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The cobblestones shine wetly as the Nein trek their way back to the Xhorhouse. Ahead, Yasha leads with a dozing Jester in her arms; Beau talks quietly to them both while Veth tucks herself under Yasha’s gore streaked wing. Fjord doesn’t linger on them long, gaze returning to Caleb staggering just a few steps ahead of him.
His wings are out.
Wings dragging, Caleb shifts his shoulders in an attempt to find relief, a light but terrible scraping sound echoing through the square. Fjord winds his fingers through his own feathers, tugging his wings still. The bare bones of Caleb’s wings flutter weakly, the usual fire lit feathers completely snuffed out and quiet; even the gentle red that flickers beneath Caleb’s burned scars has gone cold. The tiny, newly regrown down feathers tremble without the cover of Caleb’s magical contour feathers, exposed and delicate. Each step Caleb’s shoulders hike, only to be dragged down by the weight of his bony wings. Fjord tugs on his own wings harder. The instinct to step forward, to drape his wing over Caleb’s shoulder and hide his vulnerability from the world, has his heart trembling.
They should have asked for more information from Essek, instead of accepting the whole ‘please clear out the random basement beneath the Archives; my cousin will grant you full access to his amazing library/ridiculous amounts of knowledge if you do this’. That had been enough to convince Caleb, whose face had lit up with barely leashed excitement, wings quivering. The rest of them had been brought on board by the sheer amount of coin Essek’s cousin was offering them.
Honestly, that should have been the red flag. Coupled with the fact that Essek didn’t tell them it was a nightmare down there, they’d gone into it alarmingly unprepared. The waterlogged maze had housed a number of mutated and unhappy creatures, all of them delighted at the prospect of eating every single one of them. By the time they’d reached halfway, most of their magical reserves had been depleted. The last room before the busted up and broken goal had left them all completely drained, but Caleb the most. He’d burned through all of his spells in the area before and spent a good portion of the final fight dodging a very determined and particularly stubborn Chimera. The acidic burn Fjord had taken when he’d flared out his wings to protect Caleb still throbs. Thankfully, the combined ferocity of both Yasha and Beau took the thing out and now they can tell Essek his cousin’s stupid library is safe.
Unable to stave off his worry any longer, Fjord takes two big steps until he’s walking alongside Caleb. Caleb rolls his shoulders, his extinguished wings dragging behind him in dull supplication. Fjord’s own wings twitch. Quiet, he asks, “How are you holding up? We’re almost back to the Xhorhouse.”
“Nothing a little sleep won’t fix,” Caleb says reassuringly, tired smile accentuating the dark circles beneath unusually dull eyes.
Before Fjord can poke further, the sudden rush of falling water races toward them as the telltale humidity cloying the air finally bursts. Immediately, they’re all thoroughly soaked; ahead, Fjord can just make out Beau shouting obscenities at the sky while Yasha’s wings lift to provide cover, vast and dark. Smart idea. He releases his wings so he can shield himself, his other wing flicking up automatically to cup behind Caleb’s head, creating a makeshift umbrella. The bare edges of Caleb’s wings still peek out from behind the fall of Fjord’s primaries, but he’s mostly protected.
Rain is rare in Roshana; since coming here, it’s rained maybe once or twice, never long, similar to the flash flood that’s bouncing off Fjord’s wings with force. He peers up at the sky, but can’t see shit due to the ball of darkness that enshrouds the entire city. The rain just appears out of nowhere, soaking the streets and dirt and flowers, petrichor arising in lovely swells. In the distance, the beacon of their home bleeds watercolour over everything, the tree sparkling with the dense and coloured lights of the sun jars.
“Danke.” Caleb’s muffled under the pounding rain. His bony wings poke against Fjord’s, “the acid from earlier, it should not touch water until it is properly healed.” When Fjord glances down at him, Caleb smiles faintly. “I can get a little wet.”
The pain from the acid doesn’t really register anymore; if anything, it’s just bled over into the constant ache from all his other wounds. But, Caleb has a point. Removing his wings for a moment, he pushes ahead of Caleb before pivoting on the ball of his foot and ending up on Caleb’s other side. Careful, he tucks his acid touched wing against his back while the other one rights itself over Caleb again, feathers flaring wide before settling.
When Caleb blinks at him with wide eyes, Fjord ducks his head. Scratches the side of his jaw. “I find the rain refreshing, that’s all.”
“Ja,” Caleb says, the barest hint of sound as he shivers under Fjord’s wing. From beneath the canopy of feathers, Fjord can just make him out, his hands jammed into his armpits beneath his ornate coat, hair flattened from the rain. No flicker of flame lights up the darkness and Fjord shoves his worry down.
