#caleb “muscle memory” widogast oh no

[ruvi-muffin]

Hey

Hey uhm

Belated realization but ??

Is it at all significal that Caleb keeps touching Essek's forearms whenever he's looking for genuine connection??

Uhm??? Liam?? Mr.O'brien ?? Sir ?????

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Tie Your Heart to Mine

Widomauk vampire AU! Huge thanks to @minky-for-short for coming up with this AU idea and for being an amazing beta reader alongside the ever wonderful @spiky-lesbian

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3!

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Mollymauk only ever remembers being a vampire. He woke up like this, with a still heart and a thirst he had to fight to control. He struggled to understand humans for the decades he's been alive.

Until vampire hunter Caleb Widogast arrived to kill him.

A year or so on from that day, he marks Caleb as his for the rest of their lives.

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When you see them, you just know. You just know.

When Yasha had given him that answer, Mollymauk seemed to remember he’d made a retching noise and aimed a kick at her head. He’d felt that had summarised his feelings succinctly, even if it had earned him a pillow to the face.

He’d just been struggling to understand it. Ever since Yasha had bonded not only with the usual one partner but a second, and a human at that, Molly had been trying to wrap his head around it. How someone’s life could change so completely and so quickly. One day his best friend had been the silent, towering, stoic vampire he’d whiled away decades annoying and travelling with. But then she’d met Jester and Beau and suddenly she was silent, towering, stoic and in love.

With a lot less time for her best friend.

Not that Mollymauk was bitter. He’d wanted happiness for Yasha since he’d met her, he knew how hard her life had been since she was turned, since she lost her first wife. The way she’d talk about Jester and Beau, the light that would dawn in her eyes, the kind that used to be a memory. Molly would never, ever deny her that. He just didn’t understand and that answer hadn’t helped.

But now he was looking down at Caleb, holding his angular face in his hands as he paused in between kisses, kneeling over him as they sprawled out on the bed. A moment’s inhaling, the slightest pause before their lives changed forever, where he looked down at the man he loved.

And he just knew. He just knew.

“What are you thinking, Liebling?” Caleb’s voice was rough and low, breathless from the countless kisses that had carried them up the stairs and into the bedroom. His smile was bright, crooked, a little goofy in the way it only got when he had let his walls down completely.

Molly gave a soft chuckle, running his thumbs over Caleb’s cheekbones, “Just how I can’t wait to be yours…”

“Mine,” Caleb murmured, a note of awe gentling his voice as he reached up to return the touch, ghosting his fingertips along Molly’s neck and following the line of that old scar that bisected his body, “And...you’re certain you want this? You want me?”

Mollymauk sighed softly, his smile turning fond. Ever since he’d explained the process to Caleb, the way that vampires marked those they’d chosen to bond with, the way they tied their souls to another’s, he’d seemed completely mystified. Like he wanted to believe it was happening but, even now that they were moments away from it, part of him still doubted.

And Molly knew exactly who had planted those parts of him, who had cultivated them until they’d grown into a tangled thicket of thorns that Caleb still cut himself on today. He’d known Caleb and his scars for years and it still woke a deep, hungry anger in him. One day he would need to do something about that anger. He would need to do something about Trent Ikithon.

But not tonight. Tonight he would show Caleb exactly what he was worth.

“I want you,” he nodded, kissing the bridge of his lover’s nose, his cheeks, his forehead, “Every part of you, Caleb. Since the moment you walked through my door.”

Molly felt his human squirm, saw the delicious rise of colour up his neck, smelled his sweet, rising pulse.

“Since the very first moment, huh?” his blue eyes shone like pools of water in high summer, though his smile was somehow brighter.

“Well, there was something just so alluring about the vampire hunter turning up all soaked through with rain, giving me the whole oh kind sir my carriage broke down just outside your door routine like I didn’t know he had a stake strapped to your thigh under those ever so tight trousers…”

“Küss meinen Arsch,” Caleb slapped his leg lightly, “It worked, didn’t it? I saw where your eyes were.”

Molly laughed, flicking his tail in retaliation, “I was simply watching for more concealed weaponry, I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Caleb rolled them over, a growling edge to his laughter, until the two of them were caught somewhere between wrestling and kissing, hands wandering and gripping tight enough to leave marks.

“So…” Caleb eventually asked, chest heaving, hair now loose from it’s tie and spread out across the pillows like burnished copper, “Do you want to, um…how do we…”

Molly, now sprawled on his side next to his lover, grinned and took his hand, “You know how to do this part, darling. Let me take care of the rest.”

So Caleb nodded, the last of his anxiety falling away like leaves from a tree in the last days of autumn. He dragged Molly across those last few inches between them, kissing him hard, letting his lover stretch out over him like a contented cat. Mollymauk remembered when his dear human had been a thin twig of a thing, when he’d been forced to keep his strength on a tighter rein than he would even have to normally, for fear of hurting him when they lay together.

Now he was fuller, wire cords of muscle hiding in those still slender limbs, stronger and surer. Of course Mollymauk could still break his bones with a firm grasp but that was humans for you. About a year of wandering, free from Ikithon’s brutal, abusive training and returning often to Molly’s determined, loving caretaking, Caleb had flourished. He wasn’t the frightened young man with the shaking hands who’d been sent to Mollymauk’s door to kill him. And as much as Molly had loved that man, he loved this one just as much.

“Liebling…” the other language fell from Caleb’s lips in between heavy, open kisses, making Molly think of far flung fields full of golden wheat, snow capped mountains, all the things you couldn’t find on the Menagerie Coast. It made him think of the other world his lover came from and just how lucky he was that he’d wandered into his home.

“My darling,” Molly murmured in return, bringing their still clasped hands down between his own legs, encouraging Caleb to feel how aroused he already was, “Take me?”

The human gave a breathy gasp and nodded, drawing himself up onto the bolsters so Molly could climb fully into his lap. He slipped his hand back between Molly’s thighs, gently teasing him open, as the tiefling’s tail wrapped around his bare thigh and anchored them together.

“My mate,” Molly whined, biting his lower lip, fangs snagging the low light, “Mine, oh gods…”

Caleb grinned up at him, working his fingers deeper, breaching the soft heat between his legs, “Then make me yours. Show the whole world who I belong to.”

Molly groaned brokenly, digging his nails into Caleb’s shoulders as he dragged him into a bruising kiss and sank down onto his cock. He felt the human start under him before leaning into it, moving into that rhythm they knew, that they’d built over nearly a year together. Familiar, comforting, the same way it always was after Caleb would come home from his long hunting trips. Like coming home. Like exhaling.

And always, as ever, that line waiting just up ahead. The line Molly had never crossed, as much as his heart had ached for it from the first moment he’d had Caleb in his bed. Something so much deeper than his usual hunger, the kind of desire he’d never experienced with any other partner, with anyone he’d ever fed from or slept with. That pull that said he’s yours, the one you didn’t know you were waiting for.

They’d held back from it for nearly a year, both of them very aware that the brainwashed, brutalised, rain thin vampire hunter who’d turned up in the rain that night was in no fit state to make that kind of bond. So it had been long months of separation while Caleb sorted his head out, Molly putting him on the trail of those many vampires that did deserve the justice he’d been trained to give. He’d receive letters, tales of nights under the stars and the deep, dark thoughts that were slowly being unpicked and straightened out, and Molly’s heart would break for him. Breaks that would knit back together the moment Caleb returned.

Molly had been happy to wait, it wasn’t as if he wasn’t used to that. Immortal beings had to learn how to be patient or things got messy.

But now here was Caleb, his mind his own and his heart about to be Molly’s for the rest of his life. And gods, all Molly could think was how long he’d wanted this. How much he was going to enjoy this.

“Ready?” he gasped out, voice high and wild, instinct and lust burning through him so fiercely it took every inch of his carefully constructed self control to ask that question.

Caleb lifted his chin, pupils blown wide, hair falling in his eyes. He just looked so bloody alive, all flushed skin and damp brow and throat pulsing. So human, so fragile but nothing other than complete and total trust on his face.

“Ready,” Caleb hands slid down his shoulders to rest against Molly’s chest, over his heart that hadn’t beat in nearly a hundred years, as long as he could remember owning it but he could have sworn he felt it flutter at that touch. He felt it respond to that call.

Time stopped when Molly’s fangs broke Caleb’s skin. A single, perfect moment of stillness where the universe clicked neatly into place. Then everything flooded through him, the dark, savoury taste of Caleb’s blood crashing over his tongue, the white hot release of his orgasm and something more, something much more. If his mouth wasn’t busy he would have screamed, though Caleb did enough for both of them. Molly had always wondered what the feeding felt like for his human lover, if he really gained as much from it as Molly did.

But in this moment, he didn’t have to wonder. Caleb’s pleasure was his own and his was Caleb’s, everything they felt theirs to share. They weren’t separate for that brief beautiful heartbeat, they were one being, tied together right down to their atoms. Mollymauk felt Caleb’s red hair sticking to his forehead, the tremble in his hands, the fear and anxiety and doubt that had become permanent fixtures in his brain shaken in their foundations and starting to shift. Caleb felt the strength and power in Mollymauk’s muscles, the looseness of s form that could change at will, the never ending, always gnawing hunger sated only in moments like this.

And they both felt the love the other held for them. Even when they’d doubted and felt unworthy, even when it had seemed impossible, there it was.

Coming back to themselves was like the snapping of a whip, both vampire and human left reeling as they crashed back into their own bodies. Molly shook all over, the usual adrenaline rush he got from feeding cranked up so high he felt like he might break at the seams, every noise a racket in his ears, even the low candlelight too bright. He took deep breaths to ground himself, bracing himself to throw back the usual violent urge to take and take again and take too much.

But it didn’t come. Because how could he ever hurt his mate?

He swayed, their bodies coming apart as he tumbled onto his back, gasping out, “Gods, Caleb, that was…”

He trailed off, everything calming down enough that he could pick out the sound of muffled, snatching sobs. He saw that Caleb had thrown his arms over his face, his whole body hitching as he cried.

“Oh…” Molly immediately reached for him and Caleb latched on, gripping him tight enough to hurt anyone but a vampire, “Oh, my darling, come here. It’s alright, I’ve got you…”

“Sorry,” Caleb choked out, “Sorry, I’m okay, I promise. It was just…a lot.”

“I know,” Molly soothed him, stroking his hair and squeezing his shoulders, making sure he could feel that he was there and his thoughts couldn’t take him far from his embrace, “I know, darling.”

And he did. He felt how overwhelmed Caleb was, how his mind was slowly growing to accommodate these new feelings, the ache in his muscles and rawness in his throat. It was as if the emotions and sensations were coming from somewhere behind his own heart. That was going to take some getting used to.

Eventually Caleb’s sobs were just sniffles and his smile was shining through like sun peeking through clouds. Though he still clung to Molly tightly.

“My mate,” he sighed happily, licking over the twin puncture marks and blushing bruise he’d left on Caleb’s neck, chasing away any lingering burn. Unlike the others from their year together, this one was permanent and it was perfect.

“Mine,” Caleb replied, his voice heavy as the inevitable exhaustion overwhelmed him. He’d always fall asleep after Molly fed so this must have floored him.

Molly smiled, kissing his forehead as he let him drift away, “Sleep, darling. Everything’s going to be okay.”

And as he held his mate in his arms and listened to the quiet of the night around them, Mollymauk meant it. Despite everything they’d been through, it would be okay.

He just knew.

[omniscientwreck]

With Every Single Thing I Have

Beginning note: ***MAJOR SPOILERS FOR C2 E141***

CW: Character Death, Talk of Death

This is my interpretation of the canon description of Essek and Caleb’s days with some good angst thrown right in there. I have no knowledge of what is or isn’t cannon about the afterlife in Critical Role so this may be canon divergent but I needed it to cope. I hope you enjoy! Title Is Taken From The Song Two by Sleeping At Last

Caleb Widogast is dying.

He’s old, nearly 90 years of age. His body aches with every rain, stairs become more difficult, but his casting never fades. His mind is sharp and he reads, learns, and teaches until the end comes for him. Up in his tower, exhausted and bed-ridden he hears shuffling outside the door before it opens without so much as a touch and a tray of food is brought in. Essek Thelyss glides gently into the room, “Oh good, you’re awake. I prepared a light lunch for you, would you eat?”

Nodding back at the drow, the bittersweet smile that’s become a companion to him in Essek’s presence settling again into his wrinkled features. Essek sits on the bed beside him, book in hand as he often does and the memories written all over Caleb’s face come flooding back.

They had gone back to Aeor after the business in Rexxentrum concluded. Jester had helped Caleb locate Essek and when he found out he wasn’t too late, he was still at the outpost, he’d gone almost immediately. The winter clothes they’d bought all those months ago to chase their lost friend still fit and they carried many memories in them with the promise of more to come.

Their time together in Aeor was long. They took many months scouring the ruins for every book they could find. Between his Vault of Amber and Essek’s Wristpocket as well as a borrowed bag of holding they were able to collect the knowledge of Aeor. They found every device, every tiny dunamantic stone. They went back to the machine, the one that promised Caleb his dreams, closure, a chance to atone. The one that could change Essek’s past, that would give him his freedom.

Essek gazed upon the machine and he decided to remain in hiding. He looked directly at Caleb, made the decision to live forever with the consequences of his actions, because without them they wouldn’t have this. This moment, this trip, these memories.

It is Caleb’s turn now to gaze upon his destiny. He looks into the lavender eyes boring into him with the question Will you do it? His plan is perfect, the only thing that changes is that his parents are not dead and one day maybe he can reunite with them. He can see them grown old, he can tell them everything he’s done. They can be proud of him.

His mind shifts to the Nein, to Veth, Jester. To Astrid and Eodwulf. Back to Essek. It’s impossible to know what would happen if he did this. If he’d be able to come back. Is it really worth giving up everything he knows? Potentially giving up the Mighty Nein not only for himself but for them too?

He reaches into his components bag, smears dust across his forearm and with a green ray he carves away the experiment. He destroys, permanently, any hope of ever going back, in favour of hope for the future. Essek helps him burn everything and when they’re done he can only stare at the drow. The man who’s come so far, allowed himself to be so changed by the love of friends (Caleb’s love) that he went from enemy to beloved companion. He stares and divergent futures flash before his eyes as if he’s staring deep into the Luxon. They all end the same, he dies and Essek lives on without him for many years. The change is in the times in between now and then.

He knows which one he want and if the last two months were any indication Essek had his own hopes.

A week or so later, they ate in the tower. When the Nein first separated the tower had felt empty, he usually elected to sleep in a hotel room or in the dome under the stars. With Essek it’s easier to be there. They’ve fallen into a comfortable routine while researching that involves them spending the day immersed in ancient secrets forgotten to time. They would spend hours in complete silence, reading in tandem or copying runes and arcane patterns and then one of them would find something truly tantalizing and the silence would be broken as they began theorizing. When Essek gets excited his lavender eyes brighten and his whole face lifts and it’s no secret to Caleb that his heart races and his face melts into a soft, tender expression that Essek catches and matches.

After, they’ll go into the tower and eat, served warm soups and breads by little fey cats and then they read in the study in companionable silence until they retire to separate rooms. This night, a week before their time was up, Caleb’s keen mind caught up with him. Suddenly he became very aware of the passage of time, the potential futures slipping away and he rests his spoon on the table, overwhelmed by the shrinking timeline ahead.

They talk that night, instead of reading. They sit in two armchairs in a quiet carpeted room lit by purple globules of light, gently bobbing around their heads and they talk. They talk for hours. Essek tells Caleb his sins and Caleb elaborates on his own. They talk plainly and it’s hard to do, but at some point the chairs moved closer, and then their hands touched, eventually Essek’s hands were folded into Caleb’s.

He felt closer to Essek after that. For the rest of the week it was easier to reach out and grasp his hand, to pull him into a hug. Two weeks later, they talked again and after that they kissed. Their kisses weren’t frequent but they were familiar, a warm comfort over those last weeks in Aeor.

Theirs was not a whirlwind romance. It was something more precious and much more difficult to describe. It burned slow and and steadily rose until something had to be done. They kept in close contact after Aeor, it is those letters that begin the new collection that fills Caleb’s left holster.

They visit occasionally until the burn of the eyes of the Dynasty on Essek’s back became too hot. Caleb has taken to staying in Nicodranas when he and Beauregard are taking a break from dismantling centuries old systems to weed out the rot so he asks Essek to come stay with him. Quietly, out of the eyes of the empire and most of their friends, they begin to build a life. They construct with care, laying a sturdy foundation because though they both know this arrangement is temporary they promise to always be together in one way or another; because though gravity can be altered, it always rights itself and the pull Caleb feels towards Essek, has felt for some time, is a law of his nature.

They allow themselves as long as the other will have them and they spend years together. The kisses become more frequent as they gradually abandon inhibitions. Caleb’s life is a blink compared to Essek and he becomes more aware each year of the limited time he has. He and Essek stay together in varying locations for as long as he can bear it, he realizes now that they have earned this happiness, however fleeting. It will always be a larger portion of his life than it will be of Essek’s so he holds out as long as he can. He begins to teach in this time and though Essek cannot really be free he still has his work studying their findings and occasionally he travels.

Caleb watches him advance so much in their decade together and he gets bleary eyed imagining all Essek will do when he’s gone. They learn together, share every meal, he learns Undercommon and teaches Zemnian, and they spend every possible night together in every possible way. They share a sweet and intense passion and Caleb’s love sinks deeper and deeper into his heart.

When his forehead wrinkles and his hair is greying he realizes his time is up. He has goals, he needs to teach, he needs to fully commit to being in the Empire and his short life must be spent doing as he promised all those years ago, making each place better than he found it. That is the hardest conversation he’s ever had. “I wish it were not this way. That it didn’t have to be, but I do not have as much time as you so I must burn brightly to make my impact. I will always love you Essek Thelyss.”

“And I you Caleb Widogast. When you stumbled into my life all those years ago, Empire infiltrator holding my greatest crime in your hand I had no idea what would happen. You were a variable I did not account for, could never have foreseen. Of all the possible futures in store for me this one, where I am here with you, where I have been here with you for ten years and where I will continue to be by your side thought it is not the same is the best one I could have never predicted.”

They give themselves one last year. They don’t travel, Caleb takes the year off and they spend 328 days exactly together, in bliss. They do their best not to allow the apprehension of good-bye to creep in. Caleb knows it’s not good-bye, not truly and not forever. But when the day comes though he tries to hold it back he cries bitter tears and holds Essek tight and the smaller man shakes with his own sobs. But they loved each other for eleven years, and they manage to continue loving each other for another fourty or so.

Essek leaves and travels for a while to do his own work. This is frequent in the latter half of Caleb’s life but every time he comes back and his friend brings him stories and listens to all of his own. They help each other research, Caleb still tells him everything and relishes every moment they spend together. They no longer kiss but they are still partners.

Caleb’s life has been better, more fulfilling than he could ever have hoped stumbling out of that wretched prison at the beginning of his second life. He learned peace through the Nein and later through Essek and now that he’s at the end of his time he knows he could not have lived a better life.

Caleb Widogast is old, older than he ever thought he’d be and while his bones and muscles give out and he goes to the Blooming Grove where Caduceus has always said he will end up, to spend his final months, Essek follows.

He cooks the soups the cats used to, they remember everything together, Caleb’s mind keen but Essek has kept up well. At just the right time, Caleb knows. Essek is sat beside him in the bed, the wizards reading in tandem as they’ve done before and fallen into again in this late stage. They have been kissing again, Caleb allowing this last indulgence, one last selfish act. Essek needs it too.

“Essek Thelyss, thank you for everything you’ve done for me. My constant companion, the center of my gravity. You who bent time and space for me and taught me so many things from magic to forgiveness. I have loved you all my life from the moment I could and I would never dream to change a single thing.”

“Caleb Widogast. I have treasured every moment we have spent together, you changed my life, saved a man who knew not that he was dying. I have been happy because I know you and I will continue to be happy because you will never be far from my heart.”

“Please promise to me that you will take care of the others. Allow them to care for you. Find new people and care for them and allow yourself to be cared for in return, live your life as fully as you are able, and when you are done I will see you again just as I am about to see my family.”

“I will. You have loved me all of your life and I will love you for all of mine. I will never know someone like you again. Thank you for allowing me the privilege of your companionship. It is an honor to love you and it always will be.”

The quiet conversation fades and they share one final kiss and Essek sits as Caleb drifts to sleep, gently running his fingers through his hair. Then he goes to get Caduceus. Caleb Widogast is dead.

---------------------------------

Essek Thelyss is dying.

He is nearly 740 years old and he is in decline. He, like his friends before him, retires to the Blooming Grove to live out his remaining days, however many they might be. Caduceus’ kin are caring and when he shows up on their doorstep they expect him. “He told us you would arrive one day. Welcome home and thank you for being here.”

Essek’s life has been a thing of remarkable chance, nearly improbable. He has learned to manipulate as much as he can but even he could not have foreseen the path he ended up taking. He has lived so long, and his life has been full but he is tired.

Fjord had been the first of the Nein to pass. After him Caleb. After Caleb the group coalesced around him. They had never shared many details, but they seemed to know. Keeping his promise to Caleb he allowed them to care for him. To bring him food, to message him to make sure he was okay. They invited him on adventures when they needed and he never turned them down.

They continued asking him to teleport them and every single time he did. Kingsley goes next and then Beauregard. Those years are full of so much loss condensed into such a tiny portion of his existence. He isn’t used to things happening so quickly and he begins to reach out. New connections. He finds people to care for, to mentor and to bolster. He dedicates his life to using aliases to research and study and publish materials to help the mages after him and Caleb. He finds himself beseeched by parties of assholes for assistance and while he never fights alongside another group he makes himself useful in any other way in his ability.

He always imparts the lesson to leave the world better than they found it, and if they listen, if they are the same as his friends, the best people he’s ever known, the world will survive yet. There is a pause between good-byes for a number of years. Then he loses Yasha and Jester. Jester is one of the hardest, the friendly little blue tiefling with a heart for adventure who hugged him when touch had still burned. After her goes Veth and after Veth, finally Caduceus goes back to the earth.

He promised Caleb to live a full life, but every year, the anniversary of the day they met several lifetimes ago, he visits the Blooming Grove. He walks the grounds, he sits with Caleb and he tells him of his research, he reminisces and he whispers love to the flowers that grow. They are fiery orange and yellow with some deep purple and blue spattered among them. Caduceus says on his first visit that the blue ones are called forget-me-nots. Essek picks one every year and presses it into a book, like Yasha showed him once upon a time.

Caduceus and Essek drink the tea from the flowers Caleb gave them. For centuries they sat together, telling stories, having extended conversation year after year. Some years Caduceus travelled so Essek made his vigil alone, but he never forgot Caleb and he never forgot the Mighty Nein. They lived as long as he did for they were in his heart always.

