wips

[nerakrose]

Sign ups for next year's getyourwordsout are gearing up and I'm thinking about my writing plans and life and general things, as one does, this time of year. I'm at 28 days of writing this year so far (I had signed up for the 120 day pledge again) which is, well, very little. I'm going to sign up for the 120 day pledge again for 2023 as I'm getting back into a habit of writing semi-regularly again now that I've been writing fic again and I also have a yuletide assignment, and I've got a couple of novel wips I would really like to get back to working on properly.

But anyway, one of the mods reminded me that last year I actually made 72% of my 120 day pledge which I had completely forgotten about (for some reason I thought that least year was much the same as this in terms of output) and I think my mistake was looking at what I'd posted to AO3 and not at what I'd actually written, because, uh, I have a lot of unfinished wips knocking about. which is what this post is about!

This is a collection of wips I'm never going to finish.

I'm putting them here so that I can put them out of my mind, for good, and because while I'm never going to finish them that doesn't mean the time I spent writing them was wasted, or that they're not good, or that I don't like them. I have just made the decision to abandon them because I can't keep wasting energy fretting about all the stories I want to write and finish, because realistically that's not going to happen.

Some of these wips are 5+ years old, some of them only a couple of months. Some are thousands of words long, some only a few hundred. some are original works, some are fanfics. There is no 'crown jewel' in this collection. The wips are complete in the sense that everything is included; every note to self, half formed sentences and abrupt/disconnected scenes, vague plot outlines, and so on. I haven't tinkered with any of these even to correct a typo, this is just copy pasted wholesale from my files.

*rolls up sleeves*

H/D plane crash investigators, about 300 words

monsterfucking short, 1,4k

sword wlw, about 100 words

trans!dean, 1,1k

spn post!s5 2k

Percy/Oliver, 1,2k

Draco and smoking, 240 words

Caius/Al SPACE AU, 8k

werewolf pirates mermaid ot3, 1,9k

fantasy heist novel 3.0 12k

thief detective romance, 3k

fake dating princes, 32k (separate post)

H/D plane crash investigators, about 300 words
First Officer [panicked]: We just lost an engine—
Captain [calm but stressed]: Toga! Toga! Which one is it?
First Officer: Left!
Captain: Shut it down. Left/right aileron up, full throttle on the right.
First Officer [grimly]: I can't shut it off! It's not responding
Captain: Tower, this is DEG 375 mayday mayday, we have an engine on fire
requesting alternative approach on runway November Three-Left
Tower: DEG 375 you are cleared for runway November Three-Left, emergency
services on standby.

---

Harry turned the tape off. This investigation was over—he'd just finished writing his report
and would be submitting it to the National Air Transport Safety Board in the morning. He'd
lost count of how many times he'd listened to this tape, the calm assertive way the captain
handled the situation and the panicked first officer, the sound of the engine failing in the
background. He'd stopped the tape at the second before the unresponsive engine exploded.
At this point in the recording, the crisis could still be averted. The pilots knew their plane well
and could've gone around to land it safely even with an engine on fire—they'd done
everything right. But the engine had exploded, tearing a hole in the wing, and the plane had
crashed two hundred metres short of the runway, engulfed in flames. There were no
survivors. Here, the pilots were still alive. Harry left the tape like that, frozen just before
certain doom. It wouldn't change anything, but it was—a kindness. Respect. A silent tribute
to the lives lost and the pilots' efforts to keep everyone alive.
The report signed off, Harry left it on the secretary's desk for copying, filing, and sending off.
Then he went home.

---

Draco at work overseeing an investigation, gets reassigned when another crash occurs.
Similarity with the one he's working on
He and Harry are exes, when they broke up Draco left the UK to work for Aerial
out of Toulouse or Leiden or something, and their paths haven't crossed in six-ish years.
They're now working on the same crash, British airline, airbus plane. Tensions, pining,
frustration, old wounds, sexxxx, eventual reconciliation, more sex

monsterfucking short, 1,4k
POV monster

Related to the mermaid ot3 short - the monster is a shape shifting mermaid from the same pod as Alex, and this takes place after Alex left to join the werewolf pirates

---

We prey on humans more often these days. There are more of their ships now, and they're easy to lure; we turn ourselves into thin homunculuses and grow seaweed on our heads. They think we are beautiful until we open our maws.

Humans don't taste as good as seals or fish or sharks or whales. They're a bit crunchy, like crabs, but in a different way.

One of ours left to live on their ships. They took a human name too: Alex. It's difficult for us to say (though we've learnt human languages—when you prey on a species for as long as we have, you can't help but learn a few things or two), but Alex is a good mermaid—they can make themself look exactly like a human, with legs that can walk and arms and thin strands of hair on their head. Alex has always been odd like that, curious and adventurous, always keeping their prey alive for days and weeks to study it until they could master their forms, and now they're living with the humans and talking like them and copulating with them and eating human food that has been cooked and they are wearing clothes .

We know this because Alex was on the last ship that came past and stopped us from preying on their friends .

There is another ship on the horizon and we think it's coming towards us. Apparently there's a human settlement not far from here, on the coast to the north, but we don't go there. We live near skerries and shallows, where ships sometimes crash and where crabs shelter and seals flop about in the sun. I watch the ship, waiting. Maybe this one will run aground, or maybe we'll have to lure—the humans call it song , Alex explained, which is hilarious because it's not a song, it's a call. Our hunting call. We use it to confuse our prey (it works especially well on whales) and to communicate amongst us, but if it works on humans? Well, who are we to complain? If the food walks willingly into our arms, we will accept it and eat it.

The ship is close to us now. We move onto the skerries, transforming into the shapes the humans like the most—we don't know how to make legs, only Alex ever managed to do that, but the humans like shiny things so we turn our lower halves into shimmery fishy tails with vibrant scales that catch the sunlight, we fashion our tentacles into humanlike arms (but we keep our claws, always), and then we wait. A delegation has gone towards the ship to lure the humans closer, but the rest of us, we wait.

We don't show humans our true forms until we're ready to eat them. We are terrifying to them (and they should be terrified of us: we are the apex predators of the oceans) and terrified prey has a bitter, acrid taste. We don't give them time to be scared of us. By the time they realise how many sharp teeth we have, those teeth have already ripped their throat to shreds. By the time they realise our fingers aren't fingers, but sharp claws, those claws have already gutted them.

My favourite thing about humans is that they're warm. Guzzling blood from their torn throats warms me from the inside out, their fleshy bits are hot and chewy and sometimes soft and fatty, and their bones are crunchy and warm and full of hot flavour inside. Humans are the best snack.

***

Godsgift Androw Crocker (Andy, usually), is in a bit of a pickle. Literally, in this case, as he had climbed inside a barrel of pickles when the monsters descended on the ship. The intention was not to make himself tastier to them, but to hide his scent (could mermaids scent things? Better not find out) and now they have gone, and everyone is dead. Probably.

Except Andy, who is now wringing out the vinegar from his clothes and wondering whether he will be able to sail the ship all on his lonesome (doubtful) to get away (ha ha ha).

Have the monsters gone?

The ship hasn't run aground, but it was a close thing. Goddamn mermaids; everybody knew not to come this way, but Captain Hyll insisted, and then Mr Wotton agreed, and once Mr Wotton agreed they were done for. Well. With them both gone, there is nobody stopping Andy from raiding their chests for something to wear that a) isn't wet b) doesn't smell like pickles. He comes up with Mr Wotton's second-best shirt and second-best breeches (he wore his best for the mermaids, the tool) and pulls them on. Mr Wotton was bigger in the shoulders than Andy, but these will do him all right.

Then Andy goes above deck and peeks over the edge towards the collection of skerries that were swarming with mermaids when they got here. The skerries and the sea around them were now red with blood, tatters of fabric floating about. (Andy recognises the remains of the Captain's purple filigree coat with a heavy pang of regret. Such a good coat.)

The mermaids are still there, but they don't look like mermaids anymore. Gone are the long locks and pale skin, the shimmery green fish tails and enchanting song. The mermaids Andy now beholds are a monstrous cross between sharks and octopuses, and—no, that one over there is more like a squid? And the one still snacking on human (judging by the colour of the man's hair, it is poor Osmund. Shame, Andy always liked him.) has parts that resemble...crab?

One thing they all have in common is rows and rows of sharp teeth. Andy watches the mermaid tear a chunk out of Osmund's thigh and gobble it down. Another one comes over and—Andy winces—breaks his femur to get to the bone marrow inside.

The mermaids are still singing, but it is a different song now, more staccato, more...conversational? Andy hunkers down, wishing he'd just stayed in Oxford. Who needed adventures! Not Godsgift Androw Crocker! Not when he could've been in Oxford studying philology and getting his cock sucked by Thomas! Often simultaneously!

Mourning the memory of cocksucking (stellar) and philology (dusty), Andy lies down on the deck, staring up at the sails and the clouds. This ship needs a crew of at least eight to sail, though in a pinch it could be done by three—and that is assuming those three are competent sailors, which Andy is not. Andy a) is an academic b) only joined the pirate crew because the alternative was worse and c) barely knows the difference between aft and stern of a ship.

Problems, problems. Mermonsters are still guzzling up his crewmates as far as he can tell. Maybe they will leave eventually? What then? Surely it will only be a matter of time before they discover they missed one tasty human. If Andy tries to leave in the little rowboat (that he doesn't know how to lower down to sea anyway), he probably won't get far before the mermonsters will notice him.

The song changes in quality again and after a while (morbid curiosity?) Andy heaves himself up to have another peek.

He isn't sure if he can adequately describe what he is seeing, but it certainly appears as if multiple mermonsters have attached themselves to each other in pairs and are, uh, fornicating. It is gross—there is blood and guts everywhere, and these creatures have limbs—tentacles—globs—actually, the way they are attached to one another reminds Andy of snails. (Thomas studied biology and Andy picked up a few things through osmosis.)

Great, the mermonsters have had a feast and are now having an orgy! "Just what I needed," Andy mutters to himself. To his horror, one of the monsters looks up, it's gaze finding Andy's with unerring precision and boring right into him.

***

After feast, the mermaid monsters are all sated and horny from all that human and are lazily copulating. Human survivor in ship - human POV? Horny and scared? Watching monsters with tentacles and teeth fuck like snails? Human sees they have two penises like sharks and is like, ok, I wonder what it's like being fucked by two monster dicks at once, let's find out



sword wlw, about 100 words
The first thing she did was send for the king's mistress. She was a beautiful, regal-looking
woman, with dark hair tumbling down her back in loose waves.

"Your majesty," she said, bowing. Her nose was straight. Celine. Adviser and mistress to the
king.

"Tea?" Nanna beckoned. "This is my own blend."

Celine took the chair opposite Nanna, and let her serve the tea. Queens didn't serve tea, but
Nanna had sent the servants away.

"It's not poisoned."

"I wouldn't be offended if it were."

"Tell me about my husband."

Celine considered Nanna over the rim of her cup. "What do you want to know?"


trans!dean, 1,1k
They don’t notice it happened at first.

So the story begins like this: with a cliché.

Setting: a motel. Time: early morning. Actors: Sam and Dean. (Castiel is at this time not present.) Cause: unknown.

Sam is the first one to wake up. He doesn’t notice at first—not because he’s not observant, but because his body doesn’t feel any different until he moves it about. It turns out that muscle memory doesn’t work very well when your muscles are subtly different and your centre of gravity has shifted. He doesn’t realise exactly what is different until he dips into the dingy motel bathroom for a shower.

It’s the crash that wakes Dean up. He’s up and in joint attack/defense mode by the time he realises the crash came from the bathroom and not something more sinister. “Dude, what the hell?” he yells.

“Dean.” Sam appears in the doorway, looking grim—and a lot girlier than usual. Like, a lot. His face falls when he sees Dean, morphing into despair. “It got you too.”

“Nothing’s got me,” Dean starts but then he realises that no actually, whatever is afflicting Sam is afflicting him too. He pulls at his boxers to look, and yeah, it’s the whole shebang. Ha. Shebang. “What the hell?”

“You know of anything that can do this?” Sam asks.

Witches, Dean thinks. A curse. Maybe even Lucifer, trying to wear them down. “I got nothing.” He looks in his boxers again.

There are a lot of things going through Dean’s head at this moment, some of them less articulated than others. Confusion, sure. You don’t just wake up in a different body from the one you had when you went to sleep and aren’t confused about it. Fear. How did this happen? Is there something more dangerous about to hit them? Uncertainty. A prank? Those angel bastards—Gabriel—can do shit nobody else can. Anger not so much.

Actually scratch that, Dean is plenty angry at whoever did this for upsetting his brother so much: Sam is now hyperventilating. Dean has never seen Sam this upset before—correction, he has never seen Sam upset in this way before. This is new. Whoever did this is going to pay.

If Dean were more self aware he might have noticed that he isn’t particularly bothered about his own physical changes. When he eventually notices, several hours later, his only thought is ‘huh’ and possibly ‘weird’, but he shrugs it off.

“Who did we piss off this time?” Sam asks, not for the first time that day, rehashing a conversation they’ve already had three times. He’s stopped crying, at least, which is a relief, but he’s holding himself awkwardly. Trying to hide the boobs he didn’t have yesterday.

“I don’t know.” Dean is itching to act. He’s also itching to see Cas. The bastard might know something, might even be able to snap his fingers and fix this problem, but Dean also just wants the distraction. (Sex. The distraction is sex.) “Imma call Cas.”

“You’ve called him twice, Dean.”

Dean texts him instead. “Where the hell are you,” he mutters. Not that Cas usually comes when Dean calls—far from it—but still.

A text from Bobby comes through: still nothing. What research Dean and Sam have managed on their own has also been futile, and Dean is about ready to climb walls.

“That’s it Sammy, I’m going to the bar.”

*

The bar is one of those watering holes that are one third tired rednecks who just want to drink in peace away from their wives, one third upstarts with flashy cars or motorcycles (today it’s motorcycles) and their hangers-on, and one third folks from out of town or locals looking for new hunting grounds for tail. It’s a decent crowd and since Cas isn’t picking up, Dean is looking for tail.

(Is it cheating? No, because Cas is not Dean’s boyfriend. Guy has got to stick around for that sorta thing to take, and he hasn’t. Does it feel like cheating? Also no, and stop asking.)

Dean likes to think he’s good with the ladies—and yeah, he can and does show them a good time when they take him up on the offer.

So far, none of the chicks in this bar have. Fair. One can’t succeed every time. There is a guy eyeing him up and Dean has his usual line lined up—ain’t you a handsome devil, but I don’t swing that way—a lie, but it’s fun to rile them up, and anyhow, a man’s gotta have preferences. Most of the types of guy who Dean seems to attract aren’t it.

A woman moves into Dean’s line of sight and blocks his view of the guy. Before Dean can say hi, she’s hugging him with a squeal. “Girl you should’ve called!” She hugs him again, this time vastly whispering in his ear. “Guy behind you just slipped something in your drink.”

“I didn’t know you were in town,” Dean manages, confused. He doesn’t glance at his drink. How did…? This chick isn’t lying is she? She’s hot though. “Uh, buy you a drink?”

“In a hot minute! I need to pee, come with me? We gotta catch up!” She has somehow maneuvered him off his perch at the bar and halfway to the ladies room. “How are you? Last I heard you’d moved out to Portland?”

She drops the act as soon as the door to the ladies room closes behind them. “I’m Polly, are you okay? Not feeling dizzy?”

“Confused ought to cover it.” Dean looks between Polly and the door. “What just happened?”

“Somebody just tried to roofie you.” Polly shakes her head. “And by the way, this isn’t a great place for dykes. The guys here tend to take that kind of thing personally.”

“I’m not a dyke,” Dean says automatically and Polly raises an eyebrow.

“My mistake,” she says. “You could’ve fooled me, what with the flannel and haircut and all.”

For the first time that day, Dean actually looks in a mirror. It’s not that he’s forgotten the bodily development of the morning, or why he’s in the bar in the first place, it’s more that he hasn’t considered that he looks different now, and that weirdos would try to drug him.

He looks the same. The haircut, the clothes. His jawline looks different, but then Dean realises it’s because his stubble is gone. And well. He has tits. Obvious as anything.

“Not that I’m not into it,” Polly continues, then changes the subject. “Are you new in town? We don’t have any great gay bars but I know a place, you’ll have better luck there.”

Dean’s attention snaps back. Polly’s body language tells him she’s attracted to him, but she seems to be holding herself back. Dean forces himself to relax, and the mood instantly shifts. “So…can I buy you a drink, or…” He steps closer and she doesn’t retreat. “We could get out of here?”



spn post!s5 2k
There's a deep ache in Dean's bones. It's accompanied by a hollowness so vast that sometimes he can't breathe and he's caught under Lisa's tree, lawn mower in front of him, gasping for air and his vision blurring.

He drinks. He fixes his car. He fixes Lisa's neighbour's car. He cooks for her. (Badly, at first. He improves.) He takes Ben to baseball practise. He drinks some more.

It doesn't go away.

Two weeks pass, then three. Two months. Lisa mostly lets him be, even though he knows she knows the hollowness inside him is only growing bigger with every day that passes. No, that's not quite right, it's not the hollowness that's getting worse, it's his...death. He's dead inside, and he can feel himself rotting from the inside out.

Cas shows up on a hot and humid day, materialising out of nowhere next to Dean.

Dean's finding it hard to care, even if it's Cas. He looks at him, and he knows he should probably say something, but what do you say to someone who left to go be boss in Heaven after your brother died? After your brother fucking sacrificed himself for the greater good—after he got locked up in a fucking hell cage with fucking Lucifer?

"Hello, Dean," Cas says. "There's a ghost making trouble in a town nearby."

"Is that so," Dean says and turns away. He was in the middle of something, though he seems to have lost track. He looks around—oh yeah. Dinner. Lisa's working late and Dean's got to pick Ben up in half an hour. He picks up a tomato.

"I thought that you might want to help me," Cas says.

"I don't do that stuff anymore," Dean reminds him.

There's a beat of silence.

"If you're sure," Cas says calmly, as if he'd expected nothing more from him. For some reason, Cas' tone lits a small flame of anger in Dean's chest.

"I'm fucking sure," Dean growls, turning around to face him, taking a step right into Cas' personal space. "My brother made me promise, Cas. He saved the world and all he wanted was for me to be happy—for me to be here. To stop hunting. And I'm going to fucking respect that promise. So yeah, Cas, I'm sure."

Cas hasn't moved, but his brow has drawn together into a small frown. Not the I-don't-understand-what's-going-on frown that Dean's gotten so used to, no, it's the I'm-looking-into-your-soul frown that Dean very emphatically does not like.

"Are you going to leave?" Dean asks harshly. Cas doesn't move, but then suddenly he's vanished and the only proof he was ever there, is the flutter of the curtains as air rushes to fill the space he'd occupied.

Dean looks at the tomato in his hand and then throws it at the wall. It splatters with an unsatisfying little sound. Juice drips down the wall.

---

Sometimes, when Dean can't sleep, he remembers the look on Sam's face as he let himself fall. He remembers the anguish, Sam's rushed "Everything's going to be okay.", he remembers the determination and fear in his eyes. And then Sam had closed his eyes and the strangest thing had happened—he'd looked at peace. And Dean wonders what went through Sam's head in that moment, what'd brought about that look.

