Chapter Text
Simon couldn't absorb it all, for the fear that sliced through him. But he shouldn't be afraid. He should be calm. The policemen—they were his coworkers, his equals. He trusted them. They would not harm him, would not arrest him. Not him... they would realize, he was not a part of this.
But Aura was, Dr. Cykes was, and though he had never been scared so witless, he could not allow them to be harmed.
He started towards Aura, meaning to guard, protect her. What that entailed, he didn't know, exactly, but he would do it.
“Simon!” she screamed, her hand snatching his and yanking, pulling him to the other end of the row of booths.
And then his other hand was grabbed. Gavin.
"Gehen wir!" he shouted at Simon, at Aura, or neither of them or just everyone in the vicinity. Simon didn't understand what was happening, couldn't agree to or fight against either of them. Aura's grip slipped from his as she screamed his name again, and he was being tugged away by Gavin, off the platform and back into the wall of the hysterical crowd.
Aura's screams echoed in his throbbing head, or maybe she was still calling for him. He couldn't tell in all the havoc surrounding them, could no longer see her or Doctor Cykes when he craned behind him to check. All he could see, could hear, was a wave of shrieks and sickening metallic snaps as handcuffs were secured. The merciless crunch of truncheons striking their targets, intended or not. Glasses shattering. Chairs toppling.
Somehow, they were at the stairs of the stage now. Simon nearly tripped as Gavin hauled him along, barking "Come on! Schnell!" which even Simon, in his limited comprehension of German, could understand. On the opposite end of the stage, Daryan was ascending the stairs and Gavin shouted to him, “Werkstatt!”
Which Simon couldn't translate but then it occurred to him—no one else who might hear him would be able to translate either.
He was pulled backstage, where no less than fifteen minutes ago, Gavin had attempted to seduce him—and indirectly threaten him. Now, even after being rejected, he was saving Simon's reputation. And possibly his life.
But Simon wasn't thinking about his own life at the moment.
"Aura..." His thoughts formed into breathless words as he was forced to race with Gavin along the corridor that led back to the shop's basement. Gavin mustn't have heard him. “Aura! I have to—”
"She can take care of herself!" Gavin snapped at Simon over his shoulder.
“And you can let go of me!” Simon replied, trying to extricate his hand from Gavin's. He couldn't see for anything, could barely draw breath with how hard and sudden he'd been made to escape, all while his thoughts had scattered like a flight of pigeons being disrupted.
Gavin did as asked. He had to. He scarcely avoided slamming into the door of the basement workshop, stopping just short enough to throw it open and hurry Simon in behind him.
"You're sure they wouldn't follow us?" Simon asked as Gavin felt around the door's frame to ensure it was sealed.
“I'm not! At all!” Gavin's voice cracked, a brief spike in volume, but immediately fell back to an angry hush. “I've never had to... what are you doing? Don't!”
Gavin reached for him, but it was too late. Spotting an old upright piano against the wall, Simon made for it and proceeded to climb onto it, feet mashing the keys and issuing a harsh, echoing discord. He stationed one knee on the piano's closed back, poised in a stretched, awkward crouch as he fought with what was directly in front of him: the room's only window.
As difficult a maneuver as it was, Simon managed to elbow it open. With the ceiling so low, he had to remain hunched, his neck aching as he carefully leaned forward to poke his head, then shoulders out. The window, though narrow in length, was at least wide enough that, if need be, Simon could wriggle out through it, which meant Gavin could too. Granted, it'd require a great deal of twisting and turning their bodies, combined with a limited amount of surface space to provide them any leverage, but it would suffice in the event of an emergency.
“Get back in here. We wait for Daryan.” Gavin hissed from what sounded like the corner of the workshop. Was he trying to hide, even more so? If they were discovered in this room, it wouldn't matter where.
Why Gavin was so worried, Simon couldn't say; there was no one outside the window even remotely close by. It was the end of the alley, where the photography studio stood, that was a massive storm of shouts and crunches and hysteria, indiscernible if from patron or officer. The streetlights gave off only minimal illumination from this distance, and all Simon could make out were silhouettes, if that.
He wanted to cry out for Aura, like she had for him down in the speakeasy. All his life, she'd been so dutiful about not only protecting him, but giving him the means and confidence to protect himself—though she hadn't much succeeded, despite her best efforts. He'd never been the sort to insert himself in the heat of conflict—being a prosecutor meant settling it after the fact—but fear was a transformative emotion. Love, even more so.