The rest of the Nein have disappeared into the static of the rain, no doubt hurrying much faster than Fjord and Caleb. He’s not all that bothered. “Will your flames come back after sleeping? I admit, it’s been - a while since they’ve been out like this.”
Rexxentrum, goes unsaid.
Caleb huffs, eyes glinting as he meets Fjord’s gaze. His tone reassures, even as he shivers again, “They will return after I sleep, Fjord.”
Nodding, Fjord allows it to drop; they’re almost at the Xhorhouse, anyway. Beau stands in the open doorway, her wings crossed above her head, her silhouette like that of a deranged peacock, which Fjord calls her as they hurry inside. She whaps him with her wing and shuts the door against the storm. The resulting quiet soothes the anxiety that had been percolating in Fjord’s blood. The rest of the Nein have nearly dried off, Jester scrubbing a towel over Veth’s feathers while she complains loudly about the rain; Yasha shakes her wings out, creating massive puddles on the foyer floor.
“We should do baths!” Jester suggests excitedly, wet confetti sticking in strings to her feathers.
Yasha combs strands of hair out of her face. She holds her left wing awkwardly; unfortunately, she’d taken the brunt of the attacks. “Not for long. I’m tired.”
“Of course, of course.” Jester bounces over to her, taking Yasha’s hand and tugging her toward the main bathing area, an offshoot room near the hottub.
The rest of the Nein voice their agreements as Fjord squeezes excess water out of his wings. Caleb’s wings scrape as they shift, the little down feathers fluttering; he hangs still for a single moment, as though invisible strings hold him taunt before he reanimates and shuffles after the core group. Fjord watches, twisting his feathers between his fingers. All he wants to do is sequester Caleb away in his library, in his nest: the same nest he’s thought about every night since Caleb graciously shared it with him. It’s not just that he wants to see it again, he does, but the absolute contentment radiating from Caleb when he’d been surrounded by all that he loved, hearth fire wings banked but brilliant, has him flushing.
He trails after the group.
Everyone hoses down the moment they get inside, striping out of armour and shaking out their wings, wrapping towels around waists for implied decency even though they bath together near constantly. Jester has Veth sit as she washes her hair and her wings, stretching them out so she can massage between the feathers. Beau throws water over Yasha’s head, soaking her thoroughly. Yasha grins shy from beneath soapy strands. Fjord takes a seat on one of the long benches, drawing his acid touched wing over his lap so he can poke at the burn; it doesn’t look infected, nor does it hurt all that bad, but Caleb had suggested keeping it dry so Fjord works to clean around it. Better to let Jester or Caduceus take a look at it tomorrow.
Jester’s the one that drags them all out and toward the hottub, shooing them into the water and snatching towels as they go. The warmth of the tub increases when Beau dumps an entire bucket of water onto the fire crystals that heat everything. Fjord sinks into the water with a barely restrained groan of bliss. Careful, he maneuvers his hurt wing out of the water while dipping the other one beneath; the heat soothes over him, digging into sore muscles and alleviating the ache of his joints.
The blissful quiet is immediately broken as Jester cannonballs into the centre of the tub with a joyous holler. Fjord’s wing flings up to stop the excess from hitting him. Beau follows the exact same pattern and Fjord sighs loudly before turning his back on them, elbows resting on the edge of the tub as he relaxes back. With everyone else crowded in, wings and bodies and water everywhere, Fjord’s shuffled close to Caleb, whose eyes are closed, chin ducked down toward his chest almost pensively.
As Fjord watches, Caleb tilts further and further forward. With a sudden jerk, his head snaps up, eyelashes fluttering as he looks around. Fjord grins, ducks his chin against his folded arms as Caleb meets his gaze. He’d actually fallen asleep. Adorable. Fjord’s feathers shift, directing a little splash of water against Caleb’s cheek, wing dipping to float near but not touching. “I would ask what time it is, but I worry your telling me will make me feel particularly old.”
Face flushed from the heat of the water or embarrassment, Fjord’s not sure, Caleb sinks further into the water until his shoulders hike up around his ears. He flicks his eyes to Fjord. “It is 8:52 in the evening.”
“...well, that’s not bad,” Fjord says.
His wing curves closer to Caleb without touching, nearly brushing the tops of Caleb’s knobby knees. He wants to ask about Caleb’s nest, but Caleb desperately needs his own sleep; can't have Fjord demanding access to Caleb’s nest like he owns it. Caleb blows a few sleepy bubbles in the water, eyes half lidded once more. It - it couldn’t hurt to ask, right? Didn’t most friends or family share nests? He clears his throat, feathers flexing in display. “Caleb, do you think -”
Beau splashes over to them, water careening up Fjord’s wing. She thumps back beside Caleb with a heavy but delighted sigh, and the remainder of the request fizzles on Fjord’s tongue as he presses his lips against his forearm, shoulders drooping.
