Chapter Text
The gym is more crowded than usual the following Monday, with all resident performers congregating in the large space at once. Most of the time, just Rook and Lucanis and Illario and Zara share the morning spot, but today everyone else is milling around, too — all except for Dorian and Heir.
"Something I should know?" Rook turns towards Lucanis.
"If everyone's here, they probably have something to announce that affects all of us."
"Oh, joy." She shifts her weight, lips pulling into a grimace.
"Relax," he says with a smile. "We'd have gotten some sort of warning if it was something bad."
Like when Natalie had to leave the circus.
As if on cue, Illario sidles up to him.
"Heeey, Luca, I've ben wondering … you hear anything from Natalie since she left?"
Lucanis side-eyes his cousin. "She's fine. She's back with her parents. You could just call, you know. Or message her."
Illario rubs his neck, looking uncharacteristically apprehensive. "I know, but, you know … it felt awkward, given … everything."
Lucanis sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Did you have to get her pregnant?"
"I didn't do it on purpose!"
The polite fiction is that no one save Caterina knows what kind of health issue forced Natalie to quit. Or that at least no one knows who the father is.
Everyone knows, of course. Circus ensembles are a pretty tight-knit community, and it's almost impossible to keep a secret. (Plus the two of them must have been pretty drunk when they were messing around in the common room.)
Everyone except Rook, of course, because she wasn't around yet.
She snorts when Illario begins to sputter excuses.
"You know, my dad slept with a townie once, when he was … 18, I think? It was just the one night, they were both young and dumb and had a few too many beers. He didn't even remember her name, and didn't see her again for a whole year, until the next time his circus was in town."
"… so, what, did they hook up again?"Illario asks, looking suspicious.
"Not really, no. See, the next time he saw her, she dropped a baby in his arms and declared it his responsibility now. She walked away before he had a chance to grab on to his wits, and he never saw her again."
Illario laughs nervously. "Well, fuck. What did he do with the baby?"
Rook's grin is perhaps showing a few too many teeth. "Raised me as best he could, of course. What are you going to do?"
The colour drains from Illario's face, and he mumbles another excuse, making a quick exit.
Lucanis lets out a low whistle.
"That was … effective. Is it true?"
"What, that my father fucked a townie and got to live with the consequences?"
He nods.
"Yep. Always use protection, kids. I think dad took me to the closest available gynaecologist the minute he noticed me showing an interest in boys."
That draws a low chuckle from him. "Well, better to be safe than sorry, I guess."
"Yeah, it definitely wasn't the worst idea he's ever had."
Her grin slips a little. "Sooo … you were probably pretty relieved when I told your cousin off the second day I was here, huh?"
"You could say that."
It had been something of a relief, for sure. Then again, he had been quite certain that Natalie had no designs on him — or anyone else on the roster — for almost two years, too. Appearances could be deceiving.
Not the appearance of their coaches though, who choose that moment to grace them with their presence.
"Gather around, my darlings," Dorian calls out, clapping his hands.
"As you know, we have roughly a month left until First Day, and our magnanimous leader has decided that it's about time we repay Treviso's generosity with a special showing again."
A round of murmurs travels through the assembled artists, carrying both excitement and annoyance.
"Great, more work," Zara mutters somewhere to their left.
"That means we need all of you to polish up one of your past acts, because as much as we love our hometown, there will be no spoilers for this year's tour. Run-throughs for the show begin a week prior to First Day, the dome goes up a week before that. We have your adjusted training schedules with suggestions for your acts right here, so please come over to collect them. Any questions?"
No one has any questions of a public nature, but the line to receive individual training schedules moves slowly, because almost everyone has questions about their personal act or schedule. Plenty of time for Rook to clear most of her questions with Lucanis.
"You've done this before?"
"I have. We do this every couple of years, to remind the current governor why they don't tax us into the ground for holding on to prime real estate in the industrial area when we really only use it half the year."
"So … is it like a regular circus performance, just with older material?"
"Pretty much, except it's only one showing and attendance is free."
"That's really generous!"
"From what I gather, it balances out quite nicely, financially speaking."
"Huh. So, what are you going to do? With your old partner gone …"
He sighs, crossing his arms. "I had a knife-throwing act with Illario a couple of years ago. We haven't done that in a while, so I have a feeling like that's where we'll land. Other than that … I could probably still piece together the aerial rope act Caterina had me practice for a competition a few years back."
