Archive of Our Own ^beta

You drop your gaze when a small group of Enforcers marched by the shop-front, broom already. Polite, but unassuming as you back slowly through the front door of the bakery and put the broom well-away. Practiced in your careful, casual movements of turning the sign to CLOSED, you shut, locked and then bolted the door for good-measure.

Quietly, you breathe slowly through your nose, before sharply exhaling in relief - the patrol passed by without even taking notice of a baker's young apprentice.

Then, you turn and glower at the three who had taken refuge in the bakery, who you knew were guilty for such an unexpected Topside patrol. "So. What did you do this time?"

Benzo, Silco have practiced poker-faces, but you doubt Vander's ever been able to stick with a lie in his entire life. You deduce this, simply based on how quickly his eyes popped-wide at the accusation, and how he takes too long to answer under your stern glower.

"Excuse you. We are the picture of innocence."

"Aye, we wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Please. I know you guys. You would do something ridiculous, like mess with Enforcers. Now, scoot."

Vander, somehow growing only more colossal everytime you saw him, had laid claim to the counter you had been trying to work at before the trio showed up. Ignoring his pout, you wagged the rolling-pin in your hand for emphasis, before hopped off with an exaggerated grumble, allowing you to return to your work.

He ought to be grateful. Your mentor was not one known for patience, and instead of gesturing with a rolling-pin, they would wield it, especially against strays.

You were nicer then that - probably why they came around on a weekly basis, often bordering on daily.

Your voice, as usual, was patient and calm, "Benzo?" You say, but he only starts whistling casually, glaring at the ceiling-titles, and perhaps even counting them to avoid your look.

How very casual.

You had a trump-card up your sleeve, but focused for a few minutes on rolling out the dough - despite the company, you did have plenty of work to do. The two larger boys were still tense, but also hungry and you had left yesterday's unsold rolls out for a reason - though, when your mentor came back to ask, you'd call it an accident.

Cubing the cold butter before placing it along the dough, soon refolding it to roll it out again for a rare, expensive order of croissants, you asked one question - or rather, said one name. "Silco?"

The boy, who had once  snuck into the bakery at midnight, was now leaning against the display-case opposite of the counter you worked at. He seemed incapable of lying to you, ever since the first night you had met, and drawled without any further prompting,  "Took a trip to the Tower, got a set of Topsider armor. Heavy-duty riot-gear. Could be useful one day."

You nearly dropped your rolling-pin as you whirled around in the midst of Vander and Benzo's whines. "Dammit Sil! Suppose to be a surprise-"

"One you'd think I'd be excited for?!"

Vander had the sense to look sheepish at your croaked exclamation, but Benzo only scoffed, crossing his arms and resuming to glare at a pastry instead of your scandalized face. Silco had no trouble with watching you, calm even as you sputtered in outrage, "I can't... why did you... how did you even get a uniform?!"

"Old Hungry." He admits without a hint of guilt or admonishment, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. It's not as scrawny as when the two of you first met, thanks to tough life on the streets and your contribution of meals. "Not as fortified at it looks... a pity for them, a benefit for us. But such items could have their uses."

Uses? You blinked, before frowning, propping your fists to your hips, "Enforcers got at least a foot-more on you, what do you plan to do - stack on top of each other??" Three kids in a Enforcer uniform, sweet Janna...

"No. But, I do have connections down in the Lanes. Metal uniforms like that, we could get at least a dozen knives out of it-"

"Or gauntlets!"

"And a hammer!"

A sigh, "You could just take one from th' mines..."

Benzo insisted that it just wouldn't be the same, but your attention was still on Silco, shocked while the dark-haired boy only blinked at you, studious. He usually was, but there was something... deeper in his gaze, even as your flustered tone took on a higher-pitch, "Weapons? You stole reinforced-armor for topside to make weapons? For what?!"

He blinks, again, looking puzzled. Like he can't believe you don't already know:

"We're going to war."

"Break it to 'er a little nicer, Sil, s'not like she knows the Lanes," Benzo said with a frown, giving your blank look some sympathy. "Enforcers been bein' right pricks down there - well, more than usual - and it's about time someone stood up to 'em. But it's not like we're going to war..."

"That's not the goal, true. But we all know how Enforcers will react... even if we act in defense, they'll see it as a declaration."

You... weren't quite sure how to react to that.

Enforcers weren't the most desired party, but they provided enough traction among the busy Promenade, that losing their coin would deal a serious blow to business operations.

But, if these three boys were any evidence, you knew however much the aloof, patronizing annoyance that the Enforcers were up here, they were a far different - and cruelest- breed of beasts in the lanes.

You couldn't fault your friends, but you weren't impressed either. That's why you couldn't resist a disbelieving giggle when Silco turned to you and asked, "Will you join us?"

