A/n: I reposted ch. 19 to add this note--my flashdrive has recently died, this finicky piece of machinery being quite foolishly the only place I've been saving anything recently, and I lost the latest chapter for this as well as most of the one for In the Garden, along with several stories for a more urgent project and a large photo project for work. The last two have precedence (and nothing is more discouraging than rewriting something you've already written), so the updates for Doves and Garden are going to be pretty darn delayed. I'm not talking about years, but it will be at least a couple of weeks until I can get everything redone. Thanks for your patience. (I also fixed up the below chapter a little.)
When Szymon gets a slip of paper during class, reads it, hands it to the teacher, and leaves without a glance towards me, I admit to feeling a little irked. I wait a good few minutes before rising, giving the first excuse that comes to mind, and heading towards the main office building. Not all passes send students through the huge lobby, designed and decorated to impress visitors of all species and creeds, but many do and it is a good enough place as any to start. I feel that my guess is probably correct, judging from the guards that are standing casually by the entryway; they move to stop me, but another student interrupts them with a question, and I am able to quickly slip by.
Even cut close to his head, Szymon's brilliant hair is unmistakable, glowing like a beacon among the uniformed crowd clustered towards the back of the lobby. He seems to be surrounded by guards and I push towards them, rather confused and annoyed, until the red patch turns and I freeze. This man is not Szymon, although the resemblance is unmistakable, I notice, looking at what could be a fairly accurate picture of what the Pegasus might appear as in forty years or so—the hair I thought short-shorn is bound up in a complex quantity of braids that I truly doubt Szymon would ever don, however.
As the man's green eyes scan the assortment of weapons pointed his way and the people behind them, I feel as if a spotlight labeled 'unicorn' might be focused on my head, but his gaze somehow passes right over me. A familiar curse reaches my ears and I look to see Szymon break away from a secretary and head towards me in even, measured strides—the braided man must be his father, I realize, and feel a chill race through me. There is guilt, as well, for I doubt my boyfriend would be putting himself in this danger had I not been more accurate at observing who I was approaching.
Szymon's eyes flick towards me only briefly before he reaches the guards. They part to allow him through, and I stay silent, watching. "What do you want?" he snaps towards his father, and I don't think I've heard his voice so cold in years, since he demanded answers from a foolish unicorn boy laying in an alley.
"You're alive," the man breathes, taking a step forward; he is quickly stopped by a rifle and a sword, which he ignores. Szymon's eyes only narrow.
"Surprised?" he asks. "I apparently did something right if I was able to fool you." I notice his hands clench and I am almost overwhelmed with the need to go over to him, but I stay put, knowing that I can sorely upset things if I reveal myself.
His father gapes for a moment, then swallows visibly and says, "Do you think I ordered the attack on here? Even if you believed I would do such a thing, would it have made sense for me to kill my first-born colt on a rumor from jakz?" From Szymon's glare, I guess that jakz is probably not the most eloquent name for unicorns, but I am rather more interested in the topic than discussing the finer points of how to refer to one's most desired food. It is likely his father is telling the truth if he has such a low view of the believability of my people. I wonder if the messengers were killed, and if they killed Pegazi or not before they died.
"Pegazi certainly attacked the place," Szymon replies. "If you didn't, then who did?"
The man sighs, looking up at the illusion of gold-plaqued ceiling. "Pkengrl and his stallions didn't believe it was a rumor, and thought to curry favor from me by the unannounced attack. He was, I believe, a bit upset at the idea you'd choose a unicorn over his fillies."
I watch as my Pegasus takes a breath and holds it. "So you would have attacked, then, if you thought it was the truth, would have killed the... foals here to murder your son."
"No," his father replies sharply. "The students here would not have been involved. The matter would be between you and I. As for murder, well, if it were true... and it is, isn't it?" He looks towards Szymon, who gives no indication either way. "The traditional penalty for such a thing is death for your intended, not you, but if you truly felt for a unicorn mare then, well." The man's great shoulders lift in a shrug that I've seen many times on my boyfriend. "The IGPC has been breathing down our necks for years for our unicorn relations. I would declare it a sign, just as the unicorns have with your supposed child, and see how things go from there."
"It's true," says Szymon quietly, and his father closes his eyes and nods.
