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The first time it happens is an accident.
Well, mostly an accident. Admittedly, Fjord has been looking for ways to make Caleb feel more at home in their merry little band of travelers, but it wasn’t on his mind when he walked downstairs after dinner to find Caleb curled up in one of the chairs near the fireplace of the inn, reading.
He hesitates, unsure of his welcome and loathe to put him off with unwanted company, then awkwardly clears his throat.
There’s no response, and after a moment where he considers just returning to his own room to try to do his work in the dark, he tries again.
This time Caleb looks up, a disgruntled frown on his face incredibly reminiscent of Frumpkin being awoken from a nap, and squints at him. In the firelight his hair seems far redder, and the shadows under his eyes far deeper.
“Fjord?” he asks, a tad impatiently.
“Hey, Caleb,” Fjord says, offering him an easy grin. “Mind if I join you?”
Caleb blinks in confusion, as if wondering why on earth he would be asking such a silly thing, then seems to take in the bundle of fabric in his arms and cocks his head. “Sure, I suppose... what’s that?”
Fjord settles himself in the chair across from him and shakes out the dress he’s holding, laying it across his lap as he fishes in the pouch on his hip for his needle and thread. “Jester tore her dress chasing a cat into a thorn bush,” he says by way of explanation, holding the needle up to the light and sticking his tongue out slightly in concentration as he threads it.
Successful, he smiles in faint satisfaction and sets to work. After a moment, he glances sideways to see Caleb still watching him.
“Jester can’t mend her own things?” he asks, a hint of reproach in his voice and the way he’s eyeing the dress.
Fjord lets it go. He and Jester can settle their differences without his interference. Instead he shrugs. “She could,” he says, then chuckles. “But she does an awful job of it. She can barely sit still long enough to thread the needle.”
Caleb laughs a little at that and Fjord’s not sure if the warmth in his chest is the fire or satisfaction. “Besides,” he says. “I don’t mind doin’ it. Helps me think.” He glances over at Caleb’s book and chuckles again. “I don’t reckon you need any help with that, yourself.”
Caleb laughs again, an odd, cut-off sound, and toys with the corner of one page. “No,” he says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Quite the opposite, sometimes.”
“Well,” Fjord says. “If I ever find the solution to that problem, I’ll let you know.”
“Much appreciated,” Caleb says, and as they lapse back into silent concentration, there’s a smile lingering at his lips.
--
It becomes something of a habit. Wherever they stay, Caleb can be found most nights reading (or re-reading) his books by the light of the fire. Fjord, when he has the opportunity, joins him with his sewing kit and whatever damaged clothes he could find -- usually Jester’s or Beau’s, neither of whom have the inclination to fix their own garments when they inevitably tear them getting into mischief, but also his own. He fixed Nott’s cloak, once, when she was distraught over a pocket tearing open, and one time even convinced Molly to let him mend his shirt. (And wasn’t that an awkward conversation.)
Their clothes have never been in such good condition. Fjord stoically ignores all of Beau’s pointed ribbing on the matter.
He places a mug down on the small table beside Caleb’s chair and sits down across from him, as usual. Caleb hums in acknowledgment and picks up the mug without looking at it, sipping while keeping his eye on the book.
“This is tea,” he says, his face scrunching up. Fjord is often struck by how much he resembles his rather grumpy familiar, and he chuckles fondly at the sight.
“It’s too late for caffeine,” he says in response, unfolding Beau’s pants and settling in to work on them.
It’s become something of a game between them, Fjord gently cajoling Caleb into getting more sleep and Caleb resisting at every turn. He can’t help but notice that Caleb keeps drinking the tea, anyways.
After a few long minutes of silence, broken up only by the soft sounds of pages turning and needle pulling through fabric, Fjord becomes aware that the sound of the pages has stopped and he turns to see Caleb looking at him contemplatively.
“You never ask me what I’m reading,” he says when he sees he’s gotten Fjord’s attention.
