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The wooden blade makes a dull clanking sound when Stephen pulls it from behind his back, where it's been held up with a piece of rope. Martin looks at him, raising his arm a little, and Stephen slides the blade slowly between his arm and ribs and pushes, the coarseness pulling slightly at the fabric as it slides deeper, the end coming out from the other side. Finally Stephen pulls him into an embrace.
Martin hears the familiar sounds, the sudden inhales of shock and surprise, a couple of sharp cries, and then a baby somewhere starts wailing. This always happens. It used to happen more in the beginning, but now the story has travelled further, reaching places before they have, and the story is familiar even without their play. But even then, seeing it happen with one's own eyes makes it different. Someone always gasps.
He pulls away, clutching at his chest with his hand, spreading the fistful of red paint over the grey fabric of his robes. He starts walking towards the audience, silent, then falls dramatically onto his knees, sliding gracefully onto his side. Straw kneels down next to him, hand on Martin's arm, looking up at the heavens. On the other side of the stage, Stephen stands in front of a canvas with flames painted on it, and he slips his head into a loop of rope that hangs from the top of the canvas. With a clear voice, Springer finishes the story. Martin looks at the crowd, his eyes half open. He's still lying on his side. He sees the unease, people frantically talking to each other, and they look shocked and satisfied.
Good.
He grabs the wooden cross he's wearing, a coarse mock-up of the original, and says a silent prayer, hoping someone listens and hears him.
**
The money's enough to buy them a couple rounds of beer and something to eat, with enough to spare for the coming weeks. It's not their best night but it's a good one. Martin can still remember the times they only got a few shillings, barely enough to get food.
"How many more, do you think?" Tobias asks Martin, and he considers. He doesn't know, hasn't really paid much mind to it yet. But the money's been getting lesser and that's usually a sign it's time to move on.
"Perhaps two, maybe three? If everyone's up for it," he says after a while, looking around in the dimly lit room. Stephen's deep in conversation with Springer and some young local man Martin doesn't recognize, unaware of what's going on around them. Sarah's sitting quietly with Straw who looks tired and stares at the table, trying not to fall asleep. She looks up at Martin. She gives him a small nod, and he smiles in return.
"Oi," Tobias raises his voice, and that seems to catch everyone's attention, even Stephen's, and now everyone in the room is looking at Tobias. The townspeople who don't know them soon lose interest, and the room fills up with chatter again. But Martin's people, they listen.
Martin asks the question, and by the end of their second beers, they have decided that they are going to do the play twice before moving onto the next town.
Two more days as Nicholas. Two more days of having the permission to think of him, to be him, to be as close to him as he ever can be. It's a bitter comfort but Martin takes it.
**
The cloths and pelts feel uneven tonight, and Martin decides to get up before he wakes the others up by his restless movements. He steps into the cool night air, shivering a little as he readjusts the cloak. He can smell the spring, cold winter giving way to life, but it's still chilly when the sun is out and the nights still remind him of winter. Everything is quiet, apart from a distant laughter coming from somewhere, probably the tavern. A woman and a man, enjoying life and each other.
Martin feels the wooden cross hanging from his neck. Usually he takes it off after the play ends, but tonight he found himself unable to part with it, so he hid it underneath his clothes. The coarse ends feel like splinters chafing against his skin, but he welcomes the sensation. He grasps it through the fabric, then lets it drop. He remembers the last time he saw the real version, shimmering in the moonlight, still bright and alive when its owner no longer was not.
He inhales deep, looks up at the stars, then at the cart. Two more days. After that, a small break as they change towns.
He goes back in, lies down, but the sleep won't come. He's still awake when the sun rises.
**
This crowd is a restless one, Martin thinks when he looks at the sitting audience from behind the stage. Fewer people than last time but they're a loud bunch.