“So, you know the basement was like, the basement of some important Archives, right?” Beau starts, wings splish splashing water in her excitement.
Caleb rubs excess water off his face and recites, “Essek’s cousin, the Head Archivist, Keeper of Living Memories, ja.”
Beau waves a hand. “Yeah, his library. I did a rubbing of the runes on the wall, in the last beat to shit room. Think they mean something important?”
The manic energy bleeding from Beau definitely isn’t going to dissipate any time soon. Fjord should’ve known; their party usually splits into two types: insanely tired and excess energy. Beau’s definitely in the latter.
Caleb blows a few more bubbles in the water before saying, “Ja, that is quite interesting.”
“Right?” Beau splashes Caleb again, beaming at him. “There was an entire glyph that was fucked up too, like scratched off or warped, probably by that dunamatic stuff you’re learning. We should totally look before tomorrow, before we tell Essek his cousin’s Archive is safe. Meet you in the library?”
“Beau,” Fjord cuts in, and her gaze snaps to him. He raises an eyebrow before directing a look to the sharp edges of Caleb’s wings, still dark, no smolder even to alleviate Fjord’s worry.
Beau makes a face at him. “What, it’s not like I’m saying all night, just like, an hour or something. You wanna look, right, Caleb? Some funky Drow runes, hidden beneath an Archive that deals with living memories. There’s gotta be something fishy as fuck about them.”
“It is certainly intriguing that they are from an abandoned basement…” Caleb concedes. Fjord’s frown grows.
“Score!” Beau crows, delighted. She pushes up out of the water, splashing everywhere, and Fjord’s wing snaps up and out to protect Caleb from her impromptu shower. She sticks her tongue out at him as she adjusts the wraps around her chest. “Come on, let’s go, let’s go.”
Fjord attempts to dissuade her, acknowledging but desperately wanting to send Caleb off to sleep. “It’s not like we’re seeing Essek right away. You could do this tomorrow -”
Scooping her wing into the water, she dashes a wave into the side of Fjord’s head. He sputters, water getting in his ear as he retaliates, actively making sure not to get Caleb. Beau squawks at him in offense and embarrassingly, they devolve into their own splash war while Jester cheers them on. Caleb manages to pull himself up out of the pool amidst the chaos and Beau grabs his arm, dragging him away before Fjord can get another word in.
He ruminates in the tub long after Beau and Caleb are out of sight, wing dipping and swaying under the water as he sighs. When he turns, Yasha’s across from him, her big wings spread out on the tile behind, Jester gleefully squeegeeing out the voluminous feathers while Veth watches, hair bundled up into a massive towel. There’s a knowing tilt to her head, a gentle smile quirking her lips. He ducks his head underwater. Carefully, he keeps his damaged wing above water, sinking just enough to get the feathers wet up to that point before surfacing. He crawls out of the tub and bids the girls a quick farewell.
Water drips from Fjord’s wings as he treks toward his bedroom. Pausing in the foyer, his gaze catches on the training room door. Shakes his head before continuing up the stairs. Closing the door, he leans against it with a sigh. The room is sparse; it’s difficult to break years and years of habit, even when granted a room in a home that has been technically signed over to them. His bags sit packed atop the empty dresser. The sheets and blankets are tucked in neat on the bed, pillow fluffed and not dented. Any excess, or trinkets, or collectibles he hides in a box beneath the bed, tucked as far back as he dares.
Scrubbing a hand through his hair until it fluffs, he gets changed. The bed is particularly uninviting, especially since he’d found that modicum of courage to ask if he could join Caleb - his wings flutter before draping, dejected, along the floor. Even looking at the bed makes him ache with want. He tugs on sweats and a loose shirt, open at the back, before heading downstairs. Maybe Beau will make them all one of those weird drinks of hers.
No one joins him in the kitchen; he sparks the fire crystal and puts on the kettle, searching in the cupboards for an evening snack. Various dried vegetables and fruits in jars line most of the shelving (Caduceus experimenting, likely), and a rather disgusting smelling jar with some kind of sour, white moldy thing in it, hunkers down in the far corner. Sighing, he closes everything and heads down to the ice cellar, scrounging up some milk.
