Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     Lucas shifted in his seat, attention wavering as he turned another page.  Though getting lost in a book was, for him, as automatic as breathing—arguably more so—he was having a bit of trouble with this one, at least on this particular night.  Pausing to stretch and adjust his glasses, he glanced over the page to the opposite chair, where Terry sat in his usual funny sideways sprawl.

     "I'm assuming you've read this one already?"

     Terry yawned as he turned one of his own pages, perusing a lavishly-illustrated puzzle book that he often escaped into, navigating its winding labyrinth with practiced ease.

     "...Huh?"

     He blinked sleepily as he pulled himself out of the mire of the maze, and Lucas gestured towards him with the book.

     "The Dragonite Caper.  I believe you've read every mystery novel ever published, so I don't imagine this one is an exception."

     Terry squinted in the low lamplight.

     "Oh.  Yeah.  'Bout a decade ago, and again last week when Cecil started bangin' on about it to everyone."

     His voice betrayed no particular opinion; nor, indeed, much emotion at all, save for a dragging, almost viscous exhaustion.  Though it was perhaps growing a bit late in the evening for questions and answers, Lucas could resist just one more.

     "What did you think of it?"

     With another yawn, Terry leaned back over the arm of the chair, letting his own open book rest page-down on his chest as he regarded the ceiling.

     "It has its moments, but I kinda get the impression that they originally had ideas for two different books, and just kinda mashed 'em together instead of developing them individually.  Too many characters, y'know?"

     Lucas laughed as he picked up his notebook from the side table and shuffled through it absent-mindedly until he found the hastily-scribbled pages he'd been using to keep everyone straight.

     "That's precisely the trouble I've been having.  I keep wondering what the connections between them are, but most times it seems to be none."

     Terry squinted, as though scrying the dark ceiling for answers.

     "Yeah, that tripped me up too."

     Then he picked up his book again, effortlessly slipping back into the maze.  Lucas watched him in fascination for a minute or two, then reluctantly returned to the text before him, trying in vain to work out which one was Ian and which one was Ida.

     "...Perhaps I'll ask Cecil a few questions when I'm through."

     Terry chuckled listlessly only to be interrupted by another yawn.

     "I might, too.  I think he probably gets somethin' we don't."

     Lucas couldn't help but notice that—though it might have been a simple artifact of the low light—he was looking a bit pale and hollow-eyed.

     "...Tired, mon chéri?"

     The question made Terry start a bit, as though being roused from some waking dream.

     "Hmm?  Oh.  Yeah, I guess so.  Been yawning all day."

     Though still a bit concerned, Lucas supposed he wasn't particularly surprised.

    "You did toss and turn for quite a while last night."

     Terry yawned again, then ran a hand over his tired face, pausing for a bit to worry at the bridge of his nose.

     "It's this damn case I've been working on.  Every time I think I have a good lead, it jus-"

     Lucas held up a hand to silence him before he had a chance to wind himself up even more.

     "Shh!  Leave it for tomorrow, dear one.  Now's the time to ready yourself for a good night's rest."

     Knowing how Terry excelled at winding himself up, Lucas was relieved when he managed to stop himself, slumping down further in his chair.

     "I know, I know...  I was actually thinking of turnin' in early tonight.  I can barely keep my eyes open."

     Unable to contain a somewhat mischievous smile, Lucas sprang from his own seat and gathered Terry in his arms, lifting him from his chair and cradling him affectionately.

     "Come, then."

     Half asleep as he was, Terry laughed as he eased into the embrace, resting his heavy head on Lucas' shoulder.

     "Jeez, Lucas..."

     As he carried him to the bedroom, Lucas relished the way Terry unwound in his arms.  With everyone else—save for perhaps Cecil, and then only occasionally—he tended towards tension and prickliness, girding himself against casual touch when he couldn't shrink from it entirely.

     But with Lucas, all defenses were blissfully forgotten.

     "Now, now.  I'm just getting you where you need to be."

     Since both men were already in their pajamas, there was nothing left for Lucas to do but settle Terry down on the mattress and climb in behind him, pulling up the covers and wrapping a protective arm around his wiry body.

     Terry arched his back against Lucas in lazy satisfaction, sinking into the pillows with a sigh.

     "Thanks."

     Then the book he'd kept close to his chest emerged from the blankets.  Terry propped himself to strike a match and light the bedside candle, then settled in to study it once more; the interval between page turns increasing a bit each time, the spine listing in his grip as he began to drift off.

     Lucas simply observed him in rapt wonder; entranced in equal measure by the intricate illustrations on the pages and the hectic buzz he could feel running through Terry's body and into his bare hands.  It was a strange, hot, shivery feeling, which he could only attribute to the workings of his lover's keen mind, sharp and busy even as it dissolved into sleep.

     Whatever it was, the feeling continued even as Terry's grip failed one last time; the book sliding to the floor as his breaths grew long and noisy, the first light of dreaming flickering under Lucas's fingertips as he held him close and watched the guttering flame of the candle.

     ...Oh.  That's right.

     The sight of the candle at their bedside reminded him of the lamp in the main room, and he supposed someone should really put that out.  But Terry was already sleeping so peacefully, and Lucas was loath to disturb him over so trivial a matter.

     And so, with a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes and narrowed his focus, snuffing out the twin flames with his mind and drowning their room in starry darkness.

