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There is a suspicion building in Octavius’ mind.
He knows the first three letters of the Name on his back are ‘J’, ‘E’, and ‘D’.
He also can’t help but notice that those are the first three letters of Jedediah’s name.
Larry had been correct in his assertion that he and the roguish cowboy are not so different from one another as they might imagine. Even though Jedediah is very wild and unstructured and free, much like his flowing mane of golden hair, whilst Octavius is the picture of Roman discipline, they are well matched in terms of drive and dedication. And perhaps, in a certain light, their differences may even be seen as… complimentary.
As he watches Jedediah drive, the question forms at the tip of his tongue. He opens his mouth.
Jedediah speeds over a bump, and they are both violently jostled.
“Hey let’s see how many Vikings we can trip,” the cowboy suggests, with a peculiar light in his eyes, and the rest of the night is spent zipping around at speeds that make asking delicate questions an impossible task.
~
Alright, so maybe Jedediah doesn’t hate Octavius.
That may have been an overreaction brought on by stress and unfamiliarity and possibly a certain degree of panic. Maybe. He ain’t saying that is what it was, but it may have been.
The thing is, he doesn’t really know what to do with that information. The whole Name issue was a lot easier to handle when he hated Octavius’ guts. It’s… thornier when he finds himself actually enjoying the man’s company, runnin’ around with him, helping Gigantor hold down the fort and getting first row seats to the way those wrinkles around his eyes get all crinkly when he smiles, which makes him look completely hideous and in no way endearing. At all.
So whenever Octavius gets that look in his eye, like he’s putting two and two together and maybe gettin’ real close to askin’ after four, Jed hightails it.
He doesn’t like running away, not even on a symbolic or conversational level, so he knows it can’t last. It’s the coward’s way out.
Trouble is, he’s starting to think that when it comes to this soulmate stuff, he may just be yellow as they come.
~
For all that Jedediah’s people seem wild and free, Octavius has noted that they also possess a number of social hang-ups that are utterly baffling to him. They are highly physical, yet they shy away from gentle expressions of affection. They love to talk, but have no fondness for poetry or recitals. In light of this, he is starting to consider that perhaps directly asking about a Name which may or may not be on Jedediah’s person might qualify as a faux pas.
So Octavius strategizes.
“Would you care to join me in the baths?” he offers one evening.
Jedediah turns bright red and stumbles for a step. When Octavius moves to catch his arm, he flails away like an upset cat.
“Whoa, there, partner, that ain’t something you just up and ask a fella,” he says. “If you need a hand haulin’ hot water, well, I’m happy to help, but let’s just leave it at that.”
Octavius regards him in consternation for several awkward moments.
“What? What’s that look for?” Jed finally blurts out, obviously still flustered.
“I’m trying to figure out if it’s the bathing part of the suggestion that upsets you, or the communal part,” Octavius admits.
“Both,” Jedediah grumbles, tipping his hat down to hide his face, and the mood never quite recovers for the rest of the evening.
~
“I think it’s warm in here. Don’t you? Aren’t you overly hot in all those layers?” Octavius asks, while they meander their way through the African exhibit.
“Nope,” Jedediah replies.
This is the third time in as many nights that Octavius has tried to coax him into taking some of his clothes off.
He thinks he’s being subtle about it.
He ain’t.
~
“Oh, Dexter, how could you, dousing poor Jedediah in that bucket of grease!” Octavius gasps with incredibly convincing shock. Behind him, his men are trying not to draw attention to themselves while they pay the monkey off. They aren’t quite as adept at stealthiness as he’d hoped. He makes sure to keep himself firmly between them and Jedediah’s line of sight.
“Well, there’s nothing for it. We best get you cleaned up before morning,” he says.
“Nah, s’alright,” Jedediah drawls, flinging some of the grease off of his arms. A few globules accidentally hit Octavius in the process. “Reckon it’ll be easier if I just let Gigantor hose me down after we turn back.”
Octavius wrinkles his nose.
“But then you’ll… have to spend the rest of the night covered in grease,” he points out.
“Guess so,” Jed agrees.
Octavius straightens slightly, trying to draw some of his military authority into his countenance.
“That is simply ridiculous, Jedediah. You cannot possibly be comfortable like that. Come with me to the baths,” he insists.
“Shit, I’ve had worse than this,” Jedediah replies, the stubborn jut of his jaw and fold of his arms at odds with his breezy tone. “Like actual shit, come to think of it.”
“Just because you’ve had worse doesn’t mean you can’t do better. Come with me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Jedediah, you are covered in grease!”
“Well if you don’t like it, maybe you shouldn’ta bribed the monkey to douse me in the stuff!” Jedediah snaps, and then turns on his heel and storms off towards his exhibit.
Octavius’ heart plummets into his stomach.
~
Oh, Christ on a god dang cracker.