The last time he visits Caleb they talk for hours. “Every good thing I have done, every positive emotion and happiness I have known in these centuries has been because of you. You allowed me to feel again and the best decision I could have ever made was letting my plan go to allow myself to grow close to you.”

He is lying beside the grave twirling a delicate blue flower between wrinkled, aching fingers. “Caleb Widowgast you have lived with me for a long while and I thank you again for the gifts you gave me while you were here. I hope you are proud of me. I love you to the end of my days my friend.”

He falls asleep then, in the night of the Blooming Grove, fireflies and an infinite expanse of stars casting gentle light across his stilling form.

As Essek Thelyss fades he finds himself again in a garden. It is brightly coloured and lush, well cared for. There is a small cottage there and as he glides to the door, drawn to it as if by gravity, it opens and he sees copper hair, vibrant blue eyes, and the widest smile he’s missed the most, “I told you my friend, we would meet again.”

“I never doubted you Caleb Widogast.”

[iatethepomegranate]

Just a fic about Caleb buying a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, and coping with that kind of change and newfound stability (and becoming Professor Widogast). Angst and fluff are at war in this fic.

Chapter Summary: Caleb was loved, in so many different ways, by so many people. The Nein were a whirlwind of chaos and dick jokes, but they were his. And Essek... even when Essek did not use the words "I love you", every word he said and every touch he offered was proof enough. In other words, the Mighty Nein crash at Caleb and Beauyasha's place and shower them with affection.

Notes: Chapter title is from Five by Sleeping at Last. Here's some fluff. Caleb is still Caleb, but everyone loves him and wants him to be happy. Hug your sad wizard friend/research partner/it's complicated.

****

Chapter 2: But something gets lost from a safe distance and now I can't put my mind to rest

There was enough furniture in the house to sleep for the night. After an enormous grocery shop that made gratuitous use of Yasha’s muscles, Beau’s superhuman balance, and Caleb’s telekinesis, the three of them collapsed on the couch.

Beau piled her feet onto Caleb’s lap, resting her head on Yasha’s. “Hey, Caleb?”

“Ja?”

“You good now?”

“I think so.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Nein.” Caleb had zero interest in talking about how much he had cried on their kitchen table earlier. He wasn’t ready to process it.

“Cool. Good talk.”

Yasha smiled down at Beauregard, fondly but with an edge to it. “Shh.” She put her finger on Beau’s lips. “Let us just… be quiet for a while.”

Caleb tipped his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. He drifted close to sleep, but Essek’s voice filled his mind.

“Caleb. How was the house? I am in a safe place. I will visit when you have a safe landing spot. Talk soon, love.”

Caleb couldn’t help burst into a grin. “Hallo, Essek. We bought it. Veth gave me the money. Go to the Grove when ready. I will come get you. Ich liebe dich.”

“Gross,” said Beauregard. “You know I can understand you now, right?”

Caleb pinched her ankle. “I remember.”

“Beau,” sighed Yasha.

“I’m kidding. I’m happy you’ve worked things out with him.” She shifted, digging her heel into his thigh. “Look, I don’t give a fuck about your sex life--”

“Good.”

“--but you know you can tell me shit, right? It was just the two of you for weeks, and now it’s… not. Are you okay with that?”

Caleb sighed; he already missed Essek dearly, but he always knew it would be like this. “Ja. We talked about it a lot. We want to be together as much as we can, but we are practical people, ja? I will bring him around soon, for a few days at least. Rexxentrum is not safe for him.”

“Well, good thing you have your own space. I don’t wanna hear that shit.”

Caleb rolled his eyes at her. “We are more likely to stay up late talking.” Sex with Essek was more of a (great) side benefit than a core element of their relationship A relationship they had never bothered to define. It was what it needed to be in the moment.

“That’s even worse, Caleb.”

“How the fuck is that worse?”

Beauregard shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s fuckin’ romantic as shit.”

“Ja, I am sure that you, the woman who makes out with her girlfriend in front of all our friends, is disgusted by romance.”

Beauregard grumbled incoherently at him.

****

Caleb was soon preoccupied with ferrying the Mighty Nein to the new house. He first collected Veth, Fjord and Jester from Yussa’s tower. Kingsley had wanted to explore Nicodranas for a while, without Fjord and Jester’s supervision. They had tentatively allowed it, not that they could’ve stopped Kingsley even if they had wanted to.

“Omigosh it’s so pretty !” Jester screeched upon seeing the house. “The windows are kinda boring, though. Can I paint them?”

Caleb was not in the habit of refusing Jester anything. “I suppose. Ask Beau and Yasha.”

“Which door is theirs?”

“The right. It should be unlocked.”

Jester tore ahead and disappeared inside. Fjord hooked his thumbs into his belt loops, gazing up at the exterior.

“It’s bigger than I expected,” he said.

“Ja, the previous occupant is a professor at Soltryce Academy. She lives alone, and it was too much space for her.”

“You’re okay with that?” asked Veth.

“Ja, she was very nice. She lives on Astrid’s estate now.”

“Trent’s old place?” asked Fjord.

“Ja.”

He whistled softly. “That must be weird.”

Caleb didn’t want to talk about it. “The professor gave us a good deal. I am meeting her for coffee tomorrow to talk about Evocation.” He looked down at Veth. “Thank you for the money.”

“I just wish I could’ve given you more, Cay.”

“It was plenty, Veth.” Caleb led them inside and picked Veth up so he could give her the hug he had wanted for days.

******

Next, Caleb teleported to the Blooming Grove. The grass had grown back where it had once been burned, and the house had been repaired. The tangled residuum trees had held strong, keeping the corruption of the Savalirwood at bay. It was quiet, save for the distant clattering of dishes coming from the house.

Caduceus appeared in the doorway before Caleb had taken more than a few steps. “Oh, excellent. Essek’s in the garden. Go get him. I’ll be out in a moment.”

Caduceus didn’t specify where in the garden, but Caleb assumed he was giving him the satisfaction of figuring it out for himself. Caleb walked further into the grove, occasionally stopping to cradle a blossom or sniff a particularly sweet scent.

He spotted Essek’s broad-brimmed hat first. On loan from the Clays. Caleb approached quietly, watching Essek hover over the bed of a herb garden, wearing the rose gloves Jester had made him while he carefully pulled weeds with a look of utmost concentration. The kind of look that made Caleb remember how attractive it was to watch him work.

As Caleb drew closer, Essek froze. Looked up. Relaxed as his face broke into a smile.

“I am sorry I startled you,” Caleb said, closing the distance.

Essek floated away from the herbs and opened his arms, accepting Caleb into them. “It’s all right. You know I’m a little… jumpy these days.”

Caleb kissed his neck; Essek was taller than him when he floated, and only when he floated. “Are you sure you want to visit Rexxentrum?”

“No one will expect to find me there. It will be fine for a few days.” He kissed Caleb’s forehead, and then lifted Caleb’s chin to kiss his mouth. “I wanted to see your new house. And you.”

Caleb dropped his head to Essek’s shoulder, breathing him in. This was the only peaceful moment they would have all day. Essek tucked Caleb’s head under his chin and gave him a squeeze.

“Caleb, are you all right?”

Caleb laughed softly, remembering the first time Essek had asked him in the heat of battle. “I don’t know. This is a lot.”

Essek kept squeezing; they had both discovered one rough night in Aeor that Caleb found this kind of careful pressure extremely comforting. “I understand. This is a huge change for you. Are you overwhelmed?”

“Ja, very.”

“I hope having me there will help, for what little time I can give.”

“You are already helping, Essek. Danke.”

Essek kissed the top of his head. He had slowly begun to initiate more physical contact, and their time together alone in Aeor had accelerated the process. It let Caleb pull back a bit and let himself accept Essek’s affection once in a while instead of constantly being the one to initiate. It was good. They were good.

Fuck , Caleb had missed him.

****

After saying his hellos and goodbyes to the Clays, Caleb palmed a small stone Yasha had dug from the garden bed behind the house and teleported himself, Caduceus and a disguised Essek. They landed in Caleb’s currently sparse sitting area, as planned.

“This is my side of the house. We are working on the furniture situation.” Caleb took them on a quick tour of the house, and was pleased to find Essek equally excited by the possibilities of the study as he had been.

They then used the door on the middle floor to cross into the other side and down the stairs into the crowded sitting area. Yasha was sitting on the rug, stitching a thick floral fabric to make curtains while Jester “helped” by painting tiny dicks on it. Beau and Fjord were sitting on the couch, watching with a mix of amusement and concern. Veth had probably been with them, but launched herself at Caleb for a hug as soon as he had appeared.

She had more or less glued herself to him since she had arrived, evidently sensing his lack of equilibrium. He was grateful she was there to ground him. For a long time, she and Frumpkin had been all that held together the tattered shreds of his mental health.

Caduceus slipped into the kitchen, but was the least sneaky man alive when he wasn’t trying to prank his siblings. He had a parcel in his hands, brought from the Grove. Caleb followed him.

Caduceus carefully stripped off the brown paper packaging to reveal a small wooden crate, from which he lifted a tea set complete with a kettle. He filled the kettle with water and set it over the fireplace, directing Caleb to light it. Caduceus pulled out a few small boxes of tea and cooking herbs from the Grove, arranging them in cabinets.

“I’ll bring another set next time I visit,” Caduceus promised. “Until then, you are required to spend time with the ladies. No locking yourself in the study and forgetting to eat.”

Essek chuckled from the doorway, knowing full-well Caleb would do exactly that. Repeatedly.

“We’ll go shopping together tomorrow,” Caduceus continued. “There are some things you three need for a good, complete kitchen and I don’t trust you to remember any of them, even with your memory.”

“Thank you, Caduceus.” Caleb was getting emotional again. “I, uh, am having coffee with an Evocation professor tomorrow morning, but we can go after that.”

Caduceus smiled at him. Soft, knowing. “I look forward to it.”

****

The Nein had apparently agreed without Caleb’s knowledge that they would stay on Beau and Yasha’s side for the night to give Caleb and Essek some privacy.

Caleb had ultimately decided to use the larger bedroom (the rest of the Nein may have insisted he treat himself). He was glad for it now that he had Essek in his bed. They were too tired for sex, and not really in the mood, but cuddling is a lot more comfortable when you’re not afraid of falling out of bed.

Essek had arranged things so he was lying on his back with Caleb curled around him. Caleb rested his head on Essek’s chest, listening to the gentle drumming of his heart, while Essek drew lazy patterns on his back with a finger. Spell symbols, mainly. Some Caleb recognised, and some he didn’t.

“This is a good location,” Essek said quietly. “Beauregard showed me a map of the city. It is central, but not too close to anything that would upset you more than the city in general already does.”

“Rexxentrum doesn’t upset me,” Caleb mumbled, halfway to sleep already. He tended to sleep better with trusted company these days.

“Beauregard told me what you said the first time you stepped foot here in years,” Essek said softly.

I don’t know if I can do this. “That was some time ago. It’s… easier now.”

“That does not mean it is easy.”

Caleb sighed deeply, closing his eyes. “Okay. It’s not. But that’s not… the last time I had a house was the Xhorhouse, and we all knew that was never permanent. The only home I’ve ever had that was supposed to be long-term… I burned it. The shitty hospital room they kept me in for eleven year was a roof over my head, one I barely remember, and that was… not a home. I was homeless for a long time. I have slept in the woods, in the streets, under bridges, where I could find even the tiniest bit of shelter. Now I own a house .”

“Caleb, I told you in the Grove this is a huge change for you.” Essek’s voice was soft but firm, as it often was when he thought Caleb was being needlessly stubborn or foolish. “You have been through so much , and now you are doing normal things like buying a house and putting down roots. And you have many painful memories here. I believe you will be okay, but you do not have to be. Not before you’re ready.”

Caleb felt foolish for letting this get to him so much. The last few days had been full of nothing but good things. But he was exhausted nonetheless, and eternally a hair’s breadth away from tears. Even in his worst moments, he had never been fragile in this way,  like he was a bucket of water with a hole in it that would leak at the slightest provocation.

Essek pressed his palm down between Caleb’s shoulder blades, forcing him to exhale. “Caleb. Be gentle with yourself. Give yourself time.”

Caleb chucked a little, despite his mod. “That is your specialty.”

“And I have taught you well.”

“The best teacher I ever had,” Caleb said quietly.

“You deserved better. Let yourself have better now, in your own time.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know. Stop pushing it. You know better than anyone it doesn’t work that way.” Essek’s hand slid into Caleb’s hair, cradling the base of his skull. “You of all people deserve patience and kindness, most of all from yourself. I will remind you of this.”

“Thank you.” Caleb pushed himself up on his elbows, finding Essek’s features in the dark. “You know, this is probably the safest I have been in close to twenty years.”

Essek reached up, tucking a strand of Caleb’s hand behind his ear. “Good. You deserve it. Even if I never have a moment’s peace for the rest of my life, all I want is for you to have all the safety and kindness you could ever need.”

“I would give it up in a heartbeat if I could help you.”

“I would never ask that of you,” Essek said warmly, but with a firm edge. “There are a great many things we have already given up. That one is not an option. Of all the people I have known in my 120 years, you deserve a lifetime of peace the most. Even if you will get bored eventually.”

Caleb slid a hand over Essek’s cheek, rubbing the soft skin with his thumb. “Remember when we thought we would never be the kind of people who would make big declarations of love at each other?” Because even if Essek wasn’t explicitly saying I love you , the words he did say were dripping with diamonds of unadulterated affection.

Essek huffed a soft laugh. “Most things between us do not need to be said. This does.”

“Thank you, Essek. I love you too.” Caleb rested his head over Essek’s heart once again, and let the gentle rhythm lull him to sleep.

[spoiler1001]

They set up the tower next to Aoer. It was warm, comforting, but the mood was heavy in the room. The cold was eating away at Caleb, his lips turning blue.

"I loved him," Caleb whispered into his hot chocolate. He was in the dining room with the rest of the Nein eating warm meals and hot chocolate. "Mollymauk. He was bright and smart, and I loved him."

Jester looked up. The cold wasn't bothering her, she looked good. Caleb's eyes were wet, so she was a bit blurry, but she looked good.

"I'm sorry. I brought up the card. It must have been hard." Jester hugged him. She was warm and he was shaking.

"I should be honest. When He died, I considered leaving. Beau, you talked me out of it, but I would have left. Gone back to the academy. Things made more sense there." He whispered. "I lead Molly to his death. And now…"

"He said he was after Vess because she put him in the ground." Beau placed a hand over his.

"I put him in the ground. I buried him. I lead the fight that killed him." Caleb put his cup down. "I-"

"You avenged him," Beau whispered.

"Forgive me but I find that hard to reconcile that with everything else." Caleb stood up and left the room, Frumpkin on his heels, watching something just to the side of Caleb's head.

-------------------------------------------------

He moved by the door to his room, right by Veth's, by the shared study, and right in front of the fourth door. He took a deep breath and walked in. The sheets were still torn, but the bath was working. The water was hot and Caleb needed to relax. Frumpkin meowed at Caleb as he took minutes to drop the clothes, too stiff from the cold and there was a pain radiating from his shoulders and his side. Caleb let out a small grunt of exertion. Frumpkin was still looking straight up at something that Caleb couldn't see.

"It looks like we're not the only curious players in the game." Caleb followed the cat's eye line. "You're welcome in. Bring the group if you need." Frumpkin reacted as his fascinating new sight blinked out of existence. He complained to Caleb and walked towards the tub, sitting at the edge. "You are a blessing, my friend; with my companionship, I wouldn't wish that forced on anyone." Caleb reached down to pet him but stopped, red lightly staining the water. He heard metal creaking behind him as a warning.

"Cold isn't very kind to preciousness. Anything or anyone worth value can be damaged quite easily." A thickly accented voice rang throughout the room. Caleb exhaled, the cold making his breath form in front of his face.

Caleb pointedly looked straight ahead, not turning to face his guest. "Is it just you?"

"Things are never just me, but I'm alone with you." The tiefling kneeled behind Caleb, brushing the red hair out of the way. "You look tired."

"Things have been tiring, Lucien." Caleb hummed. "But you look vibrant, healthy-"

"Bright?" Lucien chuckled. "I've heard such a lovely conversation. But there's something I noticed." Lucien pulled something out of a pocket from inside his shirt. It was a written note, the ink faded but the penmanship was familiar. "This was left with me. You did bury me, but not out of hatred. This was compassion. You did this out of respect. I can't fault you for this. Now, about the shoulder, the exposure and magic will wreck the skin and muscles. I can warm my blood so this is not an issue. Might I be allowed to return the favor, I brought balms. I noticed when you were casting in the room, you favored one arm."

"You are being kind." Caleb leaned into the touch. Lucien was quiet but rolled up his sleeves.

"I woke up, I had flashes of some other life, Cree helped me, and now I'm clear-headed." Lucien had a rumble in his chest. "I don't need to remember, it stops me from my responsibilities. I have orders I have to follow." Lucien began cleaning the wounds.

"You mentioned something of interest to me. You looked at me and mentioned fire." Caleb closed his eyes, fighting the images in his mind.

"I can smell the smoke on you, firefly." Lucien smiled sadly.

"Those flames, my spells...they're what I learned from my teachers. The final lesson broke me, isolated me. I don't want to see that happen to you." Caleb whispered. 

"I'm not the man you loved, Mr. Widogast." Lucien began to run the cream and lotions over the dry, cracked skin. "He's gone." 

"You are just like him, but I can see the differences. We can learn a lot from each other." Caleb whispered.

"My magic would break you," Lucien whispered in Caleb's ear. 

"I've been broken, shattered. My lessons broke me down until I was nothing hollow, -" Caleb stood up so that Lucien had access to the wound on his side. 

"Empty. You were empty." Lucien nodded. "You understand me on more than a shallow level."

"I don't want you to fall on the same slope that I did." Caleb stepped out of the tub to dry himself, careful of the lotions and creams. "It- I'm still putting the pieces of myself back together and it feels like I'm missing one." Caleb finally turned to face Lucien, while wrapping bandages over the treated wounds. 

"I can't afford to chase after the ghost of a past life." Lucien sighed. 

"So don't. It won't change much." Caleb slowly got dressed. 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Lucien almost glared. 

"This group clings to each other almost as much as yours. We dig our claws into each other and don't let go. We are bonded, not by blood, but by family, and you are part of it. That's why we're here." Caleb almost smiled. "And you feel it. Why else watch us, you could have killed us after watching us work with your attacker. By all means, we betrayed you, and yet… here you are. You want us here Mr. Nonagon." Caleb gestured for Frumpkin to jump on the bed. "You want us safe."

Lucien laughed. "I've killed for people talking less flippantly at me." 

"Your shadow always appreciated my ability to be rather flippant when the need presented itself." Caleb smiled. "He wanted me to come out of my shell."

"It's truly wonderful to see, but what-"

"Vess DeRogna stripped you of many things but your soul is something attached to your very being. You don't have your memories but we recognized our family." Caleb straightened his shirt. 

"You have a lot of nerve." Lucien took a step forward. Caleb just smiled. 

"You still admire it." Caleb grinned. 

A heartbeat passed between the two of them. Lucien cursed himself and took a step towards him. "This didn't happen." 

"Nothing ever does." 

Lucien pulled Caleb into a kiss. Caleb returned it and hummed.

"Nothing. Right." Lucien mused and pulled Caleb towards him more.

---------------------------------------------------

Caleb woke up to Lucien tapping his shoulder. 

"I got to clean the wounds again. C'mon, up." Lucien jabbed him with his tail. 

"Oh. Are you leaving?" Caleb let Lucien check his wounds. 

"I have to. But before I go. I can make your blood warmer so this doesn't keep happening." Lucien offered. 

"Would I wind up like a Tombtaker? With you able to overtake me on a whim?" Caleb pulled away. 

Lucien reached back towards him. "No. That was willing. I can't do that unless they consent." 

"And what would blood warming entail?" Caleb looked back at him, letting Lucien wrap back against him.

Lucien relaxed. "It's a blessing. It goes to your soul, strengthens it against everything. Cold, hot, attacks, injuries, you name it. But only if you agree." 

"Ok." 

"What?" Lucien looked up. 

"I give you permission." Caleb smiled. Lucien straightened up and placed a kiss on Caleb's forehead, whispering something in Infernal. The cold that set deep in his bones vanished.

"Thank you. But before you go, keep an eye on Cree." Caleb went to get dressed. Lucien stood up and went back to the window to leave. "Please, eat first. I made this tower to be a safe place. You can relax here." 

"I have a specific taste in food." Lucien raised an eyebrow, gently petting Frumpkin. 

"I think we can accommodate." Caleb stepped out of the room.

Lucien followed, carrying the cat.

[grimmseye]

A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Eight (Interlude)

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: M

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual)

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss, 

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Dissociation, Imagery of bugs on/inside the body, description of corpses/decomposition, Accidental self-harm, non-explicit sexual fantasy (this is unrelated to the previous tags)

I’m behind on posting chapters here. Ao3 is actually caught up to chapter ten as of Just Now, but I’ll be scheduling the next two chapters to post over the next few days.

— — —

When the Nein arrived, Mollymauk listened from his bedroom.

Beauregard, Caleb, Fjord, Jester, Nott, Yasha. The names pounded in his head, nails that refused to be hammered down. One stood out stronger than the rest, the ache deeper, the emptiness more terrifyingly complete, but not one passed without a sharp stutter in his heart.

He died. He had, hadn't he? Somehow the thought had never really, truly clicked. He had been cold and still in the ground, festering amid the worms. Had they made a home of him? Burrowed into his body while the mud dripped into his mouth, boring holes through his flesh and eating at his innards, ants and centipedes all marching their unending parade through the rot underneath his skin, thousands of legs too small to feel and yet there was a crawling deep inside.

He knew what dead bodies looked like. He felt liked he'd created a few himself. The swords he carried had tasted blood that was not his own, and a prickle on his tongue told Mollymauk that he had as well. His body had, at least. This body had done many things that Mollymauk had not. Maybe it was his Other, the echo that had given up his skin, who had brought his teeth to another's flesh to drink their life away.

He gagged, both from the sudden stench of copper he swore he could smell, and from the images it painted. He knew what dead bodies looked like. Molly's hands flew to his belly, prodding at the skin to make sure it felt as it should, a layer of fat softening the muscle underneath, currently smooth and flat as he hadn't eaten a thing. The Nein's presence left his stomach twist into knots too tight to let him get a proper meal. What should have mattered was that his belly was firm, where a corpses would be spongey-soft and bloated with gas, and yet it did not comfort him.

He was alive, but he couldn't convince himself of this. Molly scrabbled at his own jaw to find the pulse beneath it, fluttering far too quickly.

A heartbeat meant life. A beating heart meant pumping blood and blood was the essence of the life was what rooted the soul to the body. That's why they studied it: the blood. That's why they spilled it over their blades and that's why he, the Other, that Lucien, had drank it down, because endless blood meant endless life and an immortal sustained on the blood of those beneath them was unto a god —

Molly didn't realize he was scratching at his arms until he felt himself prick into a vein. The stinging made him wince, suddenly registering the scores of red lines he'd dragged over his forearms, and the one small arc of crimson where a nail had dug too deep.

