Chapter Text
The marketplace was quiet that morning, yet Pete felt eyes on him from the moment he started pumping the bellows. He kept looking up, expecting to find a customer waiting, but there was no one. Other shops were opening their doors and setting out their wares, but no one was giving him a second look.
It was as unsettling as the taste in the air, something salted like fish though no one was cooking yet. Pete tried to concentrate on his work, pounding out the shape of a new pot. When he glanced up again, he finally caught his observer, not on the street, but in the twitch of curtains across the square. It was one of the finer houses, the kind that Pete had never been invited to grace the entrance of. This one belonged to a great artist, who carried himself like a peacock, his great ruffled collar a signal of his wealth.
Pete didn’t pay him any mind, except to mend the things that his staff brought him, same as anyone.
Except that the artist had an apprentice. Or rather, he had many, but there was one in particular that Pete observed every day. Dark hair, merry eyes and an ironic grin that he gave to Pete magnanimously every time he walked by with his easel and canvas. There was usually a spot of paint on his hand-me-down finery.
They had never exchanged a word, just those quick looks, but Pete had spent many years living off of quick looks. He knew the measure of a man’s eyes on him. He knew how to return it. Now the curtains were twitching and a thrum of heat went through him.
“Sir,” a younger apprentice appeared at his booth not ten minutes later, “our household has need of your skills this morning, if you could spare your time.”
“Suppose I could,” Pete said calmly, then washed his face and hands briskly in the rain barrel. The boy eyed him with amusement, so maybe he didn’t look as calm as he thought he was showing.
They went through the back and then the boy disappeared down the halls. The apprentice with the mischievous eyes came down the back stairs. He smiled when he saw Pete.
“I’m sorry to summon you like that Master Blacksmith,” he said. “My teacher is not often away and I thought to take advantage.”
“I don’t mind,” he rocked back on his heels. He was no longer so sure of his call here. The apprentice was handsome and young and surely had his pick of interests. Maybe they truly just needed the skills of the blacksmith. “What do you need mended?”
“Oh, nothing at all,” the apprentice practically purred. “I’m working on a new set of pieces. A part of my work to becoming a master myself, you see. I need a model. Someone strong, like you.”
“You want me to model for you?”
“If you would,” the apprentice regarded him, mischief leached away. Pete was being studied. Weighed. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I can pay you your usual fee for your time. I need only some sketches over the next few days.”
It was a strange request, but Pete was too enraptured to say no. He followed the apprentice up the stairs and he let himself be posed by the window. It wasn’t hard to sit still. Or it was, but he was amply distracted by watching the man work. He had a serious countenance when he became engrossed in his work, all traces of implied lasciviousness gone.
For three mornings, Pete allowed himself to be pulled away from his rightful work. For three mornings, he sat as the apprentice sketched then began to lay down paint.
At the end of the third morning, the apprentice sat down his brush and approached Pete. He’d done that before, to minutely adjust his pose or to twitch the curtains in one direction or another. Today he did neither.
“My master returns this afternoon,” he said, his hand landing on top of Pete’s. “I will not have so much time for my own projects.”
“That’s too bad,” Pete said helplessly, staring up at him.
“Nor will I have any time left to convince you into my bed,” he said wryly. “I wasted our hours.”
Pete’s heart beat in double time, “I don’t need convincing. I didn’t from the start.”
“No?” the apprentice smiled.
“No,” Pete smiled back.
The man’s bed was small, a narrow cot in the eaves of the house. Pete barely noticed. The apprentice was a force of nature, once unleashed. His hands, with their colorful fingernails all messy with pigment, drew pleasure from Pete as easily as they summoned images to paper.
They were both working hard, Pete’s feet flat on the tiny bed as he found leverage to thrust up into him, the apprentice rocking back to meet each stroke. The world had narrowed to a sweaty, pleasure soaked pinpoint.
That was when the man’s eyes snapped open where they had been closed in pleasure. The mischief and the delight were cut through with something so ageless that Pete’s hips stuttered. That knowing look fell on his face.
“Do you smell the sea?” he asked.
“I’ve never seen the ocean,” Pete frowned. “I grew up here.”
“Can’t you taste it in the air?”
The salt. The fishy brine. Pete nodded.
