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stories-in-the-stars · 5 years

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That Which Belongs to the Sea

Ao3 links in the reblogs!

Chapter 2

Of Walking, Running, and Dancing Around the Truth

Lance kicked his legs once, then twice, splashing in the water as he did. This was real! He was really human! He was immediately taken up by a fit of silent but elated giggles. He continued kicking his legs, marvelling at the sensation of having them at all. Nearby, Hunk and Allura watched him with less than enthused expressions.

“He’s really done it, hasn’t he?” Allura breathed. “He’s…”

“Human,” Hunk finished. “Allura, you don’t really think he’ll turn into seafoam, do you?”

“I don’t know, but I’m inclined to believe Lotor, much as I dislike it,” Allura huffed.

Lance’s eyes found their frowning faces, and his smile slid off his face in an instant. He tilted his head slightly, starting to move his lips in a question but stopping as soon as he remembered why that wouldn’t work. His question, however, was plain enough.

“We’re just worried, Lance,” Allura told him.

Beside her, Hunk nodded. “Yeah, I mean, if you don’t get this guy to fall in love with you and kiss you, you’ll turn to seafoam—that is, you’ll die.”

Lance waved a hand at them, gesturing at his face and smiling in what he probably thought was a suave manner. It wasn’t particularly reassuring.

“Lance, do you even know where this guy lives?” Hunk pressed.

Lance froze for an instant, but quickly recovered, waving his hands around airily and mouthing the words he was trying to say again. Suffice to say, he did not seem nearly as concerned as the other two. Allura scowled.

“This is ridiculous!” She exclaimed. “You should never have made a deal with a sea witch in the first place! I’m going to find a way to reverse this immediately, and so help me—don’t shake your head at me! This is your life we’re talking about, how can you be so careless about it?!”

Lance gaped like a fish out of water. He shook his head again, his blue eyes going wide and seeming to plead with Allura. Allura recoiled at the pang of guilt that zipped through her, from her heart all the way down to her delicate tail fins. Certainly with her tenacity she could probably find a way to reverse this. Her kingdom had the best kept records of all underwater magic, after all. But then, Lance’s eyes seemed to say, what good would that do? Lance would return to a life he was discontent with, doomed to wonder about a chance he hadn’t been allowed to take. Maybe Allura thought it foolhardy and far too risky, but it meant something far more to Lance, something that Allura might never comprehend, especially if she took this away from him.

Allura sighed. “Alright, alright, I’ll—I won’t undo this immediately. But Lance, please understand, you’re one of my dearest friends, and I can’t bear the thought of losing you forever. Please, at least let me look for a way… just in case? I won’t tell anyone what’s happening this time, I promise. My honor as a princess.”

Lance looked away for a moment, deliberating carefully. When he finally looked back at her, it was with a small but resolute nod. Allura sighed again, this time smiling.

“Thank you, Lance. I promise I’ll be back as soon as possible. Hunk, you’ll stay with him, won’t you?”

Hunk blinked. “How is that even a question? Of course I’ll stay with him!”

“And so will I!” piped a new voice.

The three of them whipped around in alarm, afraid they’d been caught by some human or other. Thankfully it wasn’t just any old human; it was Pidge! Perched on a rock and peering very curiously at Lance, they looked only marginally surprised, but also mildly mischievous. They seemed proud to have snuck up on the merfolk.

“So, you managed to get yourself a pair of legs,” they started slowly.

Lance nodded eagerly, mouth moving leagues ahead of the fastest human ship before he could stop himself. Pidge blinked.

“And… you can’t talk? Wow, two upgrades in one day, I’m impressed.” At Lance’s resulting scowl, they laughed and continued, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But seriously, what on earth is going on?”

Much to everyone’s surprise, it was Allura who explained the situation to Pidge. “He traded his voice to a sea witch for legs. He has to get a human, that human he rescued the other day, to fall in love with him—“

“And kiss him!” Hunk added.

“And kiss him,” Allura amended with a nod. “In three days. Otherwise he’ll turn to seafoam.”

Pidge sputtered. “What?! Lance, what were you thinking?!”

Lance made as though to blow bubbles, only to end up huffing indignantly. He crossed his arms and turned away from Pidge.

“I think he’s done having this conversation,” Hunk translated.

“Fine, fine,” Pidge said. “You guys are lucky I know Keith.”

That got Lance’s attention again. He whirled around with a huge grin on his face. His wide eyes were pleading once more, and Pidge pointedly looked away from him. There was something about his ocean eyes that was decidedly still merm-ish, something that was easy to pass over when he still had a tail, but that seemed startling in the face of a human.

“You don’t have to ask! Of course I’m going to help you!” they insisted. “First thing’s first: you need clothes.”

~*~

To any casual onlooker, the younger prince looked completely recovered from the disastrous shipwreck that had almost claimed his life. How resilient, they praised, how strong. Not that he heard any of these praises of course. No, Keith was deaf to a great many things in the days following the incident, as was apparent to those particular few that were close to him. His thoughts were far more pleasantly occupied.

A gentle touch to his cheek.

Words of longing, spoken so softly Keith could hardly hear them over the waves.

And when he had opened his eyes to the harsh morning light, the bluest eyes he had ever seen were looking at him, sparkling as the ocean might on a clear, sunny day.

Suffice to say, Keith had been dazzled and enraptured, only for those eyes to disappear a moment after he’d seen them. Part of him wanted to believe it had been a dream, if only so he could move on with his life. The rest of his mind, however, was all too convinced it had been real. Someone had rescued him that night. Far from the shore, where the ship had gone down in a violent conflagration, someone had plucked him from the waters and brought him to safety.

At the very least, Keith would’ve liked to have thanked them.

Yet no one had seen anyone on the beach where Keith supposedly washed up. Occasionally Keith caught a knowing gleam in Pidge’s eye, but as soon as he blinked it was gone. Shiro insisted that Keith’s head was just a little addled, what with the explosion and then however much salt water Keith might’ve accidentally swallowed.

So for all that Keith had his suspicions, he kept quiet in the days following the incident. If he took more walks along the shore at odd hours of the day, no one made any mention of it. One gray morning, just as the sky was touched with the barest hint of light, Keith thought he heard something behind the rocks. It was a small thing, almost like a sob, but when he called out, no one answered. He turned to his dog, his constant companion in these days, and sighed.

“I must be losing my mind, Kosmo,” he said.

The dog tilted his head, as if to ask, “Are you so certain?”

Keith was not at all certain, but he was definitely not accomplishing anything by moping about on the beach. He hadn’t gotten but an hour or two of sleep. Some decent sleep might do him some good. He trudged back to the castle, almost having to drag Kosmo back at first--the silly dog was insistent on tramping about in the shallow waters they’d been walking by, for whatever reason.

Keith managed only a few solid hours of sleep before someone was knocking at his door. Something about Shiro wanting him present for the citizen petitions of the day. Kosmo was all energy with springs in his paws, as though he hadn’t stayed up the entire night with Keith. His bright energy got Keith to smile, so Keith couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed in the slightest.

His first thought had been to head down to the kitchens to grab a quick bite to eat. Petitioning hours usually ran long, and it was one of the dullest duties Keith had to attend to as a prince. A few snacks would go a long way in helping him make it through the day. Keith was quite set in his path, stomach already growling, until he spotted Pidge acting quite suspiciously.

Pidge was the youngest child of one of the court diplomats (their other parent also worked for the royal family, as an herbalist), only a couple years younger than Keith himself. The two of them got on quite well, but Keith always got the impression that Pidge knew things he didn’t. More than once he wondered if they were in training to become a royal spy or something of the sort. They would often disappear for hours at a time, returning with a knowing look and sometimes flipping some incredibly old, incredibly rare coin or other. Not once had Keith ever been able to wrangle an explanation regarding where the coins had come from out of them (at least, not an explanation he believed).

As such, when Keith spotted Pidge ducked behind a corner clutching a bundle of cloth, glancing this way and that to make sure they weren’t being followed, Keith decided there and then to follow them. Perhaps part of him hoped that whatever grand secret they were keeping had something to do with his mysterious rescuer. Either way, his curiosity had reached its limit. Whatever Pidge was hiding, Keith was going to find it.

Unfortunately, Pidge apparently had much practice in the art of not being followed. Keith’s status as a prince didn’t help him much either. Once or twice people stopped to stare at his odd behavior, careful as he was being to not be noticed by Pidge. Kosmo behaved himself all the while, staying just behind Keith as they stole after Pidge on their mystery errand. Keith thought he’d have an easier time of it once they left the castle, but on the contrary, he lost Pidge almost immediately. He’d followed them down the path towards the shore when they’d simply vanished.

Keith huffed. “They must be able to turn invisible or something.”

He turned to make his way back to the castle, calling for Kosmo to follow. His dear companion, however, had other ideas. Kosmo’s head perked up just as Keith made to return, his entire body freezing as he sniffed something in the air. Keith knew what was going to happen an instant before it did.

“Don’t--”

Kosmo did anyways. He took off like a bullet down the beach, leaving Keith to shout and straggle far behind him. Every few seconds he would pause to look back at Keith, as though considering whether he should listen to him or not. Every time he decided against it, and just before Keith could catch up to him, he’d sprint away again, tail wagging in huge circles all the while.

“Well,” Keith wheezed as he tramped through the sand. “At least one of us is having fun.”

~*~

Pidge returned red-faced and panting. Allura had already left, leaving Hunk to watch as Lance attempted to take his first shaky steps on his human legs. It hadn’t been going well.

“Almost got caught,” they gasped. “By Keith of all people.”

Lance perked up at that, eyebrows shooting up as he gestured with his hands towards himself repeatedly. Pidge took a moment to catch their breath.

“Much as I know you’d like to see Keith as soon as possible, and as much as I’d like to get you two together sooner rather than later, I don’t think you’d make a very good impression like this,” they explained.

Lance repeated the motion he’d been making with more energy.

“Yeah, I’m a little confused too,” Hunk said. “What exactly is the reason you couldn’t bring Keith sooner rather than later?”

Pidge rolled their eyes. “Well, humans cover their entire bodies with clothes, first of all. It’s considered pretty rude and shocking to run around naked. Not to mention, Lance can’t even walk right yet. You want to make a good first impression, don’t you?”

Lance exhaled sharply through his nose, and then nodded.

“Good, then let’s get you dressed.”

A few moments later found Lance dressed in plain pants and a loose, flowing shirt. He marvelled at the sensation of cloth against his skin, pulling at the clothing here and there at places where it sat a little less comfortably. He was seated on a rock, not yet able to stand on his own two legs.

“Alright,” Pidge sighed. “Now that that ordeal is out of the way, let’s get you walking--”

They stopped abruptly. A dog could be heard barking not too far off, accompanied by the shouting of a very familiar voice. Pidge looked down the beach, then back at Lance. His eyes were wide and curious, and just a tad concerned. Pidge looked for Hunk, but he had already hidden himself. Panicking, Pidge ended up diving behind another rock, just as Kosmo barrelled around the bend and made a beeline for Lance.

Lance had no idea how to respond. The last time he’d met Kosmo, he’d been nowhere near this rambunctious. It was a little overwhelming, if Lance was honest. It didn’t help that Pidge had decided to hide themself, in Lance’s greatest moment of need. Kosmo jumped excitedly at Lance. Lance’s hands fluttered nervously, trying to pet the beast, but Kosmo just wouldn’t stay still! The silly creature clawed at the rock, desperately trying to get up to greet Lance as he had the first time they’d met.

“Kosmo! Come here, you--!”

Lance felt his breath leave him as Keith rounded the bend and froze, eyes locking with Lance’s. Everything around them screeched to a halt. The waves seemed to hold themselves just before crashing against the shore, suspended in the moment as the two of them were. Even the gulls overhead did not dare cry out.

“Oh,” Keith gasped quietly, setting time to it’s natural course once more.

Kosmo bounded back to Keith, shaking him from his silent reverie. He’d been staring, he realized.

“Uh, sorry about my dog, he’s a little excitable,” Keith apologized to the young man who had yet to say a word.

He thought perhaps he was also a little excitable, but something seemed familiar about the man seated on the rock, especially as Keith stepped towards him. Especially familiar was a pair of startling blue eyes that seemed to draw him in like a riptide. Keith was utterly helpless against them. The young man leaned forward, grinning all the while.

“Do I… know you?”

The young man nodded eagerly, and Keith’s heart leapt into his throat. He instinctively took the man’s hands in his, hardly able to speak for excitement.

“I—it’s you! You’re the one! The one that saved me! I knew you were real! What’s your name?!”

The young man moved his mouth, but no sound came out. Both Keith and him deflated considerably. A whisper of words carried over the waves and brushed past Keith’s cheek, the barest memory of a touch reminding him of what he’d seen. Keith looked away, and let the young man’s hands slip out of his.

“Oh,” he sighed. “Then, you can’t be who I’m looking for.”

The young man huffed, and Keith looked back up at him. His eyebrows were knit together in consternation, arms crossed in such a way that made it look like he was hugging himself. It made him look small and vulnerable, and Keith noticed other things—the mess of wind-whipped curls atop his head, the bags underneath his eyes, and the redness of his lower lip (as though he’d been biting at it).

Keith was about to ask the young man if he was alright, when his eyes snapped up again like a crack of lightning, and he began gesturing wildly with his hands, first to his legs in a wiggling motion, then tapping against his throat and then waving his hand away. Keith was completely lost. The man exhaled sharply and began moving his hands with more energy, pointing agitatedly towards the ocean, such that he nearly fell off the rock he was seated on.

Instead of falling to the ground, however, the man fell right into Keith’s waiting arms. Keith had held them out without thinking, and held tighter when the young man struggled to stand on his own. Their eyes met again, and once more Keith was taken by how the entirety of the ocean seemed to be encapsulated within this stranger’s eyes. He blinked out of his stupor before he was staring for too long.

“You’ve--you must’ve really been through something,” Keith commented. The young man nodded slowly, not once breaking eye contact. “Why don’t you come back with me? We can help you out, get you back on your feet again?”

Here the stranger averted his eyes with a coy smile, and nodded again. Keith held tight around the stranger’s waist, while the young man put an arm across Keith’s shoulders. This would definitely raise some eyebrows, Keith considered, but what else was he supposed to do? No, this mysterious (beautiful) stranger needed help, and Keith was more than able (and willing).

In the meantime, whatever Pidge had been up to had been completely driven from Keith’s mind.

From behind the rocks, Pidge and Hunk watched the fated first meeting go surprisingly well, considering. They exchanged gleeful looks with Lance when he looked back at them with an elated smile.

“Why’d you hide from Keith? I thought you knew him?” Hunk asked as soon as Lance and Keith were out of earshot.

“I panicked,” they said honestly.

Hunk hummed. “That’s fair. And anyways, I suppose if you ended up introducing them, you might have to do more explaining than you want.”

“No kidding,” Pidge replied with a nod. “Keith’s been onto me off and on for years. Always thinks I’m up to something. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m in training to be a court spy or something. Not that that’d be a bad idea.”

“Speaking of bad ideas, do you think it’d be a bad idea to tell Keith about all this anyways?”

Pidge blinked. “What, about mermaids and everything?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Pidge, if Lance doesn’t get Keith to fall in love with him in three days, he turns to seafoam! He’d essentially… you know…” Hunk trailed off, a heavy silence settling over him.

“Much as I want to,” Pidge began slowly. “And as much as I think that Keith would be willing to help, I don’t think it’d do us any good. He has to fall in love with Lance, right? Something like that… I don’t know if it can be forced, no matter how much you want it.”

Hunk said nothing in reply, and Pidge felt their heart twist painfully. Lance was a good friend of theirs, but Hunk had known Lance far longer and far more intimately than Pidge. To only be able to stand by (or float by, part of Pidge’s mind considered), while his dearest friend put his life on the line for love… Pidge didn’t even want to imagine. Pidge stood from where they’d been hiding, their expression set.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t help them along though.”

~*~

To say that Allura’s return was met calmly and with a reasonable level of poise would be a bold-faced lie.

In fact, she was swarmed by Lance’s entire family before she’d even crossed the threshold of their palace. They were beside themselves with worry, and his niece and nephew in particular were in hysterics. Most concerning of all was Veronica, who looked as though she hadn’t slept for days, though it had hardly been one since Lance left. Once the delegation that had accompanied Allura was assured of her safety, she was ushered into a private sitting room with Veronica.

There was silence between them at first. Veronica slumped into a seat, exhaustion weighing as heavy as the ocean at the bottom of a trench on her. Her position was not so different from Allura’s, being first in line to rule their respective kingdoms, but unlike Allura, she had already taken over many of the responsibilities that would be expected of her as queen. Add that to ensuring that her siblings attended to their duties as well, and her position was most assuredly more stressful than Allura’s.

“I messed up, didn’t I?”

Allura was taken aback by the question, but quickly moved to reassure the other princess. “No! Well, perhaps you were a bit harsh. After all, as far as I understand it took him years to build his collection, and to simply get rid of it all--”

Allura stopped when a perplexed expression crossed Veronica’s face.

“What are you talking about?”

“His collection. In the cove. It’s all gone,” Allura said. Veronica still looked confused. “It wasn’t you?”

