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queen-scribbles · 3 years

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The Long-Burning Torch

For the @shepherds-of-haven Shepherds Summer event, the Ryn/Red muses latched onto 20′s Detective AU and would not let go. I’ve gone so deep down this rabbit hole there’s gonna be chapters, but the first piece works as a standalone. (title might change along the way, again bc chapters)

----

There were, in Xaeryn’s experience, two types of people who made use of her services. Both were driven by desperation, both tended to hit her doorstep late in the day. There were the belligerent ones, incensed they had to stoop to hiring her, a Mage, to solve their problem. From them she had to pull the pertinent facts of their case one begrudging sentences at a time. And there were the frantic ones, who had exhausted every other route and she was their last chance. Details poured so freely from them she had to pick through it to find what was actually relevant to the case.

The young man standing before her now, at the start of her day, appeared to fit neither of those groups. He’d knocked and entered without awaiting an invitation, seeming unperturbed by the eyebrow she arched at his arrival.

“May I help you?” Xaeryn asked, leaning forward to rest folded hands on her desk.

He shifted to fold his own hands over the head of a walking stick she’d wager he didn’t actually need and smiled dryly. “If your reputation is anything to go by, Miss Shrike, I certainly expect so.”

She gestured to the chairs in front of the desk. “Let’s find out, Mr...?”

“Riel Syndran,” he said, passing her a business card as he took the offered seat.

The card was hardly necessary, and Xaeryn set it on the desk with only a passing glance. “You run Whitestone Couriers, don’t you?”

There was the faintest twitch on the left side of his jaw. “The company is a guild venture.”

“And I wouldn’t be much of a snooper if I couldn’t figure out who truly ran a company as vital to the city of Haven as Whitestone Couriers, Mr. Syndran.”

He gave her a sharp smile. “Very good. I knew coming to you first was the right call, Miss Shrike.”

“Flattered as I am by your confidence” --and she was; she was typically the last resort, being first was something of a novelty-- “why don’t you tell me what or who you need found, and we can discover if said confidence is warranted.”

“I’m certain it is,” Syndran said, his gaze briefly dropping to the Shrike Investigations placard on the edge of her desk. “But you are correct. To business.”

And business, as he explained it, ran thus: Whitestone Couriers had been contracted to transport a collection of artefacts, originally from all parts of Blest, from their previous temporary home at the Conte-by-the-Sea museum to Haven’s Hall of History and Culture.

”How well-known was your being contracted?” Xaeryn interjected.

“It was something of a secret,” Syndran replied, flicking invisible dust off his sleeve. “Some of the pieces are quite valuable, so it was largely in hopes of avoiding theft.”

Hopes that had proven vain. They’d had an uneventful journey--blessed with good weather, even--made it through city customs upon arriving at Haven (checked everything after making it through and found nothing amiss), and proceeded to the museum. Upon unpacking the artefacts, however, it was discovered one was missing.

(Of course.)

The missing piece--an obsidian and bronze pendent thought to belong to a ruler in the Jalis desert pre-Autarchy--had limited monetary value, especially compared to some of the other items in the collection. (Those, of course, had been more closely watched.) Its worth was largely historical and religious.

“Enchantments?”

“None so far as we know.”

“I’ll look into it for you,” Xaeryn said with a nod. She loved mind-twisters like this. “I’ll need to talk to your people, as well as the museum staff, so it would be helpful if you let them know I’m coming. Otherwise my kind” --a twitch of her fingers set energy dancing above them briefly-- “aren’t usually given the time of day.”

“Of course. I shall do so.” Syndran stood and bowed. “I thank you for taking my case, Miss Shrike, and look forward to your success.”

“Two things, Mr. Syndran,” she spoke up as he turned toward the door. She waited until he paused and looked back to continue. “I will, of course, endeavor to find this relic on my own, but should I require an expert’s... knowledge of its history, say, is outside help acceptable?”

His nose wrinkled briefly. “If you must. But as few others as possible, and only those you trust to keep it in strictest confidence.”

“Understood.”

“And the second thing, Miss Shrike?”

She smiled. “One third estimated payment is due upfront.”

“Oh, obviously.” He returned the smile and pulled out his checkbook.

----

She made some good progress between that afternoon and the next day. Interviews with the caravan guards and those responsible for the artefact collection gave insight to their procedures--which were indeed top-notch; it was impressive someone had managed to find a weakness--and how long the pieces were out of their sight coming through city customs.

“Don’t see why that matters,” the pink-haired courier who’d been in charge of the caravan commented. “We checked them all when we got through; made sure everything was still there. Standard procedure.”

“When you say you checked, is this a thorough examination or just a glance to make sure it’s still there?” Xaeryn asked, glancing at the notepad balanced on her knee.

“There’s no fine-tooth comb involved,” came the somewhat tart and harried reply, “but we do look to confirm it’s there and undamaged so nothing undeserved can later be blamed on us. The company has a sterling reputation for a reason, Miss Shrike, and the guild would very much like to keep it that way.”

“Hence your boss coming to me instead of the police.” Xaeryn tapped her pen against her chin and skimmed over her notes. “I think I have everything I need, Miss Aerin. Thank you for your time.”

Aerin gave a sharp nod. “Of course. Anything to get this cleared up and the artefact found as quickly as possible.” She flicked a worried glance toward the notebook as Xaeryn slipped it in her handbag. “How much did you write down? A lot of our procedures are trade secrets; if someone should see...”

Xaeryn laughed and withdrew the notepad again, flipping it open to show the other woman the symbols that filled the pages. “Never fear, your secrets are safe with me. An added bonus of my own shorthand; no one else can read my notes.”

“Smart.” A brief hesitation. “No one? You’re sure?”

“Well, perhaps the friend who helped develop it initially, but I’ve tweaked it since then.” She flipped the pad closed and stowed it in her bag. “I think it would take a little work even for him. We worked it out to take faster notes in class, but taking faster notes also come in handy in my line of work.”