The house creaks and groans, the faintest sound of Jester’s laughter and Yasha’s sleepy words filtering through into the kitchen. Fjord makes his plain, boring milk, and entertains the idea of adding a dollop of honey before deciding against it. Finishes it up as he walks out into the main foyer. The door to the training room opens and Beau comes bustling out, arms full of papers and books and inky filled drawings. Fjord pauses, contemplating again. Maybe - maybe if he asks Caleb without anyone around -
Knocking lightly on Caleb’s door, he bounces from foot to foot as he waits. His wings puff up when Caleb answers, hair dried fluffy and frizzly, tugged back into a messy bun at the base of his skull. His wings stretch out clumsily behind him. Even with the bruises from battle, the cuts from their fights, and the exhaustion making Caleb’s usual electric eyes dull, he still strikes a beautiful picture. Fjord rolls his shoulders back to calm his wings. “Beau finally let you go, huh?”
“Her energy is contagious,” Caleb says with a smile, eyes sleepy and half lidded. He steps back to allow Fjord inside. “How is your wing?”
“Ah, it’s no longer acidic,” Fjord says, stepping through. The hearth has been lit, probably to keep them warm while Beau and Caleb researched, and the long table is covered in a vast array of books, balanced precariously. Fjord pauses. There’s something off, something missing. The bookshelves are the same, maybe one or two new porcelain cats peeking down from the shelves; no, not that. All at once it hits him: Caleb’s nest. The one that Fjord had dozed in, that Caleb had read to him in - it’s no longer by the hearth, replaced instead by stacks upon stacks of books. Fjord’s wings bristle in alarm.
“Your nest,” Fjord starts, glancing over his shoulder at Caleb. A far away expression blanks Caleb’s face, head slightly cocked as though listening. Fjord recognizes the stance; he’s done it numerous times when getting a Message.
Caleb’s vision clears. He blinks over at Fjord, head ducking at whatever expression Fjord’s probably wearing. He hesitates. “I am going to Veth’s room.”
“Now?” Fjord says, before snapping his mouth closed. His wings continue to bristle in clear indignation and worry; Fjord feels like he’s going crazy. The symbols could have waited until tomorrow, whatever Veth wants can wait until tomorrow, all of it can wait until Caleb’s rested, surely. Fjord grabs his feathers when his wings attempt to flap in agitation. “Is it not something that can wait? You should rest.”
“It will not be long,” Caleb says reassuringly. Alarmingly, he gathers his items from the table: belts, component pouches, his books. Whatever Veth needs from him likely will drain him of magic he doesn’t have, but Fjord doesn’t wish to overstep. Caleb continues, “I will rest enough for the wings to come back after.”
“I - yes, of course,” Fjord concedes, wings slumping. Dammit. At this rate, Caleb was never going to sleep and Fjord would be better off curled up in his tiny, uncomfy, non-nest bed. His courage to ask to spend the night in Caleb's nest dwindling as his concern over Caleb’s exhaustion grows, Fjord tries for a smile. No doubt he's mangling it. “If you wouldn’t mind Messaging me when you’re free? Unless you’re heading for your rest.”
“Ja, of course. You are welcome to stay if you wish,” Caleb says, opening the door.
“Oh.” Fjord blinks, glancing back at the hearth and the books laid out on the table. The idea of being here without Caleb seems - violating, in a way, and Fjord’s wings snap close against his back in their uncertainty. “I’ll just be in the kitchen, should Messaging be too much?”
Caleb nods, heading out, wings dragging painfully behind him as the door closes. Fjord stands in the midst of the library, the hearth crackling behind him and no nest in sight, his wings a dejected sprawl behind him. He scolds them gently. Caleb had agreed to at least inform Fjord when he was heading back; that’s all he could really ask for.
As he nears the kitchen, the sound of the girls laughing inside buoys him; Jester cackles about something while pots and pans clatter about. If Beau’s still up, maybe she’ll be making those hot drinks again, the ones that don’t hurt his teeth. The delicious scent of sugar and warm chocolate greets him; beneath, the undercurrent of lemon and good whiskey. Beau and Jester move seamlessly around each other, Jester using her tail to bap Beau on the hip when she’s passing. Beau stands at the stove, stirring a practical cauldron while Jester gets flour everywhere.
“Fjord!” Jester greets, her hands covered in sticky dough and a truly alarming amount of sprinkles and chocolate. “Do you want an after adventure cookie? Beau bought me sprinkles.”
“She’s trying a new recipe,” Beau explains, dipping her ladle into the cauldron before stepping over to Fjord. “Here, taste. Does it need more whiskey?”
The telltale burn hits the back of his tongue and he coughs, squinting as he swallows. His voice rasps, “Way too much, christ, are you trying to knock us out?”
“Nah, easier ways to do that.” Beau returns to her cauldron, picking up a lemon zester and getting to work.
Before long, the cookies are in the oven and the hot toddies are finished, Beau grabbing mugs and pouring them all a drink, save Jester. Fjord begs off on a fresh cookie even as Jester shoves the sugary confections under his nose; his teeth hurt just looking at them. Without pause, Jester pushes at Fjord’s face even as he sighs and catches her wrist, halting her progression.