"Is it also true," he asks after a moment, "that you have a chestnut foal?" His voice is almost eagerly pleading, and Szymon seems almost hesitant as he shrugs.
"Who knows what rampant Pegazi might be listening for such information?" my boyfriend replies dryly. "Then there might be another attack, and the Inter-galaxy Police Commission won't be breathing down your neck, they'll be chewing on your guts." Several of the patiently waiting guards make faces at his statement while others only intensify their glares—even though Asher ended up not adding to the body count, three of our classmates were still killed. It will not easily be forgiven.
His father winces and sags against the weapons still directed his way, and I feel almost slightly sorry for him. I might be able to bring up more compassion for a grandfather's plight if our foal's life isn't possibly at stake. "I understand," he says quietly. "Would it be possible for me to see the girl, then, at least?"
Szymon opens his mouth and I can see him preparing to say that we still don't know exactly what gender our child is, then he pauses for another reason. "You all," he says to the guards, "can we talk in private? I swear to you that if I don't think I can handle the situation, I'll call you back." There are some brief murmurs among them, and then the men and women dissipate to wait around the edges of the lobby, looking attentive but politely away from us. When they are gone, Szymon turns back and says in a breath, "There is no girl."
The man's brow furrows somewhat as he frowns. "I don't..." he starts, then pauses. "Oh. I see." They stand in silence for a moment before Szymon's father unexpectedly grins, and again the resemblance between them comes clear. "Boy, when you decided to push things, you really don't half-hoof it, do you?"
"I guess not," Szymon replies with the faintest of smiles. "Com'ere, Dai." I move up to his side to become, I suspect, the first unicorn to be introduced on friendly terms to the commander of our greatest enemy. "Father, this is Daiei," he says, and I feel somewhat heartened by the note of pride I can hear in his voice, although it is possible he is just proud of being able to, as they say, stick it to his father.
"Well," the man says, turning his gaze my way, "I know you're not supposed to lie to unicorns, so I can't say I'm thrilled to meet you, but I doubt you're much happier to meet me." I nod. "If you do right by my son, then I suppose that's all I can ask for." He scratches his nose, then asks with a smile, "Does he still snore unbearably? None of his relatives could sleep in the same forest as him, come nightfall."
"He does," I say, as Szymon sputters and blushes. "But he is getting better."
"That's good to hear," he informs me, before looking back to his son with a more serious expression. "Szymon, since you were the one that was attacked, you have the right to call punishment against Pkengrl. What will it be?"
Szymon stays silent for a long time, watching me for most of it; I return his gaze quietly. "Death," he replies finally. "Or getting turned into the IGPC for trial, whatever they choose. It'll probably end the same way, but if any were forced into coming or something like that, they may get off."
"That's a rather low-chance thing," his father says dryly, "but if they want the choice, they've got it. Now, do you think your very smartly dressed weaponsmen will let me leave this place, or do I get locked up now?"
"You can probably go," replies Szymon, before adding on an apparent whim, "but I think Jezlenj would appreciate if you stopped in to see her, ask how her schoolwork is going and the like. And then, since we're not dead, I'd appreciate if you'd reinstate our attendance fees."
His father blinks, but says, "Yes, sure, sounds good." I shake my head to Szymon's look, asking me if I want to come along, and watch as they head out, hearing his father say as he touches Szymon's hair, "So, what fight did you lose, exactly?"
"A strange one," Szymon replies, and then they are out the door.
I retrace my steps for a bit, going back to the dorm building and, seeing Asher's door open, I step inside. He is leaned back in a chair, looking at a newspaper with a pen between his lips; Moren is, peculiarly, hanging upside-down from his bed to look over the vampire's shoulder. "I think three-across is 'tuna'," he says, and Asher nods and writes that down. I knock lightly on the wall and they both look over and smile, standing up and tumbling down, respectively.
"How are you doing?" Asher asks, and I nod to him.
"I should be asking that of you two, not you of me," I reply. They both assert that they are fine; it had been kind of touchy the last few days with our friends, since Asher still had had some of the poison left in his system and Moren had 'cured' him by taking much of it into himself. "Is Luana moving around yet?" Once the school had realized the poison stayed contained in the blood, as Asher's recovery had shown them, they had done a transfusion, and she woke up not long after the funeral.