On the stage, Tobias is drinking his ale in a tavern, with Sarah playing the wife and Springer playing Thomas. The audience seems distracted, people here and there talking to each other while pointing at the stage, and Martin wants to tell them to be quiet. Straw seems to have noticed the noise as well because as the narrates this part of the story, he raises his voice a little, making it carry just a bit further, and that seems to settle the people down a little.
When it's time, Martin pulls up the hood of his dark robe, puts his palms together as if to pray, and walks onto the stage. He's Simon Damian now, luring Thomas to go with him, and when he reaches the part where he has to violate the boy, he hears the familiar gasps and angry, disgusted shouts from the audience. Not as many this time, yet enough to feel like he's doing this vile part for a good cause. The boy's voice deserves to be heard as wide and far as possible. His and all those other boys' whose names Martin will never know.
The women in particular look sad and upset when the story reaches the part where a woman is accused of a murder she hasn't committed, couldn't have committed. Martin looks at them as he readjusts the robes he has just put on, grey now, and steps onto the stage as Nicholas, the polar opposite of the monster he played only a few moments earlier. Where the role of Simon brings him anger and fury, this one brings him calm.
As he dies again, a few people in the audience whistle as if having seen something entertaining, and when they see Lord de Guise dying, even more people cheer. Fewer gasps of shock this time. They must have seen this play the previous time, Martin thinks. He stays on his side for a moment, letting the crowd settle down, before he sits up and Stephen pulls him up with a congratulatory grin and gives him a brief hug and a pat.
Together, they take a bow.
"I thought he was taller," a voice comes from the crowd, and it takes a while for Martin to understand it's aimed at them and not someone in the crowd. He looks around but doesn't see who said it. All he can tell is that it sounded like a man. The crowd shifts and people are looking behind their backs. Martin glances at Stephen who looks just as confused. They shake their heads and shrug.
The crowd starts talking, louder now, and some of them start to leave. Martin prepares to leave as well.
"The priest," the voice comes again, and it's closer now. Martin looks towards the direction it came from but all he can see is a small group of men wearing dusty, worn out shirts and vests, adjusting their caps, and women in their skirts and shawls, shuffling about. Then he spots the one in the middle that the others are looking at. Tall and slim. Familiar. "He's taller than you, isn't he?"
I've died, Martin thinks briefly. He has died and hasn't noticed it, and this is heaven. Or hell. Whichever this place is, Martin is no longer alive, because Nicholas is standing in front of him, pale and unharmed, smiling a bright warm smile at Martin.
He hears Sarah's muffled scream, and he's not sure if it's because she has noticed Martin has died, or if she also sees Nicholas.
"Hello, Martin," Nicholas says in a soft voice. "Hello, everyone," he continues, but his eyes never leave Martin's.
He walks towards Martin and stops only a step away from him. Martin reaches out for Nicholas, feels his shoulder under his palm. Without thought, he flings his arms around Nicholas and hugs him tight, and Nicholas feels solid and real. Nicholas responds to his hug by pressing his hand against the back of Martin's head, pulling him even closer in a tight embrace, and now Martin knows this has to be heaven.
**
There is nothing. There is no feeling, no time or place, no self. All he knows is that he exists, but he doesn't know where or even who he is.
After a while, he knows another thing. He senses light and warmth. He feels safe.
He tries to focus his thoughts on something, anything, and he sees fleeting images of faces, memories. Happy faces that are smiling and laughing. A fire by the woods, a face close to his, looking and then turning away. Sad faces that are looking at him from above. He sees how everything turns black, then unbearably bright.
Then nothing.
Until now when there is once again something.
He feels a touch on his chest, feels that he has a chest, has a body. That he's lying down somewhere. He smells something pleasant – freshly baked bread, he thinks as he recognizes the smell - and he feels hungry. He tries to open his eyes but they don't respond to his commands.
The touch moves and it's on his collarbone now, then up on his face where it brushes against his forehead where it rests for a while. He tries to turn his face towards the touch.
There's a sudden sound and the touch is gone.