Thankfully, there’s a now familiar quiet scraping sound, off rhythm steps, and Fjord turns just as Caleb enters. He inhales sharply; even Jester pauses. Caleb’s skin has a glossy shine of sweat over it, and he’s paler than the paper he covets. Fjord’s wings lift in alarm even as Caleb gives a wobbly smile, trekking his way over to the island and easing himself onto the stool beside Fjord. He’s shaking, fingers trembling as he situates himself, and his wings hang like skeletons attached to his back.
Gentle, Fjord eases a wing over Caleb’s, feathers brushing down the cracked and sore bones. “Hey, you should’ve gone right to bed; you didn’t have to come find me.” Caleb blinks dull eyes at him. Fjord’s wing curves and his feathers cradle the delicate fragility of Caleb’s wings. “Caleb, you look exhausted.”
Beau slides a mug over to Caleb, her own wing slipping against the side of his head as though ruffling his hair, eyes surveying him sharply. Caleb mutters a soft, “Danke,” as he brings the drink to his nose, inhaling with a soft sigh. Beau flicks her eyes over to Fjord and he focuses on keeping Caleb’s wings from practically collapsing. Caleb continues, “This will help me sleep.”
Jester wiggles into the seat across from Caleb, shoving the plate of cookies closer to him before she drops her elbows on the counter, staring directly at Fjord. Fjord’s wings lift slightly at being scrutinized, but the way Caleb allows Fjord to cradle his wings almost negates the potential embarrassment that is no doubt on its way. Shifting her attention away from Fjord, Jester shimmys, wings raining down confetti on the table. “Caleb, if you’re tired, you should’ve gone to bed! You’re no fun like this.”
Fjord’s feathers flare at the blithe accusation, but there’s no malice in Jester’s tone, just gentle chiding. Jester continues, grin sliding mischievous across her face, “Fjord’s wings are nice and comfy though, aren’t they?”
“I am never any fun, Jester,” Caleb mutters, wry smile curling his lips. His wings shift against Fjord’s, shakily lifting away in an attempt to tuck against Caleb’s back, no doubt self-conscious of Jester’s observation.
Fjord curbs the very real desire to wrest Caleb’s wings back into the fold of his own, to allow him that rest he so clearly needs, but contends with only brushing feathers along scarred edges. He catches Beau’s eye and she raises a brow, pointedly sipping her drink. A flush works through him. He ducks his head toward Caleb, speaking loud enough that Jester won’t launch herself across the counter to hear, “Perhaps they’re right, we are quite boring after such an arduous mission. Back to the library?”
Caleb hums in agreement, finishing off the remainder of his mug before carefully maneuvering himself off the stool. He sways a moment, fingertips against the counter before he shuffles out of the kitchen. Fjord bids the girls a goodnight, chuckling when Jester pouts loudly over the fact that no one wants her post adventure super cookies, and she’ll never make them again! He catches up as Caleb nears the training room door. Just as Caleb’s reaching for the handle, Caduceus calls for them.
“Ah, Mr. Caleb, there you are.” Caduceus exits the side room leading up to the garden and Fjord immediately flares out his wing over Caleb’s exhausted shoulders. That doesn’t seem to deter Caduceus as he approaches. “I have the most wonderful tea, made from the third generation Haddlin family, that will certainly help you with how much energy you expend. I've brewed up a pot, come along.”
“Caduceus,” Caleb says softly, eyes closing a moment as he nods. His fingers linger on the handle to the training room for a single moment before he turns, beginning to follow as Caduceus heads back toward the kitchen.
“No.” Something deep in Fjord’s mind finally snaps. The droop in Caleb’s shoulders, the painful scrape of his wings, how he’s shaking from exhaustion; all of it too much. Fjord catches Caleb’s shoulder before he can go too far, tugging him back, wings circling in front to basically hide him from view. Caleb let’s out a small noise, shoulders against Fjord’s chest and wings draped down Fjord’s sides. “No, I don’t think that’s best right now. Your tea won’t work if he’s already depleted, correct?”
Caduceus pauses, head cocked. “That’s true.”
Fjord nods. “So, he’ll sleep, get all those reserves back, and then we can test to see if it's helpful. Might even be smart to get the rest of us magic users in on it, do a whole tea party thing.”
“That sounds fun,” Caduceus concedes, a slow smile curling his lips. He taps at his chin. “Maybe I’ll make sandwiches.”
“I will try it in the morning, Caduceus,” Caleb’s voice pipes up from behind Fjord’s fortress of feathers. Caduceus nods again and continues toward the kitchen, calling out greetings and picnic plans as he disappears within.