“The water is rising,” the man said with some satisfaction.
“Lucius,” Pete’s hands tightened on his hips.
“Yes,” Lucius smiled at him, wide and bright. “Cry out with me, beloved. Loud enough for them to hear.”
Then Lucius started riding him again and Pete needed no further inducement. They came together and their twin wails of pleasure rattled the window panes.
Outside, it began to rain.
July- Lucius
“I don’t want to tell him,” Lucius groused.
“Yes, you do,” Pete didn’t look up from his newspaper.
“Don’t tell me how I feel,” he snapped.
“Okay, babe,” Pete turned the page.
“...yeah, okay, I do want to tell him. I need to give him notice,” Lucius sighed. “Sorry.”
“S’okay,” Pete reached out, took his hand in his.
“I’m nervous. And sad. And scared. What if this is all a giant mistake?”
Pete gave him his full attention at last. “It’s not a mistake. C’mon.”
“No, I know. I just....”
“Yeah,” Pete drew him, pressed a kiss to his temple. “But you’ll feel better once it’s done. And when the work really gets started.”
“What if I’m terrible at it?” he mumbled.
“Then you’ll work hard to get better. Never seen you fail yet.”
“Now that’s a lie, you’ve seen me fail at a lot of things. You’re just sweet enough to pretend you don’t remember.”
“Not at this,” Pete said with surety. “You’re going to be late.”
“Ugh, yeah, thanks.”
Lucius walked to the restaurant briskly, but he was running late and he wasn’t surprised to find Stede already sitting at their usual table. There was a shaft of sunlight falling over it, picking up the remaining gold highlights in the Stede’s thinning hair. His face had gained more wrinkles, but Lucius thought it flattered him, washed away the last of the naïve bumbling man that he’d met all those years ago. In his place was a man who had earned his wrinkles, and the smiles that had put them there.
“Heya,” Lucius sat down across from him.
“I ordered us some appetizers,” Stede said in lieu of a greeting. “I missed breakfast.”
“Sounds good,” Lucius said.
Stede’s eyes narrowed, “What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t even say anything yet!”
“You never just go along with me ordering for you. Even if you did, you would make me tell you exactly what I got.”
“Maybe I’m just not hungry,” he muttered, but he couldn’t keep it up for more than a few seconds. “I have to tell you something.”
“All right,” Stede sat up even straighter. “I’m listening.”
“I-” Lucius came to a stop. The words were stuck in his throat as he stared helplessly at Stede.
“Lucius,” Stede said his name with such warmth that it almost brought tears to his eyes. “Dear boy, what is it?”
Lucius, having recently not celebrated his forty-fifth birthday, was no more a boy than he was a horse at this point, but he held the endearment close to himself anyway. There was no one left in the world who cherished him the way one would a grown child, except for Stede.
“I got a job offer,” the words finally spilled from him. “A good one. To run a gallery.”
“Goodness!” Stede sat back, eyes wide. “That’s wonderful! You’re certainly eminently qualified.”
“I can’t...it’s full time,” he went on. “With insurance and benefits. The salary is a cut, but I think anything would be at this point. I don’t- I could still do Friday nights sometimes. I want to. But not the rest of it.”
Stede’s face didn’t fall. His smile didn’t dim. “I never thought I’d get your assistance for as long as I’ve had it. I’ve been very selfish, keeping you to myself.”
“No,” Lucius protested. “I wasn’t ready to go. I’m still not. It’s- I don’t know if I’ll do it any justice.”
“Of course you will,” Stede snorted. “You’ll be magnificent and we’ll come to all your openings to inflate your numbers if you need us, but I doubt you will.”
“I’ll need you,” he said, reaching across the table, infinitely glad that Stede took his hand. “Just because I’m not being paid to go to lunch with you doesn’t mean that I won’t.”
“Glad to hear it,” Stede laughed, “how long a notice period can you give? Replacing you won’t be easy. Or perhaps not doable at all.”
“Please,” Lucius scoffed. “Shawna took over bookings two months ago and I trained her on your scheduling. She’s been making all your appointments and things for ages. Owen can’t do any more hours at the bar, but he and the Swede agreed to train whoever you hire. I can’t tell you what to do, but I’d recommend at least two new full timers to keep things going. Ingrid loves doing the announcing, and she’ll take point on the youth activities. They were her baby anyway.”