“No, of course not! Collecting human items, that’s harmless, although he does have a tendency to let it get in the way of his duties as a prince… I would never do that to him. He’s my brother.”

“I see,” Allura mused, her mind alight with suspicion.

A beat of silence rippled through the waters.

“Do you know where Lance is?”

Allura nearly choked on some bubbles. “No, I--Hunk and I, when we went looking for him, we thought we might find him faster if we split up. I searched as long as I could, and then I decided to check back here to see if he’d returned on his own.”

Veronica hummed, slouching back into her seat and looking utterly defeated. Allura did not envy the pressure Veronica was under, and wished more than anything that she could assure her that her baby brother was well and alive. But she’d promised Lance.

“As it is,” Allura continued with a little more confidence. “A pressing matter has arisen that I must attend to as soon as possible. I hate to leave you during such a time--”

“Please, don’t worry yourself over it,” Veronica insisted. “We’ll send word as soon as we find Lance and Hunk.”

She rose from her seat and embraced Allura tightly. Allura could practically feel the stress in her tense form. She didn’t want to leave Veronica and the rest of Lance’s family like this. But then, would they be any less worried if they knew the truth.

“Is there anything I can do before I leave?” Allura asked.

Veronica considered the offer with tired eyes. Though they were the same color as Lance’s, they were quite different. Even when she wasn’t under the weight of the entire ocean, Veronica’s eyes had a sort of sharpness to them that was leagues away from the rolling liveliness of Lance’s. Now she seemed dull at the edges.

“Do you know the humans Lance knows?” she asked suddenly.

Allura recoiled, but answered honestly, “No!--that is, not as well as him.”

A slight pause.

“But I think Lance may be right,” she added.

Veronica blinked, clearly surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I think… there may be humans who are not as dangerous as we might think. Humans that can be negotiated with,” Allura elaborated.

“And the poachers of the past? You think they don’t exist anymore?”

Allura shook her head. “It may be that humans are not so different from merfolk. After all, there are plenty of creatures under the sea, merfolk included, that would do us harm without even the slightest provocation.”

Veronica did not reply. Instead she straightened, trying to once more look the part of crown princess of her kingdom. Allura knew firsthand just how exhausting that could be.

“Well, don’t let me keep you. You said you had an urgent matter to attend to?” Veronica reminded her.

“Yes, thank you,” Allura replied with an appropriate bow of her head. Then, just before she opened the door, “I wish you the best of luck. I hope everything is resolved soon.”

“You hope, or you know?”

Allura froze, trying to keep herself composed. She met Veronica’s eyes, sharp and decisive once more, with as much confidence as she could muster.

“There are a great many things I do not know,” she said. “But that I intend to find out.”

Veronica eyed Allura suspiciously. Allura remained resolute.

Finally, Veronica sighed. “Very well. Have a safe journey home.”

With that, Allura swiftly took her leave. The longer she stayed around Veronica the more likely it was that Veronica would wrangle the truth out of her. That would not do at all. As it was, Allura thought, she would likely find out in three day’s time anyways.

Three days, she contemplated on her way home. To Lance’s family, it would no doubt feel like an eternity. To Allura, it was not nearly enough time at all.

~*~

“So,” Pidge mused, sliding beside Keith as he stood gazing out a window. “I hear you made a new friend.”

Keith snorted. “You could say that.”

“I also hear he’s incredibly attractive.”

Keith broke from his brooding to give Pidge a puzzled look. “Since when do you care about whether people are attractive or not?”

“I don’t, that’s just what I heard,” Pidge said with a shrug. “Word travels fast, and there’s nothing servants love more than some juicy gossip.”

“And there’s nothing you love more than talking to people,” Keith drawled.

“No, but people can be really careless. They just want to talk, nevermind who’s listening. What no one seems to agree on is why you decided to bring him home.”

Keith groaned, bumping his head lightly against the glass. “I already told Shiro, I just felt like he needed some help, and I was right there, so I figured, why not?”

“Fair enough.”

Keith scowled. “That’s what Shiro said, and I know neither of you mean it.”

Pidge shrugged again. “It’s not everyday a prince brings home a beautiful man, but the last time that happened there was a marriage not long after.”

“That--that’s different! Adam was a visiting noble from the more inland part of the kingdom and--!”

“And then I never left,” a third voice piped.

Keith didn’t even bother to look. “You here to interrogate me too?”

“No, as much as I’d like to. Takashi won’t shut up about it,” Adam said, sidling up to Keith’s other side. “Dinner is going to be ready soon. Will you be joining us, Pidge?”

“If I’m invited.”

Keith prayed that Adam said no. He was already surrounded as it was, he didn’t need Shiro added to the mix. And they already had one guest as it was, and they generally liked to keep dinner a private affair.

“Of course, you’re always invited, Pidge.”

Keith groaned. Usually he could count on Adam being on his side for a lot of things, but for all that he said he wasn’t interested, Adam was clearly burning with just as much curiosity as everyone in the palace. As they all shuffled off to dinner, Keith idly wondered how long it would be before the entire kingdom was circulating rumors of an engagement.

Shiro was already seated when they entered the private dining room, delighted to see that Pidge would be joining them. Adam took his place beside his husband, and they exchanged a look that to Keith seemed to say that Adam had been as successful as Shiro in wrangling any interesting information from him. Not that there was anything “interesting” to be found out. Sure, maybe he’d thought that at first this perfect stranger had been the one that had rescued Keith not so long ago, and maybe Keith was still thinking longingly of a lingering touch against his cheek, but that had nothing to do with--

There was a shuffling at the door. It was ajar, and just outside a servant stood, speaking in an encouraging tone to someone just out of Keith’s sight. Then, a tentative figure stepped through the door.

Keith had to remind himself to breathe. It was the stranger, freshly washed and dressed in one of Keith’s own deep red coats (he had told the servants to fit the stranger with some of his own clothes, and hadn’t thought anything of it at the time). The vivid scarlet that Keith favored was a striking contrast to the young man’s eyes, and made them seem more prominent than ever. For a second time, Keith reminded himself to breathe, and to not stare.

“Uh, you look--you look great,” Keith stammered, for all that he’d been trying his hardest to remain composed.

The young man smiled bashfully, and Keith led him to the table, pointedly not looking at anyone else as he did. He didn’t need to look to know that Shiro and Pidge were struggling to contain their grinning, and Adam, far more composed than either of them, was simply staring intently.

Pidge caught Lance’s eye and offered him a subtle wave. Lance smiled at them, feeling as though he were floating amidst the most amiable current. His steps were far more steady now than they had been only a few hours ago, and most importantly, he was here, with Keith! Lance was certain that if he still had his voice he’d be giggling out of sheer elation.

“So, I know you can’t speak, but is there any way you can give us your name?” Shiro asked politely of Lance.

Lance considered for a moment, glancing at Pidge in what he hoped was a subtle fashion. They made no indication that they would say anything. It seemed he was on his own for this one. He mimed thrusting forward with a lance, hoping that humans had them too, but no one at the table seemed to get it (“Pike?” Keith guessed. Lance shook his head vigorously). Pidge remained conspicuously silent all the while.

“I’m… sure we’ll figure it out sooner or later,” Shiro assured him. “It just feels rude to not be able to refer to you by name.”

“Speaking of which, we haven’t told him ours,” Adam pointed out.

“Oh!” Shiro gasped. “Of course.”

Introductions were made quickly. Lance nodded at every name, even Pidge’s, in what he hoped was a polite manner. It irked him that he couldn’t return the pleasantries; indeed, if he still had his voice he might’ve laughed at how important it all suddenly seemed to him, to be courteous and princely. He wondered distantly if Veronica would laugh too.

Idle chatter descended upon their small party as they waited for food. Lance, with no voice, was left to take in every little thing that surrounded him. Everything was so very different from his underwater home. On the table there was already an assortment of items he only half recognized.

Directly in front of him was a fork, which he knew, and in the middle of the table, a very curious item that he only half-recognized. He had a feeling that Pidge wasn’t going to explain what it was in front of everyone else, but that was alright. With three prongs to the elegantly crafted item, with sockets in each prong, Lance was certain he could guess what it was for. He picked up the fork in front of him first, and with unshakeable certainty placed it right in the center socket. That’s what he did with the one he’d had in his collection, anyways.

He was very quickly aware of the silence that had descended upon the room. Everyone was staring at him. His face was burning as he quickly removed the fork from where he’d put it, placing it carefully where it had been. Lance was just wishing he could disappear until a sudden peal of laughter shattered the silence. Across from him, Keith was hiding his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

From the end of the table, Shiro grinned. “You know, I don’t think I’ve seen him laugh this hard since… when was the last time he laughed this hard?”

“Sorry, sorry, I don’t mean to laugh at you,” Keith assured Lance. “I just--that was--”

He wasn’t able to finish his sentence, but that was perfectly fine with Lance. He beamed, proud to be the reason that Keith was laughing so freely for the first time in too long. In the meantime, he hoped that Pidge would tell remind him what the item was for later. Funny as it was in retrospect, Lance didn’t want to spend the next few days making a fool of himself. He had more important things to do, after all.

“I don’t think he’s from around here,” Pidge mentioned lightly as dinner was brought out to them. “Hey, Keith, maybe you should show him around town tomorrow.”

“What--”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Adam said before Keith could protest.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been anywhere but around the castle and on the beach,” Shiro agreed. At Keith’s scathing look, he added, “You really thought I wouldn’t notice?”

Keith ignored his brother and turned to Lance. “What do you say? Would you like a tour of the capital town tomorrow? It’s not anything spectacular, but it’s home.”

Lance nodded eagerly, certain that what Keith referred to as home would be nothing short of marvelous. Keith smiled, a sight that made Lance feel warmer than he thought possible. If only, he thought, the deal had been for Lance to fall in love with Keith, then his humanity would be assured.

As it was, Lance insisted to himself that there was no point in lingering on “what-ifs”. Not when there was some very intriguing human cuisine before him, anyways.

~*~

Pidge didn’t linger after dinner. They weren’t sure how much more of Lance and Keith mooning over each other they could handle, and anyways, they had important information to relay. As soon as they were able (and making sure that Keith was lost in Lance’s eyes beforehand), they slipped out with only a quiet word of thanks to the elder prince and his husband.

With the sun going down, activity around the castle was winding down amongst the upper classes. For the servants the work was as steady as always. Stoking up fires to keep away the chill of the coming night, clearing away dinner messes or bringing fresh dinners for those who kept later hours, and cleaning away the mess of the day. None of them had a thought to spare for Pidge as they snuck into the kitchens for a sack of food and then made their way out of the castle.

They took a smaller, side exit that led to a quaint garden that had a marvelous view of the ocean. They made a mental note to suggest to Keith that he ought to take Lance here. In the meantime, they pushed through the meticulously trimmed hedges to find a small trail that they would’ve missed if they hadn’t been looking for it. It led down the steep hill that the castle was settled on, treacherous and overgrown and dangerous to take in low light. Pidge followed it resolutely as it turned sharply to parallel the shore. It led them to a shady cove where the castle was hanging over the shore, where the ocean had eroded the land over time.

They glanced around, ever suspicious.

“Hunk?”

A moment or two passed. The only sound was the constant roll of ocean waves. Pidge sat themself on a rock, and waited. A light breeze swept through the secret cove that had long been Pidge’s personal hideaway. They breathed it in gratefully, tasting the salt and revelling in the cool air against their skin.

“Pidge!” a harsh whisper called.

They opened their eyes. Hunk’s face was just barely peeking out of the water, but his golden tail could be seen behind him. The water was too shallow for him to be completely submerged.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

Pidge grinned. “They were all over the idea. Keith and Lance will be spending the majority of the day together tomorrow. As it is, Keith is already smitten. He’s already half in love with Lance and he doesn’t even know it.”

“Good,” Hunk breathed. “I was worried.”

“So was I, but looking at them, I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” Pidge assured him.

“Oh no, I’ll be worrying every single moment until they kiss,” Hunk insisted, his tail jerking sharply behind him. “Part of me is wondering if Lotor lied to Lance. Or if maybe Lance can only stay human as long as Keith loves him. What if they kiss but it’s not true love? What if it’s just passionate infatuation? What if--”

“Hunk,” Pidge cut in gently. “We could go around in circles all night with what-if’s. Things are going well so far.”

“I know,” Hunk whined, blowing bubbles in the water.

“In the meantime, let’s think of a plan for the third day,” Pidge suggested, brandishing the sack of food they’d brought with them.

~*~

The sun had long since set on Allura’s home, but she was still awake and elbow deep in the archives of her home castle, poring over tablet after tablet. Reading the tablets was delicate and tedious work. That which was merfolk of the past had wanted to record was carved into sturdy stone that was known to withstand the constant whims of the water for many ages. The tablets Allura held, however, were ancient. She made a note to have some of the archivists re-carve the tablets.

For now, however, she felt with careful fingers along the tablets that were supposedly records of lost magic. She’d been through several such tablets already. None of them had anything she was looking for, only tales of mermaids who had sung humans to their death in retaliation for their violent poaching practices. Fascinating as that had been, it was not what Allura needed.

“Our most revered Princess Elanil is thus revealed to have been blessed with the silvertongue gift,” the current tablet read. It wasn’t the first time she’d come across a mention of one of her own ancestors having the silvertongue gift.

Allura continued reading. “But even before she could use it, it was taken from her by the wretched hands of Man. Having taken to the surface in search of vengeance for her most beloved People, our Princess sought to drown Men with her own hands. Those very same Men caught her with their hands before she had uttered a word and cut out her tongue, silencing our dear Princess forevermore.”

Allura recoiled, and almost set the tablet down. Her hands, however, unconsciously moved down to the next line.

“Robbed though she was, our Princess was determined to seek her vengeance tenfold. Her eyes gleamed with the force of a storm at sea and her strength was double that. With her sheer tenacity alone, Princess Elanil drowned a count of Men that shall be directly recorded…”

Allura set the tablet aside and held her head in her hands. She didn’t even know why she was bothering with anything about the silvertongue, unless it was to discern what Lotor could possibly want with it. As it was, mentions of the silvertongue were vague at best, and grossly exaggerated at worst. One account had it that the silvertongue the truest expression of the ocean itself, and those who possessed such a gift could do more than sway people to their will. Poetic as such accounts were, they were utterly useless to Allura.

She was just reaching for the next tablet when, through the silence, a voice spoke, “Allura?”

She whipped her head up, and saw in the dim light of a single bioluminescent lamp her father, King Alfor. His forehead was creased with worry.

“I had heard you had returned, but I wasn’t sure I should believe it,” he commented airily. “After all, why should my dear daughter return without even saying hello to her parents?”

Allura shrugged sheepishly, and then swam over to hug her father tightly, a soft apology on her lips. Alfor smiled kindly as he returned the embrace.

“Your mother is worried. We heard what’s happening with our neighbors,” he said. “She thinks you distraught.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to worry you or mother,” she replied.

“Tell me then, what are you up to?” he asked abruptly. He glanced at the tablets scattered on the table Allura had been sitting at. “The silvertongue gift?”

Allura sought to keep her posture natural. Not too composed, but not too relaxed. “Well, you see—it’s just that—the reason Lance was so upset as to leave in the first place was because of the pressure put on him as one in possession of the silvertongue gift. I thought that if I could help him understand it, he might be able to control it, and then perhaps he might not feel so overburdened, is all.”

Alfor raised an eyebrow. Allura knew he suspected there was something more than what she was saying, and she knew he knew. Thankfully, he seemed to sense that she couldn’t and wouldn’t come forward with the truth so easily. All the same, Allura wasn’t sure if she was grateful for the fact that he didn’t press for the truth or not.

“And what have you found?” he asked instead.

Allura huffed. “Nothing of use. It’s all tales of those who supposedly possessed the gift themselves, never anything about what exactly it is or how one uses it.”

“Really?” Alfor inquired. “I thought for sure there was something about the nature of the silvertongue gift in here somewhere…”

He moved to looked through the tablets Allura had collected while Allura stared, wide-eyed. “You’ve read about the silvertongue?”

“My dear, I must’ve read everything in this library at least twice. Surely your mother has told you before.”

Allura cracked a wry smile as several memories resurfaced. “She may have mentioned it once or twice.”

Alfor chuckled as he continued his search for that particular tablet. He found it after only a moment, holding it up as he read it aloud.

“To call it the silvertongue is something of a misnomer,” he read. “For it is not in the tongue that the gift resides, though that seems to be where it makes itself most apparent. Indeed the silvertongue gift is believed by a few to be a physical manifestation of the ocean itself—“

“I read that already,” Allura interrupted with a sigh. “But that’s the only source that claims that. It’s a romantic view of the magic, certainly, but without evidence—“

“Who’s to say there isn’t evidence?” Alfor asked with a knowing smile.

Allura frowned. “I’ve read all of these tablets, this claim is just a story!”

“If you insist,” Alfor relented, setting down the tablet. “But remember my dear, while many stories regarding magic have their roots in misunderstanding, a special few are rooted in truth. It’s just a matter of finding where that truth is.”

