FIC: Follow the steps of the suns, (Ambrose/Cain, DG/Jeb) PG-13
Title: Follow the steps of the suns
Author: archon
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, Smut, Fluff
Word Count: about 9K
Summary: Written for wook77, a late (very late) slashfest entry: Glitch teaches Cain how to dance in time for Ahamo and the Queen's second wedding/renewal of vows.
Notes: Notes and credits ran quite long; you'll find most of them at the end of the fic. However, I would like to profusely thank fleshflutter, who really came through for me on a last minute beta (entirely my fault). Any errors that are still outstanding are mine and mine alone. Deepest thanks also to sopdetly!


Follow the steps of the suns

*

Wyatt Cain stood in front of an old broom closet, his arms folded over his chest and his gaze fixed on the opposite wall. Come hell or high water, he'd make sure that no one else would innocently stumble in the way he just had.

Just how long did it take two healthy young people to get dressed anyway?

Tired of glaring at the wall, Wyatt shifted and began to glare at the ceiling. Someone was in big trouble. Two someones. Or they would be, once Wyatt figured out which one of them to chew out first.

When the door finally opened, he mostly managed to avoid noticing the outrageous, wild mess of DG's hair. The hickey on his son's neck, however, was a little more difficult to push out of his mind.

"Hi, Dad." Jeb mumbled.

"So, uh. Surprise?" DG tried, and then winced as the word landed between them all with a very flat thud.

"How long?" He was the palace's Head of Security, after all, and any secret happenings rankled, especially when right under his nose.

The silence was deafening.

Wyatt didn't ask again. As a child, Jeb had always hung himself, given enough rope, and adulthood had not changed him in this respect.

To his surprise, DG broke first. "Four and a half months."

"We didn't mean anything," Jeb said in a rush. "We just wanted to figure out for ourselves where this was headed before we had to deal with the court gossips."

"Do I look like a member of the court?" Wyatt asked.

"We were going to announce it at the Renewal," DG said. Jeb took her hand, and the two exchanged a very long look.

Wyatt nearly whistled out loud. The renewal of vows between the Queen and Ahamo was slated to be the biggest event in the O.Z. in the two years since the witch's defeat.

It was serious, then. His son - his little boy! - was in love, and with the only person in the O.Z. who was good enough for him.

Something must have shown in his eyes, because the tension drained from the two of them.

"You are coming to the Renewal, aren't you, Mr. Cain? Not just working, but you'll be celebrating too, right?" DG asked, her big, blue eyes staring up at him as though her entire world hung on his answer.

He knew better, but that didn't stop it from working on him every single time.

"I don't-" he started to say, until he caught sight of the frown Jeb was giving him.

Wyatt looked down at their joined hands and sighed. Deep down, he knew he didn't stand a chance against either the grown man he still thought of as his little boy, or the princess he'd come to love as a daughter. Now that they were a combined force, resistance was completely hopeless.

"I'll come." The words had barely left his mouth and DG was already smiling brightly.

"Promise you'll save a dance for me?" she asked. She glanced away, her eyes met Jeb's briefly, and Wyatt would've sworn his son was glowing.

He smiled. "Sure, kid."

It wasn't until several hours later, when he was getting ready for bed, that it occurred to Wyatt that they probably wouldn't be dancing any of the country dances he'd danced at his own wedding. He'd have to ask Ambrose to teach him formal dancing - after having in no uncertain terms refused his many previous offers to do just that very thing. Great.

Rather than dwell on future unpleasantness, his thoughts lingered over his wedding. It was one of his happiest memories, and it only hurt a little to think of it now. It had been one hell of a party, the biggest his hometown had seen in years.

The precious, beautiful memories seemed very close, their strength a rare gift compared to the dreams - nightmares - he still woke up from some nights, shivering with helplessness.

He looked down at his wedding ring, so accustomed to the weight and pressure of it that he didn't even feel it anymore. He missed Adora. He loved her, and he always would, but she had moved on.

She'd already have been mighty angry with him for grieving for her beyond the standard year and a day.

Time to let go, he thought, slowly pulling the ring from his finger and bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss, not bothering to blink back the tears. Adora deserved them.

Wyatt folded the ring carefully in a clean, white handkerchief and placed it in a tin box in his closet, nestled beside the small toy horse that had once saved his life.

*

Over the next several days, Wyatt not only confirmed every detail of the security procedures for the upcoming ceremony and reception, but he also updated his stack of security recommendations, completed every single one of his personnel reviews, wrote three new initiative memorandums, and reorganized every drawer of the filing cabinet that'd been overflowing for months. Only then did he reluctantly determine that there was nothing stopping him from facing the music (so to speak) and asking Ambrose for dance lessons.

Knowing Ambrose, Wyatt would never hear the end of it. Damn kids.

Even dragging his feet (not that he was), it only took him a few minutes to duck into Ambrose's workshop. It took much longer to spot him through the thick steam pouring out of several complicated-looking contraptions. "Ambrose!" he called, giving up.

"Cain! It's really great to see you!" Ambrose slipped into view. His long jacket hung open, fluttering about as it normally did when he was in the throes of what he referred to as his inspiration. He looked better that way, Wyatt had always thought. Stiff and formal clothing didn't suit him.

Before Wyatt could say anything, Ambrose repeated himself. "Cain! It's really great to see you!"

"You just said that." The response was automatic; although the operation to restore Ambrose's brain had been a complete success, the damage to his synapses had proven to be permanent. His memory was exceptional, genius, but he continued to glitch from time to time and he most likely always would.

"Did I?" Ambrose smiled, mostly with his eyes, and shrugged. "It's true, anyway. What brings the Head of Security to my den of iniquity at this irreputable hour?"

"It's just after midday."

"Exactly so. Only the very worst would be causing trouble in broad daylight like this. I warn you though, I won't be taken easily." Ambrose's voice dropped noticeably at the last part, and the corner of his mouth turned up in a sly smile.