His throat worked in a swallow. Blood was life. If he bled, he was alive. If he breathed in fresh, clean air, from the open window, then it meant that he wasn't buried feet under the earth with only worms and fungal spores for company.

The voices downstairs went quiet. Mollymauk went still, straining to catch a word. The thought that they were gone should have been a relief. It meant that he could move at last, emerge from this tiny, claustrophobic room that might as well be a coffin.

And it meant he was completely alone.

A panic caught his chest, Molly scrambling to his feet. "Essek!" He shouted. They were gone, weren't they, so it was safe to come out now. They were gone, but so was he, so Mollymauk was all alone with no one to distract him from the gaping wound underneath his ribs.

"Essek!"

No response. Trembling hands wrenched the door open. He thudded down the stairs and nearly toppled in his frenzy. He needed to find Essek. He needed to find someone, anyone, he needed to not be alone, he needed something to fill the empty void in in his chest where a soul was meant to be so he could stop feeling so Empty.

His skin crawled for contact, and he hugged himself tight. No one was there.

Eventually, Mollymauk would slink to a couch and find the thickest, heaviest blanket in the house. He hunkered down in the cushions with it, the soft texture until his fingers grounding and the pressure even better. A warm, living, breathing body was what he needed, but this would work. This would have to be enough.

Essek did return, sooner than expected. He had a parasol in his hand, a lacy pink thing. Mollymauk didn't know if it was relief or despair he felt when the drow strode right by, eyes so firmly fixed on the item in his hands that he hardly even noticed the tiefling on his couch — let alone his trembling. Mollymauk did not miss Essek's own.

If he'd been here five minutes prior, Mollymauk might have scrambled to him. Even now, after catching his breath so just the smallest of tremors seized him between the seconds, he was starving for contact. It would be so warm tucked up against someone else's body. He wanted Essek to hold him. Hell, he would hold Essek himself, the gods knew the drow needed a fucking hug.

Mollymauk would do a lot with Essek, really. He'd happily take any of it. Just a hand, fingers laced together. They were clever hands. Some memory — his own, not the Other's — told him that wizards were good with their hands. Long, nimble fingers, trained to weave odd shapes in the air or paint them in their books. He'd love to just play with his fingers and watch how each section folded in, drag his own over the protrusions of the knuckles and maybe lift Essek's hand to kiss each one.

Kissing Essek was the next thought that flitted into his mind. He let it come and savored it, happy to entertain a fantasy, especially in favor of the panic that seized him before. Essek didn't strike him as one who spent a lot of time in bed with someone else. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that the man had never kissed at all. Either way, Mollymauk thought it would be hesitant at first. It was easy to imagine how Essek would falter, breath fanning out across his lips. Mollymauk would have to cup his face, press slow, chaste kisses to his lips, again and again until the wizard followed suit. Wizards were curious things, and Essek had an attractive dedication to his work. He was sure that he'd get his bearings in no time.

And then there was further. Picking that mantle away, taking a moment to admire him in the garments that clung close to his body. Molly had averted his eyes in the spa, but like this he would be allowed to drink it in. First with his eyes, and then with his hands, his teeth, his tongue. He wondered how Essek would sound. Soft whimpers, maybe. Or could be be noisy once his restraint cracked in half, crying out and panting. Or low growls and hisses of pleasure, his quiet intensity taken to bed.

It would all be music to his ears. But while he knew Essek looked at him — he wasn't blind — somehow he was sure that Essek wasn't going to act on that any time soon.

But the craving wasn't going to go away, either. Now that the thought was lodged in his head, Mollymauk knew what he wanted so badly. It barely scraped against arousal, just desire making him ache. He just wanted to spend a night with the reminder he wasn't alone.

Maybe he'd take a tour around the city, tomorrow, and see if he couldn't find someone to share his bed.

It had been more than enough. Hands on his body to sooth the crawling under his skin, warmth and heat and pressure that became the soul focus of his mind, and a sleep so deep there was no room for nightmares of blood and burials. And with a clear head, Mollymauk came to a conclusion:

Essek Thelyss was difficult to read, and that both impressed and worried him.

Mollymauk was a liar. Spinning tales was as easy as it was fun, and while he might not have been the most charming of trinkets, he knew how to walk the line that bordered absurdity, keep a story just strange enough for someone to want to believe his words were true. The deeper sort of lie, he could manage that as well — deception, not just tall tales, the kind of words that sang of danger in their wake.

Essek wasn't necessarily a liar, as far as Mollymauk could tell, but he was certainly a deceiver. There were gaps in his story, things he didn't like to talk about, subjects he was quick to change.

There was a heavy guilt that followed in his shadow after the Mighty Nein's departure, one that grew deeper as the days passed. Mollymauk wouldn't care about lies — whatever person Essek didn't want to be, that was his business. Molly didn't care for other people's baggage. It was dead weight, best left behind so you could keep moving forward without so much as a glance over the shoulder. But whenever Mollymauk brought up the Nein, he could no longer miss the way that Essek's breath caught, his words stalled, his face pinched.

Essek had a good mask, but Mollymauk was even better at prying them off than he was at wearing his own.

[ladywritesthings]

Welcome to Burlesque, ch5

AO3

---

“He did what?”

“He took the job, Molly,” said Jester. “Weren’t you listening? He’s gonna come live here, isn’t that cool?”

“Caleb Widogast? My Caleb Widogast?” Molly’s tail flicked through the air, draped over her couch as he was. “Skinny introvert, cat-lady extraordinaire, offered to come work here, just… out of the blue? And not only did your mother then offer him an actual job, but he accepted the apartment as part of the deal? Are you sure we’re talking about the same man?”

“Yes, Molly.”

“That bastard,” said Molly. “No wonder he’s been avoiding me.”

“Why would he avoid you?” She bumped his legs with her hip and he lifted them so she could sit down. “You introduced us in the first place. This wouldn’t have happened at all if you hadn’t brought him here.”

“That’s exactly why,” he said, settling his feet back in her lap. “If he doesn’t see me, he doesn’t have to grovel at my feet for this incredible turn of luck as he so clearly should. Ungrateful bastard,” he added mildly.

Jester hummed thoughtfully as she sipped her tea. “It’s been so long since anyone new moved in here,” she said.

She could feel Molly’s gaze flick over her and her stomach clenched as she fought to keep a neutral expression. “It has,” he agreed. “Looking forward to it, are you?”

She shrugged. “It’ll be pretty cool,” she said casually. “He’s bringing his cat, you know. I’ve never met a real cat before.”

“I would hardly call Frumpkin a ‘real cat,’ but…” He cocked his head, the corners of his mouth curling up into a sly grin. “So,” he said. “What do you think of him?”

“The cat?”

Molly prodded her with his toe. “The man,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t play coy with me. You’re not as slick as you think you are, darling.”

“I don’t think I’m slick,” Jester protested. “What do I have to be slick about, anyway? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Did you know you babble when you’re nervous?” he said.

“Do not,” she mumbled into her tea.

“You do, and it’s adorable.” His eyes glinted. “Now, what on earth could you possibly be nervous about?”

“Nothing!”

“Then answer the question.”

“He’s…” She chewed her lip, mulling her words. ‘Handsome,’ her mind supplied unhelpfully. “…Nice,” she said carefully. “He seems really nice, yeah.”

“And…?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she huffed. “It’s not like I know him that well, we’ve only met a couple of times. But he seems nice. And his cat is, like, really cute.”

“And that’s all?”

“Stop staring at me!”

“I’ll stop staring when you start sharing, love.” His eyebrows were raised in that infuriating way he did when he was feeling smug. Although what he could possibly have to feel smug about, Jester certainly had no idea. “You’re hiding something,” he said in a sing-song voice.

“Am not.”

“It only gets worse the longer you deny it, you know,” he said. “You can’t lie to me. I know you far too well for that.”

“What did I lie about? I said he was nice!”

“Yes, and?” He sat up finally, curling his legs under him to rest his chin expectantly on his hands. “Come on, out with it,” he wheedled. “Nothing you say could possibly shock me.”

“He’s just… nice,” she insisted. “And he seems really smart and stuff. I don’t know what you want me to say!”

“Oh, but your face is saying plenty.”

“Is not!”

“It’s alright,” he said, shrugging. “I already know.”

Know…? He couldn’t possibly know… what? That she thought he was good-looking? That was hardly a crime. So why did the thought of Molly pulling it out of her make her heart do that nervous stutter of embarrassment? “Know what?” she asked, as nonchalantly as she could into her mug.

“That you want to fuck him.”

Jester choked on her tea.

“Oh, come on, you want to bang that wizard like a drum,” said Molly. “Just admit it, we’re all adults here.”

“I do not,” said Jester hotly, “want to fuck him. I don’t even know him!”

He raised an eyebrow. “And?” he said. “When has that ever stopped anyone? You think I know the whole life story of everyone I’ve ever—”

“Yeah, but I’m not like you, Molly,” she said. Her face was burning now. “I couldn’t… Even if I wanted to, I—” She was digging herself a very deep hole, she realized, if Molly’s growing grin was any indication, and she trailed instead into a flustered silence. “I guess,” she confessed finally, quietly, when his gaze didn’t waver, “I just think he’s… kind of cute, maybe? I guess?”

He tilted his head, that shit-eating grin still dimpling one side of his face. “He’s got nice hands, hasn’t he?” he said conspiratorially.

The faint memory of his hands on her hips, fingers gripping her like a vice as those icy blue eyes bored into hers, had her blushing again. “I guess,” she said, as noncommittally as she could.

“Nice arms, too.”

Images of Caleb shrugging off his coat by the bar, the vague implication of muscles working under the thin cotton of his shirtsleeves as he folded it methodically, danced across her mind. “Yeah,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Perfect, really,” he said slyly. “Long fingers. Nimble. Dexterous.”

“Yeah…”

“Now,” he continued, “just imagine… Those arms around you, holding you tight… Pinning you to the bed while he slips those hands between your—”

“Stop it, Molly,” she said, smacking his shoulder, although her ears felt very hot all of a sudden. “Don’t be mean.”

“‘Mean’? How is that ‘mean’? I’m basically implying he’s a sex god, that’s hardly mean.”

“He’s your friend,” she said indignantly, trying very hard not to think about… that. “You’re — you’re objectifying him!”

He raised another eyebrow. “Jester,” he said seriously. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but… we’re strippers, darling. Getting objectified is our job.”

She smacked his arm again, although with less venom this time. “Yeah, well… It’s not his,” she said haltingly.

“And yet I’m sure you wish it was.” Jester stuck her tongue out at him. “Oh, come now, don’t be like that. Save that tongue for—” The pillow she shoved in his laughing face cut off the rest of that entirely unnecessary thought.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she mumbled, ducking her head to hide her furiously blushing face. “He wouldn’t — I mean, that’s just stupid, I… Anyway, I don’t even want—”

“And why not?” he asked, tossing the pillow aside, where it tumbled off the couch onto the floor by her feet. “He’s handsome, I suppose. For a human. And a bookish one, at that.”

She glanced sideways at him. “You just called him a skinny cat-lady,” she said.

“True, but that’s because I happen to know him as a person,” he said. “You, my dear, have the advantage of not knowing what an absolute stick in the mud he is on the inside.”

“Now you’re being mean,” she said crossly. “He can’t be that bad. And besides, magic is, like, really cool! I bet he knows all sorts of interesting things.”

“Yes, like how to use those hands to make you scream all night—”

“Molly!”

He shrugged. “I’m just saying. He could use a good fuck, anyway.”

“Is that all I am?” she said, a little facetiously in spite of her embarrassment.

“Of course not. But you know what I mean. The way he looked that night when you were done with him was the most alive I’ve seen him in—” He paused a moment, looking thoughtful. “Well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that.” He eyed her shrewdly. “You’re not holding out on me, are you? You didn’t fuck him already, did you?”

“What — no!” Her face was burning now, and she hunched again over her teacup, letting her hair fall forward to hide her probably mortified expression.

He gasped delightedly. “You did!” he exclaimed, tail twitching. “You saucy little minx! What was it like?”

“I didn’t—”

“Oh, I’m dying to know what he’s like under that ridiculous coat. Was he loud? Did he bite? Because I’ve always thought he looked like a biter—”

“I don’t do that!” she interrupted loudly. “It was just a lapdance, that’s all.”

“Oh.” He paused again, seeming to deflate a little in disappointment, but recovered quickly. “Well, what happened, then? He still won’t talk about it, you know. It’s infuriating.”

“Nothing happened.” She stared at her cooling tea, at the soft steam curling off the surface. “I just… danced, really. I let him… touch me a little, but—”

“Oho,” he said, perking up again. “You were holding out on me.” His eyes glinted. “Already intimately familiar with those hands, are we? Naughty.”

“It wasn’t like that,” she said. “He just… held my waist a little, really, he didn’t even touch any skin! And then he got really weird and left.”

He cocked his head quizzically. “Weird how?”

“Well, he pulled out a picture of his cat…”

Molly sagged against the couch again disinterestedly. “That’s not weird, that’s just Caleb,” he said. “He won’t shut up about the stupid thing. Told you he was boring.”

“Frumpkin is very cute, though.”

He snorted. “Sure,” he said sarcastically.

Jester settled back into the cushions. She didn’t know how to convey the change she’d seen that night, from stuttering and red-faced, to intense and hungry, to babbling and closed off again — and, more importantly, did she really want to? She supposed Molly of all people would know best; after all, he and Caleb were friends, as odd a mashup as that might be, and he had so much more experience than her. He’d probably be able to dissect Caleb’s strange behavior better than she could ever hope to. But then again, he seemed to be of a singular mind on this topic, having already apparently decided the best course of action would be for her to simply strip down and jump into bed with the man, and then continue on with her life as though nothing had happened.

Maybe she wanted to get to know him better. Figure him out on her own.

At least when it came to that.

Not sex, of course — that was silly; she barely knew him. Just the lapdance. That was all.

“Do you know what those sigils mean?” she asked finally. “The ones in his wallet?”

Molly waved his hand dismissively. “Who knows?” he said. “He’s always scribbling down notes like that. I think he gets them from those manuscripts he translates. Bit useless, if you ask me.”

“Magic is useful.”

“Your magic, yes. His?” He pursed his lips. “I don’t see why he could possibly need some of the spells he’s talked about — walls of fire and magical armor and such. He’s not even in the military. Maybe that sort of thing was useful a few hundred years ago, but…”

The thought of Caleb in a dungeon, or perhaps an underground cavern of some sort, clad in battle-weary adventuring garb from those old storybooks she used to read as a child — all historical settings, with ancient heroes and terrifying monsters — flames licking up his arms as he conjured a wall of fire between him and faceless enemies, eyes hard and hair in disarray… Gosh, why was she drinking tea right now? It was much too hot for tea; it was practically summertime, for Traveler’s sake. She set the mug down quickly.

He was looking at her again. “Think of something pleasant?” he teased.

She flushed. “N-no, I just…” She shook her head to clear it, staring down at her hands. “Do you think he’d tell me about them? If I asked?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you don’t want to fuck him?” he said. “Because that’s an excellent way to get into his pants. He probably won’t stop telling you about them once he gets started.”

At least they’d have something to talk about, then; that was a nice thought. She smiled a little in spite of herself. “What’s he like?” she asked.

He considered this for a moment. “Boring,” he said finally.

She poked him. “I’m serious, Molly,” she said.

“So am I,” he said. “I told you, all he cares about are his stupid books and his stupid cat. Which is a menace, by the way. I don’t understand why you’re so excited to meet it.”

“I like cats,” she said. “At least, I think I do. Or would, I guess.”

“I almost feel bad that he’s going to be your first experience with one, then.”

“I’m sure he’s lovely,” she said firmly, picking up her mug of tea again. “You’re just being a dick.”

“And why do you want to learn about magic, anyway?” He squinted at her. “You’re not trying to become a wizard too, are you? Because one is quite enough, thank you.”

“No, I just…” She struggled to find the words to express herself — at least in a way that wouldn’t make her sound completely pathetic. “I think it would be interesting, that’s all. I like learning new things. And magic is cool, you know? Like, my magic is really cool and stuff, but it’s all just… healing, you know? Simple. Mine just happens. Wizards have to use… stuff for their spells. Ooh,” she said, struck by sudden inspiration, “does he have, like, a secret spell cupboard or something? Or maybe like a — a belt with pouches where he keeps, like, his newt eyes and stuff.”

“That would get rather smelly, I think,” he said blandly.

“I guess you’re right,” she said, and brightened again. “Oh, oh, do you think he has a spellbook? Wizards have spellbooks, right?”

“I have no idea, you’ll have to ask one.”

“You know what? I think I will,” she said. “Since you’re no help.”

He merely grinned lazily at her. “You know, for someone who definitely isn’t interested,” he said, “you’re asking an awful lot of questions, darling.”

“I am interested,” she said, and oh dear, that didn’t come out right at all. “I mean,” she said, backpedaling madly, “he seems interesting. I want to get to know him, you know? Since we’re going to be neighbors and all. I just don’t want to fuck him.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, in a tone that definitely didn’t sound convinced, and grinned again. “Mark my words, you’ll be going at it like rabbits in no time.”

“Will not,” she said. “Don’t be gross, Molly.”

“You say that now,” he said. “But you’ll change your tune soon enough.” The grin turned wicked. “Especially when he gets those lovely hands of his around your—”

The pillow she grabbed off the floor and ground in his face almost drowned out his sniggering.

It was another two days until she saw Caleb again. It was an accident, really; it wasn’t like he’d told her when he was moving or anything. They hadn’t spoken since Mama had offered him the job — a whole nine days ago. That wasn’t very long, not really, but it still felt like forever somehow.

A part of her started to worry again — had something happened? Had he reconsidered? Maybe he’d died or something, like, got hit by a bus or something; that would really suck — but she reminded herself that he had a life of his own; there was probably lots to do to prepare for the move, and he did have another job… She remembered what it had been like, moving from hers and Mama’s — now just Mama’s — apartment to her own place a few months ago; that process had taken nearly three whole weeks, and she’d only been moving down the hall. Caleb’s move could take three months.

Plus, it wasn’t like they were really friends, exactly. Not yet, anyway. She couldn’t expect him to update her on every little thing he did before he came back. Even if she was his landlord by proxy. Landlady. Landperson. Very pretty and funny and overall great lady who collected rent. By proxy. Even though there technically wasn’t any rent to collect, but that didn’t really matter. It was symbolic.

She was thinking all of these things as she trotted down the stairs to look for Mama, who was supposed to have been locked in her office again — she was locked in there most days, really; had been ever since the last accountant had been… ahem, removed, trying to clean up the mess he’d left behind — and nearly ran into someone on the way down.

“Oh,” she said, a little startled by the sudden person in her way, whose face was blocked by the tall cardboard box carried by lean, brown arms. “Sorry.”

“You wanna move?” said the gruff voice behind the box. “This thing is pretty heavy…”

“Oh, sorry,” she said again, sheepishly this time, and as she stepped aside she squinted at the woman as she trudged past. “Wait… You’re Beau, right? Molly’s friend!”

“Oh,” said Beau, pausing again. “Sorry. Hi. Yeah, that’s me.”

“It’s so nice to see you!”

“Uh, likewise. Hey, uh, you mind giving me a hand real quick?” There was a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead, and the box shifted uncomfortably in her arms. “It’s slipping a little…”

“Oh, of course!” said Jester hurriedly, taking the box from Beau’s grasp. It had a heft to it, like it was full of bricks.

“Uh, I didn’t mean — it’s really heavy—” Beau stopped when Jester adjusted her grip to the left, balancing the box on her hip and supporting it with her other hand, so as not to block her view. “Jesus.”

“What?” Beau was staring at her oddly, like she’d done something remarkable. Her brow furrowed.

“You just… Never mind.” Beau rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly, seemingly unsure of where to look. “You’re… stronger than you look, that’s all.”

Jester blinked. “Oh,” she said, and grinned. “Yeah, I am pretty strong.” She gestured to the box. “So… where’s this going? I don’t mind taking it, if your arms need a break or something.”

Beau looked momentarily conflicted, but swallowed when Jester bounced the box a little higher on her hip. “Uh, third floor. On the end, I think.” She shrugged lopsidedly, an apologetic half-grin quirking her mouth. “I’ve only been here twice,” she explained.

“Third floor…” Jester brightened instantly, an odd fluttering beginning somewhere deep in her chest. “Of course! You’re Caleb’s friend too! You’re helping him move? Is he here?” She glanced hopefully down the stairs, but the landing between the first and second floors was disappointingly empty.

“He should be around here somewhere,” said Beau. “Probably getting stuff out of Fjord’s truck or something.”

“That’s cool,” said Jester. Casually. Of course he was here. He was moving here. Today, apparently. Her spine tingled pleasantly.

“So… you know the way, right?” Beau paused, and her cheeks reddened slightly. “Oh, wait, shit, never mind. You live here, of course you — never mind, I’ll just shut up now.”

Jester giggled and hefted the box a little higher. “You’re funny,” she said, inclining her head. “Come on, this way.” She adjusted the massive box again and trotted back up the way she came.

Beau trailed along behind her, panting slightly as they came finally reached the third floor and continued down the hall. “How are you not exhausted right now?” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow. “God, you’re fuckin’ fast. Can you even see where you’re going?”

Jester shrugged. “Not really,” she said. “But I’ve lived here my whole life, you know, I know my way around pretty well. And this—” She jiggled the box, which rattled slightly, “—isn’t really that heavy. Did you know this hallway is seventy-eight steps long?”

“I… didn’t,” said Beau.

“Well, it was when I was seven, anyway,” said Jester conversationally. “And I took really long steps on purpose because, you know, my legs were really short and I wanted to see how far I could stretch. I should probably measure again… Oh, here we are,” she continued, stopping and glancing behind her at her companion. “Do you have the key?”

“Uh,” said Beau.

“Oh, never mind,” said Jester, glancing around the box to see the door was slightly ajar. “Do you think he’d mind if I—?”

“Jester?”

Oh, his voice was even nicer than she remembered. Her name in that accent… She beamed, even though he couldn’t see her behind the cardboard. “Hi, Caleb! I brought you a present.”

“What are you — you didn’t have to do that,” he said, sounding bewildered.

“Speak for yourself,” muttered Beau. “My back is killing me.”

“You should lift with your legs,” said Jester earnestly. “That’s way better for your back.”

“Noted,” said Beau. To Caleb, she continued, “I thought you were downstairs.”

“I was, but you were taking so long I came back up without you.”

“Can I come in?” said Jester.

“Oh — ja, yes, of course.” His feet shifted to stand aside and she marched past him through the door, elbow just barely brushing his chest on the way past. The heat of him sent a shiver up her arm.

“Where do you want it…?”