He focuses all his strength, wills himself to open his eyes, and finally he sees. It's all hazy and dim, without focus, but he sees the blurry features of a face and it's a face he knows, with long dark hair surrounding it. He tries to remember who it is, but the more he tries, the further it escapes, and he has to close his eyes. He's exhausted.
Soon everything is black again.
**
There's a sound and he recognizes it as a crackling fire. He feels a blanket on him from waist down, his right hand resting on his chest, the left one resting by his side. There is a sense of awareness now that wasn't there before.
He remembers the face he saw earlier, and now he knows it's a woman, and her name is Martha.
He knows his name is Nicholas.
He also knows he should be dead but he isn't.
He hears steps that become louder until they stop at his bedside. He tries to open his eyes, and this time he can see more than hazy figures. He sees another face he recognizes, leaning over him. Mr. Lambert, Martha's father.
"You're safe," the man says, and Nicholas tries to nod. He knows. He can feel it. "Nobody else knows."
Nicholas wants to ask what there is to know, but when he tries to speak, his throat hurts from dryness and the only sound he manages is a pained croak.
"Martha, water," he hears, and soon a mug is held against his lips, and he drinks the lukewarm liquid, coughing at first. It gives him strength and he tries to sit up, but it's still too much effort and he lies back down, looking up at the two faces.
"What," he begins, voice hoarse, "what happened?"
And he hears it all.
He died, of a knife wound in his chest. There was to be a burial. His friends said their goodbyes and left him behind, knowing he was to be buried in sacred ground where he belonged.
But Martha hadn't accepted it.
And now he was here, hidden from everyone. People had known she was a healer. Not everyone believes in it, and Nicholas hadn't been certain before, but all his doubts are gone now.
This is impossible, Nicholas thinks to himself. This is a miracle, God works through Martha, there is no other explanation. He's not worthy of such a miracle, he thinks, and he feels immense guilt. All those people who deserved this much more than him. The boy. All those killed by the plague. Innocent children, mothers, fathers, loving parents and spouses. People who haven't taken another person's life.
It's too much and he starts to cry.
**
It's not easy, trying to live again, but day by day it gets less hard. Miracles happen for a reason, he thinks. God has a reason for this to happen. It would be blasphemy for Nicholas to not accept it.
When he asks Martha why she did it, she reaches her hands out, palms up, then brings them to her chest in tight fists. Then she brings them back towards him, opening the fists.
You gave me, I gave you.
To her, it was that simple.
He takes her outreached hands in his, holds them for a while, then bows his head to kiss them lightly. When he straightens himself, he sees Martha is smiling.
**
Several weeks later, Nicholas says his goodbyes to the two people who saved his life in ways nobody else on this earth could. One gave him life, in the most literal sense, the other helped him get his health back, gave him food and clothes, gave him money so he wouldn't starve. He's grateful for everything they've done for him, and he will be back one day, but now he has to go and use his second chance to do something with it. It would be a sacrilege to waste the opportunity given to him. There is a purpose, and he needs to find that purpose.
He knows only vaguely which direction he should head. Clearly his friends won't be in Durham anymore, but perhaps people there would know where the group were heading next? It's as good a place to start as any, he decides.
As the days go by and his journey progresses, he meets new people, sees the poverty and the suffering. Some of them notice he's a man of faith and they beg him to pray for them, and he agrees, even when he feels a little like a fraud.
He also sees their simple delights. He sees children, some playing and laughing, hanging from trees and running around and trying to catch each other, some working alongside grown men, carrying sacks almost bigger than they are. Men working on their fields and looking proudly at their achievements. Women talking to each other at the marketplace, whispering things to each other with cupped hands over ears and then laughing. He sees all these things he too could be a part of one day if he chooses to be.
As he walks on, occasionally catching a ride on someone's cart but mostly walking on foot through wind and rain and warm sun, he thinks on his own life. The one that had been cut too short until something incredible happened. He had been lost. He had been weak. He had let his body lead him, let it decide for him. He had felt guilty and like he had disappointed not only God but himself as well. The moment he had felt the knife go through him, he had felt almost thankful. Things had been put into balance, his wrongdoings had been paid for.
