it was all so strange and so surreal

[more_magic]

“I just want to know if Jodie Foster is here,” said Alex, and Darlington didn’t bother trying to suppress the flicker of irritation that bubbled up within him. They’d seen wonders tonight; the Arcadian peace of that vast forest, the glories of a Parrish painting come to life, reckless sacreligious hedonism in a flower-filled cathedral. And yet all she wanted was to celebrity-watch. Typical.

The fireflies lighting the room swarmed around them, the green-gold flash of their light almost pulsing with the beat of his heart. “For all you know,” he said, the words coming out thick and sluggish. His head reeled; he blinked hard, once, twice. “For all you know, that was Jodie Foster.” The room shimmered, the air suddenly heavy and cloying. They should keep going, finish their journey down; do the job they’d been set to at the start of the night. Before he could say anything, do anything, chivvy Alex along and out of the suffocation of the fifth level of Manuscript’s tomb, Lan Caihe turned back to face them, that enigmatic smile still on her face and the vast mirror of power churning behind her.

Descend.

He shouldn’t have heard her, not from this distance, but the word was as loud as if she’d been standing by his side.

Descend.

It passed through him like a shudder, and the world gave way along with it. He fell--he descended--landing on his feet in the middle of a cavern, the walls slick with moisture and the scent of tilled soil in the air. Someone was humming, something was humming, the sound reverberating straight to the center of him like it was the only thing that mattered. Darlington looked around for the source, his head taking an age to turn from one side to the other, until--

The mirror, that vault of power. It was here, bolted to the wall of the cave, the magic contained within swirling in eddies and whorls for a moment before slowly parting. Something was wrong here, gravely wrong, and he had to look away. But why would he? He’d wanted these glimpses of the uncanny, chased them and dreamed them and craved them, driven by his need to know everything he could about a world he’d only ever been given small tastes of. He could drink his fill now, granted this glorious opportunity by a goddess in celadon robes, and so he stared as the mist parted and the mirror cleared.

It was the room he’d just left, the banquet table still laden, the guests still crowded around the feast now rotted and spoiled, flies swarming around the goblets and maggots squirming in the cheese; everyone there aged and frail, using the last of their strength to lift a cup to their lips or bite into the desiccated husk of what might once have been a peach. Above them all stood Caihe, still youthful, lit by fire and glowing with power, her face changing with every breath: high priestess, hermit, hierophant, king and empress and fool. Darlington stared, shaking, at the face of his grandfather until the next exhalation whisked the sight away. His upper lip was wet; he lifted fingers to his face and saw them come away bloody.

“Darlington?” Someone was saying his name, a voice he knew, one he’d thought of as a broken woodwind when in fact it was the richest tone he’d ever heard, a symphony contained in the three syllables of his name. No, not his name. Not his name, any more than Alex was hers; they’d both christened themselves something new. He looked away from the crimson smear on his fingertips and back to the mirror. Like Caihe, she was unchanged, that Queen Mab crown still on her head and starlight still spangling her skin, her dress a dark flow of fabric along the lines of her body--but no, now she was Mab, a true Queen of the Night, beautiful and breathtaking, the points of a wheel or a crown seeming to turn behind her. Her mouth was lush and red, constellations he didn’t recognize reflected in the pooling blackness of her eyes, so much power coursing through her that it ought to be terrifying.

“What are you?” he heard himself ask, his voice soft with awe. No answer came, but that didn’t matter; he knelt anyway, putting himself at her feet and in her hands. He could see himself in the mirror, not as he was but as he wished to be: a knight with sword in hand, his fealty pledged to the creature before him if only she would choose to accept it. There was an ache in his chest from the wanting of it, another sword plunged into his back, piercing his heart; he felt the tears spill down his cheeks, mingling with the blood, the taste of copper and salt in his mouth.

“An acolyte at heart,” said Caihe, and Darlington knew she spoke truth. Choose me, he thought, he begged, staring up at Alex. She was not what she had seemed, nothing like what he’d assumed her to be, this girl who’d done nothing to earn the gift she’d been granted. She was his queen, and he would serve her until the end of his days, if only she would…

“Darlington,” she said again, one slim hand reaching for him, fingertips brushing the side of his face, cupping his chin. He closed his eyes, and dared to hope.

Comments

[takecourage]

Alex wakes up slowly, lost in the familiarity of it. This was how she'd woken up the morning after the Manuscript party, and this was how she'd dreamed of waking up, that night that she'd slept in his bed without him. She doesn't move enough to make him stir, doesn't want to disturb him. She shifts back into the warmth of his body, the press of his cock against her ass, and closes her eyes, drifting in how good it feels to have him back again.