Normally, Wyatt would've responded in a similar vein. Ambrose's teasing and mock-flirting were a welcome reminder to not be serious all the time - not that Wyatt would ever admit to that. This time, however, he had a mission and he just wanted to get it over with.

He took off his hat, looking down at it while he spoke. "I need a favor."

A long pause settled over the room. Wyatt was almost tempted to fidget. Almost.

"Wyatt Cain asking for a favor? Quick! Lock up the children and emeralds! The end of the O.Z. is nigh!" Ambrose finally gasped in mock horror, his hand over his heart.

Wyatt felt his face heat up. He didn't know where to look, so he settled for a vague point in the whiteness, somewhere past Ambrose's shoulder.

"This is really something, isn't it?" Ambrose said, more gently. "Come on, tell me what you need." Keeping a hand on Wyatt's arm so he didn't get lost in the steam, Ambrose led them to a workbench. He pushed aside a few very odd bits of this and that so Wyatt could sit before taking his place at Wyatt's left.

"I need to learn how to dance," Wyatt said. "In time for the Renewal. I promised."

"Oh," was all Ambrose said. He was staring, and Wyatt followed the gaze to his own hand, where a stripe of pale skin was the only remaining sign of his wedding band. His finger still felt oddly naked.

"Sure," his friend continued, his voice oddly high-pitched and rushed. "Had to happen sometime, right?" Before Wyatt could make any sense of that, Ambrose continued, still speaking quickly, his tone growing simultaneously scolding and petulant: "I told you months ago you needed to learn, but did you listen? Of course not. One of these days, Tin Man, you're going to live to regret not taking my advice. If it's good enough for the Royal Family, it should be good enough for one stubborn-"

"I'll stop by the second hall later tonight," Wyatt cut in.

Ambrose paused, visibly pained for one full second before continuing right where he left off, "-stubborn, and very RUDE Head of Security. Which is a job that I hope you're paying as much attention to as it deserves, because I think I saw Azkadellia bribe one of the cooks to spike the punch."

"Did she? I'll look into it."

"I really do hate it when you do that," Ambrose said, sighing.

"I know, sweetheart."

*

By the time Wyatt arrived at the empty hall they'd agreed to practice in, Ambrose was already there. His long coat was still unbuttoned, and his dark hair stuck out at all angles so that the line of his scar stood out shockingly white. He paced back and forth rapidly, muttering to himself.

"Rough day?"

"You don't even want to know," Ambrose said, looking up at him.

"Okay," Wyatt said, knowing there was absolutely no chance Ambrose wasn't going to tell him anyway.

Sure enough, after a moment, Ambrose marched up to him. "Your son," he poked Wyatt in the chest, "your son!"

"Jeb alright?"

"Of course he's alright. Just fine. So is DG, in fact. A little too fond of hanging out in broom cupboards, perhaps, but perfectly fine."

Wyatt groaned.

"Why closets, Cain? It's not some kind of twisted family thing, is it? Because I don't understand. This is the third time in three weeks! It's not like they both don't have perfectly good rooms. I told them months ago that I'd make sure there weren't any recording devices in them."

"You knew?"

"Knew what? That they were secretly dating? Of course I knew," Ambrose shrugged and bit at the inside of his cheek. "Don't tell me you didn't?"

Wyatt wasn't going there. "Can we just get started?"

"Sure, let me get some music."

Cain had half-expected him to pull out some elaborate new invention, maybe one that would holoproject an entire live orchestra. Instead, Ambrose walked to the corner and switched on a beautiful antique record player. He set the needle to the spinning disc, and slightly scratchy but hauntingly familiar music filled the room.

"My mother played the violin," Ambrose said with a gentle smile. "She was famous on our world. People would come from all over just to hear her play. I used to listen to her practice for hours and hours."

"I recognize this," Wyatt said slowly, putting together the pieces of his old life until he found the right place. "Someone I went steady with loved it; he used to listen to it constantly." Wisely, he refrained from adding that all of their friends, Wyatt included, had given him a hard time over listening to something so fancy.

Ambrose just looked at him, his expression openly skeptical.

"What?"

Ambrose shrugged. "It's just hard to picture you dating-" Apparently thinking better of what he'd been going to say, he interrupted himself, words spilling out over each other in an awkward rush. "-although, of course, you weren't born married. Because that would be just silly. I'm sure you dated a lot. Well, not a lot, but a lot. In fact, I'll bet you were quite the heartbreaker."

A heartbreaker? Him? The thought was flattering, but Adora would have found it hysterical; Wyatt had only dated two people before meeting his wife. But there was saw no reason to mention that detail. Better to change the subject. "So…that's your mother playing?"

"Yes. When my step-father died, she swore off music and took up painting instead."

"She must be a wonderful woman," Wyatt said, hoping to hear more. Ambrose rarely spoke about his family.

"She was," Ambrose said. "She died while I was away at school. I miss her." He smiled wistfully, and then his attitude shifted, became business-like. The subject was closed.

He walked over and stood in front of Wyatt. "Are you at all familiar with the waltz?"

Wyatt shook his head, carefully not considering how complicated the foreign-sounding dance might be, or how ridiculous he would look learning it.

As though sensing his thoughts, Ambrose asked, grinning, "Can you count to three?"

Wyatt gave him an obligatory frown, although something inside him relaxed a little at the teasing, smiled inwardly.

"The leader puts his hand on his partner's waist," Ambrose began. As soon as he finished speaking, Wyatt felt the warmth and pressure of a hand on his side. The touch was intimate, almost possessive, and was disturbing in a way he wasn't sure he understood or knew how to express.

"Whoa, there," he said, wincing when it came out more loudly than he'd intended.

"C'mon, Cain, how are you going to lead when you don't even know the dance yet?" Ambrose huffed. "If you're always this uptight, it's no wonder you haven't had a date before this!"