Now that they were paid for and the slate was clean, what came next?
**
It's noon when Nicholas reaches a small town, and he looks for a place where he could stay for the night. He has been walking for two days almost nonstop, sleeping under the stars in the cold. He needs to rest, even if it's only for one night.
He finds an inn and the innkeeper says he's in luck, because their rooms are full except for one, and for the right price he'd be happy to give it to Nicholas for as many days as he needs.
"One will do," Nicholas says, and thanks the man, giving him the money. Before he turns around, he hears a voice from outside and he feels himself choke up. It's been a long time but he knows that voice. It's Tobias, and it sounds like he's having a heated conversation with someone, but then he bursts into a roaring laughter.
"We'll get good money, trust me," Tobias says, and Nicholas resists the urge to go out and see him, talk to him. He's not ready yet, he hasn't prepared himself, hasn't really thought of what to say. A dead man doesn't simply greet his old friends without giving them a heart attack of their own.
"If we do, beers are on me this time," another voice says, earning a dry laugh.
There is a response but Nicholas doesn't hear it. His heart is pounding fast now and all he can hear is the blood flooding in his veins, his heart beating like he has been running.
He's dreamt of hearing Martin's voice again, of being able to talk to him, but now when he finally hears it, it's too much.
The men pass by, their voices become indistinct, and when Nicholas turns towards the innkeeper, he sees the man looking at him with suspicion, brows furrowed.
"You unwell or something?" he asks. "I can't have sick people in my rooms."
Nicholas stutters, trying to find his voice, his balance, and finally he manages a no, giving a lie about something he had just remembered he should do, and he makes his way to his room.
There he sits down, then gets up and starts walking, unable to calm himself. His heart is still pounding. Then it dawns on him and he starts to laugh, a hearty laugh coming from somewhere deep within his soul.
He has found them. He has found Martin. His long search is over.
**
It feels strange to see Martin as him. Of course Martin is exaggerating the gestures and there's a seriousness about him that hadn't been there before, and some of the events aren't shown quite the way they happened, but at the heart of it all Nicholas can still see a reflection of himself in Martin's movements.
He's been thinking about this all day, wondered how he would approach Martin, and when he sees him on the stage, solemn and with an almost tangible air of sadness about him, it becomes very simple. All he can think of is that he wants the man to smile again.
When he sees the blade slide through the man that was him, he flinches. It feels unreal, to see himself on the stage, dying, and knowing that it's not only a play; that it's real. And yet he's here now, watching it. To see Martin's intensity, his pain afterwards, feels like actual physical pain in his own body.
He needs to take that pain away, from both of them.
By the time the play ends, Nicholas knows what he's going to do. Before he can reconsider if it's a wise way to go about it, he has already opened his mouth.
"I thought he was taller."
It's clear Martin doesn't recognize the comment was meant for him, but when Nicholas continues he catches Martin's attention. The man can't see him but Nicholas can see him, and it feels good to see that face searching for him.
It feels even better to see that face and those eyes when he finally does see Nicholas, understands who it is. That expression of pure surprise and awe. Every step Nicholas takes towards him, the world around them becomes less focused; it's all blurred and unclear, until he's almost within reach and all Nicholas can see now is Martin.
"Hello, Martin." He's relieved his voice carries. He wasn't sure it would. He remembers it's not just the two of them, and he greets his other friends as well. Then he steps closer and Martin touches him, pulls him in for a tight embrace, and Nicholas thinks it might be the first time he's ever felt like being home.
**
A drunken man walks past them and mentions something about the play, patting Martin and Tobias on their backs, but Martin can only nod in reply and thank him by raising his mug in salute. The moment the man is gone, Martin has already forgotten he exists. His focus is, like everyone else's, on Nicholas.
