Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sometimes Nathaniel wonders about this falling-in-love business, brow furrowed, squinting at nothing. Bartimaeus jabs a finger in between his eyebrows, tells him to stop adding wrinkles to his young face, that an eighteen year-old shouldn't look thirty. Nathaniel slaps the offending hand away, effectively distracted, and proceeds with the centuries-old rant (according to the owner of said offending hand) about how absolutely wrong he is. Bartimaeus, bless his soul, does not even try to stop him anymore.

On the rare sunny day, Nathaniel goes to Regent's Park—and no one ask him why, since it isn't really on the way home or at a walkable distance—but he's made a stubborn habit out of it ever since Bartimaeus had pointed out all of the above. And on this rare sunny day in early May—with flowers blooming, water shining, ducks swimming, people laughing—Nathaniel notices an artist standing underneath a willow tree; a willow tree leaning down so low its leaves are almost touching the water. The artist—paintbrush ready, jaw set, focused eyes—is apparently trying to mimic the way the sun dances on the water. And all Nathaniel can think of is how beautiful that is, and maybe he wonders too if falling in love is a bit like that. A bit like being able to see the sun dancing in someone's eyes. He shakes his head and walks away.

Then he is out shopping, the next time it happens (yes, god forbid no more), and yet something as mundane as that can feel incredibly overwhelming when he spots a middle-aged couple by the aisle in front of him, looking at pre-cooked meals. (Nathaniel knows that aisle quite well. Bartimaeus always judges him for it, but Nathaniel figures that that's better than being judged for breathing). And as he looks on, he's bewildered to realise that the man had given up on his idea for dinner upon noticing that the woman was craving something else. Yet what's even more shocking (for Nathaniel, at least), is how barely any words had been exchanged between the two.

Bartimaeus catches him looking, pokes him on the side and comments aloud to no one in particular that magicians sure are nosy people. Nathaniel mumbles something in response and moves on, stores it for further examination at a more convenient time. Because, sure, he has to admit that that's just a simple, mundane thing for a couple. Probably. He doesn't really know because he's never really dated, and he almost goes back to square one with this, to the furrowed brows and squinting eyes, but Bartimaeus saves him from more of that grief with a joke at his expense.

And so, Nathaniel is safely, blissfully distracted for the rest of the day; he goes back to the 'simple', mundane life of doing his job and bickering every so often with Bartimaeus. However, it doesn't feel so mundane when the next day he comes down for breakfast and a plate of steaming, fluffy scrambled eggs and crispy bacon done exactly the way he likes them is waiting for him at the table. All sweetly arranged to form a rather rude gesture Bartimaeus sometimes supplied him with. Nathaniel, fist pressed against his mouth, looks around for any sign of the djinni and, not spotting him anywhere, smiles at the handiwork.

A couple of weeks later, Nathaniel hastily enters the house, absolutely drenched from a particularly nasty rainstorm in mid-July. And Nathaniel is way too miffed to even moan about a rainstorm in the middle of July, for crying out loud! This weather is absolutely outrageous! to an equally peeved Bartimaeus—because just guess who would have to clean up that carpet later. But no, Nathaniel barely even opens his mouth for the rest of the day, because he just knows that he's going to wake up with a cold the next day. And as expected, he does, if a runny nose and a handful of coughing fits every other hour are indication enough. Unexpected, however, is finding a cup of tea, honey, cinnamon biscuits, and paracetamol on a tray beside his bed.

Nathaniel has long given up on the concept of peacefulness. If his short life were anything to go by, he would never be able to experience it for long. So, he isn't surprised anymore when something explodes around him, or someone orchestrates a coup, or when he's flying out of a window thrown over Bartimaeus's gargoyle shoulder, like this time. Bartimaeus, on the other hand, looks alive and like he might actually be enjoying this whole pursuit thing. Nathaniel doesn't comment and holds on for dear life because even if havoc doesn't surprise him anymore, the same cannot be said for Bartimaeus. And maybe when all of this is over, and the culprits are behind bars, Nathaniel will be able to understand this thing his heart does whenever Bartimaeus is nearby.

It's a while later that Nathaniel finds himself wondering about the way Jakob eyes Kitty—as if the sun were in the room and Jakob were the only one privileged enough to see it. Kitty is fiery, Nathaniel knows, a ball of energy difficult to contain. However, Nathaniel's scientific mind also tells him, not the sun, and not capable of spontaneous combustion despite what it sometimes might look like. Bartimaeus surreptitiously enters the room in his gargoyle guise then, just to give poor Jakob a scream. After it inevitably happens and everyone is laughing—Piper is outright snorting and has spilled some of her tea on Nathaniel's very expensive carpet—Nathaniel's eyes meet Bartimaeus' for a split second, and however sound science may seem, Nathaniel deems that it no longer has a say in astronomy.