“Oh, ah, there is fine.”

She let the box down gently on the floor, though it still let out an audible thud as it hit wood. “Geeze, Caleb, what do you have in this thing?” she said. “It’s pretty big.”

Beau let out a strangled half-snort that Caleb ignored as Jester turned back to them, leaning lightly on the box. “Books,” he said. “And things.”

“Magic things?” she asked.

“And non-magic things.”

“Cool,” she said. There was a pause, in which she looked around her, taking in the blank walls and wide, empty spaces that were a mirror and simultaneously the polar opposite of her own apartment, mere feet above their heads. “There’s not much in here yet,” she observed. “Did you guys just get here or something?”

“Ah, yes,” he said awkwardly.

She grinned. “Guess I got here just in time, then,” she said. “You guys need any more help? I don’t mind carrying more stuff if you need.” She flexed a bicep, waggling her eyebrows at them. Beau and Caleb exchanged glances and quickly looked away, each of them slightly redder than before. Her grin widened.

“Ja, well, thank you for offering, but we have a few errands to run first,” said Caleb to the wall, clearing his throat with a cough.

“We’ll definitely hit you up later, though,” added Beau, stepping on his foot in a way that was clearly supposed to be surreptitious, but didn’t account for the accompanying wince that crossed his face. “If the offer still stands.”

Jester almost felt the corners of her smile fall a little, but she shoved her slight disappointment down deep and instead shrugged lightly. “Alright,” she said, straightening. “Of course, Beau! I’ll just… be in my apartment.” She cocked her head at Caleb. “You remember where it is, right?” she said sweetly. “Right… up… there?” She pointed to the ceiling and smiled.

Both Caleb and Beau swallowed at that, she noticed with some small satisfaction. “Uh,” said Beau.

“Great! Well, guess I’ll see you later then!” She brushed past them and glanced over her shoulder to waggle her fingers. “Bye!”

She could hear Beau spluttering behind her as she headed back down the hall. “Dude,” she was stage-whispering, and Jester heard a muted smacking sound and a hiss of pain, as though Caleb had just been punched in the shoulder. “You didn’t tell me you’d been to her place. What the hell, man?”

She suppressed a small smile.

The fun, it seemed, was just getting started.

She knew they wouldn’t call her back for another few hours at least, but as the afternoon came and went without so much as a text, she began to feel a little… what? Upset? No, that was too strong a word. Miffed? Maybe. Either way, the quality of her drawings was rapidly dwindling, the floor around her littered with crumpled scraps of sketchbook paper, and her patience with watercolors as a whole was running laughably thin.

She swore loudly in Infernal as a sudden buzzing in the very early evening made her jump, her brush skidding across the paper. Where was her fucking phone? She spent a good five minutes hunting around before she remembered; shoved between couch cushions, naturally — she’d stuffed it there when the blank screen seemed to be taunting her with its blankness — but her heart swooped suddenly when she saw the contact name.

Caleb.

She felt jittery as she unlocked the phone, read the few short words there in black and white. Their first text.

‘Could you come downstairs? If you’re still available. — Caleb’

She only realized she was grinning like a lunatic when her cheeks started feeling sore. He signed his texts. Like a dork. Or did he just sign it now, for her, just in case she’d… what? Deleted his number? That was adorable.

She was almost skipping as she went down the stairs.

His door was open again; the gap between it and the doorframe widened slightly as she rapped out a quick little beat with two knuckles. “Cay-leb,” she sang. “Are you home? I got your text!”

“Ja, come in,” came the muffled reply, followed by an equally muffled, “Scheisse.” He sounded like he had a mouth full of… something. She gently pushed the door open.

The apartment was considerably more crowded than it had been before — sparse, still, compared to her own, but mainly because there was no real furniture; only boxes and bags of varying sizes, organized in neat little rows and piles, grouped together in an orderly fashion that created precise pathways through the systematic chaos. Behind it all stood Caleb, struggling with a towering, slightly wobbling bookshelf.

She hurried over, grabbing the other side as he steadied it and straightened. “Ah, danke,” he said, taking a small collection of screws out from between his lips. “That could have gone… poorly.”

“Why were you trying to move it, silly?” she said, nudging him playfully in the ribs as he placed the screws carefully on one of the shelves. “You usually build stuff where you want it to end up, so it doesn’t, like, fall on your head when you try to shove it around.”

“I did build it where I wanted it.” He sighed and ran a hand over his face, the faintest hint of a sheepish grin playing around his lips. “And then I changed my mind.”

A small flicker of warmth spread through her chest at that grin. “Why’re you doing this by yourself, anyway?” she said. “Where’s Beau?”

“Out,” he said. “We didn’t have the space in the truck for everything in one go, she and Fjord have been going back and forth to pick things up in batches. I thought I could get started here while they were gone.”

“You could have called me sooner, you know,” she chided, not unkindly. “I could have helped with these boxes.”

“Ah, no, Fjord could probably use the exercise.” He waved his hand dismissively, but she caught the slight pink in his cheeks with a pleasant twist in her stomach. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Cay-leb,” she said, drawing out his name again with a smack of her lips, and the pink of his ears deepened just a touch. “I wanted to help. You wouldn’t have bothered me. I thought you didn’t want my help at all and were just trying to be polite.”

His gaze flicked over her and stuttered away. “Well,” he said. “I appreciated the offer.”

She smiled at him, shoving her hands in the pockets of her skinny jeans. Mostly to hide the sudden nervous jitter in her fingers. “So,” she said brightly. “What do you need me for first?”

Most of their conversation for the next half-hour or so consisted mainly of confusion over assembly directions and muttered curses over squashed fingers, but as the clock ticked closer to the next hour, they’d assembled another bookshelf and a half — assembled precisely where he wanted them this time. She spied several more of the flat packages containing shelving; she supposed that was why he hadn’t bothered to paint over the boring white of the walls first. No point in having a fun color if it was just going to be covered in books anyway.

“You read a lot, huh?” she commented, as they finished the second — technically third — shelving unit.

“Ja, I — ah, fick mich,” he swore, shoving his pinched finger in his mouth for a moment. “These verdammte shelves might make me reconsider, though.”

“What language is that?”

“Hmm?”

“That language,” she said, gesturing vaguely at nothing. “Your accent. I’ve never heard it before. What’s it from?”

“Oh,” he said, settling back on his heels. “It’s Zemnian. Empire. Up north.”

“Really? That’s so cool!” She put down her screwdriver. “You’re a long way from home, then,” she said.

He was silent for a long moment. “This is my home now,” he said finally. Carefully.

She hummed thoughtfully. “Must be different,” she said. “I’ve never been to the Empire.”

“Never?”

She shook her head. “Been here all my life,” she said. “Is it cold up there? I’ve heard it’s cold.”

“Sometimes,” he said.

Dead end. A part of her wanted to push, wanted to hear all about the Empire, about snow, about proper mountains and endless fields with no ocean in sight, but… She let out a puff of air, glancing around at the boxes and bags and clean hardwood floors. “Where’s your cat?”

He blinked at her.

“Well, he’s not here,” she said. “Obviously. But you’re going to bring him, right? You said you would.” No, that sounded too accusatory. Too demanding. She chewed her lip and batted her eyelashes ridiculously to lighten her statement. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Cay-leb?” she said in an exaggerated pout.

Success — his ears went pink. “He’s here,” he said.

Jester’s eyes widened with excitement. “Really?” she said eagerly, shelves forgotten. “Where is he? I haven’t seen him.”

“Oh, he’s, ah, not here, exactly—” He cut himself off, exhaled. “Here, I’ll show you.” And with a snap of his fingers and a small pop, there was a cat, suddenly — miraculously, a gorgeous orange tabby with luminous amber eyes.

“Oh,” said Jester. “My. Gosh.”

The cat — Frumpkin, of course — seemed entirely unconcerned with being materialized into sudden existence, and barely looked at her as he washed his paws with a small pink tongue. He was smaller than she thought he’d be; and yet, bigger. And sleeker, yet fluffier. His long whiskers twitched as he ignored her presence entirely.

Cats. She decided she loved them.

“C-can I…?” Her hand hovered in space above him before she even realized she’d begun to ask the question, and the corner of Caleb’s mouth twitched upwards.

“Go ahead.”

Frumpkin paused his washing as her hand lowered tentatively towards that sweet little head, fixing her with those large, alien eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she assured him automatically. “I’ve never met a cat before. I-is it okay if I pet you a little bit?”

Three long, agonizing seconds passed in silence. She didn’t know, entirely, what she was waiting for — permission? From a cat? It sounded ridiculous, certainly, when she thought about it like that, but something about this particular cat made her feel like she should.

He blinked once, slowly. She took that as a good sign.

From the first tentative touch of her fingertips, she knew she was in love — he was so soft, like what she imagined petting a cloud would feel like. She was entranced, letting her fingers, then her palm run over the smooth, soft fur in gentle strokes. It felt like she could do this forever, honestly, just kneeling on the empty hardwood floor of Caleb’s apartment until her legs fell off from lack of circulation, just petting and petting until she couldn’t feel her hand anymore.

“He likes to be scratched,” suggested Caleb’s voice, distantly from some far-off place. She’d nearly forgotten he was there at all. “Here.” He leaned forward and scratched just behind Frumpkin’s jaw, his long fingers nearly brushing her own in the process. Frumpkin’s whole head shifted at the touch, and for a moment she wanted to shout at Caleb, certain he was pushing too hard — but no, Frumpkin was merely stretching his neck to give him better access, leaning into his fingers. “You can try it, if you want,” said Caleb.

Jester moved her hand hesitantly to the spot on the other side of Frumpkin’s exposed neck, fingers gentle at first, but gradually gaining confidence as Frumpkin started leaning towards her instead. “He likes me!” she whispered elatedly.

“He does,” agreed Caleb.

Frumpkin was rubbing against her hand, and she was pretty sure she was in heaven. “Wait, what’s he—?” She paused her scratching, slightly alarmed, as a strange, low rumbling sound began emanating from beneath her hand.

Caleb was smiling softly, a little crookedly. Her heart jumped. “He’s purring.”

She looked down again, and Frumpkin flopped down on his side, halfway on her lap. “Purring,” she breathed. “So that’s what that feels like.”

She almost didn’t look up when the door banged open suddenly, revealing a grumpy-looking Beau and a heavily-laden half-orc — Fjord, she remembered — trailing behind her. “The couch is downstairs,” she was saying loudly. “And I swear to Ioun, Caleb Widogast, if you don’t get your skinny wizard ass—” She broke off as she took in the sight before her, at an enchanted Jester and a smiling Caleb, a happily purring Frumpkin between them. “Oh, what the fuck, Caleb?” she complained, throwing her hands exasperatedly in the air. “I’ve — we’ve been running all over the goddamn coast for your stupid furniture, and you just — just shack up with your girlfriend while we’re gone? Thanks a whole bunch, buddy.”

Jester mostly ignored the girlfriend comment — for now — if only because Frumpkin chose that exact moment to roll over lazily onto his back. She let out a soft gasp. “Beau,” she murmured, “he’s purring.”

“I — what?” Beau’s expression slipped momentarily into confusion. “Well, yeah, he’s a cat. That’s what they do.”

“She’s never met a cat before,” Caleb explained.

“What, seriously?” Beau blinked as Fjord trudged past her, depositing his many bags in an unceremonious heap on the kitchen floor. “Never?”

“How’ve you never met a cat?” said Fjord. His voice was deep, a lazy, rolling accent she couldn’t place creating a pleasant lilt to his words.

“We’ve never had pets here,” said Jester distractedly, and gasped again. “Oh, oh Caleb, did you see? His little tongue—” The tip of Frumpkin’s tongue, rough and pink, barely poked out of his sweet little mouth, his eyes half-closed in bliss as she continued to scratch and pet. She never wanted to get up from this spot.

“Okay, so, like, as much as I’m dying to let you experience all the wonders cats have to offer,” said Beau, “and believe me, I do — I’m gonna have to insist we get this show on the road, ‘cause, like, I got shit to do? Places to be?”

“Oh,” said Jester, heart sinking. “Oh, yes, of course, I’m sorry.” She looked down again at Frumpkin, at that little fuzzy tummy and his outstretched paws, and patted him again, a little sadly this time. “I’m sorry,” she told him, very sincerely, “but I have to get up now.”

“He doesn’t mind,” said Caleb reassuringly.

“I do,” mumbled Jester.

Caleb snapped his fingers again and with another small pop the weight and warmth vanished from her knee, and in its place she felt a brief, but sharp sense of loss. She definitely, really, super-liked cats now.

Beau put them to work — she was a fantastic coordinator, if a little brusque — and Jester worked diligently, if a little glumly. The phantom feeling of Frumpkin’s soft fur on her fingertips lingered even as time marched on, even as shelves were built and the final bits of furniture and such were brought up, and she was flattening boxes absently when Caleb came up with a large garbage bag. “So,” he said. “How was your first cat experience?”

“It was wonderful,” she sighed. “He’s so soft, Caleb! And his little paws…”

“Ja, he’s a pretty good cat.”

“How’d you get him to — y’know, poof like that? Cats can’t usually do that, right?”

“Frumpkin — well, he’s not really a cat.” He paused. “Well, he is, but he… isn’t? He is Fey. I can summon him from the Feywild when I choose.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?” she breathed.

“He is my familiar,” he nodded. “He prefers the cat shape, athough I could change him to something else.”

“You can do that?”

“It is expensive, but yes.”

“So you could have like — like…” Her mind scrambled to catch up with the torrent of ideas all striking her at once. “Like a hamster-Frumpkin? Or a unicorn? No, wait. A unicorn-hamster-Frumpkin?”

He paused, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I will admit,” he said, “that particular thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but… theoretically, I suppose.”

She gasped, wide-eyed. “That’s so cool,” she said. “You’re so cool, Caleb.”

“Ah,” he said. His ears were pink again. They cleaned in silence for a while, Beau rattling around in the walk-in closet and Fjord cursing over the bedframe, the building of which was apparently stumping him. “You know,” said Caleb eventually, ears still slightly flushed when she glanced at him. “You could always come back, you know. To see Frumpkin.”

Her chest was fluttering again, as she met those ridiculously blue eyes. “You really mean it?”

“I mean, ja, we’re neighbors. You might see him around anyway, he tends to come and go sometimes. But he likes you, I think he’d enjoy the visit.”

There was a hidden implication here, and that fluttering was rapidly turning into full-blown butterflies as he held her gaze. “And you?” she heard herself ask softly, heart pounding in her ears.

That crooked smile again — only the briefest of flashes, really, but it had been there — before he turned away, bending to pick up some discarded plastic. “Nein,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind either.”

She left a couple of productive hours later — it was late, and Beau had eventually announced that she had plans, goddammit, they could pick this up again tomorrow — but when she crawled into bed that night, the cheerful jingle of her text message alert kept her from immediately passing out.

It was a picture text — from Caleb. A lounging Frumpkin, lying spread-eagled on dark sheets, the very ones spread out over the bed she’d eventually wrestled into submission after Fjord had threatened to throw the whole fuckin’ thing out the fuckin’ window out of sheer frustration. The bed currently almost directly beneath her, at this very moment.

There was no accompanying message, but it didn’t need one. Pictures being worth a thousand words and all that.

She fell asleep smiling.

[johnandrasjaqobis]

My very spontaneous zero-plans fic turned into 3k words so uh It doesn’t go much of anywhere but I got some lines I’m real proud of out of it. I haven’t decided whether or not it’s AO3 worthy but anyway enough rambling have some very self-indulgent almost Widomauk set immediately after Molly’s fun backstory reveal

There wasn't really a tactful way to approach this.

But then again, Molly had never been known for his tact.

"Y'know," he said by way of greeting, sinking unceremoniously into the opposite chair, "after all that I'm pretty sure I’m supposed to be the one moping alone in the bar."

Caleb didn't seem to register him for a second. Then another. And another. The question of whether he was currently looking through his cat was just about to rise when the wizard blinked hard.

His chuckle was humorless.

"Probably," Caleb agreed, "but I have never seen you mope, and it seems one of us should."

That almost sounded like a joke.

It really must be bad.

Molly leaned back, hands behind his head, tone as casual as ever. "So what's your moping for?"

Another few seconds of silence. Then a quiet sigh.

"Buy me a drink some day and I'll tell you all about it."

Maybe he should have sent Nott down. It had been surprising already to find Caleb downstairs without her -- those two were practically fused together most of the time -- and even more so when Caleb’s mood could almost be felt across the room.

Nott would be much better at this than Molly ever could be. She knew Caleb well enough to cheer him up, or at least get those lines creasing his forehead to loosen a little. Molly wasn’t the one people came to for any kind of emotional turmoil, and for very good reason.

But for some reason he didn’t move. Just caught the eye of the bartender with a quick wave and ordered two drinks, turning back to meet Caleb’s baffled stare with a wide grin.

“I’ve got all night,” Molly told him, leaning both arms on the small table.

Caleb’s mouth opened for a moment, shut as his eyes narrowed, and then he shook his head quickly.

“That’s not -- nein, that’s just something you say, and then none of us ever take you up on it.”

Well, that wasn’t Molly’s fault, now was it?

He glanced up as two glasses were set on the table, giving the bartender a grin along with a gold piece and a quiet, “Long night, keep them coming, eh?” The vague shrug in response was good enough for the moment, and Molly turned back to push one of the glasses towards Caleb’s hands. “Too late, drinks are here,” he said. “It’s good to be a man of your word, Caleb.”

“Maybe so,” Caleb agreed, “but I do not recall ever claiming to be.”

Molly gave a conceding nod. None of them ever really had -- or, well, maybe Molly himself had said something like that once or twice, but you could always trust the liar to lie.

“Well, the best habits are picked up while drinking,” he noted, raising his glass a little. “Along with some of the better conversations. Unless you’d rather discuss this sort of thing in a bathhouse, of course.”

That chipped a small crack in Caleb’s very stubborn armor, just as Molly’d hoped. There was a minute twitch at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes flickered down to the table for a second. Molly kept his own glass raised, his grin both bright and stubborn, until Caleb sighed again, this time more in resignation.

The sound of the glasses touching in their strange toast was far louder than it seemed like it should be. Caleb downed half of his drink in one go.

“I am not moping,” he muttered after a moment, a dirt-streaked hand running through equally dirt-streaked hair. “Just...thinking. And I happen to be alone. In a morosely lit bar.”

Molly shrugged one shoulder, leaning back a little in his chair. “That’s fair enough. But you can do plenty of thinking in your room, not alone, so that much seems something like a conscious choice to me.” When that didn’t get a response, he set his glass down and folded his hands again. “So whatcha thinkin’ about?”

Caleb’s hesitation was significant. For being such an introspective type, he was not that good at hiding his reactions, and even in the dim light Molly could see the color rise above Caleb’s collar and on the tips of his ears.

Yeah. That’s what he’d thought.

“Just -- what we’d discussed earlier,” Caleb said.

Molly. They had discussed Molly.

He could understand the reluctance to word it that way.

“Decent amount to think about there,” Molly admitted. “Anything specific? Any plans to grab that beacon and bolt?”

Caleb was already shaking his head, his eyes on his drink. “We’re not leaving.”

Molly nodded briskly. “Good to hear it. So what is capturing this much of your attention? I know I’m fascinating, but…”

“It is --” Caleb shook his head again, a little sharper this time. “It is complicated, Mollymauk. As most things are.”

“Most things are. But considering I seem to be involved with these complications…” Molly shrugged again. “Might help to make things a little less complicated, getting the subject matter involved.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

Molly’s grin widened. “I could charm you very easily, you know.”

Not that he would.

Caleb met his eyes for a moment, surprisingly firmly. “I’d like to see you try.”

Oh, but now it was tempting.

Was his magic more powerful than that of the scruffy, dirt-streaked wizard across from him?

Odds were, no. Definitely not.

But that might be an experiment for another day.

“Well,” Molly said, “how about you pretend I have? Makes it easier on both of us.”

Caleb paused. He stared at his drink for a few seconds more before finishing the rest of it off and pushing the glass to the edge of the table. “There isn’t much discussion to be had,” he said. “It was just...an interesting idea, I suppose.”

“What was?”

Another sigh. That seemed to be a favorite response.

“If I go back to my room,” Caleb said, “will this questioning pick up again tomorrow?”

Probably not. As much as Molly liked to push at limits, he also knew where to stop.

“It’s a distinct possibility.” He reached for his drink, swirling it around in the glass idly a few times. “Suppose you’d just have to find out.”

This time the silence was just a little less strained as the bartender swapped out Caleb’s empty glass for a full one. Molly shot him a grateful look, but the dragonborn barely seemed to notice, looking like he was running on muscle memory alone.

Night shifts must be fun.

“You really have no memories -- no trace at all -- of Lucien?” Caleb asked abruptly, and Molly blinked.

“No,” he said after a moment. “Maybe the occasional...feeling, or flashes of what are trying to be memories.” He resisted the urge to watch his drink, keeping a careful eye on Caleb. “But nothing that could count.”

Caleb nodded just a little and seemed to chew on his lip for a moment before he looked up.

“But you believe he was involved in some...less than savory dealings.”

That was more of a statement than a question, but Molly nodded anyway.

“If what Kree said was anything to go by,” he said, “it sure seems that way. And considering the state I found myself in…”

“What do you think that means?” Caleb cut in.

Molly hesitated, catching himself beginning to frown before he pushed it away.

“How do you mean?”

“Just that…” Another pause, another huffed sigh, and Caleb busied himself with his drink for a moment before he locked his eyes on a spot just above Molly’s horns. “Does not knowing anything of it -- does that absolve you from whatever he might have done?”

Well.

That was the question, wasn’t it?

“I suppose that depends on who you ask,” Molly said. At least his voice was still light. “Some might disagree, but…” Well, he had already said as much while under that spell, and Caleb knew it. This just felt like the lead-up to something else. “I’d like to think it does. I am not that guy, I don’t know him, and I have absolutely no desire to.”

Caleb nodded just a little, almost thoughtfully. Molly could practically see the words attempting to form, the back-and-forth Caleb was having with himself as he tried to find the right phrasing.

“There isn’t a way that it doesn’t sound terrible,” he said eventually, “but I suppose I’m...slightly jealous of that.”

Molly raised an eyebrow. “I must say, that is a very odd thing to be jealous of.”

“It’s complicated,” Caleb repeated. He’d leaned forward, one hand tangling in his hair and the other drumming out an odd rhythm on his glass. “Just that, uh...forgetting feels like this unattainable dream sometimes.”

The eyebrow stayed up. Molly leaned forward himself, scruitizing Caleb with narrowed eyes. “Were you drinking before I got down here?”

That got a rather unimpressed glance which, honestly, did nothing to answer the question.

Molly nodded a little anyway, propping his chin up on the backs of his hands. Just because Caleb wouldn’t meet his eyes didn’t mean he’d look away.

“So what are you so keen to forget, Caleb Widogast?”

