous balconies of his suite allowed Wyatt to watch all this activity without anyone the wiser. It felt paternal to stand above the busy city, knowing that he had helped preserve it from irreconcilable harm. In the distance, he could just make out the black tower where so much evil had spilled. The Queen had left it standing. A reminder, she said.
“There’s still so much to do.”
Wyatt willed himself not be startled, only the slight twitch of an eye giving him away.
“Lot of years of things to unbury and a lot of dead yet to find a place to lay down.”
Ambrose leaned next to him, looking not down or at the dark tower, but out beyond all of that to the last glimmer of the setting suns. The twisting scar where the zipper had been looked obscene in his dark hair.
“Are you coming to dinner?”
“No.” Wyatt looked over the street again. “Work to do tonight.”
“There’s always…always work to do.”
Before Wyatt could retort, he was gone again just as quietly as he had come. Off to one of the Queen’s dinners, he assumed. Every night now they sat down to eat together, the royal family, the intrepid adventurers and key leaders of the revolution, including Jeb. It was like a family dinner combined with a grand state affair and had all the confusing rituals one might expect of such a mish-mash. Loud and busy, Wyatt preferred to avoid the whole thing if possible. Everyone thought this was sign of his deep inner tragedy. He saw it as a sign that people in large groups got collectively dumber no matter how much magic they had.
~*~
In the days directly after the eclipse, no had had time to sit for a meal let alone institute an evening ritual. They flew around each other in a tizzy of business and collapsed in corners for sleep. The Winter Palace had not been used in over fifteen years and it looked it. Supplies were taken from the Witch’s Tower to stock the larders. That may also have explained the early lack of interest in long meals.
D.G. had been drawn instantly to the massive palace library, where she could still be found most hours of the day. There she read as much as she could about the rich past of the O.Z. and the particulars of magic and her own long line. Azkadelliah stayed at her side, not reading, not talking…just constantly there like a pale shadow.
It was here that D.G. had called Glitch late on the fifth night after the eclipse.
“What’s up?” He sat, limbs akimbo in one of the wide chairs.
“Do you want your brain back?” Her curiously flat voice as expressionless as ever.
“My brain?” He tilted his head, staring at her across the field of books. “I…why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, there’s a lot of bad stuff in there. Things that probably will make you…more unhappy.”
Of course, he had said yes. Of course. But…it was pleasing that she had asked. Let him have a choice and not just assumed that was what he would want. There were many things to regret in that other half of his. Many things worth burying without examination.
“When?”
“We think now.” D.G. said quickly, before he could process that we meant her and her silent sister. “Before it has a change to degrade.”
They led him, silent and foreboding to the back of the library. The tank with his brain was just sitting there among the history section like an artifact.
“There’s a way for us…I think…easier then trying to find and train another surgeon.”
“You don’t sound that sure.”
“You can still say no.”
He was still considering this as they joined hands and drew him closer. He could smell the sweet perfume of their bodies; feel the warmth of their hands on his. It was closer then he liked to be to Azkadelliah reformed or not. Before he could protest or struggle, his body went limp and would have fallen to the floor if they had not held him up.
When he woke, he was Ambrose. Glitch, the quirky misplaced misfit only glimpsing through the surface of his serious, scientific demeanor.
Wyatt resented not having a chance to say goodbye.
~*~
On the streets, he wore his familiar outfit. Though he now had more then one and they were kept pressed and neat in closet far too big for his needs. No one stopped to speak with him though most of the citizens of the O.Z. could now recognize him on sight. There story had already spread, taking on even more wild permutations.
It was a lucky thing his job no longer relied on anonymity.
“Give me the agenda, Dirken.” He snapped at his chief officer, stepping into the brightly lit precinct and heading towards his office. Dirken caught up with him reading off his list as they went/
“Three identified agents of the Witch were found consorting in the basement of the Ugly Camel Bar. They’re in room three. A graffiti artist by the name of Blow Hard decorated a city hall building with the words ‘The Queen Sucks Donkey Dick’. He’s in room five. We also have a suspect in custody for the Gasty girl killing.”