Fjord sags, feathers fluffing as he peers down at Caleb, exhausted and blinking back up at him. “Apologies for stepping in.”
“It is perhaps best that I went to bed,” Caleb says quietly, easing Fjord’s wings apart so he can return to the training room door. Fjord pauses in following; it’s almost cruel for him to take up more of Caleb’s time. That final confirmation is all his courage needs to completely dwindle.
Caleb pauses at the door, glancing over his shoulder at Fjord with a slight frown. “Would you like to come in?”
“Oh,” Fjord says softly, blinking as Caleb gives a tired nod, opening the door and leaving it propped for Fjord to follow. Fjord casts one last look over his shoulder; he can just make out the excited chatter from the rest of the Nein in the kitchen, sufficiently distracted. He trails after Caleb.
His feathers fluff when Caleb paws at the door to his library, eyes drooping, frown bunching his eyebrows as his wings tremble. Fjord gentles his wing over Caleb’s back again and gets the door, turning the handle and ushering him inside. The hearth still burns cheerily in the corner. Fjord closes the door behind him and leans back against it as Caleb treks over to the table.
Frumpkin exits from the side room, chirping loudly at Caleb, trills and meows that have Caleb smiling as he crouches to pick him up. Bapping him in the face, Frumpkin takes up residence on Caleb’s shoulders, balancing easy as he continues his scolding meowrade in Caleb’s ear. Fjord shuffles from foot to foot, unsure where he should stand or, really, if he should bid Caleb goodnight and leave him be. Indecision has him watching as Caleb eases off his component belt, thunking it on the long table. He doesn’t bother stifling his yawn. Nervousness flutters over Fjord’s wings, before they droop. He rolls his shoulders to get them to smarten up, but is adamantly ignored. His heart is worried and cowardly; his wings only externalize that.
Flicking his gaze away from Caleb and Frumpkin, Fjord searches for a safe topic, anything to break the tension that builds the longer the silence stretches. His attention sticks on the hearth once more, on the lack of nest beside it, and that - that seems like a perfectly safe topic: inquire if Caleb’s built another nest. Super casual. He can do this.
Wetting his bottom lip, Fjord asks, “You don’t have your nest out here anymore?”
Caleb pauses, glancing over to the hearth. A soft hum leaves him; he shuffles over to Fjord, hand reaching and fingers curling gently around Fjord’s wrist before they slide down to his palm. Fjord reflexively spreads his fingers so Caleb can press their hands together. His wings lift in surprise. Tugging, Caleb sleepily says, “I can show you.”
Surprise gives way to sheer delight. Caleb - Caleb wants to show him. He may have never had a nest of his own, or shared one until Caleb offered, but the prospect of being shown; his wings quiver in elation. He nods, squeezing Caleb’s hand as he’s drawn toward the archway that leads away from the main library, an inner sanctum that Fjord always assumed was either another study or Caleb’s tiny bedroom. Instead, the library continues further into this room, floor to ceiling bookshelves creating a little hallway that leads back before disappearing around the corner. Each shelf is crammed with more books and tiny but familiar cat figurines. Fjord reflexively tightens his hold on Caleb’s hand, fingers slotting together easily, as he follows.
Frumpkin trots ahead of them, doing a little quiver dance at the end of the hallway with a trill. Fjord tucks his wings in close just in case, cognizant of the delicacy of the non-book items placed on the bookshelves. He’s distracted, shifting to peer out the window that opens to the backyard of the Xhorhouse, and almost bumps into Caleb as he stops rather abruptly when they round the corner.
The shocked inhale catches his attention first, quickly followed by Caleb’s hand falling limp, fingers sliding from between Fjord’s. Beyond, within the very heart of the room, is Caleb’s nest - if it can even be called that. Complete chaos has shattered the no doubt meticulous lines of a once robust nest; the sheets are upturned and thrown about, the pillows chucked into various corners. A shelf full of tiny porcelain cats has been knocked over in what was definitely a frantic search attempt. Bottles and pouches and books and knick knacks litter the little room like shrapnel; couch cushions are flung off to the side. The bookcases that act as the backdrop for Caleb’s nest have been poked through, books shoved to the floor and open on long shelves.
Caleb’s wings twitch fitfully, the soft downy feathers quivering in counterpoint to how still Caleb has become. He takes a slow breath and then another before shuffling forward, picking up one of the throw pillows, recognizable from the last time Fjord spent time in his nest. Gently, he places it near where the cat figurines are strewn about. It takes ages for him to straighten again, shoulders slumped in defeat, another ornate pillow clutched tight in his hands.