There was something like the attempt at a smile, but even the attempt was strained and Caleb just shook his head.

“That would require many more drinks than either of us could afford,” he said simply.

“I’ve got more to offer than gold.”

“Not enough.”

That felt fair. It didn’t seem worth pushing, especially with the shadow Molly could see coming across Caleb’s expression at the thought.

He wondered if it had anything to do with that little...episode in the mines. If there were flames behind this thousand-yard-stare like there had been behind that one.

“We’ve all got skeletons.” Molly leaned just a little closer, his eyes still just as unblinking. “You looking for some kind of atonement for yours?”

Caleb’s quick breath was almost a laugh. “Not sure there is any.”

“Except maybe forgetting it entirely.”

He pulled a face. “See, still sounds terrible.”

Molly nodded just a little. “I think there’s something of a difference here,” he said. “Right now, you are Caleb Widogast. A slightly obsessive reader, an exemplary wizard, and a lover of cats. The question is, do you like this man?”

Caleb met his eyes for a moment, just a very brief moment, before he looked away again. There was something in that look, something Molly couldn’t quite identify.

“That depends on the day.”

Well, honesty was always good, at least.

“I’m not asking if you like what he did,” Molly amended. “I’m asking if you like what he’s doing. Today, right now. Taking down corrupt government officials, making a frankly ridiculous amount of coin killing a spider in some rank sewers, whatever the fuck it was we tried to pull off in that infirmary --”

That got the hint of an actual grin. Only a split second of one, but Molly would take what victories he could right now.

“Today isn’t yesterday,” he continued, making sure his tone was both firm and some kind of understanding. “Do you like what you’re doing right now?”

The silence was long. Caleb glanced once, almost imperceptibly, toward the staircase that led to the inn’s rooms.

Toward, Molly would place a large amount of gold on, the room where Nott was sleeping.

“With the exceptions of all the times I’ve been shot at lately?” He met Molly���s eyes again, a little longer this time. “Most days.”

Molly nodded and sat back, his arms folding. Caleb’s drink was refilled. Molly’s first glass remained over half full. He wondered how long that would continue to go unnoticed.

“And therein lies the problem, my friend,” he said. “Whatever hells you got dragged through back then, however indirectly or however negatively, it played some part in getting you here. Now. I’m right here because I don’t know a damn thing about what happened before. You’re here because you do.”

The silence then was expected. Caleb stared across the room -- at the low-burning fire, if Molly remembered the layout correctly -- and his fingers rubbed absently at the wraps around his arm.

There had to be some reason behind those wraps. Molly was certain he’d never seen them taken off, and that sort of thing didn’t happen unless it was intentional.

Some kind of scars seemed the most likely bet. That was understandable. Molly never bothered trying to hide the marks from his blades, but he’d gone to great pains to cover the red spots.

He was still curious -- he was always curious.

Maybe a little more than average when it came to Caleb.

It was tempting to pry, but if Molly had been good at one thing in the carnival, it was reading people. Some got frustrated enough to start spilling secrets. Some shut down completely and set back every ounce of progress that might have come before that.

Caleb was very certainly the latter.

Hell, maybe they should have one of those truth-spell boosted conversations before bed every night. Felt like it would be fair play after everything Molly had unraveled for them.

A lot more than he had ever intended to.

He remembered Jester’s sudden interjected question, her “Do you think anyone in this group is super attractive?”

And sure, maybe it hadn’t been meant for him. Maybe he’d just heard a question and answered without thinking, because that’s apparently what most of that conversation had been. But next to everything else that was being revealed, it had been so very unimportant anyway, lost in the whole mess of unmarked graves and blood magic (and poor Yasha, answering just as instinctively, seemingly not aware of the spell’s limitations).

Jester had her answer. Didn’t mean he was about to expand on it.

But it had been true -- it had to have been true -- and sitting here now, in the low light of the dimmed lanterns and the fire that was barely being kept, Molly felt it had been entirely justified.

Having watched the casual, almost instinctive way Caleb wove his magic, having seen his face bathed in the bright, dancing, refracted lights from his diamond as he prepared it --

Having seen the little frown of concentration he got when he was pouring over his books or surrounded by whatever loot they’d come back with, the way he’d sometimes end up mirroring the cat draped around his shoulders with his tongue poking between his teeth --

Hell, even now, when Caleb looked like he was two seconds from falling asleep at the table, the remnants of mud still clinging to his hairline, ginger scruff starting stray more toward the shaggy end of things --

As much as Molly was certain Caleb would not like the idea, firelight was a very good look on him.

He remembered Jester’s question and still felt his answer had been entirely justified, because gods,

gods, how could he not?

“Some things are still better left forgotten,” Caleb said.

Molly didn’t jump, but he felt his hard blink was more obvious than he wanted it to be. Luckily, Caleb still seemed to be somewhere else entirely.

“I’m no judge of that.” Molly paused, giving in after a moment and downing the rest of his drink quickly. “I’m fine the way things are right now. I like this life. I like this lot. But this --” He tapped a sharp fingernail against his temple twice. “I wouldn’t wish this mess on anyone.”

Caleb let out a slow breath. He was leaning most of his weight on his arms, eyes fixed on the table.

He looked exhausted.

Molly wanted to fix that somehow. Get those tense lines to loosen a little, at the very least.

Under these circumstances, he had no idea how to manage that.

“You’re a very…” Caleb glanced up, and then to the side again quickly. “Very considerate person, Mollymauk.”

Maybe a little too considerate sometimes.

“Making up for lost time,” Molly said with a grin. He hesitated, licking his lips quickly, made a point of actually thinking through his next words. “Maybe for both of us. Seems like you haven’t had many of them.”

Caleb looked over, a little surprised. The touch of color was creeping up his neck again, but his quick laugh didn’t seem too forced.

“Nott already lectures me enough.”

Molly shrugged. “I’ve never been too good at the lectures anyway.”

“That spiel you gave to those bandits says otherwise.”

“Well,” he spread his hands to both sides a little, “extenuating circumstances and all that.”

Caleb came close to a grin. It was faint, and it didn’t last too long, but it did get rid of a few of those lines across his forehead. That made Molly’s grin grow.

Some day he’d coax an actual, honest-to-God full smile out of this ridiculous wizard.

“I suppose that’s for the best.” Caleb leaned back, his arms dropping to his sides as he sighed heavily. This one, at least, sounded more like a physical weariness than an emotional one. “And I’m sure there will be four other lectures if I stay out here all night before...whatever new shit we’re getting into tomorrow.”

“Seems likely,” Molly agreed. “And I’m not too keen on incurring Nott’s wrath for letting you.”

A short scoff. Caleb pushed his chair back, and there was an immediate feeling of...something unfinished.

Molly had reached his hand across the small table before he’d thought any of it out. He wasn’t surprised by the slightly odd look that got.

He was definitely surprised when Caleb only hesitated a few seconds, his fingers twitching once uncertainly, before he leaned forward again to take it.

“I’m glad I’m here,” Molly said firmly, giving his hand a quick squeeze, “and for what it’s worth, I’m glad you are, too.”

There wasn’t a response to that. Molly hadn’t expected there to be.

He flashed a bright grin, dropped a very quick kiss onto the back of Caleb’s hand, and then immediately stood and headed for the stairs with a cheery, “See you at breakfast!” tossed over his shoulder.

Probably a hell of a lot more that ought to be said, but he also wanted Caleb to look him in the eye tomorrow. Wouldn’t do to be too distracted -- or, well, more distracted than usual -- when doing work for someone like the Gentleman.

Anyway...there’d be time for all that later.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

42 on your Spotify playlist, Molly/Caleb if you think it fits them or another pairing of your choice if not.

Uh.  Remember that AU we were talking about awhile back.  Remember how I’m like halfway through “a ghost in my lungs” and kinda out for blood. 

I should NOT be allowed to write Caleb-centric fic at 2 AM anymore, huh?

Mirrors – Pvris

standing up rightabove me

Caleb does not remember how he got here—here, of all places, a sweet and handsome manor in the foothills,the mountains purple and magnificent above the forest to one side, the last redand orange leaves of fall like fire around him. It’s beautiful, picturesque, the very image of a wealthy family’s modestcountry retreat.

The doors, oak carved with a simple arabesque pattern drippingdown the frame like ivy, make sickness rise so hard and fast in Caleb’s gutthat he digs in his heels without a thought.

“Hit him,” a voice says, bored, and a kick out of nowheresends Caleb crashing to his knees.  Thecobbled path hurts, and he only realizes that his hands are chained behind him whenhe tries to catch himself and instead lands shoulder-first on the stone.  The gag between his teeth silences his yelpof pain, keeps him from biting into his tongue on impact.  He’s not sure if that’s a blessing or not.

Lying on the stone, he tries to remember what happened.

The fight—he remembers the fight, more of a good deed thananything else, when word came down of unsavory military recruitment tacticshappening in the rural townships south of Rexxentrum.  They’d spent three days asking questions andgetting basically nothing before their usual stupid luck had them blunderingstraight into trouble.

Real trouble.

Caleb remembers the wizard, with her two bodyguards and her coldblue eyes and her graceful dancer’s step. He remembers the way her voice sounded when she said, “Is that you, myfriend?”

And then he raised his hand, his fingers going black as hesummoned the fire that had always served him so loyally, and she said—

She said—

His hand burned and she opened her mouth and her throatworked and she said—

His memory goes black there, as swift and clean as if it wascut short with a blow of Yasha’s sword. All that remains is the crackle of fire, and the impression of heat onhis hands, and the bruises and cuts that he can feel, sprawled here on the stonepath.

One has the distinctive feel of frostbite, as if he’d beenstabbed with a shaft of ice through his right biceps.

Oh gods, Calebthinks, and retches helplessly.  Jester.

“You’re a disgrace, Widogast,” the voice says in disgustedZemnian.

“What did you do to me?” Caleb demands, lunging up—and beingkicked again, in the ribs this time, to drive him back to the ground.  “What–”

What did I do?

“Get him up,” Astrid orders, and Caleb is dragged ungentlyup to his feet, every muscle screaming in protest.  He doesn’t fight it as they drag him inside.  He’s too busy trying to catalogue the otherinjuries on his body.  That gash to histhigh—could that be from Yasha?  Thesplash-burn on his shoulder must be Eldritch Blast, from Fjord, and the achingbruise that throbs over his ribs in time to his heartbeat…Beau.  It has to be.

Please, gods, Archheart,if you ever gave a damn, let them be okay. Caleb has that gutted, scraped-thin feeling of having burned through alot of magic in a very short time.  Allof it, maybe.

All of it, at—who? His friends?

His family, again?

He comes back to himself when he’s more or less pushed down aflight of stairs into a familiar dungeon. It’s lit only by magical glowglasses, spaced between the cells down thecorridor.  They cannot account for thesmell of smoke.

“Put him with the quiet one,” Astrid says.  “We’re a bit crowded, but don’t worry, yourroommate is very…cooperative.”  Then shehesitates.  Astrid, of all people, whowas always so sure and confident.  Whotook Caleb’s mind from him with one word—whatwas the word—and didn’t think twice.

She walks up and rests a hand on his cheek, using her gripon his jaw to force him to meet her eyes. Caleb learned to do that here, meet eyes.  If he was going to be the pride of the Empire,Ikithon always said, Caleb had to look honest and reliable, diplomatic, and hecould just have dinner when he could look his teacher in the eye and askpolitely.

Astrid’s eyes are still blue and clear and cold, and she easesher grip on Caleb’s face a touch as he stares back at her.  She strokes his cheek, almost gentle.

“Don’t worry, Caleb,” she says, still in Zemnian.  “You’ll be with us again, just as soon as you’rebetter.  It’ll be okay.  We’re going to make it okay.”

Caleb is frozen for a long moment, half in terror and halfin shock.  He can’t even articulate itbecause—because he just wants her to stop touchinghim, to stop looking at him.  Whatever she did, to take him away fromhimself and drag him back here, it left a feeling of bone-deep contamination inits wake, as if every small crevice he’s eked out clean of Ikithon’s influencehas been dirtied all over again.

Then he hears Nott’s voice, all the way back when they firstmet, saying frankly, “Everyone thinks they’re real scary until they’ve got goblinteeth in their leg.”

Astrid runs her thumb over his chapped lower lip, idle andpossessive, and Caleb opens his mouth and bitesher as hard as he can.

It’s worth the beating, to spit her own blood back at her,and for a moment all he can think is that Molly would be proud of him.

“Widogast,” Astrid pants, clutching her freely bleeding handto her chest and looking down at him where he’s all but hanging by the armsfrom the grip of her two guards.  “I’vebeen waiting to have you back with us for twelve years, but I have to say I’mlooking forward to making you pay for running, first.  Throw him in the cell.  He’ll live.”

Being mandhandled into the cell hurts so much that Calebgoes away again, a little bit, in a much more familiar way than before.  He lands on the ground and drags in threeslow breaths, just like he was trained to, and then rolls onto his back to takestock.

He’s in rough shape, he decides.  He’ll live, certainly, but he won’t enjoy it muchin this state.  At least one rib isbroken.  He thinks his ankle might be aswell, but he’s having some numbness that should probably worry him even more.

Maybe, he thinks grimly, he could fracture that rib properlyand punch a hole in his own lung to suffocate quietly through, before she comesback.

Because, of course, he’s going to die here.  That was a given from the moment he saw thedoors again.  Even if the Nein decided tocome after him—and gods, why would they, he’s a monster, a rabid dogwho finally turned on them—they would doubtless scout it and conclude that ahalf-decent wizard with a cat and homicidal tendencies isn’t worth riskingtheir necks for.

That’s assuming they’re all still alive.

Gods, he wishes he had his cat with him.

Caleb doesn’t know how long he’s been lying there, when hefeels the hand on his shoulder—an exploratory sort of poke, as if seeing if he’sbitten the metaphorical big one since rolling over.  He raises a hand feebly, trying to say not dead yet without trying to actuallyspeak.  Speaking seems a bit outside his capabilitiesright now.

His cellmate—the ‘quiet one’, whatever that meant—clears theirthroat and says softly, “Wa-ter?”

They sound rough and ragged, like they’ve been silent a longtime, and they shape the word like someone learning a completely foreign tongue,hitting every consonant too hard and muddling the vowels.  

Caleb sits up so fast he feels something in his chest crunch,and narrowly misses crashing headfirst into a magnificently curled horn.

Kneeling over him is a tiefling with skin that shows lavenderand scarred in the dim light, loose shirt maybe white once.  The eyes throw the light back, reflecting redall around, without a trace of pupil, and the hand being held up as if to warnCaleb off has—oh, it has a tattoo, Caleb can see it curl around the wrist, asnake, and on the neck, peacock feathers and a hidden red eye.

“Mollymauk?” Caleb rasps.

He’s feeling a little hysterical.  Gods, maybe Caleb’s died already and this is his own personal chamber of the Nine Hells.  That sure would save everyone some trouble.

Mollymauk Tealeaf holds out a tin cup, and repeats, “Wa-ter?”

[irritatedbookshrew]

Critical Role--Caleb's history

So I've been thinking about Caleb's backstory and came up with a possibility. With a bit of Widofjord thrown in...

 It was another damned water monster. He was getting very tired of lakes and rivers and the denizens who lived in them trying to kill him. And very nearly doing so.

This time it was a Water Weird. They'd almost killed it when it grabbed him around the calf and dragged him beneath the surface of the water. Jester told him that Nott and Fjord had waded in after him. He'd managed to wriggle free as they'd attacked the creature, and Molly had helped drag him back to shore. Caleb was beginning to think that a few years spent in a desert might be preferable to being under constant threat of soaking and drowning.

Sitting propped in the back of the cart, he hacked up another mouthful of sour water and spat it over the side wall. Nott sat beside him, burrowed against his side despite his wet clothes like she wanted to meld into him. He'd draped his arm around her slender shoulders, trying to comfort the goblin. He could feel her shiver against him, or maybe that was him. Caleb wasn't certain.

Fjord glanced over from his spot on the seat, reins easy in his large hands. "How you doing back there?"

"I am good," Caleb answered, though his voice sounded rough and hoarse to his ears. He coughed again, wincing at the rawness of his throat. "Ja." He tilted his head back, feeling the beginnings of another cough tighten the muscles of his chest.

"Caleb," Nott whispered, tilting her face up to his. The porcelain mask covered the lower half of her face and muffled her voice. "Are you sure?" Her yellow eyes peered up at him, searching for the truth in his expression.

Smiling, Caleb rubbed at her shoulder reassuringly. "Yes, Nott. I shall be fine. I just need some rest." Again, he didn't add. It seemed like he was always having to sleep off the effects of a battle with this group.

He shoved wet hair out of his face and shuddered. Despite what Jester believed, Caleb did not have an aversion to baths. He quite liked them. Hot baths were excellent for soaking tired muscles and bruised flesh. What he did not like was having his head beneath the water. It ignited a panic inside of him that he doubted he would ever get over.

"Sleep then," Nott said, pulling away from him to hand him her cloak. "I'll keep watch."

"Nott, you do not have to," he told her, his accent growing thicker as he shivered with the chill of his wet clothes.

"Take off your coat at least," she said, pulling on his sleeve. "Wrap up in my cloak and try to get warm."

"Will it make you happy?"

Nott pulled down her mask and displayed all of her considerable teeth in a gruesome but adorable smile. "Yes, it will."

"Then for you," Caleb answered. He peeled off his coat and took the small cloak from her, wrapping it around his thin shoulders. "Thank you, Nott."

"Of course, Caleb." She replaced her mask.

As Caleb lay back down, he saw her take out her hand crossbow and turn her attention to the dim countryside they passed. The sun had sunk behind the trees while they rode. He could hear Jester's high voice and Molly's laughing response. Beau called Molly something rude. It made Caleb smile as he settled his head against a pack and tried to ignore the cold ache in his chest.

***

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe! He tried to lift his head, but someone held him under. He gasped, choked, bubbles escaping the confines of his lips. His lungs burned with the need to draw air and the pressure built inside his head. Someone held his arms, preventing him from struggling.

The hand on his hair tightened, yanking him up. Caleb coughed and sputtered, sucking in air gratefully, before his head was pushed back beneath the surface. He thrashed—or tried to—but more hands held him down, forcing his body still. He opened his eyes to freezing murk, but couldn't make out anything more than the confines of the trough his head was being shoved in.

The pressure, the need to breathe became too much to bear. He opened his mouth and water rushed in…

***

Caleb thrashed awake, sitting up and slamming into someone. Hands grabbed his upper arms, holding him upright as he gasped and coughed. His forehead rested against a warm body. Caleb shuddered, eyes tightly shut as he tried to master himself.

"I've got you." Fjord's deep drawl sounded in his ear. "Easy now."

Tremors shook him as reaction set in from the nightmare. It was to be expected, he supposed, after the events of the day. Fjord's arms wrapped around him, encasing Caleb in warmth. He allowed himself a moment of leaning into it, before pushing away with a jagged cough. He swore he could feel the icy water burning in his lungs.

"I'm all right," he choked, holding one hand up between the two of them.

Fjord gave him a dubious look, but he loosened his hold a bit. The half-orc didn't let him go, which pleased Caleb enormously though he would never admit to it.

"Nightmare?" Fjord rumbled.

Caleb glanced down. "Ja." He realized the cart had stopped and looked around in confusion.

"We made camp," Fjord told him, dropping his arms. "Nott said we should let you sleep since you clearly needed it."

Caleb's internal clock told him that the sun had not fully set more than an hour prior. He rubbed sleep from one eye and nodded his head. "It would appear that I did." He glanced up so he could watch Fjord. "Were you . . . were you watching over me?"

Fjord ducked his head as if a bit embarrassed. "Nott watched over you while we set up camp, but I sent her to get something to eat."

Caleb reached out, placing a hand on Fjord's forearm. He felt the long muscles jump beneath his fingers. "Thank you, Fjord. That was very kind of you. I appreciate you looking after Nott."

"Tweren't nothing," Fjord said.

Caleb took his hand away, using it to push his messy hair out of his face. The half-orc leaned forward, trying to catch Caleb's gaze. "Anything you wanna talk about? I'm happy to listen."

Caleb's body locked up for a brief moment, the feeling of drowning once again overtaking him. He did not wish to speak of it to anyone, nor did he want to remember the events surrounding it. He forced himself to push through it, even though his breath rattled in his chest. Pushing himself to his feet, he staggered his way to the side of the wagon and hoisted himself down. His knees buckled slightly before Caleb caught himself on the wooden slat.

"I am good, thank you," he told Fjord, before hurrying toward the light of the campfire.

Caleb heard Jester and Nott before he saw them. Jester stirred a pot braced over the fire. Nott held a battered plate, shoveling food into her mouth. Her porcelain mask sat beside her on the ground.

"Oh, Caleb," Jester's cheerful voice echoed across the clearing. "It looks like you finally got a bath after all."

Caleb felt his body grow even colder, and he froze for a moment, jaw going slack. Her cackle landed on ears gone suddenly deaf. He saw Nott turn to him, face lighting up upon seeing him conscious and upright. But the light quickly faded as she noticed the expression on his face. She set her plate aside and hurried over to him.

"How are you feeling?" Nott's quavering voice was soft, barely audible over the crackling of the fire.

Caleb set a gentle hand on Nott's head and managed a shaky smile. "Much better. Thank you, Nott."

"Would you like some food?" she asked, a relieved smile stretching her green lips wide.

"Perhaps in a moment," he told her.

"I made dinner!" Jester shouted.

"And it's not terrible!" Beau added.

"I will take a plate then," Caleb told Nott. "But first, I must take care of something." He turned to go into the woods surrounding the clearing.

"Watch out for poison ivy," Molly warned with a devilish grin as Caleb passed him. Caleb nodded and kept walking.

He waited until he was out of sight before sagging against a tree as his knees finally buckled. He wrapped a hand around his mouth to muffle the choked sounds he made as memories assailed him. He closed his eyes and let them take him.

He came from a family of wizards. They lived in a sprawling house on the outskirts of a small village—it wasn't much but it was home. They kept to themselves, though they did happen to imbue some of the blacksmith's finer weapons with magical power when she had the coin to afford their services. It was a beneficial arrangement that had carried on for several generations: the Widogasts brought travelers to the town from nearby areas for their magical services which brought money to the inhabitants.

Caleb was fifteen when the drought began. At first, it was the crops dying in the fields. Then the river began to shrink from its banks. Then the wells that the village used ran dry. Animals dropped dead in the fields. The very old and the very young soon followed.

The townsfolk begged the Widogasts for magical intervention and Caleb's family did what they could, but their work only amounted to stopgap measures. Mutterings began against magic, growing louder the longer the drought continued.

One hot, sun-baked day, a cleric came to the village. Caleb didn't remember what god or goddess they served, but he didn’t think it mattered—no deity had anything to do with what happened next, just man's greed.

The cleric began preaching against arcane magic, riling up most of the populace by using their fear and hunger and thirst against them. Even after the rains came and offered relief after two growing seasons of drought, the cleric railed against magic.

