Work Text:
"..... swear to bring honor to the seat of Emet-Selch."
There's a smattering of polite applause from the other Fourteen and the gathered spectators. So dignified. So boring. And there's Hades standing there among them, looking flattered and proud and a little bit smug. Oh, he'll try to deny it, try to say that he's not worthy of the honor, but deep down he loves it. He's respectable now. Important. Poised to make meaningful contributions to our people, and our star.
He'll never believe me when I tell him he was all those things before. Some men can't see their worth until others assign value to it; can't see the meaning of their work until their office lends it legitimacy. It makes me worry for all the ways that this could change him, this friend of mine. Not that he's the type to care about his own status, but taking the respectability of his office seriously? Oh, I think he is that type, indeed. I can see him becoming as serious and boring as the others - maybe not as self-important as, say, Lahabrea, nor as single-mindedly devoted to his work, but I dread the day I first hear the words 'stop that' or 'I'm reporting you' or 'vandalizing Convocation property is a crime' come out of his mouth, when before he would have simply given a long-suffering sigh, a roll of his eyes, and helped me with whatever I was up to. As happy as I am that Hades is getting the recognition he rightly deserves, I'm a tiny bit afraid of what I might lose in the process, of how things might change for all of us.
There are handshakes all around, and I circle round to make sure I'm last in line. All the members of the Convocation, poised to welcome the newest of our number. Empty words of congratulations. It would be unseemly to celebrate, not with the last Emet-Selch so newly departed - despite the beauty in his return to the star, there's gravity in it, too; reverence must be paid. So there's no champagne to toast our newest member, no cheers - later, we'll celebrate privately, the three of us. Hythlodaeus is getting the cake ready back at my place, hanging the streamers. Hades will get a faceful of confetti launched at him when he crosses the threshold; if he's not still spitting it out hours later, we'll have done a poor job indeed. But for now, as he reaches the end of the reception line, I simply reach out my hand to shake his, and then, when he's stooped a bit low to reach, I rise up on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek - chastely, as a coworker would do.
"Congratulations, Hades," I say into his ear, and he has the audacity to scoff.
"I believe it's proper to address me as Emet-Selch now, Azem," he says, and drifts over to converse with Lahabrea and Nabriales, and I - oh, I have a hard time not feeling just a little bit crestfallen. That didn't take long; I guess it's starting already.
He doesn't come over. Hythlodaeus and I eat the cake, sitting on the kitchen counter with our bare feet thumping against the cupboards. No plates - just the platter between us, both of us stabbing forkfuls out of the uncut cake, a carnage of crumbs and frosting. We leave the champagne chilling in case there's an opportunity to make a big production out of serving it later - if he does show up, however late, we're going to make him feel damned guilty that he bailed on us - and pass a bottle of red wine back and forth between us instead.
And later, when I'm feeling all warm and tipsy and Hythlodaeus is snoring gently on the couch, all wrapped up in my spare blanket, I pull out my tomestone and text him.
< hey loser <3
Minutes go by without a response, and with each moment that passes my stomach sinks. What if he doesn't respond at all? Too busy for me now that he has Convocation work to do; or maybe he prefers the company of the other members of the Fourteen. I'm not sure which idea I hate more. Both feel awful; both gnaw at my belly, making me feel strangely empty for someone who has just eaten half a cake.
When he does reply, I can all but hear the sigh behind his response. He has a whole collection of sighs, but the one he reserves for me is deep and full-bodied; it has always been a point of fond pride that I'm the one who makes him pinch the bridge of his nose between his fingers as he exhales, as if he has a headache. Tonight it doesn't feel like such a badge of honor.
> Must you insist on acting like a child? Lest you forget, we are both professionals now.
I'm just tipsy enough that the words find a mark that he probably wasn't aiming for; I'm an emotional drunk, after all. I take a breath to steady myself before typing:
< ok grumpy, just watned to see how your nihgt was going
There's a long moment where I sit there in my darkened apartment clutching my tomestone as if my whole world hangs in the balance, and I don't know why. It isn't like Hades hasn't ever been irritable with me before over text - hells, it isn't like Hades isn't usually irritable with me over text. And yet—
> Are you drunk? Even ~your~ spelling isn't usually so atrocious.
I think of the untouched bottle of champagne, in the fridge.