Aerin relaxed and nodded again. “I’m sure it does. Thank you for the reassurance, Miss Shrike.”

“Of course. Have a good day.”

“You as well.”

With the last of the days’ intended interviews behind her, Xaeryn headed back to her office. Now to review what she’d learned from all the sources together. She was confident she had plenty to give herself at least a couple leads worth pursuing, even if there wasn’t enough for a scry.

---

It took a day and a half of running herself off her feet for Xaeryn to burn through the leads she’d found without much to show for it. She’d been unable to track down the specific guard who checked that portion of the shipment, but his supervisor assured her such an important collection would have been treated with utmost care, seeming miffed at the insinuation otherwise. None of the drivers or other courier employees had noticed anything unusual once they passed through customs, no interruptions or suspicious folks in the streets.

Even scrying had fizzled out without so much as a vague semblance of where it might be.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Xaeryn dug her fingers into her short hair and glowered at the photographs of the pendent Mr. Syndran had given her. It was so small. So easily concealed. And so simple it would hardly draw attention unless you knew what it was.

She’d been forced to grudgingly admit her minimal progress to Mr. Syndran when he called for an update and it had her in a foul mood. This sort of baloney was not how she kept the lights on. It was time for a new tack.

If she couldn’t (yet) trace where the pendent vanished from, perhaps it would work better to learn more about it; figure where it might be going and get a solid enough knowledge of it she could successfully scry its location. Who would want it badly enough for the hassle of stealing from Whitestone Couriers to be worth their while? Looking into the pendent’s history and provenance seemed the next logical course. Just because Mr. Syndran had told her it was on loan to the collection from the “proper” owners did not mean said owners had told him everything, or indeed, that they’d told the truth. She needed an expert and knew just where to find one.

It had been long enough since her time at Solhadur Academy Xaeryn actually had to look up the telephone number before calling. As she listened to the line ringing, she wondered absently how much of a gentle scolding Headmaster Tevanti would give her for her first contact in more than a decade being to ask for something rather than merely catching up. She’d always been the type not to bother people unless she had to. That was, after all, what she preferred. And her self-reliance had carried her through quite a bit. But she was aware most people would differ from her on that point; Tevanti especially was fond of jawing, so he would surely have words for her long silence.

She let it go to ten rings before giving up. Revelation came with a glance at the clock; it was late enough there was likely no one around to answer. No matter. She could drive out tomorrow. The Academy was in Capra, that wasn’t terribly far. (Not for business, anyway.) Headmaster Tevanti wouldn’t mind one of his favorite students dropping in for an hour or so to discuss a relic from one of his favorite historical periods. She’d even engage in small talk, if he wanted.

Xaeryn smiled to herself and locked both the photographs and her notepad in one of the desk drawers. If that was her plan for tomorrow, she should turn in early, make sure she was well-rested. Time for a trip down memory lane.

---

The morning was uneventful, aside from the troublesome discovery she’d left her office unlocked all night. She was normally more attentive than that, even being on a higher floor. But nothing was disturbed or missing, so Xaeryn shrugged it off and got on with her day.

If she selected her wardrobe with a more critical eye than usual, well, she wanted to look professional. Headmaster Tevanti had been a wonderful mentor, and she wanted to show how far his encouragements about using her bright mind and sharp eye had carried her.

(She wondered, briefly, as she pulled on the royal blue skirt and its matching blouse, accented in deep golden-yellow, if she would see any other familiar faces. But she shook off the warmth of the thought; they’d all scattered to the winds after graduation. Getting to see Tevanti would be enough.)

Satisfied with her ensemble, and needing to fill some time before she left, Xaeryn sat at her desk with her notepad and transcribed everything she knew about the missing pendent(not much), along with questions to ask. She picked out the best of the photographs from Mr. Syndran, just in case, and sighed as she looked at the clock. She’d still be a tad early for it to be polite, especially just dropping in out of the blue, if she left now.

So I’ll drive at a leisurely pace, she argued to herself. Take my time. Allowing a buffer in case there’s trouble along the way is only wise. God in heaven, she wished she could figure why she had worse jitters about this than some dates she’d gone on. “Oh, this is ridiculous,” she muttered to the empty office.

She locked the remaining photographs back in her desk, slipped the chosen one and her notepad in her handbag. After a moment’s internal debate, she slipped one of her stiletto knives down in her boot as well. Solhadur was far from dangerous, but it was prudent to have some measure of protection when traveling alone. She grabbed a hat on her way out the door--which she made certain to lock this time--and had it securely on her head by the time she reached the car.

----

Despite her efforts to make it a leisurely drive out to Capra, and weather that was perfect for that goal, Xaeryn still found herself standing in the entrance hall of Solhadur Academy at an earlier hour than would usually be considered polite for impromptu business meetings. She debated walking the grounds for a while, revisiting some memories from her time here, but decided simply apologizing for her early arrival was the better course of action.

With a final steadying breath and running one hand down her blouse and skirt to chase away wrinkles, Xaeryn headed for the reception desk. She smiled at the young woman behind it. “Good morning.”

The receptionist blinked, seeming mildly taken aback by how far up she had to look to meet her visitor’s eyes. “Morning, miss. Office hours don’t start until ten-”

“Oh, I’m not a student here,” Xaeryn said with a laugh. “At least, not anymore. And I do apologize for the early appearance, the drive out went much faster than anticipated.”

A brow twitched at that. “And what is it that brings you to Solhadur, miss...?”

“I’m doing research on a selection of artefacts and haven’t been able to turn up much on one.” It was barely a lie; she had read a bit on the other exhibition pieces, even if the pendent was the only one she needed to go deeper. “It’s from a period I know is of particular interest to the headmaster, so I was hoping to speak to him for a while, see if he could help.”