His family discussed leaving, but they'd been living there for years. Caleb's father couldn't imagine just picking up and moving even as Caleb's mother begged him to consider it. Instead, they holed up inside their house, and hoped that the trouble would pass.

Until the night they were dragged out of their house, bound and gagged and blindfolded. The village well had been poisoned and a number of people were dead. The cleric accused the Widogasts, especially when one of the village elders claimed to have seen Caleb's father creeping away from the well late in the previous evening.

The trial was laughable. The cleric's men chopped off Caleb's father's hands. They cut out his mother's tongue. They blinded his sister who had no magic to speak of. And throughout the trial, they tortured Caleb, trying to get him to turn on his family, just as they tried to get his family to turn on him. When their methods proved ineffective, the cleric ordered their executions.

The blacksmith, guilt finally getting the better of her, broke Caleb out the night before his own execution. Too late though to save the rest of his family. He ran back to the burned husk of his family's home, found his and his father's spellbooks from their pocket dimension hiding spot, and left the village without a look back.

Caleb came back to the present with a jerk. It had only been a few minutes, but he felt like he had just run for miles in full plate armor. His heart hammered in his chest, and he leaned over to retch in the underbrush.

"You are not good." Fjord's deep voice came from behind him.

Caleb jumped, coughing. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth before turning around to face the half-orc. "It is not polite to sneak up on someone."

"Not interested in being polite right now," Fjord answered. "You mind telling me what's going on with you?"

"It is not your business, Fjord."

"Sure seems like it is." He tilted his head. "You don't like water. Now why's that?"

Caleb shook his head, unwilling to answer. He felt Fjord move closer, the warmth of him at Caleb's back. A heavy hand rested on his shoulder, turning him around. Caleb refused to look up, gaze on his worn leather boots. Fjord's other hand came to rest on Caleb's other shoulder.

"Talk to me, Caleb."

"Why do you want to know?" He hadn't even told Nott about his past. She had her own traumas to deal with, and was managing them far better than he was doing. She was Nott the Brave; he, Caleb the Coward.

"Because you're struggling with something and could use some help." Fjord put a finger under Caleb's chin, forcing his head up. "You're not alone anymore, Caleb. And you don't have to carry it all on your own."

Pulling his head away, Caleb made a slashing motion with his hand. "You would not be so understanding if you knew what I'd done!"

"Then tell me." Fjord, unlike Caleb, did not raise his voice. It was as steady and deep as a river, smooth as polished stone.

"I ran! They killed my family and I ran!" Caleb spun away, hiding his face in his shaggy reddish hair. "They tortured me, drowned me, and I ran away. I didn't stay and fight, I didn't avenge my parents or my sister. I just . . . left." He was worthless, useless, a coward of the first order. He should have gone back to the town square and burned the village and everyone in it off the map.

As if that admission opened something inside of him, the tale of his family spilled out of him like blood from a wound. Fjord stood, listening intently, saying nothing. Caleb told him of the drought, of the midnight capture, of the pain and torment he and his family had been subjected to. At some point, Caleb turned around so he could study Fjord's expression with each horrible reveal, but disgust never flitted across the half-orc's features. He simply listened with his arms crossed over his broad chest, head tilted down to catch Caleb's every word.

"I should have made them suffer," Caleb finished, fists clenched impotently. He wanted to hit something, to reach out and destroy just so something could hurt as badly as he did. "I should have done something."

"Near as I can tell, you were in no shape to do much of anything after what they'd put you through." He leaned one shoulder against a tree trunk. "I think you made the right call."

Caleb's mouth was already open to agree with what he assumed would be Fjord's damning assessment when Fjord's actual words penetrated his brain. "You—you do?"

Fjord nodded briskly. "Sure I do. Going back there would have only gotten you killed. And that wouldn't have done your parents or your sister any good. I'm sure they'd much rather you stayed alive rather than throw your life away on something that wouldn't have brought them back."

Pushing his hair out of his face, Caleb stared at Fjord in wonder, surprised at the truth he found on his face. "You really think that." The man continued to amaze him with his feats of understanding.

"I do." Fjord reached out and took a lock of Caleb's hair between his fingers. "I guess that explains why you don't like getting your hair wet." He gave Caleb a bracing smile. "I can't say as I blame you."

Caleb felt his cheeks grow warm from his flush. Fjord was close, very close. It felt good to be this close to someone, especially someone who seemed so willing to understand him. "Ja, it is still hard."

"Maybe if you had help washing it, it might go easier. You know, someone you trust." Now it was Fjord who wouldn't meet Caleb's eyes. He dropped the strand of hair he'd been playing with.

"Perhaps," Caleb answered, a slight smile playing around his chapped lips. He straightened his coat and ran a hand through his tangled hair. "Perhaps at the next town, you might help me with it."

Fjord stammered. "M-me?"

"Ja." Caleb took a step past him, the smell of stew reaching his nostrils. He glanced back at Fjord over his shoulder. "I trust you." He beckoned to the half-orc. "Come. Let's get something to eat."

Fjord's grin exploded onto his face with the intensity of a sun. "Lead the way, darlin'."

[iatethepomegranate]

We are not alone in the dark with our demons, Chapter 10

In which Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, becomes a professor, is showered in love and support, learns how to be a person again, and tries to protect those like him from going through what he did.

Content warnings: Panic attacks, vomiting, Caleb's backstory

Chapter summary: There's not a lot Caleb can do right now, but he can teach a hurting teenager a new spell and reunite him with his very much alive parents.

Chapter notes: I 100% believe that Astrid knows the Nein call Essek "Hot Boi." Chapter title is from Ghost by Jacob Lee.

****

Chapter 10: And I'm just a stranger who could be a friend

The first thing Caleb did was flip to the page in his spellbook where he had transcribed the Sending spell. It was far into the book. As he pulled out his copper wire, Felix made a sound of surprise.

“You learned this recently?” asked Felix.

“Ja, I travelled with a cleric friend for a long time who had the spell,” Caleb replied. “Not Caduceus; he was there too, though. Jester seemed to enjoy casting it at everyone, even mere acquaintances, so I never saw the need for it.”

“What made you learn it?”

“Jester insisted a few weeks ago, so I could talk to her while we were apart. I knew another wizard who could teach me, and we were spending a great deal of time alone together exploring Aeor, and exchanging theories.”

Felix, despite his distress, was absolutely smirking at Caleb and he was not about to deal with teasing from an actual child. “So… exchanging theories in Aeor? Is that what old people call it now?”

“Hush.” Caleb ran Felix through the basic somatic motions of the spell, before demonstrating it himself. “Hallo, Caduceus. I am teaching Felix the Sending spell. It will take a few hours. Let me know if anything happens.”

“Hey, Caleb. Beau has the monks looking for Nico. They’re playing nice with the Volstrucker, apparently. Don’t miss dinner.”

“Right, so you can have a single two-way exchange out of the one casting,” said Felix. “What’s the word limit again?”

“Twenty-five words. Now, this is a third-level spell. It will take some effort for you at the moment.”

“I’ve been to school, Bren. I know what spell levels are.”

“Call me Caleb. Or Professor Widogast, if you prefer. I do teach here now.”

“Fuck off.”

“Caleb’s fine.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Professor.”

This was better. Caleb could work with impetuous children. Most children he knew were like that. Caleb could tune his behaviour to whatever Felix seemed to find most calming. Or at least distracting.

Felix had great attention to detail, methodically copying out Caleb’s transcription of the spell and yet still finding excuses to make fun of Caleb along the way. It was comfortable, more than Caleb had expected. Felix only knew him by reputation, and one put forward by Trent, no less.

Maybe it was the shared trauma. Maybe it was the fact Caleb was teaching him something. Or because Caleb, despite being a professor here, wasn’t trying to inhabit a position of authority over him in the way Trent had.

Snacks were delivered to the room about halfway through the process. Felix paid it little mind, and that was painfully familiar.

“Felix.” Caleb could not believe he was enforcing a break. That he had become the kind of person who would pull a focused wizard away from study for mere human needs such as food. But he was responsible for Felix, at least for now, and that was a frightening pressure.

“Busy.”

Caleb closed his own spellbook, taking away Felix’s source for transcription. In its place, he put a bowl of fruit. “Eat.”

Felix paused, his pen hovering over the page, frowning. Then he slowly set it down and sullenly grabbed a plum. Caleb sat back against the wall, nibbling on a handful of grapes.

“Don’t forget to stretch before we get back to it.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Why are you like this?”

“Listen, I’ve had many people do this for me in the last year alone. So I’m paying it forward, and you are going to accept that.” Caleb tried to throw a grape into his mouth, and missed. He grabbed it off the floor and popped it into his mouth. Chewed. Swallowed. “It’s good for you.” If any of the Nein had heard him say that, they probably would have fainted from shock. It was easier to give this advice than to follow it himself.

“I can see why Trent fucking hates you.”

Caleb snorted. “Oh, this does not scratch the surface of Trent’s problems with me.” He threw another grape, catching it in his mouth this time. “Did anyone tell you what my friends and I did to him?”

“No.”

“Well, he tried to ambush us at Caduceus’s family home. One of my friends may have ‘acquired’ evidence of his experiments from Vergesson, and he was upset that I refused to entertain his ego while busy with bigger problems. By the time we were done with him, Astrid and Wulf were on our side, my friends had permanently glued a silencing collar around his neck, and used the leftover glue to stick his hands together. And that glue was in the shape of a dick.”

“Bullshit.”

“Ask Astrid. She activated the collar. Or Beauregard. She put the thing on him.”

Felix had that look of a teenage boy who was trying not to look impressed, hiding it behind a veneer of sarcasm. “Okay. I will.”

They finished their break, stretched, and got back to it. Felix was clever, eager to learn. It brought back memories for Caleb. Good memories, as tainted as they now were. And as much as he was worried for Nico and grieved for what had happened, he was also indescribably relieved they had been able to stop Felix. If he could help Felix reclaim even the smallest amount of good from his stolen childhood, he would take that as a victory.

Astrid looked in on them as Felix practiced the somatic motions around his copper wire, his muscle memory already secure. With a few minor corrections, he would be ready to cast.

“Almost finished?” she asked.

“Almost,” said Caleb. “Felix, that was very good. Just watch that you fully complete the motion right at the end, and hold it until you finish speaking your message. With time, you can find your own method.”

“You learned this method from your special Aeor friend?”

Caleb sighed. “No, these somatic components are developed from watching several casters perform the spell. My colleague provided the basic framework to learn the spell, but his somatic components are more intricate than my own.”

“So he’s your fancy special Aeor friend.”

Astrid chuckled. “It’s not the silliest nickname he’s had. Now, focus. The Martinet is sticking his nose in our business and we need to get you out of here.”

Felix wordlessly practiced the gesture again, meticulously correcting his errors. He ran through the motion a few more times, becoming more confident each time.

“I think you are ready,” said Caleb. “Remember: twenty-five words. Consider them in advance. It may be worth telling Nico he can reply to you.”

Felix nodded and closed his eyes, counting on his fingers under his breath. And then he cast. “Hey, Nico. It’s Felix. I heard what happened. I’m okay. They stopped me. I hope you’re okay. You can reply to this message.” The barest pause. “Love you.” Felix held his breath, listening out for a reply.

Caleb let him have ten seconds, before breaking the news. “Felix. If he has not replied yet--”

“I know,” Felix muttered. He grabbed his spellbook, hugging it to his chest as he deflated, and Caleb’s heart broke. “Just… get me out of here.”

****

Astrid’s teleport brought the three of them back to Blumenthal. The path was muddy from yesterday’s storm. Felix gripped his spellbook tighter, raking his eyes over the buildings around them. The way he held himself, shoulders hunched, inches from bolting, reminded Caleb far too much of himself mere months ago.

“Felix,” he said. “We need to speak to your mother and father, but we will not put you in a situation you do not think you can handle.”

“I don’t know if I can do this.” And wasn’t that just painfully familiar. They had barely made it a few steps before he froze, closing his eyes against the vision of home.

Astrid looked to Caleb, silently begging for him to do something.

“Felix,” said Caleb, completely panicking on the inside, “we will not force you to do anything you don’t want to. Okay? Let’s walk for a bit. Take deep breaths. If we reach your house and you don’t want to go inside, I will stay with you and Astrid will talk to your parents. Is that all right?”

Felix nodded, and he took a step. Then another step. And another. They walked together down familiar but unfamiliar streets. They were in a different part of Blumenthal than they had been yesterday. Caleb blocked out most of it, concentrating on getting Felix through the next few minutes. His own shit did not matter right now.

Felix’s body language remained tense. His head stayed down, barely keeping an eye on where he was going. His fingers flexed around his spellbook. And Caleb was planning. A hundred different options.

Caleb refused to force this boy to face his parents before he was ready. If the time came, and he couldn’t do it, he would need somewhere else to go. Somewhere away from here. If Astrid allowed it, there were a few options. Veth in Nicodranas would take Felix if Caleb asked, but he wasn’t sure if Felix would feel comfortable being around a family like that, especially with a small child. Or Felix could stay at the Lavish Chateau, but Marion was a busy woman who had been through enough on Caleb’s account. There was the Gentleman’s hideout, but Caleb wouldn’t want to leave him alone there. He could take Felix to the Blooming Grove, where the Clays would willingly care for him, but taking a boy who almost killed his parents to a graveyard was possibly not the best option.

There was Reani, wherever she was, but he wasn’t so sure that Felix could handle her on his own, or that her rigid morality had shifted enough to take him in without killing him if she found out even a fraction of the shit he did while under Trent’s power. Taking Felix to Nila and her young family, who Caleb believed had returned to her clan, would bring up many of the similar issues as taking him to Veth. And the Guiatao clan had suffered greatly at the hands of the Iron Shepherds, including many deaths, so Caleb wasn’t sure that would be a good place for him to cope with nearly killing his own parents.

And Caleb was not putting Felix on a pirate ship, so that ruled out Fjord, Jester and Kingsley.

They could always bring Felix back to Rexxentrum and he could either stay on Astrid’s estate (possibly too traumatic) or with Caleb and the lesbians, but Ludinus was poking around and that could get messy. Not to mention the whole “harbouring a Drow fugitive” thing.

Caleb circled back to Veth. If Felix could handle it, he would feel most comfortable taking the boy to her if he wasn’t able to go home. Caleb hadn’t told her what happened yet; he was not looking forward to that conversation. Even if it would help him in the end.

Of course, this all depended on Felix. If he agreed to go home, this would be irrelevant. But Caleb felt better having come up with a plan.

They reached a quiet street. Felix headed to the house at the far end, partially concealed by a granary. Caleb thought, with faint nausea, that even the physical isolation of their parents’ homes could have been a factor for Trent.

Felix made it all the way to the small vegetable garden out the front of the house, but faltered between the carrots. He stared up at the modest house. A single-storey affair, small even for a family of three. The front door was painted cherry red. The boy’s lips parted; no sound came out. His eyes traced the features of the house - the red door, the two small windows, the thatched roof in need of maintenance.

A woman’s face appeared at the window. And the door flew open.

“Felix!” The woman ran out of the house, and Caleb was just barely able to take in her simple dress and heavy coat, blonde hair gathered in a loose bun. But as she got close, Felix stepped back, wide eyes fixed on her face, as she spoke in rapid Zemnian. “No one has heard from you in weeks. Where have you been? Are you okay?”

“I can’t do this.” And he was backing away. “I can’t.” He tore his eyes from her, and ran.

“Go after him,” Astrid told Caleb. He wasted no time chasing after the boy. Caleb had run from a great many things in the past few years, but he was not the fastest man alive. But he was fast enough.

Felix barely made it around the granary before he collapsed into the grass. Gasping for breath.

Caleb knelt beside him. “Felix, listen to me. You’re okay. Slow down, breathe. Let the air fill your lungs. Feel the grass beneath your hands.”

Felix dug his fingers into the dirt, gulping in air. He was listening, at least. Being on the other side of this was not especially familiar to Caleb, but he had coached Essek once or twice. He could do this. They could do this.

Of course, Felix barely knew him, so it wasn’t like Caleb could just hug him. That would probably make things worse. So he would have to use his words.

“Felix, you got this. How does the grass feel?” Caleb gave Felix a moment to process, and then he supplied options, taking a pause between each. “Is it dry? Wet? What colour is it?”

Felix coughed a little, sucking in a shaky breath. “Wet. Green.” His hand slid across the grass. “Short. Muddy.”

“Good.”

Felix leaned away and vomited onto the grass. Then he staggered to his feet, grabbing Caleb’s shoulder for support. They moved a little further from the house, and Felix leaned against the granary, knocking the back of his head against the wood. And he laughed, that kind of unhinged, hysterical laugh that was not funny at all. Caleb knew it well.

And then he was in tears. Caleb reached for his shoulder, carefully, and Felix didn’t shake him off.

“I was going to kill her,” Felix said quietly. “If you hadn’t… I almost murdered my parents. I love them. I love them… and it didn’t matter. I was going to… oh gods....”

“Felix,” Caleb said, and did a very poor job hiding the tremor in his voice. “I am so glad we found you.”

“What the fuck does it matter? I would’ve done it.”

“Felix, as somebody who did… it matters a great deal.”

Felix stared up at him, eyes wide and wild.

“I will not force you to go home if you’re not ready,” Caleb said, pulling his voice back under control. “All I will say is this: I would have given anything to see my mother and father again. I almost did. And I know it hurts to look at your mother, knowing that you were going to end her life because of a lie. But you didn’t. She is still here. So is your father. And you have time to heal, all three of you.”

Felix wiped his face on his sleeve, cleared his throat. “Okay. Danke.”

***

Astrid was seated at a small dining table with Felix’s mother and father. Nobody got up from the table when Caleb brought Felix in, though it took visible restraint from his parents. Felix took after his mother--blonde hair, blue eyes, soft features--but he was closer to his father’s build.

The father tore his eyes from Felix with visible effort, and when his gaze fell on Caleb, he froze. And Caleb recognised him, and his wife. Friedrich Schneider and Louise Fischer--probably Schneider now. They were a few years older than him, but he could recall playing together as children.

“I heard you were back,” said Friedrich. “You were helping Nico out yesterday, ja?”

“Ja, I was there,” Caleb said carefully. “As were Astrid and Wulf.”

Louise pulled out the chair next to her. “Felix, come here.”

Felix, still gripping his spellbook like a lifeline, shuffled over and fell into the seat. Caleb sat next to Astrid on the opposite side of the table to the family.

“I have given some details of Master Ikithon’s arrest,” Astrid told him. “We were just about to discuss options for support. If you would?”

“Ja, of course.” Caleb compartmentalised his old memories and focused on the task ahead of him. “We are organising a support group for Ikithon’s former students. We are still nailing down those details, but we will be sure to pass them on. I have also been appointed as a teacher at Soltryce Academy, and we are hoping to put the students back into school when they feel ready.”

Louise and Friedrich grasped at Felix, who curled in on himself but did not complain.

“We just got him home,” said Louise. “After everything Astrid has told us, why would we let him go back?”

“The students in Felix’s position are at a delicate stage of development,” Astrid said, with little inflection, and Caleb sensed she was compartmentalising as well. “They are quite skilled, but have lost the guidance they had. That is dangerous. Good or bad, Ikithon was…” She sighed, and the mask melted away a little. “He engineered this situation. We were dependent on him. Even those whose families still live. Bren, you have been out of his influence longer. Do you have thoughts?”

“Ja, I do.” Caleb had spent his fair share of time soul-searching in the past few weeks, as well as the past year as a whole. “Ikithon shaped each of his students in a very specific way: patriotic to a fault, willing to do anything to get the job done, and unfalteringly loyal to him. It is a gradual process. By the time you realize it is happening, you have already done terrible things at his command. For most, there was no way out. My situation is unique, because I was able to escape in a rather dramatic fashion, but it has taken years to shake off the influence he had on me. I was alone and homeless for most of that time, and let me tell you: almost every fragment of positive change in me happened in the past year, because I had a support network. I found people who cared about me, and they learned how to help me. It was a group effort. I am now in a position to offer that kind of support to others.”

“Say we let him go back,” said Friedrich. “Will he have to live in that place?”

“Not all the time,” said Astrid. “You are not far from Rexxentrum, so I do not see a problem if he wishes to come home regularly. Bren and I both live off-campus if he needs a break but cannot make it to Blumenthal.”

“You do not need to decide now,” said Caleb. “The seniors do not start for another few weeks.”

“We’ll think about it,” Friedrich said flatly. “What happened to Nico?”

“He did it,” Felix said quietly. “Had a breakdown. Ran the fuck away.”

“We have people searching for him,” said Astrid. “Bren taught Felix a spell to talk to him, if he likes.”

“He prefers Caleb,” Felix muttered.

“Danke, Felix.” Caleb had not expected Felix to speak up on his behalf, not when he had his own shit going on. “Astrid gets a pass and, well, your parents knew me when we were children. I go by Caleb Widogast these days, but I will answer to either name.”

“Why the change?” asked Friedrich, still in that flat tone of distrust.

“I went by many names after I escaped Master Ikithon,” said Caleb. “For safety. I gave that one to a woman who eventually became my best friend. Now, it’s my name. But, for you, I don’t mind.”

Both Friedrich and Louise did not look trusting. At all. A mere muscle twitch from openly glaring at Caleb and Astrid, really.

Louise sighed, and some of the hostility dropped. “Thank you for bringing Felix home.”

“We will check in regularly,” said Astrid.

“Felix can message either of us with the spell I taught him,” said Caleb. “If he so wishes.”

Things were too tense to continue much conversation. Caleb and Astrid said their goodbyes, and left. They did not speak, except for Astrid’s short incantation to teleport them back to Rexxentrum.

They landed on the outskirts of the Shimmer Ward. Astrid immediately combed her fingers through her hair, hands shaking.

“That was…” She groaned softly. “Thank you for coming. I will keep you updated on the search for Nicolaus.” She turned on her heel and marched deeper into the ward, pausing for a split second, before she continued onwards without looking back.

Caleb slowly worked his way back to and through the Tangles until he was home. He couldn’t fault Astrid for being distant right at the end. The last twenty-four hours had been intense for everyone involved.

It was close to dinnertime as he reached the house. He entered his side and shut the door, leaning against it as the strength left his body. He’d done it. Today had been two-thirds of a shitshow, and he had made it through.

Felix was home with his parents, and he had the means to contact Nico, and Caleb himself, if he wanted. That was a win.

Nico, however…

Caleb knew, intellectually, that it had been a freak occurrence. A series of imperfections had tangled together into a knot, and that knot had been Nico’s escape. Almost every wizard in that room had more than one try at countering Nico’s spell, but they had not been unable to unravel it. Nico, empowered by panic and grief, had thrown all he had into a powerful fireball, and had the adrenaline to power through what should have hurt him a great deal.

Caleb hoped he was okay. Physically, at least. Psychologically, Caleb knew he wasn’t.

