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Percival Graves walks through the park, and finds a lone bench to sit on.
It feels like the weight of the world is finally off his shoulders, but only because it’s been shorn away, and not by choice. He almost misses it.
What did Atlas feel like when he was freed?
Did it hurt? Was it a relief?
No longer does he hold the title of Director, he doesn’t even want it anymore.
The President offered to let him stay and he refused. He quit.
Summarily, the minute he was done being interrogated, he said that he was going for a walk.
“Just try and stop me Sera.” He’d spat. She didn’t flinch, but she also didn’t move to stop him either.
Central park is empty, almost, on a Monday afternoon, and he’s glad for it. The quiet.
The cold. It’s like rebirth.
After being found, pulled from the rubble of the walls caving in around him, he’d thought he could never get enough fresh air again.
Percival vowed to himself to get out more, to stop being such a homebody, and then the accusations had started.
He’d been on the man’s side, he’d helped him, he hadn’t fought hard enough, he should have done more.
No one had ever considered the fact that he had , and simply not been strong enough to win. Percival Graves is not all powerful, and he, like all men, has weaknesses.
In a way, maybe it’s better that they’re gone, unearthed and determined dead.
This way, neither of them need to suffer any longer. Percival is happy to suffer alone.
To bear the weight of grief in silence.
The bench he’s chosen is cold metal underneath him, soaking through his wool coat, almost to the bone. As the early evening mist clouds his vision, it dampens his hair and chills his fingertips.
He doesn’t charm for warmth. Percival just doesn’t care enough to.
If he could, he’d lay down and die here. As it is, he can’t.
There’s still holidays, family to be seen, reunions to attend. He supposes, Sera might even give him a medal of some kind. For what he did and didn’t do, he’s not sure which is worse.
Percival presses shaky palms together, and stops squinting into the mist, as tears blur his vision.
It’s all too much now.
The thought of having lost everything, in the name of stopping that maniac, it’s really not okay.
It’s not something he wants to rationalize. So he doesn’t.
Percival stops trying, and shakes apart with sobs. His head falls into his hands, and he misses the darkness looming out of the grey fog. The soft padding footsteps that lead down the pathway to his side of the park. The click clack of long nails on concrete, and a low huff that’s an animal’s exhalation of breath.
He doesn’t see anything but the inside of his eyelids, until there’s a nudge on his knee.
Something else cold and damp, but alive .
Percival sits up with a start and finds a solid black dog at his side.
He swallows, and stares at the creature. It looks a bit worse for wear, but it’s definitely real.
Percival is not merely imagining it. He’s mildly concerned for his own health and sanity as he puts his hands, still wet with tears, over his thighs, and then holds one out to the dog.
It’s a Doberman, usually a rather fierce looking species of nomaj pet, but now, this one watches Percival with a sad sort of look in its liquid eyes.
He curves his palm, and reaches to pet the pointy ears, so sharp they seem as if they could wound.
The dog tilts its head, and nuzzles into his touch.
His heart aches and shatters at once as the gesture stirs up an old, not so buried memory. Credence.
Percival’s beautiful and forbidden darling was the same. Like a wounded dog always looking for the merest scrap of praise, which he was only too happy, if reluctant, to provide. “Are you lost, little one?”
He’s speaking low to the animal, which of course won’t understand him.
It’s just some nomaj pet, wandered off from its yard. Percival hasn’t anything better to do.
He stays there, talking to the dog, occasionally stroking over its ears and soft fur.
By the time night has truly fallen, he’s cold and he needs to get home.
Percival starts to walk, shoving his hands in his pockets, and the dog follows.
He tries to discourage it, tells it to go home, it’s alright.
No chance. Apparently, Percival has made a new friend, and it’s not a human.
He smiles to himself.
Somehow, Percival thinks even Sera might be proud of him for this, one small step in the right direction.
When he’s home, in front of the fireplace with a glass full of whiskey and not a speck of food in sight, the dog comes to curl up at his feet, back to the flames, yawning before tucking its head down on folded paws. Percival watches the beast slowly drift off to sleep and he supposes maybe, for its sake, he could have a little dinner. It’ll probably be hungry in the morning too.
He knows the dog isn’t a threat, as they both passed through his wards fine, without so much as a blip, so when it’s late, almost three in the morning and there’s a noise, before the dog pads into his room, he’s not concerned. It stands by his bedside, and plops its chin over the blankets, blinking solemnly at him.
“Do you want something to drink? Should I get you some steak?” Percival’s mostly mumbling to himself, he’s not sure there’s anything edible in the fridge besides frozen peas or carrots, but the least he can do is get the dog a water dish. A soft rumble sounds, and he realizes it's the dog making a noise.
Not quite a yowl or a whine. Just maybe meant for reassurance. “Are you as tired as I am?”
Percival thinks he can see its eyebrows moving, and he sits up, watching as it reacts by pulling off the bed, before sitting back on its heels, then jumping up. It turns around three times and then just flops down at his side, over the blankets, warmth nestled into his thigh.
