Remnants of the Earth
EDANITH => Megacities => Tynova => Topic started by: Lion on June 23, 2017, 02:13:45 am
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[Open by Request]
If he had to look at that ugly motherfucker again, he'd put a bullet in his head. A thought that Glover could entertain but not enact. A dirty fingernail scratched at the indentations on the side of his head just beside the metal ports in his temples where his headband was meant to go.
Stupid Sandborne. Stupid dirty businessman that you clearly knew were rotten fucks, and they got away with it because they were too smart, too rich, or knew too many people in just the right places to get away with it.
Maybe to anyone else, it wasn't anything serious. Seeing his smug face, with that fucking pencil-thin mustache smirking smartly at him as he winked and had Glover escorted out of his office. Suspicion of mage trafficking... It was a crock of shit, and with nothing on him, their meeting was closed. He supposed the worst they did was knock the cigarette out of his mouth, but even then Glover did not appreciate the rough treatment.
His hand reached into his leather jacket, the worn brown already fading from the years. Fingers slipped around the grip of his gun, standard issue for a detective. And he was tempted to pull it out, aim upward, try his luck and see if the projectile would somehow smash through the 15th floor window and into Sandborne's head.
Glover stood there on that mid-level street, the rush of a car behind him making his spine quiver at the sensation of movement. No, he wasn't worth it. Nothing was, and instead he reached down to pick up the dirtied cigarette. With a flick and wipe against his shirt, he tucked it gingerly against the corner of his lips and ignited the light with his Hippo lighter, momentarily admiring the engraved animal on the back of it.
Another time and a million lightyears away. Or however that saying went. The lid silenced that flame and he wandered away from Mandir & Crowe, Law Associates, another tower amongst the rest of the towers that comprised the steel and glass spinal cord of Tynova.
A long drag through thin lips confirmed what Glover had been feeling most, and he needed a walk to cool off. Bright lights were blinding and in one blink, he went from glassy skyscrapers to older stone, brick and mortar, steam billowed up from grates in the ground. The world was a fucked up place, and folks were the same no matter where you went.
Let the right hand never know what the right was doing, and all that. The same story. He'd heard it before.
Somewhere along the way, Glover found himself wandering toward the rear of some strip club. Red lights glared beneath the bumping vibration of overhead speakers, and they switched to blues and green as he glanced up to see a dancer remove their top and slide closer to the pole they were favoring. His vision blurred and he ignored the heat it brought to his blood and the way his pulse quickened.
He wasn't here to have a good time. The one he was looking for was working out the back rooms. Marian was the name right? Right. If there was one person that would know something useful it was her. And if anything, she'd have something else to ease his mind.
Glover's meeting was short and to the point. And he was flopped out on a ratty cloth recliner that could use a bit more strips of duct tape to be held together properly. And he knocked back the pills and chased it down with a shot of rum. He fought the sensation to be sick, and he paid her with a slap of a hundred on her dresser. “So you got a lead?” he asked, sitting back up and observing her with those lazy, hooded eyes.
The sight of Marian was one to behold. Supple flesh, amber skin, and tits that could carve ice with how cold the room was right now. He grinned lazily and took another long drag from his cigarette, the orange glow of it igniting the harsh angles of his face, and the shadows under his eyes momentarily lightning.
“You really ought to get some sleep, Glover. I can arrange that for another 500,” Marian giggled, taking the money and folding it neatly before tucking it into her bra.
“I didn't come here for an expensive nap,” he hissed. “You now why I'm here.”
“To get stoned out of your head, and to know where you can find dirt on any schmucks that've made their way through my door. Tough luck, Glover,” she sniffed and sat before her vanity, tossing back that ebony hair. Glover had a mind to reach out and pull it back. He only imagined himself doing it. Hands weren't part of the deal. His hand hung loosely at his knee, but a shift in posture made it grip the inside of his thigh.
“So cut the shit,” he sighed, lips pursing and blowing out another cloud of gray.
“Nothing too interesting. Sorry, honey. But maybe next time. I'll keep a look out just for you” she said.
Fucking hell, as if that wasn't a waste of time. It was time he got back to his apartment anyway. Glover sighed and went out the back way, cutting through the alleyway and glancing up at the three moons above Tynova. The stars dotted that abyss and were burned into his retinas, and the high was only now just starting to kick in, and he felt the ground shifting in him in slow motion.
It was going to be a long walk back.
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There was going to be a murder.
Wil pinched the bridge of their nose as the soft, jaunty and utterly inoffensive tune continued to singsong in their ear. It was a mark of the waiting room music's volume that they could even hear it, what with the traffic whizzing by on their lefthand side and the typical din of the cityscape at large. The music broke, suddenly, and Wil's heart leapt just a fraction before--
'We're sorry! All our representatives are currently helping other customers! Your call is important to us--'
"AAUGH!" Quite a few other passersby stopped to stare as Wil brought their arm back and chucked the phone straight into traffic-- and action that they immediately regretted when several cars crushed the thing into dust. Okay. That had been dumb. That had been so, so dumb.
To be fair, Wil had hated that phone. Hated it! None of the buttons were buttons, the whole thing was just one tiny sliver of glass, and any phone you had to go digging around to find the actual phone function was, in their personal opinion, a pretty shitty goddamn excuse of a fucking phone! They were almost glad to be rid of the stupid thing, except on the coattails of their little tantrum, Wil also remembered how expensive that phone had been. And the contract they were still under for it. And the fact that now they were in the middle of the goddamn city with no means of getting into contact with anyone they had been previously attempting to get into contact with.
NAMELY! Their goddamn partner! Who had decided in his infinite wisdom to gallavant off and confront the target of their latest investigation all by himself, without any kind of consultation or planning or anything else that might have, you know, involved the person Glover was supposed to be working with. Wil took a deep breath in through their nose, and let it out through their mouth, doing this several times in the mouth of an alleyway in some desperate attempt to get their temper under control.
Today had just been... a very bad day. They had no idea where their favorite hat had went, it was a particularly cold ass day, their leads had gone absolutely nowhere and any attempts to come up with new ones had just hit a solid brick wall. Which was usually how it was with these rich types; if you had enough cash, anyone and everyone was willing to just look the other way.
And then Glover hadn't picked up the phone. Or answered any sort of text. Or anything of the sort. Leaving Wil with the glamorous task of trying to hunt the man down-- they'd tried calling the regular places, of course, and then the less regular places, and then, the even less regular places. They'd gotten surly waitresses, surlier bartenders, disconnected lines, what Wil was pretty sure was a strip club (which made something particularly ugly rear its head somewhere in Wil's chest), the works, but...
The worst was the automated systems. The menus upon menus, either via the dialpad or by voice activation-- and oh the voice activation ones were the worst. Wil hated those; somehow the terminology you used was never enough, never clear enough, or heaven forbid some taxi honked its horn just as you were trying to say something, and inevitably the SUPER PERKY and super NOT A REAL PERSON would be like
'I'm sorry! I didn't quite understand that! Please speak clearly to reach the department you are looking for!'
Wil could just see the robotic 8D face that piece of fucking software probably wore twenty four hours out of the day, and Wil wanted to punch its lights out. Over and over again.
That string of calls had lasted the past three hours. Wil's nerves were in shambles, much like their now utterly broken phone. There wasn't even a point in trying to collect the pieces anymore: car after car had passed, and now the whole thing was just powdered glass on the streets. Wil sighed, shoved their hands into their jacket pockets, and finally decided that enough was enough and they'd just go home--
Wil stopped in their tracks again, sighed loudly, and muttered the most vile string of curses they had the vocabulary for under their breath.
All this, and they'd not even though to check at Glover's apartment. Goddammit. And now they couldn't even call ahead to verify! Goddammit! Well done Wilhelm, very well done. Number one best detective! Sighing in resignation, Wil began what was going to be a very long trek, grumbling under their breath the whole while. Maybe they'd stop for some tea or something-- ooh, or steamed soy and honey. That always worked.
Though they couldn't promise they wouldn't dump the whole lot of it over Glover's head when they found him. Or maybe they could go back, scoop up the phone pieces, and dump those over Glover's head. All great options, in their opinion. They really hoped he was home though. Underneath all the seething rage there was starting to form a knot of genuine worry, and the darker the skies got the larger that knot became. He'd better be home. He had to be.
-
They had been waiting almost twenty minutes now and he could tell his attendant was getting very antsy. He understood it wasn't the best neighborhood, or the best apartment building to be waiting in the hallway of... the elevator had seemed like it might break down with just the two of them in it as well. He didn't want to go home though. Not without seeing his uncle.
It had been a bad night at his house. Arabelle was being mean, even if he had been a jerk to her first, and his parents were fighting. His dad had said some mean things too. Sevrin had tried to sneak out on his own but his attendant Circiel knew his tricks too well. She let him come though. She didn't try and stop him, she just came with him. Of course now she was getting annoyed.
Her employers basically expected her to do two things. Watch Sevrin and keep him safe. She had long since given up trying to discipline him or stop him from doing as he pleased, but sometimes his whims were really annoying and inconvenient. She totally sympathized with him wanting to get out of the house tonight, she was glad to be out of there too, but waiting outside his uncle's apartment was not a great alternative. Who knew when or if Glover would be home tonight? "Did you text him Sevrin?" She asked finally, breaking the awkward silence of the dimly lit hallway as she shifted against the wall.
Sevrin didn't want to answer her. If he told her that his uncle didn't answer his text she would probably suggest that they go home. He wasn't going home tonight. He just wasn't. He didn't want to go to his grandparents house either. That would just cause more fights. He just wanted to see his uncle. Uncle Glover was the only one who wasn't nice to him out of pity or simply because he was a mage prodigy and good at things. Uncle Glover had always been nice to him and had never treated him like he was broken. Uncle Glover was the only one he wanted to see tonight.
When Circiel got no response from Sevrin she sighed and held on to the handle bars on the back of his wheelchair, ready to override his control of it and wheel him out of this dreary place. "NO!" Came the shout of protest she was expecting. "No let me text him again! He probably just didn't hear the first message... he doesn't check his phone every five seconds like you!" Another sigh from Circiel, but she let go of the handle bars.
Hi uncle Glover are you going to be home soon? I really want to see you
He stared at the screen hoping for a response, looking between it and the direction of the elevators and stairwell. If he didn't answer soon he would plea with Circiel to let him call his uncle first.
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The faint buzzing of his phone went ignored and unheard inside his worn jacket pocket. His free hand reached up to pull down the little cap that belonged to his partner. It wasn't like Wil was going to miss it any time soon. He'd bring it back, set it on that little hook just behind the door, or tuck it into the drawer of the Mordecai's desk. They'd know that. Because if it wasn't on their head, where else would it be?
Glover fixed the small cap, and the scent of Wil's hair filled his nostrils, and the slow motion earth stilled in his vision. The detective grunted and closed his eyes, feeling his phone buzzing now, that sound becoming more and more annoying the longer it went off.
Nobody important ever contacted him anyway. Except.. Hm, well, maybe, he ought to check it.
Glover's gait jittered and he nearly toppled over as he tried to get a grip on that slippery piece of metal and glass. A Tsamtsun F7. Not the latest model, but still good for what it was worth. Black like his soul and the bright blue screen lit up the crevices of Glover's grim expression. He scowled at the glittering highlights. Black boots staggered.
Hi uncle Glover are you going to be home soon? I really want to see you
“What? The. Fuck.” he growled and gripped the phone until sound of the plastic lining around the phone threatened to crack. He frowned and ducked the phone back into his pocket. “No...Sev. Not tonight...not like this.”
“You going far with that nice little piece of tech?” someone behind him asked. Glover whirled around, feeling hands on his shoulder and gripping the collar of his shirt. He was already half-dizzied from the pills, his vision spinning as he saw that darkened face and the eyes that bored a fuchsia deep into his rose gold orbs. And the head that slammed like a truck into his face made him see stars!
“FOR FUCK'S SAKE!” Glover staggered, arm flying outward to catch onto a light post and when the red took his vision, he flung himself forward and tackled the other body to the pavement. They scuffled briefly, hands bloodying his lip and blackening his eye and even in the haze of his high the clarity brought by adrenaline made up for it immediately. The stranger's hands flailed up and snatched that cap right off his head, dirty blonde waves flying forward.
And Glover's eyes shot wide.
“Trying to rob me dickwad! That'll be the last fucking mistake you make,” he hissed through grit teeth and gripped the other man's hair, lifting his head and slamming it repeatedly into the ground. “That's NOT. YOUR. HAT!” Until the other body was still underneath him. Glover pulled himself to his feet, wiping the blood from his lip, snatching the cap up from unconscious bastard's dirty fingers. He wasn't dead, but the blood coming out his head might leave him with a real bad headache come morning. Glover picked up his phone, that had clattered to the ground in the scuffle.
“You know, I was having a really good fucking day,” he hissed, exhausted, double-vision focusing for a sec to reply to Sevrin. Hey, bud! Not home now, but I'm right on my way. Can't wait to see you! How'd you get there this time of night? NVM. You can tell me in person. -Love, Glover
He made the walk back his apartment in one piece. More or less. His knuckles was covered in blood, and as he approached the building and his wiped it on the dark side of his jeans. Glover's head was pounding, throbbing and he didn't want the kid to see him like this. Not when he got to see him as rarely as he did.