“What evidence?” He looked over the roster himself.
“Confession. That’s it. Probably just another nut.”
“I’ll talk to him and room three. Let Mr. Hard off with a warning about civic property and bucket of soapy water for clean up.” He handed back the clipboard and went to open his door.
“Um…sir?” Dirken lingered in the door.
“What?”
“Er…there is someone waiting in your office.”
“You let someone into my office?” Wyatt threw open the door.
“Let isn’t quite the right word.” Dirken mumbled under his breath.
“I bullied him, Dad.” Jeb swung around in his father’s chair and smiled at him. He could feel Dirken retreat. He rubbed a hand over his face wondering what he’d have to do to regain the man’s good graces.
“Shouldn’t you be at dinner?”
“Right back at you.” He gestured to a bag with grease spots. “I brought enough for both of us. Excellent greasy sandwiches.”
“Thanks. What’s the occasion?”
“I wanted to ask you something.” Jeb leaned back in his chair, reaching into the bag and pulling out something hot that reminded Wyatt of the old days. He reached in and took out his own, settling in the guest chair.
“Shoot.” He managed around a mouthful of meat and onions.
“What would you think of me leaving the city for a while?”
“To go where?”
“I’m not sure yet. Just…away. Out. I feel sort of restless here. Like there’s something more I could be doing.”
“You’re doing great work now. I’ve heard great things about your work. Who else could lead your troops?”
“Anyone with half a brain.” Jeb laughed then stopped as Wyatt looked away. “Sorry. I mean it though. All we’re doing is keeping the peace. That’s your job now. They’re all getting restless, they want to go back to their farms and their towns. I’ve already talked to the Queen about disbanding the entire operation.”
“Did she agree?”
“She spoke onto me and sayeth that I shall let loose the hounds of war to return to their warm and tidy homes.” The mockery didn’t escape him. Senescing the motivation behind it…for now he let slide.
“What about some kind of…surveying?” He suggested instead, his mind already working over the idea. “The maps of the O.Z. are all out of date and there hasn’t been a proper census in over a centaury.”
“You’ve been talking to D.G.”
“She’s worth listening too.”
“Especially now that she’s chockfull of useful knowledge.” Jeb finished off his sandwich. “It’d basically be rambling with occasional reports.”
“Sounds like just the thing for someone with itchy feet.”
“I’ll send the Queen a message tonight. How about you?”
“How about me, what?”
“Are you going to spend the rest of your life in this office interviewing the dregs of society?”
Wyatt looked around his office. It had been large and spacious when he moved in six months ago. Now piles of paper gave it a claustrophobic feel. The walls were bare of decoration and his desk was pristine. A single framed picture created from his memory and a street painter’s brush of Adora was the only betrayal that a person not a robot occupied this space. Beyond the frosted glass door that bore his name in neat letters were two rooms full of questionable scum. Potential conspirators, murders and thieves that damaged his already crippled world. Everyday, he came in and tried to make a dent to stem the flow of crime.
“Yes.” Absolute conviction rang in his tone. “This is my place.”
~*~
It was difficult at first to say how exactly Glitch had ever emerged, even as a half-wit from a man like Ambrose. Soft-spoken, intense and deep as a forest well, the man moved through the world like a concentrated beam of energy. Whatever his focus landed on became charged with potential. Yesterday a scarp of metal and circuits, today a fully functional robot maid with adjustable dusting modes.
Wyatt watched him from the corner of his eye, trying to find traces of the man he had known. A broad smile flashed here, a stumbled word there were like breadcrumbs leading back to Glitch.
“I am still him, you know.” Ambrose had remarked one night when Wyatt wandered into his lab. Neither of them slept much and Wyatt often found himself wandering down the short hallway between their rooms.
“Hm?” He had been intent on small mechanical thing that looked like it might be an advanced egg boiler or a particularly vicious torture device.