Rook blinks at him.
"What?"
"I just can't picture you throwing knives around."
The corner of his mouth twitches. "I am a man of many talents."
She laughs, and then it's their turn at the fortune wheel.
"So, Rook — I've heard through the grapevine that you did an aerial ring act before you joined our merry band of misfits?" Dorian asks her without preamble.
"I did."
"Any chance you kept the costume?"
She grins. Technically, all costumes at Giovanni's Grand Gazette Circus are property of the circus company, but she'd been pissed enough — and poor enough, given that she never collected that last payment — to keep hers out of spite.
"As a matter of fact, I do."
"Marvellous. Think you can still remember that act?"
"It hasn't been that long, so I should be fine. I take it Teia isn't working the ring for this performance then?"
"Nah, she'll be doing contortionist groundwork. We will be working with our regular schedule today, and switching to the new one tomorrow —" he says, handing her a print-out,"— think you can show us what you remember by then?"
She swallows, then nods. "Sure. Won't be perfect, but doable."
"Marvellous. Now, off to your warm-ups please, we've already lost enough time as it is!"
Dorian is pleased with their performance on the silks that day. Their timing is improving, and Rook is getting better at matching Lucanis' height. He's even more pleased with their dance practice in the afternoon.
"Finally, some hip movement! I knew you had it in you," he beams when when Rook and Lucanis finish the second round of their rumba routine.
Between Dorian's unexpected praise and Rook's pleased grin, Lucanis can feel a faint flush creeping up his neck. It's not that he's unaccustomed to praise, but these days, it's usually for something he takes for granted; this has been somewhat more challenging.
Maybe he has grown complacent; he distinctly remembers enjoying a good challenge before, but it's been a couple of years since he's really had to try for anything. The acts Dorian came up with when he was working with Natalie had been right up his alley, playing into both their penchant for elegant, classical movement. A more avant-garde style of circus that poses a clear contrast to what Dorian has him doing with Rook — all emotional expression and fluidity.
Loathe as Lucanis is to admit it, Rook was correct: He has been holding back. And it's about time he stops doing that.
"It's still capable of improvement, of course, but now we have something to work with," their choreographer continues. "Let's go again!"
Lucanis rolls his eyes when his back is to Dorian, and Rook has to bite down on a snicker.
"Let me know when you want to surprise him again," she whispers into his ear when the next turn brings them close, and there's a rush of heat following her words that makes him miss a step.
"Come on, you can do better than that!" Dorian bellows, because he's paid not to miss a single mistake.
"Sorry," Rook mumbles with a wince.
"Not your fault," Lucanis mutters back, forcing himself to concentrate.
Dorian is correct: He can do better than that, and he's determined to show both of them now.
It's not unusual for Lucanis to wake up at night. He's never been a good sleeper, but a glass of water and some light reading usually let him rest another hour or two. Not this night though.
He isn't sure what woke him in the first place (it wasn't bad dreams this time), but his mind can't seem to quiet down with his usual routine, so he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a light hoodie and walks quietly towards the kitchen.
Maybe a snack will help, or a glass of warm milk. He hasn't had warm milk since he was a child, but it's worth a try.
The hallways of the residential wing are dim and silent, the only illumination coming from the green emergency lights spaced along the lower edge of the walls. Viago's idea, that one: People can still see where they're going when they find themselves hankering for a midnight snack (or returning from an ill-advised night out), but not the kind of bright that would banish any chance of going back to sleep.
The high windows encircling the dining area allow a smattering of moonlight to filter inside, casting the room in a gloomy light. Lucanis makes his way over to the fridge, the bright light inside almost blinding for a second, but nothing calls to him; he isn't really hungry, just … restless.
It takes all of 30 seconds to warm up a glass of milk in the microwave (if he caught anyone else doing it this way he would object, but there's no one around, so using a pot on the stove feels like a waste of resources), but the taste doesn't make him feel any more sleepy.
Only strangely melancholic, and perhaps a little lonely.
Maybe it's habit that draws him in the direction of the gym and maybe it's instinct, but in any case, there's light coming through the small gap beneath the door, and that's basically an invitation.
