Cian (thebettingsort) wrote in emillion, @ 2015-01-03 22:00:00 |
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Neil had picked up the tree the week before and brought his kids with him to help her decorate. She’d bought cookies and let them throw tinsel on the tree and themselves, which on Faram’s Mass, she was still finding in the damnedest places. Every year, she reminded herself after the fact to ban tinsel the next year, and every fucking year, she forgot. She picked up the stray piece of silvery decoration and dropped it on Cian’s head as she walked by. There were a shit ton of presents beneath the tree, mostly all addressed to ‘Baby Wilde’ and wrapped in perfectly gender neutral colors. Neil, she knew, was still pissed at her that she refused to tell him the gender, and she was getting a fucking kick out of it. But what she didn’t understand was why the fuck there were presents for a damned fetus under her tree. It wasn’t like it was there to enjoy the holiday. She sat down in front of the tree and sipped her hot cocoa, picking up the closest wrapped package, and stared at it. “So, do you think we’re supposed to open these, or can we just wait until the kid’s here?” Cian stayed on the couch and reached up to figure out what she’d dropped into his hair -- he gave the silvery thread a confused look before throwing it at her. Unfortunately, it wasn’t very aerodynamic and fell on the floor -- he decided just to leave it. “I’m pretty sure you can do whatever you want as the kid’s… proxy,” he said after a moment. All of this was pretty fucking strange -- the tree and the packages and the hot chocolate and all the rest of it. He recalled very clearly that last year Ash had brought him a ham and he’d made very clear that the holiday dinner was a one-time thing. (Well, anyway, this year it wasn’t ham, so somehow, maybe it worked out. And holidays probably came with the whole married-with-kids territory, but he didn’t really feel married and the kid was just a bump under Ash’s sweater. His usual ability to adjust on the fly was taking its sweet time.) “Though I’m also pretty sure he’ll be harassing you about whether you liked the pacifier or the blanket or whatever.” Hey, he knew the names of things, it was a start. “Maybe it’s better to open them.” A pause. “I didn’t forget, you know.” Even if there was no package under the tree for her, aside from whatever Neil had already brought. She ripped open the paper and stared at what appeared to be a three pack of plastic sheets while he spoke. “I wasn’t expecting you to get me anything, Ci,” she told him, looking up. What the fuck were they supposed to do with those? She tossed him another package addressed to the kid and grabbed another one. “Unless you got me some chocolate covered asparagus spears. Then I fully expect and want those. Right now, actually.” The wrapping paper came off and she looked at a perfectly gender neutral onesie - pale yellow with zoo animals printed in cheerful disarray. “I did get you something, though,” she told him. “But maybe I should have gotten you a matching shirt for this.” She held up the onesie and grinned. His package held some sort of toy -- he assumed. He shook the thing and it made noise. Babies were apparently entertained by this sort of thing. “Chocolate-covered asparagus. That’s a new one.” A pause, then, pulling his communicator out of his pocket: “I could probably get some delivered.” Lackeys didn’t get things like holidays. It was part of the job to be available when he needed them -- and if no one made such a thing as chocolate-covered asparagus, well, they were paid to be resourceful. “Also,” he added, “apparently, you’re still clueless. I’ve always gotten you something.” Never mind that he’d never put his name on the gifts. “Why would I stop now?” “It’s fine, I’m pretty sure Neil left some in the icebox. He makes the queasiest face when he makes it. He actually told me he’d rather I crave pickles and peanut butter, which actually sounds disgusting as fuck.” No point in ruining someone else’s holiday because she had a fucking strange craving. And Cian, she knew, had no compunctions about buzzing someone on Faram’s Mass to grab it for her. It was sweet, in a kind of egocentric, people-will-jump-at-my-command way. She pulled a box from under the tree and stood up; tossing this box would be a bad idea. Blowing up the house was not on her to do list. “Yeah, about that. Why the fuck did you bother? You were supposed to hate me. Or at least be ambivalent