< nooooo
< your drunk
He doesn't answer for long enough that I finally give into the temptation to text more, so I add:
< maybe
< but only becuase you werent here
More silence, and then:
< you shuold be here
And suddenly I feel in danger of crying - like I said, I'm a stupid, obnoxious, emotional wreck when I'm drunk. But damn it, he should have been there. We should have all celebrated, and laughed together over stupid things, and at some point in the evening we should both have had just enough alcohol in our systems for him to let me hug him a little too long, one of those full-body hugs where his arms go around me tight and we sway together like we're dancing. Gods damn it, the idea that everything we had might have been ruined, even the things that weren't exactly things—
My tomestone pings at last, and I scramble to check the screen.
> Perhaps it isn't appropriate for us to fraternize outside of work now that we're colleagues. Especially if you insist on behaving like a child.
I set my tomestone aside, and even if Hythlodaeus is confused when I wake him up by flopping down on top of him on the couch and burrowing into his blanket, he's quick enough to wrap his arms around me and hold me as I spend my tears.
For all the things that are changing, nothing changes at work, and I hate it. I figured that my best friend getting hired would mean I'd now have someone to get up to mischief with in the Convocation halls, or at the very least someone to sit with at lunch. But Hades vanishes into the machinery of the place so completely that I barely see him. He's so eager to do his job well that he throws himself into meetings and research, yet he's so determined not to seem eager that he affects an air of indifference. It's as if the friend I once knew isn't here at all, replaced by some brain-stealing, body-snatching creature. I would ask Hythlodaeus if such a creation exists, but I don't want to give him any ideas.
I see him at meetings, of course, from down the length of the conference table - the Third seat is a long way, after all, from the Fourteenth. He's always been rather more serious than the rest of us, but now it defines him, bent over his notes or, increasingly, speaking up to offer his insight. I'm proud of him, of the ways he's adapting to this new career, of the ways in which the Convocation already recognizes the value of his contributions. It's still early days for him yet, but I can tell that he's going to thrive here, at least on the surface. But I worry about how much of himself he's going to lose in the process - how much more of him I'm going to lose.
I corner him after the conference is dismissed. He's gathering his things, and I slide past the seat next to his and perch on the edge of the table. My heart is in my mouth, so afraid that he's going to go and ruin everything again by telling me off, even though I've been on my best behavior and am utterly, regrettably, sober. "Hey, Hades," I say, trying to keep it flippant, indifferent. I want his attention so badly but you'd better believe I'm not going to let him know that.
He sighs, and tsks at me. "Honestly, Azem," he says, "I knew you didn't have an onze of propriety in your body, but I'd have expected you to at least pretend while you're at work."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I intended the words to sound playfully outraged, but I can't quite keep the bewildered hurt from my voice.
"You know you're to address me by the title of my office," he says stiffly. "It's no longer appropriate for you to use my old name."
His old name? I blink. "But—" I struggle a moment to find the words. Oh, I know what Convocation manners entail; I went through a similar transition when I became Azem, adopting the public title of my office in public, but my closest friends - well, other than Hades, I guess - still call me by my real name in private. "You know you're not your office, right?" He turns a topaz stare toward me as if I've said something somehow truly absurd. I swallow hard and go on— "You're still allowed to be you. You don't have to give yourself up." Can't, in fact, lest the Convocation swallow him whole - but he's not listening.
He's gathered his belongings, notes and coffee mug and fountain pen, and is preparing to sweep past me now. "Hades," I say miserably, and when he opens his mouth to argue with me further I go on: "No. Don't make me say it. I worked with Emet-Selch for years - the old Emet-Selch, that is, and he was rude and cranky and every female intern knew to keep an eye on where his hands were at all times, and - fuck, Hades, I don't want to think of you that way. I want you to be you. When I hear the name Emet-Selch I want to think of the old bastard who spat in the water fountains, and not of my - my Hades. Please." It all comes out in one jumbled rush; and maybe I haven't been drinking but damned if I'm not in danger of starting to cry nonetheless.
He stands there, arms crossed around his notepad, staring at me wordlessly for a long moment. "Your Hades. Imagine a member of the Convocation of Fourteen being so selfish," he says at last, and I'm sure I visibly flinch. "We've all given our lives to the betterment of the star; I'm not any one person's anything anymore. And you of all people should know better."