“Glitch is Ambrose and Ambrose is Glitch. What they left of me to wander still contained a great deal of my personality. The childishness was mostly due to a lack of a past. I had no memories of growing up. So…think of it that way. Glitch all grown up.”
“What is this thing?” He pointed to the egg boiler/torture device.
“It’s a prototype for a carnival ride.” Thin white fingers were suddenly cupped around the spoon like object and set the machine into motion. Ambrose watched, eyebrows slightly knit, as the whole thing shuddered and spun before falling to pieces.
“Looks…dangerous.”
“Well, it won’t do that.” He sounded so put out that Wyatt had to laugh. To his surprise Ambrose laughed with him. It had a deeper sound now, a bit rougher and darker. He liked it.
~*~
“Hey, D.G.”
“Hey Cain.” She fanned a series of articles over the library table.
“You called for me.”
She looked momentarily confused.
“Nope. Though now that you’re here, take a look at this.” She gestured to the pile. “Milltown was based on a town on Earth. My parents…well the robot ones. They’re trying to rebuild it. It’s like a museum.”
“Huh. Well it was a real nice place once.”
“My mother thinks I should get out more. Well…not that she said that exactly, but it’s what she meant. She actually said, ‘You look a bit dusty.’.”
“She’s not wrong.”
“I’ve been away for so long. And even when I was here I didn’t really know anything. We were so isolated. What if I never get it? You know? I don’t want to always be an outsider.”
“The O.Z. is a big place.” He said quietly. “There’s got to be some corner of it you can call your own.”
“I want to be with my parents, for now.” She held tight to the articles and he’s not sure which set of parents she means. “It’s just been so long.”
“Then stay. But don’t lock yourself up in here. History doesn’t care much about you one way or the other.”
“That’s probably why I like it.”
They talked for a few minutes longer, but when Wyatt left he wasn’t sure if he really understood what the whole conversation was about. Still preoccupied he almost collided with Azkadelliah.
“Here.” She handed him a worn envelope. “I got this, but I think it must be for you.”
~*~
Dear Azkadelliah,
I have been on the road now for two months. The Central City has been out of my sight for nearly almost all that time, but I still see you. I fought against you for so long that it should be hard to see you for who you are now. It’s not. I hope you will not mind my letters, but I want to tell you all about this world that we share now. Official reports are so dreary and I spend most of my time counting things, missing the good.
People heal remarkably quickly. Already towns that were abandoned are full of life and babies seem to fall from the sky. I stopped at orphanage and found it nearly empty. The woman running the place told me that adoptions are at an all time high as people rebuild their families without fear.
One of the houses I stayed in was owned by an old blacksmith. He was pressed into service making guns for the army, but now free at last, he spends his days making delicate filigrees. Before I left, he gave me a flower and soldered it to my gun. It unbalances it and makes me think twice before firing it.
But the thing I really wanted to tell you about was this little church, barely large enough for an altar and a few pews. I thought it was abandoned and slept a night there. In the morning, I nearly gave the proprietor a heart attack! The church, Church of the Wounded Saint, is dedicated to one of D.G.’s ancestors I think. Not the Grey Gale, but a lesser known relation. Once they were renowned for the healing arts and the miraculous salve they made. It is said that anyone who uses it will be healed not of physical pain, but the pain of the soul.
The recipe for this still exists, but the ingredients are difficult to find. I have made it my secret quest to find all of them and bring them back here for Father Bresse. He says that he will make it for me if I can do so. He probably doesn’t think I’m serious.
I will find everything and I will get that salve.
And I will give every drop of it to you.
Yours,
Jeb Wyatt
~*~
He tucked the letter back into her hands after dinner the next night before going to work.
“This is yours.”
“Oh.” She held it tightly for a moment before slipping it into her pocket. “I’ll take good care of it.”
Somehow, he believed her.
~*~
“Is it possible to create something entirely good?”
A litter of metallic pieces littered the surface of the massive work table. Ambrose stared down at them looking melancholy.