Rainstorms are no strangers to London—except in the summer, and no one would convince Nathaniel otherwise—and so this one in the middle of October certainly is no surprise. Nonetheless, it scarcely matters to a tortured mind such as Nathaniel's, who is desperately trying to fight off a particularly nasty nightmare. Nathaniel is drenched in sweat by the time he comes to, trembling, gasping for air and grasping for focus. There is fire, and Nouda, and death, and Bartimaeus all combined in a night terror, and for a few moments Nathaniel cannot really tell up from down or reality from imagination. He cannot tell thunder apart from Nouda's roaring, or the wind from the hissing of wood consumed by fire back at the Underwood's, and Bartimaeus…Bartimaeus…

…is right there next to him in a second, eyes wide and lips tight, surprisingly not saying a word for once. Then he does say his name—it's a question, a simple "Nat?"—and Nathaniel, as if brought back from a broken spell, latches onto him, and he finally knows. He knows. And it's overwhelming. Powerful and empowering. And he now cannot understand how he didn't know before. But not a word escapes his lips. He quietly enjoys the way Bartimaeus' arms are strong, and safe, and warm. Home.

The next day brings a rainbow and a million mirrors made of water droplets on colourful leaves. The smell of earth is intoxicating, and Nathaniel loves it. Regent's Park looks beautiful during autumn too, and Nathaniel happily blows his hands and nose warm, sitting right under the willow tree as he watches Bartimaeus uncharacteristically play in the guise of a squirrel with a pair of children. He looks on and he knows. He smiles because he can't not, eyes cast down to the water. Bartimaeus glances at him and stops, getting caught by one of the kids, giggles erupting from her chest and filling the air with mirth. The sound makes Nathaniel look up. He sees Bartimaeus staring, and he wonders if he knows too.

Nathaniel can't hide forever, he's well aware. But he has no intention of speeding up the process, and Bartimaeus looks about as reluctant as him. So, time goes by, the days blend together and blur lines Nathaniel hadn't realised were there in the first place. It's one of those times now, when Nathaniel isn't sure what's happening and will probably still be confused by the time it's over. Bartimaeus is doing his tie. Why he's not sure, but he isn't about to ask either, especially since Nathaniel can barely keep his wits about him at this point.

So, when Bartimaeus actually laughs at something Nathaniel says, that's it. Nathaniel erases one more line—and really, at this point he's surprised that one had just stuck there. He kisses Bartimaeus. And Bartimaeus kisses back, not missing a beat, pulling him by the tie. Nathaniel can feel the smile on Bartimaeus's lips, and feels his own curving upwards as they break apart. Nathaniel doesn't say anything, a guilty, pleased smile on his face, and neither does Bartimaeus, opting for a smirk instead.

It's a month later and they've been blurring lines ever since. So, when Nathaniel realises he's forgot to blur what's probably the most important one, he sets his plan into motion. The next time he summons Bartimaeus, the djinni takes about two seconds to notice something's off. But Nathaniel barely lets him get there on his own, as he proudly steps out of his pentacle and walks over to Bartimaeus, who is still looking as though Nathaniel had told him coffee is better than tea. Nathaniel smiles sheepishly, waits for Bartimaeus, who, after he is done staring, gently pulls Nathaniel into a hug. And Nathaniel nuzzles deeper into it, feeling stupidly loved-up, and looks forward to more of this stupidity.

Chapter Text

Sometimes Nathaniel gets this positively disturbing look on his face—one that would surely win him an award for facial gymnastics if it accounted for anything useful, rather than adding more wrinkles to his baby face. (1) So, being the obliging djinni that I am, I jab a finger in between his eyebrows and tell him exactly that, just to rid the world of this small catastrophe. He is undeterred, however, and proceeds with this centuries-old rant about how wrong I am. Muting him out has become easier than trying to shut him up these days. Probably because I now am annoyingly unwilling to kill him.

(1) Would you believe me if I told you that at the fine age of 18 years-old (and a half!) his body has finally managed to understand what it means to grow a beard? Not that Natty-boy lets it. Probably for the best. Wouldn't want to give the country a fright after allegedly saving it.

For some reason, he has been cultivating this out-of-character habit of going to Regent's Park when London decides to give its inhabitants a momentary truce of sunny weather, and fails to provide a good argument to explain this idiosyncrasy. One of those days he stops to observe an artist standing underneath a willow tree. This artist is absolutely failing at mimicking the way the sun dances on the water, but as luck would have it, Nathaniel seems not to notice and stands there mesmerised for a moment. Now I could show him a better reflection than that if only he'd ask nicely.

To add to this growing list of eccentricities, he now goes shopping. (2) And one of these trips probably resulted in more wrinkles because he stops dead in his tracks to observe a middle-aged couple shopping. Of all things to do in the middle of a supermarket, I tell you. I, of course, save him again by poking his side and commenting on how magicians sure are nosy people. He mumbles something I pretend not to hear, and as we move along, I make a joke at his expense to return balance to the world.