Almost as soon as Jedediah wakes up the next evening, he finds himself confronted with Octavius. He’s doing that thing. That stony-faced, hands-behind-his-back, I-have-committed-a-wrong-and-now-I’m-nobly-offering-myself-up-on-the-alter-of-judgment-to-face-the-consequences pose. Hell. Jed knew he shouldn’t’ve pushed it last night, but once again, he’d gone and lost his temper.
He rubs his hands across his face.
“Jedediah,” Octavius says.
“No, dang it,” Jed grumbles.
“It has come to my attention that my recent actions have been most improper and unjust.”
Drawing in a deep breath, Jed claps his hands together.
“Well, good. Glad you learned your lesson. Now what’s say we let bygones be bygones and put this whole mess behind us,” he says, and tries to head for the exit.
Octavius grabs his arm and stops him midstride. He’s standing close. Real close. Close enough that Jedediah could maybe count his eyelashes, if he felt so inclined.
“I could not possibly allow you to forgive me so easily,” he says. “I must make amends.”
“That ain’t necessary,” Jed insists.
“I must admit the truth.”
“No. Nope. No reason for that. Truth’s overrated, y’know, it’s probably better just to keep it all bottled up inside, where it can eat away at you like a nest of angry scorpions… wait, let me try that one again. Pretty sure that was the wrong metaphor.”
“Jedediah, I wish for you to read my Name,” Octavius says.
“Bottled up inside like the genie in one of them mystical…What?” he asks.
If Octavius’ shoulders get any straighter, he’s gonna fold over backwards and fall. That’s just simple physics.
“My name is on my back,” Octavius says. “Though I have attempted to decipher it myself, so far I have met with limited success. I have trusted no one enough to read it for me. But I know I can trust you, and I owe it to you. You see, all this time I have been attempting to discover whether or not you bear a mark yourself. But my means have been subversive and unworthy. In light of this, the only thing I can offer is my own closely-guarded secret.”
Jedediah’s mouth is dry. He lowers his gaze, scuffs a boot awkwardly against the ground.
“Already said I forgave you,” he mutters.
“And as I said, I cannot accept forgiveness so easily,” Octavius insists.
“Forgiveness don’t work like that! You don’t get to set the terms if yer askin’ for my forgiveness! How does that even make any sense?” he demands, hoping the red in his cheeks isn’t as obvious as he thinks it is.
Octavius opens his mouth, and then closes it again, momentarily stumped.
“You’re forgiven,” Jed says, sharply. Then he sighs and claps the Roman on the shoulder. “Now c’mon. I’ve had my fill of this nonsense about Names and marks and whatnot. You want to make it up to me? Don’t bring it up again.”
Octavius deflates a little.
“As you wish,” he acquiesces, without much enthusiasm.
~
Octavius despises Kahmunrah.
Falling through his own gateway to the underworld was too good for him. Octavius wants him to crawl back out just so that he can get pushed in again. He wants Abraham Lincoln to come back and sit on him. He wants someone to shrink that villain down to his own size so that the squirrel can eat him, after Octavius soundly thrashes him in a sword fight and inflicts half a dozen stab wounds. Or more. And then they can hand whatever’s left over to Jedediah, to do with as he pleases.
But Octavius will not have such satisfaction, and so he redirects his energy elsewhere.
“Stop fussin’,” Jedediah complains, smacking his hands away. “A little sand bath ain’t gonna do me any long-term damage.”
“Are you certain? Sand is very abrasive,” Octavius says. Now that the battle is over, they can afford to take some time to inspect themselves for wounds.
“There’s sand in my dang diorama, Octavius! If I tell you that I am fine, then it is because I am fine.”
He looks fine, Octavius can admit. Even so, every time he closes his eyes he sees him back in that hourglass again, at the mercy of that miserable excuse for a pharaoh. Disappearing moment by moment, as the relentless fall of sand swallows him up.
Some of his disquiet must show on his face, because after a moment, Jedediah softens and lets out a heavy sigh.
“C’mere,” he says, opening his arms.
Octavius doesn’t need a second invitation. He swoops in, wrapping his arms around the cowboy, far more gently than usual. Jedediah reciprocates by clapping him firmly on the back.
“For the record, this is a manly survival hug,” Jed tells him.
“Of course,” Octavius agrees.
“…Did you just sniff my hair?”
“No.”
“Right. Manly survival hug.”
“Absolutely.”
“Hands need to be higher.”
“My apologies.”
“It’s alright. It happens. Cultural misunderstandings and all.”
“Just so.”
After a long moment, Jedediah clears his throat.
“Reckon that’s enough now,” he says, and shoves himself awkwardly back.
“Are you certain? I believe social etiquette calls for a much longer hug.”
Jed snorts.
“Only if I’m dyin’,” he says, and begins extricating himself in earnest.
Octavius reluctantly lets him go.
~
Jedediah hates that Lancelot guy.