As carefully as he can, Lucanis opens the door, peering into the brightly lit hall. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the glare — the gym was never made for subtlety — before he spots the culprit of this particular late-night training session.
Over on the right-hand side, where Teia usually practices her routine, a mop of vivid red curls is dangling from the aerial ring, holding on by her knees before straightening one leg and stretching out an arm into a dynamic pose, then twisting quickly to curl into the curve of the ring again, lifting herself up and turning until she is perfectly balanced on the small of her back.
There it is, the elegance that Dorian questioned.
For a moment, he just watches as Rook pirouettes and curves and stretches, using the full surface of the ring as well as the rope that holds it. How she dangles and swings, using her own momentum to make the ring sway and spin without ever touching the ground. Moving like she was made to be in the air.
He waits until she pauses, catching her breath as she sits on the ring like a swing before he quietly slips inside, walking closer while her back is turned.
"I hope you remembered to stretch," he calls over, announcing his presence when he is just a few meters away.
Rook jerks at the sound of his voice, and maybe he's feeling a little bit smug about that, but she catches herself quickly enough, dropping to hang upside down so she can look in his direction without twisting her back.
"Hi Lucanis."
"What are you doing here at this hour?"
"I could ask you the same question."
He crosses his arms, raising a brow. There's a point to her left incisor that he didn't notice before, glinting in the overhead glare when she flashes a grin.
"Couldn't sleep, so I thought I may as well use my time productively." She tries for a shrug, but it comes out a little stiff — not surprising, given that she is hanging from her hands and knees.
He would be lying if he claimed not to have considered that a time or two.
"You're not worried about presenting your act tomorrow, are you?"
Maybe he's finally found something he can tease her about, and his expression turns sly.
"Are you kidding? I'm always worried," she deadpans. "Some of us don't have a convenient family affiliation to fall back on and need to actually earn their spot."
He frowns.
"Yes, yes, I know, you're actually frustratingly good at what you do. My point still stands — hence the midnight training session."
It's difficult to tell what rankles more — the insinuation that he doesn't even need to try, or the way she immediately walked it back into a compliment. Or perhaps it's just the underlying argument that she is never fully at ease that doesn't sit right with him, because she never seems anything but, and he really thought he had a pretty good read on her by now.
"Pretty sure you'll regret that in the morning."
"Ah, but that's a problem for tomorrow me," she retorts with a wink, and rolls forward to drop to the ground. "Hey, if you're already here — could you give me a lift when I get a good spin going? There's only so much I can to at this height."
He shakes his head, but heads over to the pulley anyway. She rewards him with a smile that warms him more than the milk did and grasps the ring again, starting to pirouette on one foot to gain momentum. When it looks like she's got a enough speed, he pulls, lifting her into the air. She simply spins there for a moment, legs outstretched, before pulling herself up, first into a perfect upside-down split and then over into straddling the ring, pulling her legs in again until she's no more than a blur.
She laughs when she leans backwards, stretching her limbs wide to slow down again. A couple more twists and turns take her through another handful of positions, using her body to keep the ring moving before she ends her routine by stretching down from the top of it. She holds for a moment, then her hands find the lower edge and she drops, swinging back and forth for a bit as he lowers her to the ground again.
"Thank you. I missed that." Her face is flushed from hanging upside down and her hair is a mess, but her smile is radiant, and something about it catches in his chest, swallowing the retort waiting on his tongue.
The pause that follows drags on just long enough to get awkward, and Lucanis clears his throat when he can finally drag his eyes away from her face again.
"You're welcome. Are you done? We really should get back to bed."
Her laughter is brief and bright and ringing with amusement as she steps past him, casting another look of pure mischief over her shoulder. "Why, Lucanis, if I didn't know better, I'd take that as an invitation."
Hopefully, the hands he rubs over his face will hide the flush of heat he can feel rising in his cheeks. He really walked straight into that one.
He was correct, of course — she is tired the next morning, making a beeline for the coffee machine first thing as she enters the kitchen.
"I told you so," his eyes say over the rim of his own cup while he waits for the second batch of croissants to finish baking.
"Yes, fine, what are you gonna do about it?" her own acknowledge with a wry grin.
It's nice, to feel understood without the need for words.