(2) The first time he told me about this I examined him thoroughly to make sure no one had poisoned him. I didn't manage to find anything to prove my theory correct. I did manage, however, to aggravate him to the extent of getting an entire week off back in the Other Place out of it.

The next morning, I spot him in the kitchen smiling at my handiwork with a fist to his face when he thinks I'm not watching. (3) Well, he should be happy, if I do say so myself. I'm a superb cook. And if there's anything I've learned from all of my excruciatingly long time on Earth, it is that food always subdues you lot. I figured Nathaniel would maybe stop pulling that face if he ate like a normal person. Maybe put on some weight too, before he disappears. I was right, as it is to be expected. He is smiling. And so am I.

(3) Alright, so maybe I did see what he was observing back in the supermarket.

One day in the middle of July he gets in, wet to the bone, shivering and panting like an idiot who didn't take an umbrella to work, and I'm bracing myself for the weather-whining speech and mentally preparing counter-arguments. He barely utters a word besides saying sorry that he's drenching the carpet, though. Well, I suppose that's alright then, isn't it? If he's sorry then cleaning it surely won't make me the least bit peeved. I'm about to tell him just that when I hear the first sneeze. Rolling my eyes to infinity, I get ready for the storm. The next day he has a cold survival kit on a tray beside his bed, because I simply excel at everything I do, and he should know and appreciate it.

If there is one thing to say about daily life with Nathaniel, it is that adventure isn't lacking. Now, I don't think he hates it as much as he mumbles or screams it, and I'm inclined to believe he knows I could use the exercise from time to time. But it is a bit unexpected to find joy in solving crimes with a human who used to infuriate the living daylights out of me. It is so unexpected that sometimes I forget I'm only saving him because I'm told.

The trophy-winner face is back one evening when Nathaniel is hosting Kitty, Jakob, and Piper. I did believe for a while that Nat and Kitty would eventually get together, that it was inevitable what with their natural way of gravitating towards each other. But it has never happened, and fortunately it seems more unlikely every day. Regardless, I made it my mission to stop that idiotic face, and so I need to snap him out of it. (4) I was successful, as a fine djinni like myself usually is, but I didn't expect to see his eyes clear and lock on mine as if he was seeing them for the very first time. It ironically reminded me that his aren't half bad, for a human's.

(4) Jakob will just have to deal with his gargoyle phobia for a while. Plus, I'm sure Kitty will be kind enough to help him along.

October brings a nasty rainstorm that has my master twisting and turning in his bed. I could hear him clearly from up on the roof, of course. His screams do startle me a bit, however, and I swiftly go in to make sure he isn't actually being attacked by one of his many enemies. I find no third party, but a trembling, panting Nathaniel, covered in sweat and with a look so distant in his eyes I thought he wouldn't recognise me when I arrived at his side. Saying his name—or nickname; same difference—seems to do the trick, and he's clinging to me the next moment. I put my arms protectively around him, knowing fully well I won't be going anywhere. I wonder if he finally knows, like I have for a while.

Going to Regent's Park the next morning seems to bring him some comfort, and I see him sit under the willow tree as a couple of kids chase me around a garden of tulips. They are way in over their heads, of course. I'm nimbleness embodied in this guise of a squirrel, so I suppose it doesn't hurt to let them get a bit of fun out of it. But then Nathaniel has to smile of all things! He has to smile like some sort of profound realisation has hit him and he can't contain himself. So I get caught. And he looks. And I'm pretty sure he caught me too.

I'm going to stop you before you get carried away and start wondering if I'm a coward or anything equally preposterous. I am no such thing. But you have to understand that this sort of thing doesn't happen very often—not for me, and certainly not for many spirits. So I need to be certain before I dive right into this mess. But maybe I'm getting a bit impatient, because one day I find myself doing his tie. He's clearly nervous, and he tries to tell a joke to alleviate the tension. I laugh out of pity. (5)

(5) Oh, alright. Maybe it was more than slightly funny. He is learning from the best, after all.

I know he is going to kiss me before he does, because I was about to do the same thing. So he kisses me, and I kiss back without having to think, pull him by this fine tie he's now wearing. There are smiles, and then uncharacteristic silence, for even I have to admit sometimes words are simply overrated.

A month later after that happy occurrence, he summons me and I take maybe two seconds too long to notice a slight difference. Nathaniel barely lets me get there on my own, however, and is stepping out of the pentacle and walking over to me before I can fully process what's happening. I drink him in, with his determined eyes locked on mine and nevertheless shaky steps approaching the useless clutter of lines drawn on his floorboard.

I'm afraid I have to admit that I was floored, as you kids say these days. It has been too long. Somehow, I register that he's waiting for me, and so I pull him into a hug, feeling so overwhelmed I might even let three cheesy words run out of my mouth too soon.