And as he came up, eyes refocused on someone else. Glover's eyes were hooded. Nothing new there, as they took in that familiar build, height and weight a blissful change. “'Sup buddo! Just getting in? Me too. Come on up, I can make us a cup o' joe,” he snorted, keeping his face angled away. The swelling around his eye was starting to show, as he chipped the entry code and stepped into the building.
-
Thank God for long legs.
The little detour to the nearest Tea-and-Leaf had been a mild distraction. Wil had calmed down somewhat in the time it took to stay in line and then explain what they had wanted of the people behind the counter. It was inevitably a bit of a struggle, all things considered, but after a bit a large cup of steamed soy milk doused in honey had been achieved. The first sip was heaven, such that Wil no longer felt anything of the cold when they stepped back outside.
There was just something about honey that set them at complete ease. They swore if they were ever left alone with a jar of the stuff they'd eat through the whole thing, which was probably a wildly accurate statement. Not that it was a theory that had ever been really tested.
But by the fifth sip, by the second block back on route to Glover's apartment, well. That nagging knot of worry had wormed its way back to the forefront of Wil's mind, and was now ringing every last stupid alarm bell they had in their brain. Nasty little images of Glover in some gutter somewhere came rapid fire, each one worse than the other, such that Wil had to stop considering the drink in their hand altogether and simply focus on getting to that apartment as soon as possible.
They were nearly running by the time they reached the last block before the apartment. Wil couldn't key in the code quick enough, grumbling to themself the whole time, and it was no small relief that they rounded the final hallway and saw a familiar faded leather jacket and-- was that their hat on his head?
Whatever relief there was to be felt at seeing Glover was not, in fact, murdered by mage-traffickers was soon replaced by Wil's old friend, Absolute Seething Rage.
"Hey!" They shouted, their pace increasing as terror-induced adrenaline was replaced by I'm-going-to-curb-stomp-you-into-next-week adrenaline, "Just what the hell is the big idea, Daniels! You maybe wanna answer your damn phone next time you decide to run off so I-- oh, hey."
What had been gearing up to be a wildly colorful rant was stopped almost immediately as Wil approached, and finally spotted the other pair that were presently in Glover's company. A woman Wil had never met, and then the tiny occupant of a really fancy-looking chair, a young boy with a sweet face and...
And with an unmistakeable family resemblance.
The eye color aside, it was like looking at Glover in miniature, though this kid did of course lack the general air of being a walking thunderstorm waiting to happen. Kind of went with the territory of still being a kid, Wil supposed, but still. The similarities were uncanny. Their eyes flicked back to the woman in their company, back to the kid, and then back to Glover, trying to piece together what was happening.
Did Glover have a kid? He didn't talk about family, ever, and just got grumpier when they were mentioned-- and for Glover, that was saying a lot. So was this woman...? A quick once-over, and that nasty little something of emotion that Wil had felt when calling a gentleman's club rose up again, though they tamped that down before it could reach their face. Wil instead turned their focus on the kid, their mouth curving into a beaming smile.
"Sorry, didn't realize you had company. Hi, I'm Wil, I work with-" the roulette wheel of potential relations ran through their head again. Maybe a way younger brother? There was just so many ways this could go, and all of them were awkward if Wil guessed wrong. "-With Glover down at the station."
They stuck their hand out for the boy to take, and very much did not do the same for the woman present. Entirely by accident, of course.
-
Sevrin had been looking at his phone, waiting, trying to come up with ways to bide his time if Circiel decided it was time to go again. He could still argue for a phone call but he knew his attendant was getting tired. And tired of him. He tapped his thumb against the side of his phone, the downtrodden pout on his face actually genuine for a change. Come on uncle Glover...
Circiel watched her charge, watched his face. Often she acted like some aloof bodyguard but she did care about the kid. She had been taking care of him for years and while she had given up trying to mother him, because that had blown up in her face, she still cared for him. That bullshit his parents pulled at home, fighting in front of the kids instead of settling the matter privately like civil adults. It was revolting. She often claimed she stayed because the pay was good- and it was, but despite all the grief he gave her she just couldn't leave Sevrin. He was as close to a son as she would ever have.
So when she saw him looking like this... it was heart wrenching even if it didn't show on her face. "Sevrin... why don't we get some ice cream and go crash in a hotel room for the night? We can arrange a visit with Glover for another time. As soon as possible. Ok?"
Ice cream and a hotel? It wasn't a terrible idea. It meant not having to go home. Somewhere he registered that Circiel was trying to be nice and find a better solution than waiting indefinitely in some hallway, but he was eight. As smart as he was, as talented as he was, he was still eight. "No! I just want uncle Glover! Just go if you don't want to stay! I don't need you I just want to see uncle Glover!" As if on cue his phone vibrated and there it was. The message he had been waiting for.
Hey, bud! Not home now, but I'm right on my way. Can't wait to see you! How'd you get there this time of night? NVM. You can tell me in person. -Love, Glover
He smiled and held the phone triumphantly up to Circiel's face. "See? He's coming! I told you! Just go already if you want. Uncle Glover will be here soon. We don't need you."
Circiel should have known a kind rational gesture would be met with stubborness and irrationality from an upset kid. But she tried. She was about to answer his outburst when the phone went off and Sevrin tried to shove it in her face, even though he couldn't reach that far. "...I'm not going anywhere Sevrin you can say that as much as you want but you are stuck with me." Well. At least till Glover got here. She looked down at her own phone and started to search for a cheap but relatively clean motel nearby. If she had been taking Sevrin somewhere she would have been looking for a nice hotel but for herself it just needed a bed really.
After a bit of staring towards down the hall finally someone was heading this way! Oh... two someones from the sounds of... more arguing. He frowned. Someone was yelling at uncle Glover. More yelling. More fighting. Did it just follow him? Maybe it was his fault. The person seemed pretty though he couldn't really tell if they were a man or a woman, and how could she (?) be mad at his uncle? Uncle Glover was great. The greatest person he knew. It didn't make sense. Now he just wanted to leave. He didn't even take the stranger's hand he just looked around him (?) to try and see his uncle. "Uncle Glover?" His voice cracked a bit and came out sounded far more sad than angry.
-
What otherwise might have been a blissful reunion, as ever, was ruined by Lambo's penchant to never take anything in stride. The seething coiling fire was met with the placid high that Glover had been hoping to achieve that night - unceremoniously crushed to fucking death by that would be mugger. His face betrayed nothing of the hollowed out feeling inside the cavernous hole that was his chest. Glover just gave them that stupid amused grin. Because something about being chewed out by Wil Lambert gave Glover a warm and fuzzy feeling all over.
Glover was right behind them, doing his best not to roll his eyes. It was nothing new, and he said nothing in response to it. As if there weren't more serious problems to deal with and when he was still behind their back, only then did Glover pull out his phone and check the long list of messages that Wilhelm clearly left him. All 437 of them. ... Wow, that must have been some kind of new record. The last time that happened, Glover was passed out in a back alley somewhere, missing a shoe and his shirt.
That had been a bad night. And one that Glover desperately wanted to forget. All ready he had a head start.
Eyelids scrunched tightly together when he heard that familiar voice echoing just around the corner. Oh that's right! Shit, Sevrin! Why now of all times? His vision was doubling and Glover reached a hand to the wall to steady himself, a deep breath, and he pulled out a rag from the inside of his jacket to wipe at his brow, cleaning his clammy face, the blood and trying to look less like the homeless bum he felt like.
Tucking the rag back, he finally appeared from around Lamb Chop's back. "Hey, buddy!"Glover beamed, and that warm fuzzy feeling came rushing back ten fold. His stomach clenched, seeing that all too familiar wheel chair, and the attendant behind him. "Thanks Circiel, for bringing him out here. I'm sure if he waited any longer though, you would have taken good care of him. And Sevrin Daniels would have been a good boy, and listened to someone that's just looking out for him, right?!"
The question was pointed, and maybe just a little accusatory. One look at that cute face though and Glover could only tilt his head and teeter in as gracefully as he could. He squatted in front of the kid and wrapped his arms around his small thin frame. "I'm glad you came by. You know I'm always happy to see you." The hug lasted longer than it should have mainly because Glover was having a hard time trying to pull himself back and maintaining his balance. His right arm steadied himself and he gave Sevrin a toothy grin.
Rose-gold eyes flicked up to his attendant. She didn't deserve any of the nastiness that Glover normally reserved for other members of the Daniels household. It wasn't her fault that she worked for fucking snakes. He pushed himself to his feet, forcing himself to focus and reaching out to take her hand. "Thanks, again. I can take care of him from here, if you want. You look like you need a break," he said. And remembered he hadn't come here alone.
Oh right, there was Wil. Waiting right behind him to rip his ear off and the cigarette out of his mouth. "Circiel, this is Wil Lambert. Y'know in case you weren't being completely rude, Sevrin. Lambo, this is my nephew. Now that's all settled, can we all just get out of the hallway?" It wasn't a question so much as an "I'm going inside to make some coffee if I can stand on my two feet long enough."
He opened the door and maneuvered behind the wheel chair to push Sevrin inside. Thank the fucking gods for that contraption. Because right now it was the only thing keeping him from falling flat on his face. "Oh, Circe, you're welcome to come inside. Have some coffee? You came all this way. Come on Wil, I think you need a drink too from the that look of placid calm on your brow." And he flashed a wide-spread grin and winked at them.
-
Big, dumb, stupid, wonderful grin aside, there was no real hiding a swollen cheek and stilted movements. And therein lay half the problem; every time Glover seemed to pull one of these stunts where he didn't answer the phone or any kind of message, it was never a good sign. Like that time in the alley, or whatever this latest mess meant.
It was like the man was trying to self destruct, or drive Wil absolutely insane, or a bit of both. Not that they had much chance to inquire what this latest escapade had entailed, because somehow Wil had a feeling it was not exactly the sort of conversation that should ever take place in front of a child.
At the very least, Glover was alive, not stabbed or shot to death in some dank alley for asking too many questions with too little backup. That was one missed opportunity for Murder, and one more opportunity gained for Cirrhosis of the Liver. Or Lung Cancer.
Wil rubbed at the bridge of their nose, before taking the last long swig from their now-thoroughly cooled soy drink. Glover finally introduced everyone, and suddenly Wil's demeanor became that much more genuine. Or at least not nearly so cold to who was apparently the boy's-- Sevrin's-- attendant. They gave Circiel a little smile, from one exhausted handler to another, and gestured for her to step inside first before following suit.
At Glover's comment about needing a drink, Wil just cocked one eyebrow right upwards, leveling a "placidly calm" stare at Glover to let him know that their previous conversation was far, far from over. But it could wait, especially with that shiner blooming over Glover's face, and the fact that there were now witnesses.
"You sit down," they said, once they were inside and had removed their jacket, hanging it up by the doorway as was custom. After all, this was Glover's nephew, he and Sevrin deserved some quality time. It... somehow didn't seem like they got much of it. "I'll get the coffee."
Wil made their way into the kitchen, pulled out a couple mugs that weren't too awful, and quick washed the few that were still in the sink while the coffee dripped. That just left the question of what there was that Sevrin could drink. Not that there was much-- liquor, beer, one quart of milk. It took a bit of digging through the cupboards before Wil found the remnants of what might have once been a spice rack, most of it never used or otherwise never refilled. Still, there was cinnamon, and there was milk, and there was sugar. Wil could work with that.
After a few minutes, Wil left the kitchen, setting down four mugs on the coffee table and tossing a plastic baggie of ice into Glover's lap, with some quiet flippant comment about how Glover should really stop running into lampposts.
-
There was a right damn lack of correlation between that fancy wheelchair and the rather unkempt state of Glover's apartment. It wasn't that it was a right mess, but...fuck it, it was a mess. Two bedrooms, nothing fancy, and certainly exemplative of what he could afford on a detective's salary. The neighborhood wasn't all bad, but it certainly lent water to the fact that Glover didn't want Sevrin hanging around here by himself in the middle of the night. Even inside the building.
One of the few moments Glover's timing couldn't have been more impeccable. A feat he might have been more conscious of managing in his younger days. Now though, at best, it was a fluke.
The state of the apartment definitely could use some TLC. And once they were inside, he shifted around so that he could help Sevrin out of that fancy chair - a shining example of the wealth the Daniels family had - and hoisted him up into his arms and gently transferred him to the sofa. "Okay there, bud. You're getting heavy! Geeze, you eating all your fruits and veggies? Because at the rate you're growing I don't know if I'll be able to carry you anymore. Heck, i'll certainly try though," he chuckled.
His eyes carefully flicked between his nephew and his partner and Circiel that was awkwardly standing by the chair. Oh he knew that look, seen it many many times before. Yeah, it was an argument, however, that could wait. For now, he pulled Sevrin in for another hug and ruffled the kid's hair.
Oh...right the ice. Glover plucked at the bag and pressed it gingerly to the developing shiner. The ice was heaven against his warm face, and he hadn't realized how flush he really was compared to his usual pallor. Glover sighed and snorted. "Don't mind, Lamb Chop. They're used to me being all clumsy as all hell..."
Circiel cleared her throat and gave Glover huge eyes.
"Sorry. Heck." And stuck his tongue out at her. Telling him how he could talk to his own nephew. Besides it wasn't like he kid hadn't heard worse coming from his own parents. And Arabelle...don't even get him started on that brat. Then again, it probably wasn't her fault she had such a bad attitude. Glover was still a Daniels, no matter how much he wished he wasn't.
"Sevrin, you know I'm going to ask you. So I want you to answer honestly. What are you doing here so late?" Glover murmured, reaching for that coffee, black and enticing, and he met Wil's gaze momentarily as if to express a wordless thank you.