Fjord sets his mending down and shrugs. “You always seem annoyed when Jester does,” he says. “I don’t want to bother you none.”
Caleb gives a slow, measured nod, then turns back to his book. “You can ask,” he says shortly, a faint stress on the first word.
Fjord smiles to himself, biting his lip to keep from laughing and potentially putting Caleb’s hackles up. He's pleased and almost proud to be singled out, but once again he can’t help but be reminded of Frumpkin, stalking away from Jester to sit pointedly beside Nott.
“All right,” he says warmly, not quite managing to keep the humor out of his voice. “What are you reading, Caleb?”
“A book on transmutation,” is the prompt reply, though Caleb doesn’t look up from the words. “It’s a pretty basic spellbook, actually, but it has a few spells I haven’t seen before.” He pauses and turns a page. “I suppose it’s not terribly interesting,” he says, almost as if embarrassed.
“It sounds mighty interestin’ to me,” Fjord says honestly, having never done much learning from spellbooks.
“I could--” Caleb cuts himself off, coughing slightly as if to cover embarrassment.
Fjord raises his eyebrows. “What?”
“Well, that is, I was going to say...” Caleb glances back up at him. “I could read a bit out loud, if you wanted.”
A broad smile spreads across Fjord’s face. “That sounds like a fine idea.”
Caleb blushes faintly, clearing his throat and looking back down at the book. After a moment, he starts to read, softly intoning the steps to transmuting liquids into solids.
Fjord picks back up his mending and lets the words wash over him.
--
Later, Caleb falls silent and Fjord looks up to see him looking at the clothing in his lap. “Is that Beau’s?” he asks.
Fjord makes an affirmative sound, getting back to repairing the small tear at the hem. “She’s not very careful with her clothes.”
Fjord can feel Caleb’s eyes boring into the side of his head, and he focuses hard on his mending, letting him look his fill.
“I never thanked you,” he says finally, and Fjord looks up in surprise.
“Thanked me for what?”
“Fixing Nott’s cloak,” Caleb says, looking back down at his book. “She showed me the pocket you sewed up. She’s, ah... very fond of her pockets. She was delighted with your help. So... thank you.”
Caleb darts a look back up at him and Fjord smiles broadly. “It was nothing,” he says, inclining his head. “She’s a lovely girl. I was happy to help.”
A soft, fond smile spreads across Caleb’s face. “She certainly is.”
Beau makes a lewd comment when Fjord goes to return her newly-mended pants, and Fjord hits her in the face with them, trying desperately to hide his flushed face.
--
A few nights later, Fjord takes his customary spot across from Caleb, and before he can get started on the long tear in the hem of Jester’s cloak, he hears a soft pat beside him and, turning, finds himself eye-to-eye with Frumpkin. The two regard each other for a few seconds, then Fjord slowly offers one hand. Frumpkin sniffs at it a few times, then yawns, sneezes, and settles down sprawled along the arm of Fjord’s chair, evidently content to stay a while.
Fjord hears Caleb’s quiet laugh and looks up to see him watching the two of them with fond amusement.
“He likes you,” Caleb says, inclining his head towards the cat.
“I like him, too,” Fjord says, without breaking his gaze.
He strokes one hand along Frumpkin’s back, and gets a contented purr in return.
Caleb quickly ducks back to his book, his long hair swinging down and hiding his face from view -- but not before Fjord sees a faint pink spread across it.
--
“You take good care of them.”
Fjord looks up to see Caleb, fully recovered, watching him again. Fjord shrugs, running his fingers across Jester’s cloak. “I try,” he says demurely.
“You would think those two could take care of themselves. I’ve seen them in battle,” Caleb continues, tapping one finger on the side of his book.
Fjord huffs. “You’ve known Beau and Jester nearly as long as I have, now. D’you really think those two could keep out of trouble without me?”