A date? Wyatt wasn't proud of the way he'd reacted, but Ambrose had it all wrong. "It's not a-"

"No wonder you haven't had a date before this!" Ambrose repeated.

"Ambrose-"

"No wonder you haven't had a date before this!"

When talking didn't jolt Ambrose out of a glitch, the next step was physical contact. Tempting though it was to smack the annoying phrase right off of Ambrose's lips, Wyatt decided to do things the nice way.

Ambrose's hand was still on his side, so Wyatt reached up and shook his shoulder - and only a little harder than strictly necessary.

"No wonder you-" Ambrose shook his head as though throwing off the glitch. He collected himself for a moment, and then turned to look at Wyatt's hand, still resting on his shoulder.

"Your hand stays there. Perfect. Now, take my other hand."

Wyatt slipped his free hand into Ambrose's outstretched one, bringing them a full step closer to each other. Ambrose's skin was dry and a little rough, scratched and marked from hours of working in his lab, and his grip was firm. He was close enough that Wyatt could smell him: motor oil and sawdust, and a little bit of magic.

Instincts he had relied on as a Tin Man for his safety, that he still used to keep DG and the royal family safe, told him there was something wrong, that there was something he was overlooking.

Part of him wanted very much to push Ambrose away and go back to his own room.

Instead, he patiently waited for further instructions. Ambrose walked him through the steps, slowly at first and then eventually in time with the music.

The dance wasn't difficult at all, Wyatt thought. It was much less complicated than the dances from back home. Or maybe it only seemed that way because Ambrose moved so smoothly. It was impressive, and Wyatt realized that although he was still on edge, he was enjoying himself very much.

"That wasn't so bad at all," Ambrose said when the song wound to a close. "You ready to try this the other way around?"

The hand at his waist slid up to his shoulder, and there again was the urge to flee, even stronger than before. Wyatt swallowed and put his hand at Ambrose's waist. There was no softness to him at all, Wyatt thought, and not for the first time he wondered at how much lay beneath Ambrose's apparent flightiness.

"Any time you're ready." Ambrose's tone was thick with amusement, his pose visibly relaxed and careless, but Wyatt could still feel the tension in the muscles beneath his hand. He felt like a riddle on the edge of a solution, waiting for a nudge, a touch of inspiration.

The beat was there, soft and steady, a gentle rhythmic wave in threes, and Wyatt slipped them into it without so much as a ripple. Ambrose followed as smoothly as he led.

After a few minutes, however, Ambrose must have slipped into a daydream of his own. His gaze was unfocused, far away, and he smiled slightly at something Wyatt couldn't see. His hand moved as though restless, fluttering from his shoulder to light on the back of Wyatt's neck.

It started as a tickle, mildly irritating, when Ambrose began absently stroking the light hairs there, fingers ghosting along Wyatt's skin. Probably Ambrose was completely unaware of what he was doing.

But the sensation built upon itself rapidly, annoyance turning to fear becoming shivers and goosebumps and damn if Ambrose's eyes weren't so beautiful, electric, and what would happen if they kissed?

Ambrose was making him feel too much. He always did, and now it had led to this. To wanting, to needing things he had almost forgotten about it'd been so long. And somehow, Wyatt felt he should have seen it coming a long time ago.

Distracted, he stumbled, and they fell out of the dance.

The puzzle that had been bothering Wyatt was solved, and it was too late but he still needed to leave immediately. He let go of Ambrose, stepping back until they were touching absolutely nowhere.

Wyatt tried to talk, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat. "I think I have it now."

"Are you okay?" Ambrose took a step closer, his hand raised as though to check for a fever.

Wyatt stepped back, out of reach. It wasn't a subtle movement, and he saw Ambrose flinch.

"Fine. It's just hot in here."

"Alright," Ambrose's voice was soft, nearly apologetic, and he wouldn't meet Wyatt's eyes. "Goodnight."

*

Wyatt did not pause or stop, walking right out onto a high balcony of the castle that was out of the way enough so that he was rarely interrupted there.

He hadn't been able to see the stars in the tin suit, hadn't been able to see anything but his wife and his son being hurt, over and over. At some point - time was hazy, the spells that made the suit work kept it that way so no one ever escaped by going completely insane - but he knew that at one point, he'd realized he couldn't remember the shapes the stars made in the night sky. Realized he'd never really gotten to know them.

Over the past two years, he'd made it a point to learn the names and stories of every constellation.

Tonight he stared at them without really seeing, gripping the railing and trying to get his heart to slow down.

He wanted Ambrose. Wanted him in a way he'd never expected to want anyone else ever again. For months after DG let him out of his prison, he couldn't even - it hadn't -

"Dad?"

Wyatt froze. What was he going to say to Jeb? It had taken so long for Jeb to forgive him for not being there. He couldn't bear to risk hurting his son any more. And for what? What were the chances Ambrose would even return his feelings?

"Son." He moved over, giving Jeb room to stand next to him on the balcony.

"What's that one?" Jeb pointed at a cluster of bright stars to the east. Jeb had spent enough time in a tin suit – thankfully only a couple of days, but it burned Wyatt that he hadn't been there to save his son from even that – to understand Wyatt's interest in astronomy.

"The Whistle," Wyatt answered automatically. "A long time ago, one of the ancients wore his lover, enchanted to the shape of a tin whistle, around his neck for some time before he was discovered and returned to normal."

His son laughed out loud. "That's pretty romantic."

"I suppose. That's not what brings you out here tonight though, is it?"

"Sort of."

"I see." And Wyatt thought he really did. "Won't be easy, her someday being the Queen and all."

"I love her."

Wyatt turned to look at his son. Jeb held his gaze, serious and determined, looking ready to fight for DG if he had to. Wyatt smiled. "Your mother's father gave me some advice shortly before our wedding. 'Don't ever go to bed angry,' he said."