-
Sevrin was glad for the hug but uncle Glover seemed a little off. Like he had too much sugar and was on the down slope of the rush of energy that followed. Or like when you have a fever and are kinda loopy. His face was all banged up like he fell too. Sevrin frowned a bit and was about to ask if his uncle was ok when he got admonished for misbehaving, introduced to this Will guy (?), Will was a guys name right??? And then soon found himself being rolled inside, the wheel chair automatically reading Glover's fingerprints allowing him to wheel the kid inside. It was indeed a fancy high tech wheelchair, probably worth more than anything in Glover's apartment.
"You walked into a lamp post uncle Glover? Are you ok?" He asked, no longer that upset about the arguing in the hall. Uncle Glover was hurt after all.
Once inside Glover picked him up and put him on the couch without a fuss and Circiel was both annoyed and envious of that. The kid fought her at every turn when she had to pick him up or help him out of the chair. She didn't throw him under the bus now though. She quietly thanked Glover for inviting her in and took a seat, making no fuss about mess or decor. Just because she lived in the Daniel's home now didn't mean she was a snob. She understood all too well not everyone could live in a picture perfect estate, or even house, or apartment. Sometimes shit was just a mess. The slip up by Glover earned a look more because she was trying to teach Sevrin manners so she had to consistently enforce stuff around him than her actually caring about the word usage. She wasn't really that much of a hard ass but Sev was getting to that age where 'because I'm an adult and you are a kid' meant nothing to him. She smiled a tired but genuine smile at Wil and thanked the other for the coffee, before turning to look at Sevrin while the boy explained their late little visit.
"I wanted to see you... I drew you a picture, its in my chair. Circiel can you please get it for me?" He asked nicely because uncle Glover was here. Circiel got up and opened the bag attached to the back of Sevrin's wheelchair, wondering if the kid was going to bring up the real reason they left the house tonight, but she didn't say anything about it and just handed the folder with his art work to Sevrin before taking her seat again.
Sevrin smiled a bit and pulled out a drawing he had made with his new drawing kid. It was a picture of Glover and him and a house and some trees. It was good. More like something a twelve year old drew than an eight year old. He had some artistic promise if he practiced... even if his dad thought it was a stupid waste of time. Especially for a talented mage. He handed the picture to his uncle, hoping to be praised instead of over looked. He was good at so many other things... exceptionally good, scary good for his age, that no one cared about his drawings. And it was the one thing he actually enjoyed doing. "See? It's us."
-
It was genuinely heartwarming to see Glover be so doting with Sevrin. It was heartwarming seeing him be so doting with anything that wasn't a carton of cigarettes, but there was something a little more so to see him be so good with the kid, to see how genuinely the two seemed to care for one another. Wil couldn't remember ever being this close with any aunts or uncles, and the way Glover gave all his attention to his nephew, well. Wil wasn't sure they'd ever seen Glover act this way with... literally anyone. It was sweet.
They sipped at their own mug of coffee, perching on the armrest of Glover's chair and more than grateful for that opportunity. You never quite realized just how much you'd run around the city until you finally sat down, and today had involved a lot of footwork. Wil rotated their ankles a bit, taking another swig of coffee-- more cream and sugar than coffee, really-- and seemed perfectly content to just sit back and watch uncle and nephew interact. It was just too cute not to.
They leaned forward in curiousity at what kind of drawing would pull an eight year old and their caretaker out of the house so late into the evening and into such a... neighborhood as this. And almost immediately their face split into a wide grin, dark gaze flicking over the entirety of the picture before settling on the rendition of them both. It was an amazing likeness-- there was absolutely no mistaking who either of them were meant to be, right down to Glover's almost constant grumpy aura-- even if this tiny little drawing version of him happened to be smiling at the time.
"Ohh, look at that. You even got his cowlick right, that's amazing. Did you have a photo or did you do all this from memory?"
Once again, the same sense of overfondness filled them, that wonderful warming sensation settling in their chest and growing by the minute. Okay, so maybe this was almost something to trek all the way to this neighborhood over-- Wil snuck a glance to the side at Glover, as if trying to catch the man looking just as pleased as his little drawn self. Which, of course, might have been like hoping to spy a unicorn, but a person was allowed their dreams, after all.
-
It took a certain degree of 'hard-ass'ery to put up with Sevrin's antics. If anyone knew that it was Glover. Even if the kid was prone to good behavior when he was around, he couldn't help but see a younger version of himself in Sevrin. That both sent his belly afloat and gave Glover a soured feeling just watching the boy pull out his little piece of paper and the artwork that was displayed across it.
Such a simple piece, and the ice against his face momentarily slipped. His lip quivered and Glover had to tuck it into his lips in order to keep it still. The throbbing was forgotten. The coffee as well, when he saw that drawing and he sucked in a deep breath. "You did this all by yourself? Wow!" he said, voice low as he displayed the drawing for the rest of them to see.
"See how talented my nephew is?! Look at this! What a bloody damn good artist you are, Sevrin. You keep this up and we'll have to put your work in museums all around Tynova. I know I'm for sure going to hang this up right here in this apartment. Gonna frame it and everything," he declared proudly and even let his free hand gently touch the yellow crayon used to color his hair. "Cowlick!? Hey! I do not have a cowlick."
A temporary distraction from looking over Sevrin's work, and he squinted accusatory eyes at Wil. Of course Lamb Chop would have something smart to say. Glover leaned back against the couch and gently closed the folder, tucking the drawing back inside. He didn't want the thing to get ruined now, and the ice baggie was starting to drip with water now.
"Isn't my nephew amazing, Wil? He's just full of surprises," he beamed, feeling nothing short of pride swelling in his chest. He leaned his head against the boy's just smiling and letting the heat rush back to his face from the motion. All this way? To show him a drawing. Seemed like a damn good reason to him.
"Sev, bud. You're one dedicated artist that's for sure. I'm glad you showed this to me. I don't think I would have wanted to wait until morning either. But Sevrin...it is pretty late though, aren't you tired? I mean, look at Circiel. She looks like she's been dragged underneath a fence and through muddy waters to get here. No offense."
-
Sevrin was beaming proudly. "I drew it from memory." He said to Wil and his uncle leaned against him and praised him. They both praised him. Sevrin decided that this Wil lady (?) was nice after all.
Circiel had said she liked it too but Circiel didn't count. Uncle Glover and this stranger did though. Mostly uncle Glover. "See? That's a house for us to live in." He explained to his uncle pointing at the picture and smiling as it was put away for safe keeping. His uncle was going to frame it and hang it up! He didn't voice that he wanted to be an artist though. Because it was dumb and he was a mage so he couldn't be an artist, he had to be a mage and do some typical mage job. But uncle Glover didn't have a typical mage job, cause he was a special kind of mage too.
When his uncle mentioned it being late and Circiel looking beat, Sevrin hid his face against Glover's arm and hugged it tight, as if to say 'I'm not leaving' without saying it.
When nothing else was said by the kid Circiel paused in drinking her coffee and frowned a little looking between Glover and Wil. She sensed their visit had interrupted something happening between the two and didn't for a second believe the lamp post story like Sevrin did, but she wasn't about to pry into a the business of two detectives. As a bodyguard herself she understood. Of course part of her appeal to her employers was that she didn't look like a bodyguard despite her skill. "There were some...disturbances at the Daniel's estate tonight. He doesn't want to go home. He just wanted to come here." She explained since Sevrin wouldn't.
-
At the mention of the house being specifically there for Sevrin and Glover to live in, Wil just about lost their mind. That was so adorable, so wonderfully adorable and yet... utterly heartbreaking at the same time. What with what the caretaker-- Circiel-- was saying about "disturbances", Wil could only imagine what would make a kid want to run away with their uncle. It certainly didn't sound like much of a place for a small child to be, and more and more that imaginary house for just he and his uncle sounded better by the minute.
That tiny face disappeared against Glover's arm, and Wil's heart was fit to melt right out of their chest, every last paternal instinct going berserk as they finished their coffee and set the mug down on the table. They chewed at their lip, thinking for a moment, weighing the options before deciding to hell with any kind of propriety, they were just going to blaze ahead with the idea.
"...Maybe he could spend the night?" Wil began, quietly, looking to Glover first seeing as it was, in fact, his apartment. He'd have the final say, though for Wil's part, well, they were prepared to make every effort to see that the idea was agreed upon. Up to and including unleashing puppy eyes if necessary. "I mean, it couldn't hurt matters, it's already dark... We could take over for the night."
It was subtle, very subtle, but the implications still remained. "He" could spend the night, "we" could take over. Even if Circiel had proven to be simply Sevrin's caretaker, that didn't mean Wil had to like her being around longer than necessary. And with everyone looking so exhausted, "necessary" was becoming quite the bold line. Besides, having both Sevrin, and Wil, and Glover, and Circiel trying to share this apartment did not seem like it would do anyone any kind of favors. The sleeping arrangements alone were not somewhere Wil wanted to let their mind linger.
"I sure wouldn't mind seeing more of your drawings," they offered, specifically to Sevrin, smiling at how that tiny frame curled into the other detective's side. Too cute.
-
Lamp post. Shmamp post.
It was a cover story that while meant more for Sevrin than Circiel, was one even Glover couldn't buy at the time. And he was in a position to buy just about anything that anyone was selling. The only commodity present in that room - other than the good ol' fashioned talkin' to that awaited him the first chance Wil and he were alone - was the fact that Sevrin was buried rather deeply against Glover's arm.
His belly lurched, and that jolt made a soft noise erupt from him, blonde hair falling forward and he turned his face into Sevrin's. Something smelled like peach jam. Oh wait, that was just Sevrin's shampoo. Damn Daniels and their luxurious scents. It was better than alcohol and cigarettes that was for sure. Marian at the Red Randy certainly made it smell fucking amazing though.
Peach jam. Yes, it was preferable.
Glover was chewing on his lip when Circiel mentioned 'disturbances.' He didn't even dare repeat the word. Because he knew damn well just what they meant. The lurching in his stomach twisted and the clarity that came when beating that mugger's head into the pavement returned, he found his arm tightening around Sevrin's small frame, and he buried his face into the kid's hair. Damn Evangeline. Damn that fucking Freddie!
Freddie could ban him from his household all he wanted - Glover would rather visit when he wasn't there anyway - but he couldn't keep the kid hostage in his own home! Glover was glad he was here and that little warmth of anger melted away. Momentarily. Really, it was just stored away into a compartment he reserved for reasons to hate stupid fucking Freddie and his stupid fucking rules.
He perked up at Wil's suggestion, tilting his head to them and nodding. "You're staying the night," he replied, voice affirmative, with just a lilt of anger behind it. A swallow of the rest of that coffee shoved it right down. "I'd love to have you spend the night at your good ol' uncle's. You can even have my bed if you want." However, Wil's emphasis with "We" and "He" were momentarily lost on Glover.
When did Wil grow two heads? Glover blinked hard to combine the doubled vision, and he sniffed, giving them another stupid grin. His arms were still firmly held around Sevrin, planting a kiss to his forehead. "Aww, well, if you're tired, Circiel, you can go. I love having Sevrin here. He'll be fine! You have my number if you need anything, okay? But can crash on my couch if you want. I don't mind. Plenty of room. Whichever you decide. I'll uh...take care of the dishes."
Yeah, that'll do it. And give Glover a chance to wash his burning face. Careful prying freed him from Sevrin's grasp, and he tapped where he was sitting with the boy. "Show Lambo your other drawings, Sevrin! He's amazing! Really!"
Maybe it was bit too much over-enthusiasm, however much the comments were genuine. Glover plucked up the cup of milk and cinnamon and handed it to Sevrin, who didn't seem to have a chance to enjoy it before the other mugs were collected by their handles and Glover made it to the sink without breaking any of them.
Glover: 1. Mugs: 0.
-
Sevrin hugged his uncle tighter when he said he could stay tonight. Wil had suggested it. He definitely liked them now. Yes, this one was good. This... ok was Wil a guy or girl? He took his drink when his uncle gave it to him and inhaled the warmth and aroma... it smelled good. What was it? He took a sip. Oh. Oh it was really good.
Circiel could barely believe that this attractive stranger was threatened by her. It was almost too ridiculous to be true, but her senses had never failed her and the way Wil wanted her gone. It reeked of jealousy. It was amusing though, some how complimentary in the strangest of ways. When Glover decided Sevrin could stay and then off handedly offered to let her stay she stood. "No I am going to get a motel in the area. Please call me if you need anything, and let me know when you need me to collect him. I will also keep you updated on any messages I receive." Meaning if his parents actually worried about where their son went. Though they would more than likely message Sevrin directly then.
"Bye Glover, Sevrin be good for your uncle and his partner ok?" She said before turning to Wil and extending her hand. "It was nice to meet you." She said and then softer, "You have absolutely nothing to worry about. Trust me." So that only Wil could really hear. And then left with a tired smile. Man was she going to be glad to just rest tonight. Hopefully Glover could keep Sevrin for most of the morning too. She considered texting her employers but past experience said it was better not to. By now hopefully they had retired to separate ends of the estate and texting each other was like trying to disarm a bomb in a three alarm fire. Pointless and just looking to get caught in the explosion.
They probably had no idea she and Sevrin had left, and only gave a shit if he was physically hurt or dead. Appearances. Fucking parents of the year.