How safe.

[more_magic]

Darlington resurfaces slightly, coming out of the deeper waters of his dream; something hazy and golden, Alex beside him, her hand on his face, his arm around her waist. The details of it slip away as soon as he notices them, leaving behind only the feeing of contentment.

Feeling the gentle pressure of someone against him, he moves closer, his nose bumping against the nape of Alex's neck, breathing in the faint scent of her. His hand shifts, his thumb sketching a lazy circle against her nipple.

[takecourage]

She shouldn't let this go on too long, and she knows it. Instead of snapping at him about waking up and fucking her, like she did the first time, she just threads her fingers with his and gently disengages her hand, squeezing before she lets him go.

[more_magic]

The squeeze to his fingers gets him to wake further, letting out a soft sigh as he opens his eyes. In the morning light, he can see the tangle of her dark hair across the pillow, how the t-shirt she'd worn to bed had slipped a bit in the night, exposing the curve of her bare shoulder. It's only a moment after that that he realizes the state in which he'd awoken; he freezes, that shame from the night before washing briefly over him again.

"Sorry," he mumbles, shifting away from her. "I shouldn't have...I'm sorry."

[takecourage]

"If you don't stop apologising so much, you're going to sprain something," says Alex, stifling a yawn and rolling onto her back. "You're fine, Darlington. Stop worrying. That's like...not even on the top ten list of most unpleasant ways I've woken up in my life."

[more_magic]

"I was only..." he starts, lapsing into silence when he realizes he's not sure what he meant to say. Only trying to be respectful? Only caught up in a dream, the vestiges of that mist from last night? Only wanting to prove this doesn't mean anything? It's all of those, and none of them at all.

"Fine," he says at last. "I'll stop." Alex flops onto her back and Darlington moves again, shifting up slightly in a way that makes his head swim and pound with an unexpected headache. He groans, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Those assholes," he mutters, thoughts of writing furious emails--to the Lethe board, to Manuscript's trustees, to anyone who would listen--running through his head even as he knows they wouldn't be received. They wouldn't matter at all here.

[takecourage]

"Stay still until I've got some coffee and food in you," she says, sitting up and hauling herself out of bed. "Then we can make a plan of action. Shopping will fucking suck today."

[more_magic]

Darlington nods, realizing halfway through the motion that it was a terrible choice. His brain feels like it's been vigorously shaken--though knowing Manuscript, perhaps it had been. He sits up, reaching for his coffee mug and holding it out for Alex to take.

"A plan of action?" He looks at her, his eyebrows raised and a baffled half smile on his face. "We're going clothes shopping, not making a run on leftover bags of Snickers."

[takecourage]

Alex takes the coffee cup and pads into the kitchen, leaving the door open so that she can still talk to him.

"Time's weird here," she says, clicking the coffee on to brew and putting some bread in the toaster. "I know it's the day after halloween for you, but here? Christmas Eve. And we need to go clothes shopping."

[more_magic]

"How could we have lost nearly two months in the space of an evening, Alex?" he asks, his eyebrows ticking up. He's seen enough of the uncanny that he doesn't discount the idea completely, but it's still enough of a jolt to come as a surprise.

"That seems worthy of a stronger word than weird."

[takecourage]

"It's just the way time works here," she says, leaning her ass against the counter so that she can look at him while she talks to him, rumpled and handsome (and she doesn't dwell on the back that he's in her bed). "It was winter when I came here. That weird bit between Thanksgiving and Christmas which doesn't feel like anything."

[more_magic]

He almost lets that pass, accepts it with as much bafflement and willingness as he has everything else--what choice does he have?--but at the last moment, he remembers what she'd told him the night before. "Wait," he says, squinting blearily over at her through the doorway, his head still swimming. "But you said you'd been gone from New Haven for a week. You're from...I refuse to say the future, but I suppose that's what it is, isn't it?"

Absurdly, he wonders what she'd planed to do for the holidays, if she'd have been on a plane back to California at the start of break. Or if she'd have stayed; if he might have extended an invitation to her to spend Christmas at Black Elm with him. Whatever would have happened, it's far away from them now.

And, as it turns out, they'll have the day together after all, such as it is.

[takecourage]

"Yeah, I guess I am," she says, and, internally, she's hoping that Darlington keeps up his habit of asking all of the wrong questions.

"Shit. Now I'm going to have to get you a gift and cook, aren't I?"

[more_magic]

"I wouldn't expect you to," he says, even as the thought of it settles like something oddly warm and pleasant in his chest. "Not on such short notice, but..." Despite the pounding in his head, he manages a grin. "It'd be nice, wouldn't it? I'll help cook, if you want."