They're sitting side by side, so close that Martin can feel the man's warmth burning his skin, and he can't resist holding his hand on Nicholas's shoulder where he lets it rest, like an anchor that keeps him from drifting away. He can feel Nicholas leaning into him, like there's an invisible force pulling them close.
Everyone around the small table looks at Nicholas, fingers on his wrists when they lean in closer to talk to him, to touch him, and the poor man has been thrown every possible question under the sun. How is this possible, when did it happen, where has he been? Around them, people laugh and stomp their feet in rhythm as they sing songs about women and drinks and the sea, drowning all their questions, unaware of what's happening right next to them. Nobody can hear what they're talking about; that there is a miracle among them.
Nicholas tells them about Martha and what she has done for him, and how he now owes everything to her and God. It stings a little to hear this but Martin brushes it off, grateful to have the man where he is, alive and breathing. In his mind, he thanks Martha.
It's only when the barman comes to tell them that they need to leave that Martin notices it's late. He doesn't want to leave, doesn't want to sleep, doesn't know if he even can.
"We can talk more tomorrow," Nicholas says in a lowered voice, turning to face him. He's so close Martin can see the faint freckles on his skin. He resists the urge to touch them with his fingertips. "Now that I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."
If only Martin could be sure of that.
**
"Couldn't we cancel it and leave instead?" Straw asks, looking at each of them. His hair looks messy, like he's had a particularly restless night, and he yawns widely as he leans against the plank wall, the back of his head hitting it with a low thump.
"We need the money," Martin says, glancing at Tobias and Stephen who nod in agreement. "It's only one time."
Straw sighs, turning to look at Springer who shrugs quietly.
"Fine," Straw says, sounding resigned.
Martin looks around the yard, then pulls Nicholas aside, far enough that the others can't hear what they're saying.
"Are you all right with this?" he asks. "I can't imagine it's fun seeing your own death played right in front of you."
Nicholas gives him a small smile and there's a warm light behind his blue eyes.
"You know I've been through worse, Martin," he says. "I can handle a play."
"And you're all right with me playing you?"
Something Martin has been wondering for months. He never knew he would have a chance to ask him, to ask for permission. He doesn't know if he's ready to hear the answer.
Nicholas laughs softly, then raises his hand and puts it on Martin's arm, giving it a light squeeze.
"Yes. More than all right."
Martin swallows, then nods.
**
They have done this play a dozen times already and Martin knows it by heart, but now Nicholas himself is there to aid them with their garments and make-up, and he watches them, watches him, and Martin finds himself unable to concentrate. He forgets a few words here, a couple lines there, and to him they are glaring mistakes, signs that he is doing his job poorly, but thankfully the audience doesn't seem to notice.
The play reaches the scene he never enjoys doing. He positions himself behind Springer, pushing the boy against the table, hands on shoulders before he leans over him, and he hears the low upset roar from the audience like so many times before. Nicholas has been standing close by, watching them and offering them words of encouragement, and Martin looks at him in the eye. It lasts for only a second, maybe two, then suddenly Nicholas turns his head away and walks behind the set where Martin can no longer see him.
When Martin goes to change his clothes for his next scene, Nicholas isn't there. He asks Sarah where he's gone but she only shakes her head, says she saw him walk away in the direction of the tavern, but he hadn't said a word so she doesn't know for sure where he was heading.
Cursing to himself, Martin returns onto the stage in different clothes now, trying to refocus with the fraction of nerves he has left. He wants nothing more than to leave but he knows he can't, not when the play is still unfinished. He makes mistakes, and maybe the audience is a little restless now, but he tries his best to make his friends proud. When he's finally lying down on the stage, looking at de Guise's demise, he lets out a sigh of relief.
The sense of relief only lasts for a moment, because now he must deal with Nicholas. It pains him to know that their second chance was cut this short and he's the one to blame.
**
Nicholas doesn't return that night. Everyone goes to sleep, and even when Martin falls asleep, the sleep gives him no rest.