     "...Anyway, you say Lucas is reading that book I've been talking about?  How's he like it?"

     Terry glanced from his notes to Cecil, wishing his brain would just pick one or the other and focus, instead of seeming to gaze past the world itself and all the way into something churning and bright behind his eyes.

     "Don't know.  Don't know if he knows."

     Much to his frustration, the early night hadn't done much for his fatigue; nor had the late morning, when he waved off Lucas' offers of breakfast and promised to eat something at his desk when he got to work.

     Cecil, on the other hand, seemed to be as bright-eyed as ever.

     "Well, let me know when he's finished so I can go grab him and talk about it!  I really think he'll get a kick out of the part about Adrian's travelling magic show!"

     Even on a good day, Terry could find him a bit exhausting.  And today, so far, was not a good day.  His eyelids felt heavy and gritty, and his throat was parched, as though he'd been breathing through his mouth all night.  The room was drafty, but his jacket was making him sweat, no matter how many shirt buttons he undid as he struggled to work.

     Figuring that none of this was Cecil's fault—no matter how irritating his chatter was at that moment—he still made the effort to spare him a smile.

     "Yeah.  That he will."

     Cecil fell still, observing Terry with an uncomfortable amount of scrutiny.

     "...You okay, Mr. Terry?"

     Not wishing to be scrutinized, Terry turned his gaze to the haphazard pile of papers before him, gathering them in his hands and straightening the stack against the desk.

     "Sure, sure.  I've just been driving myself crazy with this lately.  I'm a little distracted."

     Terry absent-mindedly flicked through the notes again, the harsh starkness of the scribbled black ink jabbing at his tired eyes.  They concerned a rather peculiar—if admittedly inconsequential—case, in which small mosaics bearing an esoteric symbol had appeared embedded in the cobblestones of two different villages, seemingly overnight.

     At first, Cecil had thrown himself into it with his usual zeal, but by now, he seemed ready to move on to more pressing matters.

     "I still think it's someone's art project."

     But Terry—even in his half-asleep state—couldn't bring himself to let it go.  The way he couldn't bring himself to stand up to get a glass of water for his prickly throat, or shift around in his chair so his legs wouldn't fall asleep.  His whole body felt stiff, and slow to heed his commands, as though there were a frayed wire in his soul.

     "That it may be, but that doesn't explain why we've got two tiles, two different towns, same night, one set of fingerprints.  It's not adding up."

     Cecil shrugged, his mind clearly on something else; the next case, his new favorite book, his house and his brother just up the hill.

     "Seems like our guy went to two places in one night."

     Terry crossed his arms on his desk, out of a sudden need to rest his head.  Then he wriggled one arm free and picked up the notes again, regarding them at an awkward cockeyed angle.  Which was certainly a different perspective, but didn't exactly help.

     "The towns are ten hours apart by carriage."

     Once again, Cecil merely shrugged.

     "Well, people do teleport all the time.  There's that spell the Rangers use, and Lucas basically flings stuff around town all day long."

     Terry set the papers aside, spreading his arms slightly so he could rest his head directly on the desk.  The cool of the wood felt good against his cheek—though it also sent a rather unpleasant chill down his spine—and the shadow created by the crook of his elbow offered much-needed respite from the light and noise of the world.

     "Right.  So we've got a SEED Ranger or a minor deity sticking weird symbols in the street for no readily apparent reason.  That supposed to make it less mysterious?"

     The question, of course, was mostly rhetorical.  But, somewhere out there, Cecil answered anyway.

     "I'm just saying there might not be a reason."

     Terry sighed as he reluctantly pulled himself up from his resting place, listlessly propping his head in his hands.

     "People don't do shit for no reason, kiddo."

     Cecil was still smiling, but it had turned sly and bemused.

     "You're trying to solve this mystery."

     He could have done with a good laugh at his own obsessive fixations, but all Terry could really manage was a wan smirk.

     "Oh, very funny."

     After a brief giddy flicker at having amused his mentor, Cecil's smile quickly faded.

     "Mr. Terry...  Are you sure you're all right?"

     Terry yawned as he forced himself upright, wincing at the grinding in his back as he stretched.

     "Yeah.  I think I just got up on the wrong side of the bed or somethin'."

     The more he thought about it, the more he felt like the problem was that he'd gotten out of bed at all, and the stronger the need to curl into himself somewhere warm and dark became.  He needed to close his eyes, and he needed to be alone.

     And, despite having grown up around his own reticent brother, Cecil often had trouble getting his head around needs such as this.

     "Is there anything I ca-"

     Terry crossed his arms, guarding weakly against any further intrusion.

     "Cecil...  Maybe you should take the rest of the day off.  I can stare at these papers just as well on my own, and your brother probably needs you."

     Playing the Poor Dear Brother card was low, but it usually worked.  What's more, Terry still felt guilty for what he'd gotten them mixed up in, so his intentions were at least partially sincere.

     Predictably, Cecil wavered, but he couldn't quite force himself to retreat.

     "Martin's back at work now, remember?"

     Terry waved him off dismissively, forcing a smile and making a show of returning to his notes.

     "Then go have a day to your damn self for once.  You've certainly earned it."

     Reluctantly, the young man nodded.

     "Okay...  You'll come get me if you end up needing me after all, right?"

     All Terry needed, as far as he could tell, was some peace and quiet, that glass of water he'd been putting off, and perhaps a brief catnap at his desk.  It was just a slow, chilly morning, and he'd probably have his wits about him in no time.