The receptionist pursed her lips. “Former student, you say?”

Xaeryn nodded. “If he’s busy first thing, I don’t mind waiting.”

““No, actually, being early is smart,” the receptionist said with a light laugh. “His hours are more full at the later end of things. This would be the best opportunity if you want some of his time.” She glanced over Xaeryn once more, then nodded. “You can go up. Third door--”

“On the left. I remember,” Xaeryn finished. “Thank you.”

“You might actually beat him there,” the receptionist laughed. “He isn’t always punctual.”

“I remember that, too,” Xaeryn returned with a grin. “Like I said, I don’t mind waiting. It’ll be good to see him again, few more minutes won’t hurt.” She toyed with one of her earrings as she headed up the stairs, steps lingering and heavy with nostalgia.

It was almost exactly as she remembered. A few portraits replaced or rearranged, new photographs from after she left. New name placards outside the doors she passed. The headmaster’s office door was closed, and a light inquiring rap of her knuckles brought no response.

Looks like she was right, Xaeryn thought with a smile, leaning against the chair outside the office to wait. Her gaze drifted to the high ceiling, following the details of familiar carvings to the scenes painted on the ceiling itself. Slightly faded from what she remembered, but that was to be expected after a decade--

“Xaeryn?!” The voice, still familiar even after years apart, sounded like he’d seen a ghost.

Her heart lurched in her chest and she’d spun around before the impulse to do so had even fully registered, his name tumbling from her lips unprompted in return. “Red?!”

He crossed the remaining distance between them in just a few strides(God, he’d gotten taller, how was that even possible?), barely remembered to set the books he carried on the chair before wrapping her in a hug.

Xaeryn didn’t even flinch, and only just managed to keep her grip on her handbag as she hugged him back. He still smelled of old books and ink and sunshine and she smiled at the memories it stirred.

Liefred Antiqua, her seatmate in any classes they shared and best friend regardless of how many they didn’t for the entirely of her time at Solhadur. Friendly, charming, and just as fond of books as he was people. (The nights they’d spent pressed shoulder to shoulder reading in the library were still among her favorite memories.) Between his warm nature and classic good looks, he’d had half the student body swooning after him, and yet despite the sharp contrast to Xaeryn’s more reserved and self-reliant bent, they’d still spent most of their time together. Their friendship was the strongest of the few she’d formed at Solhadur, and Xaeryn valued it immensely.

(Too much to risk on anything like admitting when the sight of his smile sent something that was definitely not friendship fluttering in her chest. It was just a crush, it would go away.)

( And then it didn’t.)

They’d both had plans to travel after graduation, and she couldn’t count on all her fingers combined the number of times she’d almost suggested they do it together. But in this one thing, she never could quite summon the nerve. And before she knew it, her departure date had arrived and they were hugging farewell, and come with me wouldn’t unstick from her throat. After a few months’ silence stretched between them--both traveling and unsure where the other might be, obviously--she’d resigned herself to their paths never crossing again, much as the thought hurt.

And yet here he was.

All the memories flew through her mind in the few seconds their hug lasted, and had a lump starting in her throat by the time they parted.

“Wonderful as it is to see you,” Red began as he stepped back to reclaim his books and run a glance over her, “what are you doing here?”

Xaeryn cleared her throat as she returned the apprising glance with one of her own. He still looked practically the same. A few inches taller, shoulders a bit more broad, and an attempt had been made to tame his bright red hair. It had only achieved partial success, and combined with the warm glint in his green eyes, he still was the same Red she knew. (The same Red she’d been more than a little in love with, even if she’d never dared the risk of admitting it.)

“I’m doing research,” she said, reaching up to tug the back brim of her hat as she glanced at the office door. “Into some artefacts. I wanted to ask Headmaster Tevanti about one in particular that’s being difficult.”

Red grimaced and fumbled his books. “Did you not hear, Xaer?” His voice went soft on the nickname, despite them being alone. Voices did carry in these halls, as they very well knew. “Tevanti died.”

She blinked, shock and sorrow curling in her chest. “Wh- How? When?”

“Not long after you left, actually,” he said, raking his free hand through his hair and tousling it out of respectability. “You know he’d been having problems with his heart. It gave out a few months after you left.” His brow furrowed. “I’m surprised you weren’t told when you set an appointment.”

“I didn’t so much set an appointment as show up looking to talk,” Xaeryn admitted with a soft, wry snort. “And I did simply say the headmaster when speaking to the receptionist.” She cocked her head. “Who would that be, now?”

Red smiled sheepishly, half-bit his lower lip. “Me, actually.” He shifted the books to one arm and opened the office door. Slightly nonplussed by two such major revelations in a row, Xaeryn was silent as she followed him in.

“I thought you wanted to travel,” was the first thought to pop in her head and then out her mouth as she looked around the office. It was spacious, lined with jam-packed bookshelves(He must be in heaven), and in a state of... corralled disarray that was so very Red it made her smile despite the news about Tevanti.

“I did,” Red replied, setting the books on his desk. “And I got to, at least a bit.” He tucked a handful of papers inside an open tome occupying one of the chairs, flipped the book closed, and set it on a side table so he could offer her a seat. “I’d already left when he passed, so Professor Rumi and some others kept things going until I got back.” Rather than sit in the chair behind the desk, he shuffled a small stack of books onto the floor and sat in the one next to Xaeryn’s as he continued. “He’d... wanted me as his successor, Xaeryn.”

“That makes sense.” The words were out before she could weigh them, spurred by the disbelief in his hesitation. “You’re brilliant, charming, and have a history with the school.” Her face warmed in the wake of being so candid, and Xaeryn glanced over at the large painting of Tevanti that hung on the wall between two bookshelves. He knew what he was doing. “You’re a logical choice.”

Red laughed warmly. “High praise from the smartest student in our class.”

“But far from the most charming,” she countered with a wry smile.