Caleb smiles. “I suppose not, no.”
“Besides...” Fjord lays his work down, folding his hands on top of it. “You know, lookin’ after Nott... some people don’t take kindly to those of us that don’t look quite like them. People who look like me and Jester. And I’d like to save her from some of that, if I can.”
He smiles wryly, glancing back at the dark stairwell leading up to where the rest of their friends are sleeping. “And Beau... well, I don’t know what she’s running from, but I know somebody runnin’ when I see one. Whatever it is, I’d like to help her, if she’ll let me.”
He turns back to Caleb, and his smile softens at the almost awed look on the other man’s face. “Everybody deserves the chance not to be alone. We all gotta help each other out where we can.”
Caleb looks down at his book and fiddles with the corner of the page. “You’re a good man, Fjord,” he says softly.
Fjord keeps his eyes on him, steadily, sure he can feel it. “You’re a better man than you think, Caleb. Nott is very lucky to have you.” He pauses, then adds, more softly, “We all are.”
Caleb looks up at him, then at Frumpkin still pressed against Fjord’s arm, then closes his book and abruptly stands up. Fjord blinks, taken aback; normally, he leaves well before Caleb after extracting a half-meant promise not to stay up the whole night. He’s not sure how to react as Caleb strides over to stand in front of him with awkward, jerky movements, clutching the book to his chest, so he just sits where he is, watching him steadily.
Caleb peeks down at him, shifting from side to side as he appears to hem and haw over some decision.
Almost unconsciously, Fjord lifts his chin, and it appears to make the decision for him.
Quickly, Caleb ducks down and presses a fleeting, barely-there kiss to Fjord’s lips, then mumbles out a rushed, “Gute nacht,” before practically fleeing for the stairs.
Fjord blinks, half-raising one hand then setting it back down in his lap. He reaches out to pet Frumpkin, who lets out a soft surprised noise then purrs again, pressing his head into Fjord’s large hand.
“Well, Frumpkin,” he says softly, looking down at the cat. “Would you look at that.”
He goes back to the cloak.
--
Caleb acts like nothing has changed the next morning, so Fjord follows his lead, bestowing Jester’s cloak upon her at breakfast and sitting down to breakfast with the others. Caleb steals a piece of bacon off his plate with one hand, not looking up from a book.
Fjord smiles and starts eating.
--
He has nothing to mend that night, but he goes down to the fire anyways. He’s glad he did when he finds Caleb standing there, worrying his lip between his teeth. Fjord stops a few steps away, always careful to give him space.
“Evenin’, Caleb,” he says softly, smiling.
“Fjord,” Caleb says, opening his mouth like he wants to continue then closing it again and furrowing his brow.
Fjord waits for him to figure it out.
Eventually, Caleb takes a deep breath and looks him in the eye. “You should know, it’s been a--a long time, I don’t usually... do this, and I...”
He trails off, and Fjord takes a step forward and slowly offers his hand. Caleb hesitates, then reaches out to take it. Fjord squeezes gently and closes the distance between them.
“Whatever you’re comfortable with, Caleb,” he says softly. “There’s no rush. I’m not pushin’. But I’m here for whatever you want.”
All his breath leaves Caleb in a rush and his shoulders slump, relief spelled plain across his face. Fjord squeezes his hand again and gets a hesitant squeeze in return. He looks down at Caleb, suddenly overcome with a terribly fond feeling for this grumpy, ruffled wizard, and when Caleb tilts his chin up he gladly bends to meet him.
--
At breakfast the next morning Frumpkin jumps up into his lap and curls up there, purring. Caleb sits down next to him, yawns, and drops his head against his bicep, leaning there as he reads a book with one hand. Fjord scratches Frumpkin’s ears, then drops his hand to the bench beside him and finds Caleb’s, their fingers loosely tangling together like the most natural thing in the world.
With his unoccupied hand, Fjord digs into his breakfast, and he smiles.