His eyes and ears strained as he searched for any sign of her, but it was impossible in all the commotion. Gods, she looked at him as nothing but a failure, and this had only proven it. He wasn't able to stop her, and now he could not save her—if she was apprehended, he might even be asked to condemn her to whatever punishment was deemed most fitting. Not only her, but Dr. Cykes as well.
But it was what was right, objectively, was it not? That they should pay for their transgressions? As should any and all of the patrons he was watching be round up, and thrown into paddywagons.
Simon didn't much care about the disgrace it would bring his father, or even him, should Aura and Dr. Cykes be imprisoned. But little Athena—she might end up alone, thrown into an orphanage or work house, or worse, cast out to the streets.
"Aura..." her name left his lips in a rasp, but he may as well been screaming it, the way Gavin reacted. He was at the piano, tugging on Simon's leg and pulling him off entirely. Simon crashed to the floor, knocking his arm and knees on the piano along the way.
"I told you." Gavin was standing above him, and even in the near-darkness, Simon could make out the fury in his eyes that was at odds with the cold, final tone of his voice. "To stay back.”
“You needn't protect me.” Simon got to his feet, dusting off clothes that were unsalvageably grubby.
“I'm protecting myself,” said Gavin, quiet but vehement. “I need to figure out what to do with you, and won't let you out of my sight until—”
“You don't truly believe I'm responsible for this—”
“Someone is!” His frustration was justified, but ebbed slightly when he saw how taken aback Simon was. “And nein, I don't think it's you—I know it's not you, but it doesn't matter what I think. This is Kristoph's shop; his speakeasy. His world, Blackquill. We are only a part of it, and now, you are too—for how long and to what end, only he will decide.”
Gavin using his name, and not the waggish sobriquet he clung to all evening, sobered Simon. Made him understand—perhaps not fully, but to a much greater extent—the severity of the trouble Aura, and now he, was in. This was serious, as it'd always been to Simon, but now it no longer affected him incidentally. Rather, he was deeply, irretrievably, involved.
Because Kristoph Gavin had declared it so.
The workshop's door slammed open, and Simon whirled around, backing close to Gavin as he did. Instinctively, he reached across his body to his left hip, a product of his numerous meetings with Dr. Cykes.
But there was, of course, no sword awaiting him. Just as there wasn't an enemy to defend himself or Gavin against. Only Daryan.
Gavin rushed to meet his friend, both hands planting on either of Daryan's arms in an abbreviation of a hug. "Oh, Gott, Daryan, I thought they'd pinched you."
"Tch, you know they wouldn't. Cool off, would you?" Simon didn't understand Daryan's arrogance, but Gavin must've. He backed away, as if his reaction had been shameful for Simon to witness.
“You're safe, then? And everyone else...?”
"You know Kristoph is. And Diego's fine. Saw him bolt off with Mia." For such good news, Daryan didn't sound very pleased, punctuated by the slow exhale he let out. "They got Blackquill, though."
"Aura? But she...?" Gavin started. Simon couldn't find the ability to speak at all.
"Tell me about it! She knows better!" Daryan exploded, not at either of them specifically. "We all do, beat it at the first sight of those blue boys. Just like you did, just like I did! But no, she held back!"
"But why would she do that?" Simon spoke up from where he was still sitting on the ground, looking up between Gavin and Daryan. Each word burned like moonshine up his throat—he already knew the answer. He just hoped, stupid as it was, that Gavin and Daryan didn't.
"Dunno," said Daryan, sounding like he very much did know, and eying Simon. "Was like she was looking for something. Or someone."
Simon expected, any second now, for Kristoph to join them. To, as Gavin had put it, make a decision.
Unless he had sent Daryan to do it for him.
Mustering up what little resolve remained, Simon met Daryan's glare with what he meant to be menacing one of his own. “If you're here to... even the score, as it were, I won't go down without a fight.”
Daryan rolled his eyes. "Oh, Christ, Blackquill, I ain't some torpedo after you. Besides, you're not to blame.” He looked to Klavier, repeating himself as if Klavier had been the one to suggest it. “He's not to blame. It's that bird who owns the photography studio—where your dear brother wanted to start letting people enter from.”
“Hart?” came Gavin's incredulous reply.
“Yeah,” Daryan said scathingly. “She's got photos of all of us—me, you, Kris... Aura. Others too, that she gave up for the right amount of greenbacks. But yeah, there's no questioning our involvement now, not with that kind of hard evidence. I'll do my best to get it back, but I can't make any promises. Aura might have to sit in the pen for a while too, so it doesn't look too suspicious."