Moren blushes darkly at my words, confusing me, and Asher chuckles. "Apparently," he says. "She found Moren's werewolf, too—he walked in on them, and, well, apparently Luana might not have been after Nyala to kill her." I don't quite understand, but nod and glance at the newspaper on the table. They appear to have been doing a crossword puzzle—all of the hints about celebrities have been filled in, as are any questions having to do with science.
"Do you know any of the other answers, Daiei?" Moren asks, and I scan the list before shaking my head.
"Szymon might know a few," I reply. "He's with his father right now, though." Both men stare at me. "Apparently, his dad isn't the one that attacked the school."
"And, uh, all is well?" says Asher, and I shrug and nod. "That's good, at least."
Then Asher remembers about some chips and dip he bought and we sit for a bit and snack, talking about whatever comes up. It is rather nice, listening to them and chewing chips; it had been so close, and while the thought of losing Asher for real is unimaginable, Moren has grown to mean a lot to all of us as well, and it would have been just as awful had he died. Now, they are lively and content—I have never seen the dark-haired boy smile as much as he is now, as he seems to glow from within, and Asher too seems more relaxed, watching Moren with evident joy.
I do notice that he goes out of the way not to mention any of his female well-wishers, but when they come up now and then, Moren doesn't seem to mind. I wonder if I would be annoyed if Szymon talked of past girlfriends, and decide that I wouldn't, not if he was looking at me with such an expression that Asher shoots towards his roommate whenever the other has his head turned away.
"Neither of you have had any alcohol, correct?" I ask, and Asher waves me away with a laugh, protesting innocence. As long as Moren doesn't take up drinking, I doubt Asher will have any until his system is in full working order again; my vampire friend tends to only drink for social reasons or when unduly stressed, and he looks as calm as he can be now.
"Oh, Daiei, Ameno asked if you would be watching your foal tonight, or if you wanted her and Jezlenj to continue to stay with her," Moren says. "I rather got the feeling that she wouldn't mind if you said the later." The girls, often seen with our red-coated daughter, have gained new-found popularity with the school, especially among those individuals who think the foal is adorable—which is nearly everyone, apparently. I nod, scooping up the last of the dip, and tell him that I will talk to her when I get the chance.
Asher has just risen to get more food when there is a knock at the door and he opens it, leaning out to talk to the people on the other side. I get a glimpse of red hair and bite down on my chip rather quickly, brushing the crumbs off when it takes exception and explodes. Moren glances at me before looking at the door as well as Asher steps back, letting Szymon and his father into the room. The older man nods at me before turning his gaze onto the vampire, who looks unsure of what to do.
"You must be Moren," he says, and receives a yes in reply. "I've heard that you're the one who saved the lives of my children."
Moren blushes and murmurs something about it being Szymon's idea, which draws a laugh from the man. "He didn't mention that," he says. "But I understand you were at least instrumental in it, so I believe thanks are in order. The Pegazi of Kzymig are in your debt—if you ask any boon we can grant, we will. Particularly if it requires no finesse," he adds, grinning to show off a mouthful of somewhat sharper-than-normal teeth for a human form.
"You're welcome," Moren says, appearing hopelessly embarrassed; Asher chuckles and punches the boy's shoulder lightly.
Szymon's father glances his way as well. "I've also heard that you've recently come back from the dead, Mr. Naibara. How's your mother holding up?" They chat, Asher having known the Pegasus well from visiting Szymon over breaks—Asher, I firmly believe, would befriend rocks if they would talk to him more often.
"Dai," Szymom says, coming over to my side with a grin, "don't you have class?" I blink, then pale.
"Today she was going over tomorrow's test," I say numbly, and he chuckles before I narrow my eyes and glare at him. "Aren't you missing class, as well?"
"Oh yeah," he replies. We both turn our heads and say simultaneously, "Asher?"
Some things never change.
--
For the fifth time in the last half-hour I have to look up from my homework over to Moren's bed, where the boy is sprawled out on his stomach, reading over a paper for class. He had complained of his hair getting in his face, so I had tossed him one of my rubberbands, and he currently has a short flower of a ponytail on the back of his head that makes him look sexier than it has any right to. The too-large pants he's wearing also make him look sexy, as does the white threadbare tee-shirt, and black socks with a hole in the heel of one of them. In fact, his breathing is sexy, as is the way he flips over to the next page of the essay.