“Things aren’t good or evil. It’s what people make of them.”
“That’s not quite true.”
“Guess not.” Spinning a bolt, Wyatt cast around for something to distract the both of them. It was the First Anniversary of the Return of the Light. Outside the revelry and tumult was deafening. Their clothes were littered with sparkling confetti and their hand ached from shaking and waving. The official festival was to last three days. They were both told to take much needed time off.
“I’d like to make something beautiful and utterly useless then. Maybe a symbol.” He started to get a dreamy look, retreating into the world of invention.
“You need fresh air. Let’s go.”
He hauled him up, stumbling Ambrose forward. Their bodies touched briefly, setting an electric current through Cain’s fingertips. Then they were apart again and making their way the courtyard where Ambrose taught him some of his finer fighting moves getting them both bloodied in the process.
~*~
“I hate all three of you.” D.G. gritted her teeth and glared down at the laughing men. Ambrose had held out the longest, clenching his fist so his nails bit into his palm, but the sight of the Wyatt and Raw snickering like naughty children finally set him off.
“Look like princess.” Raw finally offered, coming up for air.
She did, a very pissed off, all too girly princess. Her dress belled out around her in waves of white glittering taffeta and the crystal crown on her head gleamed in the morning light. Even her shoes were glittered.
“I knew I shouldn’t trust a fashion designer named Glinda. That hag is so not getting a tip.” The door slammed behind her and renewed the gales of laughter.
~*~
Dear Azkadelliah,
I am currently staying with friends as my shoulder heals from the griffin attack. It was all a large misunderstanding and I was able to get the egg shell I need for free once I explained myself. She was very gracious after that.
The census is going well and I can nearly write my reports in my sleep now. I’ve gotten so far off now that some folk around here were almost completely unaffected by the Witch’s reign. Their lives just went on out here, their crops yielded poorly but steadily. It’s funny how foreign they seem. It’s like they are from another place entirely.
A longer letter another day my shoulder is beginning to ache.
Yours,
Jeb
~*~
“Could you invent a machine that does paperwork?”
“I did.”
“Can I have one? I won’t use it for evil, I promise.”
“Evil paperwork?”
Wyatt gestured at the stack he’d brought into the lab with him.
“Evil loves paperwork. It causes sane men to turn into gibbering morons.”
“Well, it didn’t work anyway.” He scratched absently at the shiny pink scar on top of his head. “It was too expensive to make something with that much memory just to fill out pieces of paper.”
“Much cheaper to use human labor.”
“If a bit harder on the ears.”
“I do not complain that much.”
“No.” Dark eyes penetrated his for an instant before looking away. “You don’t.”
~*~
D.G. was seeing some geeky looking boy that worked under the royal accountant. She didn’t say much about it, but Wyatt had seen them running about having ‘secret trysts’ in closets and empty guest rooms. He mentioned it to the Queen during a tactical discussion regarding heightened crime in mid-town.
“Albere is a perfectly fine fellow.” She said as warmly as she said everything. Wyatt was starting to understand how someone as cynical as his son (and himself) could get tired of it. “D.G. needs to have a little fun.”
“He’s got a wart. And his skin looks blue.”
“I think that’s indicative of everyone from his village. Something in the drinking water. I find it charming.”
Wyatt found it nauseating, but after that he kept his opinions about D.G.’s flings to himself. Mostly.
“He looks like a frozen frog.”
“Thank you!” The two of them leaned over the balcony and watched the ‘secret’ lovers kiss in the moonlight.
“Is that a wart on the end of his nose? Those are contagious!”
“I know! Have you heard him laugh?”
“Nails on chalkboard. All around terrible.”
They watched for a while longer.
“They look happy.”
“I know.”
~*~
Dear Azkadelliah,
This may be my last letter for some time. I journey next to the Wandering Isles and there are no documented citizens, let alone post offices, there. The census does not require my attendance to those abandoned wastes, but my quest does. It is the last ingredient that I must seek.