“I see,” Stede squeezed his hand and shook his head. “You’ve been working on replacing yourself for some time.”
“I wasn’t thinking about leaving, exactly,” he frowned. “The opportunity fell into my lap recently. Just....”
“It was time,” Stede put him out of his misery. “Sometimes we just know. You’re ready for a new adventure.”
“I am,” he sighed. “Thank you though. For....well. For everything.”
“We both know that I should be thanking you,” Stede shook his head. “You held my life together, all these years. Even now, you’re making sure that I’ll feel the change as little as possible. But Lucius, no one can really replace you. Not to me. So yes, we’ll still be having lunch. Though maybe, once and a while, you might pick up the tab?”
“Hell no,” Lucius laughed, relief coursing through him. “You’re still way richer than me.”
They spent the rest of lunch talking about Lucius’ new role and what kind of wardrobe might be required for it. The sun went on shining directly on their table, spring making itself known.
August- Alma
“Rover!” Charlie called out from the stepladder. “I’m out of zipties!”
“Whose fault is that?” Erika pushed herself out of her chair, and gave Alma a wink. “I told you I’d help before!”
“You’re right, I’m wrong,” Charlie rolled his eyes, Alma could tell even from a distance. “Save me, brave hero!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she laughed and crossed the yard to help him finish hanging the lights.
Charlie and Felix’s house was a recent acquisition, and the backyard was still an overgrown mess in a lot of places, but the patio had been redone and the grill worked, so a housewarming party was on the schedule for the evening. Alma had come by the night before to steal some time with her girlfriend and had somehow found herself helping to set up.
She went back to cutting up the vegetables set in front of her while Erika and Charlie bickered over lights. There was music spilling out from the house and she hummed along as she worked. It was peaceful out here. She understood the appeal even if she had no intentions of settling back into the suburbs herself.
“Hey, thanks,” Felix maneuvered out of the house holding a heavy tray. He set it down near the grill then sat down in the seat Erika had vacated. “Sorry to get you into all this.”
“It’s fine,” she finished slicing up the carrot in front of her. “You’re doing the heavy lifting.”
“Some of it,” he agreed. “Just another room or two to go and we’ll be fully moved in. Homeowners. Wild.”
“Guess that makes you a real adult.”
Felix snorted, “I don’t think they hand that card out to people that play games for a living.”
“You earn enough ‘playing games’,” she raised her eyebrows. “And you’ve got a mortgage, a husband, and an agent. What more do you want?”
“Well.”
Alma set down the knife and turned to look at him. “What?”
“Okay,” he sucked in a breath. “So. I want to say as clearly as possible that you can say no and we will both totally get it. A hundred percent. You probably should say no. It’s a really big ask.”
“Do you need money?” she frowned. Charlie was pretty good with managing his trust and the house was modest by anyone’s standards. She started running numbers, trying to think what could’ve happened.
“No!” He said, eyes wide. “No. We’re good. Even if we weren’t, we wouldn’t ask you for that, c’mon.”
“I’d ask you,” she shrugged and pulled over a piece of celery. “Before I asked the parental units.”
“...okay, that’s cool. If you ever need it,” Felix said carefully. “But it’s not about money.”
“All right. What is it then?”
He told her. Alma set the knife down.
“Really?”
“Really,” he said earnestly. “But like I said, we totally get a no.”
“That’s why you’re asking me instead of him,” she realized.
“Yeah, we figured, it’d be way easier for you to say no to me than him.”
Which was fair. She couldn’t think of many things that she’d refuse Charlie these days. It was as if the cool distance of their childhood had melted under the force of their combined will and they were closer than Alma had ever hoped to be with him.
“I need to think. And talk to Erika.”
“Yeah, of course. It’s not a rush on an answer either,” he assured her, speaking slowly enough that she knew he was trying hard not to stutter. Nerves. “We don’t have a schedule or anything. Just...we wanted to ask.”
Alma picked up the knife again. She chopped very thin slices of celery, watching each translucent half-moon fall against the cutting board.
“If I were to say yes, I’d want something in return.”
“What’s that?” Felix leaned in.