When the sun rises, Nicholas is still nowhere to be found.
They can't wait for him to come back. They don't even know if he will come back.
As they reluctantly head out of the town, everything packed and neatly in order, unsure where they will be heading next or how long it will take them to get there, Martin wonders if any of this had been real. Maybe Nicholas hadn't been there at all. Maybe it had been a shared fever dream. Or maybe he had been given a few days before he had to return to his afterlife.
"He'll be back," Sarah says to him, and he flashes a brief smile and a nod. He's not so sure.
**
The soup has gone cold but Martin tries to eat it anyway, picking at the pieces. He doesn't have the appetite for it but none of them can be sure how long their money's going to last, and he's learned that it's best to eat when one can. He leans his back against the tree, its bark grazing the back of his head.
"Evening, everyone," he hears a low voice in the dark, and then he recognizes the crackling sound of steps falling on sand. When he turns towards the voice, he sees the shape of Nicholas walking down the road and joining them. It's late, sun has set and the air is cold, the soup is cold, but suddenly Martin feels warm.
"Come here," Stephen says and gestures with a hand for Nicholas to sit, and Nicholas sits down by the fire, warming his hands in the glow. When offered soup, he declines, saying he's already eaten.
Stephen asks where Nicholas has been but he only shakes his head, says it's not important, but he's back now. Martin wants to ask what made him leave but he doesn't dare to, or Nicholas might leave again.
Nicholas looks at Martin with an expression he can't read, warm light and shadows dancing on his face. Then Nicholas turns away again, says something to Sarah, and Martin can no longer hear his voice.
Springer is the first one to say he needs sleep, and soon the others follow him, one by one. Martin gets up but Nicholas raises his hand and makes a gesture asking him to stay put.
"I'll join you later," Martin says to Tobias who nods quietly.
Soon it's only Martin and Nicholas, sitting far apart, the fire now mostly embers but still warm enough. Martin waits, tense and afraid to say anything so he won't ruin this, whatever 'this' is.
Nicholas gets up, brushes the sand and dirt off his clothes, and takes a few steps towards Martin, then walks past him.
"Come," he says, and Martin swallows hard when he gets up. He feels himself shaking but it's not from the cold.
**
Nicholas has walked towards the river. It looks dark like the night sky above them, moonlight glimmering on its surface. Martin followed him, a few steps behind him, and now he stops. He's unsure if he should continue, but taking a deep breath he walks up to Nicholas. They stand next to each other, looking at the water in silence.
"I thought we should talk," Nicholas says, and Martin wishes he could be somewhere else, anywhere else.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," Martin says. "It can't be easy, being a man of God like yourself."
Nicholas glances at him, then shakes his head a little.
"Don't be. There's no reason, not with me."
"Then why did you leave?" Martin asks.
Nicholas doesn't reply. He searches his pockets for something, then finds it and shows it to Martin. It's the necklace Martin had given him. St. Christopher. Martin had made sure Nicholas still had it on him when he was to be buried, to protect him on his travels, wherever he would be going next. He hadn't thought he'd ever see it again.
"I remember when you gave this to me," Nicholas says, looking at it. "I tried to give it back but you wouldn't take it."
"Because it belongs to you now," Martin says with fondness. It had felt like the most natural decision he had ever made, giving it to Nicholas. He couldn't imagine anyone more deserving. He still can't. It once belonged to his mother, and her mother before that, but he has a feeling his mother would approve. She would have liked Nicholas if she had ever had the chance to meet him, Martin is certain of that.
"But why me?" Nicholas asks, looking at the pendant on his palm. "This is important to you, a family heirloom."
"You are a part of my family," Martin says, hoping his voice doesn't betray him.
"Am I?" Nicholas asks, and he turns to look at Martin, frowning. "You're a hard man to understand, Martin. You took me under your wing, gave me shelter when I had none, without hesitation. You didn't turn me away when you knew what I had done. You are kind to people, you were kind to Martha. You charm people and make them feel like they're more than what they are."