about my existence.” She ignored that she had done the same thing for Faram’s Mass and his birthday; always something small, and never anything too personal. Still, though. She handed over the box in her hand. “Here.” “I didn’t, I wasn’t, I wanted to, so I did.” He shrugged. “I figured as long as you couldn’t be sure they came from me, you could use... stuff.” He picked up the rattling toy again, gave it a shake. “Never sent anything like this, so you’re welcome for that. I’m going to say that hearing this on endless loop would get annoying fast.” He took the box she’d handed him and tore into the paper. “Going to assume these,” he said, looking at the neatly arrayed dice in their clear case, “aren’t for the kid. Seems like a hazard otherwise.” “We can keep the toy at your place. I’m sure there’s about fifteen more just like it here. Would it be wrong to donate them to the orphanage?” She shook her head. “And pretty sure the kid would blow up whatever was near it if you gave it the dice. Those are for you. So is this.” She tossed him a small jewelry box. The dice were sensible -- practical, even -- but the small box was unexpected. “Wasn’t aware quantity was the rule. I only got you one thing.” He nodded his head towards the window, added, “I left it outside. It wouldn’t fit through the door.” Having said that (casual, as always, even if his gift was a bit more elaborate than even the best half-dozen dice made by the most experienced machinist in town), he turned back to the small box, turning it over in his hands. Well, at least it wasn’t explosive. “Outside?” She frowned but went to the window. Outside, there was a hovercar parked in her usually empty driveway. Ash blinked. “Why the fuck is there a hovercar outside?” “Because you can’t balance on a bike,” he replied. “And I’m pretty sure a kid who can’t even walk can’t balance on a bike. Also, you’re always bitching about it being too hot or too cold, and it’s got climate control. If you don’t like the color, or something, I can probably do something about that.” He turned the small package over in his hands again, decided he probably wasn’t ever going to guess what it contained, and separated the paper at the seam, and opened the box, at which point he felt a little like an idiot. “Huh.” Well, the ring was plain, anyway. “Knew we forgot something,” he said after a moment. Honestly, as with so many things, it hadn’t even occurred to him. Sign some papers, sure. Buy jewelry that didn’t come with magickal protections, why? “The color is fine, but I’ve got two legs and I know how to walk,” she replied, shaking her head. But she was smiling because it was thoughtful - expensive as fuck, and definitely not expected, but thoughtful. In a weird ass way. She turned to find him staring at the ring. She shrugged. “Never even occurred to me,” she told him. “Neil was the one who asked about it. He was pretty fucking disappointed that I didn’t have a rock on my finger. Tried to tell him I’ve got enough people targeting me and I didn’t need to give them a new reason. Plus, it wasn’t like this whole thing went the normal route.” Nothing with them ever went the normal route. And while Neil inexplicably felt she should feel cheated - she’d been the one to propose, sort of, for fuck’s sake - Ash really couldn’t give a fuck about a piece of jewelry. “I picked mine out, by the way,” she added, lifting her left hand. On her ring finger was a simple silver band, plain and pretty much an exact replica of the one Cian was holding. “So, back to the car. Thanks. Really.” “Neil apparently thinks we’ve become different people overnight,” Cian said. If the guy wasn’t so good at his job (and, all right, if Ash didn’t fucking adore him under all her grumbling) he’d have reassigned him ten times by now, considering his constant attempts at intervention in things that were none of his business, but as it was, Neil with his delusions would just have to remain disappointed. “Also, we’re barely on speaking terms with most people’s idea of normal.” Though they were trying, sort of. In their own way. The tree and the packages (even if he hadn’t wrapped any -- and had turned down the dealer’s offer of a fucking bow on top of the car, because again, why?) were a facsimile of normalcy, even if they felt really fucking strange. He took the ring from the box, tried it on. Perfect fit -- probably Neil again, somehow. If he were the sort to be scared of his employees, he might consider worrying about Neil, except the man didn’t have