With that he pressed a kiss to her forehead, reminding her not to stay up too late. She assured him that she wouldn’t, although they both seemed to know that was a lie. Allura simply didn’t have time. Realistically she knew she couldn’t stay awake for three days straight, but neither could she waste too much time on sleep. She had to find an answer, and she was certain by then that it didn’t lie in any stories about the silvertongue. But if it wasn’t in stories about magic, then where could it possibly be?

Once her father left, Allura turned back to the tablets on the table, and spied one she didn’t remember taking down from the shelves. Curious she took it in her hands.

“Magic and Alchemy,” it read. “Differences, similarities, and why they both became likened to myth.”

~*~

The dawn of the second day broke bright and beautiful over the ocean. The stranger was already awake when Keith peeked in the room he was staying in, on the balcony admiring the sunrise. It was different, seeing this handsome stranger in such a peaceful moment. Normally he was brimming with energy and unable to sit still. Keith found it charming, but this, too, was endearing. From just the right angle, Keith could see the stranger’s eyes, settled like the sea before them.

“Good morning,” Keith finally greeted, startling the stranger from his reverie. Keith chuckled. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

The young man waved a hand at him, and then gestured for Keith to join him. Keith did so gladly.

“Sleep well?” Keith asked. The stranger nodded, even as he yawned. “Good. We’ve got a bit of a day ahead of us, although I will have to be present for petitioning for at least an hour this morning, since I wasn’t present yesterday. I hope that’s alright.”

The man nodded once more, and then tapped his chest as he tilted his head. Keith raised his eyebrows.

“You want to sit through petitions?”

Another fervent nod.

“Are you sure? They’re pretty boring, I can hardly stand them myself…”

The stranger was resolute. He wanted to join Keith. Keith, for his part, had no complaints, he just didn’t want his surprise guest to be bored to death before they went out to the town. As eager as he seemed about everything in the castle, Keith was looking forward to seeing how he reacted to seeing the charming town just beyond the castle gates. In the meantime, however--

“Any other hints towards your name?” Keith inquired.

The stranger once more made that thrusting motion he’d made the night before, calling to mind a sort of polearm weapon. Keith had already tried Pike, which had apparently been wrong, but he was certain that “spear” or “halberd” couldn’t be his name. If there were any other possibilities, they escaped Keith. The stranger huffed. Apparently that was the only hint he had, and Keith just wasn’t getting it.

“Sorry, I’m sure I’ll get it eventually,” Keith apologized. “Maybe there’s something I can call you in the meantime?”

The stranger shrugged, but did not seem wholly opposed to the idea. Keith hummed and tapped his chin thoughtfully.

“How about… Blue?” he suggested, reaching out the brush away an errant strand of hair from the stranger’s face. “For your eyes.”

Said eyes widened, then looked away. The stranger smiled, nodding demurely.

“Alright then, Blue,” Keith said. “Let’s get going. Those petitioners aren’t going to listen to themselves, after all.”

Half an hour later, Keith walked into the throne room, Blue not far behind. Tittering nobles peered curiously at the handsome stranger, gossiping behind their delicate silk fans so rapidly that it sound like the ocean wind had made it inside. Keith paid them no heed, and hoped that Blue did the same. A quick glance told him there was no need to worry. Dressed in a well-fitted, deep blue vest over a flowing white shirt, Blue held himself like a prince, looking forward as though the nobles that lined the walls simply didn’t exist.

Thusly reassured, Keith swiftly took his seat beside Shiro. Blue, without even a single questioning glance, stood to the side. He stood tall and kept his hands clasped behind his back. Were his appearance not so sudden, no one would’ve questioned that he belonged. It was immensely intriguing to Keith. Just who was Blue?

Keith had no time to ponder the question as the first petitioner stepped forward. By his looks, he seemed to be a fisherman, his aged face wind-weathered and sun-kissed. He gripped his hat nervously as he paid the proper respects to the royals. Behind him were several more fishermen, looking just as anxious as the one that spoke on their behalf.

“Your Highnesses,” he began in a tremulous voice. “I’ve always been a reasonable man, a man of logic. Never set much store by superstition, anyone’ll tell you.”

Behind him, several of his companions nodded.

“But?” Shiro prompted.

The fisherman seemed reluctant to continue. “But… As of late, the waters, thereabouts on the eastern side of the peninsula, they’ve become dangerous for us.”

Shiro leaned forward. “How so?”

“That’s just the thing your Highness, is that no one can say for certain,” the fisherman explained. “Our folks go out for the day, and their boats come back, but they don’t. And if they do, it’s by the grace of the currents, because they’ll come back dead.”

A hush fell over the room, followed by the insistent rush of chatter as the nobles appraised this dramatic turn of events. The sound was not unlike the crash of waves just outside. Keith, too, found his interest piqued. His first thought was that raiding parties might be coming over from the neighboring kingdom, and then he considered the possibility of pirates. But the fisherman had said that the ships had returned.

“Of the ships that returned,” Keith began. “How many were stripped of their valuables?”

“None, your Highness,” the fisherman answered.

“So then likely not pirates or raiding parties,” Shiro muttered so that only Keith could hear.

“If I may, your Highnesses,” the fisherman pressed at the insistence of his companions. “Us folk think we may know that what’s killing us, though I fear you’ll think me daft for it.”

“I don’t like to discount any possibility, no matter how slim. Let’s hear it,” Shiro commanded.

The fisherman gripped his hat like a lifeline. “Merfolk, your Highness.”

Several nobles laughed loudly. Keith glanced at Blue, thinking he might laugh too. On the contrary, Blue’s face was suddenly ashen, his eyes wide and his lips pressed tightly together. Keith only had time enough to consider that perhaps Blue was the superstitious type before Shiro spoke again.

“What makes you so certain?” he asked of the fisherman.

“The bodies we’ve found, none of them was stabbed or shot or anything of the sort. They were drowned, your Highness, grabbed by the throat and dragged down ‘til the breath left their lungs for good. The bruises round their necks are proof enough. And ain’t nary a soul in our parts that can’t swim, we teach our children and they teach theirs--and what with how many times it’s happened, these can’t be no accidents, least as far as we can tell,” the fisherman explained.

Still some nobles deigned to laugh at the fisherman’s plight. Keith scowled at those whose eyes he caught. As the younger prince, it was not generally up to him to answer the petitions, so instead he took on the responsibility of keeping peace in the court. It was a job he was good at; the nobles silenced themselves promptly. Certainly he didn’t believe the idea that merfolk had come to drown humans as they did in stories, but it was clear that something was going on.

From his expression, Keith could tell that Shiro thought much the same.

“We’ll send some ships from our navy to patrol your waters,” Shiro decided. “In the meantime, you and your people should arm yourselves in whatever way you can. Make certain that anyone who goes out onto open waters has the means to defend themselves.”

The fisherman looked reluctant, but bowed all the same. So too did his companions.

“Thank you, your Highness.”

And just like that, they were escorted from the room, and petitioning continued without any further excitement. Keith glanced at Blue again. His brows were knit together in consternation, his posture more rigid than confident. Keith wanted to take him away right then, to escape into town and make him smile again. Alas, petitions lasted at least another hour before they could get away. By the time they did, Blue looked at ease once more, so Keith decided not to bring the issue up again.

Unfortunately, before he could grab Blue and escape the throne room, they were both accosted by nosy nobles. Keith hated that he couldn’t simply tell them to go away. Didn’t they have anything better to do than get into the business of other people?!

“Your Highness,” the first lady, a one Lady Vernetria of Lucely, greeted with a deep curtsy. Her companions followed suit.

Keith responded with a curt bow of his own. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

The ladies giggled demurely behind their fans. Lady Vernetria was the one to speak again. She’d always been the leader of some clique or other. She was fine company for the most part, but her penchant for gossip made her exhausting at times. Keith knew exactly what she wanted to know.

“We were wondering,” she began in a lilting tone. “Just who your handsome friend is, and if you would be so gracious as to introduce us.”

Keith glanced at Blue, who didn’t seem averse. “This is Blue. He’s here as my guest. Blue, this is Lady Vernetria, Lady Katarin, and Lady Nolette.”

Blue bowed swiftly and smiled in such a way that immediately charmed the ladies. They were on him like sharks to a fresh piece of meat.

“Where are you from?”

“How long will you be staying?”

“Are you single?”

Keith cut in quickly. “Ladies, please, he doesn’t speak. Even so, I can’t speak for him, but he is welcome to stay as long as he likes.”

“Oh, the poor dear!” Lady Katarin simpered. Lady Vernetria gave her a light smack with her closed fan.

“So, your Highness, what did you think of the first petition?” Lady Nolette inquired, smirking slightly. The other two ladies had to restrain her giggles.

“I think people dying is a matter that should be taken seriously,” Keith replied with a twitch of annoyance.

The ladies recoiled slightly, but pressed forward all the same. “In that case it doesn’t seem as though the fishermen aren’t taking it very seriously, don’t you think?”

“I think they’re scared,” Keith told them honestly. “They’re clinging onto whatever explanation they can in the absence of a rational one. That happens to people who spend a lot of time out at sea.”

“Still,” Lady Katarin giggled. “Merfolk?”

“I know! I’m surprised they didn’t say they were hearing irresistible singing from the depths!” Lady Nolette shrieked. Lady Vernetria couldn’t help but laugh as well.

“Oh, Mister Blue, are you alright?” Lady Katarin asked suddenly.

Keith glanced at him, and indeed Blue was looking uncomfortable again. More than that, his eyes flashed like a storm at sea. Keith had to get him out of here, but prying himself from the clutches of court ladies was always a difficult task.

“Mister Blue, do you believe in merfolk?” Lady Vernetria questioned with a sharp flick of her fan.

Blue shook his head, but it was a sharp and jerky motion. Not entirely convincing.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, dear,” Lady Nolette tittered. “Merfolk aren’t real.”

“And even if they were, we’d do them just as people do in the stories,” Lady Vernetria added with a grin. “We’d spear them from top to tail, just like any other fish--”

Before Keith could do anything to get her to stop, she stopped on her own, mouth agape and eyes suddenly unfocused. Her friends tapped her shoulder urgently, concerned by this alarming state of her’s. Keith, too, was troubled. What on earth…?

She snapped out of it before too long. She shook her head and said, “Dear me, my apologies. Anyways, I’m sure you have things you’d like to be getting to, your Highness. We shouldn’t hold up you and your guest any longer. Mister Blue, I do hope we see you around for some time to come.”

Keith blinked. “Thank you, I--have a good day, ladies.”

They curtsied and took their leaves, Lady Vernetria looking utterly perplexed with her friends much in the same way. Keith was confused too. Still, it was just as well that she seemed to change her mind so suddenly. He and Blue were finally free. He looked at Blue, who looked a little confused as well. He merely shrugged. His eyes seemed more settled now than they had only a moment earlier.

“Well, that was… something. I hope they didn’t bother you too much. They’re good people, just a bit tactless at times,” Keith said as he shucked off his outer coat and passed it off to a servant. Then he smiled. “So, you ready to see what the town has to offer?”

Blue nodded earnestly, and Keith’s smile widened. They hurried outside, where a horse drawn carriage was waiting for them. Keith paused as he caught sight of the ocean. He still heard those whispers, still felt that tender touch, but they were fainter now, more distant. They were elusive as the horizon, it seemed. And yet Keith still longed for them. He climbed into the carriage after helping Blue up. Keith never liked to sit on such things for too long, and if there was nothing he could do about it, then, well…

Keith laughed as Blue studied the horses with intense fascination. Today, he decided, would be a good day.

Lance was of the same opinion, though he wasn’t able to say as much. He’d been rightly distressed at the idea of merfolk drowning humans, and more so when the ladies had interrogated him about merfolk. Of all the people they could’ve asked! In the meantime, his mind was furiously trying to discern the truth of the situation. It was possible that it was the acts of a few rogue mermaids, as the waters in that direction, as far as Lance could remember, did not belong to any particular kingdom. There was also the distinct possibility that it wasn’t merfolk at all, but the idea that merfolk were suspect at all was alarming to say the least.

Thankfully Keith made no more mention of it as they made their way out into town, and Lance was able to throw himself entirely into every new curiosity he came across. First were the four legged the beasts that looked nothing like dogs pulling the box-like object he and Keith were seated in. Lance leaned over the edge, trying to see how it all worked, only to be pulled right back in by a frantic Keith.

It wasn’t a far ride into town. There were more humans in one place than Lance had ever seen before, and that was including the castle he’d just been in! Everyone was buzzing with activity, bustling this way and that, talking to one another, bargaining, working, and all manner of amazing things.

Keith smiled at Lance’s enthusiasm.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Keith assured him.

The vehicle they were in stopped by a peculiar structure that spouted water. A few people were gathered around it. Some were merely chatting with each other, while others took water from it. At the bottom, Lance noticed something glittering. He tapped Keith urgently on the arm and pointed it out.

“Oh, that?” Keith said. “It’s just the fountain, nothing special. People get fresh water from it, and supposedly if you throw a coin in you can make a wish.”

Lance considered that for a moment. So, humans had their own sort of magic after all. If he ever got his voice back, he decided, he was going to rub that in Pidge’s face so hard. In the meantime, he had no coins to exchange for wishes, and so was about to take to his next fancy when Keith offered a coin to him, a coin quite unlike the ones Lance used to scrounge up from sunken ships for Pidge.

“Want to make a wish?” Keith asked.

Lance nodded and took the coin from Keith. He watched intently as Keith took another coin and flipped it neatly into the water, not saying a single word. His confusion must’ve shown on his face, because Keith was smiling again.

“What? If you say your wish out loud it won’t come true.”

Well then, Lance thought as he tried to imitate Keith’s motions, his wish was sure to come true. Twice he dropped his coin to the ground, finally electing to just hurl it into the water. Keith snorted, and they moved on.

There were so many things to see, so many things to do, Lance could hardly keep track of all of them. Once they passed by a cart of strange birds, which Lance knew to be birds only by the feathers that trailed after the cart. They made a strange sound that Lance didn’t even know was possible for birds to make. He thought they all screeched, like seagulls.

Keith tried his very best to show his guest the more interesting parts of town. His blue-eyed friend, however, seemed interested in just about everything, and Keith was helpless to resist as Blue dragged him to and fro, his zeal for even the smallest things seeming to know no limits. To most it might’ve seemed child-like, what with how easily Blue was distracted and how he seemed to have a blatant disregard for how things worked (Keith had to apologize profusely when Blue walked right up to a small booth where puppeteers were performing, and yanked a puppet right off the hand of some poor actor), but to Keith, it was impossibly endearing.

It was a little hard to keep up with Blue though. Where only yesterday he’d initially been unsteady on his feet as a fish out of water, Blue now hopped around effortlessly after everything that moved. Just as Keith was wondering how he was going to make it through the day, he spotted something that he was certain Blue would love.

“Hey, Blue!” he called as the young man was admiring a stall that offered a brilliant array of flowers.

Blue skipped over to Keith with a grin as bright as sunlight on the sea. Keith held out his hand. Blue took it without question, and Keith led him towards a pavillion lined with flowers, where a band had struck up a lively tune and several people had taken to dancing. As Keith suspected, Blue was immediately taken by the sight. He jumped on the spot, gesturing first between himself and the dancers, and then between him and Keith.

The question was clear as day.

“You want to dance?” Keith asked anyways.

Blue nodded.

Without another word, Keith led him out onto the pavillion. Blue’s steps were uncertain at first, as though he’d never danced before. Keith whispered gentle reassurances, the hand on Blue’s waist strong and steady. Slowly but surely, Blue learned how to not trip over his own feet, and perhaps more importantly, how to not step on Keith’s.

Soon enough they were twirling around the pavillion with fervor. Blue’s eyes were alight with mirth, his cheeks flushed. Keith found it impossible to avert his eyes from the sight.

Suddenly, Keith got an idea. He pulled Blue close, and asked, “You ready for a lift?”

Blue tilted his head. Keith grinned.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Keith said, more to himself than to Blue.

He placed both of his hands securely on Blue’s waist and held tight. Blue’s eyes widened.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you, okay?”

Blue nodded.

In time with the music, Keith lifted Blue as high as he could and twirled him around. Blue was surprised at first, and then tossed his head back in silent, rapturous laughter. Keith thought he could almost hear it, like like wind whisking over the waves. When he set Blue back on the ground, they held each other just a little closer.

Lance was breathless by the time the sun started to sink in the sky. Not only had he seen more things than his head could manage to remember, but he’d learned to dance! With Keith! And the lift! It wasn’t until Lance caught sight of the setting sun, a reminder of his limited time, that he paused for long enough to catch his breath once more.

They’d returned to the strange vehicle they’d arrived in, supposedly getting ready to return to the castle. Lance didn’t want to go. Going back meant ending the day, and ending the day just meant that much less time spent with Keith. Not that he could say that. It seemed he would just have to be content with what he’d been given.

They had just started on their way when Keith said, “Do you mind if we take a little detour? There’s one last place I want to take you.”

Lance nodded, feeling dizzy from how many times he’d repeated the motion that day. Keith sighed, seeming almost relieved that Lance was willing.

“Great,” he said with a smile. “I think you’ll really like this place.”