"Does that work?" Jeb sounded doubtful.

"Not at all. There aren't any tricks or shortcuts. It'll be whatever you two make of it."

"If she'll have me."

"She's a pretty smart young woman. And I'm happy for you, son."

Jeb stepped in and put his arms around Wyatt's shoulders, slapping his back once or twice while Wyatt returned the hug. "Thanks, Dad."

As quietly as he'd come, Jeb left.

He looked up at the stars again, at the Whistle shining in the sky, his smile fading. Wondering what it was going to be like to be that close to someone, knowing he couldn't say anything. He had too much to lose.

Maybe someday.

*

Soft but incessant tapping on the door broke Wyatt out of a deep and for once dreamless sleep. Groaning, he looked over to the clock at his bedside and saw that it was much too early for any reasonable person.

Which narrowed down the list of suspects considerably. "Go away Ambrose."

But the palace walls were thick and there was no chance Ambrose would be able to hear him, and even less chance it would make a difference if he did. Soon enough, Wyatt heard his door open.

He closed his eyes and went very, very still. Maybe if Ambrose thought Wyatt was still asleep, he would leave. Crush or not, it was too damn early.

Wyatt's body disagreed, reacting with great interest. An erection was a normal enough occurrence at that time of morning, but definitely not something he wanted to deal with just then.

In the stillness of the room, Wyatt could just hear the quiet footsteps approaching his bed. Then Ambrose was leaning over him, and Wyatt didn't open his eyes but he knew how close Ambrose was, could feel him hovering above him.

"I know you're awake, Cain. You should be more careful, letting strange men just walk into your bedroom like this. Who knows what could happen?" Ambrose said, his all-too-awake voice laced with humor. The previous evening's awkwardness might as well have not happened.

"They might go away and let me sleep in peace?"

"As attractive as you are? Not a chance. Come on, our horses are saddled and waiting for us in the stables already."

Ambrose wasn't expecting him to get up and change right then and there, was he? It wasn't that Wyatt was shy - he'd gotten dressed in front of Ambrose dozens of times while traveling - but that was before.

And his morning problem wasn't showing any signs of going away.

"Where are we going?" He was awake enough now to remember that it was Saturday, and that as usual he and Ambrose had planned a day trip. This week it was Ambrose's turn to pick the destination.

"To get apples."

"You're serious." Although he'd never tasted an apple, Wyatt couldn't imagine they were worth all the trouble. Ambrose had tried and failed to gather apples more times than Wyatt cared to remember. He was convinced that eventually one of the trees was going to get really angry, and Ambrose was going to end up headcased again.

"Of course." Ambrose shrugged.

"You're obsessed."

"Come on, out of bed."

Wyatt sighed, pushed the covers out of the way, and sat up. He refused to be self-conscious over something that was perfectly normal. There was no reason at all for Ambrose to think it had anything to do with him - if he even noticed, which was unlikely.

But he could've sworn he saw Ambrose's eyes drop down to his pajama pants and linger, could've sworn that Ambrose's tongue flickered out over his lips while he did it.

Wyatt closed his eyes for a moment. If he didn't get his body under control, it was going to be a very, very long day. "I'm going to take a shower. Meet you down for a quick breakfast?"

"That's fine," Ambrose said, his voice somewhat strangled.

Wyatt began to gather his clothes. Ambrose stood, frozen on the spot.

"That's fine," he repeated. "That's-"

"You just said that."

"Oh, sorry." Ambrose blushed and then tried to turn around but tripped over his own feet. Eventually he untangled himself, muttering something about calling himself Glitch again, and made it out the door.

*

"Can I ask you something personal?" Wyatt said. It was a glorious day and they'd made excellent time, riding without pause to a field near a small orchard. Ambrose had brought a lunch, and they'd eaten and were resting before Ambrose made his doomed attempt to steal apples.

Ambrose answered without even pausing. "So long as everyone has a good time, I'm all for it."

"What?"

Ambrose grinned. "Nothing. What's on your mind?"

"Why don't you talk much about your family?"

"Oh." The smile slipped from Ambrose's face. "My mother and I - well, we weren't on the best of terms when she died. She didn't like it that I spent all my time with my inventions and being the Advisor to the Queen instead of getting married to Leona and starting a family. I thought there would be plenty of time for that later. That my inventions could really make a difference."

Ambrose was openly frowning, now, and his voice was laced with bitterness. "Look how that turned out."

Whatever his mistakes, Ambrose had sacrificed everything to make up for them. It wasn't right for him to still be in pain. "You did everything you could-"

"No. My mother was right. My life before lacked balance, perspective. If I ever had the chance again, I would do things differently."

Wyatt thought of Adora and Jeb. He wouldn't have traded a minute of his time with them for all of the eight years he'd been locked in the tin suit or any of the nightmares that had come since.

And now he had Jeb back, and all of their wounds were if not healing, at least becoming bearable.

"Like those trees, for example." Ambrose gracefully leapt up, holding his hands out in front of him in attack mode. "Sometimes all it takes is a new approach."

Wyatt shook his head, refusing to be a party to Ambrose's scheme - whatever it was. "You're going to get hurt."

"Wait until you taste one." With that, Ambrose grinned and headed off for the orchard.

*

It wasn't long before Ambrose returned, without limping, coatless but apparently intact.

Wyatt did a double-take. In one hand, Ambrose carried a large, shiny, red apple; in the other, he carried several more wrapped up in his coat. He sat down next to Wyatt, not deigning to so much as look at him, and carefully set his precious bundle on the blanket before taking a large, crunchy bite of his prize.

It was delicious, judging by the ecstatic look on Ambrose's face while he chewed. Wyatt's mouth began to water, although he wasn't sure which he wanted a bite of first.

"How did you get it?" he asked, more to distract himself than because he wanted the information.

"I laid a trap so cunning, so devious, that I can't tell you about it." Ambrose took another bite, making a soft contented noise that shot past salacious into positively indecent.