She told him and he nodded. “Yeah, of course. I mean. I have to ask him, but I can’t imagine he’d say no to that. Seems more than fair.”
“All right then.”
The party was pleasant, but Alma was distracted for most of it. She knew Erika noticed. She could feel her concern as Alma drifted from conversation to conversation. When they were at last back in the guest bedroom, spooned together, Alma told her.
“Wow. That’s a big ask,” Erika rubbed a hand over Alma’s back, slow warm circles. “What do you want to do?”
“I wanted to talk to you about it first.”
“I think it’s your choice,” Erika said firmly. “Whatever you want to do, I’ll back you.”
“It could be our choice,” she said and told her the last part. The struck deal. “I mean. Not for a while. Not for years maybe. Not at all if you don’t want to. I just thought...we should have that. As an option.”
“Wow,” Erika sucked in a breath. “Trust you to come up with a plan on the spot like that.”
“It’s not a plan yet,” Alma said firmly. “It’s a possibility. I’m not making some kind of final decision. It’s not just my life anymore. It’s ours.”
“I always thought I’d get married first.”
“Then we’ll do that if you want. I want to,” she kissed Erika’s throat, the pretty hollow just over her clavicle. “I wasn’t sure how to ask yet or if you wanted to do it.”
“I might have a ring,” Erika laughed nervously. “I think you’ll like it. I hope you will. I wanted-”
“Whatever you were going to do, let’s go with that,” Alma cut her off. “I want you to do what you were going to do.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I mean. I’ll say yes, obviously. But I want to have that moment with you. I know it’ll be good.”
“It will,” Erika cupped her cheek and pulled her in for a kiss. “It’ll be great.”
In the morning, Alma was the last to wake up. When she made it to the kitchen, Charlie was alone at the table, reading something on his phone. A glance into the backyard revealed Erika and Felix in the backyard, gleefully tearing through a weedy patch, covered in dirt.
“We’ll need to hose them off before they come back in,” Charlie followed her gaze. “Apparently there’s a garden center trip in my immediate future.”
“Flowers?” She asked doubtfully as she drained the last of the pot of coffee into a mug.
“Vegetables and berries. Apparently. He’s never actually grown anything, so we’ll see what happens,” Charlie sounded amused by the prospect. “Erika was just excited to play in the dirt, I think.”
“Maybe she needs a ceramics class,” Alma said down across from him. “She’s bored with watercolor right now.”
“You used to do that in high school.”
“I did. Maybe we can figure out a joint class or something. It’d be nice to see her another night of the week.”
“You two need to live together,” Charlie declared.
“We will, one day,” Alma wasn’t concerned about it. Everything with Erika happened in its own time. “She’s been applying around and her CV is good. It’ll happen. Anyway, my lecture circuit starts next week. Even if we lived together, she’d barely see me for the next month or so.”
“Who knew activism required so much plane travel?”
“Probably the airlines. You wouldn’t believe the amount of email I get with ‘special offers’.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, the sounds of Erika and Felix’s weed terrorism filtering in through the screen door along with the warm breeze.
“I’m going to do it,” she told him.
Charlie’s attention snapped to her face. “You are?”
“Yes. For you. But for me too,” she took a sip of her coffee. “I don’t know where life will take me, but I want to do that at least once. So. I’ll do it. We can talk about the details and things later-”
She was cut off by him coming around the table and pulling her into a tight hug. With a soft laugh, she hugged him back, practically disappearing into his embrace.
“You fucking reek,” she informed him tartly.
“Deal,” he hugged her tighter. “Some of us got up for a workout like three hours ago.”
“And didn’t find time to shower yet? Animal.”
“Probably.”
Neither of them let go for a long time.
September- John
The table was laden with cards and t-shirts and pins. John was particularly proud of the pins. It had been his idea to get Lucius to design them and they looked so pretty sparkling next to the other, more prosaic things. The other tables around him had a similar assortment, but no one else had adorable pins.
It was nice to be outside doing this, even if the evening was still oppressively hot. He had on one of the t-shirts on, of course, and the skirt that Roach had coaxed him into that matched the green of the album cover art. He stayed sitting behind the table, so his height wouldn’t intimidate anyway. It seemed to work with people floating in and around the merch as they stopped to get something to eat or drink.