~*~

Allura woke with a violent start in the middle of the second day. Her cheek had been pressed into the rough texture of the last tablet she’d been reading. She tried to rub the sleep from her eyes, to no avail. She had no idea when she’d fallen asleep, but she did know that the sun had already been up, so she couldn’t have been asleep for that long. Instead of retiring to her room, she picked up the tablet she’d been using as a pillow and continued reading.

“Oftentimes practitioners of alchemy saw fit to masquerade themselves as other creatures, including humans,” the tablet read. “Through the art of alchemy, as they learned it from the sea itself, alchemists were able to change their forms as it suited them. However, these forms were temporary and unstable. If they shifted their forms to mimic other creatures of the sea as they were, they would simply revert to their original form after some number of days.”

Allura pressed her lips tightly together as she continued to read, “However, should creatures of the sea choose to mimic the form of creatures of the land, such as humans, there were severe consequences. Being creatures of the sea, those who mimicked the visage of humans took on even more unstable forms, which invariably collapsed into sea foam after some number of days. For this reason, few creatures chose to appear as humans.”

Allura sighed heavily. So Lotor hadn’t been lying. She pressed on, hoping for a way to reverse this inevitable end.

“There was, for those who changed their forms, only a few known ways to lend some permanence to their borrowed forms. The first, and most desirable, was for the changed creature to give their heart to someone who belonged to those creatures the changed was imitating. Oftentimes this exchange was already done before one would change to match the other. This method tends towards the more metaphysical aspect of alchemy, and signifies the willingness of both creatures to accept the worlds of one another (in spite of the contradictory nature of the action of one changing to belong to the other’s world).”

“The second method tended towards the more scientific and physical aspect of alchemy, the part that allowed for the change in the first place. It was far less desirable than the first method, and often made the changed an outcast before they could make a place for themselves in the aimed for society. This method involved the murder of one who already belonged to the aimed for society, effectively taking their place. Specifically, it was a literal version of the first method, as the changed was required to carve out their heart and hold it with them for some number of days, or until they were assured of the permanence of their form.”

Allura set the tablet aside and put her face in her hands. The first method was the one that Lotor had told Lance, only with a more specific deadline. By the way this record put it, there was a chance that Lance had a bit more time, but to the same end should he fail to secure Keith’s heart. There was no way she could convince Lance to try the second method, no matter how desperate things became. Even if presented with a human who might deserve such an end, Lance was not a killer. Allura couldn’t and more importantly wouldn’t ask that of him.

“Allura, dear?” a voice called just as Allura was nodding off again.

She whirled around, only a little startled, but then relaxed. “Oh, mother! Uh—hello.”

Queen Melenor raised an eyebrow. “I was wondering why my only daughter didn’t come to greet me when she returned so suddenly. Now I see. She’s becoming more like her father every day.”

Allura laughed, and swam into her mother’s outstretched arms. She let herself stay there a moment, let herself feel like a child overwhelmed by the vastness of the ocean, of the entire world. The world was not so large in her mother’s arms. Much as she wanted to, Allura could not linger.

“I’m sorry, mother, I didn’t mean to neglect you, it’s just that some very important things came up and our library has the best kept records,” Allura explained.

Melenor brushed a thumb across Allura’s cheek. “I can see that. Do these records also make good pillows?”

“It’s that important mother,” Allura insisted. “But I’m afraid I’ve hit another dead end.”

Melenor hummed. “Perhaps a break is in order?”

“Much as I’d love to--”

“Wonderful! Come along, dear!” Melenor trilled, promptly dragging her daughter away.

“Mother!”

“Allura!” Melenor teased. “It’s just a small break for food. Surely you don’t intend to starve yourself?”

Allura sighed. She had in fact neglected to eat anything since she buried herself in the archives.

“I suppose some food would do me some good.”

“Good!” Melenor said with a smile. “I’m afraid your father won’t be joining us, but we should have a meal together sometime, it’s been far too long.”

“What’s father up to that you can’t drag him away?” Allura inquired, now swimming beside her mother.

Her mother’s expression fell slightly. “Negotiations with the cecaelia, I’m afraid.”

“Again?!” Allura all but shrieked. She made a quick apology for her outburst before continuing. “But we just met with them before I left. What else could they want?”

They settled in a small dining room before Melenor answered. “A great many things, I’m afraid. They’ve always been rather demanding, and what with no clear heir to the throne and an ailing emperor, several factions have approached us for assistance.”

“Whatever did happen to the heir? I could’ve sworn there was one at some point,” Allura commented.

“There was, but his father banished him, I hear,” Melenor said. “They tried to keep it hush, but with that being the only heir, it was difficult to keep it so.”

“Banished his only heir? What in the seven seas happened?” Allura asked as she began to pick at the food in front of her.

“I never heard anything but rumors, but most people agree that the emperor’s son was practicing some terrifying witchcraft,” Melenor informed her in a low voice.

Allura nearly choked on her food. “Witchcraft?!”

Melenor nodded, hardly noticing her daughter’s distress. “Indeed, though everyone knows it was more likely alchemy. Your father says that their kingdom has a history of alchemy that runs just as deep as ours, but as with us it fell into disuse. I can only imagine what sort of awful things the lad must’ve done with the art to have gotten himself banished.”

“What awful things indeed,” Allura mused to herself. She pushed herself away from the table and began to swim away with a sense of urgency.

“Allura, where are you off to now?!” Melenor demanded.

“I’m sorry, mother, I’ve just had a thought that might help me break through this dead end of mine! I promise we’ll all have a meal together soon!” Allura assured her.

Instead of returning to the library, however, Allura swam to where she knew her father was talking with the cecaelian dignitaries. She had a visit to make.

~*~

“Are you alright?” Hunk asked as he peeked out of the water below the bridge that led to the castle.

Pidge was red-faced and wheezing. “Lance—spent the entire day—running around—hardly a break—“

“How are things going between him and Keith?” Hunk pressed.

“Good,” Pidge huffed as they struggled to catch their breath. “Really good. Like, I think Keith is taking Lance somewhere romantic kind of good.”

Hunk’s eyes widened. “Where is he taking him?!”

“Probably to the lagoon. Keith likes to go there on occasion, but I don’t think he really brings people there,” Pidge explained, grinning.

“Where is it? I’ll keep an eye on them so you can take a break!”

~*~

“I like to come here a lot,” Keith explained as they exited the carriage. “It’s quiet, especially once the sun starts to go down, and then the fireflies come out and it’s beautiful. The ocean is great and all, but this is something else entirely.

Perhaps it was because Blue was mute, but Keith felt as though he could talk a lot more freely around him. At the very least, he felt like he was filling up a lot of the conversational space between them. Blue didn’t seem to mind. He watched Keith with a sort of earnestness that Keith wasn’t quite used to, but that he found he didn’t mind. Sometimes he would try to tell Keith something (usually his name), but Keith could usually only guess what he was saying about half the time. He hoped he could get better.

Keith led Blue by the hand down towards the water, where a well-kept dinghy was hidden in the reeds.

“I like to swim around here a lot too, so we could do that instead if you want,” Keith suggested. “It’s a nice enough night for it.”

Blue looked hesitant, but curious.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Keith assured him.

Blue shook his head and then gestured between himself and the water. He made a paddling motion, and then tapped a finger to his temple. He shook his head again.

“You don’t want to? No, you want to…” Keith followed along. “But you… you’re swimming—oh! You don’t know how to swim!”

Blue nodded with a grin, delighted that Keith had guessed what he’d been saying.

“That’s alright, I can teach you!” Keith said eagerly. “That is, if you want to, anyways…”

Blue nodded.

Keith stripped off his shoes and shirt, and Blue copied him with rapt attention. Blue grasped Keith’s hand tightly as they waded into lavender waters. Keith never took his eyes off of him, watching as he gasped silently at the chill of the water. Around them, crickets were already humming their nightly serenade. The wind swept through the reeds with a soft shushing sound. They were wading deeper, the water creeping up their waists, when Blue slipped and pitched forward, splashing about in alarm. Keith pulled him closer.

“Don’t worry,” Keith said quietly as he wrapped an arm around Blue’s waist. “I’ve got you.”

Blue nodded. He trusted Keith, his eyes seemed to say. Carefully, Keith brought them both out to deeper waters. Blue’s eyes widened as the water started to lap at his chin, and Keith paused.

“Can you still touch the bottom?” Keith asked. Blue nodded. “Good. I’m going to let go for a bit, just so I can show you what to do, okay?”

Blue was more hesitant at that, but nodded all the same. Keith did not go more than an arm’s reach away as he began to move his arms in slow, wide circles.

“See the way I’m moving my arms? I’m also kicking my legs just enough to keep my head above the water. This is how you tread water. It doesn’t take up much energy, but it won’t get you anywhere either. Give it a try,” Keith encouraged.

Blue began to move his arms, trying to mimic just how Keith was doing it.

“You have to kick your legs too,” Keith reminded him.

With a resolved expression, Blue hopped in the water and then dropped right under the surface. His arms flailed wildly and Keith rushed to pull him right back up. Blue sputtered and snorted and looked very confused. He clung to Keith with a silent desperation, his eyes seeming to say, “Please don’t let me go.”

“It takes a little getting used to,” Keith chuckled once he was sure Blue was okay. “Most people around here know how to swim as soon as they can walk, some even sooner. I suppose it goes with living right on the coast.”

Keith took to spinning them slowly in the water, almost like a dance. Blue did not object in the slightest. Neither of them moved to let go of the other.

“I was actually older than most when I first learned to swim,” Keith admitted. “I suppose that goes along with being a prince. Everyone wants to protect you. Shiro was really bad about that when I was little, but I eventually convinced him that it would be safer for me if I knew how to swim. So he got someone to teach me. It was actually here that I learned to swim. The water is calm, much more so than the ocean, so it’s a good place to learn.”

Blue pushed at Keith’s shoulder gently as though pushing away.

Keith raised his eyebrows. “You want to try again?”

Blue nodded.

“Alright then.”

There was no telling how much time passed as Keith and Blue splashed about in the lagoon. Keith laughed often and loudly, accompanied by Blue’s silent giggles. Blue was clumsy but eager. Once he moved his legs in such a way that Keith thought of a mermaid. When he teased as much, however, Blue only offered a tight smile in return. Keith, reminded of the petition from that very morning, wanted to ask what had Blue so bothered about it, but they were having a good time. He didn’t want to upset Blue if he didn’t have to. Besides, Keith could always ask later.

The stars above were already shining brightly by the time Blue could swim on his own, much to the delight of both of them. Keith led him through the waters of the lagoon, leading him towards a large, drooping willow that had always been Keith’s favorite place. Once or twice they heard some loud splashing that hadn’t come from either of them, that Keith brushed off as being some overzealous fish or other. By the look of it, Blue didn’t quite agree with him, but made no motion of protest.

Keith pulled aside the branches of the willow like a curtain, and was delighted to find the fireflies out in full force within. Blue, too, seemed overwhelmingly in awe of them, tapping Keith urgently on his shoulder and pointing excitedly. The water under the willow was shallow enough that Blue took to chasing after the bright bugs. He pouted when they slipped right through his fingers, and Keith couldn’t help but chuckle. With practiced poise, Keith scooped a few out of the air while Blue wasn’t looking. He called out to Blue, and when he came close enough, Keith released them, lighting up Blue’s already bright face.

Blue’s entire body shook with silent laughter. Keith smiled fondly. Then Blue went to try to catch some again. Keith was just about to show him how to do it when, just as Blue was staring with intense concentration at the bright bugs, when several of them flew straight into his cupped hands. Delighted, Blue moved over to Keith and released them just in front of him, a mimic of what Keith had done for him.

Keith laughed, the warmth in his chest a gentle contrast to the slight chill of the water. Blue was smiling, eyes shining. They were standing close now, just enough room to breathe. Keith didn’t move away. Neither did Blue.

“I wish I knew your name,” he whispered in the space between them. He laughed when Blue repeated that motion again, the one he always used to mime his name. “I’m sorry I’m so bad at this.”

A harsh, whisper-like sound made Keith whip his head around. It had sounded like someone was there, but Keith couldn’t see anyone. There was no one there but him and Blue. Looks could be deceiving sometimes, however.

“Did you hear something?”

Blue shrugged. He mimed his name again.

“Okay, okay. It’s a type of weapon, right?” Blue nodded. “And it’s not a pike, or a spear, or a halberd… Probably not a staff, but then, you don’t normally jab with a staff anyways…”

Blue rolled his eyes. Keith thought he heard that whisper again, closer and more insistent. It almost sounded like someone saying--

“Lance?” Keith mumbled, eyes suspiciously roving their surroundings.

Excited splashing from Blue caught his attention again. He was nodding, pointing at Keith, and grinning widely. He mimed his name a third time.

“What? I said--oh! Lance! Your name is Lance!” Keith exclaimed.

Blue--or rather, Lance, grabbed Keith’s hand, jumping in what could only be described as sheer elation. Keith didn’t blame him. He’d probably be excited too if no one had been calling him by his name for almost two whole days.

“Lance,” Keith repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue. Lance settled down, still smiling. “I don’t know how I didn’t guess that before… it suits you.”

Lance’s eyes locked with his, and Keith once more found himself entranced by how they seemed to be filled to the brim with the ocean itself. Keith had no doubt he could easily drown in them. He found he wouldn’t mind if he did. It was like a rip current pulling him out to sea. There was no swimming against it. Lance’s eyelashes fluttered, but it did little to deter Keith as the distance between them shrank. He could hear the soft rush of Lance’s breath as it went past his lips, like the rush of waves along the beach. It carried away the memory of a whisper, and let it sink to the ocean floor where all forgotten things went. Keith let his eyes close. There was no swimming against this current.

“Lance!”

Lance and Keith sprang apart from one another. Lance was frozen in place, equal parts horrified and furious. Just as quickly as the emotions came over him, however, they left, replaced by heavy dread. Hunk wouldn’t call out to him for no reason, not when Lance had been so close. Something was wrong.

Keith meanwhile was searching with his eyes and completely on guard. There would be no playing it off this time. He turned to Lance, eyes full of distrust.

“Who was—“

Before he could finish his question, Keith was dragged underneath the water with little more than a gasp. Lance plunged in after him unthinkingly. The water here was not like the water of the ocean, and so didn’t sting too much when Lance tried to open his eyes. There, just ahead, Keith was struggling against the hands of a very familiar mermaid with the tail of a shark. She had him from behind, her clawed hands clasped tightly around his throat. He kicked and thrashed wildly, but to no avail. The mermaid noticed Lance and said something, but all Lance could hear was a bubbly noise.

Lance tried to move towards them, but his human limbs were still awkward and unsure in the water. His lungs were already burning. He would have to resurface for air. But how far would this mermaid be able to get with Keith before Lance made it back down? How much longer could Keith last? Already his struggling was becoming sluggish. Lance pressed forward, his own need for air be damned. If Keith died here Lance was as good as dead anyways.

Only before he could even get close, strong arms wrapped around Lance and set to squeezing the life out of him. The pressure against his throat was enough to make him cough and sputter. Water began to flood him, betraying him where it had once been his friend. It burned like nothing Lance had ever experienced. He flailed as hard as he could, trying to get some leeway, but to no avail. Everything hurt. No matter what he did, Lance couldn’t stop the stuttering of his lungs, couldn’t stop taking in more water.

Lance locked eyes with the mermaid choking the life out of Keith, silently pleading for her to let him go, for something to make her let go, to go away and not bother them again! His thoughts were screaming as loud as his lungs, and in his fading consciousness he thought he saw the mermaid falter, thought he saw her hands loosen slightly…

And then Lance could breathe again. He didn’t know how or why, but he was coughing and retching and very much alive. Distantly he thought there’d been a golden flash before his eyes; Lance had thought he was well and truly dying. Now he wasn’t. Had Keith rescued him? Lance blinked the water out of his eyes, instinctively moving his mouth to call out. Keith was nowhere to be seen. He was still in danger.

Lance was getting ready to dive back into the water when Hunk surfaced dramatically, hauling an unconscious Keith along with him. He had a fierce air about him, one that Lance wasn’t quite sure he’d ever seen before. Hunk spotted Lance gaping.

“What are you doing?! Get out of the water!” he commanded.

Lance didn’t dare dally at that tone. He went as fast as his human body would take him. It was markedly slower than what he was used to, slower even than Hunk, who was encumbered by Keith’s weight. All the while he worried that one of the mermaids would return to finish off Keith, or himself, or perhaps Hunk for having gotten in the way. Despite his worries, they made it to shore safely, Lance taking Keith where Hunk could no longer go.

Immediately Lance pressed his ear to Keith’s chest. His heart was still beating, but his breath was coming in short, staccatoed gasps as though he were still drowning. Perhaps he was. There were bruises and scratches all along his neck, and a stark cut running down his cheek where the mermaid had evidently slipped when trying to get a hold of Keith. It was bleeding sluggishly. Lance looked to Hunk, who could offer nothing but a worried expression.

“I don’t know, bud,” Hunk said quietly.

Lance’s thoughts were racing faster than he could keep up with them. He’d started to breath as soon as he’d left the water, although he’d also had to cough up a substantial amount of water. He also hadn’t lost consciousness. Would Keith be alright if Lance let him be? Would he deteriorate? Lance checked to make sure Keith’s heart was still beating. It was. How much longer would that last?

