Archive of Our Own

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

Four-

Ronald continued to count the rhythm in his head, warming himself up as his body recited another one of the Golden Rose’s previous routines. There was no music, just the sound of the actor’s own breathing to accompany the music in his head. 

It was late now, most of the theatre would have gone to bed, and yet, Ronald remains. Not out of his own volition, but a request. The great detective himself coming to Ronald after opening night for the theatre’s rendition of Swan Lake ended only to ask for dance lessons because he has to infiltrate a ball in three weeks or so and Mr. Inference’s dancing in the previous week was to put very simply- horrendous. They had two or so weeks until Ronald would have to let Inference go and yet- he came to a stop, pointe shoes coming to rest in fourth position as he looked at himself in the mirror. He didn’t want to let him go, but that wasn’t his choice now was it? 

Oak doors creaked open with the Nepali peeking in, a flustered look on his face. Tsk, tsk, he was the one requesting lessons and now he was the one being late?

“Care to remind me what time it is, detective? Did we not agree to meet at half-past ten?” Ronald’s displeased voice was only for show. Partly, at least. If Inference was late, then he had the excuse of spending more time with him to correct his posture and foot placement. More excuses to keep this preface between them. At least the detective’s attire was suitable for their activity this time. In the previous sessions, he arrived in a suit from his office, and while it wasn’t completely wrong, it was best for him to be relaxed knowing how tense and stressed he could be. 

“Apologies.”
“No matter, you are versed enough in following that I want you to take the lead for tonight.” 

“Excuse me?” Norton grinned, taking off the mask on the scarred side of his face before attaching the silken ribbons firmly around his waist, a smug grin on his face when he saw the surprise on Naib’s face.  

“Scared? What if your dance partner is a lady? Or even worse, daughter of the host? Surely you don’t intend to embarrass yourself by saying you don’t know how to lead,” Norton remembered to put on the phonograph in the corner of the studio, winding the device up until the record started to play,  Tchaikovsky… the actor didn’t remember owning this record. Kroto must have been in the studio before him. He’d have to remind her to stop leaving her belongings all over the theatre even if she was the new prima donna. 

“Surely it won’t come to that, the host doesn’t even have a daughter,” Naib was dressed in a simple cotton shirt and pants, exposing far too much of his clavicle and chest that the taller man caught himself staring in the mirror. “What style?”
“Hmmm, surprise me, I want to see how much you’ve retained. I don’t know what that bastard’s orchestra has in store.”
“Language.”
“Yes. sir,” Norton rolled his eyes, Naib was uptight as always. 

Their banter was cut short with them standing a foot’s width apart before Naib decided to hook an arm around Norton’s waist, starting with taking a step forward while Norton took a step back, his other hand held out to the side. Mimicking Inference’s movements (Norton was firm to put the distinction there, he already knew his affections were unreturned, no need to blur the lines of friendship and romance even more than he already had) with his own, watching how when one leg jumped, Norton’s own did the same, the both of them spinning and hooking their feet around one another before parting momentarily- odd, since when was Inference this well versed in dancing? Norton didn’t remember teaching this- most galas in Britain don’t enjoy this fast-paced style of dance. He didn’t mind by any means, being spun so quickly and held so close that Norton felt like perhaps his heart might leap out of his chest. But if Na- Inference knew how to tango, surely his nightly lessons with Norton were not necessary? 

They must have gone around the room twice now,  this time, they parted, the heavy weight of the detective’s arm around Norton’s waist was missed before they came close again. Thinking about it now, Norton had made a poor choice on music- but Naib had made a poor choice of an instructor. Surely he could do better than him? “Shit- Focus, Campbell, focus,” the scarred man chided himself, letting himself be dipped knowing full well he tripped on his own feet, the screeching sound of satin and rosin against polished wood screeching in his ear. For a moment, Norton pretended to let himself think that the look in the detective’s eyes held some semblance of warmth for him. That perhaps, his affections were returned, before breaking the eye contact to look at himself in the mirror, flushing when he realized that despite their significant height difference, Naib was still able to hold his weight and make it seem effortless. It felt like forever, but really it was just a second or two before Norton was held upright again being spun so that he faced his the detective. Continuing their steps until they came apart again, stepping side by side until Norton was brought close. 