Blue eyes. What’s so amazing about his blue eyes? They ain’t even really that blue. They’re more like a washed-out… lousy blue. Like old jeans that’ve been left out in the sun too long, except that’s too complimentary, really. Jeans’re too noble to be associated with a man like that, who is a villain who stole the tablet, by the way.
Lots of people have blue eyes. It ain’t a competition.
“What are you muttering angrily about?” Octavius whispers at him, as they ride the bus.
“Nothin’,” he replies. “I ain’t mutterin’.”
“You kind of are, actually,” Gigantor says.
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are,” Sacagawea announces, in that tone of hers that don’t brook no arguments or invite nothin’ in the way of disagreements. Or, in other words, her normal way of talkin’.
Jedediah glares out the window and focuses on keeping his trap shut.
But really, he hates that guy.
~
Octavius has one regret.
It burns in the back of his mind as he lies dying on that rooftop, a heavy weight until he hears Jedediah’s voice drift up to him.
“I’ll take that hand now.”
He lets out a breath, and reaches, closing his grip around a warm glove. And suddenly, that one regret doesn’t seem to matter much anymore.
Names and marks. Fate. None of it really means anything, Octavius thinks, as his limbs go stiff, but his hand remains warm. Does not knowing the full name on his back really change anything? No matter what those letters spell, he is still here, with Jedediah, and he can think of no one else he would rather be with – and no one else he would sooner spare this fate. If that is not a soulmate, then what is? How could any string of letters, no matter where or how they appeared, ever compare with what he knows to be true?
There’s no need for him to read them. He’s had his answer for years now, regardless.
I love you, he thinks. He wishes he could say it, but his mouth will no longer move.
As if he can hear it anyway, Jed’s fingers twitch against his palm, once, before the last trace of movement abandons them.
Then they both are gasping for breath as the life rushes back into them again.
~
After leavin’ the guy to spend some fifty years locked in a box, Jedediah can’t bring himself to begrudge Ahkmenrah some time with his parents.
But he still feels every inch a fool.
They’d been living on borrowed time, and he’d always known it, and what had he gone and done? Wasted it. So much of it. And on what?
Dang it, he can’t even remember what he was so worried about to begin with.
“So. This is it,” Octavius says, after Larry’s left them alone in the silent diorama room. Their men are all still and lifeless, and in just a little while, they will be, too.
Octavius squares his shoulders, and holds out his hand for a shake.
“It’s been an honour, my friend,” he says.
“Aw, hell,” Jedediah replies, and grabs his face, and kisses him like his life depends on it.
Or maybe more like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get.
For one shocked moment, Octavius is completely unresponsive. He smells like dried monkey pee and his lips are chapped, and Jed’s pretty dang sure he won’t be winning any beauty pageants right now, either. But then he’s giving back just as good as he’s getting, knocking Jedediah’s hat off as he pushes a hand into his hair, yanking him even closer until they almost fall off balance. Their noses bump and their mouths misalign and when they finally pull back, it feels like it was too good and not enough, all at once.
And they’re outta time. Just like that.
“I’m sorry,” Jedediah says.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” Octavius tells him, eyes bright, smiling his crinkly-eyed smile.
“I do!” Jed insists. “I knew! And I… I was a dang coward.” He shucks off his shirt, which illicits a startled noise from Octavius, and then wriggles his way out of the top of his long underwear, yanks it down so he can reveal the fancy letters scrawled across his belly.
Gaius Octavius.
“Can you ever forgive me?”
Octavius stares, transfixed by the letters for a moment, and then shakes his head like he’s trying to work his way out of a dream.
“Of course,” he says. “Of course. Jedediah…”
“Don’t say it,” Jed blurts. “If we ain’t ever gonna see each other again, I don’t think I could take it. Just… forgive me.”
“I do,” Octavius promises, stepping forward, pressing another kiss to his lips, his cheeks, his forehead. “I forgive you, a thousand times over. If there is a way, I will find you again, I swear it.”
And then he’s sayin’ things in Latin, and Jed’s sure they’d kill him dead of sheer emotion if he knew what they meant, and it’s enough to make him wish he’d picked up some other language just to be able to return the favour.
“Back at ya, partner,” he says instead, and then stems the tide of words with another kiss.
The light’s coming in, too bright. He forces himself to step back, shrug into his shirt again, fetch his hat. He feels Octavius’s eyes on him the entire time. When he looks at him again, he manages to dredge up enough strength for a smile.
“You really don’t know what’s on your back?” he wonders.
Octavius meets his gaze solemnly.
“I no longer care,” he says. “In the grand scheme of things, I doubt it changes much either way.”
Jedediah thinks about that for a moment, and then shrugs.
“Reckon not,” he agrees.
Then they both scramble back into position.
He doesn’t mean to do it. He knows his pose off by heart, after all. But in the last instant, right before the sun comes up, he can’t help but turn towards the neighbouring display.
At the head of his legions, Octavius does the same.