Lance looked at Hunk again. Hunk was looking out towards the lagoon, occasionally ducking underwater to keep watch for those mermaids.

“I spotted them lurking around not too long after you guys got in the water,” Hunk explained. “I thought maybe they were just keeping an eye on you for Lotor, but then I started to wonder why he would need to do that. That’s why I was trying to get your attention.”

Lance frowned as guilt washed over him like the coming tide. It seemed Lance was as careless as usual. He looked down at Keith, who was still unconscious, still struggling to breathe properly. Perhaps it would’ve been better if he’d never become human at all, Lance considered.

“Lance, I know what you’re thinking. This isn’t your fault,” Hunk assured him.

Lance shook his head and began to move his hands, gesturing to himself, then to Hunk, and finally to Keith. It was hardly clear, and not nearly enough to express what he was trying to say. So instead, Lance turned away from Hunk and hugged himself tightly. He felt like he was drowning all over again.

“Lance,” Hunk called gently. “Lance, listen to me, this isn’t your fault. Whatever Lotor is up to is on him, not you.”

Turning back to Hunk, Lance gestured vaguely. Thankfully, Hunk seemed to understand.

“We knew from the beginning that Lotor might not be trustworthy. Maybe I don’t get why he’d want to drown you and Keith, but that just means that there’s something bigger going on that we just don’t know,” Hunk insisted.

Despite still being convinced that if he hadn’t been so reckless this would’ve never happened, Hunk’s words did spark something in Lance’s mind. It was something that Lance knew he couldn’t communicate with vague hand gestures, however, no matter how well Hunk knew him. So Lance took to drawing crudely in the sand that met the shallow water. Hunk squinted at the lines, trying to decipher their meaning.

“Okay, uhm… That’s the sun… And it’s rising… Wow, water, very specific… an arrow? Oh! You mean water in the direction the sun rises in, got it! Okay, okay, now we’ve got humans on boats, got it, and… merfolk? Wait, hold on, are they--?”

Hunk stopped short, his expression distraught.

“You’re not saying that there’s merfolk drowning humans again, are you?” Hunk asked.

Lance shook his head as he pointed to himself.

“But humans think so?”

Lance pointed at Keith and shook his head again.

“Not all humans, but some. How are they even sure it’s merfolk at all?”

Lance shrugged and then pointed out towards the lagoon.

Hunk blinked. “Lotor. What in the seven seas is he up to?”

Lance shrugged again and turned back towards Keith. Still breathing, if only just.

“Lance, I think I need to tell Allura what’s happening,” Hunk said slowly. “The last thing I want to do is leave you, but something is going on here and while I was able to take those two mermaids on my own this time, I only think that’s because they didn’t expect me to be here. They swam away as soon as they realized I was here. I don’t think we’ll be so lucky next time.”

Reluctantly, Lance nodded. As long as he and Keith remained on land, they were safe from Lotor’s reach. And he’d have Pidge, and to some extent Keith and Shiro and Adam. But what of Hunk and Allura and anyone else that got involved? Would they be safe from Lotor? Just what was Lotor trying to accomplish anyways?

As if reading Lance’s mind, Hunk said, “We’ll be fine. It’s not like Lotor is killing off merfolk, aside from you, anyways. I mean, look at what just happened! They turned tail as soon as I showed up! And you know Allura’s no pushover either.”

Lance nodded again, a little more certain this time. As if on cue, Keith began to cough violently, trying to expel all the water he’d inhaled. Hunk left with a silent nod to Lance. Keith rolled over onto his side, and Lance, not knowing what else to do, rubbed soothing circles on his back. Eventually Keith managed to take a huge gulp of air and flopped back onto his back, breathing hard.

He opened his eyes when Lance traced the edge of the cut on his cheek. Lance worried that those eyes would be full of distrust once more, as they had been when he heard Hunk call out for Lance. Keith’s eyes widened for a split second; Lance’s breath caught in his throat. Then he softened entirely, smiling as he took Lance’s hand with his.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he rasped.

Lance couldn’t take it anymore. Every nerve in his body seemed to snap with the force of his silent sobs. His breath came quickly, and just when Lance thought it couldn’t get any worse, his face suddenly felt hot and wet. He recoiled, realizing that there was something spilling out of his eyes. He pressed his hands to his eyes. Now was not the time to start leaking! He didn’t even know that this was a thing that happened to humans!

“Hey, hey,” Keith hushed, sitting up and taking Lance’s hands from him. “It’s okay, we’re okay.”

Lance shook his head, trying to tug his hands back. Things were most certainly not okay! Lotor was up to something devious and there was no telling what, humans were being drowned and they were blaming merfolk for it, Lance had managed to drag Keith into all of it, and now, on top of everything else, his face was leaking! Why had he ever thought becoming human would be a good idea?!

Keith wiped the wetness from his face, apparently not as concerned about it as Lance was.

“Hey, Lance, listen to me,” Keith said, as gentle as could be. “Everything’s going to be alright. We’re alive, we’re okay.”

Lance touched the cut on Keith’s face.

Keith shrugged, saying, “It could be worse.”

With some gentle coaxing, Keith helped Lance back into the vehicle they’d arrived in. The ride back to the castle was silent, punctuated only by Lance’s sniffles. Once in a while Keith would reach over and offer some gentle touch or other. Sometimes he would rub circles on Lance’s back, other times he would brush Lance’s hair back (although it was short enough that it was never in Lance’s face). Lance welcomed the contact, leaning into it every time.

The hour was late, and no one else was on the road. They made their return swiftly. Where before Lance had been reluctant to return to the castle, he now welcomed it. The castle meant safety. As long as they were here, they were safe. Lance glanced at the ocean just before they went inside. Was this to be part of his life as a human, should he make it past tomorrow?

Keith led Lance back to the room he’d stayed in the night before, clasping his hands tightly all the while.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” he told Lance. “Change into something warm and dry.”

He turned to leave, but Lance held tight to his hand with a questioning expression.

“I have to talk to Shiro,” Keith explained.

When Lance still looked confused, Keith elaborated, “Whatever attacked us in the water wasn’t any ordinary fish. And it’s no coincidence that this happened the same day we got a petition from supposedly superstitious sailors.”

Lance’s eyes widened.

“There’s merfolk in the waters. And they’re trying to kill us.”

#klance #voltron #voltron legendary defender #fanfic #fan fiction #fic #creesh.txt #that which belongs to the sea #twbtts #chapter 2 #text #long post

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our-elven-lady-of-chaos · 6 years

Text

You Are My Home Ch 3

I apologize for the delay guys. Infinity War did a number on me, as I’m sure you all have experienced, but here’s an extra long chapter to make up for it! Mostly domestic fluff at this point.

Need to catch up?

Ch 1: https://our-elven-lady-of-chaos.tumblr.com/post/170647725968/you-are-my-home

Ch 2: https://our-elven-lady-of-chaos.tumblr.com/post/171125860283/you-are-my-home-ch-2

A Fresh Start

Shortly after, the group says their goodbyes and return to the tower, only after Frigga admonishes both her boys to be good and look after their lady friend. Thor blushes while Loki mumbles something unintelligible under his breath, which, judging by her laughter Lysandra probably picked up with her fey hearing.

Lys leads Loki to a room he is informed is his, and is to receive a more complete tour of the amenities the tower has to offer after dinner. The room is sparsely decorated with black furniture with gold accents, the bedclothes a deep emerald hue.

“I did what I could here, with what Thor told me about you, but we can work on it a little more later,” Lysandra told him nervously. She had managed alright when Thor was with them, but now that she was alone in his bedroom with him...that was another story completely. Loki studied his new surroundings without saying much other than the occasional ‘okay’ or ‘good’, but his eyes seemed to light up when she pointed out the small bookshelf near the bed. He immediately wrapped her in a tight hug, which was strong, but not nearly as bone crushing as those of his brother. This was something she could get used to, or even come to enjoy.

“Thank...thank you,” Loki responded somewhat nervously, casually leaning back on his heels. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be so considerate when I was brought here.”

She nodded understandingly. “I’ll show you the library later, but for now I figured I’d put a few of my favorites in here for you.” She stood there watching him thumb through the titles on the shelf, a small smile lighting up her face at the joy she’d given him. Pure, unbridled, child-like joy. The Hobbit. The Lord of the Rings. Heart of Darkness. Flowers for Algernon. Till We Have Faces. Frankenstein. Crime and Punishment. A handful of books of poetry from the likes of Lord Byron, Percy Shelley, and Emily Dickinson. Mostly classics, but a handful of modern authors such as Neil Gaiman and Matt Haig as well. She had carefully hand-crafted her selection based on what was the most interesting and what would convey the most humanity to the god as well. She almost couldn’t believe it, that this man who was supposed to be the “monster” that terrorized New York had such a weakness for a good book. It was sickeningly cute.

She got up to leave for a shower and allow Loki to become more acclimated to his new abode. “If you need anything, I’m right next door, and Thor is just across from us. It’s just the three of us on this floor, and there’s a small kitchen that I’ll show you later.” Loki almost looked pained to see her leaving so soon, though his pride would never allow him to admit it. It was rare that he made friends with anyone, and one that actually got along well with his brother even more scarce. “I’ll be back later, I promise,” she assured him, reading his emotions perfectly. Loki merely nodded. “Rest well,” he bade her, wanting to say more but uncharacteristically unable to find his words.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Thor waved her over from the lounge area across the hall. She quickly made her way over to plop herself down on the plush orange couch across from him, casually resting her feet on the coffee table. The God of Thunder smiled over at her as she let out a contented sigh.

“Thorrr,” she whined. “What did you need me for? I’m all sweaty and gross still.” She sat up slightly to address him a little more properly. He offered her the bag of corn chips he was currently munching on, which she politely declined. Seeing the crumbs and bits of guacamole stuck in his beard was enough to keep her from getting mad at him for finishing nearly half of the large bowl she had made already.

“I just wanted to make sure that my little brother was adjusting properly,” He replied between a mouthful of chips. “And that he wasn’t upsetting you. I know he can be…” he scratched his beard in thought as he searched for the appropriate Midgardian term. “A bit of an ass, as Tony would say, but once you’ve earned his respect he’s a lot more likable. Fun, even.”

Lys nodded in understanding. “He was fine. A little withdrawn, but I was too when Tony first brought me on the team as something more than just his own personal healer.”

Thor smiled gently at the memory. “Ah, yes, I remember. I was rather shocked to see you again after all this time, but pleased. And yet, I feel we’ve still got a lot of catching up to do. Just the three of us.”

Lysandra let out a heavy sigh at the idea. Digging up the past was emotionally exhausting, especially when it meant either coming to terms with her fey heritage, or the memory of all the mortal lives that had gone by while she remained yet unchanged. She reluctantly pulled herself up off of the overstuffed sofa, but paused on her way out to pose one more question.

“I’ve been given an awful lot of warnings about your brother’s behavior, but he’s been on nothing but his best behavior ever since I’ve met him. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to believe about him. Is this normal, or…?”

Thor chuckled. “Ah, yes, my brother can be quite the mystery, especially with the women he fancies. He is renown for his mischievous ways, but the vast majority of the time it is all in the name of a good joke. He is not an inherently cruel person, unless he is pushed to be so.” He strokes his beard wistfully, lost in the memories for a moment. “As he once told me, ‘He will treat you as a gentleman ought to, until you ask him not to.”

Lysandra snorted. “Sounds like quite the character. I bet once they get over sniping over each other like children, him and Tony will be great friends.” Thor lets out a great boom of laughter in agreement. “Indeed. Go on, shower up, though I can assure you that you smell perfectly fine,” he chides her. He was so the overly protective but goofy older brother she never knew she wanted.

“Stinky Asgardian warrior.” She sticks out her tongue at him.

“Prissy fae princess.” Thor laughs.

Dinner was to be just a quiet affair between Lysandra and the two Asgardians. After finishing with her shower, Lysandra took control of the kitchen and began cooking up a storm. She wanted to ensure that Loki’s first real taste of Midgardian cuisine was at least decent, and not whatever takeout Tony usually settled on. It had to be a good old fashioned home cooked meal, so she settled for a basic pasta dish with both a red and pesto sauce, sausage and meatballs, and salad and bread on the side. As usual, Thor made a pest of himself, wanting to sample everything while she was still preparing things rather than helping.

“Come on Lysandra!” Thor begged. “Can’t I have just a little taste?”

She swatted his hand away with the spoon she was currently using to stir the sauce. “You’ve done more than that already, your chin has parmesan and tomato sauce on it.” Thor gave her his best puppy dog look. “Don’t give me that look. Now go fetch your brother for dinner while I get this stuff on the table.”

Thor grumbled about it but did as he was told, returning relatively quickly with a Loki who was having some difficulty trying to walk and read at the same time. You would think that after a thousand years he would have either gotten better at it or learned not to do so in unfamiliar places, but no. At least he was virtually indestructible, the walls and countertops he had bumped into doing little to phase him from the pursuit of good reading material. Lysandra busied herself pouring everyone a bit of elven wine as she waited for the two semi-grumpy gods to sit. Thankfully she didn’t have to tell Loki to separate himself from his book, as he perked up a bit at the familiar scent and decided she was worth keeping an eye on.

Lys gave Thor a nod to tell him that he could finally dig in to the food. Loki rolled his eyes at his brother’s all too familiar antics as he helped himself to some bread and salad. “Thor you oaf, there’s a thing here called salad that you’re supposed to eat first. Or at least I imagine the order of the courses has not changed just because we’re on Midgard.” Thor immediately muttered something about salad being more for prissy elves under his breath, but accepted the bowl Loki prepared for him. Lysandra merely glared at him for the comment.

“So, what do you think?” Lysandra asked Loki as he reached for his third serving of spaghetti and proceeded to drown it in the meaty red sauce. She couldn’t help the blush that crept onto her face as she watched him lick a spot rather languidly from his thumb. Loki grinned. “Surprisingly good, for midgardian fare. Although I’m sure your not being mortal has something to do with it. How do you even manage to acquire elven wine in a place like this?”

She gave him an even cheekier grin in response. “I have my sources.”

Loki raised an eyebrow in question, silently begging her to go on.

Lysandra blushes. “New York has a thriving magical community, if you know where to look. There’s a lot of half-breeds and a good quarter of the population is probably more mortal than not, but I know a few people who can get me what I need.”

Loki perks up with interest.

“I’d love to show you around sometime, since your brother isn’t nearly as interested in old tomes and rare herbs with magical properties as I am…”

“Hey!” Thor sputters indignantly before taking a moment to mull around what was actually said.

“It’s true, brother,” Loki reminds him. Thor shrugs nonchalantly in response.

...”But you have to prove to Tony that you can be let out of the tower with a chaperone and expected to behave first. Sound fair?”

Loki hums in thought for a moment, then nods in approval. “So it’s a date then?” he asks with a cheeky grin.

“What? No, of course not!” Lysandra sputters in surprise.

“Still sounds like a date to me,” Thor points out, awkwardly attempting to show Loki how to do a fistbump. “No, brother, like this. It’s not meant to inflict pain, like a high five.”

“You’re not helping, Thor!”

Loki laughs at the absurdness of it all.

Afterwards, the pair resumed their tour. First they went to the training room, where Lysandra explained what their typical schedule would look like while she was working with him. Loki was pleased to find that Lysandra was well versed enough in magic to understand his capabilities and limits, just as Frigga had reassured him. But what intrigued him most was the special locked room just for magic training.

“Once I get a feel for your style, we’re going to do most of our drills in here,” Lysandra informed him upon unlocking the door. The room gave off a weird vibe as he stepped into it. It wasn’t negative, though he could tell that everything in the room was heavily warded, including the training robots.

“What’s with all the protection?” Loki asked her curiously.

“The wards protect everything in here from being destroyed by magic, otherwise Tony would kill me for the amount of paint alone that would have to be replaced,” she responded with a chuckle. “The robots have sensors on them that indicate the amount of damage they’ve taken, and keeps track of the number of lethal hits.” Loki regarded the large metal men with an air of curiosity. Out of all the Avengers, Tony was the one he was the most impressive, well, for a mortal at least.

“This room has also been warded against teleportation, and the door won’t open for you until I’ve put your magic limiting cuffs back on,” she explained with a grin. “Ah, so that’s how it works,” Loki replied, turning one of the thin gold bands that now surrounded his wrists. “Well, I suppose it could be worse. At least I’m not stuck with a complete imbecile for an instructor whose lack of magical knowledge will land me in the medical ward, and these are at least somewhat...fashionable? I suppose I have you to thank for that as well?”

She nodded, her grin widening in response. “I figured you’d be less...hostile about your captivity if we tailored things more to your liking.” He smiled back at her, a relatively easy thing for him to do, as she was surprisingly pleasant company for a friend of his brother.

He nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a gilded cage, but still a cage, nonetheless. Still, I’m grateful that at least someone is looking out for me, aside from my oaf of a brother.” He gave her a quick affectionate peck on the cheek. Lys blushes profusely, completely unused to that sort of contact. Loki grinned even wider at her reaction. Her innocence was absolutely endearing to him.