He sat on the floor, resting his back against the door. And he tried something. Coil of wire in hand. “Hello, Nicolaus. This is Caleb Widogast. You may know me as Bren Ermendrud. I was with you today. I’m sorry we frightened you. Be safe.”

He didn’t expect a response, and he did not receive one. A small part of him feared Nico wasn’t responding because he was dead. It was all too likely. There was no way he hadn’t been injured in the blast. Once the adrenaline wore off, the pain could’ve taken over and left him vulnerable to any number of attackers.

Gods, if after all this, Nico had died on the side of a road…

Caleb was tired. But he forced his fingers to cooperate, and worked through another casting.

“Me again. I want you to know: Trent Ikithon is in prison for what he did to us. You’re welcome in my home, when ready.”

Again, no response.

“Caleb?” A form slid into view at the top of the stairs, blending into the dark, but Caleb knew Essek’s voice anywhere.

“Ja,” he said, with the remaining strength he had. “Felix is home. We have both tried to message Nico, with no response. I…” He didn’t want to speak it into existence, so he shifted the morbid statement on his tongue into something more positive. “I hope he’s alive.”

Essek floated down the stairs and sat beside him, squeezing into the remaining doorspace. “If he's anything like you, I would expect nothing less.”

“Danke.” Caleb dropped his head onto Essek’s shoulder, and let himself rest.

[iatethepomegranate]

We are not alone in the dark with our demons, Chapter 7

In which Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, becomes a professor, is loved a lot by the Nein (including lots of Shadowgast in most chapters), and fights to protect vulnerable people from going through what he did.

Chapter summary: Time is of the essence. Caleb cannot let it end this way. He will not let more lives be ruined by Trent Ikithon.

Notes: CW: Caleb's backstory but REALLY BAD, references to child abuse, vomiting

More detailed warnings and a chapter summary can be found in the end notes on AO3.

If you need to skip, you can probably read up to Caleb telling Beau to use Step of the Wind. There is a reference to past child abuse a few lines above that. If that's an issue, stop reading as soon as Caleb flags down a villager.

Chapter title is from Eight by Sleeping At Last again.

****

Chapter 7: For the innocent, for the vulnerable, I'll show up on the front lines with a purpose

They landed. The stormclouds were heavy overhead. Caleb hadn’t witnessed a storm in Blumenthal for a long time, and it disoriented him.

“Caleb, which way’s north?” asked Beauregard.

He grounded himself, breathed, pointed. Beauregard angled herself in a northeastern direction and started off. He followed close behind; Astrid and Wulf were half a step behind him on either side.

Caduceus had mentioned an orchard. Caleb had his head on a swivel, but he couldn’t see any fruit trees. And the buildings seemed slightly… off.

Oh. Oh no.

Caleb felt sick.

“Wait,” said Astrid. “We’re in the wrong place.”

Caleb held himself very still, silently counting eins, zwei, drei, fier, fünf… “Okay.” He breathed deeply. “Around me, please.”

Of all the times for a teleport to send them off-target. He wanted to scream, but instead, he focused hard on every little detail Caduceus had provided. And he cast again.

Again, they landed. The orchard trees were in sight. Caleb pointed them in the right direction again. The road was muddy, squelching as they ran. There were a handful of people still in the street, making last-minute preparations for the storm, and they definitely looked askance at a group of (somewhat) strangers tearing down the street.

“Astrid, what’s the name of the family?” asked Caleb.

“Baumann.”

Caleb caught the nearest villager who didn’t look too freaked out, switching to Zemnian. “Excuse me. My name is Caleb Widogast. I am a teacher at Soltryce Academy. We are looking for the Baumann family.”

The man he had stopped looked him up and down for far longer than Caleb could stand under the circumstances. “What’s your business?”

“We need to discuss Nico’s tuition this year,” said Astrid. “He was set to graduate, but the seniors may need additional support after the departure of Master Ikithon.” She held out her hand. “Archmage Astrid Beck. I am Ikithon’s replacement.”

“All right. What’s the rush?”

Caleb sighed, because he had to let something out. “I had not wanted to speak of this in public, but if we must… Master Ikithon was arrested a few months ago for abusing his students. Nico and Felix have been missing since just before the arrest. We have located Felix, but we have concerns about Nico. This is time-sensitive.”

“This Master Ikithon did something to the boys?” The man’s face didn’t give much away, but he pointed down the street. “Head to the end of the road, turn right, and keep going until you see the house with the cabbage patch.”

“Thank you.”

They ran. That had taken far too much time. Caleb should have been pulled the abusive teacher card from the beginning. Fuck.

“Beauregard, Step of the Wind? We three can fly.”

“Got it.”

Caleb, Wulf and Astrid cast Fly on themselves, and Beau began to fucking book it. She was technically faster than them, even with flight, but she only pulled a little ahead. If they were too late, there wasn’t much she could do alone.

There was an odd scent in the air. Caleb wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, until Beau yelled over her shoulder, “I smell smoke!”

They turned the corner and pushed onwards, and soon it became clear looking for cabbages was the least of their problems. There was a house on fire.

Time stretched, before Caleb breathed and it snapped like a bowstring. They were coming up fast, and there was barely any more time to think.

“Wulf, find the boy,” Caleb said. “We’ll get inside.”

“I see him.” Wulf broke off towards a barn, where there was a young man half-hidden, staring at the flames. There was no time to determine his condition; that had to be up to Wulf.

They reached the house. There was a thick plank of wood jammed against the door handle. Caleb cast Telekinesis, threw it out of the way.

Beau charged ahead.

“Wait!”

Beau stopped. Caleb used the spell to throw the door open, and there was an explosion of flame outward, which would have hurt. Belatedly, rushing to open the door may have been a mistake, but there was no time to think about it. They raced inside and crouched low, coughing from the smoke. They could barely see, aside from flickers of orange light all around them. The heat was unbearable.

“I’ll start on the fire,” said Astrid, throwing out a Ray of Frost at the staircase. Aside from the roaring of the flames, there were not the noises Caleb could remember. It was almost… too quiet.

Beau got out her fan. “Split up?”

“I’ll go upstairs.” It would be safer for him to go. He could control the flames better than she could with her limited-use fan, or her Belabour. Best to keep her close to Astrid. “Be careful of backdrafts.”

She punched his shoulder and crawled deeper into the house, while Caleb ducked towards the staircase he could barely see through the thick smoke. Nico must have expended most of his spells to have burned the house this quickly.

Caleb had to douse and climb over a fallen beam to get up the stairs, pulling his shirt over his mouth and nose for a bit of protection. He could not shake his dread.

The smoke was thicker upstairs. Caleb’s eyes watered. He tamped down what flames he could see with his Control Flames cantrip. His hand found a doorframe. Door open, no backdraft risk. He peeked inside, squinting against the roiling smoke. But he couldn’t see far enough for just a glance. He cast Control Flames again, pushing down as much flame as he could.

He crawled inside the room, his hands quickly finding the frame of a single bed. Probably Nico’s. He felt around for a moment longer to be sure, but it was unlikely anyone was here. He moved on, coughing hard enough to tear his throat. His eyes streamed from the smoke. He cast again. But it would take time for the smoke to clear, even as the flames slowly dwindled around him.

Caleb crawled down the hallway, finding another doorframe. Felt for the door. Closed. Rested the back of his hand against it. Hot. Opening it was too risky without improving the conditions up here. Even if he was safely away from the backdraft by using telekinesis, if someone was on the other side of the door, they could get hurt.

Caleb aimed a Disintegrate spell for the ceiling above him and hoped it would punch a hole all the way through. Memories of what to do in a fire were slowly filtering through his scattered mind. Vertical ventilation mattered in a building fire.

He let the spell loose, and it punched a hole the size of Caleb’s head all the way into the sky. A horrible thought occurred to him, even as smoke began to escape and oxygen equalise, slow as it was.

Caleb knew a lot about fire. In a situation where a backdraft was possible, it was highly unlikely to find survivors. Caleb tamped down the flames around him again, which had grown with the presence of more oxygen.

Then he stepped back and Disintegrated the door, taking a huge chunk of it away. He kicked the jagged remains open and crawled into the room. Control Flames once more.

He reached out, and found a shape on the floor. Edged closer. A hand. Blackened. It twitched, and then fell still. Caleb gently felt the wrist for a pulse. Couldn’t find one.

He edged around the charred body, and found a second one. There were no discernible features left. Just a vague human shape, burned to a crisp.

Caleb flung out his Control Flames cantrip again, dousing the flames in the room. Then, he pulled out his copper wire. “Beauregard, call off the search. They are dead. Get outside. Astrid and I will finish putting it out.”

Beauregard’s reply was instant, raspy. “Okay. I’ll check on Eadwulf. Don’t take too long.”

Caleb was thankful she didn’t say anything else. He kept working his way through the upper floor, snuffing the flames until all that remained was smoke slowly curling towards the hole in the roof. His throat was raw from coughing. Fire gone, he opened all the windows he could find to help ventilate the building and make it safer for Astrid downstairs.

He found her in the kitchen, icing the flames over. “I heard.” Her voice was equally shredded.

Caleb wordlessly helped her put the rest of the flames out. They stepped out of the house. Beauregard had reached Wulf by now, who was kneeling in the grass, cradling Nicolaus.

They approached. Nico’s eyes were glazed over, unfocused, and he lay limp in Wulf’s arms. Astrid twitched.

“He got a little aggressive, but I handled it,” said Wulf. “Now he’s…” He looked up at Caleb. “Like you were.”

A muscle was working in Beauregard’s jaw, but whatever was on her mind, she said something else. “Take me back to the office and bring Caduceus. I’ll watch Felix.”

“Astrid,” Caleb said flatly, “do you have any teleports left?”

“Ja.” She approached Beauregard, moving stiffly. “I’ll be back.” She and Beauregard vanished.

Wulf gazed up at Caleb, his face serious but giving little away as it often did. “Lionett told me what you said.”

Caleb took a deep breath, which itched terribly, forcing him to cough again. “We have one thing left to try. It’s… a long shot.” He knelt in front of Nico, who did not react to his presence. “Do you…” He coughed again. “In your experience with me, do you know if he might…”

“You would sometimes react to things,” said Wulf. “Not often. I don’t know if you could make sense of anything we said. Astrid said you don’t remember anything?”

“I do not.” Caleb sighed; if there was even the slightest chance Nico could hear them, he had to say something. He switched to Zemnian, in case that would be easier for him to process on the off-chance he heard anything. “Nico, my name is Caleb, or Bren. Either is fine. I know you are not well at the moment, but we are going to help you. I promise we will help you.”

There was no reaction. Caleb hadn’t really expected one. Wulf certainly hadn’t. They caught each other’s eyes again over Nico’s head. Wulf’s expression cracked, just a tiny bit. Caleb breathed deep, and Wulf did the same.

Caleb coughed again. Breathing really hurt.

Astrid appeared with Caduceus a few feet away.

Caleb got up, every part of him aching. His fingers were blistered. “Caduceus, let us walk and talk.”

“You do not have to go back in there,” Astrid said.

“I know. I am choosing to go.” Caleb pulled his Transmuter’s Stone from his pocket. “I have a trick I want to try.”

Her eyes fell to the ground. “All right.”

Caleb turned back to the house. Blackened. Smoking. But the flames were gone. He led Caduceus across the ash-spotted grass.

“Beau said it was bad,” said Caduceus.

“It is bad.” Caleb cleared his throat, painfully. “Will you be all right here?”

Caduceus nodded. “We both know I’m not the one to worry about.” He cast a low-level Cure Wounds on Caleb as they walked, and his throat and fingers felt a bit better.

Caleb went through the front door first. A fair amount of smoke had cleared by now, but the acrid scent of burnt wood remained. They headed up the stairs; Caleb used Telekinesis to move the fallen beams.

Light streamed into the upstairs from the opened windows and the hole in the roof. Caduceus looked up at the hole.

“Huh. You did that?”

“Vertical ventilation reduces backdraft risk.” Caleb led Caduceus to the second bedroom. Now that enough smoke had cleared out, he could see the reality of the room, the blackened double bed, compromised dresser, scorched mirror, the two charred human bodies on the floor, closer to the door than he had realised. And a very familiar stench of burned flesh.

Caleb swallowed against nausea, and knelt beside the smaller of the two bodies. “I can try to Raise Dead with my stone. Like Molly. I can only do it once.”

Caduceus knelt beside the larger body, taking in the damage. “Caleb.” He was about to tell Caleb how bad the chances were that they could fix this, and he really really could not handle hearing that from him. Him specifically. Caleb could not afford to break. Not yet.

“I know.” Caleb placed his stone on the woman’s chest. He had researched the Raise Dead spell since figuring out he could use his stone in this way. He knew the spell could close all mortal wounds, but would not replace body parts or organs integral to survival. If the Baumanns had died from smoke inhalation, this would have a higher chance of success. In this state…

Unlikely. But he needed to try. Caleb poured magic into the stone. Beside him, Caduceus placed a large diamond on the other body’s chest and prayed softly to the Wildmother.

Caleb’s stone shattered, and he could feel for just a moment a catch of something. Like he had snagged the corner of the woman’s soul.

“Frau Baumann,” he muttered. “I don’t know if we knew each other when we were children. My name was Bren Ermendrud, and I am here to help your son. He needs you. And this does not have to be your end. The world will be much poorer without you in it.”

The stone glowed, and he felt the soul drifting, snagged by the spell. For a moment, the soul seemed to dip, like it wanted to return. And then, as the stone shattered, it drifted away. He tried to grasp for it, but it slipped through his magic. And then it was gone.

The body was still just a body. There was not enough left of her for him to even recognise. The air was empty. Or maybe there wasn’t any air.

Caduceus sat back, shaking blackened dust of the destroyed diamond from his fingers, and raised his eyes to the window opposite them. “Wildmother, a terrible tragedy has happened here today. This is not the natural way of things. I know this is a huge ask, but… we would like to have these people back.” He waited. A full sixty seconds passed. Nothing changed. He sighed. “I’m sorry, Caleb.”

It was done. They had tried everything they could. And everything had failed.

The nausea crashed over Caleb once again. He tried to breathe, and smelled burnt flesh. He shoved a hand over his nose and mouth, swallowing hard.

Caduceus pulled him to his feet. “Let’s step outside.” He led Caleb out of the room, down the stairs, out the front door.

Caleb gulped the fresh air down. “Go to the others. I… need a… moment.”

Caduceus squeezed his shoulder and approached the barn, where a crowd was beginning to gather. Caleb walked, tightly-controlled, around the side of the house, just out of sight, and threw up on the grass. Wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Banged the side of his fist against the charred wood until he could think again.

Then he straightened, rolled back his shoulders, and approached the slowly-building clump of people.

Caduceus was doing most of the talking, with some input from a tense Astrid. Wulf had stood up, carrying Nico, who was still unresponsive. They were all out of teleportation spells, but Caleb had brought enough chalk and ink to draw a circle to the archives.

“All right,” Caduceus was saying. “We are going to take Nicolaus to Rexxentrum for care. I think we’re all a bit out of it after all of this.”

“Our gravekeeper will take care of the Baumanns,” said an older man, who Caleb recognised as the mayor. He’d avoided speaking to him last time he visited, so he had managed to not learn his name. “You take care of Nico, and send us updates as you can.”

“That can be arranged,” Astrid said, businesslike. “Thank you.”

“I’ll start drawing a circle to Rexxentrum,” Caleb said quietly. “May I use the barn? The chalk will vanish once we are gone.”

The mayor shrugged. “I suppose.”

Caleb stepped into the barn and cleared a ten-foot circle of hay so he could draw directly on the clay. “High Curator. It’s Caleb. May I bring Astrid and Eadwulf through the Rexxentrum circle? We will have Caduceus and a sick young man with us.”

“Hello, Professor. You may do that. If you are able to update me on your search on your way through, please do.”

Caleb would probably vomit again if he had to talk about it, but Caduceus could get the point across, probably. He knelt on the floor and began to draw the circle, honing down his focus so all he thought about was the next stroke of chalk and ink, and the specific detailing for the Rexxentrum Archives.

The others entered the barn seven minutes and thirty-two seconds into the drawing. “Caduceus, can you Send to Beauregard?”

“Can do,” Caduceus replied. “Hey. We’re coming through the Archives soon.” A pause. “She says she’s gotten Felix settled in a dormitory and is headed home to prepare for our arrival.”

“We should keep Nicolaus away from the Assembly, ja,” Astrid said quietly. “Until we think of something.”

“I have a spell for this, I think. Better to get away from here first.”

“Yudala wants an update on our way,” Caleb said.

“I’ll take care of it,” said Caduceus.

Caleb finished the last few strokes of the circle in silence. It came alight, and they stepped through.

He had to fight back the nausea again once they landed. Caduceus steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. Yudala entered the circle chamber, taking in the ash-covered group and the catatonic boy in Wulf’s arms.

“The monks have informed me the other boy is safe,” they said. “Is this as bad as it looks?”

“It is,” Caduceus replied.

“Very well.” Yudala looked at Caleb specifically; they were smart enough and had enough access to Caleb’s past specifically to put it all together. “We’ll talk later. You all look exhausted.” They turned to Astrid. “I will send a formal invitation in due time.”

“We’ll see how much it panics the Martinet first,” Astrid said without inflection.

“I have my ways around him if need be.” Yudala led them through the archive personally, letting them out into the overcast afternoon. The storm was on its way here. “Get some rest. You have earned it.”

[grimmseye]

A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Eight (Interlude)

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: M

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual)

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss, The Mighty Nein

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, dissociation, sensation of bugs under the skin, description of corpses/decomposition, accidental self-harm, (the tags get wild here), non-explicit sexual content, sexual fantasies,

When the Nein arrived, Mollymauk listened from his bedroom.

Beauregard, Caleb, Fjord, Jester, Nott, Yasha. The names pounded in his head, nails that refused to be hammered down. One stood out stronger than the rest, the ache deeper, the emptiness more terrifyingly complete, but not one passed without a sharp stutter in his heart.

He died. He had, hadn't he? Somehow the thought had never really, truly clicked. He had been cold and still in the ground, festering amid the worms. Had they made a home of him? Burrowed into his body while the mud dripped into his mouth, boring holes through his flesh and eating at his innards, ants and centipedes all marching their unending parade through the rot underneath his skin, thousands of legs too small to feel and yet there was a crawling deep inside.

He knew what dead bodies looked like. He felt liked he'd created a few himself. The swords he carried had tasted blood that was not his own, and a prickle on his tongue told Mollymauk that he had as well. His body had, at least. This body had done many things that Mollymauk had not. Maybe it was his Other, the echo that had given up his skin, who had brought his teeth to another's flesh to drink their life away.

He gagged, both from the sudden stench of copper he swore he could smell, and from the images it painted. He knew what dead bodies looked like. Molly's hands flew to his belly, prodding at the skin to make sure it felt as it should, a layer of fat softening the muscle underneath, currently smooth and flat as he hadn't eaten a thing. The Nein's presence left his stomach twist into knots too tight to let him get a proper meal. What should have mattered was that his belly was firm, where a corpses would be spongey-soft and bloated with gas, and yet it did not comfort him.

He was alive, but he couldn't convince himself of this. Molly scrabbled at his own jaw to find the pulse beneath it, fluttering far too quickly.

A heartbeat meant life. A beating heart meant pumping blood and blood was the essence of the life was what rooted the soul to the body. That's why they studied it: the blood. That's why they spilled it over their blades and that's why he, the Other, that Lucien, had drank it down, because endless blood meant endless life and an immortal sustained on the blood of those beneath them was unto a god —

Molly didn't realize he was scratching at his arms until he felt himself prick into a vein. The stinging made him wince, suddenly registering the scores of red lines he'd dragged over his forearms, and the one small arc of crimson where a nail had dug too deep.

His throat worked in a swallow. Blood was life. If he bled, he was alive. If he breathed in fresh, clean air, from the open window, then it meant that he wasn't buried feet under the earth with only worms and fungal spores for company.

The voices downstairs went quiet. Mollymauk went still, straining to catch a word. The thought that they were gone should have been a relief. It meant that he could move at last, emerge from this tiny, claustrophobic room that might as well be a coffin.

And it meant he was completely alone.

A panic caught his chest, Molly scrambling to his feet. "Essek!" He shouted. They were gone, weren't they, so it was safe to come out now. They were gone, but so was he, so Mollymauk was all alone with no one to distract him from the gaping wound underneath his ribs.

"Essek!"

No response. Trembling hands wrenched the door open. He thudded down the stairs and nearly toppled in his frenzy. He needed to find Essek. He needed to find someone, anyone, he needed to not be alone, he needed something to fill the empty void in in his chest where a soul was meant to be so he could stop feeling so Empty.

His skin crawled for contact, and he hugged himself tight. No one was there.

Eventually, Mollymauk would slink to a couch and find the thickest, heaviest blanket in the house. He hunkered down in the cushions with it, the soft texture until his fingers grounding and the pressure even better. A warm, living, breathing body was what he needed, but this would work. This would have to be enough.

Essek did return, sooner than expected. He had a parasol in his hand, a lacy pink thing. Mollymauk didn't know if it was relief or despair he felt when the drow strode right by, eyes so firmly fixed on the item in his hands that he hardly even noticed the tiefling on his couch — let alone his trembling. Mollymauk did not miss Essek's own.

If he'd been here five minutes prior, Mollymauk might have scrambled to him. Even now, after catching his breath so just the smallest of tremors seized him between the seconds, he was starving for contact. It would be so warm tucked up against someone else's body. He wanted Essek to hold him. Hell, he would hold Essek himself, the gods knew the drow needed a fucking hug.

Mollymauk would do a lot with Essek, really. He'd happily take any of it. Just a hand, fingers laced together. They were clever hands. Some memory — his own, not the Other's — told him that wizards were good with their hands. Long, nimble fingers, trained to weave odd shapes in the air or paint them in their books. He'd love to just play with his fingers and watch how each section folded in, drag his own over the protrusions of the knuckles and maybe lift Essek's hand to kiss each one.

Kissing Essek was the next thought that flitted into his mind. He let it come and savored it, happy to entertain a fantasy, especially in favor of the panic that seized him before. Essek didn't strike him as one who spent a lot of time in bed with someone else. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that the man had never kissed at all. Either way, Mollymauk thought it would be hesitant at first. It was easy to imagine how Essek would falter, breath fanning out across his lips. Mollymauk would have to cup his face, press slow, chaste kisses to his lips, again and again until the wizard followed suit. Wizards were curious things, and Essek had an attractive dedication to his work. He was sure that he'd get his bearings in no time.

And then there was further. Picking that mantle away, taking a moment to admire him in the garments that clung close to his body. Molly had averted his eyes in the spa, but like this he would be allowed to drink it in. First with his eyes, and then with his hands, his teeth, his tongue. He wondered how Essek would sound. Soft whimpers, maybe. Or could be be noisy once his restraint cracked in half, crying out and panting. Or low growls and hisses of pleasure, his quiet intensity taken to bed.

