21.2 Fic: Legends/Small World

The slap rang across the room – Mika half expected it to echo.   He hadn’t meant to hit that hard, but he wasn’t about to take it back, either.   “Don’t fucking touch me,” he hissed.   Marc was holding his struck hand, and the primary expression on his perfect fucking face was of annoyance.   “Get that out of your system? Look, nothing’s changed. You just know now, that’s all.”   The room felt small. The floor felt tilted. This man was a stranger. Where was the door, again? He turned. There. He started toward it.   “Oh come on, really? Silent treatment?”   He stopped with his hand on the handle. The entry hall stretched around him. Dimly, he remembered smiling on the way in, pleased at knowing without asking that he could just drop his coat on the couch, that the door locked by a flip-latch, that the neighbour’s dog was loud but harmless.   It all felt utterly alien now. His stomach felt like someone was squeezing it in a white-knuckled fist. Distantly, his hand on the door, he realized Marc was still talking.   “I don’t get it. It’s not like you have anything to be mad ab-”   The slamming door cut off whatever he said next. He hoped it cracked the frame. He hoped it caught Marc’s stupid fingers in the jamb and broke them into stupid splinters.   It was raining. Pouring buckets. He made his steps long and fast, tried to straighten his shirt as he walked, but it was clinging, still-askew, within seconds. He’d left his coat inside. Shit.   He stopped under a gas-lamp, trying to remember what he’d had in his pockets. Wallet, but not much in it, and a sign-out slip he’d forgotten to hand in when he left work.   I’ll just tell the Dame I lost it.   His shoes splashed in the potholes, soon his feet were as soaked as the rest of him.   I’ll get a new coat. Eventually. Find a cheap one. It’s fine anyway, I’m not made of sugar.   The rain had seemed so nice on the way in. Romantic, even.   A gust of wind off the harbour blew salt and rain into his face as he turned onto Lowe Street. The spray felt retributive, like the storm somehow knew.   Complicit.   He swallowed. He felt ill. He blinked stars out of his vision, stopped to grip a gaslamp pole as his ears rang.   How could I have known?   But I didn’t ask, either. Did I?   I shouldn’t have to. He should’ve fucking said. He should’ve fucking said from the beginning.   Every inhale brought droplets of rainwater with it. Wished the rain was colder; he felt too warm.   I wanna go home.   Doing so felt like it took forever. He never noticed the distance from this part of town before. The canal was swelling, rushing nearly at street-level. The gaslamps that lit streaky bubbles in the downpour stopped working at Fifty-Second, and he had to remind himself to keep his head on a swivel as he followed the slow curve toward Flint street.   The rain was not even close to abating when he stood, dripping, on the doorstep. Rose was sleeping by the hearth, but she roused immediately when he stepped inside. She was probably already awake when he walked up, honestly. He held up a finger to his lips, pulling the door softly shut behind him.   Too late, she was already getting to her feet, tail wagging, mouth opening.   “Rose no-”   Her barking cut him off. He allowed himself a second to curse himself for not knowing better for the second time that night, and knelt down to pet her as she licked the rain from his face.   “Ugh, Rose your breath is awful – you get a rat or something?”   But he was smiling. So was Rose, in her weird, droopy-jowled, innocence-born-of-complete-separation-from-lying-fuckfaces-and-their-charming-fucking-smiles way. She didn’t blame him and never would. Her world was pets and food and play, and ruffling her velvety fur, feeling her warmth and panting breath on his face was almost enough to share it.   The squeak of a bedroom door knocked the smile from his face in a hurry. He started peeling his shoes off.   “There you are. What time you call this?”   “Eleven? Twelve? Thereabouts.” He straightened, reaching reflexively to remove a jacket that wasn’t there. Shivered.   “Why you soaking wet”   “It’s raining.”   “Where’s your coat?”   He shrugged. May as well be at the bottom of the harbour, I’m not going back for it.   Rose was circling his feet as he started crossing the apartment. He stumbled. Heard a muttered oath.   “You drunk?”   I’m going to pretend I didn't hear that.   “Ay, you speak when I ask you a question.”   “No, I’m not. Rose tripped me.”   He bent to drop his shoes by the wood-stove. It was banked, but still warmer than the rest of the room. They’d probably dry by morning. Hopefully. Work would be miserable otherwise.   “I’m going to bed.”   He straightened, turning toward his bedroom door, only to see a frowning father, cross-armed before it.   “You come home dead of night, no coat, soak to the bone, and you wanna just go to bed?”   “Yes,” he grated through a tight jaw, “I do.”   Dad squinted. Frustration? Concern? Probably both.   “You gotta at least tell me where you been. Your mai, she was worried sick.”   He glanced aside. He’d meant to let them know he’d be out for dinner before heading out, but Marc had surprised him outside work, and by the time he remembered, the gaslamps were coming on.   “I already said. Out.”   “Filho, this doesn’t have to be a fight, you’re allowed spend time with your friends-”   He bristled.   “-But when you’re out so late, I don’t know where you are, I ask Melody, and she say she’s not even seen you today? You got explaining to do.”   Dad wasn’t moving. He was a bulwark, an ultimatum.   Briefly, he considered caving. But telling him he’d just come from a shittier breakup than he’d thought possible would require first filling him in that he’d been dating someone in the first place.   Not like I was hiding it, he thought, sullen, it just didn’t feel tell-the-folks serious, and then you were on overtime hours fucking exhausted, and now, now...   Now there was an ice-grip on his gut. The reason he was here and not enjoying blissfully ignorant and pleasantly-buzzed makeouts across town, turning the temptation to scurry home in the grey fog of dawn instead over in his mind like a sweet.   Complicit.   His stomach lurched. He forced a slow breath.   “I’m sorry mom was worried,” he said, measuring each word. “Shit came up and I didn’t end up linking home like I planned. I’ll let you know next time I’m going to be out late. Can I please go to bed now.”   “Where’d you go, filho? What happened?” The tilt of his voice, baritone slanting tenor, strained like a stretched heartstring, made him look away.   He debated repeating, ‘out.’ But he didn’t have the energy or desire for a fight.   “Dad, I’m tired, can you please just move?”   The silence dragged. Broke for the bedroom door squeaking. Either mom had been lying awake too, or he’d woken her.   She said nothing, but stood next to her husband, reached for his hand, calloused brown fingers wrapping her slim purple ones. Looked questions toward himself from under the concerned slope of her brows. Her devotion wrenched his chest.   I don’t belong here right now.   “Filho,” soft in the dim room, “You can tell me.”   Can I? Would you ever look at me the same? Could you? You’re in the worst position possible to give me anything but horror and blame, and I’m kicking myself enough for both of us, thanks.   “And you’re not moving until I do, that right?”   His father sighed, his face a plea, but his feet planted. Mom opened her mouth, thinking. Already strategizing how to mend the cracks. Keep them together.   He turned on his heel.   “Mika! Where are you’re going?”   He was dragging his dry boots over still-soaked socks.   “Out.”   “Mika-”   He speedwalked to the corner. The stairs criscrossingg the front of the smash-house around the bend were slicked with rain, but not too squeaky. From the landing one floor up, he jumped to a balcony, skidded, stepped onto the railing, reached for the roof, got his boots up just as a light came on below. It was slanted on the other side, momentum for barely a two-meter gap between the eaves and the next house.   He doubted either of them had followed further than the doorway, but it didn’t matter if they did.   No one ever looked up.   He blamed the exercise for the pounding in his ears as well as the warmth spreading slowly through his limbs as he moved, cutting between blocks. Taking satisfaction in being soaked beyond where rain could bother him.   The canal was full-on flooding. The low street completely underwater – he’d have to take the long way or risk a shortcut in Guild territory.   He stayed on the ground the rest of the way, found a steady pace and tried to shake the frown from his face. Walking helped with the cold. Maybe Shiv could lend him a jacket.   ---   Siobhan’s parents were out of town, so he knocked on the front door. One of the staff, a half-elf named Verne, let him in, looked more resigned than disapproving at his sodden self, instructed him to stay on the rug, and disappeared down the hall. He dripped in silence, heard her before he saw her.   “Thought you didn’t have time to hang today.”   Her resentment was palpable.   Shiv, if I could go back and ditch him to chill with you I’d do it every goddamn time.   “Things changed, now I’m bored,” he fibbed, “wanna grab a drink?”   “Are you kidding? It’s like, twelve or something. Go wake your stupid boyfriend up if you want a drink.”   He scowled before he could stop himself. She arched an eyebrow, waiting.   “Yeah, about that.”   “You guys fighting?”   “No, you have to be speaking to someone to be in a fight with them.”   “That bad, huh?”   “We’re done. Ten kinds of. You don’t know the half and I’m too sober to tell it. Drinks?”   “Yeah, fine. Drinks. Where?”   He frowned. The odds of Marc heading back to the bar were low, but not zero. So not the Naiad, then.   “North City Pub?”   “It’s closed, remember? The Cat nicked every cook and brewer north of Third for her dumb summer festival-thing. Half north city’s cooking at home all week.”   