Clearly, Caleb wasn’t expecting to come back to this. Fjord steps into the inner sanctum of his destroyed nest, gentling a hand against his back, amongst the soft downy feathers that fluff in dismay. “Hey, come here.”
He runs his fingers over Caleb’s tight grip on the pillow, soothing over white knuckles as his wing swoops around and edges Caleb away from the destruction. A comfy chair had been shoved into the corner, set up to allow for easy reading no doubt. Fjord directs him there; Caleb allows himself to be led. Careful, Fjord nudges him into sitting down, worry percolating as Caleb drops heavily into the chair, fingers spread wide over the pillow. Fjord crouches in front of him, hands gentle on his knees.
His heart aches at the quiet but resigned expression writ large over Caleb’s face. Fjord’s wings fluff forward, feathers brushing over Caleb’s slouched shoulders and the clenched edge of his jaw. “I don’t really know how to build a nest, but would you trust me to make it how I remember?”
Caleb blinks at him, gaze finally fixing on Fjord. Slow, his mouth opens before closing. His answer, when it comes, is filled with fragile certainty. “I trust you.”
“Thank you,” Fjord says softly, the feathers along his right wing easing over Caleb’s cheek like a caress, lingering for a moment before he pulls them back into place. Standing, he turns to the mess, disorganized and chaotic, but still with the threads of Caleb’s original nest within. He’ll start by sorting piles. Was always good at that on the boats, able to organize most of the ridiculousness of their supplies into some semblance of order.
As he bends to gather the various pillows, he glances over his shoulder. “Tell me if anything is out of place, all right? I don’t have your keen mind.” Caleb blinks before giving another short nod.
Time to get to work.
Fjord sorts everything into neat piles, unearthing bunched sheets and a not-so-surprising amount of books. The fallen porcelain cats he gathers back onto the shelf. He can’t help but brush his fingers over the familiar colours, the little gifts he’d been leaving for Caleb making their way into the area Caleb deemed safest. His chest squeezes as he carefully rights a Frumpkin-esque cat he’d found in a bargain bin in the market. Warmth blooms through him.
Beneath a few ornate pillows, he spots familiar fabric, and he pauses to push his fingers into the fabric of his cloak. He’d forgotten to ask for it before they went down into the basement beneath the Archives; didn't think he’d need it, really, and seeing it here, still in Caleb’s nest - he sucks in a breath as his wings spread out to the sides, almost in reverence. Gently, he gathers it up and folds it neat. Final touches.
Occasionally, he checks on Caleb. He hasn’t fallen asleep yet, like Fjord had been hoping; he’s tracking Fjord as he moves about the open space, gaze bright but brows furrowed. His fingers pluck, pluck, pluck at the embroidery on the pillow. Fjord finishes clearing the space and spends a moment recalling.
He lays down the sheets first, curling the edges into little barriers to create the basic shape of the nest. Layers it with another sheet before he adds the pillows; not the throw pillows that Caleb seems to be fond of, but the proper sleeping ones. He shifts the nest slightly so he can shove the pillows along each edge before covering the entire thing with another sheet. Next, he grabs the scarves and the old coat, the couch cushions and the various shirts and pants Caleb’s tossed in. Once he’s happy with the placement, he starts arranging the books into the folds of fabric, some sticking out, others creating flat surfaces for Fjord to artfully display a throw pillow. Scrolls and component pouches he tucks into little areas, plugging holes. He makes a spot for Caleb’s spellbooks, recalls Caleb having them close by when Fjord had first seen the nest.
He rolls back onto the balls of his feet, surveying. He’s sweating slightly from exertion and from moving things around. The porcelain cats are still in mass disarray above Caleb’s nest, but the overall effect of it looks surprisingly how he remembers. He places a few thicker tomes beside the nest itself, available for Caleb to grab if need be. Takes Caleb’s older scarf, the one they first met him in, and creates a makeshift Frumpkin throne on the large pillow where he assumes Frumpkin would sleep. Finishes the entire thing off by grabbing his cloak and placing the folded material up near where Caleb would lay his head, desperately hoping his wings aren’t showing his hand.
“But you did not make room for yourself,” Caleb suddenly says, voice tilting up at the end.
Fjord freezes. He’d - he’d assumed he wouldn’t be sharing this particular nest, really, had assumed that his opportunity to ask had been missed. He glances over his shoulder at Caleb, who blinks back at him in surprise, lips slightly parted. Fjord clears his throat, voice rasping and low, “I didn’t wish to presume.”
Crouching once more, Fjord gently moves the bits and pieces of the nest around. He tugs on sheets and spreads pillows, shoring up the bits in between with folded clothes and pillow cases. It makes a weird bump in an otherwise circular nest, but it’s enough space for him to squeeze into. They’ll be squished together, but it’s the best he can do without completely mangling Caleb’s nest anew.