an ambitious bone in his body. “You’re welcome. Hope you’ll find it useful.” And stay out of the streets and away from would-be murderers in the process. He didn’t bother to mention the bulletproof glass, or the spell shields woven over the metal, because yet again, why? She was better about his protectiveness when she just didn’t know. He looked down at his hand, decided the ring probably wouldn’t get in the way of much, and said, “Thanks for not letting Neil pick it. I wouldn’t put buying something uselessly sparkly past him, considering he’d figure I wouldn’t throttle you.” Ash grinned. “You should have seen the ones he wanted me to get. The rock on the engagement ring - did you know that people buy two fucking rings? - was about as big as my damn fist. There was a band he tried to talk me into getting you that had diamonds embedded in the metal, which just seemed like a damn hassle. And raised the price by about a grand. For a fucking ring.” She shook her head just thinking about it. She glanced back out the window at the hovercar and bit her lip. “Does that thing have heated seats?” Because that would be better than chocolate covered asparagus.” “And steering wheel,” he said. Then, “Two rings - just, fucking why? People are obsessed with the randomest shit.” Car upgrades, in his mind, were practical. Huge diamonds were idiotic unless you planned to sell them for a profit. “Because some people are fucking stupid,” she replied, grinning at the thought of heated seats and a heated steering wheel. She’d bet good money it had remote start, too. It would be weird to suggest they drive around to look at lights, right? Because fuck the lights, she just wanted to drive the new, shiny car. “They also don’t have any wedding sets that are enchanted. Had to ask Albrecht where I could find someone who’d be willing to enchant the damn things.” Albrecht had shaken her head and taken time to commiserate over the fact that no one seemed to understand that the extra protection was always better to have than not. “It’s got protect and shell on it. You should have seen the enchanter’s face when I requested it. She looked like I was blaspheming Faram Himself.” He gave the ring another look -- approving, this time. “A woman after my own heart,” he said with a quick grin. “Useful jewelry -- that enchanter was a fucking idiot, which surprises no one because most people are fucking idiots. And maybe you’d better get used to calling the countess by her new name. Rolls right off the tongue.” “I’m not calling her Reinholdt. That’ll just get confusing quick, considering I now report to--” She cut herself off. She hadn’t told Cian about that, and Reinholdt hadn’t announced it yet that she knew of. Shit. She would have to tell him. Instead, she grabbed another present and tossed it to Cian. “What do you think is in that one?” He caught it, said, “Something covered in more zoo animals, probably. Report to whom?” Fuck. “Reinholdt.” A beat. “The Spymaster one, although I’m still not sure Albrecht isn’t one, too.” A pause. “I still haven’t written that manual about delivering important news like a rational hume. We’re going to say that’s my fucking bad. You’re saying what, exactly?” Because they all rolled up to the Spymaster, in the end, but this sounded like something else. “I was appointed to Council. I start Monday.” “You were -- you know, you’re lucky I’m not supposed to shake you.” Or something. Hadn’t there been some sort of advice like that? The package in his hands, however, didn’t escape unscathed (hopefully, it could survive a little mangling). “You were going to tell me this when?” “I figured I’d butter you up with presents first,” she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “I seriously found out yesterday. And I’m not sure he’s serious, but then again, it’s Reinholdt, and now that I’m thinking about it, it seems like he’s been angling for this for a while.” “Apparently,” Cian said, voice desert-dry, “the way into Council is to find new and creative ways to annoy the guildmaster. Amazing tiny hasn’t managed it, in this case,” He’d figured Ash was just barely on the Spymaster’s ‘do-not-kill’ list by being occasionally amusing. “Maybe he’ll give you exciting assignments like searching for particular grains of sand on the beach to remind you he’s your boss.” Or maybe he just wanted to keep an eye on her. Or on Cian. Who had stayed well away from the guildmaster’s wife for months so honestly, it was all pretty fucking ridiculous, but then, Reinholdt