Was it the knowledge that he was saving the world? The knowledge that Dean, at least, was safe? Or was it, Dean thinks, the knowledge that he was going to die and his final act had been an act of good? Did he find salvation in his sacrifice? Or was it as simple as the knowledge that everything was over?

Dean kept the rings. He takes them out in these moments, looks at them and wonders whether he can open the cage again, reach in and grab Sam and pull him out. Adam too. He supposes it's worth a try—if he falls in, at least he'll be with Sam.

---

Sometimes, Dean dreams of Hell. He hasn't dreamed of Hell in a long time, weird as that sounds, but he does now. He dreams of the Hell he experienced and he dreams of the Hell that Sam is probably experiencing, a thousand times hotter, crueler, a Hell a thousand times more painful than the Hell Dean went through.

He wakes up from those dreams with a heavy weight on his chest and gasps for breath.

Souls are forever, Dean thinks, and the vast empty Sam shaped space inside of him hurts.

---

"Hello, Dean," Cas says and Dean whirls around.

"Cas!" Dean stares at him, not having expected Cas to come back. Again.

"I think there is a ghoul causing trouble," Cas says. "I thought—"

"No," Dean says. He looks at the house, looks at the bucket of wood varnish in his hand and the paintbrush in the other, and the shed in front of him. Unbidden, Adam comes to mind. "I told you, I don't do that stuff anymore."

Cas doesn't say anything for a while, until: "Tell me, Dean. Are you happy here?" He gestures around them.

"I'm trying to be," Dean answers before he can stop himself. He scowls at Cas.

"That's what I thought," Cas says. "Look—"

"No," Dean says. "I said no."

Cas' eyes harden minutely. "There's something I need you to understand, Dean." He steps closer. "You are my friend. I care a great deal about you."

Dean steps back. "You left," he says. "You went back upstairs. Did it—did it occur to you that maybe I needed you here?" He puts down the bucket and drops the brush into it. "Thanks but no thanks, I'm doing all right on my own."

He stalks back to the house and slams the door behind him. Cas is still standing outside, staring after Dean.

"Who's that?" Lisa asks, concern in her voice.

"Just Cas," Dean answers, going into the kitchen to get a beer. "I'll finish the shed later."

"Cas? As in...Castiel? Your friend the angel?" she asks, trailing after him. Dean regrets ever telling her about him, about any of it. "You...aren't going to invite him in?"

"He's not my friend," Dean grits out. "Not anymore."

---

It's when Lisa and Ben are home that Dean feels the loneliness swallow him up. He doesn't smile when they're out, but when they're in, he puts it on and feels it burn into what's left of his soul.

---

Cas eventually comes back again. This time it's the tail end of November and Dean's dreading the upcoming holidays, which will be his first without Sam. Well, there was Stanford, which he is decidedly not thinking about. That was different. He remembers the Christmas they had, before Dean went to Hell, remembers their sadness and their bravado, their pretend happiness which wasn't so pretend after all. He'd been happy then, genuinely happy, despite everything, and he thinks Sam had been too. He'd smiled, they'd joked, they'd had fun, but Dean had seen the sadness in Sam's eyes, and he'd felt in his own bones. They'd soldiered on.

They'd had a good Christmas. He's not so sure about this one.

Thanksgiving is in two days and Dean's already brought home a giant turkey (it's sitting outside in the shed, which is the only place both cold enough and large enough to store it, until they need to actually cook it) and is in the process of making cranberry sauce. He's never made cranberry sauce in his life, has never had to and has never particularly wanted to, but Lisa gave him her recipe to work with.

"Hello, Dean."

"What's up, angelface?" Dean asks, feeling the tiredness settle heavily in his limbs.

"I thought we could be friends again," Cas says without preamble.

Dean doesn't say anything to that.

"I asked Bobby," Cas continues," and he told me that it's customary for friends to have drinks. I was wondering if you'd have drinks with me."

"Angels don't drink," Dean says, looking up. It's not entirely true. He remembers the liquor store incident, and what's worse, he remembers the night before Jo and Ellen... "Why?" he asks instead.

"I would like to be counted as your friend again," Cas says solemnly. Dean snorts and Cas inclines his head. "Have you so many friends that you can afford to turn me away?"

"Fuck you," Dean hisses. "I—" He cuts himself off, not knowing what he was actually going to say. He turns around again, back to the cranberry sauce. "Isn't it a little late for that?"

"I had hoped it wasn't too late for friendship."

"Why are you here, Cas? What happened to being boss of Heaven?"

"Not currently on the table," Cas answers.

"So what, then? You decided you don't want to be part of the angel game and think you can just come here and be my friend again?"

"It's a start," Cas admits.

"Yeah? Just so you know, it's not that easy!" Dean half-shouts.

Cas stares at him, something unreadable in his face. Then, slowly, he extracts a piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to Dean, who takes it. There's a phone number scribbled on it.

"I have acquired a new cell phone," he says. "This is my number."

---

Two weeks after Thanksgiving, Dean texts Cas.

Hey

He gets a reply instantly.

Hello Dean.

A short moment passes, and then:

Do you want to join me for a drink?

Dean says yes, and half an hour later Lisa has dropped him off at an upscale brewpub that looks like it should be in Portland, not here. Cas is already there, sitting at a corner table looking like a creep.

"Dude, you need to lose that coat. And order a drink."

"I was waiting for you." But Cas shrugs his coat off and when the waitress comes over he gives her an order which sounds as if he rehearsed it in front of a mirror six times.


_____
"I..." Cas pauses. "I am not suitable for the job."

Dean takes the cranberry sauce off the heat. "What do you mean not suitable for the job?" he demands.

"Michael was running the business before," Cas explains. "Sort of. He wasn't around much, but...when push came to shove, he'd come through. And God's..." he trails off. "God brought me back again. I suppose I thought that meant he'd be back. But he isn't, and he's not going to be. And I thought that maybe I could run Heaven."

"What made you change your mind?"

"I believe the apocalypse held a lesson for all of us."

"And?"

"Free will," Cas says. "It was supposed to end with Michael killing Lucifer. But what happened was that Sam used his free will to make a different ending. He made a choice that affected all of us."

"What does that mean?" Dean asks, not comprehending what Cas is saying, or maybe he doesn't want to. He doesn't need the reminder of what Sam did, or the fact that he's burning away in a fucking Hell cage.

"There are no orders. We seek revelation and there is none," Cas explains, subdued. "The angels have been given - achieved, maybe - free will, and -"

"You don't know what to do with it?" Dean asks, eyebrow raised. "You said it was anarchy up there."

"It is," Cas admits. "Raphael, as the only remaining Archangel, seems to be trying to...rein them in."

"And you don't want to be up there sorting out the mess?" Dean crosses his arms.

"I have decided to make use of the free will that has been bestowed upon me," Cas says, looking him in the eye. "I want to walk the earth."

"What?" Dean boggles. "You want to fall?"

"No." Cas snorts. "It's hard to fall when there are no orders to disobey. Of course, I could violently rip out my grace." He simulates ripping his heart out of his chest. "It is not an option."



***

Dean doesn’t sleep most nights. Convo with lisa about ben and parenting and life



---

"My therapist will be hearing about this," Cas says.

Dean stares at him. "You have a therapist?"



Percy/Oliver, 1,2k
Getting divorced wasn't as messy as Percy had been led to believe. The paperwork was neat, their attorneys mild mannered and Audrey was her usual practical self. They'd have the whole sorry matter done and dealt with in a fortnight, Percy was sure.

He wondered, briefly, if divorces were supposed to be messy and they were doing it all wrong. Nobody had cried. Nobody had screamed. Nobody had broken a vase gifted to them by a relative.

Audrey had smiled, squeezed his hand, and said: "This is just how we are, sweetie."

~*~

"I like this one, dad," Lucy said, running her fingers over the grain in the wood of a bedroom door. "It's cosy."

Percy gazed around. This was the fifth flat he'd looked at in as many days. "It doesn't have a fireplace," he said.

It was otherwise a good flat. A bit on the smallish side, with a cramped kitchen and an even more cramped bathroom. The two bedrooms it sported were small, but the living room was large and there was a balcony. The setting sun illuminated the flat through the balcony doors.

"Put in one of those fake ones," Lucy said.

"Mmh." Percy peeked into the kitchen again. He turned the tap on, then off again. Considered the empty space beside the fridge and whether he could fit a small table for two in there.

"I want this room," Lucy said, and Percy turned around to see. She'd chosen the smaller of the rooms, with the built in closets and the white floorboards.

"Your sister needs to fit into that room too," he said. "Why don't you take the other one?"

"Molly is never home anymore." Lucy shrugged. "She's moving in with her boyfriend anyway, didn't you hear?"

Percy had not heard. "It's the principle of the thing," he said.

Lucy shrugged. "She can sleep on a mattress on the floor if she bothers to come. Are we getting this flat or not?"

The real estate person who'd been showing them around was still tactfully hovering in the background. Percy peeked into the bedrooms again. The slightly larger one had a view over the ash grove and faded floral wallpaper. He'd have morning sun if he took it, and with some renovations on the place he could...get used to it.

"Did you know I haven't lived in a flat since I was a junior aide?" Percy mused. "Just out of school and single. I lived off oat meal and beans on toast."

"We are not living off oat meal and toast," Lucy told him.

~*~


~*~

"Oliver," Percy said the moment Oliver located him after the game, "please be a reasonable and decent friend and tell me that I can buy a single bed if I want to."

"You can buy whatever bed you want to," Oliver told him, then sat down.

"Thank you." Percy exhaled. "Did you know that when you get divorced there's no shortage of well-meaning people ready to set you up with their single friends or neighbours or sisters or work mates -" he cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. "My mother -"

There was a pause while Percy ground his teeth and got his breathing under control. When he finally opened his eyes, it was to find a sweating pint of ale on the table in front of him.

"So what's this bed nonsense?" Oliver asked, and sipped his own pint.

"I feel like being contrary." Percy was still feeling affronted and irritated, but the pint was helping. "Everyone telling me to do this or that and signing up for some dating service that apparently brought them unending happiness makes me want to tell them all to go to hell. And buy a tiny bed just to spite them."

Oliver was smiling. "Do you want a tiny bed?"

"No!" Percy gestured. "I want the biggest bed in the store! I want a bed so big I can barely squeeze it into my bedroom! I want a big bed that I can starfish on every night without my toes poking over the edge!"

"I see. I am to reverse psych you out of the tiny bed." Oliver sipped his pint calmly, but his eyes were twinkling.

Percy frowned. "No. I just need one person in my life to not be pushy about what I'm doing with it."

"Mmh. Can do." Oliver gave him a sly look. "So you're not going to be dating, then?"

"No."

"Are you being contrary?"

"Yes." Percy sighed. "No." He put his pint down. "I don't know. I haven't really thought that far ahead. I'm still stuck on what furniture I want for the kitchen or what colour tapestry I want for my bedroom. I'm not really thinking about people options. The tapestry is already overwhelming."

"I hear tapestry can be quite the challenge. I wouldn't know. I paid an interior designer to fix my place up."

"Oh, sod off." Percy shook his head, then let out a quiet chuckle. "Want to come over this week and help me paint the kitchen?"

~*~

The village was less of a village and more of a medium sized town, Percy realised, as he and Lucy started exploring their new surroundings. It looked like a village, what with the medieval layout and architecture, and the little spring that meandered through the centre and under bridges until it joined a large river a few miles out west.

They weren't the only wizardkind in the area, but this village-cum-town was overwhelmingly muggle.

Something something theatre , something about doing new things

So Percy did something he'd never done before, and went to the audition night at the local theatre.

The group consisted of an elderly lady in a wine coloured dress with a fox around her shoulders, a young woman around Lucy's age, an energetic fella in his thirties, and a cat.



-----

The hard part was the house. Lucy still lived at home, and even though she'd been making noises about moving out soon, they wanted the girls to be able to come home.

Family meeting re house - this is the first molly and Lucy hear of the divorce. No surprise, but they are sad.

The house is paid off and both percy and Audrey can afford to buy their own little flats, or rent. Percy buys a two bedroom flat with the spare room for the girls. Goes home to his mum and dad's during the divorce proceedings. Goes up to his old room maybe. Sits with his dad in the shed and talks muggle things. Quits his job and changes career track (gives up ministry work). Gets a different paper pushing job, in a theatre/bar, where he is often roped into doing stand-ins and eventually becomes part of the troupe. Scene where his daughters help him furnish and they comment on the "sad" ikea bed - a single that can be expanded into a double. Percy thinks it's practical. Meets Oliver at somewhere local (theatre/bar?). Oliver is retired from playing, is a full time coach but considering stepping down. Is taking a little league team out? Percy tells him they're putting on some fairy tale play, suggests he brings the kids. Oliver keeps returning. Asks for Percy's help with little league paperwork. His daughters notice Percy is getting colour - that he's no longer stagnated. Percy isn't entirely oblivious to his growing attraction to Oliver - is surprised he's feeling anything at all since it's been so long since he felt anything for Audrey other than friendship. (Audrey is going on multiple dates with different men, seems to becenjoying herself. Percy has talk with Lucy about this. Lucy is prolly a lesbian.) probably the cousins hang out sometimes.


Draco and smoking, 240 words
It had been two days and still Draco refused to try out nicotine patches—two days of constant fidgeting, eating everything in sight (including several of Harry’s favourite pens and his stash of liquorice wands), and snapping at everyone who so much as breathed in his direction.

“I swear to Merlin’s fried toes, Malfoy, if you don’t stop wiggling I will hex your nose off.”

"Empty threats," Malfoy said, drumming his fingers on the car door.


It’d all come to a head when they’d apprehended the perpetrators in one of their longest running cases and Draco had been so pent up with frustration that when one of the perps has commented on his hair, Draco had nearly killed the man. It was only thanks to Harry’s reflexes that Draco hadn’t blasted him into oblivion.

So, Draco grudgingly accepted that he’d have to get some of those awful nicotine patches, droll Muggle things they were, but his mood improved a fraction.

Just a fraction.




irritable prat draco trying to stop smoking

i'm just envisioning him having to work with harry on something or other, and just keeps tapping things and putting other things in his mouth and fiddling with things and just. touching every fucking thing
harry almost wishes he'd smoke again, he can deal with the smell better than this

harry discovers menthol cigarettes and both he and draco start smoking (again)


Caius/Al SPACE AU, 8k
Captain Alcibiades of the Glendarrow—the Fucking Glendarrow when he was in that kind of mood—didn't think much of it when a cloud of meteors had showed up out of nowhere and destroyed the visibility for the rogue ships (and themselves, but all things considered, they'd come out of this one on top), and he’d barely heard the distressed noises emanating from his newest (and youngest) ensign, something about those meteors not showing up on any radars or scanners, they might as well not even exist—

But he did think of it when he, tired and grimy, made his way to his quarters. That’d been odd, he mused, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen up his muscles and the tension headache that was threatening to turn into a full body cramp, almost as if they hadn't been real. It was certainly odd, he thought, recalling the battle with the clarity of 20/20 hindsight, how none of those meteors had been impacted by missiles, almost as if they'd been an…illusion.

Slumbering in his bed was Caius Fucking Greylace, who was also only Fucking Greylace when Alcibiades was in a mood, and right now? He was very much in a mood. He paused in the doorway, not to admire the pretty picture Caius painted in his bed, or because he didn't want to disturb his sleep, or because he didn't know how to react to this unexpected and yet 2645% predictable scenario.

He knew exactly how to react.

Captain Alcibiades was paused in the doorway because he was silently contemplating 1) murder, 2) possible infinite confinement and 3) the harshest option of all: putting Caius on the first shuttle back to Volstov. To be put on house arrest indefinitely until Alcibiades could get furlough and make it home to murder him in person.

“Al?” Caius had stirred. “Do come in and close that wretched door, darling, you're letting in a terrible draft.”

“How,” Alcibiades started. He'd finally taken his eyes off Caius to survey the room and realised that there were four large suitcases sitting on the floor, two of which appeared to be halfway unpacked. A non-regulation garland of lights peeked out of one of them. “How did you get onto my ship?”

“I walked on board, of course,” Caius evaded, like the fucking snake he was. “Are you not coming to bed? I shall be very put out if you don't; I've warmed the bed for you.” He sat up and yawned, much like a cat, in that way where one both got a clear view of multiple sharp teeth and where it seemed if they yawned any wider, they were going to simply fall over.

Alcibiades closed the door. “The biometric scanners should've kept you out. You don't have boarding permissions.” His eye caught on the desk chair, which had been pulled up to the bed. His favourite pyjamas was neatly folded on top of it. Almost all the fight went out of him.

He'd had a tiring day, okay. He'd fight Caius in the morning.

“That was hardly difficult,” Caius replied dismissively. “Come here, dear, let me help you out of those clothes and give you a head rub. You look like you need it. Have you had anything to eat?”

“Yes,” Alcibiades said, then amended it: “No. Maybe.” He let his feet carry him towards the bed.

Caius made quick work of the buttons on Alcibiades’ uniform and soon it was left crumpled on the floor. Caius tsk-ed at this, but did not comment or demand Alcibiades to wash.

Good. That meant Caius knew the trouble he was in.

“Don't think that a head rub will make me less cross with you,” Alcibiades told him, crawling into his pyjamas stiffly, and then into bed.

“Of course not.” Caius’ fingers found their way into Alcibiades’ hair, and soon they were rubbing soothing circles into his scalp. “I brought decorations and silk sheets. Your living space needs more life.”

“You aren't supposed to be here.”

“Au contraire, dear. I am exactly where I'm supposed to be.” Caius massaged his thumbs into the base of Alcibiades’ neck in long, smooth movements: up, then down, up and down, the downward movement feather light and the upward movement digging into the sore muscles so hard it might leave bruises. It hurt.

“You can't stay.”

“If you say so,” Caius said, sounding like was humouring a child.

He might as well have been; Alcibiades had never known anyone else as talented at getting what he wanted as Caius, even if he sometimes went about it in rather unorthodox ways. Illegal ways.

The tension was slowly draining out of Alcibiades’ body. “I wanted—we agreed—”

“We agreed I’d come if my services on this campaign were needed. You're very welcome, by the way, those meteors were unbelievably taxing.”

Alcibiades slipped out of Caius’ hands and turned to look at him. He had dark circles under his eyes and his skin was paler than usual, ashen white and dull. “Have you eaten?”

Caius shrugged. “Your mess hall has better security than your port. That is both terrifying and very sad.” He shook his head at Alcibiades, staving off what he'd been about to say. “In the morning, dear. I'm not getting out of this bed now.”

"After breakfast I'm putting you on the first shuttle back to Volstov."

A flash of hurt fluttered across Caius' face. "One could think you don't like my company," he said lightly, putting his hands on Alcibiades' shoulders and resuming the massage. This had the added downside that Alcibiades could no longer look him in the eye.

"Maybe I don't," Alcibiades said, because he was tired and hungry and Caius wasn't supposed to be there.

Caius jabbed a thumb directly into a hard knot in Alcibiades' shoulder. Pain bloomed up his neck and down his right arm.

"Sometimes I don't even know why I bother," Caius said, then dropped his hands. The mattress dipped slightly and the sheets rustled. "I'm going back to sleep."

His shoulder hurting more than it had before, Alcibiades turned awkwardly to speak to Caius, but found he'd pulled the blanket over his head. He'd settled on his side, facing away and radiating contempt like a fucking circadian lamp at ass o'clock in the morning.

"Caius."