He turns on his heel and leaves, and it hurts too much to watch him go. How, oh how did this go so wrong so quickly? It makes me question the entirety of our friendship, and that is not a mental breakdown that I want to have on Convocation grounds; I'm careful to pick a different door to flee from, back to the privacy of my own office.
I don't exactly mean to avoid Hades, in the days that follow. It's just that every time I think about going to somewhere he might be, in the Convocation halls during the day or to our old hangouts after-hours, the thought that I might run into him there makes my stomach knot tight and I think better of it. I might have a good exchange with my friend and leave feeling better, or I might wind up crying again, and the gamble feels too great right now.
But I can't quite bring myself to leave town, either. There's no official business to be done in the field - it's customary for the Convocation not to schedule such things when a new member takes their seat, so all hands can be on deck to support them for a while - but even then I could invent some reason to travel. It's the majority of my job, after all; I could feign contact from any of the people I've done past favors for and slip away to look into some nonexistent threat. But I don't. There's a part of me that wants to stay where I am, keeping an eye on Hades as if I think something's going to magically change. But I also just ... need to know. I'm a stupid, stubborn idiot who would always wonder if I could have done something, said something, to make things better, and if I flee, well. There will always be a part of me that thinks I'm to blame, that I could have saved my friendship if only I'd stayed. Maybe I'm overthinking it, but ... it's Hades. It's my best friend. I have to be sure.
So I stay in Amaurot, and avoid Hades completely. I didn't say it was a logical thing, after all.
Hythlodaeus offers to talk to him. I turn him down, of course, and then anxiously wait for him to do it anyway. He comes over with fast food, burgers from the diner down the street from the Bureau offices, and we sit in the kitchen and tear the greasy paper sacks open and eat directly from them as if there aren't perfectly good plates an arm's reach away. "I can't make any sense of it," Hythlodaeus says as we're scarfing down our food. "He's somehow even more insufferable than usual."
"Right? That's what I'm saying," I tell him. Then, after a moment's hesitation— "Did he say anything about me?"
Hythlodaeus eyes me over the rim of his soda cup. "Nary a word," he says. "In fact, he avoided talking about you at all costs, despite my best efforts to raise the subject."
My heart sinks. "So it is about me," I say miserably.
"It would seem so," Hythlodaeus says with sympathy, and I do the only thing I can think to do in the moment, and steal a handful of his fries.
I can't avoid him forever. Things are bound to come to a head, and by the time they do I'm ready for it. It's killing me. Eating me alive, all the days I can't bring myself to look his way across the conference table, all the nights I take my tomestone and type out a text only to delete it.
I go by the coffee shop on the corner, the one that caters to Convocation aides and interns that always has the loud music and nervous energy, and get a white mocha, extra shot, extra syrup for Hades and another for myself. I'm sure he'll turn his nose up at his usual order, claim that Convocation members are supposed to have more refined taste, but I need an excuse to approach him. I can't just go in there with my heart on my sleeve, after all. If it's just coffee, and he turns me away, then I can convince myself that he simply didn't want coffee. If I go in there empty-handed and he turns me away - well. I take the coffee.
His door is ajar, so I don't knock; I push it open with my elbow and call out with false cheer to announce my presence. "Coffee delivery!" I say, and ... oh. There's Altima, chatting with Hades, both of them looking so casual as they lean with one hip against his desk, facing each other. Intimate, almost. I'm suddenly hit with the dawning horror that perhaps Hades has been pushing me away not because he's replaced me with work, but because he's replaced me with someone else. For a moment I don't know what to do. I don't know whether to hand Altima the coffee I'd bought myself as if I'd intended it for her, or dump it in her lap. I would hate myself either way.
Fortunately I'm spared yet another censure by the Convocation for my behavior; Altima smiles coolly at me and pushes off of Hades' desk. "I'll bring that book by later," she says to him, and barely acknowledges me with a nod as she slips out the door. Hades is no longer leaning comfortably against the desk; he's standing stiffly, crossed-armed, and makes no effort to reach for the coffee I try to hand him as we find ourselves alone.
"So," I say awkwardly, depositing the coffee on his desk instead. "You and Altima?" I realize I'm jumping to the most ridiculous conclusion possible, but I can't help it. This tension with Hades has been building itself up to absurd proportions in my own head ever since it began; of course my brain latches on to the worst possible outcome.
"Have you lost your mind?" He's staring at me incredulously. Angrily, even, but he seems determined to be angry at me no matter what I do, so what do I care? "You know as well as I do that fraternization between Convocation members is highly frowned upon."