I have seen a great many wonderful things and some that shrink my own tragedy to clear minuscule proportions. I don’t itch any more nor long to wander. I think I am ready to come home. Not the city…but a small house somewhere quiet. Somewhere that I can write about everything I have seen. I’d like to write an entire book if I can and I think I can make some pretty fantastic maps. There are places connected in ways no traveler has ever dreamed.
I hope that you will join me there. In that house. If not there…we can live anywhere you want. Even in the Winter Palace.
Yours,
Jeb
~*~
Jeb’s last report lay on the Queen’s desk. The pages were wrinkled where water had leaked into the postman’s bag over his long journey. Only the core remained, the other officials had trooped out of the meeting a long time ago. D.G. was already hugging his left side and he absently draped his arm around her shoulders.
“I wanted to wait as long as I could.” The Queen started slowly. “To ensure that I was not jumping to conclusions.”
“I understand.” It all seemed very distant and he wondered what he would do with Blow-Hard the repeat graffiti offender.
“Cain…Wyatt.”
He sighed and looked directly into her lavender eyes.
“It’s likely that your son is dead.”
One hand clasped his and suddenly afraid, unanchored he clasped at it.
“I won’t believe that. Not yet.”
“I have sent a search party. They are scouring the Wandering Isle. Already they have reported a broken raft.”
“But they haven’t found his body.” Ambrose squeezed his hand. “We will take my propulsion balloon and look for him ourselves.”
“I thought that was still in the experimental stages.” The Queen protested. “You could both be killed!”
Ambrose shrugged, already leading Wyatt from the room. The man was buried too deeply in himself to do more then follow.
~*~
“We’ve got a stowaway.”
The remark was not really directed at Wyatt, who had sat nearly catatonic through the first two days of their voyage. The airship was doing quite well in Ambrose’s humble opinion. It looked like a boat that had been swept out to the ocean by a colossal balloon. A pet project back in the days before the Witch, it had lay dormant all that time. The symbolism of it rising again made the otherwise grim trip pleasant.
“It’s Azkadelliah.”
“How did you know?”
He’d only just found her in the storage bins, sitting as still as a statue. There was no other to choice, but to take her with them now.
“Jeb’s was writing her letters this whole time. Love letters. He’s got a way with words that I didn’t think…well his mother and me, we weren’t big talkers. Not sure where he got it from.”
“She let you see them?”
“The first one. The rest…” His eyes flickered over the cabin. “I opened them before they reached her. He wasn’t writing to me. I felt bad about it before. Now…”
A hand rested on his shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time, even when Azkadelliah crept into the room and took up a place next to the wheel. Even unprocessed, her bearing was undeniably regal. So the three of them, still as statues glided onward.
~*~
Pain lanced through his legs and arms. It had been days since he had something to eat. Only the constant lapping of water against his head kept him hydrated. Sometimes he stared up for hours counting stars, only to realize later that he had never opened his eyes. Death whispered in his ear, cajoling him and it was so very tempting.
“Quick! Over here!” He heard distant splashing and tried to turn his head.
“Don’t move, son. We’re going to get you home.”
He tried to speak, but his voice was gone. With all the force of will that remained to him, he pryed open his eyes. Too close and fuzzy, his father’s face and beyond that, the sun setting a dark halo about her head was Azkadelliah. Death had come to him at last. He reached out to her, past all pain now and let the dark take him only when he felt the warmth of her hand.
~*~
They were half way to home when he next opened his eyes.
“Azkah..”
“She’s sleeping and don’t you dare wake her. Poor girl hasn’t gotten a lick of sleep for a week.”
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hi yourself, you crazy ass. What were you thinking going into that haunted place on your own?”
“I needed…” Panic struck him. “The leaf!”
“I’ve got it.” His father drew out a small glass jar and set it next to his bedside. A single crumpled, but still brilliantly golden leaf was inside. “Don’t move too much. You’ve got pretty bad sunburn on most of your skin and a nasty cut across your stomach.”