was really fucking ridiculous. There really wasn’t anything to say to that because she didn’t know. All of the previous councilors were gone, and when she looked at the guild, the only people really suited to not blowing everything out of the damned water were sitting in her living room. And Reinholdt didn’t seem to like Cian that much, and it wasn’t like she’d chosen to do this. “Who knows. I figure it’s just one more exciting life change. And maybe I’ll get lucky and pick up Mathieu’s mantle. I can probably handle that without too much trouble.” She’d tried to get out of it all by insisting a pregnant woman wasn’t the best choice, but fuck if Reinholdt listened to reason. And he knew she wasn’t as dumb as she kept trying to play, so she doubted she’d get Mathieu’s old role - more likely she’d pick up Lea’s mantle. “We’re just tripping over them right and left these days,” Cian said. And he thought that he had a bomb of his own to drop, and he’d been carrying it around longer than twenty-four hours. That whole not feeling married thing had stayed his hand, and he didn’t really feel it much more now, particularly, but she’d bought the damn ring and she was at least partially mollified by the heated seats right now, so he said, “That’s fine, I guess. Congratulations on your very exciting promotion. At least you’re not reporting straight to the fucking king, which makes you the luckier person in this room; given the option I’d have taken the Spymaster with all his crazy.” He shrugged and said, “Guess I can deliver important news in your exact expert manner.” Her very first thought, which came pouring out of her mouth, was “I need a drink.” A pause, then, “I can’t have one.” Another pause, only slightly longer. “Fuck it, one won’t hurt.” And then she started heading to where she had hidden a bottle of butterscotch schnapps. Unfortunately, he still outweighed her by about a hundred pounds, give or take, and when his hand clamped around her wrist, she wasn’t getting past him. “Now you know how I feel. No drinking.” His voice was firm. Of all things he didn’t need, that nearly topped the list. “Best in the end if you just pretend not to know at all.” He paused a moment before attempting to tug her down to sit next to him. “Can’t say much more about it, and before you ask, couldn’t say anything at all until recently. Not my fucking rules, not my fucking game.” She let him tug her down onto the seat. If he was working directly for the king. Fuck it all. Clearly they were never going to catch a break. All she wanted in life was some semblance of normal. Normal people weren’t doing whatever the fuck Cian was doing - and how fucking long had he been doing that? Because his couldn’t say anything until recently made her think that it was a hell of a lot longer than her less than 24 hours council position. Somehow, she’d thought getting married - not that it felt any different now than what they’d been doing before - and having a kid meant she’d get something like normal. “How long?” He shrugged, doing his best not to look uncomfortable. “Few months,” he said. “Right around the time you said you were keeping the kid.” He sighed, releasing her wrist now that the danger of alcohol seemed past. “Let’s just say I got made an offer I couldn’t refuse, which seems to be the story of my fucking life.” Ever since he’d been a kid. Fuck, that was depressing. “Figured the kid needed an alive father, and I didn’t particularly want a bullet lodged in my skull, either. Plus, insurance, kind of.” It had been the tipping point for him, in the end. “Anything ever happens to me, you’ll both be better off this way than if I’d found some way to turn it down without someone -- probably me -- winding up dead. For the org, it’s business as usual, minus a few adjustments I’ve already made and you barely noticed. Let’s just say we’ll operate under an invisible tacit sanction going forward. Not a bad deal for everyone who’s not me.” It was funny - for years, it was common knowledge that either of them could be offed at any moment. A hazard of the job or some shit like that. And for years, she had worked to convince herself - badly - that it wasn’t any of her business if Cian got himself killed. At that point, she was capable of running things if she needed to, and what happened to him wasn’t her problem. Now, though, they were having a kid and married, and the very real knowledge that she’d lived with for years was frightening. Fortunately, years upon years of dealing with an