Nicholas stops, clears his throat, then takes a deep breath as if preparing himself for something.
"Am I your apprentice?" he finally asks. "Your brother? Friend?"
Martin knows the answer, but it's not a word so much as a feeling. But he can't tell that to Nicholas. He wouldn't understand. A man like him would never understand.
"All of those and none of them," Martin says with a smile instead, and it's close enough.
Nicholas gives a short, dry laugh.
"Like I said, a hard man to understand."
Martin grins, looking down. He turns and looks at the cart sitting quietly under a tree. It looks peaceful. In only a few hours, they'll be on the road again.
"Have you decided what you're going to do next? Where you're going?" Martin asks, wrapping his cloak closer himself in the cool breeze. It's best to change the topic when they're back on good terms and no further damage has been done.
Nicholas shakes his head.
"You'll figure it out. Your purpose," Martin says, reaching out his hand and giving Nicholas's shoulder an encouraging squeeze before he can stop himself. He takes his hand off quickly the moment he notices what he's done.
Nicholas looks at him, chuckles a little.
"I think we should go," Martin says, raising his voice to get his bearings again. "Long day ahead."
He begins to make his way towards the cart. Halfway there Nicholas jogs after him, his steps falling in the soft grass.
"Wait."
Nicholas reaches him, turns him around by the shoulder.
Martin looks up at him, brows raised in question, heart thrumming in his throat when he realizes just how close Nicholas is standing now. His hand is still on Martin, keeping him in place.
"Please forgive me," Nicholas says in a low mutter, words strung together.
"For what?" Martin asks, and then he feels cold fingertips on his neck, under his jawline, sending shivers through his entire body. Before he has time to understand what's happening, he can feel Nicholas lift his chin up and his cool lips are on Martin's. Instinctively, Martin opens his mouth and kisses him back, tenderly at first, then upon realizing that this is Nicholas, the man he lost once but got back, he kisses with such fierceness it frightens him. And Nicholas, Nicholas is kissing him back like this is the most natural thing for him, his thumb caressing Martin's jawline.
Nicholas pulls away a little, breathing heavily, and Martin looks up. Nicholas has his eyes closed but then he opens them, gaze a little unfocused, lips parted and glistening.
Then one side of his mouth quirks up into a smile and he huffs softly, leaning down until his forehead is against Martin's shoulder. Martin lifts his hand up and caresses Nicholas's hair, kissing the side of his head.
"I'm sure it's obvious but just so we are clear, I definitely forgive you," Martin says, and he can feel Nicholas laugh.
Martin can't believe any of this is happening, but he can feel Nicholas, his hair as it tickles his cheek, his hands as they grasp at the front of his shirt. This is real.
**
The others are walking ahead of them with the cart, but Martin falls a little behind on purpose. Nicholas notices what he's doing and slows his steps too, and soon they're walking side by side, far enough from the others to have a private moment.
Martin sees Nicholas digging his pocket and picking up the necklace. He puts it around his neck, slipping the pendant under his clothes where it joins the cross. Only their cords are visible.
"The way I see it, you're stuck with me," Nicholas says, glancing at Martin, and he looks like he's about to laugh any moment now. There's a new lightness surrounding him, like something has been lifted off him, something he's been carrying for a long time that's now gone.
"How so?" Martin asks.
"You won't take this back to keep you safe," Nicholas says, resting his hand over the pendant. "So I have no choice but to carry it for you."
"No choice, huh?" Martin asks, chuckling.
"None," Nicholas says. "I don't think there ever was."
"Good," Martin says, and the way Nicholas looks at him now, it's too much and Martin has to look to the distance, at the slowly rolling cart, at his friends. He feels a hand touch his, and he turns his palm just enough that Nicholas can lace his fingers with Martin's.
"I want to live," Nicholas says.
Martin knows what he means, and he nods.
"We will."
And he really, truly believes it.