No reply. If possible, the lump under the covers looked even more hostile. Knowing Caius, it was definitely possible.

Alcibiades glared at the lump, then climbed out of bed and lumbered to the bathroom. He rolled his shoulder as he walked, attempting to loosen it up some but the little ball of pain Caius had lodged in there pulsated at him.

He splashed some water in his face and brushed his teeth, feeling slightly cleaner.

It didn't help the rotten feeling in his chest.

~*~

Alcibiades had only just closed his eyes when the alarm went off, or so it felt like. What was worse was that it wasn't his ordinary alarm; this was the "wake the captain the fuck up so he can get his ass to the bridge asap" alarm, which meant that some less than pleasant shit was going on.

He shot out of bed with the speed of a disgruntled snail, ignoring Caius' owlish blinking from his side of the bed, and put the uniform on he'd worn the day before - it was on the floor, and thus within easy reach. His shoulder screamed at him.

"What is it?" Caius asked, voice rough and alert.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with," Alcibiades grunted. He pulled on his ergonomic slippers and then searched his pockets for his watch.

Sweet heavens, it was only four in the morning.

Alcibiades slapped the watch on and ran to the bridge. His skeleton staff were fanned out in front of the big glass window, gesturing at both each other and something out there. The ship wasn’t moving, Alcibiades noted.

“What are we looking at?”

“We don't quite know, sir,” his commanding officer replied, then gestured out of the window. “If I didn't know better I'd say a hole in space?”

Alcibiades stared. Right in front of them was a large black patch of…nothing. Like a hole had been carved out of the universe. There were no remote stars visible, no dust, no debris from the battle they'd fought yesterday (though there shouldn't have been, they should've left that behind a long time ago), just a large black nothingness.

It was eerie.

"Any hostile activity?"

"None so far, sir."

The black nothingness remained where it was, existing. It was impossible to look away from, the same way that it was impossible to look away from a traffic accident, or to stop eating Yana's pear pudding. The same way it was impossible to stop Caius fucking Greylace from doing whatever the fuck he wanted, consequences be damned. The nothingness existed, a terrible void in the fabric of the universe.

“Who here is doing nothing right now?” Alcibiades finally said.

“I'm free, sir,” said a young officer standing near the communication station.

“Excellent. Go to fetch me a large plate of food and a pot of coffee,” Alcibiades told her. “When you've done that, go to my quarters. You'll find Caius Greylace there. Escort him to the mess hall and make sure he eats, then take him to HR and get him in the system.”

The officer didn't bat an eye. “His security clearance?”

“Same as mine,” Alcibiades said, then turned away. The hole in space hadn’t changed shape or size, but… “Is that thing pulsating?”

Silence.

“It appears so, sir,” his commanding officer finally said.

“Get the scientists on this.”

“Already done, sir.”

"Call it in and check the database for previous encounters."

"Already done, sir. No previous encounters."

Alcibiades took his chair. “What kind of readings are we getting from this?”

“Inconclusive readings, sir,” another officer piped up. “It doesn't appear to have a mass, yet we are picking up various metals…but it doesn't show up on any of our radars.”

“Where did it come from?” Alcibiades looked at his crew.

“It simply…appeared, sir. One moment we were looking at space, the next…” His commanding officer gestured at the window. “This spread like an ink stain. We almost went straight into it, but we stopped the ship just in time.”

The delicious smell of eggs, bacon, and hot maple syrup wafted into the bridge, followed by the sharp scent of burnt coffee. Alcibiades’ stomach rumbled. The tray of food that came into view was stacked high with fluffy waffles generously drizzled with syrup, enough bacon to give him a coronary, eggs, fried tomatoes and - blissfully - an actual pot of coffee.

Alcibiades had almost finished his meal, listening to his officers speculating all the while, when Caius drifted into the bridge. He was now equipped with a watch, a uniform, and a plate of fruit. He put the plate on the table, then picked an apple off the plate and put it on Alcibiades’ tray.

“My, what is that?” Caius all but planted his face directly against the glass as he observed the nothingness.

“Our current problem,” Alcibiades said and put the last bacon rasher in his mouth. He then picked up the apple and started peeling it.

The young officer he'd tasked with food and Caius returned to the bridge, carrying a sheaf of papers and wearing an apologetic expression. “Sir,” she started, then glanced at the papers and closed her mouth.

Alcibiades regarded her and the array of embarrassed and troubled expressions flitting across her face. Another problem? Already? “Spit it out.”

She drew in a deep breath and then: “If the captain’s husband wants to stay in the captain’s quarters, sir, he must legally be the captain’s husband. Sir.” Her face was splotchy red with mortification.

Alcibiades paused halfway through cutting off a slice of apple. His eyes found Caius, who was still observing the nothingness. The line of his back was stiffer than usual. Al then returned to the officer. “Excuse me?”

“It's a new rule, sir,” she replied hastily, then thrust the sheaf of papers at him. “From HR. Everything else is in order, sir, but for this.” She cleared her throat.

Caius turned away from the nothingness at last. “Isn't it delightful? I've always wanted a space wedding!”

“Bullshit,” said Alcibiades, who knew that Caius had never wanted a space wedding. He'd mentioned a zoo wedding, once upon a time, but that was easily years ago.

“No, I suppose I'll have to bring the animals myself,” Caius said, tapping a finger on his lip thoughtfully.

Several of the officers present shared puzzled looks.

Alcibiades cut off the slice of apple and ate it. “We aren't getting married in space,” he said. “And you -”

“Have figured out what this thing is,” Caius interrupted, tapping the glass with a finger. “I also think I know how to dismantle it.”

All eyes turned to Caius.

“Officer Greylace, sir?”

“It's an illusion,” Caius said. “A very clever one, I must say, though I am concerned about what it is hiding.”

It was as if the entire universe had decided to conspire against Alcibiades. There was no getting Caius off the ship now; even if Alcibiades bodily stuffed him into a shuttle himself; Caius was liable to override the systems and turn it right back.

Alcibiades finished his apple. “Caius,” he said. “I want you to confer with Team Blue and work out a way to take that thing down.” He paused. “Afterwards…”

“Yes, my dear?” Caius smiled sweetly.

Alcibiades knew a defeat when he saw one. He sighed softly. “Do you want to plan a space wedding?”

Caius’ smile turned from sweet to delighted. “Yes, I absolutely want to plan a space wedding.”

“He stays,” Alcibiades informed the young officer.

She blushed, again, and cleared her throat. “That's not my place to say, sir, you should…talk to HR.” She glanced at the papers.

Alcibiades took the papers. “Well, then. I'm going to talk to HR. Keep an eye on that thing. Alert me if there's any change."

~*~

“You must be joking.” Alcibiades put his best glare to use on the man in front of him. He seemed to be the sort of person who colour coded his underwear, if his impeccably pressed uniform was anything to judge by. It hadn't been regulation to have pressed folds on the trousers for a good two years, but this man had pressed folds on his trousers.

“I assure you, I am not.” The man glared back. “It is law.”

“Seven days?” Alcibiades growled. “And until then Caius stays where?”

“He will be assigned his own bunk -”

“The hell he's not,” Alcibiades retorted with a viciousness wholly at odds with the fact that less than twelve hours earlier he'd been all but ready to forcefully stuff Caius into a Volstov-bound shuttle. “I'm Captain. I'm overriding you. That ain't fucking law.”

The man’s lips formed a thin line. “Captains do not have the authority to reassign sleeping quarters -”

“I am doing it anyway. Good talk.” Alcibiades picked up the forms that the man had helpfully compiled for him. Orange tabs indicated where signatures were needed and yellow tabs where information needed to be filled out.

"Officer Greylace's security clearance does not extend to the Captain's Quarters," the HR guy then said.

There was a certain viciousness about him that told Alcibiades that he wasn't going to win this discussion.

"Fine," Alcibiades snapped. "He'll stay in whatever fucking bunk you assign him to, but he's moving into mine the second we sign the marriage papers."

"The second your papers have been verified and entered into the system."

Alcibiades secretly lamented the fact Caius wasn't there right this moment to deal with this situation, because if there was one thing Alcibiades knew in life, it was that Caius had ways and he would've no doubt sorted this bloody mess in less than five minutes. With a more favourable outcome. Maybe he'd sic Caius on HR later.

"Fine," Alcibiades ground out.

“The marriage license needs to be filed before noon today, synchronised time. If it's so much as a second too late, we won't be able to procure a licensed marriage officer in time for the set date," the man said, not breaking eye contact. "Naturally, this also means that the ship must stick to schedule and make it to the Allied Nations Space Station on time."

"We'll be on schedule," Alcibiades said. He clutched the forms to his chest and left. They'd be on fucking schedule, strange nothingnesses be damned.

He found Caius on the science deck, discussing readings and photonic transmitters with four scientists.

"Take a break," Alcibiades told them. "Caius, with me."

"Oh, is that our marriage license?" Caius bounced up from his chair, giving the forms in Alcibiades' hands an incredulous look. He was at Alcibiades' side in a flash, peering at the papers.

"What else did you think this would be?" Alcibiades grunted. "We need to return this before lunch. Wedding's in seven days."

Caius stilled. "So soon?"

"Yep." Alcibiades thrust the papers at Caius. "Let's get this over with."

Caius' eyes narrowed, but he took the papers and flattened them on the nearest desk. He leafed through them, then extricated a few forms and passed them to Alcibiades. "These need your personal information."

The chill in Caius' voice didn't escape Alcibiades' attention, but he chose to ignore it and instead pulled out a chair to sit. A moment later, Caius claimed another chair.

They filled out their forms in silence.

"Seven days is not nearly enough time to plan a wedding," Caius said, as he was scribbling on the third page of his own personal form.

Why the state needed this much information about them for a marriage license, Alcibiades thought, was just plain ridiculous. Why was it important for them to know where he'd attended school until age 16 (he hadn't), or whether he'd had any pets? Purely out of spite, Alcibiades listed the names of every single chicken that had ever lived on his farm. "You've planned parties in less time before," he said.

Caius made a noise. "And what of our guests? However are we going to manage to get your brothers and sisters to the Allied Nations Space Station in time for the wedding, not to mention the matter of their safety on the journey?" he continued. He didn't look up from his forms.

"They don't need to be there, do they?" Alcibiades added the name of his horse to the list of pets.

Caius' hand stilled for the briefest of seconds, then continued scribbling. "What of my family, then?"

"Do you actually have any family left?"

Abruptly, Caius signed his personal forms with a flourish. He stacked them neatly, then pushed them aside. "My break is over, I'm afraid," he said, standing up. He didn't look at Alcibiades as he strode over to work table he'd been sitting at earlier; three of the four scientists had returned from their break.

The joint form for the marriage license Caius hadn't touched, let alone signed.

"This needs to be done before noon!" Alcibiades shouted.

"I'm busy!" Caius yelled back.

Alcibiades collected all the forms. "Come see me later," he said, "to finish this."

Caius gave a careless little wave.

Annoyance clawed at Alcibiades' back. He gave Caius' back a last resentful stare, then stormed out, nearly colliding with the fourth scientist as she returned from her break.

The great nothingness hadn't changed. The most recent update was that the sensors had picked up ice, which Alcibiades confirmed; he could feel the presence of it in the distance.

~*~

Caius didn't show his face before lunch, and when Al went to look for him so he could get the papers signed and submitted in time, he couldn't find him at all. Few of Caius' friends were on this mission, but for Hal, but he hadn't seen Caius.

"I wasn't aware Caius was on the ship," he said. "I thought he had enforced shore leave."

"You and me both," Al muttered, and watched the seconds on his watch tick over and show 12:00:01. They'd missed the window. They'd missed it ten minutes ago already when he still hadn't gotten Caius' signature and also had to leg it to HR to submit it, but there'd still been hope. The seconds kept flashing, and while Al knew his watch wasn't mocking him, it still felt that way. Too late, the green digits seemed to say. You done fucked up.

Al's shoulder was still sore and a headache was sneaking up on him again, so he grabbed a green smoothie from the mess hall and a painkiller from the med bay, and went directly to his quarters for a nap.

He slept undisturbed for hours, no other emergencies having occurred. When he woke, Caius was in the room, bent over his suitcases.

"Where've you been?" Al asked, annoyed and relieved all at once. The pain in his shoulder had diminished, but the painkiller had left his head somewhat foggy. "I looked everywhere for you."

"I'm sure you did," Caius said, his voice dangerously light.

What was he mad about? "You didn't sign the form," Al said. "So we missed the deadline, so now it'll be longer before we can—"

"No," said Caius, straightening up.

"What do you mean, no?"

"I've decided not to marry you."

Alcibiades stared at him. Caius didn't move. After what seemed like an eternity, Al realised that Caius was serious.

The fog lifted.

There was no accounting for the feelings that were poking about in his chest.

"Why?" Al asked.

Caius glanced away, down at his uniform. It was impeccable, but he brushed invisible lint off it anyway. "I want to marry somebody who wants to marry me," he finally said, very carefully. "I don't want my marriage to be a technicality, something that just needs to be dealt with, like a nuisance or a particularly irritating bug."

Al blinked. "I do want to marry you!" he burst out.

"Do you?" Caius gave him a cool look. "You have a really funny way of showing it. In fact, I'd say you aren't showing it at all. One might think you don't even like me." He picked up a silk shirt draped over a chair and folded it carefully. "I'm moving my things into my assigned bunk."

While Al's jaw was doing a funny mouth exercise,which consisted mostly of his mouth opening and closing and opening and closing while his brain buffered, Caius had finished sorting out his one open suitcase, and closed it. He linked his suitcases together so they formed a neat little train, and pulled it all towards the door.

"I'll be seeing you around," he said, and swiped the scanner. The door opened, Caius and his suitcases exited, and the door closed.

The Captain's Quarters felt spacious and cold all of a sudden, and Alcibiades had the sinking sensation that something, somewhere, had gone horribly wrong, and that it was all his fault.

~*~

Al barely saw Caius the rest of the day (or, what passed for a day on a spaceship). When the science teams reported on their findings (such as they were) on the Great Nothingness, Caius kept himself to the background and let the others speak.

When Al's shift ended and he let his second officer take charge for the night shift, he went to his quarters alone.

In the morning, Al had breakfast with Royston, who was a capable first officer and occasionally an adequate dining companion, and tried not to stare at Caius' bright head on the other side of the mess hall.

One thing was Caius' unwillingness to get married, another was...well, this. This wasn't a normal sulk. Even at their worst, they'd still eat together.

Al was coming to realise there was an entirely new level of Worst, and that this was it.

"Do you want my advice?" Royston asked, drawing Al's attention away from Caius.

Royston's voice was entirely too polite and delicate and careful for Al's mood. He'd give just about anything for a sharp comment from Caius, or one of his observations, the kind of thing that required you to recall not just a previous conversation from five months ago, but also a specific unrelated event, to know what he was referring to. Like that time last week just before Al had gotten this assignment, and Caius had said oh, that's about as useful as a governor balls deep in a rose bush and Al had snorted and said there's no shortage of unicycles.

"No," Al said, and stood up. He swiped a banana from the platter and then left for the command centre.

The ship hadn't moved since encountering the Great Nothingness, and they were getting behind schedule.

"What are the results from the probes?" Al asked.

"Inconclusive, sir," said the second officer, a tired young man who, in Al's opinion, was too young to hold the rank. Supposedly he'd been at the top of his class in the academy. "We can't engage with it, and we can't breach it. We can't tell what's behind it either, or whether there's anything behind it at all, so firing at it is inadvisable at best, and catastrophic at worst."

Al regarded the Great Nothingness. They couldn't afford to get delayed further. "Log its coordinates and make sure all the information we have is in the database, then chart a different course to the ANSS. That thing is somebody else's problem now."

"Sir."

If Al's lieutenants and officers had picked up on the situation between him and Caius, then they kept it to themselves. A new course was set, and soon they'd left the Great Nothingness behind and were preparing to move through hyperspace.

~*~

"I was going to dismantle it," Caius said.

It was a testimony to having spent five years with Caius, that Al didn't jump out of his skin. "We're on a schedule," he said, turning around. "You can get yourself assigned to the research division once we get to the ANSS, and then you'll have all the time you'd like to play with that thing."

A shadow passed over Caius' face but then he continued, seemingly unaffected. "Naturally. I only thought we could've dealt with it before moving on. What's the rush?"

"Supply delivery," Al said. "Which you'd have known if you'd paid attention when you snuck on board."

"Oh, I paid attention." Caius made a show of observing the lieutenants and officers at work preparing the ship. The entry point for the jump into hyperspace was coming up. "Which is why I noticed that this ship isn't carrying the expected cargo," he said, in a low voice. "What exactly are we supposed to be transporting? Because far as I can tell, this is a war ship in disguise."

Al had overseen the loading of the ship himself—well, partially. He knew the manifest; had signed off on it, in fact, all five copies. Aside from the ship's own provisions and back up provisions, and mail to ANSS, they were carrying water, fertiliser, and various seeds and grains to a moon that was in the process of being terraformed.

He could confirm there was water in the cargo hold. He could sense it, along with the ship's own water tanks, and pipes, and waste processing plant. The amount of water he was aware of matched the amount stated in the manifest.

"What's in the other cubes?" Al asked.

"I think the capital question is: who knows about your Talent?" Caius said, keeping his voice down. "The other cubes hold explosives—sure, some of them do have fertiliser and grains, but the rest of it…"

"It's in my file," Al said. "Everybody knows about it."

"It isn't." Caius turned to look at him. "It's in your military records, but you left the military five years ago and your records were sealed. This is a civilian mission. You're a civilian captain. Your file doesn't make a note of your Talent."

Al resisted the urge to rub his face or show any other outward signs of unease. He knew those things, technically, but they’d rarely ever come up since the only combat his ship saw was, well, none. They’d had to defend themselves a handful of times, but that was about it—one of the perks of being a supply-cum-diplomatic-cum-research vessel was that those ships were protected under the Anastasia Convention. (That usually didn’t stop rogues, but it would deter governments.) “You think someone from the military tampered with the cargo, but didn’t touch the water so I wouldn’t notice it?”

A Convention ship carrying weapons and soldiers was also a breach of the Convention. If the military was using this ship to hide their actions, that was not only a breach of the Convention, but an underhanded, dishonest, asshole thing to do, and General Fucking Alcibiades (it was General when he was extra pissed off) would find a creative way to kick their collective arses first chance he got.

“Someone did,” Caius said.

“Is this why you snuck on board?”

“No, that was because I didn’t want to be left behind,” Caius said, his voice intentionally light in that way it was when he was trying to make a serious thing sound less serious. Like when he was hurt. “And as usual, I’ve been proven right and should’ve been conscripted from the start.”

“I just wanted to keep you safe for once,” Al hissed.

“On a simple supply run?” Caius turned his one seeing eye on him. “Either you’re hiding something from me or you knew something was off and were hiding it from me. Either way, you’re an asshole.”

Al tried his very best not to respond to Caius with his gut, because his gut wanted to give back as good as it got, but he had bigger problems to deal with.

To review the situation:
They’d been assaulted by rogues shortly after departure; which was odd because they’d still been close enough to the planet that patrols could’ve spotted and captured the rogues before they’d even had a chance to attack and rogues generally did not take that risk
Caius had turned out to be on board
The Great Nothingness had thrown another wench into the schedule, further delaying them
The bloody marriage debacle
According to Caius, the cargo manifest was not accurate, implying a severe breach of the Anastasia Convention and...well, it didn’t bode well for neither Al’s career nor his head’s continued attachment to his neck
The last point seemed the most prudent to look into—Al didn’t think Caius was lying; he’d trust him with his life (and had done, on multiple occasions), but he needed to investigate it himself and find out the extent of the deception.