The warmth of his gaze didn’t abate. “I’ve always appreciated your-”

“Bluntness?”

“Straight-forwardness,” Red substituted, and was smiling when she looked his way. “An ability to cut to the heart of the subject is an invaluable skill.”

Xaeryn gave a faint shake of her head. “As is your kindness. But speaking of the heart of the matter...”

“Ah, right. You came here for a reason.” He pushed his unbuttoned shirtsleeves up toward his elbows. “I can’t promise to know as much as Tevanti would have, but I’ll certainly do my best to help.”

“Actually...” She snapped open her handbag to pull out the photograph and her notepad. “You’ve done a lot of research on pre-Autarchy history, so you might be able to help more than you think.” She set the photograph on the desk and Red cocked his head to look at it.

“Solimer’s torch...” he murmured, turning the photograph for a better look as his gaze gained that focus of a niche interest being whetted. (Which, for Red, meant she was about to hear everything he knew about the pendent’s history in too much detail to called a summary, and Xaeryn found herself leaning forward slightly in anticipation.) He glanced up at her. “Isn’t this one of the pieces in that exhibit about to open in Haven?”

She nodded. “That’s why I’m researching it.” She bit her lip but barely hesitated on the gamble of her next words. ‘Those you trust’, Mr. Syndran had said, and there was no one she trusted more than Liefred Antiqua. “It was stolen, and I was hired to find.”

His head came up, derailed from the growing ramble on the pendent’s history. “Oh?”

“I’m a detective,” Xaeryn said, playing with one of her earrings. She laughed softly. “Scrying does give a considerable leg up to finding things. Or people. But that only works when--”

“You know enough about them,” Red nodded. “So this visit is for business, rather than personal.”

“Mostly, yes,” she conceded, resting one hand on his knee. I didn’t know you’d be here. “But I was more than willing to chat with Tevanti” --there was a pang in her chest--”which most definitely extends to you as well, Headmaster Antiqua.”

His neck and ears went faintly pink as he laughed. “Surely we don’t need to be quite so formal, Detective Shrike?”

“Just ‘Miss’,” she returned with a laugh of her own, withdrawing her hand to instead fiddle with her notepad. “I work for myself, not the cops.” There might’ve been a little pride in her voice at the words, but it was well-earned.

“I thought you wanted to travel,” Red said, turning her own remark back on her.

“And travel I did,” Xaeryn said lightly. “For quite a while, even. But a girl does need a job eventually, and I’ve always loved a good mystery.”

“Or even a bad one,” he teased. “All kidding aside, Miss Shrike, I’m sure you’re a brilliant investigator.”

She smiled, chuckling at the playful glint in his eye even as her ears warmed at the praise. “Thank you. And on that note, what can you tell me about the pendent?”

“Right, right. You’re here on business.” Amusement lingered in Red’s eyes even as he turned back to the photograph. His sleeves started to slide and he shoved them back up again. Xaeryn very deliberately kept her focus on the photograph, not his arms--or hands--as he tapped one finger at the center of the obsidian pendent. “This was a protection... charm, I suppose you’d call it, worn by the head of the Solimer tribe ages ago. Literal ages. Without refreshing my memory, all I can tell you is they were one of the few tribes whose wanderings regularly took them through the heart of the Jalis desert, and yet they always fared better on those journeys than the other tribes, which was credited to this pendent.”

“So it is magical?” Xaeryn leaned closer to look over the piece again, not that a photograph could do it full justice. This was a familiar position; the two of them bent over a shared project, and she hadn’t realized how much she missed it until that moment.

“Possibly?” Red shifted and his shoulder bumped hers. “ The story goes that on their first attempt to journey through, they saw a light, like a torch, keeping pace with them. It only showed up at night, and seemed far enough away from their caravan the chief felt it was too dangerous to let anyone go after it to see what it was. Their wariness at its presence, however, kept them vigilant enough they were able to see and fend off any wild animals that came after them, and it did nothing except travel their same path, so they let it be.

“A couple weeks into their journey, as their supplies were starting to run low, the chieftain’s wife was out hunting and strayed far enough in search of food that the sun started setting while she was out. As the skies grew dim she could see the Torch, much larger than they usually did from the caravan, though it was floating away. Seized by good old-fashioned curiosity” --he paused to wink at her and Xaeryn bit back a smile-- “she followed the light rather than work her way back to camp. She kept after it long enough night had nearly fallen when it crested a ridge and disappeared. She hastened after it, and when she made it over the ridge, found herself standing by a waterspring the likes of which they’d never seen. When she looked around for the light she’d followed, there was no sign of it, save a black rock that lay at her feet. There were no other rocks anywhere nearby, so she decided this must be what had caused the torch-like light her tribe had seen.

“She carried it with her when she returned to the tribe with news of water, and the Solimer took it as a sign of the gods’ favor. The chieftain had it bound in bronze” --he traced a finger along the lines of the coiled setting-- “to be worn as a way to hold that favor. It was passed from leader to leader and from all accounts they had far better luck surviving the desert than the other tribes for a long time.”

“Was that not likely just them knowing better how to handle themselves? If they traveled those portions of the desert more frequently, of course they were better prepared.”

“Maybe.” Red shrugged. “We have no firsthand written records from any of these tribes, just legends and history relayed orally. And a lot of the second-hand ones were... lost when the Autarchy came to power. From the way the stories run, after generation of favor from the pendent, it was lost when the Solimer were defeated in a skirmish over resources with another tribe. Their next several trips went so poorly it cost over half their number, and they wound up assimilated into other tribes within the next couple decades just to survive.”

“Sad,” Xaeryn murmured, though she wondered if the pendent’s loss had become a self-fulfilling prophecy if they believed in it that strongly. “And what happened to the pendent after that?”

“That’s all I know off the top of my head,” Red said sheepishly as he sat back, running a hand through his hair. “Anything more I’d have to research. To refresh my memory.”