“There was a storm…” He couldn’t remember the details. Only the feelings of regret and anger that welled up in him at the point of failure so close to the end. How he had held on to those until he’d made it to shore.
“I know…go to sleep. If you rest up, your burns should heal by the time we get to Central City.”
“We can’t…I have to make a stop. At a church. There’s something I have to do.”
“There are some things that should stay legend.”
“You read my letters?” He considered anger, and then discarded it. They were both too tired.
“I did. I’m sorry for that. Next time, write your dad too and he won’t have cause to go poking around where he doesn’t belong.”
“I promise.”
~*~
The church was on the top of a gentle hill. There were no adornments or religious symbols outside. Inside were the few pews and plain wooden altar Jeb had described in his letter. The two young folk had already disappeared with Father Bresse into the small backroom, leaving Ambrose and Wyatt to stare at the walls.
“Have you ever heard of this stuff before?”
“Once, when I was a boy.” He rubbed at his scar again. It was becoming something of a nervous habit. “My mother used to say it was the only thing that would have helped my sister after her husband died.”
“You don’t talk about your past much.”
“Not much to say. I grew up in a place like this one. Quiet, peaceful. I fixed a lot of the local machinery and broke more then that. My parents thought I might have a talent and sent me to school in Central City. I did well there. The Queen was much younger then.”
“How’d she come to choose you?”
Ambrose looked away, studying the ceiling.
“She liked my dancing.”
There was a long pause and then Wyatt gaped in understanding.
“You and the Queen?”
“We were both very young and it was a very long time ago. I became her advisor and confidante and little more then that as the years went on. She met her husband; I lived more in my work.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“It is.”
They listened to the distant rumble of cooking and magic.
“We could all use some of that stuff if it works.”
~*~
The salve wasn’t much to look at. It’s green and had a sweet smell. The jar containing it once held something sticky. Now anyone who touched it was left with tacky fingers for hours. Jeb had immediately followed the old man’s directions and applied it gently to Azkadelliah’s forehead. When he was finished, she took the jar from him and repeated his gestures.
“But this is for you.” He protested. Silent and smiling, she continued her task. Then setting the jar aside, she took his hand and led him into the surrounding forest.
“Do you think…”
“Do not finish that sentence. He’s my son. They are going to go pick flowers.”
“But…”
“Flowers.”
Wyatt and Ambrose turned to regard the sticky jar.
“Probably just local superstition.” Wyatt said finally.
“Just a few bits of herbs and tingling after effect.”
Neither of them moved.
“Still, it couldn’t hurt.” The salve did tingle as he scooped some onto one finger. “Come here.”
Eyelids half closed, Ambrose moved to his side. Delicately, he traced the same patterns across the thin skin of his friend’s forehead. When he was finished, he cupped his hand around one cheek and regarded his work, all too aware of the warmth pressing into his palm.
“How do you feel?”
“Better. It’s actually quite soothing. Here.” He took the jar from him.
The sensation was one part greasy, one part tingly and one part electric.
“What do you think this really is?” He asked as a thin finger tidied the already neat lines.
“My guess is a local aphrodisiac.”
“Sold in a church?”
“Where else? There were lots ecstatic cults back in the day. You must have policed one or two of them.”
“How long have you actually suspected that?”
“Oh, since you told me where you were going.”
“And you willingly let me smear this stuff on you?” His eyes widened. “And on me?”
“I’m really quite tired of loneliness. Aren’t you?”
There was an empty spot in his gut where Adora ought to be. His son was very nearly a stranger. Most of his hours were spent working and nearly all his off hours for the past few months had been spent in a cluttered laboratory.
“I haven’t been lonely.” He slid his hand around the back a steady neck and laced his fingers into black hair.
Their bodies pressed tightly together, the effects of the mild aphrodisiac winding lazily threw them, they spent the rest of the afternoon exploring each other’s body with fingers and tongue.