“I need to go to the cargo hold,” Al said, “and I need you to cover for me.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Caius said, standing firm.

An alert sounded; the ship would enter hyperspace in five seconds. Al waited until they’d made the entry, then repeated: “I wanted to keep you safe.”

“I’m not a child!” Caius hissed, fury blazing in both his eyes. His blind one always seemed to turn more opaque when he was this angry.

“I almost lost you last time!”’Al growled back.

The few people still left in the bridge glanced at them nervously. Al ignored then.

They stared each other down, anger and hurt and annoyance filling the air between them. Eventually, Al broke the silence. “I didn’t know that something was off, but I’d been briefed on possible hostiles en route.”

“And you were hiding it from me.” Caius’ mouth was the thinnest Al had ever seen.

“I chose not to mention it.”

It was a testament to Caius’ self-control that he didn’t explode on the spot. “Look into the cargo hold yourself,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “since you’re so bloody intent on keeping me away and lying to me about it.”

He then turned his back on Al and strode out.

Al let out a huff of breath, a mix of anger and resentment and shame coiling in his gut. Caius could be so bloody infuriating sometimes, and Al just...didn’t know how to handle him at all.

He took a moment to get his breathing and his face under control, then barked some orders at his lieutenants and left the bridge. He had some cargo to inspect.

~*~

Al was only halfway through inspecting the cargo cubes (so far he'd found five cubes full of explosives, two cubes full of guns, and three cubes full of ammunition for the guns, with fifty+ cubes left to inspect) when the ship came to a sudden halt. Sort of like breaking very abruptly, the kind that in a motorised vehicle would've caused the passengers to hit the windshield but in a spaceship wouldn't have been noticeable, since the ship was constructed to prevent exactly that kind of thing.

Nobody ever spilled a single drop of coffee on this ship, was the point, and therefore the fact that Al had suddenly been thrown against the wall registered as what the fuck and not oh, we're stopping.

Then the realisation hit: they'd been impacted with something. Alarms blared and Al stumbled to his feet, taking only the briefest moment to appreciate the fact that the impact hadn't breached the cargo hold or set off the stupid amount of explosives in it. He ran over to the nearest comm and slammed his palm against the touch screen ID reader.

"EXPLAIN," he yelled.

A cacophony came through, and then the voice of his first officer. "We were hit," she said. "Sir. Uh, there was a hull breach, but the automatic system sealed off the area. We've, uh, we've lost people," her voice wavered, "we don't know yet how many or who, or what hit us—"

Al used his captain override to get the ship log on the comm screen in the cargo hold. They'd been thrown out of hyperspace by the impact, whatever it was, and had come out somewhere in the Sian system. The ship had stabilised, but the overview showed a hull breach and material damage to the port side residential area. "God fucking damn it," Al muttered.

"Sir!"

"I'll be up ASAP," Al told her, registering her increasing panic. She was a smart one, but he was in charge—he was the captain. He barked out a few orders for her, and then legged it up to the bridge.

The first thing Al saw when he entered the bridge, wasn't the chaos as people yelled at each other or ran back and forth, sharing information and orders—it was the Great Nothingness.

"What the fuck," he said, striding over to the window. "How long has that been there?"

A frazzled young ensign at the nearest station answered. "It was there when we dropped out of hyperspace," he said. "Might've been waiting for us—we've been trying to get stealth mode up just in case, but the damage to the hull is making it difficult."

"Good thinking," Al said. Then: "Can somebody turn off those blasted alarms?"

~*~

It took a few hours to fully assess the damage and do a headcount. In the meantime, the stealth shield had gone up, after a lot of clever tweaking, and they were, for the time being, somewhat safe.

"Abridged report," Al said, his commanding officers all lined up. "Send the full one to my log. You, start."

"We were hit by a projectile missile. We're still looking into how it could've happened—to our knowledge it's impossible to fire weapons inside hyperspace, and we weren't aware of any other ship in the vicinity. We need access to further records and research."

Great. So the enemy had defied laws of physics in order to hurt them. This mission was just getting better and better. Al gestured at the next officer to speak.

"There are nine people in the infirmary, two in critical condition. Three people have passed away, and are believed to have been in their bunks when the missile hit. We’ve retrieved the bodies of those who were ejected into space." There was a pause. "Sir, there is one person unaccounted for, who may also have been killed.”

Three dead. And a missing person. Al tried not to show any emotion. "The names, please."

The officer hesitated, but then started reading. The injured counted two researchers, one mechanic, one engineer, three kitchen staff, one nurse, and one passenger. The dead counted a diplomatic passenger, a biologist, and a cargo official. "The missing person, sir...it’s Caius Greylace. His bunk was one of the affected areas, and we believe—"

Al's brain stopped working. So did his heart. "What'd you say?"

The officer stuttered, but was saved from speaking when the door to the bridge opened, and in walked a bleary eyed Caius in a mussed up uniform.

"Where have you been?" was the first thing that came out of Al's mouth, shocked and a lot more aggressive than he intended. "What the hell do you think you're doing," he said, his voice rising alarmingly, as he strode over to—to shake Caius, probably, or possibly actually murder him, "frightening me like that!"

Caius looked up at Al, a tiny frowny wrinkle on his forehead. "I was asleep," he said. "What'd I miss? Everyone's all aflutter."

"YOUR BUNK BLEW UP," Al yelled.

"Oh," Caius said, and seemed to realise the gravity of the situation at last. "I wasn't in my bunk. I was in yours." Then: "Oh, drat. My things!"

Al's nerves could not deal with this. "SCREW YOUR THINGS. WHY WERE YOU IN MY BUNK."

"Because I was mad at you! And because it was closer," Caius added. He blinked. "Did my bunk really blow up?"

"PEOPLE DIED." Al was still yelling, and he knew it, but he also wasn't about to stop.

"Sir," somebody piped up. "Sir! Uh. The reports?"

Al grunted in acknowledgement, and then finally touched Caius, grabbing his shoulders. He was solid. "You don't leave my sight," he said, and dragged Caius bodily over to the captain's chair and plonked him down in it. "Somebody get me a fucking nerve tonic," he added.

Somebody did get Al a nerve tonic, and then the debriefing continued, somewhat more nervously than before. Caius remained uncharacteristically quiet all the while.

Once all the officers had left, Al rounded on Caius. “I am furious,” he said.

“No you’re not,” Caius said. “You’re scared.”

“Yeah,” Al said, and all the fight went out of him. “Why were you in my bunk if you were mad at me?”

Caius shrugged.

“Fine, be contrary.” Al plonked himself into another chair. Was it too late to turn the ship around?

“I needed to think, and your bunk is the quietest place on the whole ship,” Caius said. “I love you, but you’re an infuriating asshole and I needed to seriously rethink our relationship.”

Al looked at him. “You’re an infuriating asshole,” he said, petulantly.

“I don’t deny it.” Caius shrugged. “But sometimes I would like to hear something other from you than just that. I’m starting to think I’m a fool for letting you treat me like this—all insults, no sweetness.”

”You want me to call you honey pie?” Al asked, picking the most ridiculous thing he could think of.

Caius’ face shuttered. “You’re a fucking dick. I’m done. We’re done. If you need me for science, I’ll be...no, forget it, don’t talk to me.” He got up. “Honestly, Al, I expected better from you.”

The worst part wasn’t that Caius had just broken up with him—again—or that Al had thought for the fraction of a second—a fraction as long as eternity twice over—that he was dead, it was the hollow and exhausted quality to Caius’ voice. He didn’t sound angry, he just sounded sad, and he never sounded like that.

With Caius gone, Al was alone in the bridge and all he could see was the Great Nothingness.

~*~

The ship was unusually (though not surprisingly) somber. They had never had casualties before—injuries, yes, and once a natural death, but no casualties—and not only had they lost passengers, they had lost some of their own.

Deciding what to do—Al was the captain, he had to decide what to do, and for the first time in his career he didn't want to. The Great Nothingness seemed to be following them, and they'd been attacked by something, which had since made itself scarce or invisible, and those two things could be related, or not.

And then there was the stuff in the cargo hold. Did that have anything to do with either the attack or the Great Nothingness, or both?

Confident that his crew was competent to do their thing, Al grabbed a tablet and went back to the cargo hold. He wasn't going to look in the cubes he hadn't yet inspected—he'd seen enough to know something fishy was going on—but he needed to be somewhere there were no people, and most importantly, no Caius.

He had no idea what to do about Caius. Al's entire world view had upended—he'd thought Caius was a constant. That he'd always be there. They were partners, weren't they? Caius had certainly worked very hard to insert himself in Al's life, sticking his claws in him and tenaciously resisting every attempt Al had made to shake him off. But much like real cats who could let go in an instant and scamper off, Caius had walked away.

Al hunkered down in the cargo office, trying to make the constricted feeling in his chest go away. He couldn't let this thing—whatever it was—between him and Caius distract him: he had bullshit to deal with. Hence why he'd gone to the cargo office. No distractions.

The reports from the science departments on the Great Nothingness were still inconclusive. It was an illusion, that much they knew, but they still didn't know who (or what) was conjuring it, and why. The damage reports from the attack (or collision?) were much more interesting.

The 3D image of the affected area of the ship showed that they'd been hit with something small and concentrated; on the whole material damage was minimal. The impact site was the cabin of the diplomatic passenger, a country lord of some sort of other from Volstov, of the Ramanthine strain if his name was anything to judge by. The blast had damaged both cabins on either side of that cabin, which had turned out to be the cabins of the other dead passenger and Caius.

Al paused only to frown at the fact Caius had been given a civilian cabin instead of a crew bunk, but then again Caius was technically a civilian. A stowaway. Technically a criminal, actually.

The deaths and injuries reported corresponded with staff and residents in the area, except for the biologist and the cargo official. Believed to have been in cabin 52 during impact, the report said. That was the cabin number of the diplomatic country lord person. What was also odd was the presence of the cargo official, who had either been in one of the impacted cabins or directly outside them—the file Al pulled on him had him quartered at the other end of the ship. A social call? The file didn't list any family on board. In addition to that, he'd only been on the crew for a few days. That, of course, wasn't suspicious at all, but unfortunately the man was dead.

The cubes in the cargo hold and the fake manifest prickled at Al's brain. Something wasn't adding up, but dead men don't talk so he couldn't very well take the answers he needed, could he now. Bloody hell. If only he'd discovered the cargo sooner—if Caius had told him about it sooner—he might've had prisoners and not bodies.

Al rubbed his face. They were cut off from communication out here, with several hundred light years between them and Volstov in one direction, and another couple of hundred light years to the ANSS in the other. They were alone out here.

Well, except for the Great Nothingness and whatever had attacked them.

He tapped the tablet. They were located in an uncharted (and unclaimed) solar system, last explored by probe some years prior. Little information; no inhabitable planets or moons. If anybody was hiding out here, they shouldn't be too hard to find.

They also really, really could not stick around to play heroes. The ship was on a tight schedule, and had already been delayed long enough. The terraforming teams needed their supplies, and mail had to be delivered, and…

A message pinged on the screen. The scientists had something to share.

Al looked out over the cargo hold, at the numerous innocuous looking cubes, and tried not to think about how many explosives were in them.

Enough to wipe out the ship, yes, but also enough to destroy the entire Allied Nations Space Station, should anything happen while they were docked there. That was thousands of lives Al would be putting in danger just by going near them.

Who was the target? The ANSS? The moon? Themselves?

More importantly, who was targeting them?

Al turned the tablet off and went to find his resident scientists. If he was hoping that Caius wouldn't be there, well, then that was neither here nor there.

~*~

Of course Caius was there.

He still looked rumpled, which was a testament to how serious their situation was since ordinarily he'd have prioritised getting straightened out.

Al listened for a while without announcing his arrival.



Al looks at the damage reports, realises the target was the bunk of the diplomatic passenger (Caius and other passenger had cabins either side) and the other were likely collateral)


While al is looking at cargo, the nothingness comes back and they have to leave hyperspace abruptly. A hole blasted into the ship, Caius’ bunk destroyed.


Battle aftermath
Caius is injured, al tells him "THIS IS WHY YOU WERENT SUPPOSED TO COME" which Caius responds to very flippantly, like it'd been a delightful picnic or adventure. Al: you almost died. Caius: oh dear, I know.

Al is shirtless and dirty, probably because he took his shirt off to wrap somebody's injuries with it (Caius'?) and unwashed, and when Caius comes to, he just weakly tells him to put a shirt on because he's wetting a lot of panties and al is like what the fuck, what do I care about panties and Caius chuckles faintly and says he knows, but the staff is distressed and then orders somebody to find the captain a shirt and al doesn't know what to say, like he wants to yell at Caius for almost dying, but then al is just like, you almost died, really quietly, and Caius just, oh dear I know, and reaches for Al's hand, and his grip is weak, but al can feel how tight he's holding on, so al just finally folds and drops his head on caius' chest (or not, depending on how injured he is) and sobs and Caius is all alarmed but also all choked up, and says, but I didn't
Al says he's going to put him on sick leave forever ("only until I'm healed") and he's going straight home to the farm where he can have peace and quiet to heal ("only if you come with me") and that's how Caius and al end up doing their honeymoon before the wedding, but the following winter they do invite all their friends to a small private winter ceremony at the farm and Caius has ice butterflies.



werewolf pirates mermaid ot3, 1,9k
Werewolf pirates!

Scientist werewolf (baby of the pack) studies vampire physiology
Resident vampire (object of study)
Ace genderfluid shape shifting merman - falls in love with werewolf scientists
Alpha captain has a lover (another pirate captain) their foreplay is "fighting" when the ships meet

"You could sit still, you know," John groused, pinning the vampire in place with a look. "I'm sure it would be a lot less unpleasant for all parties involved."

"I don't believe you need to prick and poke me as much as you do. This is the fifth time this week! My blood hasn't changed in the twelve hours that passed since last you stuck that nasty thing in me." The vampire looked decidedly put upon, glaring at the sharp knife. He then sighed, taking on an air of sufferance. "I just get so hungry from all this bloodletting. Surely you understand, with your wolfish sensibilities."

John didn't answer, only drew the vampire's arm closer. Faster than light, he'd made a tiny cut and was collecting the blood in a small vial. Four, five drops, and the cut healed over and the blood stopped trickling. "Thank you," John said, corking the vial.

The vampire brought his arm up to lick the remaining blood off his arm. "Why do you need so much of my blood?"

"I would hardly say that five vials of about five drops of blood is a lot," John answered. "It goes off very fast. Side effect of being undead, the scientific community at large believes, but I hardly think so."

"Why else would it go bad? I am undead."

John looked towards the heavens and then, with the manner of someone who has had to repeat himself too many times for sanity, said: "Vlad, you are alive. We've been over this. Several times."

"Gah!" The vampire stood up. "I can't very well loom over my unsuspecting victims and say 'it is I, the terror of your nightmares, an alive horror, here to drain you of your life force' now can I?" He huffed. "And my name isn't Vlad!"

John didn't react to the vampire's theatricals. "One: you don't even drink blood. Two: if you told me your name I wouldn't have to call you Vlad."

"As if I'd ever tell anyone my name! Preposterous."

From above came the sound of the quartermaster's voice, bellowing for the vampire to do some inane task or other.

"I believe I am needed," the vampire informed John imperiously, and turned on his heel.

John turned back to his research, but not two minutes passed before he was interrupted.

"Sails! To the south east!" With the shouting followed a great deal of ruckus, so John closed his books and went upstairs.

***

"It's been so long since any sailors came through," sighed Alex' sister, draping herself over her skerry.

"I was rather enjoying the peace," said Alex. "Sailors are so messy. And loud. And they don't taste very good." Alex frowned. "Fish is much nicer. What's wrong with fish?"

Alex' sister pretended not to have heard. This was a discussion they'd had several times, and Alex lost every time. Mainly because Alex was the only one in the pod who didn't care for sailors at all.

A couple of cousins came up nearby, and then joined Alex' sister on the skerry. Despite the lack of sailors in the vicinity, they all flicked their tails and modified their appearance to look as appealing as possible to humans.

"Really?" Alex snorted derisively.

"Don't be like that," Alex' sister said, tone sweet. "You're just jealous because you have never managed to catch a sailor.

"Because I don't want to catch a sailor," Alex retorted.

"It's what we do," Alex' mother said, having come up behind them soundlessly. "It's only the natural order of things." As she spoke, she increased her chest size and modified her beard, so that she looked quite like an illustration of Poseidon that Alex had seen one time, pilfered from a sailor they'd taken a few years back. She flexed her arms. "We control the seas -"

"No, sharks control the seas. And we are not sharks." Alex had had quite enough. "I'm going over there."

"We don't want to look at your sour face anyway," Alex' sister called out.

Alex ignored her and swam over to the skerry farthest away. Nobody liked to hang out there as it was set apart from the others; mermaids liked to stick close. Something to do with increased chances of luring in sailors, or something, but Alex didn't care. Alone on the skerry, Alex could do anything and be left in peace.

Like practicing on legs. It was pure laziness that had most mermaids only morphing what amounted to upper bodies on humans, as most of the time that part was the only part visible above sea level. (And, perhaps, Alex thought privately, humans were fucked up beings who were turned on by other species. There were rumours that humans sometimes fucked cows. Cows! Alex had never seen a cow, but imagined that they were quite horrible creatures. Apparently they had horns.)

Legs were hard to do, because Alex didn't quite know how legs worked. The sailors' legs were usually quite mutilated (half eaten) by the time Alex could get a good look at them. Still, they were supposed to bend in the middle and do a rotating thing at the bottom and so, and supposedly that enabled humans to walk. Deeming today's attempt as good as it was going to get, Alex attempted to stand.

Splash. A blink of an eye, and Alex had toppled off the skerry on unstable legs. Frustrated, Alex climbed back onto the skerry and reassessed the legs. They looked accurate enough, far as Alex could tell, but there was clearly something not quite right.

In the distance was a series of playful shrieks. Looking up, Alex realised that half the pod had come up and had clustered on three close skerries; there looked to be a lighthearted mating ritual going on between two distant cousins. Boredom rendered mermaids a little funny in the head, and it had been a while since any sailors had passed through.

Disgusted, Alex gave up on the legs and dove into the sea. There'd been cod nearby this morning; perhaps they'd not wandered far off.

***

They lost two pack members in the fight and gained almost nothing to show for it; the ship had been carrying not valuables in the form of gold, sugar or tobacco, but barrels of coconuts and salted pork. And fifty barrels of sand, of all things. Their ship was also heading into a storm, so nobody was pleased.

Batty Nutbasket, for that is what John was currently calling the vampire, was cradling an armful of coconuts - he was arguably the only person on the crew who thought they'd gotten a good haul.

(The five barrels of salted pork weren't to be trifled with, as meat was always in high demand with werewolf pirate crews, but unfortunately salt was terrible for werewolves and their blood pressure. It made them cranky.)

"Can you really not sit still?" John despaired. The vampire had carefully placed five coconuts on John's work bench, directly in his line of sight, while he was attempting to drill a hole in a sixth coconut. "Can this not wait?"