I have a boyfriend, apparently, and I'm not so sure what to do about it.
While I've dated heavily in the past, I have had few actual relationships of the type that come with titles; Daiei calls everyone I've dated a girlfriend, and by that marker, I've had dozens, although I'd disagree. With each of the girls I've dated, -friend or not, however, I knew where I stood—they talked to me easily, so I knew their interests, their hopes and dreams, if they liked candlelight dinners or fast food or right-here-right-now, no food included. Where Moren is concerned, I feel lost in the dark. It is a desperate concern for me every waking and sleeping moment that he is kept happy and content, but I don't know how to make sure that happens. As it is, I've been scraping by because he is happy, but should he not be, I wouldn't have the first clue what to do.
It's almost exciting, in a very precarious way. If I brought him flowers to cheer him up, he might be offended that I was insinuating familiarity; if I offered him a quick shag in the park, something one of the girls I went with quite enjoyed, he might just be offended in general.
Speaking about shagging, we haven't so much as kissed since we got out of the healing wing a few days ago. For quite awhile, we had still felt too awful to move, then there was a load of homework from teachers behind schedule, then the foal needed watching, and so on. It's maddening. The world seems out to get me, at the moment.
This thought is rather sobering, and I look back at my homework with a frown. Someone is out to get someone, and it isn't me. The chocolates that had poisoned Lu and I had been ordered for Moren; my unabashed harpy guardian had taken upon herself to relieve him of a possible health risk, she claimed—and how true that was—and I hadn't wished to see good chocolate go to waste. I am, of course, glad that we had done so, but if Luana didn't have such a sweet tooth, the beautiful boy marking paper with a red pen might be on permanent vacation underground. I certainly didn't know that vampires couldn't completely die of poison, and I'm not sure I want to know why Moren knew it—I am really interested to know, however, if the poisoner did. It would have been ingenious, to poison the boy, wait until he was buried, then dig him up again for whatever purpose, kidnapping him when we would have never thought to look.
'Filth' shows through a rip in his shirt, and I can't help but shudder.
"Hey, Asher?" Moren calls over just as I've gone back to my homework again, and I look over towards the boy, who is watching his paper intently. "Are you mad at me?"
Confused, I set down my pencil, rising and going over to stand next to his boulder bed. "Not at all," I say. "Why do you ask?"
He is silent for a moment before lowering his head and murmuring, "Are you sure?" I swing myself onto the rock, reaching over to touch his cheek lightly, which draws his gray eyes my direction.
"Totally sure," I reply. "What's wrong?" His gaze darts back to his paper and I snatch it from his fingers gently, tossing it off the bed. I ignore his faint noise of complaint but do check to make sure it hasn't landed in any of the remnants of Szymon's lake. "Come on, tell me."
"Do you," he whispers, pausing to wet his lips, "do you still love me?" I resist the urge to gape in disbelief. Closed, mouth, stay closed.
"Of course," I say, reaching out to roll Moren onto his back. He looks up at me passively. "I love you," I tell him, and he thankfully relents and gives a small smile, shrugging out of my grip to sit up. He puts a hand under my chin and leans forward, lightly brushing his lips against mine in a kiss before drawing back to watch me. I can smell the nervousness on him, even if my nose isn't quite as fine as Moren's, and am just glad he can't read my thoughts—I want him happy, yes, but if he knew quite to the extent which I cared for him, things could get rather carried away.
"I, I've had people coming up to me all day with, ah, rumors regarding us," he says, glancing to the side and resorting back to his old expressionless embarrassed look, and I feel particularly annoyed with the school, if it causes him to feel like he has to hide his emotions again. "I wasn't sure if you'd be bothered by them or not."
I blink in surprise at that unbelievable statement, then laugh. "You're asking if I'm having second thoughts about you," I guess, and he nods. "Sorry," I reply, "but I don't think that's going to happen. You're stuck with me." I lean forward and kiss his nose, and Moren pulls back, covering his eyes with his hands. Gods, don't tell me that's upset him.
"Oh," he says in a small voice, then launches himself at me, knocking me onto the bed, and plants kisses all over my face. I laugh in relief, pretending to fend him off, and am treated with the sight of him beaming down my direction.