He’d pulled aside his cloak in order to make room for both of their heads, should they decide to sleep. Folding it over his arm, he pushes to his feet with a groan, the aches reasserting themselves now that the prospect of rest is so close. Heading back to Caleb, Fjord holds his cloak out. “I know it’s the same thing I offered before, but if you’ll have me - the cloak, I mean. As thanks.”
Slow, Caleb pushes to his feet. His fingers worm into the folds of the cloak, other hand brushing Fjord’s as a soft noise leaves him. A smile flits over Caleb’s lips as he looks up at Fjord; for the first time since their return, Caleb has colour in his cheeks. He edges around Fjord, cloak tucked against his chest as he surveys the nest. He hadn’t mentioned any changes needed as Fjord had built, and he curbs a sigh of relief when Caleb crouches and knee walks into his nest, falling forward in jerky motions until he’s more or less horizontal, cloak tucked around him like a bundled blanket.
Throwing an arm out, Caleb pats the spot beside him. “Join me?”
All the exhaustion finally hits him, now that he has absolute confirmation. He eases himself down onto the nest with a soft groan, joints popping, wings high to balance himself and not wack Caleb in the face by accident. When he rolls back into the place he’d made for himself within Caleb’s nest, contentment races up his spine and leaves him in a happy hum of pleasure as he wiggles until he’s more or less laying down. He shifts his shoulders and Caleb moves easily, allowing Fjord’s wing to slip under him and spread out wide for Caleb’s tired wings to settle on. His other wing tucks up against the opposing bookshelf, angled but comfortable.
Tiny kitty paws dip the sheet near Fjord’s ankle, Frumpkin chirping as he picks his way along the small space between them. He rubs his wet cat nose against Caleb’s cheek, before hopping onto Fjord’s chest and settling into a contented cat loaf. Blinking happy cat eyes at him, Frumpkin purrs loud and pleased. Fjord chuckles, rubbing his blunted claws against Frumpkin’s jaw.
“Thank you for allowing me to join you,” Fjord says softly, smoothing a hand over the scrolls and component pouches and bundles of books he’d fit beneath the folded sheet. “I apologize for pulling you away from the others. You looked seconds from collapsing.”
Caleb sighs as his head settles against Fjord's bicep, knees bumping against Fjord's thigh as he curls toward him. “-would have slept in tea.” His voice is distant, wobbly with sleep. A hand pushes through the folds of Fjord’s cloak, Caleb’s fingers landing on Frumpkin’s head to give him scritches. Frumpkin’s purr vibrates his tiny body as he nudges up into the touch. With another sigh, Caleb murmurs, “-t’s perfekt.”
Another murmur, something unintelligible, as Caleb’s eyelashes flutter. Fjord’s heart thumps as Caleb breathes out, entire body going lax. His hand drops from Frumpkin’s head to rest, easy, against Fjord’s stomach, fingers slightly curled as his breathing deepens, sleep finally tugging him away. Fjord stares up at the ceiling; his other hand had settled on his stomach when Frumpkin decided to loaf, and Caleb’s fingers had landed close. Not close enough to touch, surely, but enough that the gentle heat of them is all Fjord’s aware of.
With Caleb’s gentle breathing in his ear and Frumpkin’s constant purr rumbling through him, Fjord’s eyes grow heavy. His feathers shift, cushioning Caleb’s bony wings. Fingers flexing, he gently tangles his with Caleb’s. Surrounded by Caleb’s (their, a traitorous part of him whispers) nest, and with Caleb pressed against his side, it’s easy to give in to sleep.
Halfway through the night, Fjord wakes when sharp little claws bite into his chest. Frumpkin stretches all arched before sprawling back over Fjord’s stomach with a purr. The faint glow from the lamp had dimmed the moment Caleb passed out, but the room isn’t as dark as Fjord expects. Flickers of red and orange paint the bookshelves in fire-tipped light. Scrubbing a hand over his eye, he blinks around for the source, inhaling sharply when he finds it.
Caleb’s still curled against him, face soft with sleep, hair brightened by the glow. Behind him, stretched out relaxed as they had been when Fjord fell asleep, are Caleb’s wings. The feathers haven’t returned, but the gentle embers that crackle beneath the burned scars have been brought back to life. They dim and glow in tandem with Caleb’s breathing; a living hearth. Fjord watches, awed, as Caleb lets out a little snuffle, tucking his nose into the fold of Fjord’s cloak, and his wings flare slightly. A dazzle of fire races over the invisible structure of feathers before dissipating. The embers glow and dim. Breathe in, breathe out.
Fjord falls back asleep to the gentle crackling of Caleb's reignited wings.