"I haven't had fresh fruit in weeks, dear," said the vampire, keeping all his attention on the task of drilling.

"Three days. It's been three days since we left port. You ate seven pineapples that morning, and I know you have a stash of apples in your sea chest."

"The apples are no more," said the vampire mournfully. "There is nought but that dreadful peach preserve in the pantry." He narrowed his eyes at the coconut and where the drill had barely made a dent. "Oh, this is useless!"

"Take a hammer to it," John suggested.

"And lose the milk? I think not!" The vampire huffed and sat back in the chair. He was now glaring at his collection of coconuts. "Well, on with it then! Drain me. Do your science."

"It's four drops!"

"It feels like more than four drops."

"Just sit still," John instructed and picked up his instruments. He collected the blood quickly and the tiny wound healed over before the vial was corked.

"Why do I subject myself to this torture?"

"I believe this week it's 'for swashbuckling adventures'." John picked up the abandoned drill. "Give me that."

The vampire eyed him suspiciously, but then handed over a coconut. John applied the drill to the coconut and two minutes later there was a hole in it.

He handed the coconut back. "You do realise this isn't fruit, right? This is a nut."

"Close enough." The vampire peered into the hole, delight on his face. "It's fresh. And I find the flavour very pleasing."

"I want feces samples for the next three days," John told him, making a note. "I'd like to see how your system processes non-fruity foodstuffs."

The vampire scrunched up his nose. "I was about to eat," he complained. "I thought you were done with my shit."

"Science is never done." John picked up a box of small, rectangular and very thin sheets of glass. He took out two such thin sheets and arranged them by the microscope. He then picked up the vial of fresh blood, and transferred a single drop to a sheet, placed the other on top of it, and placed the two sheets with the drop of blood smushed between them underneath the microscope.

The vampire watched these proceedings. "You never did explain why you wanted to study me," he said. "I'm no more remarkable than the next vampire."

"Because nobody else is studying fruit vampires," John responded. "There are several published studies of blood vampires."

"Yes, you've said that. But why does a werewolf care about fruit vampires?" The vampire peered into the hole in his coconut, then looked around the small cabin. It was cluttered with scrolls, bound books of various sizes, and a great number of notebooks. There were also several instruments fastened to shelves and walls, and chests carefully packed with samples of the bodily kind. Some of these items were moving back and forth; they must be getting closer to the storm.

John handed him a thin reed pipe plucked out of a drawer. "Why wouldn't I care? I'm a scientist. I like to know how things work. Stick that in your coconut."

The vampire stuck the reed pipe into the nut, then brought it to his mouth. He sucked on it happily for a while, then: "Well, have you found out anything interesting yet?"

"Yeah," John replied. "You're anemic."

"Well!" The vampire huffed. "If you stopped taking all my blood maybe I wouldn't be!"

"Eat some more protein." John turned to his microscope.

The vampire glared at him, then slurped up the remaining dregs of coconut milk from his first coconut. He gave back the reed pipe, then gathered up his coconuts and left the cabin.

***

The storm lasted five days, Alex cranky because their favourite skerry was out of commission

Then storm?

Then switch to Alex, werewolf ship is close by - the pod doesn't want to go near because werewolves, but Alex is curious and swims up to the ship, talks to the werewolves and asks to come on board, Alex is allowed on board

Vampire science (Alex is fascinated, vampire is wary, scientist is whatever)

Mermaid scene, Alex learns to walk



fantasy heist novel 3.0 12k
Chapter 1







The clock struck eight. Ilmari swapped out his empty flute of sparkling apple juice for one with sparkling blueberry wine, and started across the floor past the banquet table. He timed his steps with the bells, watched as the staff entrance opposite opened and Aino walked out. As she passed him, she nodded imperceptibly and Ilmari twitched his nose in response. They moved into position swiftly, Aino continuing past the banquet table and out another staff door while Ilmari moved towards the plinth holding the Oajvvelane figurine.


The figurine was an ancient carving from reindeer antler, depicting a bear with two cubs. It'd once been painted with red and blue pigments deriving from copper mines and blueberries, but all that was left now was a faint hint of colour in the grooves. Nameless, it was nevertheless known as Mezen weliense in Meza, a fact that irritated Oajvve to no end. Even more insulting, perhaps, was the fact that Meza - East Meza, to be precise - continually refuses to give it back, on no grounds other than that they can. To Oajvve, the figurine represented an important part of the Oavvjelane religious mythos, and was thought to be the missing piece in a set of seven.


Ilmari, Aino and Miina had been commissioned by a wealthy Oavvjelane patriot of somewhat questionable nature to steal it. They would be fairly compensated for their troubles, of course, but that wasn't why they'd taken the job. They'd taken it because Pr Dáidu possessed something far more alluring than money: an unhackable, impregnable and completely inaccessible property...rumoured to contain three lost Kalevi paintings. Invaluable in the truest sense of the word. The figurine would be their way in.


Ilmari eyed the guests milling about the plinth critically. There were too many guests; there was no guarantee that there wouldn't be witnesses and the plinth was uncomfortably far from all exit points. The security cameras covered every inch of the floor and there were guards posted at the front of the room.


Taking a sip from his flute of sparkling blueberry wine, Ilmari pretended to peruse the item on display behind the Oajvvelane figurine. It was a gold coin dating back to the last time Meza had been a united kingdom, or pretended to be one. The seal of the East Mezan Royal House was clearly visible on the shiny surface: a bear paw ready to strike. The other side, Ilmari knew, boasted a portrait of the Twin Queens. The coin was near priceless.


Ilmari toyed with the idea in his mind to take the coin, but dismissed it quickly. It couldn't be easily fenced and while he would've liked to keep it for his own personal amusement, he couldn't risk the job in progress; it was wobbly enough as it was without throwing a Duchess piece into play. This particular tefl game was messy enough without the added risk.


The last chime of the bells ebbed out.


A loud crash and the sound of glass shattering all over polished granite flooring carried through the hall. Not half a second later, a distressed cry pierced the air. A commotion at the entrance arose, clouding what had happened from view.


Good girl, Miina.


Ilmari moved towards the noise alongside the other guests, affecting a concerned frown. The entire gathering had surged towards the entrance in alarm and curiosity, leaving no eyes on the Oavvjelane figurine. As Ilmari passed the plinth, he quickly swapped the figurine for an identical forgery, and placed the original in his inside pocket.


Upon reaching the entrance to the hall, the source of commotion was clear. A young woman with bloody hands and and back, and what appeared to be tiny cuts in the fabric on the back of her dress, was sat on the floor amidst glass shards, shocked and confused. Behind her was a large empty frame that previously had held a floor to ceiling window looking in on the hall.


"I only leaned against it - I fell - it gave way! Did it break?" She tried to get up, but cried out again - understandably as she'd just tried to push herself off the floor using her hands, and the floor was covered by shards of glass. Only then did she realise this and stared at her bloody hands, uncomprehending.


"Merciful gods, somebody get her some help!" At these words the bystanders were spurred into action, and a rotund gentleman bent down to offer her his hand. The floor manager and a couple of guards were now trying to make their way through the throng of people surrounding the young woman.


Ilmari slipped out as they reached the scene, and went towards the main entrance, where he flagged down a guard. "Excuse me sir, that fella with the purple badge asked me to call for medical assistance, can you help?"


The guard, who'd been watching the commotion from his spot picked up the phone on the wall. While his back was turned, Ilmari walked out the door. There was a security camera right above the entrance, but the camera was currently playing a ten second loop of an empty hall. It was more than enough for Ilmari to slip away unseen.


He turned left down the street and continued walking until he reached the service alley belonging to the gallery, at which point he dipped down it.


Aino was already in the car, servant's uniform off and delivery uniform on. Ilmari joined her, quickly ripping off his suit jacket and pulling the blue delivery jacket over his dress shirt.


"What are you waiting for? Drive!" He snapped, balling up the suit jacket with the figurine still inside and stuffing it into a small sports bag.


"I can't! The car won't start!" Aino was frantically turning the key and pushing buttons, as if pushing buttons for the thermostat or radio would make much of a difference in this situation.


"What do you mean it won't start? Didn't you charge it?"


"I charged it! The battery must be dead!" Aino turned the key again, and again, and still their cursed getaway car didn't start.


"Oh for…" Ilmari kicked the dashboard. This, of course, did not help. "Okay, okay, new plan. Stop that, take a deep breath and call the company. Tell them the van won't start."


Aino stopped. "What?"


"Just do it," Ilmari grunted. He was in the process of trying to change out of his suit trousers and into the cargo trousers favoured by this delivery company. "Call them and tell them the van won't start and ask them to send for a tow truck so it can be taken in for repairs. Tell them you'll be leaving the van here and you're going home for the night as this was your last delivery anyway. Then you and I," here he paused as he zipped up the fly, "make our way out of here, slowly, towards that tram stop over there, and get on the tram."


Proving that Aino was her weight worth in beer in mangled up situations, she calmed herself, dialled the company number and affected a tired and irritated manner of voice as she detailed the problem.


While she was on the phone, Ilmari stuffed his trousers into the bag as well and put his dress shoes back on. Nothing could be done about those; there wasn't a spare pair of working shoes in the van so he would've just have to hope that nobody would notice that this particular delivery guy was wearing shoes too fancy for the job. Lastly, he undid the braid in his hair and wound it up under a cap.


"What do you mean, the battery goes dead in sub zero conditions? Do you not realise that we're in the dead of bloody winter?" Aino paused to listen, then cut off whoever was speaking. "On your head be it then! I'm going home!" She ended the call and zipped up her jacket. "Let's go."


Ilmari grabbed the sports bag and hefted it onto his shoulder. Aino, considerate as always, locked the car before they ditched it, but then dropped the keys along with an empty chocolate wrapper into the nearest dustbin.


They let line A9 pass, keeping a casual eye on the entrance of the gallery and listening for sirens. None came. Miina was on her feet again, they saw. Line A2 pulled up at the stop. When it pulled away again, Ilmari and Aino were gone.


***



Miina arrived only half an hour later.


"Did you get it?" she asked, only stopping to give Aino a kiss in greeting.


Ilmari pointed at the figurine, which was now sitting atop Miina's coffee table. "Had to leave the getaway car behind, but had no trouble otherwise. You?"


Miina raised her bandaged hands. "After much fuss, I had them call a car service for me. I offered to leave my insurance card with them to cover for the broken glass, but a little of this," she fluttered her eyelashes, "and suddenly the gallery's insurance would surely handle it, and I could eventually make my escape." She grinned. "They even paid for my fare. How kind of them."


Ilmari shook his head. "And your hands?"


"Yes, your hands?" Aino was giving her a stern look. "There's not exactly any fresh saplings to be had this time of year. You won't be able to heal that with a spell."


"My hands are fine," Miina assured her, dropping onto the sofa next to Ilmari. "I have other tricks up my sleeve. Fetch my kit for me?"


Aino dumped the kit in Miina's lap. "Already fetched it." She perched on the arm of the sofa by Miina's side.


Ilmari watched them as Aino fussed over Miina's hands and Miina dug around in her kit for herbs and sticks and packets of soil.


Blah blah something


"We're going to need Áillun, aren't we?" Ilmari finally asked. "I've been going over it in my head, and I can't see that we can break into an unhackable place without a proper hacker."


"I was counting on getting Áillun," Aino said, gesturing dismissively. "Shouldn't be a problem. I know they'd be pretty excited about getting one over on Pr Dáidu after that stunt he pulled with the Gårtje councillor."


Ilmari blinked.


Aino sighed. "Áillun was personally invested in that election."


"Okay," Ilmari said slowly. "So convincing Áillun shouldn't be too hard?"


"I wouldn't say." She considered this. "They like coffee. Don't get them any of that Taikahvia piss you insist on drinking. Magically untainted coffee, preferably from the Green Mountains. Light roast. There's a lovely place on the West River -"


"Áillun is in town?" Miina interrupted. "I had the impression they were in Oajvve. The Njáveš Job?"


"Mmmh," Aino answered, which wasn't an answer at all. "I'll get in touch with Áillun, arrange the meeting."


"Can we get Áillun before meeting with Dr Dáidu?" Miina asked. "I don't reckon we'll get a second invitation to his house. Any idiot," she gestured between the three of them, "can plant a mole, but none of us has the skills to work it."


"Exactly," Ilmari said. "I don't trust our mole to go undetected. The security is too sophisticated. Fjalarr designed it, for Wäinö's sake! Short of getting Fjalarr himself, which is not happening, we're not getting in there without Áillun."


Miina didn't say anything, but Ilmari could feel her eyes bore into him. He resolutely did not look at her, instead looking at Aino and daring her to say something.


Aino's lips were pursed. They'd had this argument often enough that she'd stopped asking why he refused to work with Fjalarr, and instead accepted it with quiet resignation. "I'll handle it," she said. "We'll get Áillun."


***



Ilmari dropped into the nearest Taikahvia on his way to the meeting, despite whatever Aino had to say about it, wanting something to warm him up. The weather had taken a turn for the worse; they'd been promised a snow storm in the near future, so currently the wind was sharp and unmerciful, biting at Ilmari's cheeks and chilling his bones.


Áillun wasn't an easy person to negotiate with, and Ilmari had had his monthly hormone injection that morning, which meant he was already jumpier than he'd like. His thigh was sore at the injection site, aching in the cold. He blew on his fingers and rubbed them together, moving forwards in the line.


"What can I do for you?"


Ilmari didn't consult the menu, defaulting to his favourite drink. "Large black coffee with copious amounts of chocolate syrup and whipped cream. To go. What's today's special charm?"


"Two hour Good Luck Charm for an additional twenty sataikko," the barista informed him. "Would you like one?"


Ilmari contemplated this, then the board on the wall listing this Taikahvia cafe's particular charms. "Do me a three hour Serenity Charm instead, please. Thank you."


The Serenity Charm rang him up an additional seventy sataikko to the four and fifteen mezantaal order. He put the change and an additional five mezantaal bill in the tip jar and went to stand by the end of the counter to wait for his order. This damn meeting was causing his anxiety to sky rocket; they weren't exactly fucked without Áillun, but their chances of success were much higher with them on board than without. Ilmari gnawed at his thumb. It would be better with Fjalarr, but Ilmari wasn't going to go down that particular road. Not now, not in another eight years, not ever again.


"A black coffee for his Royal Highness!"


Ilmari looked up with a frown, but the barista who'd served him was grinning at him. She turned the go cup to show him: Ilmari Aamutähti was scribbled on the side in more or less legible handwriting. His frown deepened. He couldn't recall giving her his full name. He never did, as a matter of fact, as only a certain brand of dick felt inflated enough to foist their full names on strangers. Ilmari was not that kind of dick.


"Thanks for the tip, your majesty," the barista said, handing him his cup. She winked.


Right. He hadn't given her his full name. Aamutähti was the title of the East Mezan Royal house, but not, technically, their legal name. It did happen to be a legitimate name, but not a protected one; way back when, when Ilmari had changed his name into something more suitable, he'd thought picking Aamutähti for his last name had been both hilarious and clever. An orphan bastard (the bastard part was unfounded; he'd been fished out of the river as an infant, so there simply wasn't any information about his parentage to be had) with a royal name! Hilarious. Ilmari took the cup, nodded at the barista and gave her his most charming smile. "Thank you, peasant." He winked. Aamutähti wasn't a bad name.


The barista's smile widened into a happy grin.


Ilmari flipped up the collar of his coat to protect himself from the biting wind outside. He took a small sip of his coffee and felt instant warmth, surgery sweetness and calm envelop him. This Serenity Charm had been worth every single sataikko.


He arrived to the meeting five minutes early. Aino took a single look at his go cup and snorted. Ilmari ignored her and slid into the booth beside Miina, who was rolling her eyes.


"Ordered you a cookie," she said, sliding a plate over. "To compensate for the out-of-house coffee."


"Very generous of you." Ilmari picked up the cookie, slid the lid of his coffee and dipped the cookie in. The chocolate chips softened as the cookie infused with the warm coffee. "Perfect."


"Barbarian," Aino told him, but not unaffectionately. Ilmari noticed she had a plate of cookies of her own.


Áillun slid into the booth at exactly three o'clock. Their current looks were drastically different from last time Ilmari had had business with them, but no amount of shapeshifting would change their personality, or the reserved way in which they carried themselves. Still, Ilmari was mildly jealous of the lustre of Áillun's current hair, deep black and shimmering in the coloured lights strung across the ceiling.


Aino took charge of the meeting, briefing Áillun while Ilmari slowly consumed his cookie and coffee, and Miina shared schematics.


By the time Áillun had considered everything about the job, Ilmari's cookie was long gone, and the go cup was empty. The Serenity Charm was still in effect, albeit starting to wear off.


"There's only one thing that's still unclear to me," Áillun finally said, regarding the three of them. "Why have you approached me, and not the man who designed the security system?"


"Because we want you," Ilmari said, speaking up for the first time. "Are you saying you can't do it?"


Áillun shifted their gaze to him. "I can do it," they said, drawing the syllables out in a slight mocking tone, "it's rather a question of whether I want to do it."


Ilmari pointedly did not respond, and instead looked to Aino.


"If it's a question of giving you a higher share -" she began, but Áillun cut her off with a slight shake of their head.


"Your information is incomplete," they said, holding up a hand to forestall Aino and Miina both as they started to protest. "You couldn't possibly know unless you were Fjalarr himself, or Pr Dáidu," Áillun explained, and then added: "Or me."


"And how would you know?" Aino asked, the slight change in her tone betraying her irritation.


"Fjalarr and I are friendly," was Áillun's only answer. They gestured to the tablet, and Miina pushed it over. Áillun flicked through the schematics and pointed out a few things that had been carefully left out of the blueprints. "It's a dual system," they finally explained. "My shapeshifting abilities are excellent, but even I can't magically grow an extra set of arms. You need two hackers for this job."


A cold shiver went down Ilmari's back. "No," he said.


"I can do it," Áillun told them, "with a partner. I know one, maybe two, people with sufficient skill and discretion who could potentially be interested." They paused, brow furrowing, then continued: "or...You could go to the man who designed this thing and negotiate the backdoor access out of him. You wouldn't need me or anyone else. Just his access codes."


Aino and Miina looked at each other. Ilmari stared at Áillun.


"No," Ilmari repeated. "Not -"


Miina had elbowed him. "Put your ego aside for a second, please," she said, then turned to Áillun. "We want you," she said, in a tone that brokered no argument. "What do you need to get the job done?"


"Just how friendly are you?" Ilmari asked, before Áillun could answer. "You and Fjalarr, I mean. Just wondering, because he supposedly told you things about his unhackable security system. Did he also tell you that there's no backdoor access?"


Áillun stared at Ilmari. "And how would you know that? Any self-respecting hacker would leave themselves a backdoor. For "security" reasons," they added, doing that thing with his fingers that totally means he's making " " in real life


"It's his damn code of honour," Ilmari said, unable to keep the venom out of his voice. "If he promises you an unhackable system, then it's unhackable. Even to himself."


"Well," Áillun said, slowly, thoughtfully, still staring at Ilmari. "In that case I want Fjalarr."


"What!" Ilmari startled.


"Who else could hack an unhackable system but the person who designed it in the first place?" Áillun said. There was a calculating look in their eyes as they continued to stare Ilmari down.


"You're right," Aino agreed. She shot Ilmari a warning look, then turned to Áillun again and appropriated their attention. "Is that your only condition?"