Aside from the shadows under her eyes (mostly concealed by make-up) and the steaming cup of coffee in her hand, you wouldn't guess at the hour or more she spent practising last night though. Her smile is just as cheerful when she greets Teia and Lace, and she's practically bouncing on her feet when they walk over to the gym.
Nerves, probably.
Dorian is kind enough to relieve her of that tension once she's done her warm-ups, postponing their usual start of daily practice.
"All right, let's see it. I bet you'll feel better once you've got this part over and done with."
With a slightly sheepish grin, she walks over to the ring, dangling at head height.
"Lucanis, would you be so kind as to work the pulley?" Dorian asks.
Lucanis catches Rook's eye past Dorian's shoulder, and she smirks; he feels its twin pull at his own lips when he answers. "Of course."
When the ring hangs just above her head, she begins, giving it a good spin and pulling herself upward. The sequence is a little different from what Lucanis saw last night (she must have been playing around at least a little, free from the need for a perfect execution), but the elements are largely the same. Her body turns and twists, the routine much more dynamic than their act on the silks because there's no need to climb and wrap the fabric this time — just her own strength and the questionable stability of the ring. It's always in motion, spinning quicker or slower in relation to her movements, almost dizzying to watch.
Dorian claps when she's reached her finishing pose, and there it is again: That radiant smile, a flash of pride and relief that dimples her cheeks and makes Lucanis' fingertips tingle.
"Very nice! Can't wait to pick that apart when we time it to the music. Do you need a minute, or do you think we can switch over to silks?"
Rook lowers herself to the ground and wipes a tight sleeve over her brow. "Just let me have some water and I'm golden."
Lucanis feels off through their entire practice.
It's not that they are doing badly — quite the opposite, in fact. Their timing is excellent, and Rook matches his hight perfectly, catching his hand on the first try to lead into their spin. She's still riding the high of her aerial ring presentation, matching him beat for beat to make it downright easy to go from one form to the next.
But something about him feels … sideways, out of phase. Like he's not really inhabiting his own body, watching one step removed.
It's not until he swings from nothing but her arms, watching that slightly feral grin spread over her face as she holds on to him while hanging upside down in the silks that it clicks.
Oh.
Mierda, he likes her.
The revelation is enough of a shock to make his grip slacken for just a second, but a second is all it takes for gravity and centrifugal force to do their thing and pull him from her grasp, her hands too small to hold on to him when he's suddenly no longer keeping up his side of the bargain.
Lucanis can't do anything but watch the surge of panic on her face as he is pulled from her grip and towards the waiting ground, has barely enough time to remember how to turn his fall into a roll that sends a shock from his wrists up to his shoulders and sends him spinning over himself at least three times before his body comes to a stop, head spinning from more than the impact.
All at once, the gym that held it's breath while he went airborne explodes into a flurry of noise and motion, Dorian bellowing orders and people dashing around to comply. There's a thump as Rook drops from the silks in a less than perfectly safe exit, inciting another shout, and then a number of faces appear in Lucanis peripheral vision.
"I'm fine," he croaks when his coach instructs him not to move, trying to catch Rook's terrified eyes before she's replaced first by his cousin, and then Ysleen.
He answers her questions as best he can, endures her careful probing and prodding, rotates his head and shoulders to prove that yes, he took a fall, but it's fine, he's not hurt. A little sore, perhaps, and yes, he will take it easy for the next two days, just to be sure, if that makes everyone else feel better.
Most of all, he's just embarrassed.
"What happened?" Dorian wants to know when Ysleen has given him the clear and departed for her office again. "I've never seen you slip before."
Not a surprise, that question, but also exactly the one Lucanis really doesn't want to answer.
"I was — distracted. I had trouble sleeping last night, and I lost my focus."
Dorian's eyes narrow in suspicion.
"I have seen you execute a technically perfect routine on two hours of sleep and five cups of coffee."
"Yes, well, I'm not happy about it either, trust me. It won't happen again."
His coach stares at him for another long moment, as if he could pull the truth from his head if he just finds the right angle, before leaning back with a frustrated sigh.
"It better not. You gave us all quite a fright."
"I'm sorry. Where is Rook?"
She was still there when Ysleen showed up, but then he was distracted, and now he can't spot her anywhere.
