Work Text:
The white hairs in his beard come in first.
He does a double-take at his bathroom mirror, blinking fast at the unexpected - and unwanted - patch of brightness in his usual ruddy beard. He leans in close over the sink, jutting his chin towards the shiny mirror as his fingers part the close-cropped hairs until they find the culprit: half-a-dozen white hairs just below his lip.
It isn’t a bad look. It isn’t as though he doesn’t believe he could be dashing with a few hints of grey. It isn’t as though he has ignored the passing of time - how can he, when time has always, will always, be a focus of his research?
Fifteen years since that day in Aeor. Fifteen years since he destroyed his one hope of mastering that damned flow, that passage, that unstoppable drag of days and hours and minutes. Fifteen long years -
And now he’s beginning to show it.
Rubbing his hand over his chin in the hopes of hiding the white among the red, Caleb Widogast continues his morning routine.
*
It begins to creep up his sideburns, dappling the hair at his temples in a flash of white that becomes harder and harder to hide. The more he looks the more his attention is drawn to the rest of his face - the crows’ feet at his eyes, the deepening wrinkles around his mouth, the lenses he’s been forced to wear to keep the world beyond arms’ reach in focus. There are other changes too, of course: the ache in his knees at the end of a long day, the cracks and pops in his joints when he rises after settling for too long, the weariness that comes when he pushes himself too far.
Harder to hide. Harder to ignore.
Time, time, time.
*
By the time the first strands of grey appear atop his head he has begun cringing away from mirrors, staring resolutely at the sink; at the wall; at anything but the changing face in front of him. His face, yes, and though it is still familiar it is too much a reminder of what comes.
He pats the top of his head, gingerly moving red hairs aside to stare at that oh-so-obvious patch of white, when the bathroom door suddenly opens. He drops his hand and takes a step back, biting his lip as the drow glides past him apologizing - “Sorry, Caleb, sorry; I will be but a moment” - and he catches a glimpse of himself and Essek reflected in the mirror as his partner digs through a cupboard against the wall.
One has not changed. One will not change. Centuries lie ahead of the once-Shadowhand, centuries of discoveries and adventures and world-changing research. Centuries of friendships and colleagues and - dare he think it - partners. Centuries without Caleb. Essek looks no different than he had the day they met, yet Caleb…
Caleb…
He drops his gaze to his feet and clenches his jaw. It will not be possible for them to avoid this truth much longer; that they manage to do so even now speaks only to their stubbornness. Essek remains just past his youth, a young drow in their terms, while Caleb is quickly moving on past middle age.
How long will Essek stay because he lacks the conviction to break Caleb’s heart? Would it not be better to free him of such shackles? Would it not be better to end this torment quickly rather than allow it to linger, to fester, to grow more painful with every passing day?
“Thank you, Caleb.” A quick kiss on the cheek and the drow’s gone; the bathroom door’s closing; it’s just Caleb and his mirror and his newest white hair.
Time, time, time…!
*
They sit within his conjured tower in armchairs constructed just for them. Their comfortable silence, seated next to each other by the fire with books and papers at hand, lies somewhere between ritual and routine: it is a comfort, whatever it is, at the end of every long day. They are not always alone - often friends will join them in the tower, one or two or a half a dozen, and then the space is alive with voices and laughter and magical orange cats darting this way and that, but it has been quite some time since last they had visitors. Life is busy; life is predictable; life is, in this simple moment at the end of each day, quiet.
Caleb cannot concentrate on the words littered across his page. His eyes dart over the paragraph once - twice - he flips the paper in the hopes that pressing further will force his attention to quicken, but it is fruitless: his thoughts repeatedly drift back to the words he’s decided he must say.
He has never shied away from difficult conversations. A difficult life makes it easier to walk onto that verbal battlefield -
But it has been a long, long time since he attempted to do so with Essek.
He sneaks a glimpse at the drow. Essek is absorbed in whatever he’s reading; one hand is raised, idly spinnning a long, purple finger to stir a cup of tea on the table next to him. It’s a painful shot through Caleb’s heart to see it, because here is his heart’s other half, his friend and partner for over a decade, the man who went to hell and back to help him save the world: happy, content, blissfully unaware of what comes -
He must have some idea. He must have given this truth some thought. He cannot be blind to the changes that grow more pervasive every day.
“Essek.” A quiet sound, a simple plea, a sliver of voice hardly louder than the pop of the fire beyond the grate.
Enough to catch his attention. The twirling finger falls to his lap as he marks his page and floats the closed book to the table; bright eyes immediately focus on Caleb. “Yes?”
Perhaps he should have practiced this. Perhaps he should have written it in a note. Perhaps this would be better delivered at the beginning of the day, when they both have clear heads and reserves of energy -
No. He cannot fool himself: this will be no easier no matter the time and place, no matter the preparation, no matter the circumstances.
This will hurt them both.
“I have been thinking.”
Essek arches an eyebrow, but his expression is still relaxed, still good-humoured. Be it a mercy or a curse, he does not guess what is coming. “You are wont to do so every day of your life, Caleb. What has caught your attention this time?”
“Myself,” he murmurs, and because the flash of confusion is too innocent to witness he stares into the fire instead. Flames are a comfort as they are a curse; a tool he has manipulated to both great achievements and disastrous results; it is fitting that he finds himself retreating to fire once again, to that alluring flicker of oranges and reds -
Fast and hot and furious -
So unlike his cool, calm, dark-skinned drow.