“What do you mean by 'getting it back'?” Simon asked. If Daryan meant to trespass into the police station, or possibly, the prosecutor's office... where would that leave Simon? Abiding by the law, and reporting it, seeing Daryan apprehended... or turning a blind eye for the sake of helping Aura?
A meaningful look passed between Gavin and Daryan before Gavin answered. "Daryan, ah... you might say he has connections to the force.”
"C'mon, Klav, we'll just tell him; he'll know soon enough." He made a disproving noise, as if having to tell Simon was just one more unfortunate development from this miserable night. "Look, the truth is, I know some of the coppers in this precinct. Lot of 'em, actually. Seein' as how I've been one of them for the past year."
"You're an officer?!" Simon blinked. "But this is... all of this... it's illegal. Consuming and distributing alcohol in any fashion is illegal, as outlined in the Nineteenth Amendment.” Nevermind what he'd done tonight; it'd been out of necessity, not desire.
"Oh, well, look who fucking graduated law school." Before Simon could offer a retort, Daryan went on. “Whaddya gonna do, turn me in, like I'm the only one there—or at your precious prosecutor's office for that matter—with a second job? You'd only be implicating yourself, and besides: ratting on me is the same as ratting on Kristoph—and Klavier, too, and you don't wanna do that, do ya, Blackquill?”
That was the problem; Simon had no idea what he wanted to do. Needed to do. But from what Daryan and Gavin had told him, it sounded as if his futures would consist of his choices being made for him. Not terribly different from his past, then.
“Where's Hart now?” Gavin demanded. “I can't believe...! I even took her around town, like she wanted. And this is how she repays us!”
“Wait, just a moment,” Simon interrupted. “How exactly do you know this woman?”
“Same way he knows a lot of people.” Daryan's eyebrows raised, daring Gavin to protest. “Gavin's neck-deep in all these quiffs who want some connection to the Devil's Den, one way or another. They pay Kris somehow—protection or info or cash, whatever he wants—and he offers Gavin up to schmooze them. Not just the ladies, either... but you figured that out already, didn't you?"
“I knew her,” Gavin corrected, steering the subject away from his pursuits. “She'll be dead by morning. If she isn't already.”
“Yeah.” Daryan added, pointing a finger to his temple, thumb straight up, miming a revolver. "And then the coppers will back down, at least for a little while, because it'll look like a mugging or anythin' other than what it really is: a point bein' made.”
"'Point?'" None of what Hart had done warranted death as a punishment. Her actions weren't any worse than the Gavins', or Aura's, or Daryan's. Or even, really, Simon's own. "What point is there to make?"
"That no one crosses Kristoph," said Gavin. He took in Simon's horrified expression and let out a short, humorless laugh. “You never wondered how your Schwesterherz got this job in the first place?”
Of course Simon hadn't—he barely even saw Aura. How would he ever even had enough information about her life to bothering mulling any of it over? “No. I hadn't even known of her... employment here until recently.”
“Well,” said Daryan. “Our last bootlegger, ol' Somethin'-Somethin' Enigmar? Zak?"
“Or Shadi,” Gavin said. “Depending on who you spoke to."
"Yeah, well, whoever this cat was, he tried to ferret away bits of cash here and there, more than what he was offered of the cut. Was savin' up to run off with some biscuit he met at a different dive."
“And I assume,” said Simon, glancing over to Gavin. “Your brother caught wind of it, and the two of them never followed through on their nuptials. Due to one or both parties mysteriously disappearing.”
“No.” Gavin shook his head, a grim smile taking shape. “They did get married.”
“And for a wedding present, Kris got them a pair of cement shoes so they could take their honeymoon to the bottom of the Eagle River,” Daryan finished.
“Luckily for Kristoph, your sister's been coming here for years, since we first opened. She slipped right into the role without missing a beat. But now...?” Gavin shook his head again. “Even if we manage to reopen, be it here or somewhere else, we don't have anyone who has the clout Aura does. She knows so many people—is respected by so many people, all over the city.”
“But I can't just... have her released!” Really, Gavin should know this, if he was as close with Daryan as it seemed. Simon, especially, would have little to no say when it came to Aura's charges. “It won't work like that, no matter how much you might want to threaten me.”