"Did you really sleep with Ms. Darston?" he asks, and I pause. There are certain things attractive people crouched over and kissing me shouldn't ask.
"Uh," I reply non-committedly, and Moren giggles, apparently not very upset at the idea, at least.
"She said as much at your funeral," he tells me, and I find myself blushing. Great. So that's what Jason and Orwell meant when they had said... ugh. "She said that she flunked you anyway."
"No, she just flunked that test," I correct before letting out a breath. His worries are going to make me paranoid. "Moren," I say, "are you having second thoughts? I'm sure she's not the only one that mentioned me in such a context, and... well. I would understand if you didn't want to be associated with someone of my reputation."
He tilts his head, dark hair sliding across his face, and several memos pop up in my mind informing me of certain things, like Moren's approximate position to mine, and how astoundingly beautiful his eyes are, and how he really should get proper knowledge of all of my feelings about him, explicitly and hopefully within the minute. "I would understand if you didn't want to be associated with someone of my reputation, but you don't seem to mind." He pauses. "Is it just because no one here knows it?"
"Moren," I start, then stop as he grins brightly—the jerk is teasing me. "I think not. You really don't mind?"
"No," he says. "Not really. But, um... when you bring a girl back here, could you let me know first so I don't walk in on anything?" My mind grinds to a halt, does a comical death scene, and drops off of a cliff. Unfortunately, I rather need it to respond to Moren, so sadly I do end up gaping at him despite my earlier best efforts. With my brain on absence, my body does a quick election for speaker, and, as I now have Moren pinned down into the blankets and his tongue rubbing against mine in a most electrifying manner, it seems that the winner wasn't my spleen.
"Why," I ask, nipping along his jaw, "do you," his neck, "think," his shoulder, "I would be," the N showing through the hole on the front of his shirt, "taking a girl," his stomach, "anywhere?" I pause to give him a chance to regain his breath enough to answer me.
"I forget?" he says hazily, and I smile. It's nice to know what effect I can have on people if I really try. Then he wraps one of his legs around mine and arches his back, and I'm not sure I know much of anything now, right, because my brain is on vacation—possibly, as he kisses my cheek and purrs, permanently. Forever. My homework might never get done, but on the other hand, if I drop out of school I could, say, move into his bed for the rest of my life.
Then he stops kissing me and says, "Um," and I groan and drop my head to his chest.
"Whatever it is, I don't care," I tell his shirt. "I don't care if my mother is standing in the doorway. I don't care if the room is on fire. I guess I care if you've suddenly decided that you hate me, but just let me give you some reasons not to first."
I can hear him laugh faintly and reach up to brush his hand down my back, and I grit my teeth and will him to talk faster. "No, it's just that... I'm a guy, Asher."
Comprehension dawns on me somewhat, and I sigh. "Even thought I am not quite as knowledgeable on the subject as I could be, I am still familiar with what guys can do in bed together. Honestly. I can demonstrate, if you'd like."
"That would be nice," he says quietly, "but it's not what I meant. Um. Basically, what I'm concerned about is that you're going to strip me and leave." Moren's ability to state exactly what he means in a confident tone always leaves me somewhat in awe, and this is no exception. For instance, I hadn't even considered the reverse of his statement, something that I realize now might have been in error. Moren's actions towards me have given me no reason to think that he doesn't like men, but neither have they been actions that actually involve copulation with one.
"Oh," I reply. "Actually." I pause. "I've seen you naked before," I say with a faint cringe, and he blinks up at me.
"When?" he asks, and I cringe further.
"In the shower last week," I say, adding quickly, "it was an accident. The door swung open."
Moren raises one dark brow with a skeptical expression. "Actually," he replies, "I lock the door while I take showers."
"Ah," I say. "Maybe you forgot? It's not important. You look fine. Really. What about me?"
His lovely eyes narrow before he pauses and frowns at my change in the conversation. "What about you?"
"Are you going to strip me and leave?" I ask, watching him with mild apprehension, and he regards me in silence for a moment.
Then he reaches up and twitches his fingers between my legs, and I suppose I have my answer to that question. He leans up to brush his tongue over my lips, and I reflect that perhaps, despite all odds, this week just might turn out okay.