This again. "You say that as if Loghrif and Mitron aren't a thing," I challenge, and he scoffs.
"Yes, and look at how unprofessional—" he starts to say, but I cut him off.
"For fuck's sake, Hades!" I slam my coffee down on the sideboard beside the door so I can freely wave my hands at him. "You agreed to work for the Convocation, not live for them! You're allowed to be a person! Have friends, fall in love, fuck in the broom closet like Lahabrea used to when Athena would bring him lunch—" that one was only a rumor, and I may have been the one to start it, but oh, how he flinches at that— "and - and - do stupid stuff like a human fucking being without the world ending!" I've drawn closer to him as I speak, and I'm right in front of him now, crowding him between me and the edge of his desk; I plant my palms on his chest and give him a little shove, to which he looks utterly flabbergasted. "You can do what you want!" I say fiercely. And oh, I'm aware that by encouraging him to be reckless and human I'm likely pushing him towards whatever he's not doing with Altima, or anyone else, and this probably isn't going to turn out in my favor in the slightest, but I'm so angry at him and his stupid face that I don't care.
He reaches up and grabs my wrists, forcibly removing my hands from his robe, and holds me there, locked in a battle of wills. He's seething, and so am I - oh, I just wanted to bring the man coffee and chat with him. I don't know why things are so damned hard anymore, but I'm so exhausted. I want my friend back, not ... whatever this is. Whoever this stranger is who has my wrists in a death grip, staring down at me, his face so close that I can feel the heat of his golden glare. "I most certainly can not do what I want," he hisses. "Oh, I'm aware that I didn't sign my life away by joining the Convocation, but there are certain things that are off limits now - things that I had to choose to give up when I accepted the offer."
Whatever he means, it's all in his head. I made no such sacrifices when I joined - oh, my life changed tremendously, to be sure. Accepting the seat of the Traveler means that I am home near my friends far less often than I used to be, but I've managed to compensate by dragging them into the field with me whenever I can justify calling upon them for help, and they always come to my aid. The adventures we've had, my friends and I - Hythlodaeus a willing accomplice to my wild schemes, and Hades always grumbling and pretending that he's being put upon but always coming through for me all the same. Life changed, but I didn't. And maybe him taking the seat of Emet-Selch means that he'll be able to join on my adventures less often, but that's the only thing I can think of that he gave up, and it's something he always complained about anyway, so by that logic accepting the Convocation seat was a net gain—
"What are you talking about?" I say, raising myself up on my tiptoes; even then, I cannot hope to challenge his height. He's so close, his face mere ilms from mine, still holding onto me though he's lessened his grip on my wrists. "What did you give up?" I press on, though the answer is obvious. Me. He gave up on me, though I cannot for the life of me understand why. "You've got the whole damned world on a string now, you idiot. That red mask will open doors for you that you could never have dreamed of. What could you possibly want that you can't have?"
He glares at me for a long moment, then releases my hands and tries to push me away. "Forget it," he says, and the heat is gone from his voice. He just sounds exhausted now. Sad. "If you refuse to understand, then I cannot help you, Azem." He tries to pull away, but I fist my hands in his robe and hold him in place.
"Tell me," I snarl. I feel incandescent. Feral. If I'm going to lose our friendship, it's going to go out in a blaze of glory; I won't let him get away with tossing it gently aside as if it's worth nothing. "Tell me what you think you're giving up, you stupid fucking—"
"I told you," he says bitterly. "It's frowned upon for Convocation members to - to be together." I must have looked completely blank at that, for he adds: "In a relationship."
"But—" I feel utterly lost. "You're not in a relationship," I say, dumbfounded. Unless I've missed something in the days that he's spent avoiding me—
His hands go back around my wrists - not to remove them, but to steady them. "Yes, yes. And now I never can be."
I stare at him. "Of course you can," I say stupidly. "You can be with whoever you want!" It feels like the twist of a knife to tell him this - I don't want him to be with whoever he wants, even if that's an idea I can't take out and examine right now. The idea of it pains me in ways I can't understand, but the idea that he would shut himself away and not live his life somehow pains me far more. He deserves the whole world and more, this friend of mine, even if he's being a stubborn ass right now.