"You can't let this happen!" Ilmari hissed to Miina.


Miina gave him a thoughtful look. "It's one job," she said. "And it's been eight years. Not being able to work with Fjalarr all this time has cost us."


Ilmari opened his mouth to respond, but found he didn't have any words. Miina's words sank into his chest like a set of particularly sharp arrows. Of course it had cost them! He knew that more painfully than anybody else on their little team! But it was too late - how could he face him now? After all this time?


Aino and Áillun were shaking hands across the table, and Ilmari startled out of the loop of shock and rage he was spiralling in, and instead watched Áillun slip out of the booth and through the shop and out the door and past the window and out of sight. He then turned to Aino and Miina, who were watching him carefully.


"No." Ilmari shook his head, then swallowed hard. "I can't do it."


"Yes you can." Aino had that look in her eyes that warned that she could electrocute him on the spot if she wanted to. "If you refuse, I'll bench you for this one."


Ilmari stared at her, but Aino stared back. She was going to win this staring contest, because Ilmari refused to be benched after all the work he'd already put into this job. He sat up straight, drew a deep breath through the sting of betrayal, and then nodded. "Okay," he said. "I'll work with him." His voice was shakier than he liked. "So long as I don't have to like it."


"I'm not asking you to like it," Aino said. "I'm just asking you to act like a professional about this. It's a job. We have worked with less than pleasant people in the past. Why is this any different?"


Miina was looking at him, but Ilmari resolutely did not look her way. He knew what he'd see in her eyes, and he knew he would break if he saw it. "Because it's Fjalarr," Ilmari answered, quietly thankful that his voice didn't break.







Chapter 2






The helicopter flew over a number of skerries scattered about the sea, heading north towards Sker. They were looking for a particular skerry in the south, on the outskirts of the country, and not actually heading towards the larger inhabited islands that comprised the island nation of Sker itself.


After much fuss with maps and binoculars, Ilmari finally found the right skerry and pointed the pilot in the right direction.


There was a little snow covered yellow house atop the skerry and a small boat tethered to the pier, although currently ice locked. The skerry looked abandoned, and Ilmari's heart made an annoying little leap of hope - maybe Fjalarr wasn't home, in which case he could just leave and not have to talk to him at all, and avoid the entire mess altogether. Then he noticed the dirty trodden path leading from the front door and to the back, the skis sticking out of a snow drift near the windbreaker, and the second dirty trodden path to the garbage shelter. Upon further inspection, there were also ski tracks on the frozen sea; one set of tracks leading in the direction of the nearest town, situated on a larger skerry about fifteen kilometers to the west, and another set of tracks leading somewhere Ilmari didn't know where.


"This it?" the pilot asked.


"This is it!" Ilmari confirmed. "I'll signal you when I'm done, it'll be...twenty, maybe thirty minutes." He looked down at the little house. If Fjalarr couldn't be convinced to do the job in thirty minutes, he probably couldn't be convinced at all.


Ilmari unbuckled the safety belt and climbed to the back, where he pushed open the side door and unrolled a stepladder. A few minutes later, he was standing inside Fjalarr's windbreaker, staring at the door and the empty flower pot beside them. It was filled with snow.


The door opened before Ilmari could knock.


"Well?" Fjalarr said, arms crossed. He didn't look outright hostile, but Ilmari was momentarily too busy staring at Fjalarr's hair to notice. It wasn't that it looked bad, exactly, it was just very...different. It was long. It was gathered on top of Fjalarr's head in a messy bun, in a style somewhat incongruent to both Skernian traditions and current fashion, Skernian and Mezan both. It looked nice. Good. Where'd he picked that up?


"What did you do to your hair?" Ilmari blurted.


Fjalarr's expression darkened. "What do you want? You didn't come all this way to apologise." He didn't say after all this time but Ilmari heard it all the same.


"Maybe I did."


They regarded each other for a minute, then Fjalarr stepped aside to let him in. Ilmari stomped the snow off his boots and then stepped over the threshold. He left his coat on the coat hanger closest to the heater, and his boots below it, next to Fjalarr's own boots.


The house didn't look much different from the last time Ilmari had been there. The sofa had been replaced, and there was more art on the walls - including a very nice Sjöwall that Ilmari knew for a fact had up until the previous year hung in a conservatory in a royal estate in Kungriket, Svanaholm Castle if memory served - and the dining table was covered in electronics.


"Still have a lovely taste in art," Ilmari commented.


Fjalarr went into the kitchen instead of responding to that. "Coffee?" he called.


"Please." Ilmari trailed after him, but stopped in the doorway. The kitchen was the same as it'd always been, and it would've been easy to just claim his old place at the small kitchen table like nothing had happened. Like eight years hadn't passed since the last time he'd seen Fjalarr in person. Ilmari looked away from the small nook and at Fjalarr instead, who was regarding him with a thoughtful expression. Quickly, he schooled his features into something more neutral.


"Why are you really here?" Fjalarr asked, turning back towards the coffee machine.


"There's a job. We need a hacker. A good one." Ilmari leaned against the door jamb. "I thought you might be interested. Knowing you, there's also big a chance you might not be."


Fjalarr turned the machine on, which instantly started gurgling. He then took care to close the coffee tin and replace it in the cupboard. "Why didn't you get Áillun? You've worked with them before."


"We already have Áillun."


This provoked a reaction. Fjalarr turned, a knowing look on his face. "You're going for Pr Dáidu, aren't you?"


Ilmari nodded, wetting his lips. "Áillun won't do it without you. And you designed it. Áillun believes you left a backdoor access. I don't."


"I didn't," Fjalarr confirmed. "As per policy."


"Do you also have a policy that says you won't hack your own customers?"


Fjalarr's mouth did an interesting little twitch that could possibly be interpreted as a smile. "What's in it for me?" He turned towards the machine again, which beeped once and then stopped gurgling. He then fetched powdered coffee creamer from the cupboard above the coffee machine, and two mugs from the cupboard next to that one.


The mugs were brown glass, patterned with waves. Ilmari caught sight of an entire set of tableware from the same series in the cupboard: dinner plates, gravy cups, glasses and so forth. They had a distinct yellowish hue to them, Ilmari noted, visible in the sunlight filtering through the kitchen window. A true Eldjárn set. If no pieces were missing, it would fetch a comely price with the right buyer.


"Don't even think about it," Fjalarr said, as he handed Ilmari his cup of coffee. "It belonged to my grandmother."


"I wouldn't steal from you," Ilmari said, bile rising in his throat. "I have never stolen from you."


Fjalarr gave him an impassioned look, then sighed and gestured at the kitchen table. "Sit."


"How long have you known? How long have you known it wasn't me?"


"Sit," Fjalarr repeated.


Ilmari complied. The silence between them should've been awkward, but mostly it was just…painful. Admitting to mistakes had never been Ilmari's strong suit, and knowing Fjalarr like he did, neither was it his.


"I've known for a while," Fjalarr told him. "About eight years I'd say, give or take." He took a slow sip of his coffee, avoiding Ilmari's eyes.


"You've known all this time!" Ilmari spluttered. "And you never said anything!"


"You didn't listen to me the first time. Would you have listened the second time? The third?" Fjalarr looked up this time, eyes flinty. "Would it have made a difference? Tell me, when did you find out it wasn't me?"


"Only last year." Ilmari forced the words out, those bad tasting, ill-gotten words. "When Thure got locked up. According to the papers, they'd connected him to several other cases but couldn't definitely prove all of them...except that one. They found the Jokimies sculpture in a warehouse connected to him. It's how I realised. The Jokimies never turned up again, so...he had it, all this time. He was the one who took it."


They sat together in silence, Fjalarr looking out the window at the snow covered landscape and Ilmari staring at the table top forlornly. There was a burn mark on it from that time he'd near dropped a frying pan full of fish; the edge of the pan had touched the table briefly. He ran his finger over the curved groove.


"I didn't poison that coffee," Fjalarr broke the silence. He was looking at Ilmari, a small frown between his eyebrows.


"Of course not." Ilmari cleared his throat. He stirred his coffee, then took a sip. "So, about the job -"


"What's the time frame?"


"We have a meeting with Pr Dáidu in three days. We'll plant the mole then." Ilmari took another sip. "After that, depends. On you and Áillun. I've estimated three, four days. A week in total."


Fjalarr shook his head and rose from the table. He drained his mug and put it in the sink, then started taking items from his fridge and putting them in his freezer. He sniffed an open carton of what looked like yoghurt, then frowned at it and threw it in the trash.


Confused, Ilmari asked, "what are you doing?"


"It's never just 'a week' with you," Fjalarr said by way of explanation. "I don't intend to return to a fridge full of rotten food."


"You're...so you'll do it?"


Fjalarr paused in his reorganising of foodstuffs to look at Ilmari. "For how much longer is that copter waiting?"


"Ten minutes, just about." Ilmari rose. "You're really coming?"


"Is that not clear? Get your coat. I'll be along in a second."


All breath rushed out of Ilmari. He stared at Fjalarr, fighting the sudden roaring warmth in his chest.


"All right," he said, picking up his mug and draining it. He put it in the sink and then turned the tap on, taking a few minutes to wash their mugs. Fjalarr hated returning to a messy kitchen. It was a poor apology as far as apologies went, but Fjalarr silently picked up a dish cloth and dried the mugs off.


It was a little like eight years hadn't passed at all, and Ilmari's throat constricted a little.


***



The helicopter took Ilmari and Fjalarr and his three bags to Guojkka, capital of The United Tribes of Oajvve, where Ilmari put them on the high speed train to East Meza.


"You booked me a ticket in advance," Fjalarr commented as the train took them through the mountains south of Oajvve. They'd be crossing into the Green Mountains soon, and after that they'd reach the East Mezan border. "How'd you know I'd come?"


"I didn't." Ilmari turned his gaze from the window and to Fjalarr. "But I can stand to lose a non refundable ticket."


The compartment they were sitting in was empty apart from the two of them because Ilmari had reserved all six seats in advance. He didn't volunteer this information, but from the look in Fjalarr's eyes, it seemed it wasn't necessary.


Fjalarr shifted in his seat. "What kind of mole are you using?" he asked instead.


"Skygn 6.4."


"Those aren't on the 'market' yet."


Ilmari shrugged. "And yet I have them. Three, to be exact. Two are backups."


"We'll need the backups." Fjalarr didn't take his eyes off Ilmari. "You realise, of course, that if word gets out that Pr Dáidu was robbed, that it's my reputation on the line as well?"


"Mm." Ilmari shrugged. "It's not going to get out." He chanced a smile. "Besides, you wouldn't be here if you didn't want to take that risk."


"Maybe I'm here for a different reason."


"Are you?"


Fjalarr broke eye contact first, looking out the window. The train was slowing down, in about six minutes they'd be in Pāhk'. Rolling green mountain hills rose up around them, dotted by white sheep. Here and there steam slithered out of cracks in the mountainside, the explanation for why the Green Mountains had earned their name. Only the topmost peaks were snowcapped.


"What's the score?" Fjalarr finally asked, turning away from the window. "Which of Pr Dáidu's illegally acquired items are we stealing?"


The train came to a halt in the station.


"A Kalevi painting," Ilmari said.


"Kalevi paintings are almost impossible to fence," Fjalarr said, after a while. "Is there a buyer lined up?"


Nod.


The train started pulling away from the station. The sign proclaiming Mânnât tiervân! flashed by.


"Is Miina handling the forgery?"


Ilmari shook his head. "No forgery this time," he said. "Unless you know somebody who can replicate the magic, or make it look that way."


"No."


Miina was the best forger they knew, but even she couldn't forge a Kalevi painting. Kalevi had weaved light into his paintings, making them sparkle and shimmer and glitter in ways that nobody had been able to copy since. A few innovative types had experimented with paint properties, but while those experiments had resulted in some interesting paints, some of which could lead solar energy and others could lead electricity, they were poor substitutes for the real thing.


No, they couldn't replace the painting with a forgery and hope the theft wouldn't be discovered for a while yet; they'd have to just take it and run with it.


"What's the reason?" Ilmari asked. They'd be in Merilahti shortly, and either Miina was waiting for them on the platform or had sent a car.


"I was bored," Fjalarr answered. He got up and fetched his bags from the luggage rack overhead.


Ilmari watched these proceedings, searching for a sign of something that would betray the lie, or reveal the truth behind it. All he saw was Fjalarr's shirt riding up a little as he stretched to reach the next bag, and then the flex of his biceps as he put it down.


"All right," Ilmari eventually said, and shrugged into his coat. The train rolled into the station. "Let's go."


***



"Ilmari and I are pencilled in for three fifteen in the afternoon," Aino said, laying out the timeline. Áillun and Fjalarr looked up from the corner of the room, where they'd holed up with their laptops, heads together and unintelligible tech shorthand flying back and forth between them. "Pr Dáidu set half an hour aside for us, so that should give us plenty of time. We'll each be carrying a mole, and will stick them to anything that so much as whiffs of electricity. You two," she nodded at Áillun and Fjalarr, "run through the security one last time?"


Fjalarr stood up and turned the projector on. The floorplans of Pr Dáidu's mansion flickered onto the wall, colour-coded and annotated. The real floorplans, that was, as the ones on file that Miina had gotten her hands on were fakes meant to throw off uninvited guests. "There we go." Fjalarr cleared his throat, then used a pen to point out the blue lines hugging the walls of every room on the first floor. "These are the anti-magic barriers. If you try to use your magic within these boundaries, nothing will happen. They can be disabled via the control panel, here." He pointed at an orange square within Pr Dáidu's control room. "This is not relevant for the exchange tomorrow, but will be relevant when we all go in."


He continued in this manner, detailing the cameras and their blind spots (distressingly few), the sensitivity of the pressure sensors in the floor and the ceiling, the motion sensors, the mechanisms that could turn any given room into an instant jail, and, his favourite, the internal building network.


"This is a closed circuit system," Fjalarr explained. "The building is fully self-sustainable via solar and windpower, it's off the sewage grid, and it's not uplinked to any satellite known to me or...well, anyone else. No internet access. It's unhackable and impenetrable from the outside." He held up two of the moles. "Áillun and I have spent the better part of the past two days modifying these. Put one of these babies on any electrical cable in the building, and we'll be able to seize remote control of the entire system. The signal range is approximately 20 metres, less if there's a lot of metal and brick in the way."


Ilmari raised his hand.


"Yes?" Áillun nodded at him to speak.


"Forgive me for asking, but… Pr Dáidu has a mobile phone. Whether there's a tower nearby to provide coverage, or if it's a satellite phone, wouldn't it be possible to piggyback that signal and gain access to the computer mainframe that way?" he asked. "I, ah, recall doing something similar, in the past."


Fjalarr's mouth quirked. "It would work if the system were wireless," he agreed. "However, it's not. It's a bit old fashioned…" His left shoulder raised up in a little shrug. "But sometimes old fashioned is what works best. When everyone's attacking wirelessly, the best defense is to take a step or two backwards in time."


"Next you'll be telling me people are going back to skeleton keys," Ilmari said, scornfully.


"Some have," Fjalarr readily answered. He sounded far too cheerful about this. "Would you believe me if I told you that the common thief has no idea how to pick a lock like that? They've all got the newest, shiniest tools to deal with new and shiny complicated semi-digital locks - tools that do half the work for them, I might add - so when they meet a lock that hasn't been considered secure in, say, three hundred years? They're stumped." Fjalarr grinned happily. "They don't know what to do! It's amazing."


Ilmari narrowed his eyes. "Did you install skeleton locks in Pr Dáidu's house?"


"Nah, just old fashioned half moon locks. They're still the hardest locks to pick." Fjalarr turned back to the map projected on the wall, then gazed out over the little group seated in front of him. "Any other questions before I proceed?"


Miina raised her hand. "If I'm understanding correctly, all we need is one mole to latch itself onto one cable, and you'll be able to take the security system apart, and… turn the house into a sieve?"


"Yes." Fjalarr nodded.


Áillun cleared their throat.


"Ah, and of course also the master codes," Fjalarr added. "Áillun is writing a virus that should extract them from the code."


"Undetectable?" Aino then asked. "Can we wait to go in at a time that suits us, or is it more of a 'whelp get in the car we're going' kind of thing?"


"Undetectable," Áillun and Fjalarr said in unison.


"Until Pr Dáidu changes the master codes," Áillun added. "If he's got any sense, then he does it at least once a week."


They went over the plan for another hour, poking holes into it and devising possible solutions, until Miina abruptly stopped them all to point out the time, and that food would required within the next few minutes.


"Far be it from me to complain about Mezelaine food," Fjalarr said, causing Ilmari to snort in disbelief, "but are there no decent take out places?"


"There's a new Skernian place near the train station," Miina answered. "If that's what you mean by decent. If not, I can't help you." She did not sound bothered by this. "I want a proper Oajvvelane fry-up. Aino?"


Aino got up. "Yes," she agreed.


"I'm on board the Oajvvelane fry-up train." Ilmari picked up his keys. "I'll even run out to get it for us. Áillun?"


"I'm reluctantly on board," Áillun said, wrinkling his nose. "None of you Mezelaine know how to properly cook our food. Get me something with reindeer and potatoes. Clear broth, none of that muddy gravy stuff."


Ilmari nodded, then turned to Fjalarr. "You?"


"Reindeer and potatoes sounds good." Fjalarr sighed. He then turned to Miina. "You. Take me to that Skernian place later. I'll need proper food sooner rather than later."


"Mmh." Miina smiled. "What's the magic word?"


"Please?"


Their laughter followed Ilmari out into the stairwell.


Chapter 3







Pr Dáidu received Ilmari and Aino in the showroom at the front of the house. In the centre of the floor stood a century old racecar, silver and sleek lines, and absolutely spotless. It was of the kind that ran on fossil fuel, Ilmari noted, having spotted the fuel cap on the side of the car. Possibly the last of its kind.


"Thought those were illegal," Aino remarked as they passed the car. She'd put on an air of goodnaturedness, eyes crinkling as she spoke. "Very nice ride."


"Illegal to drive, not illegal to own," was Pr Dáidu's equally goodnatured response. "It's twin is in the garage being outfitted for a state of the art electric engine." He gestured them towards a table at the back of the room.


The table was decked with a few choice tool as well as a lamp and a microscope. An older woman was seated behind the table, waiting expectantly.


"My expert will take a look at the item," Pr Dáidu informed them.


"Of course," Aino replied.


Ilmari followed her in silence. The small briefcase he was carrying felt heavy all of a sudden.


The woman examined the oajvvelane figurine which is super fucking uninteresting and boring so i'll rewrite that part later probably.


"Before I go, may I make use of your bathroom?" Aino asked.


Pr Dáidu jovially directed her towards the ground room bathroom. On the floorplans, it'd been clear that electric cables were drawn through the wall behind the sink. While Aino was in the bathroom, possibly doing something untoward to a wall, Ilmari leaned against the wall in the hall, waiting.


He'd carefully positioned himself over a lightswitch, and while making idle conversation with Pr Dáidu about an art exhibition down in Merikulma, Ilmari attempted to pry the lightswitch open with his fingernails. Quietly, slowly, moving as little as possible to attract attention, he nudged it open just as Pr Dáidu was gesturing at a painting on the wall behind him, he turned - Ilmari slid the mole from his sleeve and in through the narrow gap between the switch and the wall - said something about ochre and titanium blends, and Ilmari slowly nudged the switch back in place.