     "Sure thing."

     Still obnoxiously—and enviably—energetic, Cecil scampered to the door, waving brightly as he went.

    "See you then, Mr. Terry!"

     Gods, give it a rest, kid.

     "Uh-huh.  Or tomorrow."

     Cecil nodded, though he didn't quite seem to want to believe that his duties there were really finished for the day.

     "Yeah.  Or tomorrow."

     And then he was gone, leaving the room in a muffled, ringing silence.

     Once again, Terry crossed his arms on his desk and laid down his head, letting his heavy eyelids close.  The vexing case awaited him, and he was grateful for the opportunity to work on it in peace.  But his energy was flagging, and his body was clearly demanding a break.

     For once in his life, he decided to heed it immediately

     Just a few minutes here...

     To the undiscerning eye, it was a profoundly unlovely day, but Lucas couldn't help but see beauty in the silvery clouds and bare branches, and sweet hope in the last of the autumn leaves as they rotted away in the mud and fed the dear Earth.  The world was alive with sights and smells and potential, and he was thankful for the chance to feel a part of it all, even if it was just for the few minutes it took to walk from the Crystalabra to the Detective Agency.

     As he ascended the short stone staircase, he made a note in his mind to do this more often, pausing briefly to pull out his notebook and move the note to the page, where it was less likely to be forgotten.  Then he opened the door and called out into the familiar shadows within, noting that the office seemed oddly quiet for midday.

     "Good afternoon, mon chéri!  I thought we'd take our lunch together today!"

     Lucas had considered stopping by Sweet Hearth on the way to the Agency, but had settled on making them cheese sandwiches or scrambled eggs at home, figuring Terry could use something more substantial than a distracted nibble at a pastry or two.  He had chosen a few extra minutes of sleep over breakfast that morning, and Lucas had left him to it, figuring he needed the rest.

     And he must have been correct, for he found Terry slumped face-down in his messy paperwork, having apparently fallen asleep in the middle of something.  With a fond smile, Lucas sat down next to him on the desk and gently squeezed his shoulder to rouse him.

     "My, you are worn out, aren't you?"

     Terry stirred, and opened his eyes a crack behind his crooked glasses, but didn't seem quite capable of forming words.

     "...Hmm?"

     This in itself, Lucas supposed, said it all.

     "That may well be, but you should really sit up and have a meal with me.  Food restores energy too, you know."

     Terry seemed to collect himself a bit, though his eyes were glassy, and there was a sticky, almost pained sound to his voice.

     "What time is it?"

     Now beginning to worry in earnest, Lucas gently brushed his hair out of his face, noticing that it looked a bit damp at the roots.

     "It's noon.  Are you quite all right, dear one?"

     Terry gazed fixedly into the middle distance, as though he didn't know himself.

     "Dunno."

     Fearing that he would get no farther by simply asking, Lucas decided to remove his gloves.

     "Pardon my intrusion, but you don't seem quite in your right mind..."

     Lucas gently cupped Terry's cheeks in his bare hands, and Terry leaned into the touch with a surprising, poignant gratitude, resting one of his own hands atop Lucas' and closing his eyes again.

     "Sorry."

     But Lucas had no time to savor that heartrendingly sweet little gesture.  As soon he made contact, he was nearly pummeled by a wave of weakness and misery.  The peculiar thrum he'd felt the previous night had intensified and differentiated, and seemed to have pooled in certain sections of the body like a foul sludge.

     It was all terribly dreadful and disorienting, so much so that heat on the surface nearly escaped notice.

     "Don't...  Oh, Terry, sweetheart.  You're burning alive."

     Thinking so fast that he scarcely realized he was thinking at all, Lucas gathered Terry in his arms and snapped his fingers, an image of the Clinic coalescing in the panicked whirlwind of his mind.

     I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  I know you've never liked this.

     His knees hit the polished wood hard, and the harsh overhead lights made him squint after the gloom of the Agency, but he never lost his hold on Terry, even as he pitched forward in Lucas' arms and retched.

     Thankfully, Simone was at their side with a wastecan in an instant, as though she had teleported there herself.

     "Lucas, you scared me half to death!  What the hell is going on!?"

     Lucas blinked in confusion.  Wasn't she supposed to tell him?

     "...I'm unsure.  There's something wrong."

     Simone knelt next to Terry, who was now thoroughly empty but didn't quite have the strength to pull his head out of the wastecan.

     "I...  Can see that."

     So Lucas did it for him, holding him close and glancing up at Simone with an apologetic sigh.

     "Teleportation also makes him rather dizzy."

     Simone brushed Terry's hair out of his face to get a better look, letting her clean, slightly chapped hand linger on his forehead for a moment.

     "I'm aware.  Hmm...  He does have quite a fever.  Let's see what we have here."

     The subsequent examination was every bit the terrified blur that their arrival had been, but as agonizingly slow as the teleportation was dizzyingly quick.  Terry, for his part, seemed unusually cooperative, which offered Lucas little relief, since he suspected he simply lacked the energy to complain.  Even Simone's final diagnosis didn't particularly reassure him, though her faint smile suggested it probably should have.

     "...He's just got that flu that's been going around.  He'll be pretty miserable for a little while, but he should recover well if he gets some rest and fluids.  Give him these, too.  They should help with the symptoms."