"Why not?"

"Because then I can't use the same trick on you. Would you like to try some?"

Ambrose held the bitten side of the apple inches from Wyatt's mouth. There was no way Wyatt could honorably refuse; Ambrose had earned this victory.

Wyatt wrapped his hands around Ambrose's, making sure he wouldn't be able to pull it away. He brought the fruit to his lips and took his very first ever bite of apple.

There wasn't anything else in the O.Z. like it: the sweet, tempting scent of the fruit, and the tart crispness of it on his tongue. He took a second, larger bite, after which Ambrose's hand slipped from beneath his, leaving him holding the apple.

"Do you like it?" Ambrose's voice was soft. Wyatt looked over, clutching the fruit, as though guilty of having snatched it.

"It's delicious," he admitted.

Ambrose smiled, obviously delighted, but his gaze was fixed on Wyatt's lips. He must have noticed Wyatt's noticing because he gave an unconvincing little laugh.

"You've got a little juice-" And just like that, Ambrose was touching Wyatt's mouth, his fingers tracing his lower lip. Another second and Wyatt would've given in to the urge to suck Ambrose's fingers into his mouth.

But Ambrose pulled his hand away, still staring but now into Wyatt's eyes, and Wyatt realized he was moving closer.

"Do you want to know how I got it?" That soft voice again, deeper this time, and Wyatt felt a shiver run down his spine.

"How?" Wyatt heard his voice catch. Ambrose looked like sex breathing, and there was no way Wyatt could be expected to be that strong.

"I asked. Nicely." Emphasis on the last word, and the way he said it left little doubt that Ambrose could be very, very nice.

The way he said it also left no doubt that Ambrose wasn't teasing anymore, that he was deadly serious. His face was only inches away from Wyatt's.

"We should be getting back." Hands shaking, Wyatt quickly handed Ambrose back the apple, stood up, and began shoving items back into the saddlebags.

Ambrose just sat and watched him, munching on his damn apple, his eyes crinkling as though he was enjoying a secret, inside joke.

*

Wyatt was silent most of the ride back, lost in his own tangled feelings. He could admit to himself that he was afraid that he'd screw up again, lose everyone he cared about. He wasn't at all sure whether he could even function in a relationship.

But then, he'd never let fear run his life before, and he supposed now wasn't the time to start.

Jeb would understand, wouldn't he? He was old enough to know that no one would take Adora's place, that it didn't work that way. All the same, Wyatt resolved to bring it up the next time he saw his son. Nothing in the O.Z. was worth risking his relationship with Jeb.

They arrived back at the castle just as the first sun was setting. Wyatt simply nodded, still caught up in his thoughts and barely listening, as Ambrose explained that he'd left his mother's album behind the night before, and would Wyatt mind if they stopped and picked it up before heading to dinner?

Once they were back in the hall, Wyatt was reluctant to leave. Their day off was almost over, and with it their time alone. They'd be surrounded by people and responsibilities every waking moment from dinner that night until the Renewal.

"I'd like to try that again," he said before Ambrose could remove the precious black disc from the record player.

"The apples?" Ambrose cocked his head to the side, plainly confused. "I left them in the saddle bags. They'll be brought up later."

"No." Wyatt cleared his throat. "That," he said, motioning to the dance floor.

Ambrose's face lit up as though he'd been offered a lifetime's supply of moritanium and fifty Munchkin blacksmiths to work it. "You want to dance?"

He didn't wait for Wyatt to answer. Instead, he switched on the record player, filling the room with a jarring loud scratching sound before he picked up the arm and set the needle gently on the spinning disc.

Wyatt barely had time to smile at Ambrose's enthusiasm before Ambrose swooped down on him, wrapping his arm around Wyatt's waist and spinning him around. Wyatt let him, and when they slowed, he put his hand back on Ambrose's shoulder, the way he'd learned the previous evening.

"Slowly," Wyatt said when Ambrose reached for his hand.

Ambrose took a breath, his eyes twinkling as though to foreshadow a particularly wicked comment…

…when DG walked in.

The words seemed to die on Ambrose's lips, but didn't release his hold, apparently oblivious to what they must look like, startled and staring at the princess, holding hands with their arms around each other.

"Sorry to interrupt," DG said, though she didn't sound sorry, and she made no effort to move. Instead, she leaned against the doorway comfortably. "Please continue. Rumor has it, Mr. Cain has two left feet and I need to know what I'm up against."

"Who said I can't dance?" Wyatt grumbled, not sure he should be as upset by the accusation as he was.

"You're the one he's dancing with?" Ambrose said not half a second later, as though it was a revelation. His hand tightened on Wyatt's waist for a moment, and his face split in a grin. "Does Jeb know he's got competition?" he teased.

"Maybe I should ask you that same question," DG shot back.

Ambrose's grin grew impossibly wider. He pulled back, just a little, not letting go, and met Wyatt's gaze briefly. "I should be so lucky," he said, in the gentle, slow voice he used when he meant to be taken seriously.

Wyatt's heart began to race, and he tried to slow it down, tried not to want too much.

"You heard the Princess, Cain." Before Wyatt could say a word, Ambrose spun them around, waltzing faster and faster, whirling Wyatt around the floor with effortless grace. It felt like flying, and Wyatt looked down at their feet.

They were flying. At least two feet of air separated them from the ground as Ambrose led them through the room, unfaltering, rising higher and higher with every beat. DG stood in the doorway, her eyes closed and finger unconsciously circling.

Wyatt looked back at Ambrose just in time to catch the acrophobic man looking down and staring at the floor in horror. He tensed in Wyatt's arms, their perfect rhythm wavering.

Whatever happened, Wyatt couldn't let Ambrose fall. So he touched Ambrose's jaw, raising it gently until their eyes met. He knew that everything he felt was written on his face, open, and he was comfortable with that. Happy, even, that he knew Ambrose would not let him down either.