~*~
The funny thing was that no one noticed at first. Not that they went out of their way to hide it. They settled on Cain’s suite of room, leaving it with significantly fuller closets. Otherwise went about their lives. The only difference was that at night they shared the bed instead of the laboratory, talking more of their lives then of abstract theories.
“It’s nice.” D.G. had said at last when it trickled into the collective knowledge. “Sort of sweet.”
“I am not sweet.” Wyatt said firmly, but her laughter indicated she disagreed.
“I’m happy for you.” The Queen had kissed him on the cheek and Ambrose sighed. “He’s a better match for you then I was.”
“Happy.” Raw had confirmed without betraying a single hair of what else he might have fathomed with his incredible mind.
Jeb approved in the Cain way. He smiled, said nothing and left his father room to do what he wanted.
And it was nice and sweet and happy. And dark and bitter and in the depths of the night, sometimes very desperate.
When neither of them could sleep, Ambrose would lay one hand over his lover’s heart and count out the beats softly until they both drifted off.
~*~
My beloved Az,
I am standing on the spot of our new home having only just broken the ground. As soon as I have a rude shelter, I will send you notice by the fastest means possible. It’s lonely out here without you.
I have thought about what we spoke of for a long time. Family means very different things to the two of us and I spoke without thinking. Please tell D.G. that her welcome in our new home will extend to the end of the world and back. I have already altered the blueprints to reflect an extra bedroom for her comfort. It’s at the other end of the house.
Please do not despair over your mother and father. They have gone through so much and been both imprisoned for too many years. They will remember what it is to have daughters. Two loveable girls that deserve their attention and affection. If they do not…well, I will try my best to love you enough for the both of them.
My love, I have absolute faith in your ability to survive and thrive. Please, do not allow them to make you despair. If you like, I will ask my father to have you to dinner instead. In fact, you would do them a favor by taking meals with them. It is the only way to ensure that they will take enough food to sustain their crazed lifestyle.
With eternal love,
Jeb
~*~
She read the letter to them over a splendid tea. They had all taken to eating together every afternoon since Jeb’s departure and his suggestion met with gentle ribbing on the absent party’s behalf.
“What does he think we do all day? Run about in circles?”
“I think he remembers the city only as a mad rush.” Wyatt attempted to defend his son. “He’s never much liked it here.”
“He thinks that you are both doing exactly what you are doing. Working yourselves to an early grave and screwing each other silly in the spare moments.”
They both sat stunned, slightly opened mouthed.
“I think your boy is a bad influence.” Ambrose finally concluded.
“I need something stronger then tea now. Where have you hidden the liquor?”
~*~
The city sang beneath them, frothing over with music and laughter and the shouts of fights. Confetti still fell here and there without fanfare or plans. The graffiti artists had banded together led by a reformed Blow Hard and transformed the face of a local building into a cartoonish depiction of a heavenly Central City. Light flowed out from its bubbled walls and the painted people reflected the debauchery of the street. The second anniversary of the Witch’s defeat was careening off to raucous start.
“Let’s take a vacation.” The scar was no longer quite so pink, but his fingers still rubbed over it when he was stressed. “Somewhere no one will find us.”
“I can think of a few people who might object to that.”
“I object right back at them. We both deserve a break.”
“And what would we do with that kind of time?”
“Nothing! That’s the point of a vacation.”
“I’m not good at doing nothing.” Wyatt raised an eyebrow. “Is this about that explosion?”
“Absolutely not! Well, maybe a little bit. It was completely not my fault.”
“Of course not.”
“Any way, I can’t do much until my lab gets repaired.”
He pulled the nervous stroking hand away from the scar and pulled Ambrose close. They kissed, fingers knotted together.
“You can come teach some of my men how to fight properly. They liked it last time.”
“They were petrified last time.”
“Good. They need to get shaken up from time to time. Much better then a vacation. You’d be bored in a minute anyway.”
Ambrose rested his forehead on Cain’s shoulder and sighed when he felt the cool press of lips on his scalp.
“You’re right. In the end, there’s no place like home.”