"But we're coworkers, Azem." He looks almost as feral as I feel right now; this is paining him too. What is happening? I don't understand where any of this is coming from, just that my friend is being a stupid fucking idiot and I'm too stubborn to let him off the hook. "It would be improper—"
I plant my hands on his chest and give him a little shove, as much as the confines of his hands around my wrists allow, and he immediately pulls me back across the tiny distance that opens up between us. Close, close, so close. I'm accustomed to closeness - all the nights spent listening to music on the sofa of his flat, sprawled out with my head on his lap with Hythlodaeus on the floor next to us reading the liner notes. Or walking back from an evening at the jazz club near the Akademia, swaying with a little too much drink, encircled in the warmth of his arm as he guides me home. But somehow this feels different - the anger and the anguish feel so intimate. Whatever cool, indifferent facade Hades usually wears is gone, and what I'm left with is more raw and real and vulnerable than I've ever seen him. "Then be improper," I say, and tighten my fists in his robe.
He makes a strangled sound in his throat and I honestly don't know which of us closes the gap, whether it's my hands that pull him that much closer or whether he presses forward. I just know the sudden sear of his mouth on mine; I just know that he's there, warm and solid against me as his arms wrap around me and he hitches me close. And oh, the heat and the hunger and the stupid senseless longing in his kiss - how I've waited, wanted, hungered for this. I didn't know, I didn't have a clue, and yet - and yet. Suddenly everything in my entire world tilts and goes tumbling into place, and everything makes sense; everything is right. It's always been Hades; of course it has. It's always been Hades.
I slide my arms around his neck and cling to him as I kiss him back, and oh, it's marvelous, this. Hunger and wonder in equal measure; desperation and joy. The sense that I cannot possibly get enough of him, and the knowledge that I will have a near eternity to have my fill. The knowledge that this is my best friend I'm holding, who I know and love like life itself, warmth and comfort and home, coupled with the thrill of being on the cusp of everything exciting and new. I'm safe and comforted and trembling and terrified all at once, and there, at the center of it all, is Hades. I didn't know. I didn't know, and yet I did; I just didn't see. Oh, we're both complete and utter idiots, aren't we?
I draw back for air, breathless, dizzy, and press my forehead to his. He seems thunderstruck, and I feel no less awed. How quickly our lives just changed. I don't harbor even a drop of fear or uncertainty, though. This is right, and if he tries to take it back, well. He'll never hear the end of it from me; there's nowhere in the world he could go to escape the seat of the Traveler, after all. I chuckle, there against his lips, my arms wrapped around his neck so tightly that he must have felt the laughter bubble in my chest, and he's all dazed and raspy when he murmurs, without a hint of his usual snarkiness: "What's so funny?"
Oh, is this what it's like to have a softer Hades, all husky-voiced and gentle in my ear? I could get used to this so readily, to intimacy and tenderness and ease. "Nothing," I murmur back, already nosing my way back into place for more kisses. "Just thinking about how insufferable Hyth will be when he finds out about this," I tease gently, and I feel him groan.
"Save your concern for the Convocation," he says, and there he is again, my grumpy, outraged friend, but even then he's soft about it, and makes no effort to free himself from the press of my lips on his face as I pepper slow, gentle kisses against the bridge of his nose, the sweep of his cheek. "We'll have an uphill battle ahead of us, if we're to—"
"Hades." I wait for him to make a questioning noise in his throat before I continue, "You're an idiot." And another noise, this one louder and rising with outrage, which I promptly defuse by raking my fingers through his hair and tilting his head just so. Kissing him, and feeling him go soft and pliant against me as if he feels it too, this fascination and reverence. I feel like I could never return to the star, could live a thousand, thousand lifetimes with him, and it would never fully lose that sense of astonishment, as if this too is an act of creation magic, awe and wonder spun from pure aether at each press of our lips.
It's a long while, this time, before he groans and pulls away. "Azem," he says, and then pauses. Looks at me; then closes his eyes as if this pains him still, and carefully, deliberately calls me by my real name, all raw-voiced and throaty; my heart trips at the sound of it. "There's a very important meeting in half an hour, and I would very much like to not be here when it begins."
I feel a smile of pure delight spread across my face. "The esteemed Emet-Selch, playing hooky from work? However will we survive such scandal," I tease, and he scowls at me and grabs me by the hand. I let him lead me down the Convocation halls and out into the sunny street beyond, and my heart soars as I follow him into the unknown.