“Oh, that’s all? Tsk, tsk, Liefred, you’re slipping,” she teased, then snorted a wry chuckle. “Of course, it’s more than I had.” She showed him the scant lines on a single page of her small notepad.

Red smiled at the sight of the shorthand and let the playful ribbing slide as he ran a finger over the page. “You tweaked it.”

“A bit, to make it jive better with detective work.” Xaeryn tucked the pad back in her handbag. She’d been so caught up listening to him talk she’d not taken a single note. “I’m certain you could work it out with a little time.”

“Oh, time-” Red’s gaze flew to the clock at the same moment there was a knock and muffled “Headmaster?” at the door. “Damn. Forgot I have a meeting.” He smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Tribulations of being in charge. Just a minute!” he called toward the door, then, to Xaeryn, “I can look into this more in my free time, if you’d like.”

What free time? she almost asked, looking at the stacks of books and papers everywhere. But she swallowed that in favor of, “That would be lovely, thank you so much.”

“Any specific information you need?” Red asked as they stood.

“Anything you can find is welcome, but specifically.... What happened to the pendent after the Solimer lost it, who would have claim of ownership, if ownership is contested... anything like that. I want to find it, but part of that may very well lie in figuring out who would have most reason to steal it in the first place.” Xaeryn pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “So I don’t wind up nagging you,” she laughed. “You can call when you find something. The telephone’s in my office, but I live adjacent, so I’ll always hear it.”

Red nodded and slipped the card in his pocket. “I’ll try not to take too long.”

“Much appreciated. Also...” She grimaced slightly. “This is something of a secret; the Couriers don’t want it being common knowledge.”

“Understandable,” he said as they started toward the door. “Oh, don’t you need this?” He reached back for the photograph and held it out to her.

“Yes, thanks.” Xaeryn smiled and tried not to let the flutter in her chest when their fingers brushed as she took it gain purchase. She slipped the photograph back in her handbag as Red opened the door. Given the student waiting in the hall, she was the picture of professionalism--aside from the twinkle in her eye--as she nodded farewell. “Thank you for your time, Headmaster.”

Several things flashed through Red’s eyes, the brief desire to strangle her, a loud burst of laughter, an eyeroll, but he settled on a warm smile, wide enough his dimples just started to show. “Happy to help, Miss Shrike.”

She was still fighting a grin as she turned to descend the stairs, heart practically singing with warmth. Of all the lovely surprises... Regardless of whether she succeeded or failed, this case was already among the most worthwhile she’d ever taken, simply for bringing him back into her life.

#queens fic #shoh #shepherds summer 2021 #xaeryn shrike #red antiqua #ryn/red #i really got find them a ship tag #if you think their canon pining is good HOO BOY JUST WAIT #flamingelmo.gif #tlbt

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theoriginalladya · 3 years

Note

Intimacy Prompts #20: a hand written note for rydenko.

from this list

on AO3 here

Thank you so much for this one! Sorry it took so long - I had an idea, but I got side tracked by other things! :) Enjoy, my friend! And thank you for asking about them!

Setting: Andromeda Galaxy

~~~

It all begins as a joke.

Once his status as Pathfinder is officially recognized, the Initiative administrators cannot act fast enough to guarantee they have Kaidan Alenko on their side. As the Nexus slowly opens, finally coming out of hibernation, the administrators agree they need to do something. So, they give him an apartment.

Scott has his father’s quarters back on the Hyperion, most of the others have their own quarters or stay on the Tempest, but all Kaidan has available to him is a cryo-pod, one that’s no longer useful now that he’s awake. He doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t even drop a hint. Tann reminds him of others back in the Milky Way, even acts similarly, but he’s a crafty one, too. In a move that is supposed to look as if the Initiative cares about their Pathfinders, they assign their lone Pathfinder an apartment. Whether or not they actually do care about him and the role is beside the point.

Kaidan, who detests being used as a political pawn but recognizes he can do nothing about it, hates it on sight.

Okay, so maybe hate is too strong of a word. It isn’t the orchard back in the BC Interior, that’s for damned sure, and it’s a far cry from shared barracks during his Alliance years. He has a room on the Tempest, so it he has some choice about where he can stay. But this… this tiny cubicle that they are calling an apartment? Four walls, open spacing, barely any room to turn around without bumping into something? There is absolutely nothing homey about it. Home, is something he’s still searching for.

That lasts about three weeks, until the day Scott drops by when Kaidan isn’t there and instead of messaging him to meet up elsewhere, leaves a handwritten note slipped beneath his door. Kaidan almost misses it when he gets back after his meeting with Tann, Addison, and Kesh. Just a small slip of paper – where had Scott found actual paper? – written in black ink. A hint of white on an otherwise light-colored floor which is barely discernable. Something about it catches the corner of his eye, though.

K – Stopped by to see you. Catch you later. Scott

Kaidan reads it twice, just in case he’s having hallucinations thanks to the burgeoning migraine before setting it on the corner of his desk, thinking to send a reply via omni-tool. But the meetings with Tann and the others are taking their toll, and even with SAM’s assistance, the pain is such he forgets until the next morning, at which point he decides to just head on over to the Hyperion instead.

Of course, Scott isn’t there.

Scott – Was in the area and thought I’d save you a trip. Better luck next time, right? Catch you on the Tempest. K

The Tempest is scheduled out the next morning and, as typically happens aboard the ship with last minute things to do and distractions of all kinds, neither he nor Scott thinks to mention the messages to the other; almost an ‘out of sight, out of mind,’ sort of thing. End of story.

Except, it isn’t.

The weeks pass, more notes appear at the apartment and on the Tempest or Hyperion. Small ones. Silly ones. Eventually, Scott starts leaving small sketches of different people on them – quick things, some cute, some ridiculous, but always they leave Kaidan smiling.

A caricature of Tann speaking with Addison and Kesh mimicking him behind his back even as Tann’s head is blown up twice the size of the others.

A small cartoon of Suvi in the galley, laser focused as she points to different Heleus rocks and explains their different tastes to a very confused looking Drack while Lexi stands in the doorway scolding her.

A stick figure sketch of Kallo and the several of the Tempest at various stages of the ship’s development.

Kaidan cannot hide his amusement at a more realistic looking sketch of Cora and Liam as they lean against one another in the back seat of the Nomad, fast asleep. He remembers the incident clearly, from their last visit to Elaaden. Even as he stares at the sketch, he swears he can hear their soft snores echoing in his ears as he tacks it to the wall over his desk next to the others.

Not to be outdone, Kaidan starts leaving quotes in his messages to Scott; from books, movies, and other inspirational sources he’s come across. He’s been collecting them for years, long before he ever left for BAaT. Most are saved on his omni-tool, but he has two small, leatherbound journals filled with the most meaningful ones he’s come across. They are about the only thing he was able to bring with him from home when he joined the Initiative.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. (1)

The pessimist sees difficulty in every opportunity. The optimist sees opportunity in every difficulty. (2)

We may encounter many defeats, but we must not be defeated. (3)

Fear profits a man nothing.(4)

With each successive note between them, Kaidan learns a little bit more about Scott. But the whole situation changes drastically after their adventures on the archon’s ship. On the way back to the Nexus and after Lexi has cleared him, Kaidan does something he hasn’t done in centuries, if ever…