But he was serious. His eyes more serious than anything, but they were still bright, shining with a light you knew all too well, from the very first night you met, and almost every day when he came to visit you.

There's also, oddly, a bit of hope in his ever-serious eyes as well.

"...Silco, what would I even do?"

"Well, I already called dibs on th' hammer-"

"Rolling-pin." Vander suggested helpfully, even though it was obvious your question was rhetorical. You tried, you really, really did, but it was impossible not to roll your eyes so far to the ceiling, that they stayed staring, sending a prayer to whoever listened.

"Yes. I, a mighty baker, taking on some in the most powerful police force in Valoran, with a rolling-pin."

Vander, bless his heart, started with how it wasn't the worst idea they had dragged you into... when the sounds of your mentor and employer sounded from the back, ambling back with the week's flour-delivery.

The three of them immediately began to scatter, Benzo snaking his hand around the display-case for a croissant, Vander nearly knocking over single creaky seating-table on his way out the door, and Silco, far more graceful, flashing towards the front door to follow-

"Wait!"

He stopped, immediately, at the sound of your voice. You figured it was for the linen-wrapped loaf you quickly plucked from a cabinet, racing over to press it into his hands. The edges had been burnt - unacceptable for sale, and after being scolded, you'd been expected to toss the rubbish out.

But Silco had been coming to you for a long, long time now. You knew how to perfectly burn a loaf to the point of unsellable, while he knew how to scrape off the burned bits.

"Come with us," He said, suddenly, as his hand clasped over yours. Your lips parted, but said nothing as you looked at him - expression serious, but with that flicker of hope burning even brighter now. "You don't know the streets - that's okay. We can look out for one another, stick together and face off the whole of Topside, together."

Your name was called from the storage room, just behind the shopfront. Ignoring the baker's voice entirely, Silco had his attention fixed entirely on you, waiting, hopeful...

"I... I have work."

It came out more like a question then a flat-refusal, but you still winced at what had to be the lamest response to... you don't know what this was, or where it came from. The apprenticeship kept you busy, and you didn't have nearly enough time to hang out with the Silco, or his friends outside of their sporadic yet predictable visits.

You had never even been to the Lanes. You didn't just 'not know the streets'... the deeper half the Undercity was a complete stranger to you.

But Silco was not. And though that desiring look for you to join him faded, the bright gleam of his green-eyes did not, and he squeezed your hand, almost in reassurance. "Someday. When you're ready, when you don't have... work," There's a small smile at that, rare on him, but you don't have time to savor the sight of it, or the warmth of his hand even as he gives a finally squeeze. "I'd like to be there with you, when the city is ours."

It borders on a boast, something all Undercity kids frequently say - kids with dreams of better lives, and lives standing at the top.

But you know Silco, and knew that coming from him, it wasn't just words. It bordered on a promise.

Then, Silco releases your hand. Takes the linen-wrapped meal, and by the time the baker steps into the main room, already cross at the sight of your abandoned work on the croissants while you only stand there, staring at the CLOSED front-door, Silco is gone.

A part of you wished you had gone with him, to see the beginnings of that promise come to fruition.

You fiddled with the CLOSED sign - not immediately flipping over as you leaned against the doorway. Arms crossed over an white-spattered apron you had fully grown-into, your nails tapped on your equally flour-splashed arms.

Silco, closer to a man than the boy you had grown up with, has the decency to look sheepish as he sits on the curb with a fresh black-eye. He retains some of his cheeky nature, as exhibited by the innocent-way he looks to you and asks, "Do you have work right now?"

"Do you have a war right now?"

Ducking his chin, he isn't quick enough to hide his smile. "Come now, I haven't used that line in years - "

"And yet you've never stopped with the melodramatics... or the recklessness." Reaching up, you pinch the bridge of your nose as you feel the first wave of a headache crashing behind your eyes. Then, you crack open your eyes again to warily glare down at the man staring up at you - whose attempting, and failing greatly with the black-eye, to look innocent. "Do you not have doctors in the Lanes?"

"None as lovely as you."

"I'm a baker, stupid. I can sew a cut as well as you can dodge, apparently."

Silco placed his palm to his chest in an offended, exaggerated reaction, even while the eye not swollen shut glittered with amusement, and a familiar fondness that softened your irritation. "You, of such little faith. Valiant fighting leaves memories of the mental and physical variety... scars to last the ages with their stories, and yet you decide to mock me for them?"

"Yep." Popping the word, you held a hand out to him. "Considering you want me playing doctor, I feel like I've earned the right. Come in, I have leftovers."