It would all be music to his ears. But while he knew Essek looked at him — he wasn't blind — somehow he was sure that Essek wasn't going to act on that any time soon.

But the craving wasn't going to go away, either. Now that the thought was lodged in his head, Mollymauk knew what he wanted so badly. It barely scraped against arousal, just desire making him ache. He just wanted to spend a night with the reminder he wasn't alone.

Maybe he'd take a tour around the city, tomorrow, and see if he couldn't find someone to share his bed.

It had been more than enough. Hands on his body to sooth the crawling under his skin, warmth and heat and pressure that became the soul focus of his mind, and a sleep so deep there was no room for nightmares of blood and burials. And with a clear head, Mollymauk came to a conclusion:

Essek Thelyss was difficult to read, and that both impressed and worried him.

Mollymauk was a liar. Spinning tales was as easy as it was fun, and while he might not have been the most charming of trinkets, he knew how to walk the line that bordered absurdity, keep a story just strange enough for someone to want to believe his words were true. The deeper sort of lie, he could manage that as well — deception, not just tall tales, the kind of words that sang of danger in their wake.

Essek wasn't necessarily a liar, as far as Mollymauk could tell, but he was certainly a deceiver. There were gaps in his story, things he didn't like to talk about, subjects he was quick to change.

There was a heavy guilt that followed in his shadow after the Mighty Nein's departure, one that grew deeper as the days passed. Mollymauk wouldn't care about lies — whatever person Essek didn't want to be, that was his business. Molly didn't care for other people's baggage. It was dead weight, best left behind so you could keep moving forward without so much as a glance over the shoulder. But whenever Mollymauk brought up the Nein, he could no longer miss the way that Essek's breath caught, his words stalled, his face pinched.

Essek had a good mask, but Mollymauk was even better at prying them off than he was at wearing his own.

[grimmseye]

A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Nine

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: M

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual),

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss, Jester Lavorre

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Acrophobia, Violence, Tarot, Bed-sharing

— — —

Essek goes silent in the days leading up to the peace talks. It's an affair Mollymauk only faintly understands, static-filled memories informing him of something, some tension in the air of impending violence and fear. There's a memory of his own voice urging them to get out, there's a reason he doesn't want a Name, attention is fine but being known is not.

This is going to determine the immediate fate of two countries. The lives of their soldiers, thrown to the slaughter for a cause Mollymauk could not comprehend, could be saved. And that was good, yes, in a distant and grand sort of way. It was too big for him to fit it into a scope he could understand.

Essek, he was sure, knew that scope, and yet Mollymauk doubted that was the source of his stress. There was something else under the surface, that connected to the way his ears started to droop when the conversation swung to the Mighty Nein. More concerning, though,was the fact that Essek had started to disappear. Where Mollymauk had previously heard a muffled voice from the tower's door, there was now silence, the kind that emerged from an absence of a person to be quiet. By the time Mollymauk took notice of it, the absences were regular enough to be timed.

Let the world feel a shudder wrack its spine when Mollymauk Tealeaf produced the beginnings of a plan.

It would never go beyond those beginnings — he wasn't the planning sort. Essek disappeared, which meant that his room was empty and unguarded, which meant that if Mollymauk was going to break into his space, it would have to be now.

He didn't even wait to be sure. A minute spent double checking was a minute sooner Essek would return, so the moment that silence made itself known, Mollymauk was already crossing the tower's bridge. He checked the lock for anything that would explode if he tried to pick it, found nothing, and grinned to himself as he slipped a homemade set of thieves tools into the slot.

Molly's triumph was short-lived. The hook found nothing, no tumblers to leverage into place. It was like the inside was perfectly smooth, but when he tried the knob, it refused to turn.

A grimace stole his face. "Wizards," he growled. A vague sense of someone disappearing in the middle of a fight, off to who the fuck knows where — but that hadn't been a wizard, had it, no, that was the odd drawling voice that asked after Molly's swords and he didn't feel a lick of guilt spinning a lie on the spot because it made relief light in Fjord's eyes and wasn't that a good thing, better to comfort someone with a lie than torment them with a meaningless truth.

Fjord. Taller than Molly with a frame that suggested a strength he really didn't have. Sneaking up behind him and dunking his head under the water and laughing as the man began to sputter, that'll show him. Warmth in the chest as — that was the wizard, yes, the one who froze amid fire and didn't even know how to skim off the top — as someone offered a gorgeous sword to him that let him flit out of one space and into another. "Mister Mollymauk."

"Mister Caleb."

The words fell from his lips, thick as honey. His hand slipped from the doorknob, and he felt a soreness in his palm. How long had he been gripping it?

Mollymauk shook his head to clear it, grinding his thumb against his temple. Door was locked, so —

Windows. He could always get in through a window.

The brick of the towers were uneven enough to climb, though falling from that height without a net to catch him would not end well. Right about now he would kill for a sword that let him teleport. Or Nott's feather spell to catch his fall. Yasha, who he knew would throw herself off a ledge to catch him, and be just fine when she hit the ground.

His chest felt tight, the aching loneliness clawing to the surface. Suddenly he regretted not telling them, these people who were blurred in his mind but make the space beneath his ribs feel hollow.

He drew a sharp breath. The Nein meant something to him. Essek, no matter how much Molly liked the man, was doing something to harm them.

The first brick was cold under his hand. He wasn't the strongest individual, but he knew how to climb. Molly kept himself level with the bridge so if he did lose his grip, he wouldn't fall all the way to the ground below. His muscles ached far sooner than he would prefer. He might have to start doing strength training on top of his stretches. But his hooves took to the narrow brick, his tail working as a counterbalance, and it was only in the moments where he had to ease away from the safety net of the bridge that his pulse really began to race.

The window was positioned where a drop would send him directly to the ground. Much as Molly wanted to stop and catch his breath, freezing now wasn't an option. He dragged in slow breaths to try to calm his palpitating heart. Hand then foot then hand then foot. Sweat on his fingers made his grip slide, panic washing cold over his back as he seized the brick and panted against it. The pitching sensation continued, his body screaming at him for this foolishness. He'd dug himself out of the dirt twice only to break himself from a fall. It likely wouldn't even kill him, just crush his bones, sternum crunched into his lungs for him to bleed out his mouth until he either expired or Essek returned to find him.

He nearly sobbed when he felt the cold of the window against his fingertips. Molly braced his hand against it, palm sliding over the glass with a squeak. Nausea rose in his throat. Did the window even open? Was it locked, or just stuck from disuse?

Grinding his teeth, Mollymauk braced as much weight as he dared against that hand, trying to muster the leverage to force the window up — gods he'd break it it necessary —

A loud crack split the air. Molly's hand slipped.

He watched the tower fall away and blur, too quick to feel anything but shock as he hit empty air. And then something else hit him, knocking the wind out of him as he tumbled, stars spinning to earth before coming to a halt clutched in Essek's arms.

Molly wheezed and clung to him, the position awkward — Essek's shoulder dug just between his ribs, but he was more than happy to sling legs around his waist and claw at his mantel for a handful of material. In the haze of his manic vision, he saw branches of light — spectral wings that extended from Essek's shoulder blades, flapping periodically to keep them aloft.

The descent made Molly squeak and cling tighter. Sweat was dripping from his temples, shaking violently as Essek stooped down to force his hooves onto solid earth with a grunt of exertion. Even then, Mollymauk didn't let go of him, just clinging to his arms instead.

Essek yanked himself away. Molly let him go, wrapping his arms around himself. He forced a grin, saying, "Good — g-good save, Mister Thelyss."

Molly had never seen anger on Essek's face before. It was a quiet thing, simmering beneath a frigid surface. The pin of his ears, the tremor in his hands, the clench of his jaw, those were the things that tipped Molly off to just how badly he'd fucked up here.

"What were you doing?" Essek asked, voice dangerously steady.

Mollymauk even considered telling the truth. Then he remembered how Essek had physically crushed a person's body into an unrecognizable mash, and said, "Well — let me tell you — that was not worth it." It let his brain race ahead as he lifted a finger and played up his breathless state. Not snooping, not spying, just — "I even forgot to actually bring the paints with me."

"The —" Essek's anger faltered. "Paints?"

Molly gave him a grin, rubbing the back of his neck. His legs were trembling too violently to remain upright, and he let himself collapse into the grass instead. Play up the pity angle. He's just a frightened, helpless tiefling, nothing to see here. "I was gonna paint a dick on your window."

Blue, blue, blue. Blue skin, blue hair, but she danced with every other color. A streak of mischief that Mollymauk adored, and he'd snarl in infernal just to delight in her laughter, the best audience he could ask for.

Essek's eyes took on the same hopeless adoration that Mollymauk felt. His shoulders slumped, and he ran his fingers through his hair. Then again. On the third time, his fingers caught, and he tugged at the white strands, for Molly to push himself upright with a "Whoa, hey —" and then to pitch forward as black spots flitted in his vision.

He landed against Essek again, and wheezed a laugh. "I need to sit down. Like, now. Come on."

Molly grabbed Esseks arm and fell back onto the grass, yanking the drow with him to bully him into lying down. It was tempting to just burrow against his side, bask in pressure and warmth. Instead he just let their arms brush where they splayed in the grass.

"These are expensive clothes," Essek said.

"And you can magic the dirt off them, can't you?" Mollymauk looked to the stars. He wasn't sure if they were different here than in the Empire. He thought he remembered somebody pointing shapes out to him, an art not unlike the cards he dealt. You could be born under certain stars, but Molly didn't know them. No matter how many times the lines were traced, he only saw a field of pinprick lights.

"That was stupid, you know," Essek murmured. "Climbing the tower. At least Jester can catch herself if she falls."

Mollymauk scoffed. "Who needs magic? Well, their own magic, anyway. Apparently I've got a wizard at my beck and call."

"Oh, gods," Essek rasped, and Molly cackled. "I should have let you hit the ground."

"It was your fault I lost my grip, anyway," Molly snorted. "Is teleporting always that loud?"

"Yes. Something to do with the displacement of air." Essek raised a hand, curling his fingers through the air. "If you had not been scaling my tower, you would not have fallen."

"Now let's not go pointing fingers." Molly smirked as he grabbed Essek's hand to force it back down to the grass.

The moon smiled down at them, lopsided and thin. A cloud skimmed past it, stealing away the light that bathed them. Mollymauk wasn't particularly devout, but he had to wonder if it wasn't Her blessing.

The Peace Talks arrived almost without Mollymauk's awareness. They were only heralded but the shift in Essek's attitude, from a quiet that was uncharacteristic even for him to snappish remarks, banishing Mollymauk from any space the two of them just happened to end up in together. That was only when he made himself visible at all, still shutting himself away in his towers, shielded from prying eyes.

Mollymauk still wished he'd managed to get in, but whatever was coming, he would have no say in it. And really, that was just fine. Molly really wasn't one to interfere, only to react.

Just waiting had his nerves twisting up, and he found himself slipping things into a bag throughout the day. Swords in their scabbards, the sturdier outfits Essek bought him, gold pieces stolen unabashedly from a cloak left hanging up to be washed later. He hardly realized he was doing it until there was no more room, and he was having to stretch the chord to fit it around the button.

A sigh pushed from his chest. Mollymauk set the bag aside and reached for his supplies. He had a card to make.

The Eclipse was joined with Fractures. Upright, it meant convergence, the joining of multiple parts. Reversed, it was separation, a breaking point. One of the more straightforward symbols, and one that felt right as he began to sketch the pieces.

The sun, and the two moons, overlapping in a line of three. At the edges where they met, they shattered.

Molly, Molly, what does that one mean, is that you?

He was smiling before he looked up. Jester was practically sprawled over his back, her hands falling on his shoulders as she peered at the cards he'd laid out.

"Naw," he grinned. "It's us."

He was being facetious, but there was a sliver of truth tucked into it. Jester gasped, "Us? Us like you and me or like all of us?" A grin spread across her face as she pressed her cheek to his. "Molly," she giggled, saying his name like Mawl-ee with that curling accent of hers, "do you have a crush on me?"

Her giggling said it was a joke but he purred, "You know I do, dear." And again, he sort of meant it. Not really, not like how she obviously pined over Mister Fjord, but Mollymauk gave his heart easily, and if almost anyone of this ragtag group wanted to hold his hand or take him to bed, he'd be happy to follow along.

"Okay okay okay, but you only have one," Jester points out. "What are the rest?"

"You want a full reading?"

He was already reaching for his cards as Jester swept a chair to his side and threw herself into it, tail curling with excitement. "Of course," she scoffed, and then perked up. "But first, what's that one?"

"The Eclipse," Mollymauk told her. "So if you take this as the past for the Mighty Nein, this is very literally just our meeting. It's the convergence of multiple parts into a singular whole, see? Now, for present..."

He spread the remainder of his deck on the table. Molly reached for her, saying, "Here, take my hand. Since this is for all of us, the more guiding our hands, the better." And if maybe he nudged them to his own pick, all that mattered was that Jester didn't realize.

He guided her hand to the middle of the arc, then drew and flipped a card. This one was an image of two coins, one gold and one silver, balanced on opposite ends of a scale. "The Coin," he announced. "Reversed. Also known as Risk. Things are uncertain right now. We may be headed for misfortune — but it's not defined just yet."

"What kind of misfortune?" Jester asked.

"Well, they're not exact," Molly chuckled. "But maybe the Future will tell us?"

"Oh!" Jester perked up. "Can I pick it?"

Molly laughed and leaned back, offering her the table. With Eclipse out of the way — and more importantly, Fractures — there wasn't much that could give her a terrible reading —

Jester pulled a card towards the end of the deck, flipping it with a "Hah!" and all but slamming the card on the table.

Even though he was the one to make it, Mollymauk felt his gut twist at the sight.

"The Broken," he announced. The image looked like a web, twisted, jagged spokes of a wheel that ran into one another. "Upright, this card calls for..." Tragedy, specifically. Not always, but often. "Harrowing times. Loss. It looks like we've got our work cut out for us, Jes."

Molly looked at her, feeling his heart skip at the crestfallen expression on her face. He reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze. "So it's good we're together, yeah?" He cajoled, bumping his shoulder into hers until she started giggling.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Thanks, Molly." She stood up and, sensing the cue, Molly went with her. It was entirely unsurprising when she wrapped her arms around him. Their tails twined together, mutual purrs rumbling in their chests as they swayed back and forth. Then she stepped back, going, "Okay okay okay. Do me, now!"

"I already gave you a reading."

"Yeah but that was age-s ago!"

"Alright, alright, but it'll cost you."

The cracking sound of a teleportation spell snapped Molly out of his reverie. He gasped, sitting bolt upright and gouging into his work. His face was wet. The card was ruined.

Cussing, Molly wiped at his eyes. He tossed the card aside, not the least bit satisfied by its tap against the wall as he headed for the door.

Night had long since fallen, keeping the halls dark as he nudged the door open. From below, a sound made his heart skip: a heavy thud, and rasping breath.

Molly froze for just a second, then grabbed one sword before rushing downstairs. The moment he hit them, he could make out Essek's collapsed form, small and shaking. Snippets of his voice were muffled by the curl of his own body, unintelligible muttering between panting breaths.

"Essek," Molly started, "what the hell —"

"Leave me alone, Mollymauk." His voice was a whisper. Essek draw a sharp breath and started to force himself to his feet, the legs quaking so violently they threatened to give out.

"You're a wreck," he shot back, reaching for Essek's arm. "You —"

Essek snarled. Gravity impacted Molly's chest, spots flying in his eyes as he was clawed away from Essek. He collided with a table, the panel of glass screaming against its metal stand, the sound of a crunch as pressure fractured it down the middle. A hot, throbbing pain settled in his back where he'd impacted.

Molly stared at Essek, where the drow stood, a hand still outstretched. His eyes were wide, pupils blown and ears pinned back. A croaking down dragged from his throat.

Molly groaned and staggered to his hooves. His hand dipped to the handle of his scimitar, lips peeling back as he glared at Essek through narrowed eyes.

"Mollymauk," Essek panted, a tinge of shock in his voice. His hand wavered and then fell, he took an aborted step forward.

Molly prowled towards him. Essek gave no fight as Molly drew his sword and walked him back against the door. Essek's feet were flat on the tile, putting him low enough for Molly to crane his head up into his face.

"Are you done," he asked, voice dripping with derision. "Or do you have to break something else to feel better?"

It was satisfying to watch the shame drip into Essek's face, a horrified light behind his eyes. He didn't speak, only stared, chest heaving.

It was a testament to how rattled Essek had to be that he didn't put up a fight. Molly didn't think he could take him one on one. The man could skip through the air, twist his mind like puddy, turn his body into a puppet on strings if he needed to. But he only shrank against the wall, lips trembling, looking an inch away from crying.

Molly could push him that extra inch.

"Answer the question."

"I'm — sorry —"

Molly cut off his gulping with a, "I didn't ask if you were sorry. I asked if you were done with your tantrum." He pressed a hand to Essek's sternum, intentionally trapping him against the wall. "Well?"

Embarrassment flooded Essek's cheeks, staining his ears as he looked away. "Yes," he rasped. "I... I am done. And I am sorry."

"Care to explain what the fuck that was about?"

Essek took another breath, sharp and shallow. A second. A third. Molly could feel his heart pounding under his palm.

"I..." His voice faltered, and he licked his lips. "I. Today. The Nein discovered my betrayal. That... that I stole one of the Beacons of the Dynasty, and handed it over to the Empire to be studied."

Mollymauk studied his face, Essek's pale moon pupils. There was a sheen to them, not yet crying, but close. He could hear each breath, pulling in and hissing out, feel the heaving us his pulse. He eased up on the pressure, letting Essek stagger away from the wall.

"Alright," Molly said, "that certainly sounds like a lot."

Essek glowered. "You don't even know what that means," he sneered.

Mollymauk bared his teeth in return. "Enlighten me, then."

It didn't take much. He remembered what the Dynasty had done to retrieve their Beacon, the collapse and the panic, the call to war. Essek just drew the line between the dots Molly already had.

As they spoke, more and more of that brief spark of life drained out of Essek. He sagged against the wall, cheek turned away from Mollymauk to speak to the air beside him.

It was bad. It was really, really bad. Worse than anything Mollymauk had forgiven before. Still, he listened, as Essek's voice shook through each word, until they broke into a sharp sound and lapsed into silence. And then it was just Essek, eyes squeezed shut, hands clutching at the wall as he gasped for breath.

Mollymauk drank the image in, and let out a sigh. "Okay," he murmured. "C'mere." He cupped Essek's jaw, drawing him down to press his lips to his forehead. A gasped wrenched from Essek's throat, and Molly hushed him. "Shhhh," he soothed. "Shhhh-shhhh-shhhh. Come on."

Mollymauk took him by the arm, guiding him up the steps. It was slow going with how Essek trembled, and when they reached his bedroom door, Molly had to remind him to open it. Whatever enchantment kept Molly from breaking in parted the way for Essek.

His room was exquisite. Four-poster bed, large enough to comfortably fit two, maybe three. Satin pillows, dramatic curtains framing the window, a shelf of organized components, the rest heavy with books. A bathroom was attached, and gods did Molly want to spy on what was in there.

That was a good idea, actually.

"Have you eaten anything?" Molly asked, unsurprised when Essek shook his head. He didn't say anything else for the next few minutes. Instead, it was spent figuring out how to undo his mantel. First the material, falling away heavier than expected. The metal that guarded his neck came apart in two pieces. Then earrings, Essek's ears twitching away from his touch. Essek stood still, letting him do as he pleased.

"Can you get the rest?" Molly asked, tugging his shirt for emphasis.

Essek took a solid moment to process it, and gave a single nod. He reached slowly for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

"Great," Molly smiled. He cupped Essek's face, making sure their gazes met. "You take a shower. Just rinse off, you don't have to do anything else. I'll be back up with dinner for you. Alright?"

"... Alright."

"Wonderful." Molly gave his cheek a solid pat and pushed him towards the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He didn't wait to head down the stairs, but listened for the spray of water as he scrapped a meal together.

He made two trips, one for a pitcher of water and glasses, the other for two bowls of soup. By that point, Essek had emerged from the shower, dressed in a long robe and seated on the bed, staring at the floor. He was mostly dry, but his hair was messier, so Mollymauk had to assume he'd magicked the water off. That was a good sign.

Molly set one bowl down on a dresser to click his fingers. "Hey," he said, voice sharp in a way that wasn't meant to snap, just to catch his attention. Essek glanced up, and Molly handed the bowl over. "That's yours. Eat as much as you can."

It was good soup. Simple, but good. That was most of what Molly knew how to make.

The first few bites were a visible effort, but they seemed to awaken Essek's hunger, as he hurried through the bowl, only breaking to take sips of water. When their bowls were empty, Molly set them aside and banished Essek to the sink to brush his teeth, vanishing to do his own.

He ended up having to pull Essek away from the mirror with a huff of, "Come on, no getting existential before bed."

When he pulled the covers back, Essek only stared at him. A raised eyebrow got an explanation: "I do not need to sleep."

Mollymauk squinted at him. "Right." He drew the word out. "You meditate. Well. Can you meditate laying down? Like, you have a bed. If you're not using it, then you will give it to me. Capiche?"

Essek stared through him for another few moments before absently nodding, and climbing into the bed, letting Molly pull the covers up around him.

"There we go," Molly smiled. "Snug as a bug in a rug."

"A bug in a rug would likely be hopelessly lost," Essek murmured. His eyelids were already drooping.

"Oh hush," Molly snorted. He hesitated for only a moment before saying, "Now, I'm gonna ask you a question here. No judgement, alright?"

Essek heaved a sigh. "That is always a good start."

"I said hush, no more sass." Molly flapped a hand. "Do you want me to stay here tonight?"

That got his attention. He looked more alert than he'd been since leaving this morning, just gazing at Mollymauk without saying a word.

Molly gave a faint smile. "Let's make this easier. Do you want me to leave?"

A moment's pause, and then Essek shook his head.

"Great. Will you flip out if I get in the bed next to you?"

Another shake, this one with an eye-roll to boot.

"Excellent," Molly purred, and wasted no time in sliding into the bed. He immediately seized a pillow to bunch under his head, stretching out with pleased sound. "Oh, fuck, this is wasted on you. Wasted." What was the nicest bed Molly had ever slept on? It didn't matter, this won.

Essek gave a quiet, breathy sort of laugh. "Your turn to hush," he murmured. "I... am exhausted." And it showed.

Molly made a show of theatrical offense, before settling back down and tucking just one lock of loose white hair back into place. "Alright, then. Goodnight, Mister Thelyss."

The sounds of their breaths became the ambience of the room, amid the cool breeze outside, nighttime dwellers singing their songs. Amid it all, Molly very nearly missed Essek's whisper, muffled and half-slurred as it was: "Goodnight, Mister Tealeaf."