~~~~

The buzzer to his Nexus apartment sounds, but Kaidan doesn’t bother to answer it. It’s Scott, and the man has his own key. The buzzer, he supposes, is Scott’s polite way to warn him that he’s arrived. The fact that Scott uses does it now of all times tells Kaidan something more; Scott is pissed.

Well, I probably deserve it after what happened.

He’s tempted to not answer, to see if Scott leaves a note, but decides not to risk it. Opening the door, he steps to the side to allow the younger man in. Scott remains silent, though his body language screams in a way that Kaidan easily recognizes. Taut, tense, his lips tightened in a thin line, the way he won’t look directly at Kaidan… It’s one side of a conversation Kaidan’s been on many times, albeit hundreds of years before and in a different galaxy.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” Scott demands, blue eyes sharp and snapping with anger. “Any idea what could have happened back on the archon’s ship if SAM hadn’t been able to resuscitate you? You-you could have died back there!”

Opting to let the younger man get it out in one fell swoop, Kaidan bides his time. Well, except for one point of clarification. “I did die.”

Scott growls in the back of his throat. An honest to goodness growl. Kaidan can’t help the small smirk that twists at his lips as a result. When Scott steps forward, invading his personal space, Kaidan does something he usually doesn’t do; he goads him. “What? It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“Not helping the situation!”

Kaidan isn’t certain if he should be worried that SAM is, so far, remaining silent in his head. “I needed to get us out of there,” he argues instead. “How else was I going to –?”

“You? Why did it have to be you? Why is it always you?” Scott tosses his hands in the air and turns away, frustration building until his biotic corona flickers around him. Still grumbling to himself, he turns back, glaring at Kaidan. “What the hell am I going to do if I lose you like that?”

Kaidan sucks in a breath, recognizing the pain. Sure, things between them have improved since their arrival in Andromeda – no place to go but up, right? – but this…? This is a reinforcement of what he’s hoped for ever since accepting Alec Ryder’s offer.

Or am I reading too much into this?

On their private channel, SAM replies, “You are not, Kaidan.”

Scott still prowls around the room as Kaidan asks, “Can you come over here for a minute?”

“Why? So you can die on me a third time?”

Petulance is not a good look for Scott, and Kaidan has to bite back a laugh; as much as he wants to set it free, it would do more harm than good just now. “I want to show you something.”

Scott grumbles some more, even as Kaidan heads on over, but eventually he follows. When he arrives, Kaidan hands him the letter. “Read this.”

The blue-eyed glare returns, heavy with suspicion. “What is it?”

“Just read. Please.”

Scott waits another moment, two, then drops his gaze and starts reading. For several minutes, Kaidan waits patiently, watching. The letter isn’t long, but Scott is taking his time reading it, but Kaidan knows when Scott reaches the end because the younger man’s spine stiffens, his shoulders roll back, and his head snaps up as he darts a quick look up at Kaidan. “Today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the Earth.(5)”

When Scott says nothing else, Kaidan prods, “So, what do you think?”

Scott is quiet for a minute. It’s difficult to read his reaction because he keeps his back to Kaidan the entire time, slightly hunched in the shoulders, utterly quiet. “Do you mean it?” he asks, voice soft as if having trouble pushing it out.

“I always try to say what I mean, Scott.”

The younger man turns around, his face a surprisingly neutral mask. Considering how difficult that has been for him in the past, Kaidan is impressed. “So, you’re saying you consider yourself the luckiest man on Earth or, in this case I guess, the Nexus, because you survived?”

Ah, so that’s the problem. Reaching over, Kaidan settles a hand on Scott’s cheek. Scott leans into it, then apparently thinks better of it or at the very least realizes what he’s doing and pulls back. But that’s okay. Kaidan now has a far better sense of what he is working with. Running his thumb along the corner of Scott’s lips, he says quietly, “I am the luckiest man in Andromeda because you are here with me.”