After seeing the rest of the training rooms, the two of them somehow found themselves in Lysandra’s chambers. They had agreed that Loki had more than enough reading material at the moment (although somehow the god had already gotten through The Hobbit), not to mention the fact that Lysandra’s private collection of magical texts was a lot more intriguing. Plus she had promised him dessert and tea. “A woman after my own heart” Loki mused.

The god busied himself sifting through her older tomes as Lysandra was off procuring said sweets from the kitchen. She popped back in with a tray of tiramisu, chocolate covered madeleines, and two steaming mugs of English breakfast tea, prepared with just the right amount of cream and sugar. Loki carefully removed a handful of older, fragile looking magical texts and went to join her on the couch.

“Set those down on the table for now,” Lysandra instructed him. “They’re probably older than the both of us put together AND Thor.”

He let out a good natured laugh. “I can assure you that your books are in good hands. My brother, on the other hand...”

“Just shut up and taste this already,” she says, thrusting him a plate of cake and a fork.

Loki studied the spongey layered cake for a moment and took a dainty bite, then quickly demolished it.

“That good, eh?”

Loki nodded, setting his plate down to pick up his tea. “We have all manners of cakes and pastries and whatnot back home, but nothing like this,” he said indicating a few stray flakes of chocolate.

“Ah, chocolate. I see you’re a fan,” she replied with a devilish grin. Her plan of buttering Loki up by plying him with sweets and books was going splendidly.

Loki nods, too busy eating for a proper response. They fall into a comfortable silence for a bit, until he remembers the dusty tomes that had been calling to him like a siren’s song. He wipes his fingers clean and magiks the plates clean and away before gingerly picking up the one at the top of the stack and cracked it open. He skimmed through it for a few minutes before reaching for the next, where halfway through he made a startling discovery. After finding something to save his place, he goes through the rest of the stack with mostly the same result.

“These...these books are all in various forms of elvish,” Loki said in awestruck wonder. “Most of them, at least. And this one…” he waved around an ancient looking green text with silver leaf pages before cracking it open for a closer look. “...This one is in some old fae tongue even I cannot decipher. Yet.”

“That one is supposed to be locked away with the rest - crap!” Lysandra mutters, reaching for that last one.

Loki quirks an eyebrow, smirking at her. “I take it you can read it then?”

She huffs in frustration at being caught. “It’s in my library, isn’t it?”

Loki’s grin widens. She waves her hand again, and he gives in and returns the mysterious book to her. “Well?”

She rolls her eyes at him. “This one’s more of a collection of poetry and epics, which is why I had it out.”

“But you can read it, as well as the ones in elvish?”

“Yes? Should I be concerned that you can apparently read them as well?”

Loki laughs at this. “You’re quite interesting, for one of my brother’s friends. I like that!”

She shot him a look of exasperation.

“I am a prince, I learned from the best,” he says with a shrug, as a means of explanation. “Plus Allspeak can generally fill in most of the gaps, aside from some of the most ancient languages.” He leans back, stretching out to his full height while mentally taking note to take full advantage of the sort of magical sanctuary he had found her sitting room to be. Much more welcoming than any other place in the tower he’d found, so far. Much more like home, and the company wasn’t half bad either.

I do hope this was worth the wait. I’d love to hear from you all, even if you just want to talk about the latest ACOTAR book or bitch about how hot it is right now (living in SoCal is seriously not fun right now guys). But really, it does help keep me going.

Also, I’m (attempting to) starting on some sort of Soulmate AU, so keep your eyes peeled for that.

XOXO Yoshi

#loki x oc #loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki (marvel)#marvel fanfiction #you are my home #loki x you #faeries #reader is a faerie #fae #Loki Laufeyson

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geekmama · 6 years

Text

Idiots in Love

Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2018, Day 7, Writer’s Choice

And we’re back to Sherlock and Molly’s engagement, with three short stories from Greg Lestrade’s pov. As he said in Gravitas...

The satisfaction of watching the live-action post-Sherrinford sitcom, 'Idiots in Love', had been a private delight for months...

Domestic Bliss

For all his curiosity -- and sympathy, too, of course -- Greg had refrained from contacting Sherlock for a good six days after the Sherrinford/Musgrave affair, but on the seventh he absolutely needed Sherlock’s sharp wits for a tricky case, so he pulled out his mobile and, after only a moment’s hesitation, texted him.

No reply.

Which was unusual. Even if Sherlock wasn’t in the mood to come out to a crime scene, he was almost always willing to provide input via text message or even Skype, if the situation warranted it. And as for answering, Greg sometimes thought that mobile was bloody attached to his hand, he was that quick.

Greg tried texting a couple more times, with the same result, and then he found he was really starting to get worried.

So he sent one off to Sherlock’s brother. There’d probably been quite the blow-up with the Holmes mum and dad, what with them not having known their daughter was still alive. Maybe the boys were still in the midst of smoothing things down in that quarter.

But Mycroft replied almost immediately.

Sherlock is fine, as far as I know. He is with Dr. Hooper. - M

Greg nodded (as though Mycroft could see him -- ha!) and texted back his thanks.

He’d known, of course, that Sherlock was staying with Molly, since 221B Baker St. was a bit too blown up for habitation, and he’d heard it from John, too, when he’d run across him walking little Rosie in Regent’s Park.

“Yeah, Molly’s taken him in,” John had said, with a crooked smile, which Greg had taken to be relief that he didn’t have to put up with a possibly unstable houseguest after… well, everything. John had been through a lot in the last six months. Or six years, more like.

“They’re okay, then?” Greg had smiled, remembering how worried Molly had been after that phone call, and then Sherlock’s reaction to hearing that she’d begged to be included when Greg had been summoned to Musgrave. “I was hoping they would be. Now if Sherlock’ll just refrain from bein’ a git for a while…”

John had laughed. “I think he’s working on that. And Molly’ll keep him right.”

That was no more than the truth. If anyone could make Sherlock behave, it was Molly Hooper.

And apparently they were sorting it out, since Sherlock was still there in her flat.

He tried texting Molly, then, but though she, too, was usually quick to reply, there was, again, no answer. He frowned.

It wouldn’t hurt to go over there and check things out. When Sherlock was involved, you just never knew what might be happening.

A few minutes later, Greg was on the brick walkway and approaching Molly’s door when it opened and Sherlock stepped out -- but not a Sherlock Greg had ever seen -- or not in public at any rate. Molly’s street was a quiet one, of course, but Sherlock’s state -- dressing gown negligently tied over what Greg strongly suspected was precisely nothing, dark curls styled a la bed-head, and a somewhat glazed and strangely contented expression -- was as near to indecent as made no odds.

And it was bloody one in the afternoon!

And he was holding, with tender care, a puppy.

Greg halted on the walkway and gaped. Sherlock, for his part, jerked his head up suddenly, eyes widening, and his contentment taking on more of a deer-in-the-headlights look.

“Greg! What are you doing here?” he blurted.

Greg, beginning to be amused, quirked a brow. “I’ve got a case, and I tried to text you but you didn’t reply. What’s that you’ve got there? A bloodhound?”

Sherlock’s consternation faded to fondness as he looked at the pup, who was trying to lick his hand. “Basset Hound,” he corrected. “Here, Cal, time to take care of business.” He set the pup down on the grass, just off the front porch, and the little dog immediately began to sniff around with intent. Sherlock straightened, smiling at his new protégé.

But just when the pup had settled to his “business”, a bit of white fluff dashed out the door and, as it passed, Sherlock uttered a cry of dismay and gave chase, onto the grass and along the flower bed next to the house. The pup joined in with a tiny, delighted bay, and Greg watched open-mouthed as Sherlock cornered the bit of fluff, which turned out to be a rather posh-looking kitten. Sherlock then caught both the animals up, one in each hand.

“Bad Hobbes!” Sherlock scolded the kitten, and then noticed that the sash of his dressing gown had loosened somewhat in the chase.

Yep. Precisely nothing on underneath.

“Bloody hell!” Sherlock muttered, with a glance at Greg. But with his hands full of pup and kitten he was unable to remedy the situation and finally growled, “Just come inside, will you?”

“Happy to,” Greg told him. This was becoming more amusing by the minute.

Greg followed the comic trio into the flat, then closed the door as Sherlock bent down to carefully set his new pets on the tile floor. They bounded off to roughhouse while the detective straightened and adjusted his dressing gown, pulling the sash tight, rather firmly, before turning back to face Greg.

“So. You have a case?” Sherlock asked, briskly, looking down his nose at Greg, obviously wishing to put the whole of the previous awkwardness aside.

Greg subdued his smirk and began, “Yes, I’ve--”

“Sherlock, Hobbes didn’t escape did he? He’s not--oh!”

It was Molly who’d interrupted, coming down the stairs, a note of concern in her voice, until she suddenly noticed Greg standing there. Greg felt his jaw drop and his eyes widen, but really, how could he help it? If Sherlock’s fashion statement had been startling, it was nothing to this one of Molly’s. She was wearing a very skimpy garment of some sheer material, white with a delicate blue flower pattern, edged with lace and fastened at the sides with blue satin ribbons. And, again, nothing else. Greg had only seen her out of her loose-fitting work attire that once, at that unfortunate Christmas party in Baker Street, and that was years ago, now. Really, he would have been less than human if he hadn’t stared at the vision before him (and it was certainly worth staring at, he had to give her that).

But he didn’t have long, for she gave a kind of horrified Eeep! and turned to scurry back up the steps and out of sight.

Sherlock cleared his throat in a somewhat pointed manner. Greg turned to him, feeling a bit sheepish.

But Sherlock apparently didn’t know quite what to say, either, for a moment -- which was a first. He was also turning rather pink. Greg was hard put not to burst out laughing. Presently, however, Sherlock did pull himself together, and said, coldly, “I trust I may rely upon your discretion?”

Greg fought down his grin and said, “Yeah, of course you can. Won’t tell a soul.”

Sherlock gave a small sigh and un-pokered somewhat.

And then light footsteps were heard, coming down the steps.

It was Molly, again, now decently swathed in a long, blue satin dressing gown.

“Greg!” she said, smiling, if somewhat pink-cheeked herself. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah! Apparently things are just fine,” he replied, still carefully not grinning.

Molly blushed rather pinker, but said, “We… ah… Sherlock is still recovering from… ah… everything.”

Greg nodded and said, with what he knew to be admirable gravity, “It’s good of you to help the lad.”

But even Molly couldn’t help giving a tiny snort of laughter at this, and Sherlock rolled his eyes, completely done with it. “For God’s sake, he’s here on a case, Molly!”

“Are you?” she asked, brows rising.

“Well, yes,” said Greg. “Can’t do without the world’s only consulting detective for too long, now, can I?” He subdued his mirth and dug out his mobile. “Here, both of you take a look and tell me what you think.”

They did take a look -- Greg had brought some pictures, and he gave them a brief verbal rundown of the details.

And then they argued about what they were looking at for about five minutes.

Greg listened to the give and take of the conversation with interest. Sherlock wasn’t affording her any slack, but Molly held her own, and in the end Sherlock was nodding at a couple of the points she’d brought up, and they finally came to a consensus.

“There you go,” Sherlock said at last, handing the phone back to Greg. “Is that all you wanted? Good. Let me see you out.”

“Not going to offer me some tea or anything?” Greg managed to look hurt for about three seconds, but then desisted as Sherlock began to grind his teeth. “Alright, Romeo, I know when I’m not wanted.”

“Romeo? Romeo?!” Sherlock exclaimed, outraged. “Romeo was an idiot!”

Molly began to giggle helplessly, and Greg said, “Ah! But we’re all idiots in love, aren’t we?”

“No, we are not,” Sherlock snapped, his feathers thoroughly ruffled. “Now get out! I’ll contact you tomorrow. Or next week -- if you’re lucky.”

He opened the front door and, with a sweeping motion of his arm, encouraged Greg to leave.

Greg said to Molly, “I’ll bid you a very good afternoon, then, Dr. Hooper.”

“Thank you, Greg,” she said, smiling.

He considered saying, Cheers, mate! to Sherlock but it seemed unwise to goad the lad further. Sherlock refrained from speech as well, though he did slam the door when Greg had barely stepped out onto the front porch.

But then the sound of Molly’s unbridled laughter could be heard, and Sherlock’s voice, saying something sharpish, after which there was a bit of combined laughter and shrieking until it all faded into the distance -- up the stairs and into the bedroom again, no doubt.

Greg could finally let loose, grinning and chuckling in delight as he made his way to the car, got in, started it, and set off down the road. Lord! What wouldn’t he give to tell someone of this miraculous, unprecedented turnaround.

Sally Donovan would never believe it.

And as for Anderson, well, there’d be no living with him, for obviously he’d been right about the pair of them all along.

o-o-o

Contrition

About a month later, Greg asked Sherlock to come out with him on a truly baffling case, “sure to be at least an eight on the Sherlock scale of interest.”

“Hmm. I doubt it,” had said the consulting git, but in a strangely subdued manner. Still, he added, “Alright, come pick me up in half an hour.”

Greg was, to put it mildly, taken aback. “Pick you up? You want to ride with me? In my car?” Sherlock never rode in a police car, if he could help it, even an unmarked vehicle. Greg had known him a long time and quite understood. The road to the current Sherlockian state of sobriety and domestic bliss had been long and bumpy indeed.

But all Sherlock said now was, “Yes, why not? Problem?”

“No!” Greg exclaimed. “See you at noon, then.”

“Make it twelve fifteen,” Sherlock said, thoughtfully. “I need to shower.”

Greg’s brows rose. “I’m not interrupting something again, am I?”

“No, not at all. Molly had the early shift, left at some ungodly hour.”

“Ah. OK. Good. Twelve fifteen then.”

The weirdness continued. Sherlock was ready on time, gave Greg a perfunctory nod, and got in the car, but was far from his usual self. He seemed strangely quiet, almost preoccupied. Unhappily preoccupied.

Trouble in paradise? Greg thought, but he said nothing about that. After they’d gone a few blocks he pointed out that there was a folder of pertinent evidence sitting on the dashboard. “If you’d care to take a look.”

“Oh, yes. Sorry,” Sherlock said, and reached for the folder.

‘Sorry’! Good God…

Greg kept glancing over at him as he leafed through the notes and photographs. It didn’t take him long, and before more than a couple of minutes had passed the folder was closed on his lap and he was staring out the side window again. The phrase in a brown study popped into Greg’s head.

“Well, what do you think?” he finally prodded.

Sherlock gave a sort of shrug, and continued looking out the window, frowning, though he did offer, “Probably a five, and the brother-in-law did it, but I’ll be more certain when we get there.”

Greg shook his head, exasperated. Of course “truly baffling” would be child’s play for Sherlock -- and he wasn’t even giving it his full attention.

There was something going on.

But it would have to wait.

They arrived at the scene a few minutes later and Sherlock perked up a bit. “Maybe a seven after all,” he muttered, looking about him. He pulled out his little magnifying lens and went at it.

The crime scene was an old house in Camden that had seen better days, quite dilapidated, with overgrown shrubbery that included roses and lots of them. After a few minutes, Greg noticed that Sherlock seemed more interested in these flowers than in the evidence to hand.

“Oi, what are you doing? Got anything yet?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” Sherlock replied, and in his usual style he rattled off a detailed summary of the many reasons it was obvious the brother-in-law had, indeed, done it. But then, when he was finished, he added, “Now, what kind of roses do you think these are? These yellow ones.”

Greg stared at him, then snapped, “How should I know? And what difference does it make?”

Sherlock stiffened at the admonitory tone, then said, “Right. I’ll be in the car.”

As he stalked away, Greg determined that he was going to get to the bottom of this mystery, far more baffling than the case of the murderous brother-in-law had been (apparently).

He passed on Sherlock’s analysis of the case to his colleagues, who exclaimed over the clarity and perception of it.

“Yeah, well, he’s good,” said Greg, “as we should all know by now. But he’s a bit off today, so I’ll let you blokes dot the i’s and cross the t’s while I take him home.”

Various expressions of sympathy followed, and requests that Sherlock be given their best.

“I will,” Greg said, trying to smile, then bade them adieu and headed out to the car.

He slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door, but did not start the motor. Instead he turned toward Sherlock and said, “Alright, what’s going on? Have you been up to your old tricks with Molly? ‘Cause I tell you to your head, if you start bein’ a bastard to her again--”

“I haven’t!” Sherlock protested, but then added, “I mean… not lately.”

Greg lifted a brow. “So it’s something from the past? It isn’t like her to hold a grudge--”

“She’s not.” Sherlock looked away for a moment, then pulled himself together and faced Greg manfully. “If you must know, she found out last night that I did remember her from university, though I’d pretended not to. That first time we first saw her at Bart’s. You remember. The Johnstone case.”

Greg stared, recalling the occasion clearly for all it was ages ago. He almost blurted out, Why?!?, but stopped himself, and frowned. And glared a bit at Sherlock, too, because he knew exactly Why. So instead he asked, “How’d she find out?”

“We met a… a mutual acquaintance. Last night, at a restaurant. He was a bastard, in our days at Oxford. We were all at a party, one of those all-out end-of-term things, and he lured Molly away and would’ve… well. He didn’t. I didn’t let him.”

“My God! Rape?” Greg exclaimed, horrified even at this late date.