"Eyes on me," he said.

Ambrose's gaze locked with Wyatt’s, saying without words that no, he wouldn't look down. He pulled Wyatt in to dance even closer. Their dance, still wild and free in midair, began spiraling in to the center of the room, their bodies supported by magic, in perfect synch with one another.

When the music wound to a close, they began to descend, gently landing on their feet, still exhilarated, holding on to one another without pretense.

"Just practicing," DG said. When she received no response, she continued, "Okay…I guess I'll see you guys later, then, huh." Later, Wyatt would remember her dry amusement and blush.

Still caught up in the moment, neither man turned to watch her go. They continued to stand there, looking at each other and breathing for several long moments.

"Can I kiss you?" Ambrose's voice was light, but the words spilled out in too much of a rush to be thoughtless.

Wyatt didn't - couldn't - answer. Instead, he leaned in, his eyes beginning to close automatically, and it was almost as though they'd risen into the air once more.

They were so close that Wyatt could feel the heat of Ambrose's skin, imagined he could feel the brush of his lips, when Ambrose suddenly stopped and said, "Um, you're not gonna punch me or anything, are you?"

Wyatt's eyes flew open, and he saw Ambrose, so very close, nervous and optimistic all at once in an expression he'd worn constantly as Glitch. Wyatt laughed a little, the joy inside spilling out.

"Come here," he said, letting go of Ambrose's hand to pull him in closer. Wyatt's eyes slid shut again just as their lips met smoothly, easily in the middle.

There was nothing Wyatt enjoyed more than kissing (although a few other related things came extremely close). He might have been content to simply stand there in the empty hall for hours, his lips and Ambrose's meeting, moving against each other, enjoying warmth and sensation. Feeling the slow burn of arousal spreading through his body with every breath, every touch. Marveling at how impossibly right it felt in spite of everything.

But Ambrose's kisses grew fiercer, his hands restless and eager, assured and curious. Wyatt felt as though he was being taken apart, that his heart was breaking because now he needed this, needed Ambrose.

"Are you-" Ambrose began, but he cut off his own sentence, kissing Wyatt deeply and reaching his hand around to find Wyatt's already hard cock and squeezing, pleasure so intense it almost hurt.

And just like that, Wyatt was half out of his mind, grinding into Ambrose's hand, his mouth moving along sweet-salty skin to suck and bite on Ambrose's neck.

"Yes," he managed, not sure himself what he was answering, but knowing it was the only answer anyway. Through blurred, heated vision he saw the outline of Ambrose's cock in his trousers. Immediately, he pried his hands from the warm skin of Ambrose's back, where they'd crept up under his shirt, and opened Ambrose's pants. He reached in – too roughly, he thought, worried until he heard Ambrose moan – and slid his fingers along hot, smooth skin.

There was no warning given, no change in light or atmosphere to tell them they weren't alone anymore.

"Dad, have you seen-" Jeb's voice had the effect of a bucket of ice water poured right down Wyatt's back.

He looked up. Jeb was standing in the doorway, staring at them in shock.

"Jeb-" Wyatt began, pulling away from Ambrose, who let him go, still breathing heavily, and stepped back. Ambrose refastened his trousers over his erection as calmly though he was caught in that state by the son of the man responsible for it every single day.

"I didn't mean to interrupt." His son's voice was cold, almost as distant as it had been the first day they'd been reunited. Without another word, he turned and walked out.

Wyatt turned back to Ambrose, trying to come up with the words to explain, to apologize - he wasn't even sure what to say.

But Ambrose understood. "Go talk to him."

*

In the past, when Jeb was upset, he had run outside, as close to the forest as he could get. But when Wyatt asked the guards at the front gate if they'd seen his son that night, they replied in the negative.

So he went to DG's room and knocked on the door. It opened only a foot or so. DG's face blinked at him through the opening.

"Hello, Mr. Cain. What can I do for you this evening?"

"Jeb there?"

DG made a small motion, hidden by her body, indicating that Jeb was standing behind her. "Oh, no. He isn't here. But I'll tell him you're looking for him," she said out loud.

Meaning Jeb didn't want to talk. Wyatt couldn't leave it like that, though. And judging by the look DG was giving him, neither could she. "I'll just take a look around." Gently, he moved past her and into the room. Jeb was sitting on the edge of DG's bed, arms braced on either side of himself, glaring downward.

"Jeb?"

The glare slowly shifted upward. "Dad."

Wyatt sat down next to his son, as close as he dared. "Can we talk about this?"

"Do we have to?"

"I didn't mean to make you upset," Wyatt started.

"How long?" Jeb echoed Wyatt's words of a few days previously.

Wyatt wasn't even sure what exactly was happening. "Just today. This evening. I'd planned on telling you."

"Will someone please tell me what is going on here?" DG demanded. She marched over and stood next to the bed, looking down at them with her hands on her hips.

Wyatt shrugged at her, unsure how to explain, and then looked back to Jeb again and decided to try another approach. "Jeb, I loved your mother. I always will. But that doesn't mean-"

"This isn't about Mom," Jeb said bluntly. "She's gone, and you know she would have wanted you to be happy."

Wyatt swallowed, wondering what else could have made his son so upset. "I thought you liked Ambrose," he ventured.

"I do! But that doesn't mean I want to see you two...doing that. In public. You're my father!"

"Wait a minute," DG said. "You came running in here, all upset, looking like it was the end of the world, because you walked in on Glitch and your dad kissing?" She smacked Jeb on the shoulder. The blow was a pretty good one, by the look of it, though Wyatt felt she could've done a little better and resolved to give her a few pointers the next chance he got.

"Ow! I wish they had just been kissing," Jeb grumbled.

"So you're okay?" Wyatt repeated, moving closer to Jeb and reaching out to awkwardly pat his son's arm - the one DG hadn't abused - once or twice.