     After a few more instructions, they said their farewells, and Lucas was left to figure out how to get Terry home.  He wasn't really keen on teleporting him again, but the weather outside was unforgiving, and might do just as much in the way of making him feel even worse.

     Eventually, he snapped his fingers, summoned the thickest blanket from their bed, wrapped it around Terry's shivering form, and carried him home.

     "...Here we are.  Let's get you to bed, hmm?"

     Terry managed a weak laugh.

     "Probably shouldn't have gotten out in the first place."

     In spite of it all, Lucas smiled warmly.

     "Perhaps not."

     Then they began the slow, shivery process of getting Terry out of the blanket and into his pajamas before settling him in bed with a cold glass of water and a dose of medicine.  Terry knocked back the chalky tablets, then reclined on the pillows, pulling the covers tightly around himself and letting his eyes close.

     For a moment, Lucas thought he had gone straight to sleep, and was slightly startled when he cleared his raw throat to speak.

     "Lucas..."

     Lucas sat down on the edge of the bed, absent-mindedly running a hand over Terry's rumpled hair and staring out at the quiet world outside.

     "...Pardon?"

     Another weak laugh played at Terry's scratchy voice.

     "You're a God, right?  Can't you just...  Fix me or somethin'?"

     The question brought a slight sting of tears to Lucas' eyes, and he had to swallow them painfully before replying.

     "Hmm...  It might technically be possible, but I don't know how...  And I probably shouldn't.  You know why."

     The ease with which Terry accepted his answer was sharply bittersweet.

     "Yeah."

     With the majority of his memories lost or scrambled, Lucas found himself learning many simple lessons for what may as well have been the first time; like a Mortal man, or at times even a Mortal child.

     This, in and of itself, wasn't much of a problem, for Lucas loved to learn.

     And one of the most delicious of these lessons was that everything feels different when one is in love.

     In some ways, it was frightening; to give in to all of those churning, devouring feelings, and to tear down the walls he had so scrupulously and painstakingly put up between himself and the world.  But he wasn't alone, and this made it all that much easier to bear.

     After all, Terry had to endure the exact same thing, or at least something close.

     They worked through the hard parts together, with carefully-chosen words or in patient, faithful silence.

     But for the most part, they found their changed world beautiful.

     For Lucas, who already found the whole world beautiful, the bliss was so great that he nearly lost himself in the swirl.

     Being in love made him giddy, and it made him feel generous, as though the surplus of happiness building within him needed some kind of release valve, lest it rend him apart.  He smiled at strangers, and did favors for friends.  He let Cecil use him as a bodyguard on trivial fact-finding missions in the surrounding forest, and watered Alice's garden.  On more daring days, he fed the crops a small spike of Runic energy, forcing blooms and sweetening fruit.

     He silenced the small, worried voice in his head by reassuring himself that he wasn't interfering with the Mortal world.

     He was merely participating in it, as was the right of every living thing.

     Day by day, Lucas was getting better at thinking of himself as truly alive.  His body was self-made and Rune-blessed, but it was as sensitive, miraculous, and capable of connection as any other.  He had warm breath and a steady heartbeat.  When he ate food, he reveled in the tastes and textures, and it became part of him, rebuilding his form from the inside out.  He gasped and flushed when Terry touched him in the night, lacing their fingers and sharing their skin.

     And Terry responded to him in kind, shivering in pleasure and recognition as Lucas explored every sharp jutting angle and funny protrusion of his beautifully made, poignantly awkward Mortal form.  They were different, and yet ultimately the same, simply two creatures who had found each other and dared to hold themselves open.

     It was this sense of openness and daring that Lucas began to crave from life as a whole, as he entwined himself in his neighbors' lives and put on ever-grander shows each evening, repaying their patience tenfold in dazzlement.

     Perhaps he should have noticed when he began doing good deeds behind his own back.

     Perhaps this had all happened before, in some distant unremembered time, forcing him to lay down yet more laws.

     The reality was that there was much he didn't remember, and even more that he was simply too happy to notice.  Of course the world seemed a little shiny, a little extra magical.  He was in love, after all.  And really, hadn't life in Rigbarth always been a bit charmed?

     It had to have been.

     He had found his love there, after all.

     It was only after Terry invited him to come live at the Detective Agency—"That crappy shack of yours is about to fall down on your head.  And it ain't like you're not over here all day as it is..."—that the strangeness became impossible to ignore.

     As though some invisible scale had tipped towards the sublime, truly odd things slowly began to occur.  It was no longer just a good turn here, a Four-Leaf Clover there, a shooting star caught when nobody had been expecting a Star Shower.

     It was, it soon seemed, everything.

     All around town, the impossible was happening; juice turning up in water glasses, ancient coins in fresh-made buns, flowers blooming in simultaneous fanfare.  It was the talk of the town, and Terry and Cecil were driving themselves to distraction trying to get to the bottom of things.

     Lucas, of course, remained oblivious.  The Crystalabra had been doing a roaring business, so he'd been picking up extra shifts and bringing work home with him, spreading out piles of treasure on Terry's worn desk and carefully appraising each glittering piece.  When he wasn't working, he was preoccupied with the many small tasks that settling into a new home entailed.  To say nothing of the life that Terry and himself were making in that home, carefully putting down roots in one another.

