I hate this fucking city.
The words were a grounding mantra repeating over and over again inside Bran’s head as he laid there in the floor of the Adstreian Inquiry office. Smoke wafted from the end of his cigarette, he’d lost count of how many that made today. It was being in this place’s fault. The only time he smoked this heavily was when he was stressed or angry. Being in Adstreia definitely made him on edge. You couldn’t really relax when you hated where you were. It was even harder to let go with a big case to work on.
Not that there was really much left to work on. It had been an accident, as far as they could glean; a very unfortunate accident, but there was no foul play to pursue. Everyone would be packing it in and going home soon.
His feet were up in the chair at his temporary desk, boots and all. It really was no skin off his nose if the furniture got scuffed or dirty, not his office and not his city. Did he actually have a city? Born and raised in Haviah, post-graduation was split between different battlefields – how lucky for him to be the right age to serve in that particular war – and here.
Every break from deployment was spent in this stupid city with its nonsensical obsession with stars and space. Of course Bran had never come here for the local culture or the mountains or the cuisine – all of which were terrible.
Ryun was his new assignment. He’d been there for over six months now. Did that make it his city? His to work in, but it wasn’t like he was actually attached to the place. It hadn’t really felt like home yet, but he wasn’t sure he had given it a fair chance yet. Maybe the place had a rep for being extremely touristy, but that didn’t make it a bad place. The beaches were nice and he loved the seafood.
Did he miss Ryun or did he just not want to be here?
Bran fiddled with his com some more, the chat was something he hadn’t fooled around with much, but it was a much needed distraction. You could only have files and files of data, evidence, and analysis running through your head for so long before going insane. That was his own fault, with his brain refusing to turn off. He’d always had a problem with becoming hyper-focused on details. Even with everything winding down he couldn’t just stop.
Hell, even Kielen had bailed early today and it was her office and her city. Thinking of her had interesting flashes of forever preserved moments running through his head. That was a hell of a woman right there, and she’d been an excellent distraction for a hot minute – figuratively of course. She’d been handing out distractions like candy.
Even with that going through his head, Bran could feel his eyes drooping and his thoughts fizzing out. When was the last time he’d slept? A power nap on a cot didn’t really count. After a quick relay of his dilemma, the consensus seemed to be that he should go rest.
Ren and Dekval, weren’t those both Ravens?
Bran dragged himself off the floor and threw on his jacket before logging out and powering down his work terminal. The cigarette hanging precariously between his lips was down to the filter and he put it out in the overflowing ashtray before lighting another.
He kept the chat open while walking to his hotel. They were talking about movies now. Sure he’d left to get some sleep, but the walk had woken him up and he knew that more than likely he’d just lay in the strange bed and stare at the ceiling while running more bullshit through his already overworked brain until he either literally couldn’t keep his eyes open any more or until it was time to get up and try another day.
It wasn’t as if he was wrong. As soon as he laid down Bran was thinking about the case again, wondering if there was anything they might have missed. There wasn’t, of course. Shutting off thoughts of the case only led to him thinking about something else he didn’t want in his head. His head was full of shit he didn’t want in there anymore.
Back to the chat, he didn’t know these people, but it helped to talk to someone else, even for a few moments. They were something external to pull him out of his head. It was working, at least a little bit, and that was better than not at all.
Whispers recommended a documentary on Solartan mummification if he was looking to be bored to sleep, so he flipped through the channels until he found something suitably dull. The narrator’s voice was awful – nasally and definitely droning. It was perfect. Bran didn’t know what it was really about and he didn’t care as he tried once again to settle into the hotel bed.
The sensation of fingers gently raking across his scalp and a familiar voice whispering his name in his ear had Bran jerk awake with a start. A quick look around the room told him there was no one there, but he had known there wouldn’t be; just another memory rearing its unwanted head.
He rubbed the sleep and grit from his eyes, there was sunlight filtering through the blinds so he rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Going through the motions of his morning routine, Bran didn’t really pause to start thinking until he was already out of the shower with nothing but a towel around his waist and staring into the bathroom mirror. There was at least three days’ worth of growth on his face, and he scratched at it irritably. Maybe it was a good day to give in and shave.
The hotel bathroom melted away and suddenly he was staring into a different mirror in a different bathroom. Bran knew this wasn’t the real or present image, but the memory was too strong to ignore.
A younger him was smirking and rubbing at his chin while side-eying a slightly smaller young man with shaggy blond hair who was waving a razor at him.
“Look here Muffin McScruffin, your face is starting to get all scratchy and pokey when you kiss me so you either shave it or I am withholding my love and affection you heathen.” Tomas made that threat at least once a week, and had yet to actually act on it. Bran knew that his boyfriend couldn’t possibly make good on such a weak threat.
“I don’t know. I think I can get away with one more day. It isn’t that bad and we both know that you’re going to let me kiss you breathless whenever the hell I want.” To prove his point Bran grabbed Tomas around the waist and pulled him close, drawing him into a heated kiss that he wished they had time to turn into more than just a kiss. Alas, this was their last morning before being deployed again. No rest for the wicked, especially wicked Pilots.
Tomas squealed and pushed against his chest, resisting valiantly against the stubbly affection. At least for a moment, then his arms were around Bran’s neck, kissing him back with an equal amount of wishful longing. The blond boy really was breathless when they finally pulled their lips apart with no small amount of reluctance.
“Okay…fine, maybe you can go one more day.” Bran would never forget the playful twinkle in those sweet hazel eyes.
The present bathroom slowly came back into focus as Bran squeezed his eyes closed, he could feel the death grip he had on the edges of the vanity, but it took him several moments before he could let go. His hands ached, cramping up in that short amount of time lost in the past. Gods above, he hated when that happened.
Shaking it off Bran finished getting ready, hesitating for a moment before sending a message to Kielen that he would be late getting back into the office today. He had a personal errand to see to this morning.
They had told him where, all those years ago. Of course, like everything else, Bran could never forget it, but until now, he had never been able to bring himself to come here. The memorials in Adstreia looked like most others he had seen. The tiny boxes of ashes in marble walls seemed surreal to him. Why did they have to do it this way?
Not that there was anything wrong with it. Bran just didn’t want to stand in front of this box secured into the marble wall. His fingers traced over the name on the small vault.
Pilot Cardinal Tomas Malott.