"Of course. I'm happy for you. Why wouldn't I be? Just keep it someplace private for the gods' sake." Jeb scrubbed at his eyes as though to wipe away the offending memory.

"Yeah, maybe you two can find a good closet somewhere," DG grinned.

Jeb had the grace to blush.

*

Wyatt's starched collar was scratching into his skin, his boots were new and stiff and pinched his toes, he'd been too busy triple-checking security to remember to eat anything that morning, and the suns had chosen that day to shine the hottest they had yet that annual.

Still, it could be worse, he thought. At least the view was nice.

Ambrose and Tutor stood next to Ahamo (the name was official now, since his old one had been stricken from the official records and could not be recovered) on one side. DG and Azkadellia were next to the Queen, beautiful in their fancy gowns.

In a moving yet torturously slow ceremony, the Royal couple renewed their vows outisde, in front of the entire O.Z.

It was rare for Ambrose to stand still in one place for so long. Wyatt took advantage of his enforced downtime (the Queen had ordered him to relax and enjoy the ceremony, adding the not-so-gentle threat of being thrown in the dungeon should she catch him working) to look his fill, to replay every touch, every kiss in his mind. His unfocused gaze lingered on the front of the advisor's long, formal red coat, remembering what Ambrose felt like underneath, the size and shape of his cock, the tantalizing but all too brief feel of it in his hand.

As Wyatt had feared, the days leading up to the Renewal had been packed completely full and beyond. Security had been a nightmare. Even though many had come to accept that Azkadellia was as much a victim as anyone, there were still far too many others who wouldn't be happy until she was dead.

He had only had time to scribble a quick note to Ambrose, letting him know that everything was okay and that he'd see him at the ceremony. It wasn't anything close to enough, but he couldn't find words for the rest.

Ambrose broke his formal stance briefly and looked over at Wyatt. His eyes were dark and intense, as though he could read Wyatt's thoughts, as though he was having thoughts of his own. Wyatt allowed his gaze to travel once more, up and down, openly assessing the body he wanted badly to be touching, watching Ambrose watching him from the corner of his eye. Finally, Ambrose swallowed heavily and tore his eyes away, back to the ceremony.

Wyatt shifted, mentally adding yet another way in which he was uncomfortable to the list.

*

After the ceremony came the elaborate, invite-only reception in the palace itself. Food and drink were served, after which noble after noble approached the Queen and Ahamo to offer congratulations. The Royal couple smiled graciously, taking the time to allow each being to satisfy him-, her- or itself that the witch really was gone for good.

The line of bluebloods seemed never-ending, but finally the lights dimmed and Queen Ozma and her Consort took to the dance floor. The guests crowded around in a tight circle, watching eagerly.

Ambrose appeared from somewhere in the depths of the crowd to stand at Wyatt's side. He touched Wyatt on the arm in a silent greeting that would have seemed cold if it hadn't been followed by a quick, warm glance silently promising much more later.

Queen Ozma bowed slightly to Ahamo, who nodded back with a quiet smile. She then stepped forward and, to Wyatt's surprise, put her arm around Ahamo's waist.

"The Royal family always leads," Ambrose leaned in and explained to him under his breath, so quietly that Wyatt had to strain to hear. "DG will, too, when you dance with her."

With difficulty, Wyatt refrained from swearing. What other details of courtly etiquette had Ambrose failed to tell him? He looked over at Ambrose, whose expression was much, much too innocent.

The couple began to dance, the Queen's gown floating around her as she and her husband glided across the floor. The music was victorious and strong, and their faces were alight with the clear awareness that the darkness was gone and they had won. Their joy was infectious; all around them, people were smiling, radiant.

A warm, white glow began to build softly between the dancing pair. Magic. Wyatt immediately began to mobilize, finding his men in the crowd, ready to move to join them, to protect the Royal Family.

He was restrained by a hand on his arm. Ambrose motioned to the other end of the Great Hall, where DG and Azkadellia stood watching their parents. The princess' hands were clasped tightly. Azkadellia's eyes were closed, her forehead wrinkling as though deep in thought. As he watched, even from across the hall, Wyatt recognized the look of concentration that came across DG's face, and he was not at all surprised when Ahamo and the Queen began to rise into the air, just as he and Ambrose had done.

"What else haven't you told me?" Wyatt hissed, ignoring the annoyed look or two he received from their fellow spectators. He motioned to his men to stand down. One of these days, Ambrose's little surprises were going to give him a heart attack.

Ambrose bit the inside of his cheek, though a smile still lurked in his eyes. "Um, did I mention you'll be dancing with DG in about three minutes?" he mouthed.

"What!?" This time, several nobles tore their eyes off of the royal couple to glare at Wyatt. He could care less.

But diplomacy was Ambrose's job and when he frowned at Wyatt, obviously disappointed, Wyatt couldn't keep himself from feeling a very small stab of guilt. It was just enough to calm him down. Slightly.

Ambrose stepped in closer to explain, his breath tickling Wyatt's neck. Firmly, Wyatt reminded himself that he was much too angry to be distracted. No matter how attractive Ambrose was.

"Your son may well become the next Consort. You may not like it, but believe me, he'll have an easier time if people get the chance to know your family a little bit."

He had a point, but still. "So you just put me on the spot?" Wyatt asked, much more quietly this time. "You couldn't have asked?"

"It was DG's idea," Ambrose smiled proudly. "You might have refused. And besides, you were busy."

Wyatt opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, Ambrose angled his head so no one could see and quickly licked Wyatt's neck. Every cell in his body woke up, snapped to attention.

"It's time," Ambrose said. "Just follow me."

"You think I'm that easy?" Wyatt growled, but he followed just the same.

Ambrose's timing was perfect. They reached the princesses just as the Royal couple's feet touched the floor, to the wild applause of the Court.