     The miracles continued, and the talk in town turned dark.  As riotous and busy as it appeared, the universe was an amazingly well-balanced system, and no pendulum swung in only one direction.  Something bad was on its way, and each happy accident only brought it closer.

     Eventually, even Lucas began to worry.

     But he had no reason to suspect his own jubilation as the source.

     Not until he came home from his evening performance one night, and found Terry sitting tensely on the edge of the bed, looking troubled and grave.

     "...Lucas?  Can I talk to you?"

     Lucas sat down next to him, putting a comforting arm around his bony, drawn-up shoulders.

     "Of course, dear one.  What might be bothering you?"

     Terry leaned gratefully into the embrace, but the tension never eased.  After a few moments of anxious silence, he drew a shaky breath and released it with a heavy sigh.

     "I've been doing some reading, and I think I know what's going on."

     In the dream, Terry had fallen into a dark, stagnant bay; its surface nacreous with oil, the waters below choked with thick slimy kelp that wound around his limbs and dragged him down.  The harder he fought his way towards the shimmering surface, the more tangled he became, until all the fight had left him and he could do nothing more than watch the wavering bubbles of his breath drift upward toward an escape he could never reach.

     "...Grk!"

     Terry surfaced with a gasp, and was immediately met with a soft, comfortingly familiar voice.

     "Apologies, mon chéri.  Your dream was becoming a proper nightmare, so I thought it best to interrupt it.  You may go back to sleep."

     As he came back to himself, he realized that the wet, slimy fronds he'd felt were nothing more than a damp cloth laid across his forehead, and his own sweaty, tangled hair.  And the sturdier stalks that wound around him weren't twisted stipes, but Lucas' strong arms, clutching him protectively and holding him out of the nightmare's grasp.

     "...How long...?"

     Though they usually radiated an almost glowing warmth—lovely to hold on chilly walks, even though his fine white gloves—Lucas' bare hands felt comfortingly cool against his burning cheeks.

     "Only an hour or two.  Far less than you need."

     Terry sighed in profound relief; to not only hear the missing time quantified, but to learn that it hadn't been terribly long.  It was one of those grey, unchanging late-autumn days where the light outside remained steadily dim through the hours, and the flight to the Clinic and subsequent examination had partially melted together with his uneasy dreams, so orienting himself upon awakening had been difficult.

     It's afternoon.  You're in your bed.  Lucas is here.

     (You're safe as safe gets.)

     "Oh.  Okay."

     Lucas' hand meandered through the damp brambles of his hair, eventually settling on the back of his neck.

     "It seems you've cooled off a bit, so you can have another blanket, if you'd like."

     Terry shook his head and began the slow work of disentangling himself from Lucas' embrace.  Though he wasn't exactly warm, he felt stifled and sweaty in a way that made him crave nothing more than fresh air on his clammy skin.

     "Nah.  That's all right."

     With some seeming reluctance, Lucas let go and allowed him to sit up, though he was careful to make sure that the palm on Terry's neck remained firmly in place.

     "If you're going to be awake, perhaps you should have something to eat?  You missed breakfast, and I never got to make your lunch."

     Through that gentle, all-feeling hand, Lucas could surely sense that Terry was feeling queasy and parched, and that the mere mention of food turned his stomach and grated his throat.

     "Can you just...  Get me some water and let me think on it a little?"

     Lucas nodded; his hand wandering to Terry's cheek as he stood from the bed, but never quite managing to break contact.

     "Of course.  I'll be right back."

     Terry couldn't help but laugh, and even forgot to flinch at the rough catch in his raw throat.

     "...If you're gonna come back, you gotta leave first."

     And Lucas managed a laugh as well; low, nervous, faintly embarrassed.  Then he bent down to place a soft kiss on Terry's forehead before finally letting his hand fall away.

     "Right.  Pardon me."

     He slipped that hand into the safety of his pocket and slowly made his way to the door, pausing every few steps to glance back at Terry, looking terribly anxious and unsure without that physical connection and all that it told him.

     Alone in the room at last—and feeling surprisingly bereft for it—Terry sat forward and slipped his arms out of his robe, crossing them and resting his elbows on his drawn-up knees.  The air in the room was still and close, but it still made him shiver slightly as it dried the sheen of sweat on his back.  He wasn't sure if it felt amazing or terrible, but the contrast it provided from the damp warmth he'd awoken to offered sufficient enough relief to make the shivering worth his while.

     And after a few short, shivery minutes, Lucas returned with a tall, sparkling-clear glass of water.

     "Here we are.  How are you feeling, dear one?"

     Terry accepted the glass with one hand, and gently guided Lucas' hand to his cheek with the other.

     "I dunno.  You tell me."

     Lucas sat down on the bed, brows knitting in concern as he took stock of Terry's condition.

     "Your joints and respiratory tract seem quite inflamed."

     With a shrug of his aching shoulders, Terry took a crisp gulp of water, spine quivering as its coolness settled into his bones.

     "Got the flu.  That's what it does."

     The chill soothed his throat, and even seemed to alleviate some of the pressure in his head.  Terry hoped that Lucas could feel some of the comfort he'd brought him, but he seemed too distracted by worry to notice.

     "You seem awfully calm."

     Though he knew Lucas meant well, all of this fussing was beginning to get on Terry's last frayed nerve.  After all, he had been much worse in the past, and in far worse circumstances.  Today, he had a soft bed to rest on, and a lover to keep him company and fetch him water, which was basically as good as not being sick in the first place.