He'd learned enough, fending for himself during those long, lonely years; might as well put it to a decent use.

[takecourage]

"I don't mind cooking," she says, buttering toast and pouring two cups of coffee, picking them up and walking back into the bedroom, awkwardly leaning down for him to take one of the mugs. "It's been a while since I could afford to cook like my mom does."

She's never been able to afford to cook like Mira did. Or her grandmother. But things are different here.

[more_magic]

"Fair enough," he says, glad to have made the offer but happy to turn the obligation over to her if she wants it. "I'll look forward to whatever it is you decide to make."

Darlington watches her approach, still a little disheveled from sleep but comfortable and casual in a way he'd really never seen. Taking the mug she offers with a smile, he wraps his hands around it, inhaling the smell of the coffee for a moment before taking a sip. His eyes close, a smile crossing his face. "That really is very good coffee."

[takecourage]

He takes the coffee cup and climbs up onto the bed, setting the plate of toast between them and then immediately picking up a piece and biting into it.

"We'll figure this out together, Darlington," she says.

[more_magic]

"I don't doubt we will," he says, grabbing a slice of toast for himself. Despite his slowly-receding headache, just this--the coffee, the simplicity of the breakfast, the cool morning light filtering in through the window by the bed--makes him feel a little more centered than he had after the cold reality of his situation had come crashing over him the night before.

"So," he says, gesturing faintly with his piece of toast, "Time is weird here, we're all trapped in a pocket universe, and it's nearly Christmas. Anything else I need to know?"

[takecourage]

Alex thinks about that for a second and then, toast held between her teeth, she gets off the bed and pads over to the bulky object in the corner of the room. She grabs hold of the blanket covering it and reveals Hiram's crucible.

"This is all I bought with me."

[more_magic]

Darlington had expected her to talk, not to clamber off the bed once more, but he watches her cross the room to that pile of clothes and blankets. It had seemed large, far too big to be the detritus of a single week, but he hadn't totally questioned it.

When the blanket falls to the ground, Darlington nearly drops his coffee.

"Alex," he says, and somehow his voice is so calm, almost measured. He recalls that first day at Il Bastone, that idle thought he'd known was impolite but that he'd entertained anyway: that somehow, she'd bypass the anti-theft wards and melt Lethe's most precious artifact down for earrings. At least, he thinks now, aware once more that he's being uncharitable, she hasn't done it yet.

"Alex, what do you mean, you brought Hiram's Crucible with you?"

[takecourage]

"I came here in it," she says. "I didn't steal it, if that's what you're thinking." Because she knows what he's thinking, even if he doesn't say it. Because she knows what he thinks of her.

[more_magic]

"I don't think you stole it," he says, too quickly and just a little sharp. He pauses, taking a breath, a faint pink flush touching the barest edge of his cheekbones. "Sorry."

He looks from Alex to the crucible and back again, then back once more. Nothing in the last several hours has made much, if any, sense, but this is the first time since Alex's hand had cracked across his face that Darlington truly questions the state of his own mind.

"Do we want to start with why on earth you were inside the crucible to begin with?"

[takecourage]

"So you fucking should be," says Alex, but she's mild enough, watching him blush as she takes a bite of her toast. It's difficult to be upset with him when she's not really surprised. Of course he thinks that about her. Why wouldn't he?

"Dawes put me in there. Well, she couldn't get me in there on her own. Centurion had to assist."

[more_magic]

Mild as it is, her rebuke still stings enough--and is deserved enough, not that he'll admit it--that Darlington bristles just the faintest bit before settling again, listening to her explanation as he sips his coffee. If anything, the added details only make him more confused.

"I'm sorry, you had Centurion and Pammie assisting you with...whatever this was?" He hadn't had much interaction with the officer assigned as their Centurion, but everything he thought he knew about Pamela Dawes suggested she'd stay away from whatever compelled Alex to climb into the crucible and...what? He hadn't the slightest idea. "Alex, what happened?"

He says what happened?, but a moment later he realizes what he'd really meant to ask was where was I?

[takecourage]

Leaving the crucible uncovered, Alex comes back to the bed, sitting down. She finishes her toast and picks up her coffee, curling around the mug with her knees drawn up. A ghost of a smile tugs at her mouth when he uses the petname; she wonders if he has any idea just how much Dawes loves him. Is in love with him. It's probably just another question it wouldn't occur to him to ask.

"I got the shit kicked out of me," she says, answering the question he asks, not the one that's suddenly in his eyes. "We needed to fix it."