Tension immediately flows out of Scott and he visibly sags a bit. “And you really mean that? Because look, I get that my Dad talked you into all of this without checking with me first, and –”

Kaidan slides his thumb over the top of Scott’s lips to silence him. “I really mean that. This has nothing to do with your dad, but everything to do with you….”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(1) The Godfather, part II

(2) Winston Churchill

(3) Maya Angelou

(4) 13th Warrior

(5) The Pride of the Yankees

#intimacy prompts #ladya writes #rydenko #scott ryder #kaidan alenko #straight on til morning #mass effect #mass effect andromeda #mallaidhsomo

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spiltscribbles · 5 years

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Hi! It's me again! 145 or 113 (bc I can't chose fjjkk) for pynch prompt 💜

z~113. “I made you cupcakes cause I knew you liked them”

Send Me A Prompt

Adam’s always appreciated the light thrumming of life that buzzed in Washington, even in the middle of the night. It’s no where as loud as Boston had been, but still, it distracts Adam from floundering in his own thoughts that even now threaten to swallow him whole in an ocean of insecurities and doubt that had first bore to life in the precarious stillness subsequent Robert’s fists and his mother’s impassive gaze. Nights of wondering if he’ll ever be good enough. Good Enough to earn his parent’s affections, Gansey’s friendship, Blue’s warmth…. Which all eventually culminated into questioning if he’ll ever be good enough to deserve the near reverent way Ronan regards him, has always regarded him. To deserve the soft touches and encapsulating kisses and the way Ronan looks at Adam as if he’s the answer to his every question, as if Ronan could find what he’s looking for whispered between the space of Adam’s lips.

Adam tries not to bother figuring out the latter anymore because he knows he never will find a sensible answer. Knows that he’s never deserved Ronan and all Ronan’s brought to his world, transforming the muted grayscale of his carefully methodical outlook into vivid tones of impossibilities come true. No matter how much he loves Ronan, how he never wants to be without him. How Adam thinks Ronan has become a fixture in his very soul that he could never fathom breathing without, he still is so very inept. He still can’t tell him his feelings in so many words— much more preferential to gentle caresses and tender kisses that can bring his feelings to life— and he knows he still comes off aloof and cold during their more real arguments— despite how sparing they might be. Adam can’t ever contort his mouth in the right ways to speak out loud words of comfort and vulnerability he was so deprived of once upon a time. But still, he tries. Adam tries because this’s Ronan, and he wouldn’t be true to himself if he didn’t give Ronan— give them— all he had.

“It’s not your fault,” Adam says, flicks off residue from one of the bright blue creepy-crawlies that had followed Ronan into the real world, from his legs.

Ronan’s only response is an indignant huff.

Looking at him now, Adam can’t help but marvel at how beautiful and sincere and unshielded he truly is. The dark shadows paint across his face and the light spills over him so that his profile is nothing but flat planes, made all the more sharp, and pale eyes shifting to a haunting, stormy grey rather than the icy oceans Adam has always known and has always ben able to see through. Eyes he’s been enthralled with since he had only viewed Ronan as the savagely handsome best friend of Gansey’s who infuriated him in ways Adam never was able to quite comprehend.

“Don’t. Don’t do that.” Adam tells him, moving so that they’re shoulder to shoulder. “Don’t push me out because you’re mad.”

“I’m not,” Ronan says, hurried and stubborn, his face morphing into something desperate.

“Ronan,” Adam says, but actually means bullshit, and the translation seems to have gone through if the decidedly ceded expression that passes Ronan’s rough but handsome features is anything to go by.

“I hate that I can’t control it, that no matter what I do.”

“Hey,” Adam laces their fingers together and squeezes. “Nothing happened.” He kisses Ronan’s shoulder right then, is relieved when he feels the slight loosening of tension there. He’s suddenly, acutely thankful to all the stars above that Ronan can understand the spaces of words that go unspoken between them.

“This time,” Ronan sours, eyes flickering to their closed door and Adam understands him completely. Understands that Ronan doesn’t care if those poisonous arachnids had bitten him, Ronan never cared. The only thing Ronan cares about when concerning bringing back his uncontrolled dream things is the possibility that they could hurt any number of the three people he loves more than breathing. One, Adam, who sleeps right besides him every night. And the other two— their set of twins— are just right across the hall.

“It could so easily go wrong.”

“It won’t,” Adam says with more steel than even he expected.

“How do you know?” Ronan asks pleadingly. Hesitantly. Imploringly. Like someone would a prophet.

“Ro,” Adam says, quiet and tentative while he runs the pads of his fingers down Ronan’s cheek, tracing the outline of his nose and lips and jaw. Landing on the hollow where Adam could feel his heartbeat, swooping forwards to press another open mouthed kiss to it, revels in the sensation of Ronan carding a hand through his hair, nails lightly scratching Adam’s scalp. “I’m here for you, always. I won’t ever let anything happen to you or the kids, and I know you won’t ever either. Stop worrying, okay.” Another kiss on Ronan’s mouth, arms wrapped around his waste to pull him even closer. “Else you’ll start getting wrinkle lines and I’ll have to find myself a new trophy husband.”

“Pff,” Ronan snorts, rubs a ginger hand down Adam’s naked back. He can feel the cool scrape of the golden wedding band Adam’s got a matching pair too. “If anyone’s the arm candy here it’s totally you.”

“Fuck off.”

“Lynch farms just got another expansion fuck face,” Ronan preens, and Adam loves him like this. Boasting and teasing and always, always so soft whenever he peers down at Adam. “Me and my heard are gonna blow fucking Wisconsin right off the map with our Dairy prowls.”

“Actually I think California’s now the state to beat for title of Dairy capitol,” Adam corrects with a nonchalant shrug.

“What the fuck ever shit head,” Ronan snipes, words full of humor.

“Come back to bed.”

“I shouldn’t,” Ronan frowns, and Adam doesn’t miss the fear, fear that’s only ever directed to himself, that ghosts across his face. He parts his lips to argue and chide at him that he needs to trust himself, but Ronan must’ve seen that coming from a mile ahead because he stops it with another resounding kiss that Adam can feel to his core.

“Had to be up anyways,” Ronan explains amidst heavy breaths that mirror Adam’s own. “Me and Opal were gonna check out that Farmer’s Market back in Henrietta and Declan wanted to join.”