When Aino returned from the restroom, Ilmari stood up straight, pushing the switch firmly closed and turning off the lights at the same time. "Oh! Dear me," he said, turning around in apparent confusion. "I didn't notice that! I apologise." He turned the lights back on.


Aino sent him a fleeting smile, then gave Pr Dáidu her arm. "Walk me out, dear?"


The icy gravel crunched beneath their boots as they made their way back to the rented car. Neither Ilmari nor Aino spoke until Pr Dáidu disappeared from the rearview mirror, heading back inside the house.


"The bathroom?" Ilmari asked, watching the road.


"Behind the mirror. Unless they check behind it for dust, nobody is liable to notice the hole I put in the wall," Aino said, smile widening into a satisfied grin. She knocked on the briefcase they'd received in exchange for the figurine. "Reckon Áillun will steal it back?"


"Probably." Ilmari glanced in the rearview mirror. There was nothing there but the road behind them, lined with trees. When they reached the state road, Ilmari turned the car left, back towards Merilahti. "I managed to pry open a lightswitch," he told Aino. "I hope the mole found a nice little cable to hug."


***





"What do you mean there's no signal?" Aino rounded on Fjalarr, her face red with fury. "Even if the moles didn't find cables, they should still be signalling us!"


Fjalarr turned towards Áillun helplessly, mouthing something at them. Ilmari thought perhaps it was 'help'. He wasn't inclined to feel any sympathy, however.


"I was more or less rubbing myself against the walls of the house," Áillun told her, their tone of voice just the shade of testy that betrayed a deep anger. "My tracker didn't pick up so much as a whisper." Áillun rubbed their hands, and Ilmari noticed they were red and scratchy. Icy gravel would do that to soft paws, and Áillun had been gone a long time.


"There's no signal. It didn't work," Fjalarr said, slumping into the comfy chair he'd dragged towards the little computer lair he'd set up in Miina's living room.


Aino visibly took a few deep breaths, reining herself in. "That's unacceptable," she eventually said, voice level.


"Lucky for us, we have a plan B," Áillun said, grimacing at their palms. Miina wordlessly went over and took their hands in hers.


"You do?" Aino's voice changed from level to icy in an instant. "And you were going to share this when?"


"Now." Fjalarr cut in.


Miina spread what looked like dried sage over Áillun's palms, then held them together. She spoke a soft incantation over them.


"Pray, do tell," Ilmari said. He couldn't disguise the irritation in his own voice, nor did he want to. They'd brought in Fjalarr and Áillun on this job not for them to be independent agents, but to be part of a team. "Let the rest of the team in on your little secret, hm?"


Fjalarr glanced at Aino, who wasn't speaking. The look on her face explained why; if she opened her mouth it was likely nothing good would come off it. Instead she'd drawn herself up, arms crossed, and was staring Fjalarr down. Áillun, by virtue of sitting slightly behind her, escaped this fierce stare only because Aino didn't deign to turn around to give them any attention at all.


"I'll leave Pr Dáidu a message and inform him there's been a security breach," Fjalarr eventually said. "Feed him some bullshit about the system being programmed to alert me when there's an 'even't," he said, making the finger quotes, "for purely, ah, academic purposes. I'll offer him a sweep of the place and an upgrade. I'll secure my own uplink, have him confirm it with his own master codes, and, uh, trick him into giving me access, that way. I'll, ehrm, say this service is covered in the warranty, such as it is...there being no actual warranty. Play up professional pride, probably."


Aino stared him down. "Will it work?"


"It should." Fjalarr shrugged. "As far as I know he has no reason to mistrust me.


Miina had convince Áillun to take their shoes off; she was giving their feet the same treatment as their palms. "I think it'll work," she said. "Pr Dáidu has only had business with Ilmari and Aino. He doesn't even know I was involved in snatching the figurine. Although...if he cared to ask around he'd have figured that out in a heartbeat. He doesn't know you're here, does he?"


Fjalarr shook his head. "I'll route the call through Sker. He won't be able to trace it back here."


"Well, then," Ilmari started, but Aino cut him off.


"Do it." She didn't wait for a response and stomped off.


Miina caught Ilmari's eye. After a moment's hesitation, Ilmari followed Aino.


He found her on the hotel's balcony, shuddering in the cold. Ilmari silently slid the window closed, then came to stand beside her. The city glittered in the dark as starlight reflected off roof tiles covered in solar panels, and ice crystals hanging off the roof tops. Aino was a dark shadow beside him, electricty almost sparking off her.


She broke the silence after a while. "Did you know about this?"


"I suspected," Ilmari answered. "I don't believe the moles were actually supposed to work. I think this was what Fjalarr intended all along."


She turned, resting her shoulder against the glass. Her eyes bore into him. "Why didn't you share your suspicions?"


Ilmari shrugged.


"I know you better than that."


"Maybe you don't." Ilmari glanced at her. There was a gentle glow on her face, golden light leeching out from inside through the small gap in the door. It didn't make her look any less hard. "I wanted to see what would happen."


She didn't take her eyes off him, her face unchanging. Then: "What's the history?"


Ilmari looked away. A heavy stone sank into his stomach. "I don't think I want to tell you."


"If there's the slightest change it'll compromise this operation, I need to know. I'm not above benching you."


"I know." Ilmari shuddered. "All right. Short version fine?"


"Don't leave anything important out."


"All right." Ilmari exhaled. "When Miina and I were first starting out in this...business, we met Fjalarr. One of our trusted contacts recommended him for a job. So, we got him on board. And for the next two years, he was an integral part of our team."


"An integral part of your team. For two years." Aino's voice was flat. "And this is the first I hear of it? I've known you five years! Hell, Miina and I've been married for three of those five years!"


"There was a job gone wrong. It was a big one, we had on more people than usual, things turned sour and chaotic, and then the score vanished. All evidence said Fjalarr had doublecrossed us all and run off with it. It was a bit...well, either way, the team dissolved and it was just Miina and me for a while." He paused. "We didn't work with anybody who'd been on that crew ever again. Until now."


Aino regarded him. "He didn't take it, did he?"


"No," Ilmari gritted out.


"So, it's not just that."


"It's not just that."


She sighed. "Far be it from me to plead moral superiority when it comes to bad breakups," she said, "but seriously, what the everloving fuck."


They were quiet for a while. The city glittered on.


"So, what now?" Ilmari nodded towards the hotel room.


Aino rubbed her eyes. "We move forwards." She looked at him. "Would you keep an eye on him?"


"Are you asking me to…" Ilmari glanced back. Nobody was there. "Do you want me to spy on him?"


"No." She sighed. "Just keep an eye out. If you ever get suspicious again, that sort of thing. Talk to me about it. I don't want to be blindsided like that again."


***



Aino pointed at the map, then at Áillun. "You will be here. You," she pointed at Miina, then at another spot on the map, "here."


Ilmari followed Aino's fingers as the laid out the plan of attack. Fjalarr had just gotten back from the fake security upgrade trip to Pr Dáidu's estate, and had already set up the remote connection. It was now unravelling the security system, Fjalarr keeping half an eye on his monitor while listening to what Aino had to say.


"At some ridiculously determined point, the alarm system will go back online. We want to be out of there by then." Aino pulled up another map. This one was larger, and showed the surrounding area and terrain. "The get-away car will be parked here, out of sight from the main road, and in the opposite direction from which we arrived. I want everyone to check their skis tonight, all right? Make sure there's nothing amiss."


Áillun cleared their throat. "I think I'll forgo the skis," they said. "I'm faster in wolf form."


"We need you in human form inside the house," Aino said.


"It won't be a problem." They smiled. "I've done this before."






Chapter 4







So here there should be a paragraph, maybe five, about what's going down in the house. What people are doing, where they are, what little bumps in the road they observe (and pass). One of those bumps should later come to make sense as an interference by the MRIA or whatever government agency this turns out to be, if it is one at all.


Ilmari clicked his boots in place on the skis with a practised movement, not once did he have to put the tube down. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aino do the same. Behind them, Miina had the third tube, Fjalarr was clicking into his skis while tapping furiously away on a hand-held computer of some sorts, and a nearly inaudible whisper of fabric told them that Áillun had shifted back into wolf form.


They took off as one, down the hill towards the getaway car, weaving past the trees as they went. Áillun was a dark shadow leaping through the forest on their right. There was no disguising their tracks, but by the time any kind of law enforcement would show up, they'd be long gone.


Ilmari narrowly avoided collision with a branch, swerving to the left. As the smallest and lightest member on the team, he was several spans ahead of the others, pulling up next to the getaway car first.


Something was wrong.


He held up a hand in warning, hoping the others would see; the moon was new and they only had starlight to guide them. There was something...off. Ilmari looked around in alarm, scrutinising the ground, the car, the trees. New snow had fallen last night, covering up the tracks they'd left when placing the car; the indents of two sets of footprints leading away from the car and through the trees was only just visible. The car looked untouched. Nobody had been here in about twenty-four hours.


Why, then, couldn't Ilmari shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong?


He heard the others come to a halt behind him, a few paces away. He didn't look back, only pushed forwards on the skis, slowly circling the van and scanning the surroundings.


This was a great time to not have any kind of magical ability at all, not that anyone else in their group would've been able to lend any kind of assistance. Miina was a natural witch with a specialty in healing and blood properties, so she would only be able to assist after the fact, in case of injuries. Aino was a weathermancer, albeit a useless one; the weather was so changeable that any kind of knowledge she could divine from it would be rendered useless only a few minutes later. She did have some ability to manipulate electricity, but that wasn't going to be much use in this situation. Fjalarr had telekinetic abilities, dead useful that one, especially when it came to lock-picking and cracking safes, but again not very useful in ferreting out a threat. Áillun could shapeshift, which, granted, was very cool, but it didn't come with any perks, such as night vision, super hearing or strong sense of smell; Áillun in their wolf shape was still just a human, and wouldn't be able to sniff out danger.


And Ilmari was one in a million people who had absolutely no magical abilities, which rendered him the most useless of them all.


The van was clear. The area immediately surrounding the van was clear. As far as Ilmari knew, anyway.


He gestured the team to come forwards, and went to open the back doors of the van. Nothing happened. The van was empty. Ilmari deposited the tube on the floor and clicked the skis off as Aino pulled up beside him, putting her tube down next to his.


"What was that all about?" she whispered.


"Apparently nothing," Ilmari whispered back. "Just had a weird feeling." Still had a feeling, actually, but he didn't say so. Better to just load up and get away.


The skis went in back with the tubes. Áillun leaped into the back of the van and shifted back into their human form so swiftly that Ilmari barely registered it; by the time he realised what he was looking at, Áillun had swept themselves up in their cloak and was pulling on the spare trousers they'd stowed away in the van the previous week.


Ilmari and Fjalarr climbed into the back with Áillun while Aino took the driver's seat and Miina the passenger's seat.


Doors closed, Aino turned the key in the ignition.


This time, the battery wasn't dead and the car started with a low rumble. Ilmari sent up a silent thanks to the weather gods, with extra special thanks to his namesake Ilmarinen, old Perkunas and even Thor, just in case.


The car lights were disabled, so Aino navigated through the trees by the starlight, taking a different route out than the one they'd used to get the car there; she headed due north instead of north west, heading for a small country road cutting through the forest. It'd lead them to the coastal villages, where they'd change the car and take the eastern state road back to Merilahti.


They didn't get that far. As soon as the van hit asphalt, strong light blinked on from all sides, and dark clad persons in riot gear were aiming weapons at them. Behind them, large dark military grade trucks were parked, blocking their way.


Ilmari's heart stopped. His soul left his body. He was no longer breathing. This. This was it.


By the looks on Fjalarr and Áillun's faces, he wasn't the only one feeling that way. Up front, Aino and Miina didn't move.


"YOU ARE SURROUNDED." The person immediately ahead of them was holding up a megaphone. "PLEASE EXIT THE VAN IN AN ORDERLY FASHION. HANDS ON YOUR HEAD. SLOWLY."


Ilmari closed his eyes. Exhaled. Inhaled.


"YOU CANNOT GET AWAY. PLEASE -"


Fjalarr's hand shot out and opened the back door of the van. The sharp click startled them all into action; Aino shuddered, and Miina dropped her head against the headrest. Áillun started rooting about for what was probably their boots, and Fjalarr was staring intently at Ilmari, who was staring back, because what else could he do? Go out there?


Eventually, Fjalarr nodded, and climbed out of the car. It was awkward, with his hands on his head he couldn't balance himself, so he nearly tripped over and into the snow. He regained his footing and stood up straight, then turned slowly to look back inside the van.


This time, Ilmari nodded. He pulled his knitcap tighter over his ears, then slid out of the van, hands on his head. He want to stand next to Fjalarr. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the driver's door open and then Aino slide out, she didn't join them, but took up position right where she landed. The other door opened, followed by a soft thump-thump of boots, and Miina was out too.


How many men were there? It was hard to tell with the lights blinding them, but Ilmari counted five guns, one for each lamp within his field of vision. Was that all?


"ÁILLUN SALMING," the person with the megaphone boomed, "WE KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE. COME OUT AND JOIN YOUR FRIENDS. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO SHIFT."


"That's Ind Áillun Salming, for you!" Áillun shouted from within the van. "I'm getting my boots on! Don't want bloody frostbite on top of this shit, do I?"


Ilmari tried not to smile. The person with the megaphone was silent, but Ilmari thought he heard a mutter from that general direction.


Áillun stepped out of the van and came to stand on Ilmari's other side. A quick glance to the side, and Ilmari saw that Áillun had not only put boots on, but also a sweater of some sorts underneath the cloak, and warm gloves.


Their hands were cuffed, and then they were herded towards one of the large trucks. Ilmari tested his cuffs; he could easily slip out of them if he needed to, but Fjalarr sent him a warning look, shaking his head slightly.


Even if they all slipped their cuffs, which Ilmari knew that all of them were capable of doing; you didn't get far in the thieving business if you couldn't do simple tricks like that, they couldn't get away without getting shot at.


"Are we being arrested?" Ilmari asked. These people hadn't identified themselves. Law enforcement was required to identify themselves upon any kind of confrontation, and these people hadn't.


Nobody answered his question, and Ilmari's stomach dropped. He shuffled into the truck, taking a seat next to Fjalarr and opposite Miina, watching as the others filed in.


Fjalarr's shoulders were tense. Miina's face was shuttered. Aino's knuckles were white, no doubt because she was desperate to hold on to Miina, but wouldn't show it - not to these people. Áillun looked bored, but there was a hard edge to their eyes.


Two people followed them inside, guns trained on them. Their faces were impassive, half covered as they were with black helmets and clear visors. The doors slammed shut.


They drove for hours.


***



Ilmari dozed off a few times, startling awake almost immediately. There were no windows in the back of the truck, so he had no idea how long they'd been driving for, but judging from the general state of his body - adjusted for adrenaline - they must've driven through the night and into morning. Perhaps it was already noon.


Beside him, Fjalarr was as stiff and tense as ever. Across from him, Miina and Aino were staring at nothing, eyes empty, and beside them, the guard hadn't lowered their gun at all. Ilmari didn't dare turn to look at Áillun and the other guard.


They drove over a rattling metal grid, and the truck started slowing down. Ilmari didn't think they were being taken to a farm, which left only one other option for the metal grid. It wasn't a nice one.


The truck came to an abrupt halt. The doors flung open, letting light in and momentarily blinding them all; before they could get their bearings, they were being dragged out of the truck and across gravel, and inside a dark building. There, they were pushed into chairs, their arms strapped to the arm rests and their legs to the feet of the chair. Ilmari glanced down, and saw that the chairs were bolted to the floor.


The guards left, and they were alone.


"Well, this is a pickle," Áillun eventually said. They spoke in a low voice, exhausted, but wary.


"You think?" Ilmari's voice came out rough, broken.


Nobody spoke for a while; they were all too tired and shaken to really want to talk, and all of them were trying to suss out their environment.


They were in a large, empty space, though not a barn - Ilmari at least didn't think so, though he'd never seen a barn from the inside. There was no hay, no animal smell, nothing at all that would've given the place away as anything but a...large, empty building. The walls and roof were corrugated iron, and Ilmari had the feeling that he was trapped inside an oversized barrel, cut in half length wise and dropped on the ground.


"I've been going over it," Fjalarr suddenly said, speaking in a low voice, "and I can't work out how they knew we were there. Even if I - we - missed something, and the security system alerted them when we broke in, they couldn't have been there so fast. This was an ambush."


"They aren't law enforcement," Aino said, looking up at Ilmari. Ilmari nodded his agreement.


"I'd...yeah, okay." He looked up at the sloping ceiling above them. "This is not an interrogation room."


Áillun snorted. "You only just noticed?" They rattled their cuffs. "They've gone all out on this place, too. I can't shift out of these."


Ilmari looked at them. "I thought shapeshifting was genetic, not magic. Anti-magic installations usually don't work on you."


"It's a fine line." Áillun gave their cuffs a disgusted look. "There's silver in these cuffs. Bet the rest of you can't use your talents either."


"Shit."


Before Ilmari could ask if Fjalarr had tried to undo the cuffs with his telekinesis, a door opened in the far wall. Two men in grey suits and grey ties walked in. Their hair was nondescript dishwater blond, long and loose about their shoulders, their skin pale and their eyes grey. With a jolt, Ilmari realised they weren't Mezelaine, and not Oajvvelane either. It was possible they were Skernian, but Ilmari didn't think so; there was something about their facial structure that wasn't right for that. No, these men were kunglings, westerners from Kungriket. Ilmari tried to catch Aino's eye; she was from West Meza, she if anyone would know if they were Mezelaine of a particular complexion or not.


The pure hatred in Aino's eyes as she stared at the men confirmed what Ilmari already knew.


The chairs the team was sitting in were arranged in a semi circle. The men stepped into it, hands on their hips and their suit jackets bunching open just so, revealing the fact that both men were carrying concealed guns.


"This is a pickle, isn't it?" The man on the left said. He was slightly taller than the other one, and his hair had a lighter hue. He spoke Mezan flawlessly.


Chills ran down Ilmari's back.


"What do you want?" It was Miina who'd spoken. It was the first thing she'd said since they'd been captured, but her voice was steady. Hard.


The men regarded her.


"What do you think we want?" the taller man asked. "No, go on. I'd quite like to know," he added, when no answer was forthcoming from any of them. "Call it a thought exercise, if you will."


"You want us to do something," Fjalarr said. "You want us to work for you."


"No." Aino was glaring at the men, pure disgust on her face. "I will never work for you."


"Oh, I rather think you will." The taller man smiled pleasantly.


"Who are you?" Ilmari broke in.


The smile on the man's face widened. "How kind of you to ask," he said. "I'm afraid I can't answer that question. See, we don't exist. Something that doesn't exist isn't exactly something, wouldn't you say?"


Ilmari glanced at the shorter man, who hadn't spoken, or even moved at all. Now he shrugged, as if to say he's got a point.


"Kungens Garde," Ilmari said, slowly. "Guess those weren't rumours after all."


"If that's what you think, you're free to think so," the taller man said. "As I said, we don't exist."


"And yet you're standing right there."


"Very perceptive of you." The taller man snapped his fingers, and the door in the far wall opened again. Another man in a grey suit and tie came in, this one carrying the three tubes of paintings they'd stolen from Pr Dáidu. "Now, we are perfectly happy to return these to you." He pursed his lips. "With one condition, of course."