The festival had been going since mid-morning and a lot of the attendees were red from the last of the summer sun and booze. The stage was close enough that John had heard bits and pieces of the music, and he knew exactly when Frenchie got on stage.
He couldn’t quite see his face, but he knew the lacy dress and the wide-brimmed straw hat that Frenchie favored for these performances. Even without that, he would have recognized the guitar, so soft and sweet and sad. To his great pleasure, the crowd quieted down, lulled by Frenchie’s particular magic.
Ballads about murder and weeping, but also joy and weddings carried their way to John’s ears. He sang along under his breath and didn’t even try to hide his proud smile. When the applause kicked in, he added his own clapping and then had to really pay attention as new fans approached.
Frenchie showed a half-hour later when most of the fervor had died down. He was tired, draping himself over John’s back with a heady sigh.
“You sounded good,” John told him.
“Thanks,” Frenchie rested his chin on the top of John’s head. “How’d we do up here?”
“Sold almost all the pins,” he grinned. “And we’re out of mediums in t-shirts. All the cards are gone too, so I bet you’ll see numbers on your playlists go up.”
“What’s that mean in dollars?”
“Paid for our ride out here and then some. After we pay back Lucius for the design work, we’re still in the green.”
“That’s a first,” Frenchie stood up a little straighter. “Are you sure?”
“Mhm. I tracked our gas mileage and everything.”
“Wow,” Frenchie laughed. “How about that? Almost makes it worth it.”
“It’s always been worth it,” John said firmly. “You should be on every stage in the world.”
“Biased.”
“Someone needs to be your biggest fan.”
They stayed through the last few performers and in the streaming crowd headed home, they picked up a few more sales. More importantly, people stopped to talk to Frenchie, complimenting his act and asking about some of the songs. Frenchie glowed in the attention, practically dancing in place. John quietly packed while he basked, so that by the time the last lengthy chat was done, they could head to the car.
“The organizer has a thing in the midwest some time this fall,” Frenchie glanced at him. “Might mean missing a Friday night.”
“So we’ll miss it,” John shrugged. “With all these new acts Alma has coming in, we can afford to be gone sometimes.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
Frenchie fell asleep on the way home. His face was still unlined and his hair dark as the night sky. He was ageless and lovely in the passing streetlights.
October- Jim
They flew down the street, their strides ground eating. Sometimes Jim thought they were most alive in these sparse moments, when everything came down to chasing down their prey, cornering them and extracting what they needed.
Usually they did this part alone these days. Read only worked with them in name for the most part, more of a consultant when needed. Izzy mostly stayed in the office, trusting them to do the groundwork while he ran the dull business end of things. He’d been eyeing up Read’s emptied desk though, and Jim had a feeling interviews might start soon.
That would be weird. To just hire someone they didn’t know. Maybe they’d hunt around and see if any of the people they were already comfortable with could use an extra gig.
Today though, Izzy was shooting down the pavement alongside them. He could still go like anything if he put his mind to it.
On Izzy’s signal, they separated, going around the block to pinch their man in, but the guy was squirrelly. No sign of him as they joined back up.
“Shit,” Izzy shoved his hair out his eyes. “He must’ve ducked into a building somewhere.”
“You want right or left?”
“Right.”
They both paced down the sidewalks, checking windows, walking into businesses. Jim’s phone vibrated, but they ignored it. Izzy had a set pattern and that wasn’t him. Oluwande could wait a few minutes, so they could tell him breathless and pleased how they’d caught their elusive mark. He’d like that story.
Of course they needed to find the asshole first so they could tell it. Jim stalked into an alleyway and was about to open the dumpster just in case when she heard Izzy’s shout. Taking off again, they ran across the street, narrowly avoiding a car, flipping off the honking driver as they dashed away.
Izzy was running and they quickly came up along his side. His face was flush and his breath labored. He pointed and Jim saw the guy taking off. They pushed ahead, rounding the corner and darting down another block.
Only to see the guy throw up the back of a cab and launch himself in. Jim’s luck wasn’t with them, the light going green and the cab was gone. Shit.
They turned back to exchange miserable looks with Izzy, only to find he wasn’t there. Jim’s pulse jacked up, a hard hammering in their ears. He’d been really at it today and he’d been flagging at the end. They ran back to where they’d last seen him. He was standing at least, though leaning hard against the wall.