     "Lucas...  This isn't the first time I've been sick, and it's not gonna be the last.  I'll feel crappy for a while, and then I'll get better.  Don't act like you're on some deathbed vigil, okay?"

     Lucas settled in next to Terry on the bed, putting an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close.  The curious gold hue of his eyes suddenly seemed heartbreakingly bright and clear, and Terry felt a sharp sting of guilt at having brought him down into the pestilent mire of this world.

     "It just seems so awful."

     But even so, he was happy to have something—someone—solid and warm to take the weight of his weary body.  Terry laughed to himself as he downed the last of the water and rested his head on Lucas' chest.

     "That it is."

     Lucas took the glass and set it on the nightstand, then returned his vigilant hand to Terry's skin, absent-mindedly running his palm up and down his arm as he spoke.

     "I...  I felt something wrong in you last night.  I'm sorry I didn't say anything before it got so dire."

     Terry yawned; closing his eyes and letting the motion soothe him, for both their sakes.

     "Yeah, well, I felt somethin' off, too.  And I tried to get some sleep about it.  Not so long ago, I wouldn't have even done that.  We're doin' okay."

     And though "okay" was more than enough for Terry, he'd forgotten that it probably wouldn't quite do for a God.

     "But-"

     With another weak laugh, Terry reached up and laid a hand over Lucas' mouth, fingertips brushing the scratchy stubble at his jaw.

     "...Shh!  You're stressin' me out, and I need my rest."

     He left his hand there even as they settled back on the pillows, removing it only when he felt Lucas smile.

     "Right.  I'm sorry."

     Terry closed his eyes again, letting the steady beat of Lucas' divine heart lull him back into the waters of sleep, finding them clearer and kinder than they'd been earlier in that grey, blurry afternoon.

     "Don't worry about it."

     As he drifted away, he focused the last of his energy on one last thought, hoping he had the strength to push it up through his skin and into the golden web of Lucas' nerves.

     ("...Seriously.  Don't.")

     Lucas didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned by the ease with which Terry sank back into sleep.  Surely, it was better for him to be asleep and getting his rest than awake and miserable, but the fact that he'd spent more of the day asleep than not was somewhat concerning.  The hectic buzz under his skin suggested a fierce battle was raging within his otherwise-still body, and the work was obviously wearing him down.

     My, but you're sturdy.

     It was a strange thought to have, but it was the truth.

     Lucas' body was relatively static, doing little but maintaining its shape and mass and rapidly repairing the occasional wound.  Mortals, on the other hand, were constantly falling apart and rebuilding; tirelessly and ceaselessly, until the day the process finally stopped.  Their injuries took time to heal, and infections had to be actively fought off.  But heal and fight they did, with a vitality and resilience that could nearly bring a God to tears.

     "Be brave, dearheart."

     Terry gave no reply.  But Lucas could tell—through one hand laid on the ribs and the other at the small of the back, his forehead lightly touching Terry's own—that he was fighting valiantly.  And that, though he was still feverish, he was having very pleasant dreams, breathtakingly shimmery and surreal.

     The snatches he caught through his skin made him want to join him there.

     Making sure to keep his hands flat against Terry's busy, overheated form, Lucas closed his eyes with a sigh, and allowed his mind to fade into the grey quietude of the room.

     The sleepy calm that ensued was wonderful while it lasted, though that didn't prove very long.

     "...Mr. Terry!  I've got it!"

     Terry woke up just enough to bury his head under a pillow and groan.  Lucas blinked the half-formed beginnings of sleep from his eyes and burrowed right under there with him, kissing him reassuringly on the forehead and holding him close.

     "I'll go see what he wants.  You just stay here."

     With another aggrieved groan, Terry shoved the pillow aside and rolled over to regard the ceiling through the afternoon gloom.

     "Tell him to go home."

     Lucas chuckled slightly as he stood from the bed and smoothed out his rumpled shirtsleeves.

     "I certainly will.  But knowing what he's after will ensure he stays there."

     Terry laughed as well, though it soon sputtered out in a rattling cough.

     "...You catch on quick, don't you, cutie?"

     After another quick kiss on the forehead—and allowing his hands to linger on Terry's skin just a moment more—Lucas stepped out of the bedroom and found Cecil peering curiously into the kitchen, starting slightly when he realised he wasn't alone.

     "Mr...  Oh, hey Lucas!"

     Lucas nodded at the young man as he came to stand beside him in the doorway, speaking softly as he slouched against the frame.

     "Hello, Cecil.  Could you perhaps keep your voice down?  Terry's feeling quite unwell."

     Cecil's usual cheery expression fell away as he began ranting through clenched teeth, taking off his hat so he could scrub an anxious hand through his shaggy hair.

     "...I knew it!  He was so off this morning, and he told me to go home, so I did, but the whole time I was thinking like 'dammit, Cecil, why'd you do that?'  I can always tell when something's up with him, you know!  I can't always tell what, bu-"

     Lucas winced as his voice began rising again, and found himself lowering his own to a whisper as a sort of compensation.

     "Cecil."

     After a long breath in and out to compose himself, Cecil tried speaking again, his tone measured and quiet this time.

     "Right.  Sorry.  How bad is it?"

     That question gave Lucas a bit of pause, for he wasn't exactly sure himself.  Objectively, it was a routine illness, and he was likely to recover without incident.  But in terms of the subjective experience, things were looking pretty bad.  In the end, all he could do was shrug and weakly proffer the doctor's diagnosis.