“Okay then.” Percival turns over to hug one of his pillows and reaches out to pet the dog’s back.
He can feel a steady heartbeat thumping under his fingers, and its breathing slows with his own.
Percival sleeps until there’s light streaming through his curtains, and the sun is high in the sky.
It’s definitely him then. This is the real Mister Graves.
Credence knows it, feels it down to the marrow of his bones.
He’s been treated with such care and gentleness only to be betrayed before, but not like this.
Credence had seen the inside of the man’s home only once.
Back when it was pouring down rain, and he’d been offered a chance to dry off and warm up.
Credence didn’t remember the inside of the place being so cold and dreary, like it is now.
Well, with the dawn of morning, it’s not so bad. He wakes up in the man’s bed, curled under his arm, and he knows if he could blush, he’d be radiating heat at the mere thought.
Mister Graves looks so young when he’s asleep, so sad, almost angelic.
Credence stares for far too long than is polite, and when the man begins to wake, he frowns, just a little. Then seems to recall.
“Oh, hello, little one.” Credence isn’t even that small in this strange form, but he is more leg than anything else, so he stretches, and yawns, and Mister Graves actually smiles.
“I think I need coffee.” The man had no dinner, merely a drink, which is rather unhealthy, but Credence supposes perhaps he’ll eat in the morning instead. Or mid-afternoon.
To his surprise, Mister Graves fixes him a bowl of water and conjures up what appears to be eggs and sausage, steaming hot on a china plate. Before he’s even finished brewing his own coffee.
Credence stares at it, until Mister Graves kneels down and pets him, telling him it’s okay to try it. ‘Hopefully it won’t need salt,’ he says.
Credence isn’t really very hungry, but he does finish half the water, and takes a couple bites of the food. It’s odd, eating in this different body, but he doesn’t mind it. He can easily rest at the man’s feet without taking up lots of space, and when Mister Graves goes to sit in front of the fire again, Credence follows. He’s allowed up on the couch after a moment, and he daringly moves over to rest his head on the man’s leg. He gets a gentle caress over his ears for that, and he sighs. It comes out sounding like a whine, and Credence nearly has a heart attack when Mister Graves shushes him. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”
He wishes he could change back. There’s nothing he wants more than to give the man a hug, and be embraced in return. Though it is nice to rest in companionable silence, it’s not quite the same.
The rest of the day passes, and eventually Mister Graves leaves to take a shower or a bath perhaps. Credence remains in his room, perched over the end of his bed, laying on his back, staring at the ceiling. The man emerges a few seconds later, and Credence nearly falls off the bed.
He does yelp, and sit upright, only for Mister Graves to stop dead in his tracks, midway through toweling his hair off. He’s completely naked. His body is littered with scars in varying shades of pink and white over his otherwise tanned skin, and Credence can’t seem to look away.
“Credence?”
He blinks, and looks down at himself, finding curls of smoke around his wrists and ankles, clad in mere tatters of his clothing, but definitively human again. “Oh my god. Oh no.”
Mister Graves lowers the towel from his head to tuck it around his waist, slightly red in the face but looking very much like he’s seeing a ghost. In a way, Credence guesses, maybe he is.
“It is you? All this time, I thought you were dead .” Mister Graves’ hands cup his cheeks, and he leans in to press their foreheads together, shaking with grief or joy, Credence isn’t sure.
His hands rise to clasp over the man’s and he leans up on his knees, nosing in closer, until their lips meet, just barely. “Mister Graves… I’m so glad I found you.”
“Oh little one, I should have known . You’re so strong and brave, of course you made it.”
Mister Graves is saying, breaking away from the kiss to scatter more over Credence’s cheeks, his temples, the tip of his nose, and then he was pulling Credence into his arms, pushing him into his chest, where he could feel a constant steady thrumming heartbeat. Mister Graves is alive and okay and so is he.
Credence swallows and then returns the embrace, clinging to the man with all his strength.
One of the man’s hands cups at the back of his head, his fingers curling against the nape of his neck, and he looks up, catching sight of Mister Graves staring right back.
“You didn’t find me by accident, did you?” Credence shakes his head.
“I saw you leave the building, and go towards the park, you were all alone, so sad. I knew you were different.”
“I’m so sorry for what happened. I never meant to-”
Credence cut him off with another kiss, more fervent and fierce, demanding almost, and Mister Graves responded in kind, scooping him up off the bed only to lean over him, draping himself atop Credence, bracketing him safely and securely in his arms. “I love you, so much.”
He manages to gasp out, when Mister Graves pulls back to bury his face in Credence’s neck, and he feels hot tears falling on his skin as the man shivered over him.
“I don’t deserve your love, my beautiful miracle.”
Credence petted a hand over his still damp hair, and found he couldn’t help smiling.
“It doesn’t matter what you deserve…you have me anyway.”