“Boss!” They called out, not even ashamed that a hint of panic came through.
He looked up from his phone that he was clutching white knuckled in his hand.
“Get a cab,” he rasped. “St. Sebastian.”
“I can call 911.”
“He’s already there,” he pushed off the wall, fingers flying over the phone. “It’s Pete.”
Jim froze, a rabbit’s terror kind of freeze. Only for a moment. Only for a heartbeat. They were allowed, they thought, just for a moment.
Then they put their fingers to their lips and whistled the way Pete himself had taught them. The sound cut through the peaceful afternoon, a ringing alert that would send anyone’s hair on end.
A cab stopped a few feet away. They both got in.
Roach washed the blood from his hands as the man of the house came up with excuses as to why he couldn’t pay.
“I can take the stitches back out,” Roach said casually. “Then you would owe me nothing at all.”
Bluster. Annoying noise. He concentrated on getting the blood out from under his nails. They always thought they could stiff him because he had no degree on his wall, because he was a different color, because they had done it before. Roach had never promised to do no harm though and word got around.
“I can give you half today and half next week,” the man of the house eventually related.
“I will take it, but I do not forget and I do not forgive,” Roach held out his spotlessly clean hand, watched the coins fall into it. “The stitches will need to come out again. That is when I will claim the second payment.”
“Yes, of course,” the man shifted on his feet. “Thank you. Doctor.”
“You’re welcome,” Roach smiled broadly at him, pocketing his coin.
He walked home with care. The jingle of coins could tempt many demons from the woods. He kept his home there, buried among the trees where few would go. His garden there kept him fed when times were lean and the wide tangled branches had hidden from sight more than once.
A bird called across the twilight sky and Roach called back. The animals were his closest companions most days.
Until things got under his skin.
He had his limits. Physician heal thyself, he chuckled darkly as he got closer to his home.
Physician, heal.
Physician, heel.
Not anymore.
Roach obeyed no one, but his own impractical desires. He unlocked his cottage’s front door. It was cool inside, unpleasantly so. He built a fire in the stove, warming his hands against the chill. Another body in his bed would be better, but it had been long months since he had trekked out to find one. Longer still since he had gotten what he sought.
Dinner was a thick concoction of his own creation, drawn from the dried herbs and dryer meat he had saved. The coin in his pocket would go to fresh things, but that was for another day.
A bear walked by his window, a looming shadow reminder of nature’s vast uncaring grasp. Roach ate and watched the bear disappear into the woods.
A bear could live alone for a long time.
He finished his dinner, washed his bowl.
When he went out to his well, the water came up brackish.
“Why?” he demanded of it. It made no reply.
Curious, he sniffed it.
Had something died in it?
He had never seen the ocean. Not this time.
Yet, when he pulled the fish from the depths, he knew it was not one from the little pond. It was a monster of a thing, spines and bones by the score.
Taking it back into the house, he cut it open and studied its entrails. They said nothing. They said everything.
Roach couldn’t read the future. He barely understood the present and he certainly had no need of the past.
What he saw was things he didn’t understand.
He wasn’t a bear.
It took him some digging to find the mallet. He preferred sharper instruments.
“Take this,” Frenchie had whispered and wrapped his hand around it as he left. “You’ll know. We’ll come. When you do.”
Roach had asked follow up questions, but Frenchie had just smiled and kissed his cheek, then pranced off after the caravan that John drove. He’d waved goodbye to them both, certain that he’d never see them again. What use did he have for such company in his house in the woods?
But Roach knew nothing of the sea. Frenchie and John seemed to know a little of everywhere.
Roach went outside and dug in the back end of his garden. He pulled out a bell, a lumpy copper thing. It was cold in his hands, smearing its dirt back under his meticulously cleaned nails. He’d have to wash them again. They were the reason the people came to him. Clean hands save lives, even if the fancy degrees didn’t think so.
Yara had taught him that, even if she couldn’t show him how to read the future.
He strung the bell up by hemp cord that he’d woven himself.
A copper bell. At midnight. In a ring of stones.
Magic enough, he decided. He threw the mallet up in the air and caught it by the handle.
Then he reared back an struck, the sound ringing out into darkness.