Nobody rose to the bait, instead opting to glare at the men.


The taller man sighed theatrically. "Very well, I'll just tell you then, shall I?" He clamped his hands together. "You are going to [BREAK INTO THE MEZAN "PENTAGON" AND STEAL THE LIST OF ACTIVE AGENTS IN THE FIELD]."


It was very, very quiet.


"Why?"


"Hm, let me think," the taller man put his finger on this lips, as if in thought, "oh, because else everyone you love will die."


Aino jerked, and Fjalarr stiffened. Áillun didn't react in any noticeable way. Miina and Ilmari locked eyes, understanding passing between them.


The taller man snapped his fingers, and the man he'd walked in with finally moved out of his eerily still pose and reached into his inner jacket pocket. He drew out a small stack of photographs. "The brother first, I think," the taller man said, gesturing for the photograph to be paraded around in front of them.


The first photograph was of a young man approximately Aino's age; he had her dark hair and cleft chin, and his eyes were the same colour brown as their skin. It was a candid - taken just as he was exiting what looked like an apartment building.


"I will kill you!" Aino shouted, her knuckles white with fury and her eyes dark and flinty. "If you touch him, I swear on my mother's grave that I will kill you -"


"I'm sure that won't be necessary," the taller man said pleasantly, cutting her off. "Do your part of the deal, and no harm will come to him."


"There is no deal!"


"Next photo," the taller man said.


This candid was of a young woman. Ilmari instantly recognised her as Fjalarr's sister - half sister. Both her parents were Mezelaine, so she was darker than Fjalarr, whose father was Skernian, but they shared the same nose and lips, and the same strong jaw. Ilmari hadn't seen Suvi since breaking up with Fjalarr, but she'd barely changed.


Fjalarr didn't speak up, but his eyes hardened as he regarded the three grey men in front of him.


"Now, the rest of you are tough. You two are orphans," the taller man said, pointing at Miina and Ilmari, "and have no relatives. Very tiring."


"Handy for us," Ilmari muttered.


"There are solutions to everything." He snapped his fingers, and a new series of photographs were paraded around.


These ones depicted Miina and Ilmari coming and going from crime scenes and exchanging goods and money. The latest one was from the museum heist.


"We have all of you, actually, should you be in doubt."


Photographs of Fjalarr, Aino and Áillun followed.


"Ah, of course. The shapeshifter." The taller man regarded Áillun curiously. "Aren't you a flighty little spirit, hm? Very thorough at covering your tracks. Not thorough enough, I'm afraid." He plucked the last remaining photograph out of the shorter man's hands and examined it. "I believe this to be the…Iednev of your tribe? Yes?" he showed Áillun the photograph. From this angle, Ilmari couldn't see it, but the look on Áillun's face gave him chills. "Your very own grandmother. Or is that adoptive grandmother?" He pretended to contemplate this. "The highest ranking individual, I believe? These Oajvvelane customs of yours are so strange, I can hardly be bothered to make the effort to understand."


"You've made your point," Áillun said. "Now shut your mouth."



[they should probably be a lot more scared, especially at the initial capture. Should the riot gear be replaced with men in suits? How dangerous is this group - should there maybe be a fight? Probably - more effective if one or two of them get injured during the capture. These kids would not just fold over and let themselves be abducted by shady people.]


***



The grey men were considerate enough to dump them by their second escape vehicle. Fjalarr searched it for bugs and trackers and came up empty, but none of them believed that meant there hadn't actually been any.


"We're not really going to do it, are we?" Miina asked, from Aino's lap. Aino was examining her head injury.


"I don't like it any more than you do," Ilmari told her.


"What I'd like to do is fuck those guys up," Aino said.


Fjalarr rubbed his face. "Even if we don't do it, and those grey fuckers keep their word and fuck us up, that's not even the worst of our worries. [BUYER OF PAINTINGS] will be on our asses if we don't deliver."


That ugly reminder was enough to plunge the car into silence. Áillun drove them back into town, only stopping once to switch car batteries and to get everyone coffee and breakfast buns. The buns, sweet and sticky with cinnamon and butter, did nothing to liven up the mood, but Ilmari felt better with something in his belly, at least.


They ditched the car by an s-train station on the outskirts of town, took the train into the city, and then [several?] cab back to the hotel.


Miina disappeared with Aino into their room. Áillun staked a claim on the bathroom. Fjalarr and Ilmari stared at each other for a while, unable to voice what they wanted, and in Ilmari's case, even decide what he wanted. Eventually, he shook his head minutely and went into his own room, alone. He listened by the door until he heard Fjalarr's footsteps lead away, and then his own door open and close.


What a fucking mess.






Chapter 5







So they drive back into town, and once everyone's slept and rested and fjalarr has called suvi in, and aino has pulled strings to get her brother into safety, they discuss the next step. Something along the lines of bluffing - appearing to do the job so they can get the grey men to hand over the paintings, while simultaneously planning to break in and retrieve them. This will go wrong - they won't succeed in getting the paintings, so the grey men kill Aino's brother (who wasn't as safe as Aino believed).


Aino is full of rage and shit and starts plotting some kind of downfall for the grey men (for kungsriket as a whole?) without telling the others, but it'll be obvious that she's planning something.


They break into the "pentagon" and pull it off, but due to fjalarr's MRIA connections the list they retrieve is a fake. (probably some of the agents are real but are Prepared, so when the grey men come for them they are Waiting.) They (except for ilmari) do not know this, the grey men do not know this, this they pull of pretty great, the novel is wrapping up, our kids are getting a happy ending or something


While breaking into the pentagon they "fall" over other intel, that they (fjalarr) steal. Probably this is related to Sker? Fjalarr takes the intel so he can give it to Sker - he is a child of both worlds, after all. This has some kind of repercussions or implied future repercussions idk man


Anyway after the pentagon job and the trade off and whatnot (only a few of them went to the meeting, aino and suvi were elsewhere, probably áillun, ilmari, miina and fjalarr went?), they return to find...the swedish king gagged and tied to a chair in their suite of apartments, suvi looking slightly guilty and aino pacing the room. THE END of the novel probably







Chapter 6








This is where Ilmari finds out Fjalarr works with the MRIA and feels BETRAYED and stops speaking to him unless it's for professional reasons because he sure does know how to be petty






Chapter 7


i don't know i just. don't fucking know





thief detective romance, 3k

Break In Scene (prequel-ish)



Lachlan's hearing aids run out of battery mid-break in, he nearly doesn't get away clean. This is the break in that lands on detective Leslie's desk in the morning.



"Junjun." Lachlan tried to whisper as quietly as he possibly could, mindful that he could set off the alarms. "I'm -"



"Shhh!" Junjun hissed into his ear. "Be quiet!"



Another series of soft beeps sounded in Lachlan's left ear. In about two seconds he'd lose sound on that side. "I'm running out of battery," he whispered. "Left side. Right side soon."



There was silence on the other end of the line. "Shit."



"I forgot to bring extra batteries," Lachlan whispered. He was perhaps panicking slightly; the safe was cracked so he didn't have to worry about not having hearing for that part of the job, but on the other hand not having his hearing meant making a clean and quiet exit would be nigh on impossible.



"Hurry up."



"I'm working as fast as I can!" Deaf on his left ear now, he taped the last of the pouches to his leg



New theft!


The new case connected to the old “I’m sure this stuff is all tied together” lands on Detective’s desk


Detective has noticed a Weird Pattern in crime - break ins and thefts of stolen items from criminals who stole them in the first place (or otherwise illegally acquired the items), the items turning up ~magically with the rightful owners (in some cases, the rightful owners being not the current "legal" owners, but i.e. grandchildren of jews who owned the art before it was stolen from them during ww2)


these thefts are often not reported because crime bosses don't report stolen items, but organised crime knows that these people should've been in possession of them, yet the items are mysteriously gone and the crime bosses are Mad


it's all very Weird and Detective is sure that one person or a small team is behind these mysterious thefts, and aims to catch them


THEN: a new case lands on his desk, another theft, another link to the master thief



Investigation turns up nothing


Victor comes across oddly admiring and also finds a handwritten note on his kitchen counter


investigation turns up nothing. Detective frustrates out loud to his partner/best buddy at the precinct, in the pub or at the scene or somewhere else public or semi-public, where thief is definitely Listening. it all comes across very Praising, almost admiring. "i'm telling you, it should not have been POSSIBLE, and yet it happened"


when he comes home that night, it's to find the stolen items sitting on his kitchen counter with a handwritten note taped to it




Victor gets another handwritten note


Analysis turns up nothing on the first note, the second note is very cheeky


analysis turns up no evidence on the items or the note. it is very frustrating.


Detective finds another note, this time on his desk. it says something along the lines of


"you didn't think i'd leave any clues for you to find, did you?" and is signed only with a 😉



First glimpse of Thief


Security cameras! Hooray!


"HOW DID THIS GET HERE," Detective bellows. everyone trips over themselves to find out. at last security cameras reveals that a young, dark haired man in roughly his late twenties just walked in and put it there. "HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN," some higher up cries. security is tightened. protocols are torn apart and put back together.



Victor meets Thief


He’s handcuffed to a drainage pipe with his own handcuffs: a new low in Victor’s life


Detective wants to be Prepared for next time thief strikes, so he attempts to compile a list of potential sites. he is somewhat stumped. he talks to experts from other departments bc one thing this thief's sites have in common is that they are not strictly one "area". he's as liable to steal art, as he is to empty money safes and take jewellery.


a museum is hit, Detective runs there and finds a number of paintings have been replaced with signs:


"this painting has been returned to its rightful owner, ms/mrs/mr __, who __, and __"


no signature.


at this site, Detective meets Thief, and thief handcuffs him to a drainage pipe or similar, with his own handcuffs. he is super flirty and doesn't hide his attraction to Detective at all. Detective is !!!



Victor more and more obsessed


Sketch of thief. Thief is maybe foreign?


Detective gets a sketch done of Thief. there's no match with facial recognition software. (the security cameras from the earlier stint in the precinct did not get a clear view of his face.) Detective thinks maybe he's foreign;


he spoke a little too perfectly, a little too neatly, very RP/no discernible accent


Detective is now some flavour of Obsessed. and Intrigued. Chris facepalms spiritually at it all. Detective requests to be given free reins to catch Thief/all other responsibilities pushed aside.


Victor stays late at the precinct


Thief stops by, handcuffs Victor to his desk with his own handcuffs: he just won’t stop hitting new lows


out of these


Thief leaves, Detective spends an hour getting out of the cuffs. Thief stole the keys.


He eventually goes home, pizza shows up. Delivery boy is Thief, but it's dark and he's wearing a cap.


Detective: i didn't order a pizza? thief: yes? we got an order through just-eat for this address. paid for by credit card.


Detective opens just-eat app on his phone and lo-and-behold there's an order for this very pizza right there. he blames it on exhaustion and takes the pizza and gives Thief a tip, maybe.


on the inside of the box is an envelope with his handcuff keys and a handwritten note.


"thought you might need these" signed "love"



thief visits detective in precinct late at night, handcuffs him to his own desk. It's cute and flirty and it takes detective an hour to get himself free. When he comes home he's annoyed and hungry and orders pizza, the delivery boy is thief in disguise. He's left the keys to the handcuffs inside an envelope with a snarky note, probably covered in heart shaped glittery stickers or something, taped to the inside lid of the pizza box. Detective calls his partner.



detective: HE DELIVERED ME A PIZZA


partner: ............


detective: AND -


detective: actually, i just realised that nothing that will come out of my mouth will sound sane


partner: you only just realised?


but chris is a Good partner so he comes over to Assess the Situation and promptly dies laughing when he sees the note


partner, still wheezing: we're going to have to file that with evidence


detective: but...


partner: don't tell me you were going to put it on your fridge


detective: WAS NOT.

(he totally was.)




Victor calls Chris


Also Thief starts texting Victor


Detective calls Chris. "HE WAS JUST HERE" and relays the evening's happenstances to him


chris: well he didn't technically do anything illegal did he


detective: YOU ARE NOT HELPING


chris: he's got a crush on you that's cute


detective: ...


chris: OH YOU ALSO HAVE A CRUSH ON HIM, THAT'S CUTE


in the morning, he takes the note into analysis and yet again it turns nothing up.


he is now also sure that he did not in fact order that pizza and that his phone must've been remotely hacked


also he starts getting texts from Thief, from an internet text service (not tied to a number),


and scrambled through several proxies and shit


the texts are cute stuff like "your hair looks nice today" and "chill i saw you at the coffeeshop this morning"


they escalate quickly to "come to this hotel room and let me suck you off"



Victor tries to capture Thief


At this point everything is just a new low for Victor


Detective goes to the hotel. he brings back up: he's going to catch Thief. (he is mildly conflicted, but also neither attracted enough or in love enough to let him Go). the room is empty! there's a note.


"i'm sorry to bail on your date, but i did not sign up for an orgy", no signature. or something else clever. Detective is Disappoint.


Chris facepalms, as usual. says something like "you could've just gone alone and let him bang you"


Detective: .... and or/NO I COULDN'T HAVE, CHRIS, HE IS A CRIMINAL AND A THIEF


chris: but he's exciting. you're into him. and you haven't been this happy at work, since, ever. just go for it man.


detective: i'm sure this is some form of treason


chris: well seeing as he returns every single item he's ever stolen, we can technically only charge him for


trespassing/breaking and entering. he'd be out in a few months, if that. he's not a hardened criminal. he's stealing from bad people. as far as thieves go, he's an honest one


detective: *THROWS UP HANDS* WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON ANYWAY


I KNOW WHICH SIDE I AM ON


IT IS THE LAW


chris: i am on the side of love


detective: jfc



Victor finds first fingerprint!!


VICTORY! Too bad it won’t last buddy


detective hopes thief will sooner or later make an actual mistake. given how many thefts he's doing atm it's possible. he's gone from one theft every few months to now doing one every month or every other week, and that kind of timeframe means he's in a hurry for some reason? or some other implication? but also means he can't have much time to carefully plan each heist, so sooner or later: mistake.


in the meantime, two more cases. thief approaches him at the scene of one of them, and drops the stolen item into his pocket. (classic bump-into-and-steal-wallet-move but in reverse). detective is !!! (the other item turns up in the museum it belonged to.) no evidence left at the scene, no information, nothing. nada. zilch.


the third scene: MISTAKE. there is a FINGERPRINT.


thief has not been texting or answering detective's texts.



Heist goes wrong


Victor gets another face-to-face! Victory! or…something


the fingerprint turns up nothing.


detective mopes. chris facepalms. detective does Not send texts. he also does Not re-order that pizza from that place that got him his keys back.


after about a week of nothing and the fingerprint being run in several different national and international databases without results, something Happens. a break-in at some big-wig business man's house is in progress. it's not Thief's typical target, but detective, chris and a number of police rush to the scene.


at scene, it is clear the thief is still in the house. detective manages to corner him at the back of the house (where thief entered, when cornered he'd go back the way he came and not through the planned exit?)


thief is shaking, crying, clearly very upset (dog died, best friend in hospital so he botched the alarms and security system, so ofc he's now getting caught and things are not going according to plan)


detective is baffled (chris says and does nothing), the other police are searching the house/whatever


thief gives detective the rubies and trafficking auction details, still crying, then runs off. chris lets him.


detective is !!!




"Detective,"


"Are you - are you crying?" Detective lowered his gun.


Sniffle. "No."


Detective glanced at Chris, who shrugged. "Sounds a lot like crying to me, to be honest."


The thief's shoulders shook, and another sniffle sounded in the night. "I have had a shit day! First, my dog dies this morning, then my best friend ends up in hospital and I've got to do this job alone and without backup, which, let me tell you, is not easy but I did it anyway because I had to and of course you're here-" the thief stepped out of the shadows and thrust a heavy little silk bag at Detective's chest, along with a large brown envelope- "because fuck my life, that's why. There you go. I was going to drop these off at the precinct all seductively, but I think I'd rather go to the hospital, if you don't mind."


Detective wordlessly took the bag and the envelope. "What -"


The thief's lip wobbled. "Those rubies were intended as payment for women. All information we could find on the trafficking ring and their next auction is in the envelope. I trust you know what to do with it."


And then, before Detective could register what'd just happened, the thief had melted into the shadows and vanished.


"Curse everything," he swore, running down the alley. No sign of him. When he returned, panting, Chris was lounging against their vehicle, unconcerned. "Why are you just standing there?"


Chris shrugged. "I must've been looking the other way when that evidence conveniently fell from the sky," he said.


Detective glared at him. "You are not helping."



Shit goes down with Thief info


Also Victor finds him at the hospital, they have a ~chat


they talk to matt in human trafficking and a big thing goes down, lots of people arrested, lots of women rescued (some just teenagers jesus), detective is ?!?! how did Thief KNOW, what even, this is crazy


he does use the information Thief gave him to track down a person in Thief's age range admitted to the hospital due to trauma or other sudden circumstances, and narrows it down, then goes to the hospital on the prowl


he finds Thief there, and tells him sorry about his dog and gets him coffee,


and they sit in silence and very little conversation


maybe they talk about the friend idk (car accident? other reason?)


detective definitely asks what the flirtiness is about


thief answers that he's for real attracted to detective and also has had fun messing with him.


feelings weren't meant to come into it, but detective has a really nice smile, did he know that?


they Kiss. detective asks for a name. he gets one, but doesn't know if it's real or whatever.



Victor runs alias


detective collects all the casefiles under the name thief gave him. he runs it against aliases and turns nothing up



Thief shows up at Victor's place


so much romantic tension, Victor is like DYING with how much he wants to kiss Thief and/or bury his face in his hair


thief shows up because he wants to talk to victor about a big thing that’s going down, and he wants victor’s help in preventing it. bring on the law enforcement! let’s pull of a big sting!



ALSO THERE IS SO MUCH TENSION BETWEEN THEM because at this point (though they haven’t said it out loud) they both ~know they’re in deep and victor is positively dying because he loves him so much / is falling so hard



prep for big sting


victor is so in love. he is heart eyes embodied. Chris laughs at him for thirteen years.


Lachlan (he’s officially going by that now) comes down to the office, there’s a big briefing and planning session, Lachlan is promised immunity or something (but not for past crimes? Idk)



victor is super duper in love and can’t take his eyes off him and also keeps bringing him coffee and/or other food items. also he is not shedding dust everywhere. chris zeroes in on this like a pro.



victor prolly starts worrying about lachlan’s partial immunity?



BIG STING GOES DOWN


Things go wrong!! They also go right but SOMEBODY GETS HURT


who gets hurt??? not lachlan - victor, probably? maybe chris ? they get the big bad probably though, and lachlan ~disappears after the sting



also, DURING THE STING, there was a confession of feelings or a kiss, or some other thing



victor recuperates


he is V SAD but then Lachlan shows up and he is V HAPPY



it’ll be a few months or weeks before lachlan shows up - victor recuperates, is off duty (but on desk duty) and testifies in court, ties up paperwork, etc. then one evening at home, he gets a pizza delivery from the just-eat place referenced earlier, and lachlan is the delivery boy??? victor probably just crushes him into a hug (it’s a little ouchy but he will still hug like a mama bear) and buries his nose in his hair or something



HFN at least, implied that there needs to be some more work/romancing/things to change before HEA



but



just maybe



lachlan gives victor his real name, or implies there is one and that victor will come to know it in due time





continued in wips part two.