He grinned “So?”   She frowned, but there was no way it was confusion.   “Mika, I like that pub.”   “Me too, what’s the problem?”   She hesitated. He pressed.   “Streets are fucking empty in this weather. We can leave cash on the counter or something. Don’t try to tell me you’re not tempted.”   She sighed.   Yes!   “Fine, let me get my coat. Where’s yours, anyway?”   “Marc’s place.”   “And you didn’t grab it?”   “Kind of left in a hurry.”   “Uh-huh. One sec.”   She shrugged into her long raincoat and tied the belt as she headed down the hall and up the stairs.   She came back a minute later, threw a bundle of textile at his face. He caught it on reflex. Shirt and pants.   “They’re my dad’s. Don’t complain, they’re at least dry. You can roll the cuffs up. Use my room, and hurry before I change my mind.”   He took the stairs two at a time. Shiv’s room was second on the left. It was warm, she’d left the fire going. Verne would make sure the place didn’t burn, he guessed.   He shut the door and latched it, changed quick as he could. She was right, both shirt and pants were too long by nearly a foot. He folded up the pant legs and rolled the shirtsleeves on his way downstairs.   Siobhan was tapping her foot. She tossed him a slicker – also her father’s, by the sizing – and had the door open before he was finished pulling it on.   ---   Mika sat on the bar and balanced a nearby stool under his heel, trying to keep it steady on one foot. There was a cold, rain-scented draft coming in from the broken window on the backdoor, and having been empty for a week now, the pub was colder than previous visits.   They’d left the windows shuttered, but indulged a candle’s light. Enough to read labels and find glasses.   “Cheers,” Siobhan said, reclining back on the next stool over, her own heels crossed on the bar beside him. She was twirling her wand in one hand and holding up an inexpertly-poured glass of wine in the other.   “Cheers.” He swung the bottle gently to clink glass on glass.   It was a dark red, nearly black. Bitter, heady, outrageously smooth. They probably hadn’t left enough coin, but whatever, done is done.   The justification rang too familiar. He wiped his mouth on the back of his fist, grimacing.   “So.” Siobhan’s tone was carefully neutral. “Doneskies, huh?”   “Yeah.”   “So what happened to ‘oh he’s so funny and hot and sweet and-”   “Yeah turns out he’s a lot of things.”   “Like what?”   “Like...” He studied the wine label like it had a way of saying it that wouldn’t make his mouth taste worse.   “Like a fucking liar,” he tried, “Like a goddamn cheat?”   Her eyebrows sailed, “That motherfucker two-timing you? Who’m I decking, you got a name?”   He shook his head, “Not like that.”   She frowned, rotating her glass in a circle. Took a long sip. “I don’t get it.”   Another swallow. Still bitter in an uncomfortably metallic way.   He stared at the label some more. It had a picture of a shipwreck on it. He almost laughed.   “C’mon Mika, out with it.”   “We’re after hours here, yeah?”   She nodded, “Dude, yeah. No bosses, no judgments. What’s going on?”   He exhaled.   It’s Shiv. If anyone’s going to be cool, it’s her.   “Marc’s married.”   He could hear the rain outside. It fell like static, broken by intermittent splashes from the eaves.   Was the silence shock? Blame? Revulsion? He was afraid to look, so he took another gulp instead.   She waited until he finished, then spoke, quiet, grave.   “How’d you find out.”   “Went to splash my face. He left his ring on the counter.”   “Fuck, man. What a creep.”   He nodded, waiting for the shoe to drop.   A hand on his knee. He looked up.   “Don’t be weird, I can’t reach your arm.”   The laugh was involuntary. Smiling almost hurt his face after so much frowning.   “You want a hug, man?”   “I’m good. Thanks though.”   “Shit, man.”   “Yeah.”   They listened to the rain hissing against the cobblestone outside. It was starting to collect in a puddle near the broken door.   We should leave a mop out.   “So like, obviously I don’t mind, but did you come straight to my place, or...?”   “No, I went home. I just wanted to sleep, but dad was up. And then mom was up. And I just...”   He gestured, ineffective.   “I couldn’t deal with the two of them as a unit. Not after that. It feels dumb now. I’ll tell them tomorrow, maybe. I’m definitely getting cornered again anyway. They’re gonna be pissed I left again.”   “I’ll bring flowers to your grave.”   “Walk Rose for me.”   “I’ll bring her along.”   He chuckled. She cracked a smile back.   “You wanna go tag his place or something?”   He shook his head, maybe a little harder than he had to.   “I think I’d really rather just not go back.”   “Okay. Geez, I’m sorry.”   He swallowed.   “Like, you know its not your fault right? Like, you didn’t know.”   “I should’ve.”   She scoffed. “How?”   “I don’t know. Little things. It all kind of made it all fall into place. Felt... I don’t know, experimental? I thought he was just closeted. Fuck.”   “Yeah fuck that. You’re not a detective, and you shouldn’t have to be. Fuck that guy, man.”   “Truly disinterested at this point, Shiv.”   She laughed before rolling her eyes, but she still laughed.   “You knew what I meant, dork.”   “Yeah.”   It’s not just that though. He didn’t even feel bad. He didn’t even care. He didn’t get why I did. It feels bizarre to think we had anything in common. Antithesis. A serpente falsa.   “I ever tell you what my name means?”   ”Yeah. ‘clever,’ right?”   ”Not this one, my first one.”   “Oh. No, you didn’t.”   ”It’s Kauê, its a kind of falcon.”   ”Cool.”   ”I guess. Not named for badassery though. These falcons, they’re smaller, you know?”   She snorted.   “Shut up. They’re smaller, and these bright orange colours. They get mistaken for songbirds from a distance. They mate for life, their nestlings stick around the parents for ages after they’re grown. They play in the air, pass each other food on the wing, they dance all year, not just in spring.   “That’s what I’m named for. That’s the first identity I ever had.”   She was quiet. Her name was just a name to her. She didn’t know what it meant when he’d asked her, she had to look it up. It was just something to call her, she said. He still didn’t know how much she really understood, but he guessed she knew it was important to him.   “And then he gets you involved in that.”   “...Yeah.”   He exhaled. Put the bottle down and planted his palms behind him, leaning on his arms.   “Serve me right for ditching you all spring, huh?”   “Oh, cut it out. You didn’t do shit wrong and I’m not gonna sit here and listen to you take a single pound off that creep’s shoulders. You found out and walked out, right?”   You have to ask??   “Yeah.”   “You found out sooner, you woulda walked out sooner, yeah?”   “Obviously.”   “So then you’re fine. You’re a good guy, Mika. I wouldn’t be friends with you if you weren’t.” But she was looking at her lap, an uncharacteristic grief in her frown lines.   “What?”   “Nothing. I meant what I said, it’s just.. you’re like, twenty now.”   “We both are, yeah.”   “Not the same for you, but yeah. You get to be like, an adult. I should say you’re a good man.”   “I don’t feel like one.”   “Well too bad, you are.”   “Good men ditch their friends for cheating assholes, do they? I’m sorry Shiv. I can’t believe I ever left you hanging for that jerk.”   “Oh shut up, it’s fine. I have other friends, you know. I was just griping cause they’re all too chickenshit to climb west tower.”   “Or break into NCP,” he held out the bottle.   “Or break into NCP,” she tapped her glass against it, then drained it. “Okay fine, I missed you.”   “We’ll make it up over the summer.”   “Deal.”   He refilled her glass and for a minute, they both watched the wax drip down the candle.   “Shit.” The gravity of her voice brought his eyes back up. She cringed.   “Someone should like, tell his other half, right?”   “Yeah, probably. I didn’t get a name. That was probably on purpose. Fucking creep.”   “Candace knows him through a cousin or something, she said the other day. I can put some feelers out.”   He nodded, watching the candle wax shimmer.   “Your name left out, obviously.”   He nodded, again.   “I don’t wanna know about it.”   “Then you won’t.”   A stormwind rattled the shutters, brought both their eyes up. He scanned the darkened bar, scrutinizing the darkened slats for movement, shadows. Nothing.   They let their held breath out at the same time, and the rest of it was a laugh.   His stomach growled. Her eyebrow rose.   “Fuck, I think I skipped dinner.”   “Christ, Mika, gimme that.”   She snatched the bottle away from him, swivelled off the stool and hopped the counter, disappeared into the kitchen.   “What’re you doing?”   A crash that made him flinch. He swivelled and followed her. Or tried to.   Woah.   Caught himself on a shelf, dizzy. The room swung under his feet.   “Shit, sorry, knocked into a pan, just let me...”   She brushed by him, grabbed the candle off the bar, passed by again in a cool breeze of purposeful motion. The room settled. He moved more carefully after her.   She was kneeling by the stove, leaning the candle against its kindling. The wood flared to life, lighting the kitchen a warm orange. She started rummaging in cupboards.   There wasn’t a lot of food left. He guessed the staff had taken most of the perishables for the same project that pulled them from operation. But there was enough to make some decent sandwiches.   They dragged chairs in from the bar and ate by the stove. Whispered through the sounds of rain on the roof, toasting with stolen drinks in mismatched glasses. To honesty, to climbing towers, to the Rat, to shortcuts, to shared secrets, to dumb luck, to good booze and dubious hangover cures, to absolution, to karma, and, silently, dousing candles and easing broken doors shut, scurrying unsteadily homeward through the dawn fog, to steadfast accomplices.