“Time,” he says quietly, and it is a struggle to say any more than that. He clamps his teeth together, willing himself some semblance of control over the fluctuating emotions running wild through his chest, and tries again. “Time. Not weeks, not years. But -” He inhales, feeling his stomach lurch as he sees Essek bring his palms together and rest the tips of his fingers against his lips. It is such a common gesture - such an Essek gesture - and he can’t help wondering if this will be the last time he sees it. “We have had a lot of time, you and I.”
“Indeed.” Wary agreement; he has no doubt Essek is thinking back to that unexpected meeting at Vurmas Outpost and everything that followed. “And we should have quite some more.”
Caleb slowly tilts his head to one side as his face contorts into a grimace. “One of us more than the other.”
“Caleb…?”
He tosses his book to the coffee table and grips his armrests with both hands, glaring daggers into the fireplace as he forces the words through his lips. Better to say it quick and have it done with. Better to face the pain head-on than drag it out.
Better to cut his love loose.
“It is not fair to you to keep you by my side. It is not fair to you to force you to watch me grow slower and slower. It is not fair to you to pretend we can avoid the inevitable.” His gaze flickers to Essek, but the drow is frozen, staring downwards, his fingers still against his chin. “The day is quickly approaching when you will wake to find yourself in bed with an old man.” As if his beard isn’t more snow than rust already; as if he doesn’t struggle to stand on cold mornings; as if his body isn’t already beginning that downward spiral! “We have had a good run, have we not? Made the best of what we’ve had? But it cannot last forever, and I -” His voice catches and he grits his teeth until his control returns. “I would not see you grow to regret your choice.”
“My regrets are long, long behind me. History, one might say. What lies ahead…” Essek suddenly leans forward. “Why do you act as though death lingers at your door? What is this inevitability you speak of? You have aged, yes, as all people do, but you are most decidedly not an old man.”
“I will be,” Caleb whispers. “And you will not. Not for years, and years, and years. You deserve to - to find someone who will be there until the end. Until your end, not mine. Someone who will make you happy.” Would it have been easier to reach within his chest and pull out his still-beating heart? Perhaps, but this, at least, gets his point across. The words are said, let free into open air, and he has only to wait for Essek to admit that he is right - that time remains their oldest and fiercest of enemies - and then they shall begin their next step. Moving on, and moving out, and -
“You make me happy.”
He frowns. Stubborn, unrealistic elf…! “I will not do so for much longer. You are only delaying this pain - you only drag out this truth! This...this…”
Essek rises and glides over to Caleb’s chair before suddenly kneeling at his feet. Purple hands slide under his own; they are warm against his frozen skin, fire to his ice. “I would take what joy I can from the time that is allowed to us,” he says quietly. “Every drop of happiness I can possibly squeeze from every moment we have left together. You are not so old as you believe, Caleb, and I want to see what lies ahead. For both of us.”
Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn! He shakes his head, feeling tears choke him even as he blinks up at the ceiling. “And if I do not want you to witness what becomes of me?”
“Why?”
“Because - because - because it is wasted time, Essek! It is time better spent on your own pursuits - on your own future! Because I am quickly approaching a dead-end and you do not deserve to follow me down it!”
“Wasted time,” the drow repeats slowly. He bows his head and sighs, and Caleb has a moment - a broken-hearted moment of both relief and deepest regret - where he believes Essek will agree with him. “Caleb, you are a very intelligent man who I love with all my heart, but in this moment you are a fool.”
“W-what?”
Those bright eyes meet his once again. “Do you remember that day in Aeor? When we revisited that room in the Genesis Ward, and I told you I would not change my past?” He waits until Caleb mutely nods before continuing, “Time, Caleb Widogast. It is up to us to use it as best we see fit, because you and I both know there are no second chances.” Slowly, slowly, slowly the drow raises himself up on his knees, resting his hands on either side of Caleb’s thighs, and leans in towards him. “Time spent with you is not wasted. Every memory we make I shall carry with me until the end of my days, and I would not cut our time short.” One hand gently rests against Caleb’s cheek. “I watched you die once. I already know the pain that lies ahead of me, but I made that choice long, long ago. I am here until the very end, my friend.”
Caleb closes his eyes. Tears fall down his cheeks unheeded - one, two, three - and he takes a deep, shaky breath. Stubborn elf. Difficult drow. Wonderful, brilliant, intelligent wizard. “If it becomes too much…”
He hears the smile in Essek’s voice. “I will of course tell you - but it won’t happen.” Lips suddenly touch his forehead and he squeezes his eyes shut even tighter. “Come, Caleb. Let us go to bed.”
He manages to grab the front of the drow’s robes before he pulls away, keeping him within easy reach so that he might return the kiss in full; they both ignore the salty taste of tears upon his lips. “Thank you.”
“Thank you, Mister Widogast.” Essek pulls him to his feet - and then even higher, so that they both float gently above the floor. The drow’s arms wrap around his waist as he leans back, letting his gaze roam over Caleb’s hair and beard. “I suppose I should have said this sooner, but I quite like this look. It suits you. Gives you an air of...experience.”
“Experience?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Of what nature?”
“The worldly, learned type. You were rugged when I met you, but this…” Essek runs his fingers through Caleb’s bangs, brushing them away from his forehead, and grins. “This I enjoy.”
“Sometimes you surprise me.”
“Happy to keep you on your toes - and off of them.” Both arms wrap around him again and he feels the gentle pull of magic as they begin to move upwards, gently drifting up towards the room they share. “Now, does my wizard require an early evening in bed - the day being so very taxing on those old bones of his - or might he be willing to make up for the sudden clash of emotions he’s caused on this deceptively peaceful evening?”
Caleb’s lips twitch. “He might be willing.”
There is a glint of laughter in Essek’s eyes as he leans forward. “Show me.”