     "Simone says he has the flu."

     From the way Cecil exploded back into consternation, that seemed to have been the wrong thing to say.  But Lucas couldn't be sure that there was a right thing, so he supposed there wasn't much else he could have done.

     "Agh, I warned him!  Him and Martin both!  When you don't take care of yourself, you catch everything going around, you know.  But do you think either of them ever listens to me?"

     Upon hearing this, Lucas thought of all the times he had seen Terry grumble through some hated process or another, his complaints inevitably coming around to "Cecil told me that I..." or "Cecil thinks I should..."  It was actually rather touching, and even the thought of it brought a slight fond smile to his face.

     "Well, I cannot comment on Martin, bu-"

     The young man cut him off with a huff, crossing his arms fiercely.

     "...Not like they should!  Is he listening to you, Lucas?"

     Once again, Lucas could only shrug.

     "I told him to rest, and he's been asleep most of the afternoon."

     Cecil nodded understandingly, and seemed satisfied for a second or two before he started up again, quieter and softer this time.

     "Did he eat anything?"

     Lucas exhaled with a sigh, feeling slightly defeated.

     "That...  Was rather less successful."

     Already, Cecil was rummaging around in the kitchen, on the hunt for something even his fussy mentor couldn't refuse.

     "Lucas...  Mr. Terry gets weird when he doesn't feel good, and he's stubborn as hell, but it isn't actually that hard to get him to eat something."

     It was with a sudden sting of embarrassment that Lucas realized he hadn't even really tried.

     "Well, he sai-"

     Cecil waved a hand dismissively as he rooted around in the refrigerator.

     "Oh, don't mind what he says.  He doesn't know what he wants when he's like this."

     Lucas couldn't help but feel a bit skeptical.  If Terry himself didn't know what he wanted, who was to say that Cecil did?  But then he remembered how long the pair had known each other, and saw fit to hold his tongue.

     "I...  See."

     A few moments passed in slightly awkward silence.  Then Cecil emerged with milk and eggs, sitting them on the counter so he could check the level of the honey jar and the freshness—slightly stale, Lucas thought—of the open half-loaf of bread.

     "Hmm...  You have all the things for bread pudding here.  That's pretty easy to eat, and I've never seen him turn it down.  Want to help me make some?"

     Lucas nodded agreeably, relieved to finally have something tangible he could do to help.

     "Just give me directions, and I'll do my best to follow."

     Much to his surprise, Cecil immediately burst into stunned laughter.

     "...Listen to you, Lucas!  You are so easy!"

     Unsure of what, exactly, was so funny, Lucas cocked his head questioningly.

     "Pardon?"

     Cecil rolled his eyes; in the direction of both the bedroom and his own house up the hill.

     "Nothing...  I'm just used to those two.  It's weird when someone doesn't try to argue with me."

     Lucas nodded knowingly, noting that this wasn't the first time he'd caught a glimpse of deep weariness beneath Cecil's cheerful manner.

     "Well then!  I shall agree with you to your heart's content!"

     Nodding brightly in return, Cecil plunked the stale bread into a large bowl.

     "Start by tearing up this bread."

     Lucas accepted the bowl and began ripping in compliantly, losing himself in the task as he stared out the kitchen window at the grey clouds rolling over the dark, dark sea.

     Having briefly dozed, Terry was faced once more with the tedious task of reorienting himself in time and space.

     "Hey, Mr. Terry.  How are you feeling?"

     Still in bed.  Don't know where Lucas went.  Cecil is here for some reason.

     Terry yawned as he propped himself up on one elbow, pulling the blankets over his bare chest and up to his neck to afford himself a semblance of decency.

     "Been better."

     Cecil smiled faintly in the dim half-light.

     "Yeah, you look like crap."

     An unexpected laugh escaped Terry's raw throat as he sulkily flopped back onto the pillows.

     "...Thanks."

     The mattress creaked as Cecil perched lightly on the edge of the bed; slouching with his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together pensively.

     "Sorry I didn't stick around earlier...  I just didn't want to argue with you and stress you out, y'know?"

     He looked a bit peculiar in the gloom; somehow older than his years, but also oddly reminiscent of their early days together, when Cecil was barely thirteen and at once hard-bitten by sorrow and innocently unworldly for his age.  And Terry had been an angry, unreliable, somewhat stunted twenty-one, by all accounts a poor target for such a vulnerable youth to latch on to.

     Terry had always been selfishly, unaccountably grateful that he had.

     "Not gonna complain about my assistant doing what I asked, kiddo."

     That comment coaxed out a faint laugh, and Cecil's posture eased slightly.

     "Well, then I'm sorry I came back.  I just think I got a break in that case that's been bothering you, and I got a little excited."

     Terry propped himself back up, eager for some good news.

     "Oh yeah?"

     Cecil's expression brightened into a familiar, somewhat over-eager grin.

     "Yeah!"

     The grin remained, but he said no more, which made Terry feel rather uneasy and impatient.

     "...So...?"

     After a few more beats of silence, Cecil laid a steady, compact hand on Terry's blanket-covered shoulder, easing him back onto the pillows.

     "We'll talk all about it when you're well.  You need to take it easy for now!"

     Terry was still so exhausted that lying back down was more than welcome, but he at least mustered the energy to cross his arms petulantly beneath the blankets.