“No, not likethat,” Daryan snapped his fingers. “You're right. She's gonna be sittin' for a while, because they're gonna want to question her until she's wrung dry. But Gavin ain't asking you to have her released.”
“That's right, Herr Ballonmütze,” Gavin said, his smile once again befitting that of a showman. “Don't concern yourself with freeing Aura; worry about learning the ropes of her job. That's where we come in.”
No. No, absolutely not. He couldn't...
That's why Gavin had corralled him, helped him escape—but not really. When he said they'd wait for Daryan, it was to ensure Simon wouldn't raise any opposition when this offer was extended to—no, thrust upon—him.
A heavy silence preceded Simon's careful, deliberate response. “I didn't say I would do it.”
“Ach, well, if you'd like to tell Kristoph 'no', then you're more than welcome to, tomorrow. When you meet us at the Borscht Bowl for lunch. It's just two blocks over, and has some of the best—”
“No,” said Simon. “I've already plans for lunch with my father tomorrow.” Which would be nothing but vacant, passing glances at each other and mumbled trivialities about the weather, but at least he would make an appearance. Prove he hadn't slipped from his father's grasp like mother, and then Aura, had.
“Then reschedule,” Daryan said, “because you voluntarily going to see Kristoph is gonna work a lot better than him summoning you. And he will, after all this shit tonight.”
“I can talk to him,” Gavin put in before Simon could say anything more. “Let him know this is your idea; that you approached us about it. It'll go a long way in—”
“I don't...! I can't!” Simon protested. “There has to be a way to... to help Aura that isn't what you've suggested.”
“Forget about helping your sister, Blackquill,” Daryan sneered, “and worry about yourself.”
“Ja, it doesn't look good for you. First time here, and a raid? And a prosecutor for the city, to boot? Even if Kristoph knows that Hart is the one who gave us away, how would he know you weren't one of the ones paying her off, having her feed you information?”
“And it don't help that you come in dressed like this." Daryan pulled out one of Simon's suspender straps, let it snap back. "Like some fuckin' undercover Fed, yourself, when you're nothin' more than a bluenose tryin'a see what it's like to step just one little patent-leather toe outta line. But all Kristoph's gonna think you were scopin' the joint out for more dirt on him and Aura—and us."
Simon shrank away from Daryan, from Gavin even, the best he could given his height and their proximity. Suddenly, the confidence Dr. Cykes had helped to instill in him vanished, leaving him to quail under pressure like he'd been so prone to doing when he was a boy. He had little doubt, now, that Daryan was an officer, displaying the same truculence Simon had encountered from so many others—perhaps it was all part of the job description.
“Daryan...” Gavin intervened, nudging his friend back and putting several more steps between them and Simon. “Why don't you see to it that Herr Ballonmütze gets home safely, instead of endangering him any further?”
Gods, Simon hadn't even considered leaving tonight. His plan had been to walk several blocks to the nearest streetcar, which would drop him off about a half mile from GYAXA College's campus, near the residence Dr. Cykes shared with her daughter. Simon had been told he was always welcome there, any hour of any day, no questions asked, and though he hated to impose, he knew he'd no other choice. He'd his lie ready for his father, that he'd needed to make use of the school's library, lost track of time and been unable to take the streetcar home.
Now, so many lies swirled around him, menacing and foul, that he didn't know where one ended and the next began. Lies he had to cover with more, if he were to save Aura. And himself. And...
He didn't even know if Dr. Cykes had made it back safely. If Athena would awaken in the morning, alone and scared, more than he himself currently was. No, he had to... “Take me to GYAXA's campus.”
“We know where you live, Blackquill...” Daryan began, “it's all on file at the precinct. Don't even think about—"
“I won't repeat myself!” He hadn't meant to shout, but that's how it came out, startling both Gavin and Daryan. “Please, just... if you've any decency, you'll take me there.”
Gavin and Daryan exchanged a glance with meaning Simon wasn't exclusive too. Then, calmly, as if none of the events of the evening had just unfolded, Gavin spoke to Simon. “He'll take you there. You have nothing to worry about, Blackquill.”
Nothing...? Simon averted his gaze from Klavier and shook his head, not wanting to hear it.
And yet, he heard it perfectly clear. “You need to trust us,
ja
?”
Perhaps Simon didn't trust Gavin entirely—
knew
he shouldn't, really—but he hadn't any choice in it now. Not only did he have to trust Gavin, he (stupidly, illogically,
desperately
) found himself
wanting
to.