Sevrin was happily drinking his beverage and picked up his folder with his drawings so he could show Wil, smiling big at them now that he was staying and has something sweet and warm in his tummy. "Wanna see mr- ms..." He frowned a little. "Are you a guy or a girl?"
-
Wil hoped that their utter delight upon learning that Circiel was intending to get a motel room didn't quite show on their face. Or at least, didn't show nearly as hard as they were feeling it. Because they were utterly, utterly delighted to know that she would not be spending the night. When Glover had initially suggested that Circiel crash on the couch they nearly snapped out of their goddamn mind-- completely irrationally, of course, and they'd have certainly felt bad about it in the morning but...
Sometimes their emotions got the better of them and it took some serious effort to keep those emotions in check. Such as the emotions labelled "I swear to the gods I see one single handprint I will rip this building apart and throw it into space". Those were a little harder to hold back some days. Luckily for everyone involved, though, whatever fuse there might have been was nipped in the bud, and Circiel stuck her hand out for Wil to shake.
Which Wil did, with a smile in return but one more of relief than anything. "I'd uh, give you my number to call, but my phone ah, broke earlier. I'll make sure Glover keeps his on, just in case."
They were not about to go into any sort of detail about how their phone was broken because they threw the damn thing into traffic. Nope. That would be between Wil, those random pedestrians, and the gods.
Also, they might have been a little busy being embarrassed that Circiel seemed to have caught onto their little 'game' and had actually went out of her way to reassure them. Okay, that was totally humiliating, like good lord Lambert, you're meant to be an officer, not some kid having a tantrum. Somewhere in the future Wil owed her some kind of a proper apology. And maybe a cupcake.
Wil returned to the couch once they'd shown Circiel out, and sat down where Glover had once been so Sevrin could show them more drawings. They blinked in surprise at the question, before laughing softly and making a wishy-washy kind of motion with their hand.
"It changes a lot. You can just call me Wil, you don't have to worry about 'mister' or 'miss'." Normally this sort of question would have them rolling their eyes and making some sarcastic comment or another, but with kids it was always different. Plus, Sevrin seemed so sweet, Wil had a hard time even considering that he'd have a mean bone in his tiny body. "So, you want to be an artist? Professionally, I mean?"
-
Somewhere in the back of Glover's mind, he wished Circiel did stay. Not for any direct purpose other than to serve as a buffer for the shit storm that was awaiting him about the missed calls and messages - all 437 of them. Gods! Did he just not hear his phone go off? Glover knew that deep down he must have heard it and simply chose not to answer. Because he was too busy storming into an office building under the premise of getting Sandborne.
Just getting him to do....anything. Confess his connection to being a slimy mage trafficker, to get scared that the walls were closing in on him, to do him a favor and throw Glover Daniels out a fucking skyscraper window and finally end it all. It'd save him the bullet that was for sure. His palms were clammy, gripping onto that kitchen sink, and the cool metal making him gasp. A brief intake of breath, and he flipped the faucet on.
Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe he could still catch Circiel by the door. Maybe -
CLICK!
"Fuck," he whispered softly, the sound of running water thankfully drowning him out. Somewhere in the background he could hear Wil and Sevrin speaking. Good. At least Sevrin would be a minor distraction. There would always be time to rip Glover's head off, but not with his nephew in the room. That would have to wait until after the little kid was already asleep. And he wondered if he'd eaten anything... Probably, but he didn't want Sevrin to go to bed on an empty stomach. And when was the last time they actually had a meal together?
Glover quietly washed the dishes, dampening his face by the end of it, water dripping down his nose and mug, just listening to them talk and put the cups away. Checking the fridge proved...disappoint ing. Come to think of it, he was hungry too. And needed a smoke. Later though, on the fire escape. Oh...
"Leftover noodles and baloney, yes," he whispered and within seconds he had a pan going with some oil and threw in chopped up pieces of baloney and fried noodles - which were now being double fried - and sauteed them for a few minutes. Keeping everything in the pan was harder than he thought, Glover cackling at the few pieces that flew out of the sheet of metal.
"Okay Sevrin! I hope you're hungry. Because if you're not, I'm going to have to eat this all by myself," he announced, serving it steaming hot on a clean plate. The only plate that wasn't chipped or had half the design scraped off, or was old beat up plastic tupperware that now served as petri dishes for new alien lifeforms in the back of his fridge.
This plate in particular was a ceremonial one after graduating from the police academy. And had the Tynova P.D. emblem emblazoned on it. Ugh, why did he even keep this plate? Glover served the food on the coffee table, pulling it forward and following suit with his own plate and one for Wil. He eyed his partner, squinting eyes into their doe-eyed browns. Stupid Lamb Chop and those stupid eyes. Stupid, stupid. That look of course was meant less for Glover to be lost in them and more like "You're gonna eat this food. Because I made it it for you. And it's delicious."
-
It changes? Was Wil an alien? Or a fairy? Probably a fairy... he wondered if he.. she- they had wings... he would have to look later. But he was pretty sure the answer was yes. He pulled out some of his favorite pictures. Wil was actually really nice. Then again they worked with uncle Glover so they better be.
"Ok, just Wil then... but you have to tell Circiel that its ok so I'm not in trouble for being rude." He said scrunching up his lips a bit. He had gotten in trouble more for being a brat to the maid than not calling her Ms Alyssar. But that was what he had taken from it.
When Wil asked if he wanted to be a professional artist he beamed... for all of two seconds. "I can't be an artist. Its a stupid waste of time and not a job for mages." He muttered softly. And then luckily uncle Glover came with food! He had eaten some earlier but lost his appetite due to the fighting and didn't even finish it.
He wasn't sure what this food was supposed to be but it smelled yummy... like that drink that he didn't know what was. He had another big sip of it and then took his plate, pushing the food around a little bit with his fork before trying it. It was yummy. "Thank you uncle Glover. This is really good!" Uncle Glover was the best at everything.
-
The sound of cackling and something being fried was not a good sign. Somewhere, Wil began to wonder if Glover was concussed. Or drunk. Or both. Still, nothing seemed to be on fire just yet, and almost immediately Wil's attention was pulled back onto Sevrin, just in time to see his little nose wrinkle. Oh, okay, that was too cute. Wil couldn't help a laugh, shaking their head in reassurance.
"Don't worry, I'll make sure no one yells at you for it. I'll even put it in writing, yeah? So you can just pull our your badge. Like your uncle!" they winked down at the kid, figuring that would certainly be something he'd enjoy.
Wil's own smile faded by quite a bit when Sevrin explained just why he could never be an artist. It was an unfortunate circumstance, but a true one-- there wasn't much room for what you wanted to do when magic was involved. It all boiled down to what you had to do. It was what it was, but still... it was a shame to see the effects of such things on someone so young. Wil tried to remember back to when they were Sevrin's age, and what they had wanted to do when they grew up-- but try as they might, they couldn't remember. Had it been ballet? That didn't seem right...
About to open their mouth and try to say something comforting, Wil was again distracted, this time by Glover returning with a mix-match of dishware filled with... something that had something to do with noodles. Catching Glover's eye, Wil was under the distinct impression that they had absolutely zero choice in the matter of actually eating it. Not that Wil could possibly misunderstand; it was hard to look away from Glover's eyes on the best of days, and the days where he was doing The Staredown-- forget it. They picked up their fork, and chanced a glance to the side where Sevrin was already eating.
Kids were picky eaters, right? If Sevrin was eating it and liked it, it had to be pretty decent, right?
Though Wil had read somewhere that your taste buds change drastically over the course of your life, so maybe that was just eight year old tastes talking. Wil took a careful bite, didn't immediately die, and took another. Okay. Okay, for being basically old noodles and... what looked like some kind of cut up lunch meat, it wasn't bad.
"You're right, he's really good." they said, finally, gesturing to Sevrin's picture folder. "Better get a damn good frame, that picture's going to be valuable when Sevrin starts filling out museum exhibits."
-
It was too late to be eating like this, and the grease from the pan was still shiny on the plate. Yet at the sound of no protests when to came to his vulture chef cuisine, it confirmed the fact that it wasn't completely repulsive. Oh good, because the thought of eating anything else with whatever pills those were he knocked back at Marian's was going to make him pass out in a pile of sick right there on the carpet. But noodles and baloney, he could handle that. In tiny tiny bites.
Glover coughed, scooping up another bite and feeling his throat all scratchy like sand paper. Ugh, okay, this was awful and tasted like ash. Or was that just the residual taste of Atrade Lights on his tongue. Either way he was going to have a hard time keeping this down if he kept it up
Far be it from him to be te one say it. If Sevrin liked it, he would let the kid to enjoy it. He'd made it for him after all. Glover set his half-finished plate on the table, sitting down on the armrest of the couch and looming over the pair of them on the couch. He couldn't hide the small smile that played at the corner of his mouth at watching Wil take that bite though.
Because getting Wil to eat anything he made was a lot like trying to check an alligator's tonsils. Initiating the gag reflex could have dire consequences including but not limited to loss of limbs, physical trauma, and being tased. And Glover's grin only widened, watching Wil test the waters so cautiously. Pfft, if he really wanted to kill them, he'd do it softly. Lambo knew that, or so he hoped.
But watching Sevrin enjoy it made Glover's expression sober considerably. Already the high was starting to fade, and the throbbing against his face didn't feel so bad. Or maybe it was just easy to forget his own pain when he saw Sevrin hapy and enjoying himself. Such a rare and wonderful sight. The glow that came to his face. "Oh, hell, I'll get you the best frame, Sevrin! I promise," he chuckled and reached out to push his hair back from his face.
That small face that would broaden when he got older. A nose that would look a lot like his, hair that would get unruly and disheveled when it grew out. Glover would have to show him how to brush it back to keep it out of his face. He wanted to be the one to show him how to properly apply a razor to his face when hair started to grow out - although his own facial hair was a little worse for wear. Glover watched him quietly and knew that would never happen. Freddie would have to do all that.
If even remembered he had a kid. Glover, thankfully, had an excellent memory when he really applied himself. He made a mental note to pay ye olde Fredster a visit come morning. Remind him of his fatherly duties. Nothing major. The fuckhead probably didn't even know Sevrin was gone.
"Sevrin, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. When you grow up, you can be whatever you want to be," he said, nodding affirmatively. "Whatever your job is, is just a job. Who you are inside, you can't hide that. Nothing can stop you from being an artist, son. Hell if the urge is that bad, you won't even be able to stop yourself! And I'll be the proudest owner of a Sevrin Daniels original."
Son. A ball formed in Glover's throat, but his eyes were too tired and that bruise too sore to get any more heated. It was a casual word. Nothing more. Like a mentor speaking to a student, a denotation of trust and affection. Words only meant what you put into them, after all.
"Okay, so you've been fed, and you've had your -uh...cinnamilk from the look of it. I didn't even know I had milk that hadn't already turned into cheese. Uh, nevermind. Okay Sevrin, let's get you cleaned up and ready for bed. And you can tell me a story before you sleep, yeah? Tell me all about your adventure to get here. I can't wait to hear that one."
-
Sevrin ate most of his food and polished off his drink. Cinnamilk? Is that what it was called? He liked it.
Uncle Glover was the best. He always knew what do say. Even if he had to do some other job because he was a mage he could still draw and be an artist. Yeah. He smiled up at his uncle. If he heard the 'son' bit he took no notice of it. It didn't seem out of place and any extra emphasis or meaning was lost on him. Except, well... he wished Glover was his dad. His dad never had time for him, unless it was a public thing that showed what 'good parents' they both were. And sure he was a brat to Arabelle sometimes, but she didn't like him anyway. Only his uncle really cared about him.
He didn't realized how tired he was till Glover said they should get him ready for bed. He pouted a bit. "But I'm not tired." Lies. He was already having trouble keeping his eyes open. But he wanted to draw another picture, he wanted to hang out with uncle Glover. He wanted to see Wil's wings! He didn't want to go to bed... and yet a sleepy little yawn seized him.
-
Glover was... surprisingly great with kids. Not that Glover Daniels was necessarily a mean-spirited man, but his typical grumpy nature didn't really lend towards any kind of a domestic imagining. Like you'd never think about him taking a batch of wee versions of himself to the park or something like that. Not on purpose anyway. But there he was with Sevrin, and there was just something about how he was with him that drove home the fact that if given the chance, Glover would make such a good dad. It was...
Well, it was sure enough to set Wil's heart a-flutter and give a fair amount of color to their cheeks. Not that it was easy to tell, given their naturally tanned complexion and the dim apartment lighting. Which, thank all the gods for that, because Wil was not entirely sure they were in the mood for being teased about that tonight. Their temper might have cooled by a wide margin, but that didn't mean Glover was free to pretend the day's events had never occurred in the first place. Ohh, not by a long shot.
Either way, it was all enough of a distraction to let Wil finish most of their noodles before finally enough was enough. They slowly stood from the couch, gathering up their tupperware and Sevrin's own plate and mug. Their lips quirked in an amused smile, knowing full well that there was no way the boy wasn't tired. Anyone who had ever been a kid knew the truth, and Wil was sure if left to his own devices Sevrin would be out like a light on the couch in no time. Better to just nip that all in the bud.
"I'm sure you'd be able to stay up for hours and hours, but I think your uncle needs some rest, Sevrin. So how's this for a deal, sleep now and in the morning I'll get you whatever you want for breakfast. Okay? You name it."