indifferent or angry Cian had made her poker face better, so she didn’t let what she was feeling seep through. “Fine. Is there anything else that I need to know and can know? I assume you can’t tell me shit about what it is you’re doing.” “You’d be right about that,” he said. “The official line is: doing some classified work for king and country. Shouldn’t interfere with everyday life, and I won’t be bringing it home.” He thought of the poker tournament, added, “Might have to travel occasionally, but I’m guessing not often. Inefficient or not, the government has some pretty good ideas of how to wring the most use out of its people, and I’m more useful here. I have a contact for you who you’ll hopefully never have to call, who’ll straighten things out if shit hits the fan for me. Going to do my best to avoid that. Shit you tell me specifically in confidence stays in confidence, because fuck them, but otherwise, assume that what I know filters up, eventually. Before you bristle at guild business getting aired, realize that the guild isn’t the only organization to have eyes and ears all over. And that’s about all.” He gave her a crooked -- almost apologetic -- smile. “If it’s any comfort, I’m marginally safer from getting offed this way, as long as I stay useful, and I’m really fucking good at being useful.” She nodded. “Okay. Just… don’t get yourself killed over something stupid.” No point in asking him not to get himself killed, because she knew he couldn’t guarantee that - hell, he’d already died once - just like she couldn’t guarantee that she wouldn’t get herself killed. Especially now that she was reporting directly to the Spymaster. Reporting directly to Reinholdt, and to an agent of the king. Where the fuck did I go wrong? But she knew she’d have to be careful about what she told him about guild business now. Fucking wonderful - even though it had been a relatively short time, she had gotten into the habit of talking out business problems with Cian. “So, we’ve both got new jobs and they both suck. Happy fucking Faram’s Mass.” “Almost makes you miss last year,” Cian said, eyeing the pile of brightly-wrapped presents (all for the kid) still stacked across the room. “You know what they say about wanting something different. Though I guess it’s not all bad. Even if I’m specifically requesting the ham make a reappearance next year. I like it better than turkey.” “I’ll let Neil know to make it next year,” she told him dryly. “I’m pretty sure he’ll try to weasel an invite for him, Pat and the kids. It’s a good thing we don’t have family because the kid is going to be spoiled fucking rotten by him. And about half of the damn org, actually. Not all those gifts are from Neil.” She picked up the discarded one that Cian had dropped during their discussion and pulled off the paper. Inside was a set of dolls. “Entertaining,” Cian said, shaking his head. “What’s next, birthday parties with balloons and baby chocobos?” A pause. “Shit, that one’s possible. Now I need a drink.” “So I see Neil has been talking to you about baby shower decor.” He groaned. “You know what, let’s talk about something else. Literally anything else.” Even though she liked to watch him squirm - and anything to do with the hume growing in her uterus (Neil and the damn midwife had corrected her too many times when she said stomach for her to even make the damn mistake anymore) was a surefire way to make that happen - she wasn’t cruel. “Are you staying over or are you heading home tonight?” (Another thing Neil didn’t understand: they were married, but still lived apart. Ash didn’t mind it, and Cian didn’t seem to either, so why bother changing it?) “Figured I’d stay, unless you want to take your new toy for a spin to my place.” He grinned then, added, “Replaced your boosters so you can get enough altitude to park on the roof, though don’t use that much where people can see; most of the EKP tends to frown on that sort of thing from bikers, let alone people in cars.” Ash’s grin was positively gleeful. “I’m pretty sure you had ulterior motives when you bought me this, but fuck if I care. Let me grab some clothes and we can head out.” “Sure.” And the rest of the packages could just stay unopened for now -- a little bit of rattly-toy trauma at a time. As she bustled out of the room (once she’d managed to haul herself to her feet, which was clearly becoming increasingly difficult), he thought that as far as these things went, it probably wasn’t the worst Faram’s Mass he could have imagined. |