     "...Seriously, Cecil?"

     Cecil shrugged blithely as he stood from the bed.

     "Something to look forward to, huh?"

     In truth, it was more like something to vex him and haunt his feverish dreams.  But Terry figured his obsessive tendencies were his own to deal with, and answered Cecil with a pleasant nod.

     "Yeah."

     But really, they'd known each other so long and well that he probably already knew.

     "Okay...  Time for me to take off and let you relax.  Lucas and I made some bread pudding, he's gonna be back here with some any minute, and you need to eat it and tell him it's good."

     That, at least, explained where Lucas had gone, and Terry found himself resting easier with one mystery solved.

     "Will do."

     Cecil saluted him crisply from the doorway, still smiling brightly.

     "Later!"

     And Terry, to his own surprise, managed a weak salute of his own.

     "Later."

     Then he closed his eyes and settled into the pillows, listening to the faint murmurs in the next room, where Lucas and Cecil were saying their goodbyes.

     Terry was highly-strung and suspicious by nature, and rarely felt entirely safe.  But as he curled up under the covers and let the muffled voices of his friends wash over him, he realized that, for once, he did.  And he sank into the feeling as a man who'd been wandering the desert for years would sink into a cool, blue lake.

     "...Oh, dear.  He didn't tire you out too much to have a bite to eat, did he?"

     Terry surfaced with a yawn as Lucas' long shadow fell across the bed.

     "Nah.  He just told me to take it easy, so I am."

     Lucas settled on the bed; drawing up his legs and crossing them, claiming the space with a natural ease.

     "Well, he's an intelligent young man.  But you really should sit up and eat something."

     Terry laboriously dragged himself off the mattress, running a hand through his tangled hair and stretching his sore back.

     "Okay, okay...  Bread pudding, I hear?"

     And just like that, a warm bowl was placed in his hands.

     "Indeed.  Enjoy."

     It didn't really smell like much, but Terry suspected that problem might have been on his end.

     "Thanks."

     Though he still didn't have much of an appetite, Terry was actually looking forward to trying what Lucas had made.  He wasn't an outstanding cook by most people's definition, but he was attentive and thoughtful, and had developed quite a nuanced understanding of Terry's fussy palate.  He always seemed to know what he most wanted to eat, and what would comfort him if he was feeling off or in a foul mood.

     This time was likely no different, but he was finding it a little difficult to tell.

     "...Is it good?"

     Lucas' expression was questioning and earnest, and Terry wished he had a good answer for him.  But his tongue felt dull and dry and thick, and there was an odd pressure in his head that seemed to push away outside sensations, so that they bounced off him as though he were a turgid balloon.

     Still, he took another spoonful, and tried to concentrate on the taste.

     "Probably."

     Lucas' expression shifted from inquisitive to downright confused.

     "Probably?"

     Terry—feeling rather defeated—handed the bowl back to him with a sniff and a sigh.

     "My sinuses are a little blocked right now."

     Lucas took it, but seemed reluctant to set it aside.

     "How unfortunate."

     Terry reclined back on the pillows with an apologetic little smile, hoping his body's refusal to cooperate wouldn't be seen as a lack of gratitude.

     "'Preciate the effort, though...  Listen.  Cecil told me he got some huge break in that case that's been giving me all that trouble, but he didn't say any more than that.  Did he say anything to you about it?"

     A brief flicker in Lucas' golden eyes told him all he needed to know.

     "He...  Said you shouldn't worry about work until you're feeling better, and I happen to agree."

     But Lucas said no more, smiling down at Terry with a frustrating air of divine benevolence.  Terry didn't know if he wanted to relentlessly needle him until he was forced to reveal his secrets, or simply go quiet and kiss him.

     "Lucas..."

     In the end, he settled for allowing Lucas to tuck him in.

     "You'll find out all about it in good time.  And for now, we can talk about...  Well, just about anything else."

     Terry closed his eyes, but his feverish mind was still whirring, ricocheting crazily from one question to the next, until it landed on the one he'd been putting aside.

     "...Even what happened this summer?"

     He expected Lucas to refuse.  If recent cases were too taxing, this was surely even farther off the table.  But after a moment's pause, he acquiesced, his voice low and soft.

     "If you're up to it, I suppose...  What would you like to know?"

     Terry opened his eyes a crack and squinted at the ceiling.  What did he want to know?

     ("Was it worth it?")

     (...Am I?)

     "I dunno.  Just...  What it was like for you, I guess.  The whole thing was such a shitshow at the time that I didn't think to ask how you were, and I've kinda been thinkin' about it since what you said when we got back from the Clinic."

     Lucas nodded as he stood from the bed, bowl still in hand.

     "I'll do my best to give an accurate account...  But can I go put this away and fetch something for you first?"

     Terry watched him skeptically.

     "Uh...  Sure.  What're you fetching?"

     Lucas turned around in the doorway, his smile strangely playful.

     "Well...  If your sense of taste is dulled, there's no reason not to have some tea with honey, yes?"

     Terry rolled his eyes, which sent an unpleasant twinge through his aching head.

     "Says you."

     Rather infuriatingly, Lucas' smile turned almost smug.

     "Cecil says it'll help your throat."

     Terry groaned, dramatically throwing a lanky arm across his face.
     "Fine.  Just don't forget what we're talkin' about while you're out there."