When in doubt, bribery is a great option. It probably didn't hurt that Sevrin's yawn was contagious, and Wil had to stifle one of their own. Man, they hadn't even realized how tired they were. Talking about a kid falling asleep on the couch, if Wil hadn't gotten up to take care of the rest of the dishes they might have been the first to conk out.
Speaking of, they had plates to scrape... because there was no way this was being saved for a second time after already being recooked. The thought alone was just. Ugh. Uuugh.
-
Lies. It was all lies. Glover knew when Sevrin was tired from the little half-lidded heaviness in his eyes. And the boy could barely keep his head on straight. When the cup and plate were pried from his tiny grip, Glover actually laughed at his protests. Gods were they were adorable. He could pinch those cheeks right off his cute little face, fold them and put them in his pocket. Er...
Oh, that was a morbid thought. And Wil's promise! Oh that was a good one. Why didn't he think of that?
"Hear that, Sevrin. Anything you want. Anything!!!!" Glover was purposefully over excited for the offer, although it was made for the kid rather than him. "Even cake and ice cream!" That was a great idea. Glover snorted, and leaned down to scoop the kid into his arms, carefully maintaining balance and tucking the boy's head against his shoulder.
"Okay, we take care of business first, brush your teeth and then off to bed. And you can tell me stories too. And all about the kinds of drawings you want to make," Glover went on and end as he disappeared into the hallway and was gone for a good while. He made sure the kid brushed his teeth with the spare toothbrush he had in his drawer for just this occasion and spoke of nonsensical things while carrying Sevrin into his own bedroom.
For once the thing was actually clean. No dirty laundry on the floor and he laid him out into as far center as possible, pulling the sheets over him. "So, Sevrin," he murmured and sat up so that he too wouldn't fall asleep. "You are very brave and adventurous, you know that. You came out all the way over here just to see me!? I'm honored. I'm so glad you visited. I don't get to see you as often as I want," he murmured. "What was your adventure like, Sevrin?"
With any luck, he'd tire himself out and fall asleep before Glover did. He did promise him story time after all.
-
Anything he wanted? He would have to think about that... maybe they could make pancakes with chocolate chips and a smiley face like in restaurants... maybe they could even go out to eat like a family. Yeah. That's what he wanted, a family breakfast. Where they sat together and talked about what they were going to do for the day, and all smiled at each other. Like on TV. He kept thinking about that as he was carried off to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, half asleep already.
He thought about what he had for breakfast this morning while he was carried to the bed. An omelet the cook made for him, he ate it alone while Circiel had some coffee and watched the news. She never ate breakfast, and to be fair he often chased her off when she tried to eat lunch or dinner with him and have a conversation with him. Part of him knew she was trying, but he just wanted it to come from his mom instead. Or his dad. He had given the cook a hard time too...
They had been fighting again. That's all they ever did. They didn't eat meals together, they didn't ask how the day was, they didn't look at drawings, they didn't tuck him in at night... they didn't even notice he was gone. They didn't do any of the stuff parents on TV did. Was it cause he wasn't good enough to deserve it?
Sevrin was frowning and he didn't even realize it till he looked up at his uncle who wanted to hear about how he got here. "It wasn't that exciting. Circiel caught me sneaking out and she wanted to take me home but I didn't want to go home... so we took a cab over here." He shifted a bit closer to Glover and let his heavy eyelids close... even though he definitely wasn't sleepy. His eyes were just tired.
"Uncle Glover... can I just live with you?"
-
The last time Glover had eaten a proper meal that wasn't reheated or take-out that was 'accidentally' spilled all over Wil's car when they were heading out to the station And anything that still lingered in his fridge was officially from edible. This one time whatever he'd made had been salvaged from certain destruction. And he'd ensured anything that might be malicious was killed by the fire.
He listened softly, scooting in closer to Sevrin, even wrapping an arm around him and tucking him into his side. "Uh-huh," he sighed. "I see. So you were being naughty. Luckily for you, you have Circiel to look out for you, bud. You should be nicer to her. She's a good person." Again, Glover wished she were hear. Then she could keep Wil company outside and stave off that storm for another five minutes.
Another three hours. Maybe until the morning.
Ugh, but some things were simply asking too much.
Like... "What?" the question was more in incredulity than because he didn't hear him. "Of course you can!" The answer came rolling off his tongue faster than he could catch himself. His stomach lurched again and Glover curled himself down toward Sevrin's level. "My home is always your home. I'd love to have you live here with me. Maybe for a whole week!"
He knew what he meant. To stay forever, until...until the rest of the world fell apart. Because then nothing else would matter. He would have Sevrin and everything else could just go to hell. Except Lambo. Lambo was too sweet for hell.
"How about this. I will talk to your mom about letting you do just that. Just to stay here for a whole week and I'll help pay Circiel to commute and she can take you to school, and I'll take a week off from work and we can just hang out and watch TV! Does that sound good to you?"
-
Sevrin's facial muscles may as well have been a roller coaster.
When Glover said what he had been ready to repeat himself, and then came that resounding 'Of course you can!'
His mouth had pulled itself into such a big smile he was sure he could sell it as a capital U to whoever still printed books and stuff. Especially ones for little kids. He could live with uncle Glover and the two of them would be a family and-
And then his smile faultered, broke and fell, swinging on one hinge till it was upside down. No. No uncle Glover didn't understand. A week? That wasn't enough time. Forever was barely enough time. He just wanted to stay with his uncle and not deal with yelling all the time. He was about to open his mouth to protest but his uncle kept going, proposing something real. Something plausible.
An actual week. Not hypothetical. He could stay with Uncle Glover and hang out and do fun stuff like parents were supposed to. Sevrin snuggled closer to his uncle, closing his eyes again. The frown evened out to a small, cautiously hopeful smile. It was something at least.
"You think she will say yes?" He asked softly, having trouble staying awake.
-
"Do I 'think she'll say yes'?!" Glover gasped, over dramatically of course. For effect and because his sleepy nephew trying to fight the sleep that was gradually overtaking him was just far to adorable. Glover blinked away the burning sensation that lingered just behind his eyes, and rubbed out a twitch that overcame his left eye. Didn't need anything else twitching.
The day had let him reeling enough. He just wanted to put all that shit behind him. Sevrin was here, and Lambo was here, and he'd eaten and for some reason was still alive. All was where it should be. So he was determined to not let anything ruin this evening. For once the world was right. And Tynova was quiet...
Glover shifted around so that he could tuck his arm around Sevrin and pushed the boy's hair from his face. Eyes flicked to the boy's baby blues. That was such a nice color. Much nicer than his own. Whatever genetic anomaly gave him the hue he had, he was glad it skipped Sevrin. The boy already had enough things to worry about.
"I'll have you know, that I can be so charming! And in the very- very slim chance that she says no, then I'll just have to steal you away myself and make sure that you're all bundled up in a bassinet and everything. Because it's happening. You're my bud! But, I think it's time for sleep. So you stay here, if you need anything just call me. I love you. Good night" Glover leaned down and pressed pursed lips to Sevrin's head, prolonging the contact for some time and hugging Sevrin to his chest.
He wanted him to stay forever. Maybe Evangeline would say yes and Glover to keep him, and she'd forget all about Sevrin. She seemed to have an easy time doing that regardless. Glover let him go and slipped away, pulling the blankets up to his chin, making sure the bedding was secure around his small frame.
Now, it was time to face the music. Slipping away, and out the door, Glover kept the door somewhat ajar, so that light from the hallway still flooded in from the living room and kitchen. Somewhere in the meet and greet, and the coffee and the Frankenstein mish-mash of old noodles and eggs, Glover remembered the hat.
And there it was on the couch where he'd been sitting with Sevrin. He meandered on over, reaching over the sofa's back to slowly pick it up. "Here. You left this back at the station. I...didn't want it to get lost," Glover cleared his threat and gave Wil another stupid wide grin. Quickly followed by a wink.
Yes, yes. Distract them with his natural charm, and maybe Wil wouldn't blow up on him. Glover moved close enough and spread the cap out between his fingers, settling it on Wil's head, pressing the corners of it neatly over their ears and threading out the long dark green strands that had filled that cap with that intoxicating scent.
-
‘Didn't want it to get lost,’ Wil’s ass. Glover had grinned that infuriating grin at them, and for a hot minute all Wil could see was bright, furious red.
‘Found it at the station,’ Wil’s *ass*. This had happened before on so many different occasions, and somehow each time had resulted in Glover's grinning face and his fingers against Wil’s hair and the soft tug of the hat in question fitting over Wil's skull. And like every time before, the green-haired detective’s heart thrummed wildly in their chest, a rapid hummingbird vibration that might have been alarming the first handful of times it had happened.
And it had been alarming. Especially on the tail end of utter and complete loathing for the man before them. But time had passed on that, and those stupid shit eating grins had grown on them, and after the fifth time of thinking they were in the throes of cardiac arrest Wil had gotten used to the heart palpitations as well.
What they would never get used to, however, what they could never get used to, was how utterly and indiscriminately *stupid* their partner could be!
Wil's temper about the whole ‘incommunicado’ matter had been, of course, temporarily stifled by Sevrin's presence-- the kid had been so sweet, and no one deserved to be utterly dressed down in front of a child. Wil had wanted to scream themselves hoarse at Glover, but even now the stupid, beautiful bastard dodged that particular bullet.
Sevrin was asleep in the other room, after all. Wil wouldn't be the one to wake him back up giving Glover the verbal thrashing *of his life*.
So, vocally castrated as they were, Wil instead settled for a withering glare instead. They took a short, steadying breath-- totally unrelated to any wavering caused by Glover's hands on them in such familiar capacity, totally-- and let it all out in a soft hiss.
“Don't you give me that bullshit,” they breathed, soft and quiet to keep from getting too loud and worked up. It was hard work.
“What the hell were you even thinking? The least you can do is pick up the goddamn phone when you decide to run off half cocked and-- what the hell happened to your face? Did Sandborne do that to you? Good fucking god, Glover, are you trying to get yourself killed or just give me grey hair? Because one of those plans is working.”
Despite the angry hissing, though, Wil's hand moved to Glover's face, thin fingers touching at the blooming bruise there, the detective’s brows knit tight over dark eyes.
-
Seeing Wil fuming just the way they did brought out the color and vibrancy in those brown eyes. Funny how not too long ago, Glover used to think how dull those eyes were. Something about them being brown because Wil was full of shit like the rest of them. Funny how those were the only eyes Glover could look back into and not see himself. And how fucking thankful for that he was.
It was nice, different. Very - and he internally shrugged - Wil.
And all the warm and fuzzies of trying not to be in the brunt of the storm warning in front of him came back when he stared into that color. Glover's grin just got wider, stupider, and he carefully tongued a canine. With some effort - a great deal of it in fact - he managed to sober his expression, amidst the wild glow that settled behind those eyes.
"You know I'm always fully cocked," Glover quipped, sniffing and scratching at an itch that didn't exist. Anything to keep his hands busy. To keep them from fidgeting, shaking, twitching. Another ghost itch at the ports along his temples. And he shut his eyes, hiding a vague shiver when they touched at his shiner.
"Oh, that ol' thing. Just a bum fight. Tried to take my phone. Tried to take your hat. I didn't let him," he sniffed again and reached up to catch the wrist of that hand, gripping it for but a moment. And wanting little more than to press Lambo's palm against his cheek. Something about it's warmth was drawing.
"Look, I'm sorry. I got your messages. All four hundred of them. That's a new record, I'll tell you that," Glover forced a snort, tilting his head, smirk pulling at his lips. Flicking a tongue out to lick them and rolled his bottom lip in to nibble on the crusted chapped skin. Another distracting move to keep from having to answer Wil's questions. Wil didn't want to know the answer to those questions. It was better that Wil just stayed the way they were.
That maybe one day Glover would just end up sprawled out on the ground, gunned down by an armed suspect. Caught by surprise. An accident. It would be easier that way, instead of telling Wil that he wanted it to be on purpose.
Glover hadn't realized how long he'd been silent. His eyes gave Wil a slow blink. Good Wil, the best Wil. Wil that should have found another partner instead of being stuck with the rat bastard in front of him. He hadn't known what he'd been thinking, truth be told. Not when he walked into Sandborne's office. Not even now when he reached out and wrapped his arm around Wil's middle, pulling them close.
He just buried his face into that familiar shoulder, into that neck, pressing lips weakly against the pulse at their throat. His arms squeezed tighter around Lambo. Wil was good. Wil was safe.
-
The first time that Glover had grinned at them like that, Wil had been utterly furious. Something about it being late, about Glover missing an appointment of some variety, and something about 'would you mind finishing the rest of my reports, thanks, you're the best, I love you!'. The first time Glover had grinned at them like that, Wil had been exactly two steps away from decking him in his big, stupid face.
Ironic, all things considered. Wil still wanted to deck him, of course, Wil was still furious at just how nonchalant that grin made Glover seem, as if the danger never really mattered. As if it wouldn't have been any big deal to end up in a gutter somewhere, holier than a cheesegrater. Wil's stomach gave a thoroughly unpleasant flip; no longer distracted by their furious phone-calling, Wil recognized the terror that had haunted their steps all day. It was fine, now, Glover was here, now, and aside from a bruise was otherwise unharmed. But the thought of what might've happened refused to leave them in peace.
"Fully cocked, my ass," Wil quipped back, eyes hooding as Glover held onto their wrist. They didn't struggle, didn't do much of anything for a moment, simply enjoying the sensation of those tobacco-stained fingers against their skin. The moment, whatever moment it was, broke at the mention of just how many messages Wil had actually left him. Had it really been four hundred? Tanned skin flushed several shades darker, and they busied themselves looking at some point over Glover's shoulder rather than that awful, wonderful smirk.