Moving to stand before Azkadellia, Ambrose swept a deep and complicated bow. Wyatt did his best to emulate the gesture for DG, despite knowing he probably looked like a drunken papay next to his lithe friend.

"Hello, Mr. Cain," DG said, with an enormous, cheeky grin.

"Hi, kid." He couldn't help but smile back.

"I hear you're a pretty good dancer," she teased, holding out her arm. Wyatt accepted awkwardly due to the difference in height. Beside them, Ambrose took Azkadellia's arm.

They joined the Queen and Ahamo on the dance floor. The musicians began playing again, and this time, Wyatt recognized the tune as the same one on Ambrose's mother's record.

It was harder to dance with DG than it had been with Ambrose. She led well enough when she was paying attention, but her gaze kept wandering and every time it did, they messed up a little.

Wyatt looked over, curious to see how Ambrose fared, and felt an odd twinge when he saw that Ambrose and Azkadellia were absolutely stunning together. Both slender and dark and pale like moonlight, his red coat with gold trim set off the single red rose in her white gown to perfection. Ambrose smiled at the Princess warmly, and if anyone had been unaware that when she was possessed she had tortured and mutilated him, they would never have guessed.

Ambrose never gave himself credit for it, but Wyatt had never known a braver or a better man.

"Jeb should be cutting in on us in a couple of minutes," DG said, squeezing his hand. "And Captain JinJur on Azkadellia. You'll get your chance to dance with him."

"JinJur?" Wyatt blinked. JinJur was credited with forming the Resistance. She had been the first Captain in the army to publicly speak out against the Sorceress. The action had cost her dearly; her entire family had been publicly executed, and she had rotted away in the lowest prison for years.

"Oh! They're not a couple," DG said. "But JinJur's family is pretty old, magical, and she knew all along that Az-" DG always choked a little when talking about what her sister had gone through. "She knew from the beginning that Az was being used. JinJur's hoping that this will help people realize they aren't the same, maybe show them not to keep being afraid of her."

"Hard to be afraid of her now," Wyatt said, nodding over DG's shoulder to where her sister was dancing. "Look."

Azkadellia was pretending to dip Ambrose, who was doing a decent job of hiding the fact that he was supporting his own weight as his back arched unbelievably far back. He came up, batting his eyelashes at Azkadellia, whose face opened in a very wide and very real grin.

"He really is very attractive, isn't he," DG mused. "I wonder-"

Wyatt couldn't keep from glaring at her, and she snickered in a very un-Princesslike manner.

"May I cut in?" Jeb was standing beside them. A rustle of conversation went around the room, people reacting and speculating to his presence. If it bothered him, he gave no sign.

Wyatt smiled and stepped back, watching as the young couple began to dance. DG was light on her feet, much more graceful than she'd been a moment ago. Wyatt reckoned love had a way of doing that.

He turned to go back to the sidelines, but paused when Captain JinJur walked onto the floor. She was tall, even taller than Azkadellia, and her hair was a glorious tumble of shocking red. Wyatt would've sworn that Azkadellia blushed when JinJur bowed. Their dance was almost as graceful as DG and Jeb's, and Wyatt thought that maybe DG might have been wrong about that one.

Her appearance, however, had left Ambrose stranded as Wyatt was, alone on the dance floor.

Raw and his mate temporarily blocked Wyatt's view of Ambrose as they joined the select group of dancing couples. Viewers weren't known for their grace, but the stateliness of their carriage more than made up for what they lacked in finesse. The crowd loved them; the applause at their appearance was slow to die out.

When finally they'd moved past, Wyatt saw Ambrose turning as though to leave the dance floor. There was a slump to Ambrose's shoulders and a lightly wistful expression on his face.

DG's words flashed back to him: You'll have your chance to dance with him soon.

The significance of this dance hit Wyatt hard. It occurred to him for the first time to wonder how long Ambrose had been waiting for him.

He moved as quickly as dignity and the situation allowed, catching up to Ambrose and stopping him with a light touch to the shoulder.

"Wyatt?" The words were spoken with hardly any breath at all, but Wyatt still heard them.

Later, Wyatt would realize that in such a tense moment, he should've expected a glitch. He listened to two more repetitions of his name (and part of him wished he could allow it to continue indefinitely) before stopping it by placing his finger gently on Ambrose's lips.

Ambrose swallowed, glancing down at the floor and then back into Wyatt's eyes. His smile was as warm and as welcome as the suns' return from the eclipse.

Wyatt bowed.

*

~ End

*

Notes

This is a gift fic, late from slashfest for wook77, whose request was: Glitch/Cain - Glitch teaches Cain how to dance (waltzing preferred) in time for Ahamo and the Queen's second wedding/renewal of vows. How smutty it goes is up to you but I'd love to see some kissing at the very least.

The title is a completely bastardized line from Blake's "Ah, Sunflower."

The constellation the Whistle is taken from Ozma of Oz. The original Tin Man was turned into a tin whistle, but the Scarecrow did not really wear him (that I remember). Still, the Scarecrow was very, very relieved when his boyfriend Nick Chopper was turned back into himself. (The only real pity in all of this is that because he's made of straw, the Scarecrow probably couldn't have blown him.)

JinJur was the name of a character in the second book who led a rebellion against the Scarecrow when he was in charge of the Emerald City. Ozma replaced her. I liked the idea of one of her descendents leading a (more virtuous) rebellion against one of Ozma's.

And – I think this is fairly common knowledge (?) but in the books, the Queen of Oz is always called Ozma. Because I've incorporated so much of the books into this story, I kept that tradition here instead of calling her Lavender.

Finally, while I love a good, meaty exploration of society and homosexuality, that's purposely left out of this story. For me, one of the strongest charms of the Oz books is how accepting Dorothy and the other characters were of each other's differences. I wanted this fic to celebrate that as an aspect of the O.Z. as well. Or - in my O.Z., everyone's a little bit queer. :)