“Fine,” Adam gripes, follows him out the bedroom to help collect the things he’ll be needing partially because he’s too riled up to go back to bed now, but mostly because he knows that if he leaves now Ronan won’t be back until late afternoon. He always misses him so achingly during these long trips away from their home.

God does Adam love that, the idea that he’s got this. He’s got a home that he gets to share with the man he loves more than any other and his two kids that he would willingly lay down his life for. Sometimes he has to stop and just take it all in, climb out of the memories of crying on the steps of the trailer wondering if anything was worth existing in that plane, and thinking that the kid he was finally found that worth.

Adam passes Ronan a thermos of coffee for him and an herbal tea for Opal, sends him off with one final peck of farewell.

“You should welcome me home with a martini,” Ronan goads, grin gone sharp and slightly feral. “Put on a slutty genie outfit?”

Adam pinches his forearm, hard.

“I will never play out some kinda I Dream of Jeannie tableau for you dickwad, get over it.”

“You can’t blame a man for trying,” Ronan shrugs, goes off to kiss the tops of the kids’ sleeping heads and one more for Adam before he has to finally head out to the BMW.

Sometimes Adam forgets that these long days apart are just as hard for him.

“Is it Daddy’s birthday?” Livvy asks, hiked brow and pinched lipped.

“No,” says Adam while pulling out spare mixing bowls from the cupboard— a miracle that he even knows where they are if he’s being at all honest considering that the kitchen is Ronan’s realm of expertise and all Adam’s good for is washing dishes and occasionally toasting bread.

“Are you graduating again?” Gage— a near spitting image of his sister, with all their trappings of dark hair and intense eyes and thin lips, asks with owlish eyes.

“Not that either.”

“Then why on God’s green earth are we baking cupcakes?”

Jesus fucking Christ do these kids have some mouths on them. Adam would like to blame it totally on Ronan’s frame of mind that unfiltered speech is the only way he’d speak around his kids, everything else is disingenuous. But also Adam knows that ever since they had first brought them home, ten months old and just barely crawling, that they’ve gotten just as much of his cynical outlook than what Adam would’ve liked.

“Because squirt,” Adam pulls out his phone to search for a decently simple recipe he both had the ingredients on hand to bake, and one that wouldn’t turn out a utter mess. “Daddy woke up a bit sad this morning and I thought that if we made him this, it would show we were thinking bout him and he wouldn’t be so sad anymore.”

The twins look suitably cowed at that, both pairs of eyes going pleading and chorusing a thousand questions on whether Ronan’s okay and when he’ll be coming home and how they could help.

“He’s fine kiddos, just was gonna miss you guys when he went out with Opal and Uncle Declan today. But he’ll be home any minute so I wanna make sure this is done by then, kay?”

Gage nods with grave certainty, wielding a whisk like a weapon of war, but Livvy still looks a bit unsure.

“Aunt Blue says that your cooking should be considered a weapon of mass destruction.”

“Like a nuke!” Gage tacks on helpfully.

“Or mustard gas.”

“Ooo! Or like—“

“Neither of you are ever allowed to say the names of weapons out loud again! Not ever! Adam scolds with no actual heat.

“Hey, but what about,” Gage points to Chainsaw, who’s perching atop the refrigerator watching them.

“Not my problem.”

They both role their eyes but don’t press the point.

“Papa are you sure you can do this?”

“It’s baking Liv, not cooking a full course meal.” He says, only slightly indignant.

“Ms Gomez says that science is just like baking and that’s why it’s way harder than just normal cooking.”

Adam’s expression goes flat.

“You get to crack the eggs!”

“Oh yay!” Livvy crows and Gage howls with the unfairness of it all.

An hour and a half later finds their white marble top island of their spacious kitchen splattered with batter and oil and substances Adam isn’t sure he recognizes. There’s a tray of a dozen cupcakes in the oven but Adam isn’t quite sure that they’re meant to be staying flat, refusing to rise even once the halfway mark passes.

“Aunt Blue’s always right,” Livvy says sagely.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Adam can’t help but agree while frowning at the mess, his heart contracting the moment he hears the front door swing open and the recognizable thudding of Ronan’s farm boots.

“Oh joy,” he mutters as the kids dash off to the front parlor, leaping into Ronan’s arms, batter splattered hands and all.

“Mother of God Parrish,” he bellows, obviously in a better mood than this morning. “What are these changelings doing here and where are our actual kids?”

Adam can’t help the way his mouth dips down into a small, delighted grin, his heart doing palpitations at the sight of the three people he loves more than anything all together in one spot.

“No Daddy!” Livvy squawks. “It’s us!”

“We were making you cupcakes because we thought you were sad and we hate it when you’re sad and we love you and Papa is really bad at anything in the kitchen but he tried.”

“Thanks Gage,” Adam ruffles a hand in his hair, tugs softly on Livvy’s pigtail before kissing Ronan hello.”

“You taste like sugar.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Ronan’s answering laugh is something splendid.

“You guys didn’t have to go through the trouble.”

“We love you Daddy,” Livvy argues, kissing the back of his hand and making Ronan’s expression go gentle in the way it only ever does for them.

“Thanks princess, love you more though.”

Livvy sticks out her tongue, contentious.

“Look I’m sure your Pops has made the kitchen a living nightmare,” Ronan says, and Adam pulls a face at him, affronted. “So what about we go out to grab something sweet from Nothing But Buns?”

They chorus excited words of affirmation and Adam refuses to let Ronan in the kitchen till it’s cleaned up.

“Fuck, it looks like World War III or some shit in there, doesn’t it”

“One more crack at my cooking resembling a war zone and I swear I’m filing for a divorce,” Adam threatens.

Ronan just laughs and something deep in Adam’s chest blooms, pleased that at the very least the cupcakes had their intended effect.

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