"Yeah, well, it's been a day. I had to deal with Machines because of you." Wil snorted in return, before noting just how quiet Glover had gotten. The other detective was looking at them, but it was clear he wasn't actually seeing them. He was somewhere, off in his own thoughts, and Wil's brows knit together as they searched the rest of his face.
They'd almost been about to say something, about to actually question Glover's state, something along the lines of 'hey, are you okay?' But then Glover's arms were around them, hooked around their middle and squeezing them tight. Without even thinking about it, Wil's arms rose up to curl around Glover's shoulders, one hand sliding delicately boned fingers through Glover's hair.
Their skin pricked at the sensation of lips to fluttering veins, and it took another deep breath before Wil came back to earth again. Figuratively speaking, of course. Their other hand, not presently occupied by blonde waves, moved in slow circles against Glover's back, a soft and soothing motion to fill the gap. They wanted to say something, but nothing was coming to mind.
So they simply stood, holding Glover tight to them, returning the squeeze and pressing themselves as close as humanly possible to the other detective. They licked their lips as a thought caught them; and before they could hem and haw over it too much, the words were already spilling out.
"Let me be your partner, yeah...?"
-
Those nimble fingers carding through his hair made shivers roll through his scalp, those tingles that came from a scalp massage or something equally comforting that made Glover want to bury himself into Wil as much as he possibly could. His embrace tightened, and even when he couldn't activate his magic, he didn't need it to feel how fast and hard Lambo's heart was racing. He knew that feeling well enough.
There wasn't any mistaking that rushing blood. Glover shut his eyes tightly, feeling along Wil's pulse, listening to it, that throb into some vague sense of desperation and his own eyes burned behind those lids. There was salt there too, wanting to come out, but Glover didn't let it. Wil had enough shit for one evening.
Somewhere at the mention of Wil vs. the Mutant Robots of Tynova, Glover made a snorting sound. Oh, god, the poor sweet lamb never did get along with even the simplest magitech. That was one regret he had for not answering those messages, those calls. He secretly enjoyed seeing those meltdowns.
They were always so...glorious.
"I'm so sorry," he found himself murmuring again. He didn't know what he was apologizing for. Maybe everything, maybe nothing at all. That heavy resonating word hung in the air, mumbled from where Glover had his lips pressed. His breath hitched, tilting his head away enough to breath, to try and make some sense of the words that were being murmured in his ear.
Wil was a high that required no cutting, no smoke, no needles. The blood mage evened out his breathing. "My partner. Of course you're my partner," he murmured, tilting. Was that what Lambo was asking? No, no, something through the haze told him that wasn't it. "I'll always let you be my partner... You don't even have to ask..."
Except Wil did, and there was a note in their voice, something caught there that made Glover retract his head and instead press his pounding forehead against his partner's. "You never need permission, Wil," he murmured, and angled his head in to peck at the corner of their lips. Full lips that made his own tingle and push him into a different kind of haze.
-
The apology hung in the air, and Wil wasn't entirely sure they ever wanted to hear its like again. There was just this hollowness in how Glover said it, as if the words had been utterly directionless from the start. Hearing them, Wil's first instinct had been to just keep petting him, to say that everything was fine and would keep on being fine. It didn't matter that it wasn't fine; Wil just wanted to stop the other detective from ever sounding like that again.
Gooseflesh rose up as Glover spoke into their pulse, a soft breath escaping them as Glover mumbled on and on-- Their partner, his partner, and even though Wil was so sure Glover had completely missed the point of their asking... it still felt so nice. Nice enough that whatever ire they had previously felt melted away like the last vestiges of frost. Tch. It figured; they could never stay mad at Glover for very long-- inevitably, every time, he managed to say something or smile just right or something equally ridiculously Glover that Wil had no choice but to stop being angry.
Who could, in the face of all that?
Still, something else was wrong, and angry or not it still didn't address what that something else was. Wil's hands slid to Glover's neck and jaw, their thumbs rubbing small circles against the patchwork stubble there. It was always just this side of soft, and always golden, such that it was often hard to tell it was even there unless you got real close. Luckily for Wil, they liked getting real close.
Especially when Glover decided to be generous with his kisses that day. Wil looked up at him, cross-eyed as they were for the proximity of everything, and booped their nose against his.
"I know... just reminding you. Come on, sit back down. I'll rub your feet. You really do look like holy hell. Must've been one awful bum fight..."
-
At some point or another they were always mindless mumbles, usually at the nadir of a high or a drunken stupor, whenever Wil had been unfortunate enough to find him in such a state. Glover didn't enjoy being found like that by anybody. With Wil, that sentiment was exacerbated tenfold. It became, over time, easier to play it off. Just stupid was as stupid did.
He couldn't play it off now, and shook himself mentally of the haze that threatened to pull him back inside. Something half induced by those thick lips, and the other half by the remnants of that high. Glover opened his eyes, his heart in hist throat by the proximity of the other detective, and was reduced to a cross-eyed blink at the skin of Wil's chin. At the black line there, the line that was always vertically straight down toward the base of that delicate throat.
Where he could still feel the pulse fluttering so wildly. Glover released a soft breath, inhaling that familiar smell of his partner, the one that gave him shivers and made the hair on his arms stand on end. Same with the small circles that Wil's fingers made along his cheeks. The movement of stubble only intensified the sensation, Glover made a small grunt, pressing his nose closer, his arms snaking tighter around that lower back.
His right hand played with their shirt, fingertips digging into the fabric there, for want of digging into the ridge of their spine and the sinew that rose around that ravine. "Okay," he nodded, hard-pressed to part from that source of warmth. He didn't fight them on it, and released Wil only to grab that hand gently within his own, taking them back to the sofa and plopped down on the corner seat.
"I mean, that fight only increased my naturally rugged good looks," Glover mused. His finger pointed up to the little scar at the base of his right eye. "See? But that bum tried to sucker punch me. He lost. I think." A shrug. "Hey, gimme your phone, I wanna take a picture of this shiner, set it as my contact photo. Because it's a once in a lifetime opportunity!"
Glover took out his own and cleaned off the scuff marks and dulled out the scratches. They weren't pretty and the case was half cracked in the corner, but at least it still worked. "You have your phone right?"
-
"Oh, so very rugged. I can hardly gaze upon such handsomeness, I am all a-flutter." Wil fanned themselves with a little smile, though that smile wavered when Glover mentioned their phone.
Uh…
Wil glanced to the side from where they were perched on the couch, frozen halfway through the process of stripping down Glover's feet and setting to the promised foot rub. Even in the dim light, even with their tanned skin, it was clear they were turning redder than a tomato.
Redder than the vast majority of Edanith, actually.
Their fingers twitched against the hem of Glover's pants. Wil cleared their throat, and gently tried to extricate themselves from the couch.
“Oh, wait, I forgot the lotion, can't have a footrub without lotion--”
It wasn't like it was a terribly great excuse, however. Wil thought back to earlier in the day, when they'd been just so worried, just so frustrated, just so utterly agitated by the millionth automated messaging system.
They might've hated that phone, but throwing it into traffic was… a bit much. Wil cleared their throat again, hoping that a quick dash might have perhaps caused Glover to forget his question about anything to do with a phone. Yup. Five seconds was all it took to forget things, right?
“There, still a few bottles left from my stash… lavender honey or jasmine? You're certainly going to smell better after this…”
Don't ask about the phone, don't ask about the phone, don't ask about the phone...
-
Oh... oh. He knew what that silence meant, and even in his tired delirium, Glover could make out a dodge when he heard one. Wil always was a clever bastard, a beautiful clever darling that wasn't at all giving themselves away with how red they were turning. Even under that considerable tan, that tomato face made Glover grin and sniff just as Wil pulled away.
Oh for the lotion. Right. Riiight. Huh, for sending Glover over four hundred messages, it did strike Glover as being rather odd that Wil didn't make a point of getting out their phone to screen-point obnoxiously whilst announcing, "This is a phone! Made for COMMUNICATION! DAMMIT DANIELS!" It wouldn't be the first time. Oh no. Sweet Wil... But maybe that particular mutant robot deserved whatever utter annihilation Lamb Chop had sentenced to in all their mighty wisdom.
While they were retrieving said lotion, Glover wiggled his now bare feet against the center rug and kicked his shoes under the coffee table. "Jasmine. I really liked that one... I know you like it too," he snorted. "Also...I remember just before the main show 'Bum Fight Extreme' I texted you back saying I was on my way. You got it right? I just don't want you to think that I wasn't thinking about you."
Glover always thought about them. It was rare a second went by Wil wasn't on his mind. Glover wiggled from the couch and had his camera at the ready when they came back and he flashed the camera to catch the practically radioactive heat that was radiating off of one Wil Lambert. And as Glover checked that picture seeing the expression on that precious red face he abruptly cackled.
"I am saving that one! OH yes! Totally making it your contact pic, and printing it out and making copies! Look at you." The snort came out and he found it even harder to breath, wheezing outwardly as he extended his arm to show Wil the photo of their own flushed face, rife with embarrassment.
-
They were caught. They were so caught.
There was no way that Glover didn't know. It had happened way too often, in one form or another, for Glover to not know. Wil did not like machines. They didn't like magitech, they didn't like automated systems, they did not like machines. This hadn't been the first phone destroyed in a fit, and they were sure it wouldn't be the last. Didn't mean they weren't always horribly embarrassed after the fact, but they couldn't help themselves. They just got tunnel vision, and if they saw a machine they just had to kill it.
Their prior emotional state certainly hadn't helped any. Glover really had no place to judge them, considering the whole matter was his fault in the first place. Now, any sane human being would realize that no one made Wil throw their phone into traffic, this was the conclusion they came to-- at least until Glover mentioned having actually texted them back. 'Just don't want you to think that I wasn't thinking about you'. Oh, if they weren't red before, they were red now, chewing at their bottom lip-- partly out of embarrassment, and partly out of the warmest sensation at hearing Glover say something that sweet. Shit. No. They were supposed to be mad!
They'd never gotten that message, though, because they'd hurled their phone into the intersection by that point. If they hadn't, they'd have gotten his message, and perhaps wouldn't have needed to storm up to Glover's apartment breathing fire in front of an eight year old. Great first impressions and all that.
Still flushed, and still trying to avoid the phone conversation, Wil barely noticed just what it was Glover had in his hand until the flash went off. Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. They turned wide, dark eyes on the screen, seeing the exact copy of their own mortified face-- and snarled.
"Oh, no you don't, don't you dare, Glover Daniels I will destroy you!" Only about halfway through the sentiment did they remember Sevrin in the other room, and tried to remain quiet yet suitably furious. They lunged at Glover, lotion forgotten somewhere on the rug while they fought to get to that picture deleted from every known existence there was.
"Delete it delete it delete it!"
-
Sometimes, Glover just couldn't not be a bastard. Some things were worth letting go, and others not quite as much. The little things in life, those were the ones he tried harder to appreciate, the small moments where he could catch someone doing something absolutely stupid that sent the blood mage into a spiraling torrent of cackling laughter. He was pretty sure he was going to die on a number of occasions.
If anything the detective was accustomed to his gluttony for punishment.
And right now that came in the form of a thoroughly mortified and horrifically embarrassed Mordecai named Wil Lambert. A quick shot of rapid fire justice to the self-induced dishonor that Glover maliciously planned to document, to emboss, laminate, and permanently use as the backdrop to future holiday cards. Justice that came in the form of Wil practically throwing themselves onto Glover.
He howled with laughter as the other detective tried to wrestle the phone away, and he desperately tried to keep phone away from them. "Do your worst, Lambert! BWAHAHAHAHA! This is going up on the fridge at work! And inside the ridge, and inside your locker, and it'll be the screen saver on your computer!" Glover snorted. "I'll even make personalized boxers of them!"
The weight of the other body on him and the giddy cackling that made Glover only temporarily remember that Sevrin was in the other room. He forced out harsh whispers of "Nee-ner-nee-ner-nee-ner."
A secondary thought in the scheme of things.
Somewhere in that scuffle the pressure of a knee against his inner thigh made something else press against the inside of his zipper. Glover's snorting laughter momentarily sobered, his face now flushed with that need for oxygen. "Oh come on. Where's your sense of humor?" Glover smiled up at them.
-
Wil utterly lost it when Glover said the words “personalized boxers”. The threats of lamination, of having copy after copy hidden in increasingly bizarre places, had been ridiculous enough, but the mental image of Glover Daniels, detective, standing there proudly in the locker room in nothing but boxers showcasing Wil's entirely unflattering photo portrait…
It was too much. They snorted, loud and hard, before dissolving into low snickers, laughing against one of Glover's shoulders even as they still reached for that horrid awful terrible picture.
Glover's soft mockery, the ultra childish neenerneener, and his wonderful stupid laughter just caused them to shake further, gasping for air in between rapidfire giggling. Wil shifted as they both came to a stalemate, the need for oxygen superseding plots to get at the blood mage’s phone. Well. Superseding most plots. Wil still had the energy to take up one of the throw pillows and plop it right on Glover's stupid face.
“It's out in the intersection on 4th and Broadway. I swear to all the gods, Glover, if I ever see that photo…” They sat back a bit, releasing the pillow to Glover's face and instead settling it against his stomach, full lips pursed into an utterly not-at-all immature pout.