“Yes. Possibly. He was big, a rugby player, team captain or something, and very drunk. She’d had too much herself -- he’d seen to that. And she was… small. Barely more than a child, really, thinking back on it. In her first year, and I was a teacher’s assistant in her organic chemistry class.”

“I see,” said Greg, slowly, picturing how it must have been. “I suppose she was in love with you even then?”

“Noooo!” Sherlock gave a roll of his eyes. “How could she when she didn’t know me at all?”

Greg gave a humorless laugh. What Sherlock didn’t know about women -- women of all ages -- could fill a book. And if the git hadn’t been a young Adonis -- or something even more interesting -- Greg would eat that bloody deerstalker of his.

“So. You already knew she was smart, and you used her schoolgirl crush. For years. Lord, no wonder she’s furious!”

“Yes, she was,” Sherlock said, looking worried. “She’s not, now. Or she says she’s not. But… I’m afraid…”

“I’d be afraid, too,” Greg agreed.

Sherlock said, firmly, “I have to do something more than apologize. Will you take me by a florist’s shop? I thought--”

“Yellow roses!” Greg smiled. “That’s a good start.”

For the first time that day a bit of a smile appeared on Sherlock’s face. “Do you really think so?”

Greg laughed. “I think you’ll be years making this up to her, but yeah, a dozen or two of roses, and maybe some chocolates, to start with. To go along with the groveling you’ll have to do -- because you know you will, right?”

The smile faded, but instead of pokering up, he just looked crestfallen. “Yes. I expect so. Let’s go, then.”

It was nearing six o’clock on that warm, late-spring evening when Molly walked out her kitchen door and into the back garden, took in the scene before her, and cried, “What are you doing?!!”

Greg straightened up and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and Sherlock, his Dolce & Gabbana dress shirt sweat stained and coming loose from his trousers, gaped at her.

“I thought you were going for drinks with Meena!” Sherlock said, almost resentfully.

“I was,” Molly said, “but I begged off at the last minute.” She came down the steps and crossed the patch of lawn to where they stood, shovels in hand, hard by the garden wall, an enormous hole between them -- but not enormous enough for the monstrous tub of espaliered yellow rose bush that sat off to one side, flanked by a huge (and very heavy) bag of soil amendment, and a much smaller container of something called Miracle-Gro for Roses. “Sherlock, what is all this?”

“I… I bought you roses, Molly,” Sherlock said, with rather less than his usual confidence.

She stared at the plant, which was really a very pretty thing, if a bit out-sized.

Greg said, “He looked at some cut roses, but didn’t like the idea that they’d just wilt in a few days. The florist suggested this garden center out in Battersea, nice selection, but Sherlock had to get the biggest one they had, of course. What with the size of it, and then the traffic to and from, it was a real project just getting it here.”

Sherlock winced a bit. “I thought we’d be able to get it planted before you got home. I wanted to surprise you.”

Molly looked at Sherlock, and then the rosebush again, and then the whole scene. And then back at Sherlock. She said, carefully not laughing, “You did.”

Greg sighed in weariness and relief, as she came forward, Sherlock let his shovel fall, and they embraced and kissed. At length. With such affecting tenderness that Greg finally had to turn away, shaking his head.

Finally Greg heard Molly say, huskily, “We can finish this tomorrow. Come inside.”

“I love you, Molly,” came Sherlock’s soft voice.

“I know. I love you, too,” she said, definitely teary now, and kissed him again, very gently. Then she cleared her throat and looked over at Greg. “Would you like to come in for a drink?”

Greg laughed. “No thanks. I’ll just go on home, if you’re going to give up the gardening for tonight. Let me know if you need help with it tomorrow, though, eh?”

“We will,” Molly said, with a somewhat tremulous smile.

“I’ll text you,” said Sherlock. He came over and held out his hand, and when Greg took it in a firm grip Sherlock said, “And thank you, Greg. For everything.”

Greg gave him a grin and said, quite sincerely, “My pleasure, mate. Any time.”

o-o-o

The Graveyard Shift

Here it was, two weeks before the wedding, and the level of discomfort in the morgue was such that Greg was tempted to knock Sherlock and Molly’s heads together and shout, Snap out of it! Molly had been all business since they’d arrived, and Sherlock seemed to have reverted to his previous mode of existence, causing her to go pale, then pink with anger by turns. She wasn’t just rolling over for him anymore, though. He was smart, but she was, too, and their sniping about the details surrounding the death of Mortimer Revesby, laid out before them on the slab, was almost too fast and furious to follow.

What the devil had got into them? Greg wondered, so distracted by their antics that he almost missed that they’d come to a consensus on Revesby and Sherlock was now insisting that they all go off to the canteen for a cuppa, though there wouldn’t be much sustenance available since it was the middle of the graveyard shift.

“Very well,” Molly finally said, rather coldly. “I’ll meet you up there.”

Sherlock threw up his hands with a sound of disgust and headed for the door.

Greg hovered, uncertain, but Molly said, “Well, go on. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Greg, humbly, and was relieved to see her lip quiver against a smile.

He caught up with a stormy-looking Sherlock, joining him in the lift as he poked abusively at the button for the first floor.

“Sherlock…” Greg began as the doors closed.

“What?” Sherlock glared.

Greg lifted a brow. “You know you’re marrying her in two weeks, right?”

Some of Sherlock’s stiffness seemed to abate. “I… it must look odd to you…”

“It looks very odd. I mean, considering.” Greg thought of these last six months, the obvious love between them, their tender regard for one another.

Sherlock said, “She’s been… a trifle under the weather. Off her feed, so to speak. I specifically didn’t want her working any more graveyard shifts, and then she insisted she had to take this one, fill in for that dolt Sachdev so he could fly off to India for some family gathering. Or for Mike Stamford, really, since he’d agreed to take Sachdev’s shifts but couldn’t tonight, had tickets to take the family to some musical and couldn’t be here in time. But that’s Molly for you. Always letting people take advantage.”

Greg refrained from saying, Yeah, and who’s the worst offender in that category, eh?, but Sherlock must’ve seen he was thinking it for he flushed and looked away, momentarily disconcerted.

The doors opened then and they made their way out and down the hall to the canteen, nice and quiet in the wee hours. There was a small selection of cold comestibles, and drinks of all sorts. Greg picked up a chicken sandwich and a cup of coffee for himself, and Sherlock got teas (one of them decaffeinated, Greg noticed), and a likely dish of tapioca pudding with a dab of whipped cream for Molly (“She likes this pap. God knows why.”)

They sat down at one of the many empty tables, and Sherlock put one packet of sugar in Molly’s tea (the decaf) and three in his own. Then he sat there, sipping and brooding, and making desultory replies to Greg’s attempts at small talk, until finally Molly came in, about five minutes later.

She pursed her lips, but her eyes were softer than they’d been downstairs as she looked at her maddening fiancé. Greg noticed that she did look a bit pale, tired maybe. Sherlock might be right… there was something strange about the whole situation... and the wedding moved forward so suddenly, too, and the odd excuse Sherlock had presented for doing so when Greg had verbally RSVP’d to him the previous week…

Sherlock stood up and pulled out a chair for Molly, and Greg was relieved to see that their eyes were soft on one another, now. Maybe the little storm was blowing over…

But then, as Sherlock sat down again, Molly looked for the first time at the dish of tapioca. An odd, very uncomfortable expression swept over her face and she suddenly went dead white.

“Molly?” Sherlock said sharply, sitting up very straight.

Molly glanced up at him, said, rather muffled, “Have to use the loo,” and was up and out of the room like a shot.

Pursued by an obviously panicked Sherlock.

And of course Greg had to leap up and chase after them as well.

He was down the hall in time to see Molly disappear into the loo, and it was evident that Sherlock was going to follow her right into the ladies’.

“Sherlock!” Greg half-shouted, in a sort of nebulous warning, but he was ignored and Sherlock pushed his way inside.

A female shriek that was not Molly’s sounded, then Sherlock’s scathing reply of “Get OUT!” was heard.

As Greg came up to the door, the shrieker emerged, an older woman, red faced and blazing mad. “This is outrageous! Where is the manager!” she demanded, but continued on down the hall without waiting for any reply from Greg.

Greg frowned after the woman, and hesitated, hearing some vague sounds from inside the loo that might have been retching, and Sherlock speaking in deep, soothing tones. He decided that it would be the better part of valor to just stay outside for a bit, guarding the door from intruders.

Presently, however, all was quiet again. There was no sign of anyone coming to roust out any trespassing males of the species. And finally Greg left his post and shoved his way inside, to make sure everyone was still alive.

He found them in one of the stalls, Sherlock seated on the toilet with a drooping Molly in his lap, her hand crushing the life out of his coat lapel while she softly wept into the opposite shoulder of it. Sherlock’s cheek was laid against her hair, and he was murmuring something, his arms tight around her.

Greg felt more than a little awkward, interrupting them, but he cleared his throat and said, “Everything OK? You… ah… need anything?”

Molly sat up, tear-streaked and sniffling, and Sherlock got a long strip off the loo roll and handed it to her. While she dried her tears and blew her nose, he said to Greg, “She’s going home. I’ve already texted Mike.”

“But I’ll be on call,” Molly said to Sherlock, with gentle insistence.

“Yes, very well,” Sherlock said, in the interest of détente. “And I’ll come with you if you have to return tonight. But no more, for all our sakes. Er… I mean both.” Sherlock glanced furtively at Greg. “Her’s and mine.”

Greg gave him a crooked smile. “And junior’s?”

Molly gave a watery chuckle and laid her head against Sherlock’s shoulder again, closing her eyes for a moment.

But Sherlock flushed, hesitated, then said, stiffly, “We don’t want it generally known as yet.”

Greg was grinning, now. “So that’s why the wedding’s in the dead of winter. I was wondering if that might be it. How far along?”

“Just six weeks,” said Sherlock, sounding a bit worried.

“But I’m fine!” Molly said, sitting up again, and looking at Greg for the first time. “It’s just a little nausea. Morning sickness, you know, because of the hormonal changes. Though unfortunately it’s not just in the morning, in spite of the name. I don’t think I’ll be able to look at tapioca pudding again for a while -- and I didn’t even get to eat any!”

Sherlock smiled. “I’ll make you some dry toast when we get home.”

“Yes,” said Molly. “I think I’d like that.”

They got up, then, and when Molly went over to the sink and mirror to address the ravages (which really were very minor -- there was some color back in her cheeks and a glow of peace in her expression), Sherlock straightened his slightly crumpled and tear-stained coat and, indeed, his whole person, and said to Greg, “I… uh… once again, I trust we can rely on your discretion?”

Greg chuckled to see him like this, so worried, and so proud, all at the same time.

How far he’d come. How far they’d all come.

So he said, “Of course you can. Molly Hooper isn’t the only one who can keep a secret now, is she?” And he gave the young git a congratulatory slap on the shoulder.

~.~

#sherlollyweek2018 #Sherlock #sherlolly

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echelonlab-blog · 6 years

Text

Bound By Ink -- Chapter 51

Disclaimer: Fiction.

Warnings: None

Tagging: @hazeleyedleto @msroxyblog @letojokerownsme @miss-shannanigans @snewsome756 @maliciousalishious @nikkitasevoli@meghan12151977@sanellv@ambolton@bradlea23@spillinginkwithlove@alexis7215@dezmarz@pezziecoyote@whoistheprettiest@avaj99@iridescxntsolitude@pheenixpeterson@guccilowell@blondiefrommars@rowen1976@phoebehalliwell1984@thathipstaninja@darthjokerisyourfather@letsbemybatman @prettymisc@lylabell2013@mandyglam@pandaliciouz@just-me-obsessing@echelon-1969@carolinapb-me@marilyndioncre

Reckless Ink was closed on Mondays. Exceptions were sometimes made for prescheduled appointments and special events, but it was generally the one day of the week you could be sure everyone had off. Of course it was the one that Nadia chose when concocting her brilliant plan.

Nine a.m. found the entire crew of us – Shannon, Jayce, and me, and Nadia, Curtis, Rick, and Thor... even Jen and Avery who only worked part-time, assembled at Mark's door with coffee, donuts and cleaning implements in hand. Mark answered our knock still in his pajamas, rubbing sleepily at his eyes, and I felt a strong tug of nostalgia-fueled affection at the sight of him. We had shared a lot together, and maybe this Stephanie episode wasn't his proudest moment, but I would always love Mark. He was, underneath everything, one of the most decent people I had ever known and it was his good example that was part of the reason Jayce was the wonderful kid he was. Mark had learned a hard lesson in an ugly way. I was glad to be part of helping him pick up the pieces.

“What is all this?” Mark asked he scratched his beard and looked at the group of us assembled on his porch.

“Your friends,” Nadia explained. “We're here to help you get back on your feet. That's what friends do.”

We pushed past him and started setting things up, and I got my first real look at the damage Stephanie had caused, well the physical damage anyway. I could see Mark had done some picking up but that did nothing to disguise the spray paint on the walls or the missing equipment or smashed cabinets. I wondered if she had trashed the backyard too. This beach house had been Mark's dream, he had talked about getting a place since Jayce was small, one with lots of wood and windows, a bedroom with a view of the ocean, and a big patio he could barbeque on while having some beers and listening to the surf. We had come to view the house together three years ago, and while I was standing in that bedroom, the one with the beautiful view of the ocean, the one that was Mark's dream, I had realized that I didn't share that dream with him anymore. We had filed for divorce a month later and the next day he went back and made an offer on this place. This was the house where I realized our marriage was over. It had always made me a little sad every time I stepped inside it. Now I just felt angry and cheated on Mark's behalf. This was his dream, and nothing about it seemed to go right. It didn't seem fair.

“You guys don't have to do this,” he protested as Nadia started directing people, pressing a cup of coffee into Mark's hand before fishing out the breakfast she had brought for him.

“Of course we don't boss,” Thor said. “And you didn't have to let me take those three weeks off with pay when my daughter was born and in the NICU with that infection.”

“And you didn't have to let me use your car to go take my finals after mine dropped its transmission,” Jen added.

“And you didn't have to bail my ass out of jail after that DUI and then sit me down and make me understand how much the drinking was fucking up my life,” Curtis pointed out. I gave him a hug. That was a particularly ugly point in Curtis's life that he had put well behind him and he didn't like to bring it up.

“And you didn't have to keep forgiving me every time I fucked up either, but somehow you always did. Still do. And I think you should know how grateful for that I am.” Nadia gave him a big hug and I think if Mark was the blushing type he would have. “You've done so much for everyone else. Let us do this thing for you now.”

Mark nodded and quickly excused himself, stepping out of the big French doors in his living room to go stand on his patio and presumably regain his composure. I gave him a minute before stepping out to join him.

“You okay there, Bossman?” I asked him, using a nickname I hadn't invoked since we had been married.

Mark nodded but I could see he was still choked up. “I don't deserve this. Not after the way I behaved. Not after the way I abandoned Jayce.”

“Hey....” I placed my palm against his back, rubbing in circles. “We all fuck up eventually. Yours was a long time coming so I guess it got to be super epic. Jayce may still be mad but he will forgive you eventually. It's going to be okay. We've got you.”

“Thanks. I don't deserve your forgiveness either but … “ he shook his head. “Thanks anyway.”

We spent the morning just sorting and cleaning out broken things, making a list of what was damaged or had just disappeared altogether. After stopping for sandwiches we got back to work, the gang dividing into teams to tackle different repainting projects. I watched Shannon setting up power tools in the backyard as he prepared to cut wood to repair the built-ins in the dining room that had been smashed to splinters by Stephanie's exit. Damn, that man could look hot doing anything. I watched him for a few minutes, a satisfied smile on my face. When I looked up I saw Mark, who had also paused from pulling some broken baseboards up to watch Nadia painting one dining room wall. She looked adorable in overalls, with a bandanna covering her braids and a smudge of paint on her cheek, and the sort of dazed look Mark was giving her was probably the same one I had just been wearing as I watched Shannon bending over that sawhorse. I couldn't help but chuckle. He was moving right along.

By the time we were ready for dinner, the bulk of the work had been done and I was pretty proud of our little crew. Nadia grabbed her phone to order something to eat.

“At least let me buy everyone dinner,” Mark told her, trying to reach for her phone.

“Nuh-uh,” Nadia said, quickly turning away from him. “This is part of the surprise.” She had an extra large grin on her face as she told whoever was on the other end of the call that it was dinner time. I wondered what that was about, she hadn't shared anything with me beyond our cleanup plans.

A few minutes later Jeff, the guy that lived next door to Nadia and usually babysat her dogs showed up, getting out of his work truck with a big box in his arms and Banjo and Buckley, Nadia's two beloved Keeshonds bounding after him. The giant dark nosed balls of fluff spotted their mama and came dashing across the yard, nearly knocking her over in their enthusiasm. She giggled as she sank down to pet them, and it was almost like seeing a completely different Nadia, an unguarded version of her that was simply in the moment rather than calculating how to survive the next blow that life was going to deal her. I had gotten to know her quite a bit better recently and I was realizing how desperately she needed just one person to stay in her life. It was no small wonder she had thrown herself into repairing these relationships after screwing up so badly, when a lot of people would have run away in shame. We were all she had.