Dorian blinks, like he just remembered that Lucanis is supposed to have a partner, and looks around. "No idea, but it's not like we could finish our training session like this anyway. I expect both of you back for dance practice in the afternoon, " he informs him with stern look before rising to his feet and stalking away.
Probably to have a word with Caterina.
Just great.
Lucanis finally spots Rook in a little used side corridor after he's washed his hands and splashed some water on his face. She's hunkered down on the floor with her arms around her knees and her chin dropped to her chest.
"Rook? Are you alright?"
She flinches at the sound of his voice, quickly wiping an arm over her eyes before she glances up at him.
"I should be the one asking you that!"
There's a redness around her eyes that wasn't there before, and as he steps closer Lucanis can see that she's trembling, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
"I'm fine," he says softly, crouching down before her. "A little sore, and Ysleen has me on light duty for two days just to be safe, but nothing's broken. It's okay. I'm okay."
He watches her eyes flicker over his body, checking for injury no doubt, a fierce scowl on her face.
"It's not your fault," he adds, meaning to soothe her, but that only seems to make her angry.
"I know that! You're the one who suddenly let go — what the fuck, Lucanis?"
Right, she would notice that.
"I was … distracted. Probably should have gotten more sleep last night." Watches her face fall, brows pulling even deeper over her eyes. Aside from the red around those eyes, she really does look white as a sheet, her freckles standing out like constellations.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."
"Yeah, right," she huffs, averting her gaze. Then she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath.
"Sorry. I'm … not good with watching people fall."
"I don't think anyone likes watching people fall like that."
"Yes, well, pretty sure no one else had to lose their breakfast and concentrate on breathing for a while," she adds bitterly, and he realizes that she's also embarrassed, on top of being actually, truly shaken.
"What happened?" he asks quietly, settling down to sit cross-legged before her.
She could pretend not to understand what he's asking, but she doesn't.
"My dad died in a training accident when I was 16," she explains haltingly, eyes flickering up to meet his only briefly before dropping down again. "He broke his neck."
Lucanis eyes widen, heartbeat stumbling over a step. "You were there."
A memory intrudes on his vision — sterile white halls stinking of disinfectant, the scratched up face of his mother and the monotone beep of a heart-monitor, a coffin being lowered into the ground in a sea of black.
"Yes. I watched him fall, and then never get up again."
"I'm so sorry," he whispers, and she shrugs, a sad little smile on her lips.
"So am I."
There's really not a lot more you can say when you've lost a parent or two; it's a wound that never quite heals, but life keeps turning around the break.
"Rook …"
In a move that is all instinct and probably ill-advised (and more than a little selfish), he reaches for her hand and gently pulls it closer to place her palm over his heart.
"I'm okay, see?"
His heart, which is definitely beating faster now, but if he's lucky, she is still too wrapped up in her own receding panic attack to notice.
She stares at him out of wide green eyes, swallows, then nods. And doesn't look away as she tries to deliberately match her breathing to his, forcing her body to calm down, take an exit right out of emergency mode.
The need to fidget under the weight of her stare comes and goes, making him want to look away, but he doesn't. He owes her this much.
Only when he feels her breathing slow and sees some colour returning to her cheeks does he let her lift her hand, still cradling it in his own for a second. Her skin is dry and rough under his fingertips.
"You forgot to moisturize again, didn't you?"
"Well, excuse me, I was kind of busy trying not to hyperventilate," she sniffs.
With a quiet huff, he pulls a small tube of hand lotion from his pocket, squeezes a small blob into her palm and begins to carefully rub it into her skin, first one hand, then the other. The routine motions help, as does the contact.
She told them yesterday that her mother had simply walked away from her when she was just a baby.
"Did your father have any family?"
"Sure he does, somewhere, but I never I met them. I think his family is from Ferelden, originally? He told me they disowned him when he ran away to the circus when he was 14."
And Lucanis understands why she gets so prickly over her work: She doesn't have anything else. No family, no home, no safety net. Nothing to catch her if she falls.
He looks up to meet her eyes, still holding her hand. "No roots?"
And for the first time since he fell, there is there is a small, shaky smile blooming on her face.
"Just wings," she says, a little sardonically.
Perhaps he can't give her any of the things she's missing (not yet, anyway, not as they are), but he can help her fly.