“I'm a cop. I know how to hide a body.”
Wil looked down at their partner, at flushed cheeks and bright bruising, and his toothy, shit eating grin. This was so much better than before, and Wil sobered a bit to think that not moments before they'd been holding this man so tight, as if anything less would lead to him falling off the face of the earth.
This was much better. Wil leaned forward, touched their foreheads together, completely forgetting phones and jasmine lotion and anything else in that single moment of closeness.
“I'm serious.” They reiterated, perfectly aware that they weren't serious at all.
-
To a stranger's ear they may have been perfectly vague innocent threats, exaggerations made to make Wil squirm and fight like a holy terror to make that picture disappear from all existence. To anyone that knew Glover, and that list was decidedly short, Glover was perfectly serious on seeing all of these things through. He'd go down to Blinko's and make a hundred copies, a thousand, get personalized prints, even a tattoo of that precious face plastered all over the expanse of his back, and running around all of Tynova in nothing but boxers with that face displayed for all of Edanith to love and appreciate.
Something that gorgeous was made to be shared.
Wil could make all the empty threats they wanted. Glover just snorted when that pillow was thrust over his face, turning his head to keep from suffocating. Empty threats and all that, but better safe than sorry.
"I see then!" he tried to answer, taking a gasping breath exaggeratedly when the pillow was removed. "That poor phone was the latest victim to your serial machine killing ways. I am appalled Wil, truly!"
He settled back into the couch, his arms up and content to let Lambo lie down against him. "Is that a threat detective? You know threatening an officer of the finest city in Edanith can have serious consequences. I might have to use my cuffs. The shiny ones, and cuff you to my rickety bed posts," Glover said softly.
He placed the phone on the arm rest, leaving his hands free to reach up and push that cap away from Wil's head, letting free the loose lengths of dark green hair. "So serious, you are. Let me take the edge off a little," he whispered, brushing strands of it away, pressing his fingers into that scalp. Glover tilted his head up, digging his nose into that soft tan cheek and pressing his lips softly against theirs.
A hum and Glover gripped that little hat in his right hand, tossing it onto the coffee table. "Feel better, partner?" he whispered, voice soft. That need for a smoke was long forgotten.
-
“Yes, I murdered a phone! And I'd do it again! And a third time!” Wil proclaimed, far too proudly for any grown adult to do so. They shifted a bit, folding their arms over Glover's chest and pillowing their head there. They didn't even protest the loss of their hat (again), not when Glover's fingers disappeared into long green hair, pushing against their scalp just so.
Aw, yeah, that was the ticket. Wil's eyelids drooped and they let out a low hum, arms extricatin ot from beneath them just enough to move their fingers in slow circles against his collarbone.
All the stress of the day just melted away, all the worries and the frustrations and the fury, all of it gone as Wil took a deep breath and caught only Glover in it-- residual tobacco and noodles and all. It was hilarious; on anyone else the stench would have been awful, and the first few months of working together that had been Wil's primary complaint about their newfound “partner” (they had used air quotes around that word a lot, before). But now, now it was as comforting as anything-- and Wil didn't bother trying to be subtle about burying their nose in his shirt and just breathing in.
Somewhere, there was a philosophical quandary; were they this clingy because Glover scared the crap out of them, or did Glover's “disappearance” scare the crap out of them because they were just that clingy. A mystery that honestly never needed solving, not when Glover pressed his lips to theirs, and all was right with the world. Well. Sort’ve.
“Mm,” they hummed an affirmative, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth and then that prickly chin. Wil shifted just enough that they could look down at him without crushing his sternum, full lips pursed into a tight line before relaxing again.
“And you? You sure you’re okay?”
-
Glover's usual routine involved rolling out of bed, naked head to toe, and standing in a cold shower for five minutes before finding the same shirt he was wearing the day before and throwing that on. The cold would wake him up. And the clothes would...well, they didn't smell that bad. But after the first few months of working with Wil, it became apparent that taking personal hygiene slightly more serious than before was a good thing.
Glover hummed, a gentle sound to Lambo. But given to anyone else would have been curbed at the edge with a growl. If he didn't know you or liked you, all you got was a grunt. Everything else was just a waste of breath.
That gentle nuzzle made his heart thumb loudly and wildly in his chest and Wil's presence made that notion slide on home that the need to worry about Sandborne was rather unnecessary. Not now anyway. How often had they found themselves in this very apartment, on this same couch, and in this same position before?
It was amusingly routine. Sometimes there were cartons of take out on the table, others there were bottles of booze and crushed old cartons of cigarettes while they griped on about what a hard-ass the Chief was. Yet, there they were again, brought here by Glover's own misery and dragging Wil down with him.
He didn't want that. Glover just wanted them to bury their face into his neck again, to stop talking and fall asleep. Or to kiss and quietly rut. Anything that would avoid Glover having to tell Wil the truth.
Before he could stop himself, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against theirs again. A sharp jolt shot through his chest. "I'm much better now," he murmured. It wasn't exactly a lie, and it certainly was the truth, in some form or another. "I meant it though... When I said I was sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I should have called you back. You were worried and I ignored it...and...I don't know."
Glover played it off in a shrug. "Let's go out to the fire escape, huh? I could use a smoke."
-
“I'm not gonna sugarcoat it. I'm still pretty pissed. But,” and there was a very big ‘but’, Wil’s fingers tapping gently against Glover's chest, “But I'll get over it. You're here, you're in one piece, and you even won a bum fight. Not bad for an afternoon.”
Wil's lips curved into a little smirk, and they leaned in to plant another kiss to Glover's forehead before finally sliding off him and off the couch.
“You have a pack?” Wil asked, already off and rummaging through their own coat pockets. They weren't nearly so enamored with cigarettes as Glover was-- no one was as enamored with cigarettes as Glover was, it was a physical impossibility-- but the whole practice had grown on them. Like Glover's personal brand of being, a lot of things that had once been outrageously unsavory to them now held a deep fondness all their own.
Besides, sitting out on the fire escape and venting smoke into the city air? More than a little therapeutic after a day of freaking the hell out.
Wil retrieved their own box, still mostly full. The last time they'd needed a smoke was when Glover had mistakenly mixed up reserved dates on the calendar, and had stumbled in with some… chick from some… BAR on his arm, where Wil had been waiting for nearly over an hour.
That… had been a very chaotic night. The cigarettes well earned.
And it was not something that Wil cared to linger on for much longer than was absolutely necessary. It was the quickest path to the shortest fuse, and considering how the rest of the day had gone, Wil figured they could both use a breather from excessive displays of negative emotion. Glover probably most of all.
Because somewhere, deep in their soul, Wil knew they weren’t getting the half of it. It was a vague feeling, nothing they genuinely could pinpoint in any fashion, but a feeling nonetheless. Something had to have gone down in Sandborne’s office. Or maybe it was just the case itself. Mages being carted around like slabs of meat, it would be understandable. And it would give some measure of sense to Glover’s whole ‘oh hey let me just go slap the guy in the face’ tactic.
Wil opened the window that led out onto the fire escape, and slipped out onto the wrought metal meshing. The city, though anything but quiet, had a kind of liminal feel to it-- like the fire escape existed on a separate plane entirely separate from Edanith as a whole. Like it was theirs, their own private little bubble.
Wil loved it. Even when they were shaking in fury, even on the worst nights, and the best days, Wil loved it.
Shielding their cigarette with one hand and lighting with the other, Wil sucked in to get the flame to catch, sighing out through their nose. A plume of blue-white rose before them, and they considered the smoke for a moment before turning towards Glover, dark eyes heavy lidded.
To think, a few years back, and Wil had hated him. Loathed to the point of frothing venom hated him. Nothing about the man seemed above criticism, and criticise Wil did-- his hair, his manner, his gruffness, his idiot grin, the way he smelled like a smokestack and looked like one too. If one went back in time and told Wil that they’d end up loving this idiot, well. Wil probably would have laughed themselves sick.
But here they were. Doing just that. And therein was the crux of it-- the furious calls, the 400+ messages, the fact that Wil had made a complete ass of themselves in front of Sevrin and his caretaker. Somewhere, Wil wondered if any of this could be considered remotely sane. Probably not, but Wil was more than willing to give that train of thought a nice set of concrete shoes.
“Here,” they said, quiet against the backdrop of distant traffic and beeping crosswalks, holding out their lighter and sparking a little flame to life for Glover to utilize.
-
Did he have a pack? Did Wil even know who they were talking to?
Glover didn't encourage that question with a response. All he could was snort. Because of course he had a pack. He had stashes and stashes of them in his refrigerator, cleverly taped underneath the deli meat drawer where that old bologna was growing fur, right next to the gun. Even more packs in the bathroom, and one in the key bowl next to the main counter. Nothing fancy, he just wanted to be prepared to any possible moment he would be without a smoke.
Glover swore off quitting some time ago. Almost killed a bum because he wanted the smoke he was lighting. Snatched that thing right out of his mouth and took a long drag, sitting on the poor guy until that itch was properly scratched. That was short-lived and Glover was sure to call for a medic for the poor guy.
"Atrades, but if not, I'll make do with whatever you got," Glover commented idly, sliding off the sofa and scrambling for balance. Thank the coffee table for that. He thought of bringing the hat, and rather thought it was best he left it on the table lest he get the Twitches and drop that wonderful thing down the fire escape. Again. For the 28th time.
Glover climbed out onto that fire escape, loving the view of the city. It wasn't a pent house apartment. And unless Glover made some significant promotion, this was the view he was going to have for a while. It wasn't bad. Glover didn't really care about the quality of the view, just that it was there. And for a moment he could watch the portrait of a life he could gently feel separate from.
"Thanks." The word came quiet and Glover's expression relaxed. His Hippo lighter was back in his jacket. He didn't need it. Everything that was Wil's was better. A spark came to life, and so did the end of that smoke. He took a long drag, let the smoke fill him, and letting that gaseous euphoria make it's course, and he made small O shapes with his mouth.
"Sandborne's a fucking prick," he closed his eyes, and flicking out the small bundle of ash that began to form. Practice before he went about of keeping as much as on the end of the smoke for as long as possible then dashing it out all out once in one giant clump. "I wanted answers. So I went to go get them myself."
Aside form stating the obvious, Glover knew he didn't want to be talking about the case. He had enough on his mind as it was. "Wil, why did you want to be a cop? What made you choose this?" Because that option had been afforded to them. A mage was only as useful as their magic, placed wherever they would have their highest value. Sure maybe he could have been some kind of coroner or some shit. His parents didn't exactly like him being a cop. It was lowly. No Daniels was a cop. Ever.
Maybe some rules were meant to be broken.
-
As soon as the words were out of their mouth, Wil knew they were a mistake. Because of course Glover had a pack. When didn't Glover have a pack? Well, Wil, that's what you get for consideration.
Not that they were actually bitter, at all, just terribly amused.
But oh, how Wil loved evenings like these. They didn't always need to smoke with him, but they loved sitting out on the fire escape with Glover, beyond established realms like “home” and “work” and every other place that required action of them. The fire escape was, perhaps too fittingly, an escape. A place outside of a place that only required them to be in it. It didn't matter their jobs or their birth or their personal magical capabilities; all that mattered was them, Wil and Glover, just that and nothing else.
Wil liked the idea of ‘just them,’ perhaps a bit selfishly, but still. It was a nice thought. One that never failed to bring a smile to their face. Like right just then, even as they brought in pale smoke, taking in an even deeper breath before letting it all out in one sighing woosh.
Not for the first time, Wil was sure they weren't getting the full story. It happened, now and again, here and there, and it never seemed important enough to press. Like Glover's family, or if his silence on the matter was any indication, the family he didn't want to have. But then there was Sevrin, and Glover had just doted upon him, so clearly family wasn't all bad?
It was the same as right then, and about the Sandborne case. Some perfectly plausible but almost miserably too casual explanation and that was that. And like always, Wil didn't press. They simply let Glover move on, and they moved on right with him.
Why did they choose to become a cop?
Now there was a question. Wil chewed their lip in thought, trying to figure out how to even begin putting it into words.
“It just… felt right. Like you know when you see something, and all you can do is stand there in awe and go, ‘that, I want that!’ That as me with anything to do with law enforcement. Detective noir, cozy mysteries, frontier justice kinda films… I just. Felt it. Like it was everything I was meant to be a part of.”
They looked to the side, into Glover's rosy eyes, and awe. The green haired detective took another long drag, watching the burning paper flare before turning to ash, the heat from the end getting closer and closer to their fingers.
They'd spend the next several days catching whiffs of tobacco in their hair and on their skin, of course. But that never stopped them from smiling every time it happened.
“If you could be anything, do anything, have anything… what would it be? Would you still be a cop?”
-
Glover could understand that. Those sentiments were not overly complicated. When it boiled down to it, that was the truth wasn't it. Following your instincts, your heart would ultimately lead you to what was right. Glover hadn't expected much exposition, and it made his stomach flip at how Wil's explanation was so remarkably easy.
Another long drag and he leaned forward against the railing, glancing away from the glowing lights of Tynova. Somewhere out there, miles away, Sandborne was still free, buying his way out, silencing those that protested him. Still enjoying life as a free man ought to. Glover pursed his lips and dashed out the long burnt row of ash. A dash sent the grey particles fluttering to the ground below and he settled the smoke between his lips, letting it hang there.