Jeff sat the box down on the dining room table and the smell of grilled meat products immediately filled the space, overwhelming the odor of new paint and freshly cut wood. He exchanged a few words with Thor and then he and Curtis headed back out to the truck, unlocking the back and disappearing inside. A few moments later they reemerged from its interior, carrying a gigantic sofa between them. I recognized it at once. It was the one that had previously sat in my mother's living room.

“What is going on?” Mark asked.

Nadia beamed. “I've been calling around for the last few days, finding things to replace what got broken or stolen. We took up a collection and we didn't have much, but a lot of people gave us things they weren't using anymore either. We'll have you set up as good as new before you go to bed. On your new bed,” she finished with a giggle. I was really impressed. She had gone all out for Mark. Especially if she somehow talked Barbara out of that steamship of a sofa she had been so fond of.

Mark stood in stunned silence shaking his head and trying to look stoic as the guys filed past him with item after item, refilling his house and repairing what damage they could. I could tell he was deeply moved by all of this, no matter how neutral he tried to keep his expression. When Nadia started digging through the box to set out dinner his resolve broke and he threw his arms around her, hugging her tightly while she spluttered until she gave in and hugged him back too. The hopeful look on her face filled in any additional blanks. I had to get these two together somehow. They needed each other.

#shannon leto fanfiction #shannon leto fic #30 seconds to mars fanfiction #30STM #Bound By Ink

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reekierevelator · 4 years

Text

The Last Word

a short story

Going to visit my sister Honesty on the other side of town I sat on the bus daydreaming about what my life could have been like if hadn’t lost so much schooling through illness. I’d been doing quite well up till then.

I was so full of confidence and playfulness then that friends shortened Felicity to Fizz. I’d been a happy-go-lucky girl, game for anything, full of joie de vivre and always looking for new experiences. I sometimes wondered how many times mum and dad had apologised to neighbours for me stealing their apples or playing games that involved running through their flower beds shrieking at the top of my voice. I was so full of life.

And good at schoolwork too. In the last year of Primary School Mrs Carmichael, the teacher, confided in me ‘Felicity, we expect great things of you’. She was sure I’d do very well at High School and have a great career. It hadn’t worked out like that.

Half way through first year I became ill. My mind sort of went blank. The doctor tried various things but nothing seemed to work. After a few months I gradually recovered, but I wasn’t the same. The life had gone out of me. I felt a big piece of my brain had been mislaid.

Of course since then, despite poor concentration and weak exam results, I made it to College, and eventually got a decent job in human relations with an engineering company. I had various boyfriends and several close relationships, but somehow something always stopped me from getting married.

I missed my bus stop and had to walk back through some neighbouring streets I hadn’t seen since childhood. Ambling on through a smart street of bungalows I noticed one in the distance with a fully loaded skip parked in the driveway. I remembered it as the house where Aunt Lydia and Uncle Francis lived. Something about it made me feel uneasy, my palms sweating. They weren’t really my aunt and uncle, just great friends of our parents, so that was what we children were encouraged to call them. I knew Lydia had died some years ago, not long after my own parents had passed away. I guessed Francis must be in his seventies by now. It was unlikely at that age that he had decided to rebuild the house from the inside out and concluded he too had gone. New owners were probably going for a total refurbishment. And when I got closer I saw the post standing in the overgrown front garden, the sign pinned to it announcing ‘For Sale’.

Everything was in the skip, almost the complete contents of the house. Lydia and Francis had never had children. I vaguely remembered Francis having a brother, a younger man who lived in Cornwall. He had visited once when I was small, our family attending a little party for him at Lydia and Francis’s. I supposed the house had been inherited by him or his children. I stared at all the junk piled high in the skip, disgusted to recognise lots of things that charity shops would have been glad to receive. As well as furniture, all sorts of tools, pictures, and ornaments had been tossed in willy-nilly. I glimpsed the eye of a large, porcelain, russet coloured dog staring back at me and a bolt of electricity ran up my spine.

My sister still lived in the flat where we were brought up, one of eight flats comprising a nondescript concrete block whose exterior looked shabbier every time I saw it. But Honesty kept the flat as neat and tidy as herself. Though small, the flat seemed more spacious with only her living there. In the past my parents, Honesty, me, and my brother James had all squeezed in.

Honesty had always been a straightforward woman. She called a spade a spade, avoided prevarication and euphemism, and had little time for fancy clothes or fancy words. Her mental resilience compensated for the fact that physically she had always been the weakling of the family. She had angina, and had repeatedly endured pneumonia and bronchitis. But though she regularly contracted illnesses, rather than succumb to them, or to the pity they evoked, she confronted them bravely. She was frank about her position and expected others to behave exactly the same.

We sat on my parents’ solid old armchairs, still with their antimacassars, and chatted over tea and biscuits. Honesty wore a honey coloured cardigan over a prim white blouse with black slacks and plain shoes. She confirmed my guesswork, except Francis was not dead, only gone to live in some eventide home.

Apparently he had granted a nephew in Cornwall financial power of attorney and the nephew had immediately decided to sell the bungalow to cover the expenses of his new accommodation. The room in the eventide home didn’t allow for items to be transferred from the bungalow so he had simply called in a house clearance firm, told them to junk everything, and put the vacant house on the market. Honesty talked a little about Francis and Lydia.

‘Aunt Lydia was lovely; always so keen to see us. In some ways we were substitutes for the children she never had.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘I suppose we were.’ Lydia had often carried out babysitting duties when mum and dad had a night out. She was good company, playing games with us and reading us stories.

‘There were those joint family get-togethers for birthdays and anniversary celebrations. And we always got together for a day over Christmas. They were good fun, especially when I wasn’t feeling too strong.’

‘Yes, I remember those parties Honesty. With all the big meals and fancy cakes we couldn’t afford at home.’

‘And do you remember all the outings, the trips they took us on?’

‘Oh yes, all dressed up in our Sunday best. Sometimes they’d take us to the seaside, out into the countryside, to funfairs, or to play centres.’

‘That’s right. You had such a lovely powder blue dress, being that bit older. It made such a change from your usual patched dungarees. And they would buy us presents, things that mum and dad could never waste money on, like that giant teddy bear Francis once gave me. Or the real silver bracelet he got for you. And remember the big toy cars he used to buy for James. Lots of things we’d never have had at the time without them.’

‘Yes, I the outings were interesting,’ I added tentatively. But somehow a chill ran through me. I gave a little shiver.

‘Are you cold?’ Honesty asked. She got up to turn on her gas fire and doing so said ‘Lydia talked to us about all sorts of interesting things, didn’t she, like the new films she’d seen, dances she’d gone to, and books and late night television programmes. In many ways she introduced us to the grown up world.’

‘Yes’, I agreed, as Honesty plopped herself down on the armchair again, ‘I remember knowing about all those things made us feel very grown up.’ But in saying it I felt strangely anything but adult.

‘Well, truth be told Felicity, no point wallowing in nostalgia, being too loyal to a past seen through rose-tinted spectacles. You’ll no doubt recall how Francis would bore us, rambling on about mind-numbing politics and football…’

‘And then he’d try to pull funny faces and crack silly jokes.’

‘Yes, those jokes. They weren’t the ones he’d tell when our parents were around. Looking back on it they were often unsuitable for children, very sexist, off-colour.’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘Of course you do Felicity. There was something not quite pleasant about Francis.’

I gave another involuntary shiver and said ‘Well, it was good of them volunteering to take us out. Mum and dad must have been struggling with the three of us.’

‘Well, being a few years younger, me and James were probably more manageable. But you, you were a real livewire, quite a handful for them. Yes,’ Honesty continued, ‘maybe that was why they sometimes just took you out on your own, leaving mum and dad to manage us littler ones. Even when Lydia was ill, Francis would still sometimes come to take you out. James resented you getting all the fun and attention. Myself, I wasn’t jealous. Somehow I wasn’t so keen on Uncle Francis.’

I remembered when Lydia became ill. I didn’t really understand what was wrong with her. She was in hospital for a long time and I went with my mum, taking bunches of flowers and Lucozade. But it was true, Francis had still been keen to take me out. Mum said it helped Uncle Francis to have a bit of a distraction at weekends while Lydia was still being treated in hospital.

I’d drifted off in my thoughts and was brought up sharply when Honesty reminded me ‘It was soon after that that you got ill yourself, wasn’t it Felicity?’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘In bed for weeks. I couldn’t visit Aunt Lydia any more.’

‘She came out of hospital long before you got better, didn’t she?’

‘Yes, long before I got better,’ I reluctantly confirmed.

I was silent for a moment and Honesty’s expression became serious. She leaned forward to peer into my face.

‘What you mean is you never really did get better, did you?’ Honesty never shied away from stating things directly. ‘You were never quite the same girl after that illness. Our exciting big sister Fizz turned into a quiet and subdued young lady. Your school-work went downhill. Your report cards said you didn’t, or you couldn’t, concentrate.’

There was a stone lodged in my stomach and try as I might I couldn’t dislodge it. I couldn’t prevent my eyes from watering. And then Honesty said ‘Surely you can tell me, Felicity, something’s obviously bothering you. Whatever it is, I’m sure you you’d be better getting it off your chest.’

My breathing became shorter as the thick black fog at the back of my mind began to lift. The pretty blue dress scrunched up and my eyes fixed on those of the russet coloured porcelain dog, the ornament staring at me from the bookshelf. Though I’d tried to protect myself, and everyone else, from it all those years the words were suddenly tumbling out, a torrent released at last. Those outings with Francis without Lydia had preyed on my mind for such a long time. He would drive back early from outings, then take me to his home for lemonade and biscuits. Then one day he said he’d show me some new games to play. And after it happened I felt so ill and couldn’t bear to go there again.

Honesty wrapped me in her sensible arms and comforted me. ‘My God, I’m so sorry Felicity. Somehow I knew something had happened, something had changed you. But it was all put down to a mystery illness, an unknown virus.’

Eventually, much later, Honesty called a taxi to take me home. All the way back in the taxi and far into the night that day with Francis played and replayed in my mind like a rabid dog feeding at will.

It was a week later that my brother James called me. He’d been trying to call Honesty and got no reply. He lived in Manchester and after trying several more times he called me. I went round and she didn’t answer the door. I called the police. They found her sitting in an armchair. Her heart had given out. Sudden cardiac arrest they said. I was devastated.

It was only a day or two after that that I got the strange phone call.

‘Hello Felicity, you probably don’t remember me, it’s Kenver Angwin. We met once or twice a long time ago when I came up to Edinburgh with my parents to visit Uncle Francis.’

‘Ah, so it must be you who’s selling Francis’s bungalow?’

‘That’s right. I was very sorry to hear about your sister, Honesty’

‘Thanks, it’s left me in pieces. And your uncle, he’s in a care home now?’

‘That’s right. I never really knew him. Got him a room in a nice place by the seaside. That’s why I’m calling. It’s the funeral.’

‘The funeral?’

‘Francis heard about it. He intends to come. I’ve booked him a taxi. He says he was very close to your family, a big friend of your mum and dad. He wanted me to take him but it’s not worth me travelling all the way from Cornwall. I thought you could look out for him, make sure he gets back alright?’

‘Yes, ok,’ I replied automatically.

‘I don’t suppose the funeral will take too long anyway, will it?’

‘It’ll be a simple affair Kenver. Honesty didn’t like a lot of fuss. Plain living and plain speaking – that was her mantra. It’s already organised. I’ve briefed a celebrant. He knows all about the main events in Honesty’s life. But he’d still like me to add a few words myself. I have to say I’ve been a bit too shaken to think about it. I don’t really have much idea what I can add.’

‘Yes, alright,’ he replied brusquely, having quickly lost interest. ‘Let me know time and place and I’ll pass it on.’

‘Warriston Crematorium, Thursday the 12th, 11am,’ I said, concisely as possible, and he ended the call.

On the morning of Honesty’s funeral I woke up drenched in sweat having tossed and turned all night. Nightmares in which I was pursued through graveyards at dead of night by blood-dripping vampires and a zombie in a powder blue dress had seemed so real my body was scratched where I’d been desperately searching for my phone to call for help. No help had been forthcoming. And then a russet coloured dog with bared fangs and piercing eyes had pinned me down. His claws were about to rip my flesh. The noise that woke me had been my own screaming. It took a lot of deep breaths before my heart rate steadied, only for it to rise again as I contemplated the funeral, the funeral at which I had to ‘say a few words’ about Honesty, but still hadn’t managed to prepare anything.

Eventually I arose and dared to look in the mirror. With no make-up I was confronted by a rather gaunt and haggard face, that of a grieving, prematurely middle-aged woman. I sagged under the challenge of wrinkles and more grey hairs.

But before dying, Honesty had managed to release a pressure valve in my brain. Things that had been squashed down, forced out of sight for so long, had risen up and been allowed to take shape again. Francis had indeed been a big friendly giant of my early childhood. And Lydia’s illness – I understood when my mother had explained years later about endometriosis and complications such as renal cell carcinoma that can occur with hysterectomies. And I was finally coming to a full understanding of my own illness. In that first year at High School I couldn’t comprehend what had gone wrong with Lydia, just as my own mum and dad couldn’t really understand what was wrong with me. They had initially imagined maybe chicken pox or the ‘flu, then some mysterious virus. Later the doctor guessed it was something, maybe somehow coming out in sympathy with Lydia and her serious illness. And when mum noticed I was no longer my old effervescent little self she surmised I was simply growing up, changing from a wild harum-scarum child into a more sensibly subdued and self-aware teenager. And my dad put the lack of concentration on schoolwork down to ‘teenage hormones’. He occasionally asked if there was anything wrong, but I couldn’t bear to trespass of adult friendships, didn’t really understand enough to explain anything, and just wanted to forget. When I had recovered enough I focused more on spending time with, and talking to, other local girls my own age.

But I still couldn’t help seeing Francis and Lydia sometimes. Francis always tried to be very nice to me, bringing me lovely presents for my birthday and Christmas. I had considered it all dead and buried, all pressed into a tiny corner of my mind and forgotten. But the eulogy? I had been unable to set pen to paper. A valedictory address for Honesty was proving too hard to countenance any flummery, hypocrisy, or secrecy. Whenever I started to think about it my last visit with Honesty took over all my thoughts; a fury would suddenly burst out again.

So on the morning of the funeral, in my black suit, black handbag over my arm, hair dyed, face powdered and lipsticked, I sat beside James in the back seat of the black limousine and confessed the whole story to him too. It was a terrible shock for him. He was aghast. His face grew ashen and his lips drew so tight I feared he had murder on his mind.

He said ‘You’ve been so stoic, sis, way too stoic, you’ve borne this burden on your own for far too many years. You were only a child. You were exploited. I didn’t know, but I’m bloody well going to do something about it now!’

And he would have too. But I took out my mobile phone and made a call. And by the time our slow limousine reached the crematorium I’d convinced him that such a reaction was pointless. I reminded him that we were there to celebrate Honesty’s life, not to commit a crime. ‘And anyway’, I said, ‘Honesty lived a life of straight talking. She despised people who had to resort to violence because they couldn’t bring themselves to fully express what they thought in plain words. Most importantly she never doubted the truth of what I told her. I think that’s how I have to honour her memory now.’

Much as I dreaded giving pain to any grieving neighbours or to Francis’s distant relations, maybe even becoming seen as some kind of pariah amongst those who would refuse to believe me, I now knew what I had to do. Speaking well of the old people was all very nice but it wasn’t always honest. It’s better to be as candid about the living as the dead.’

It was a reasonably conventional funeral with conventional songs and prayers. The celebrant gave Honesty’s fully detailed life story and then suddenly it was my turn.

‘Honesty’s sister will now offer a few more personal comments on our dear departed friend and loved-one’, intoned the celebrant.

From the front pew I moved slowly up to the lectern and turned to face the scattered congregation of solemn faces, but the only one I saw was Honesty’s ghostly face looking up at me, firm and expectantly.

‘Honesty’s major gift to us all was a willingness to see things as they are and to help others do the same, boldly and unflinchingly. She approached her own health issues candidly and unsentimentally. She carried that attitude into all aspects of her life. Through Honesty I’ve been able to confront my own demons in a frank and unadorned fashion.’

In a pew at the back of the chapel I saw an aged ‘Uncle’ Francis leering up at me.

‘When I was a child I knew a friend of my father’s as Uncle Francis. He’s here today. That’s him with the long black coat and tartan scarf in the pew at the back.’ I raised my arm and pointed him out.

Heads turned quizzically and Francis shrank down into the pew, pretending to stare into a hymn book. My parents liked him. But there’s an evil side to Francis. In the past he’s done horrible things to me, and possibly others. I’m not seeking revenge. I’m seeking a frank acknowledgement of what was done and how it affected my life and the lives of others. I’m seeking an openness and awareness in society about the perpetrators of such things. People who look normal but really aren’t.’

There was consternation and audible gasps from the congregation.

Then I added my coup de grâce.

Addressing him directly, I said ‘Francis, your nephew wanted me to look out for you. I have. I will. You’ll find two policemen waiting for you outside this chapel. There’s no hiding place any more - not for you, and for me neither. I have finally been released from my mental prison. My pain is being laid to rest. But you, your pain hasn’t started yet. You’re finally going to get what you truly deserve.’

#Reekie Revelator #short story #crime #scotland

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