The door creaked open again, causing the two to lose their momentum, and in his panic, Norton started to pirouette, jumping as he did. His dance finally matched the phonograph- and then he registered himself. Was he nervous? Of what! He was just giving dance lessons, not anything odd. 

Except, it was odd. Norton’s traitorous mind was quick to remind him. Accepting to give the person you liked dance lessons because you knew you got to hold them close. “Look at how Naib trusted you,” the venomous voice was quick to spit, “and you’re doing this all for your own gain.”

“Look at how well you taught him, he won’t need you anymore.”

Norton continued to dance, ignoring what the voice continued to say in his head. He didn’t have to pay it any mind now- not when he was with others. A third person had joined them, Norton would recognize that familiar mop of hair anywhere, the tawny owl a dead giveaway had he not recognized the trenchcoat or the gentle smile. 

Norton remembered Naib’s dance partner wasn’t going to be him. 

It was for work reasons that the detective asked for his assistance. Once Naib caught the crook, he wouldn’t need Norton anymore. Just like how when Naib solved the case of Bella’s death, he wouldn’t have needed to come to the theatre anymore. And yet, he still does. Tell him, how was Norton supposed to ignore his affections if they were being increased every time Naib visited to attend one of the Golden Rose’s productions? 

Eventually, Ronald came to a stop, bowing when he heard polite clapping, sweat pouring down his back, and making his own shirt stick to his skin. Demi wouldn’t mind if he ran a bath for himself, right? He wouldn’t dare to wake her so late. 

“Bravo, Mr. Campbell,” Eli laughed, clapping as he did. The investigator was blind and yet- he could see with the help of his owl, Ronald didn’t know how that worked but the bird herself was of peculiar origins that not even Naib was privy of. “Naib, you picked a good tutor.”
“It’s hardly tutoring if he already knows what he’s doing,” Ronald cringed at the acrid tone his voice took. 

“Oh?”
“I hardly know what I’m doing,” Naib mumbled, lifting his shirt to wipe at his own face. Ronald pretended he didn’t zoom in to the strip of tanned skin he saw peek out from under the fabric, remembering the scars underneath well from their shared time in the military. “D.M. won’t arrange for a tango.”
“He might, knowing his eccentricities,” Eli spoke, smiling as he did, “you still don’t have a partner, don’t you?”
“I thought you would be attending with him, no?” That was odd, why wouldn’t Recluse be attending with his colleague?
“I would but, one of us needs to keep eyes above, Lady Brooke here is my eyes and- well, I did tell Naib to invite you but I don’t think he has yet, has he?” The Nepali flushed under the sudden attention, coughing and looking away pointedly to pretend he wasn’t the elephant in the room. 

“I was. Going to- after-”
“Well after what?” Ronald tilted his head, crossing his arms as he did. He did not appreciate being told things late- especially knowing that Naib did intend to invite him as a plus one. Just tell him he didn’t want to and Ronald would get it- “I didn't want to upset you, he did inadvertently kill Bella.”

Ronald faltered, all the irritated energy he had dissipating all of a sudden. It made sense when the prima donna’s disappearance was still a fresh wound, not even a half year had passed since the events of her demise. She was a character to work with, Ronald will admit, and she may have been for the lack of a better word, an utter bitch. But, so was Ronald. 

He missed her. 

But he wasn’t going to show it, not now at least when he has so much to do still. 

“If you’re going to take me as a plus one, you need to work on your communication skills. They’re poor.” Ronald was deadpan, fixing Naib with an unimpressed look. “Did you know I tripped because I wasn’t sure if you were going to spin or to dip me? As the lead, that is your responsibility.” Eli burst out laughing before coughing politely to cover it up, making their detective flush a deeper shade of red. “And another thing, if you intend to dance at that gala, D.M. will be unlikely to put on a tango. Your waltz has not been practiced tonight because you were late ,” to which Eli snickered again, “be on time tomorrow.” 

“You’ll need a disguise-”
“Sweetheart, you think I can hide this scar without the use of a mask?”
“The gala is a masquerade.”

There was a pause before Ronald sighed. Praying that his heart would stop trying to turn itself into a hare. 

“I hope you have a good costume, or we’re going to have to tailor matching suits.”