A slight gust of wind pushed his hair into his eyes, and he reached up, pushing it back, out of the way. No braids to get in the way this time. That was a shame. They weren't exactly a good look, but it gave Glover a warm fuzzy feeling inside. And that was a sensation he tried to cling to for as long as possible. He didn't even look down this time, didn't wonder if a fall from this height would break his neck.
"I like that, Lamb Chop," he chuckled, wiggling the cigarette just at the brink of their lips. Flashing Wil a smile he reached up and brushed a few stray strands away from their face. "I can just picture you now, all cozied up with a hard copy of Detective Tales, and pretending you were Shade Cinders, from 'White Noise, Dark City.' Well that settles what I'm getting you for your birthday." He gave Wil a wink, plucking the smoke from his lips.
What Glover didn't say with is words, he hinted at with his eyes, boring into theirs. Something along the lines of dressing like a classic detective, overcoat, tipped hat, hunting down Lambo for a particularly intense hour of 'interrogation'. If they proved to be a tough nut to crack, make it two hours.
"Do anything, huh? Oh goodness, Detective Lambert, you do know how to lay down the hard questions," he chuckled, dashing the smoke again, content to let it burn and the smoke waft in the air. It was nice to combat against the evening chill. Glover shifted closer along that fire escape, reaching out to take their hand, turning it over and pressing the pad of his thumb against the hand that had their own smoke in it. A simple shift and he was tilting his head reaching down to take a drag off the end of their own cigarette.
Plumes puffed out from his nostrils, and a soft kiss to that pulse. "If I wasn't a cop, say, just a regular joe out there, I'd probably be a stripper. That sounds like a really fun job." He was joking of course, and a small smirk played at the end of his lips as he shifted around to lean in real close to them, shoulder gently touching his. "Would you watch me dance? Stuff singles in my loin cloth?"
-
Glover's hand felt so warm-- Wil couldn't help but lean into the touch, adoring the sensation of Glover's fingers against their hair. Against any part of them, really. It didn't matter how fleeting the touch or any measure of intent. Every time it happened Wil's heart skipped a beat.
Lips curved into a wry sort of smile, Wil returned Glover's stare, heavy lidded and smoldering in equal measure. They were fairly sure that Glover had not meant he would be getting them a copy of Detective Tales. Perhaps something a little more hands on. Or hands off, depending on cuffs. Lots and lots of hands off.
They hummed, chuckling in amusement and stepping closer to their partner. Their partner. There were no words for how much Wil loved that sentiment. It was almost as good as the sensation of Glover's lips on their skin. As Glover pulled back, Wil reached up, snaked their fingers in his hair, and pulled him back down for a long, lingering kiss. Tendrils of smoke escaped between them, and they were likely losing a good percentage of their cigarette, but Wil couldn't be bothered to care.
Eventually though, the need for air outweighed the need to keep feeling those rough lips against their own. They parted, and Glover made his little wisecrack, and Wil nearly rolled their eyes right out of their skull. Of course, they hadn't expected anything less. This was Detective Daniels, after all.
“Mm, I would bankrupt myself converting every last paycheck into singles,” they shot back, grinning even as they took a last long drag from their cigarette and flicked the butt off the fire escape into the alley below. “Just to see you shake it in a loincloth. Ass.”
They shifted, arms folding across their chest even as they leaned in close to Glover, settling against his side and delighting in how easily they fit together.
“I like this, though. Being like we are. Because I don't know how much stripclub food I could really put up with. Blegh.”
Not that they really had much experience sampling strip club menus. Somehow it always seemed more like a… Glover place to be. Which just got under their skin in the worst way, all frowning lines and barely concealed contempt, and so they never stuck around longer than it took to get some questions answered.
Wil shifted again, snaking their arm around Glover's own, pulling his hand tight to their chest and dipping their head down to kiss at the knuckles. A little self assurance that Glover wouldn't be leaving their side any time soon.
“...Sevrin’s adorable by the way. I'm surprised you don't talk about him more. I didn't even know you had a nephew.”
-
It was times like this that made Glover want to be nothing more than smashed-in-the-face bloody drunk. That made his head swim and he didn't have to process anything with any real sense. The dregs of the day, the scuffle with the bum in the alley outside of the strip club, the blisters on his feet, were beginning to be felt now. And he wanted to crawl back in through the window, pop open a bottle until he passed out.
Thankfully, he didn't have to. Eyelids fell down over somber rose-gold eyes and he felt a soft lingering heat behind them. A pang in his chest at the way Wil curled their arm around his and brought his hand up.
Only then did he remember his knuckles and Glover wanted to pull his hand away. A knot built up in his gut, at the scabs that now formed on his knuckles and the blood that dried between his fingers. Wil could see it now, and he wanted to be sick. How could he walk in like this? Like the last dregs of a garbage fire, and then thrown into a pile of some drunk's sick all over a bar bathroom. Glover didn't pull away, no matter how much his mind screamed for him to do so.
In fact he just leaned heavier on his partner. Wil was good. Will was safe, he reminded himself. Glover's expression flickered, and the fair hair on his knuckles raise and tingled, goosebumps rising up along his arm, the one that they cradled so naturally in their own affectionate embrace. Glover's heart sped up, and he felt that pulse in his throat.
"He's a good kid. My sister Evangeline's boy. I...really haven't had a chance to see him recently," Glover commented idly. Another pang. "Yeah well, I...." Didn't really have a good excuse. "I don't talk about my brother River either. We all have those fancy names. But mind was the fanciest. Glover. I guess, I really don't think they're all that interesting. But Sevrin, he's the best of them all."
He stuck his tongue out at Wil, forcing himself to relax enough and his thumb folded over to where Wil's hand held his. No squirming, no getting away. "What about you Lambo? You don't ever talk about your family either."
-
There was a roughness to Glover's knuckles that didn't normally belong, and Wil carefully skirted their kisses around the healing skin. They could feel Glover's skin twitch against their own, like an impulse being fought down.
Wil just squeezed his hand all the closer, dark eyes flicking upwards to watch Glover's face. He really didn't look well: Glover Daniels was always this side of disheveled, but this was a bit beyond the usual. Wil supposed that was the price to pay for getting into bum fights, but somehow that didn't seem like it was the whole reason.
The idea rattled in their head, like some kind of terrible maraca, and it took a good deal of effort to squash the unpleasant sensation that went with it. After all, why would Glover hide something from them? Something actually important and not just where Wil’s hat was? It was ridiculous, and so Wil focused on comforting the other detective, planting soft kisses to his wristbone and smiling a bit as they did.
“Evangeline, River and Glover. And Sevrin. Yeah, I think Sevrin's got the fanciest, sorry, Glo, better luck next time.” They gasped in mock offense at Glover's tongue, before replying in kind, complete with a few blown raspberries for added effect.
“Yeah, well, not much to tell there. I haven't really kept in touch, and I was an only child, so, alas. I think my mother is still a nurse, unless she's managed to retire.”
They shrugged, apparently unbothered by the notion, smiling instead at the feel of Glover's thumb over their hand. Reciprocating the hold. Wanting to be there with them versus being dragged kicking and screaming.
“Kinda wish I'd had a sibling, though. Maybe I'd have a cute as a button nephew then, too.”
-
Glover's eyes twitched and he made a soft noise when Wil's kisses were pressed against his wrist bone. It sounded half way between a deep-throated hum and a whimper. The pulse in his throat reached his ears, and if the breeze against his skin was any indication, heat blushed up against his face.
Why did Wil have to kiss him like that? Those full soft lips, delicate and tantalizing, and his eyes flicked down to watch them press against his wrist, where no doubt his partner might feel his pulse quicken. Glover continued to press his thumb in, and leaning in just a little more. His other hand reached up to cup around the outside side of theirs.
He reached up and kissed the top part of their knuckles. Skin delicate and fingers somehow slight. How the hell did Wil manage to get skin so soft? They were working all the time, and when they weren't working they were hanging out with Glover. Or murdering their next replacement phone. Or they were somehow keeping from going batshit over where in hell's balls Glover was meandering next.
He flipped that wrist over and tucked his mouth in to where Wil's pulse lingered, pressing his own lips delicately to it.
"I don't think even I was as cute as Sevrin was when I was a kid. I was a little brat. I mean if you can possibly believe that. As opposed to the wonderful perfect example of good behavior. You'd vouch for that right?"
Glover sneered and flicked rosey eyes to Wil's huge brown ones. That warmth spread through him and and relaxed, for real this time. There was nothing forced about it. When he got the chance to be with them like this, the world was far away. Glover's hand continued to brush against that soft mocha skin.
"I don't think I've ever met your mother. Are you both kind of...uh, distant with each other? If you don't want to answer that, you don't have to. I don't ...uh, mean to pry." Except he did, and wondered if Wil's upbringing was anything in comparison to his own. Glover felt his stomach roll again, a small jolt of something that went up from his gut and into his chest. Jealousy? Or was it...affection?
"I can see you now. Young Wil Lambert, a screaming wild child, running out into the hallway stark naked, while your mom is trying to dry off your tushie. Adorable."
-
If the fire escape were to choose that very moment to collapse beneath them in a flurry of rust, sending the pair of them cascading down into the alleyway where a bit of ladder would inevitably spell Wil's untimely end, well, they would genuinely go into the afterlife feeling content with the state of their life.
Because what was better than this, Glover's lips on their wrist so feather soft and gentle? Certainly well beyond what anyone might possible expect him capable of. Well, anyone who didn't know him, and Wil rather relished the concept that they might be the only one who did. The thought was selfish, and more than a bit irrational, but they relished it nonetheless. Glover, the real Glover, all theirs and theirs alone.
"What? Glover Daniels, anything but the paragon of virtue? The man I love, a little brat. Perish the thought." they snickered even as they looked up into Glover's face, eyes flicking back and forth between Glover's own, over his nose and that rough stubble and those near constantly smirking lips. Unable to help themselves, Wil lifted one hand up and tapped a finger against Glover's mouth with a soft little 'boop!' "I bet you were... an adorable little ball of willfulness, wrapped up in a sweet little package. Always did what you wanted, but who could argue with that face?"
At the mention of their mother, though, Wil could only roll their eyes a bit, mouth curled into a tight pucker as they shrugged.
"She's never quite forgiven me for burying her son. Anyway, it doesn't matter. Family's what you make it, and... I kind of like this one better anyway."
They snorted, dissolving into snickering giggles as Glover described their hypothetical childhood, head shaking back and forth as they pushed stray strands of green out of their face.
"I was a bit of a hellion, from what I can actually remember. Though less about bathtime. Never understood fighting bathtime, I mean, you get special bubbles with that." They smirked up at Glover, wiggling carefully manicured eyebrows up at him. "I just had a bit of a... sweet tooth. Anything remotely sugary had to be kept under lock and key, and sometimes even then I'd find it and shove it in my face. I once broke into a padlocked cabinet to get at a cake my mother had baked. Puked icing for hours. Completely worth it."
They shifted a bit, moving forward and pressing close to Glover and bringing him into a tight hug. Not for any other reason than they wanted to be as close to him as possible, nuzzling into his chest in a sudden fit of... what? Overwhelming fondness? Some bizarre desperation to really solidify this was their family now? A little bit of both?
-
Was it bad that Glover wanted Wil to be nothing more than selfish? Maybe. Probably. That there would be nothing more than the two of them left in all of Tynova. Hell even all of Edanith if need be. Just he and Lambchop and Sevrin, and no one left in that sorry excuse for a family that Glover was thrust into this world, screaming at the top of his lungs. There was also Arabelle, as sour as Sevrin was sweet, and admittedly Glover didn't spend nearly as much with her as he probably should have.
Was that even normal? Was anything about this even normal? A resounding, empty no echoed in his head. Nothing was normal, and everything was already broken, cracked, and frayed at the edges. The parts kept in place were held together meagerly with tape, and dried out glue. That hollow feeling grew and Glover clenched the muscles of his chest.
"Oh lots of arguments have been had over my face," Glover snorted, pushing against that hollowness, and burning salt that threatened to breach his eyes. "To my face. Around my face. It's very charming. How could they do anything but fight over me."
Glover gave a slow cat-like blink, tingling all over from all those little touches, the fingers on his lips, those thin eyebrows perfectly quirked. Gorgeous, beautiful, and to think that somewhere underneath all that there was a mother out there mourning her son. That was one thing they had in common. But how anyone couldn't see how beautiful Wil was, was completely beyond Glover.
Those brown eyes, complemented by a veil of dark green hair. And the moment they buried their face into his chest, a sense of completeness washed over him. The hollowness abated for once, and as surely as it manifested, it was just as easily quelled. Glover hooked arms around that familiar form and buried hat head against his chest, where his heart was hammering wildly.
And didn't even feel it save for the burning sensation behind his eyes. "You're adorable, you know that? How anyone could let you go, I don't know. I'm just glad I found you. I'm glad you're mine. You're so good, Lambo, even when I don't deserve it. Especially then," Glover found those words spilling out of him and he squeezed Wil harder. "I love you."
More words wanted to fly out of him, everything, all of them. He was spilling over and he didn't know if he could stop himself. Glover shuddered and buried his face against Wil's cheek. For now all that came out was: "Please keep holding on. Don't let me go. Because I sure as hell want you in my life. "
A hollowed ache flowed outward and Glover gave a soft whimper. Because he didn't deserve it, any of that goodness that innately flowed outward. Fuck that old bat. Wil's mother didn't know what she had when she had them. And if she couldn't appreciate Lambchop when for what they were, then he sure as shit would. Because if there was one thing for sure, he wouldn't be letting go.