Thankfully, and unfortunately, you hadn't gotten too far in your work for the morning. Only half the dry-ingredients were incorporated into the bowl, an almost rare cake for some party a level up, but you decided to forego even looking at the mixture as you gently dabbed around his eye with a cold-cloth, ice not too far behind.

"Shall I guess, or shall you tell me?" You muse, earning a sigh as you held his chin with your fingers, holding his face gently hostage as you examined the new, deep scars on his upper lip. Not... necessarily a feature that damaged how he looked to you. Different, but not a bad look...

"It's a rather daunting task to lie to you... and a false hope to expect to you to let this go." You hum in a agreement, pressing just slightly harder along his sharp cheekbone, earning a hiss and a explanation, "There was... a tussle. Some don't agree with how we've chosen to go about things - establishing a broad leadership with the local-gangs, doesn't earn you followers or friends, evidently."

"Can't imagine why. Stealing so many of their scores, getting the law to crack down harder than ever..." He frowned at your pleasantly-nonchalant tone, knowing full-well about the sarcasm beneath it. His frown only grew, even as relief came in the form of you bringing the small ice-pack to his aching eye.

Silence reigns between you.

"... do you ever... ever want to stop this?"

"No. Never." Silco said, immediate and unapologetic. The corner of his thin lips turns up in time with his shoulder rising in a shrug. "Don't think I can if I wanted to. I'm in far too deep for me to ever reach the surface again... might as well keep working to make the world beneath it the great nation I know it can be. The Nation of Zaun."

A beat, then his hand reached up to replace yours, holding the cold-pack to his eye. Fingers brush over your skin during the switch, and it tingles from the warmth he provides. You laugh softly, "You, hopeful? Who'd a thought."

"Impossible things happen every day," Silco offers, the partial smile growing a bit wider on his lips, faltering only slightly when you pulled away.

You could almost hear the pout he made when he watched you turn back to the mixing-bowl. It calmed you, though, watching ingredients blend together, uniting into one, from being a separate dozen. And when the silence begin to break at the gentle sound of cracking eggs, Silco spoke again. "You could come down there... I'd like for you to come down there."

"I know." You did. It took you some years the first time he made the offer, but you weren't stupid, and he wasn't all-that subtle. You knew him too well. "But if you get your face beat on a daily-basis, I can't help but be worried on how I will get by."

"You'll get by fine. You honestly think Benzo, Vander or myself would let anything happen to you?" The young-man sounds borderline offended, and also perplexed. Like the idea of you ever getting hurt under his watch was simply ludicrous.

"Yeah, and with my trusty rolling-pin, we'll be an unstoppable force among the Lanes."

"See? Now you're getting it." The praising tone brought a small warmth to your ears, but you hid it by turning your attention to gathering the egg-shells - botanist up in the Alcoves district had a garden to fertilize - before returning to stir the flour gently, pouring the wet-ingredients in.

Once again, the comfortable silence between you broke, gently. "You could always stay here. With me."

Silco snorted, and didn't bother to cover it up. "I think we're both well-aware of the difference in Enforcer-presence between the Lanes and Promenade, and I... can't." Silco, known for his words and being annoyingly good at using them, finished his sentence so lamely you had to look over your shoulder with a raised-brow.

"You mean you don't want to, not you can't. I know you, Silco," You speak over the sharp-inhale suggesting a defense was on its way, and the sound of him pushing off the counter to stand straight. "You love the Lanes - you risk limb, life and liberty for them. But you wouldn't leave them."

It took you a while to figure that one out, but when the visits dropped in frequency, Enforcer-presence became more common, and Silco routinely came to the bakery with wounds or scars, it truly hit you that, despite all that, he returned to the Lanes at the end of it all.

And you didn't fault him for that, but judging by the quietness of his voice, he clearly thought you did.

"I... Zaun is young. Young, and it relies on it's youth to fight, and rise it from the depths. I can't leave it... and I don't want to." A small smile dances on your lips, even as he sighs as he says the obvious, "I don't want to abandon my city, not when I know I can see it grow into the Nation it was always meant to be."

"I know. And I don't necessarily want to leave this all behind either." Yes, the baker getting-up in their years didn't make them any less stern, or any more pleasant. But there was routine here you enjoyed too much to abandon, folks along the Promenade that relied on your business and, of course, there was the obvious: what would you even do in the Undercity?

You doubted there was a thriving baking community below the surface... or decent culinary equipment not made from scrap-metal.

You voiced this as much, and Silco sighs, a bit dramatically. "As our numbers grow, we would benefit from having an on-site cook, you know," The suggestion was met with a scoff, then a blink of surprise when he stepped closer - close enough that his body-heat was shared with yours. “And, I think we both know full-well that… the lack of distance between us would also be a sort of benefit.”

The pause in your mixing only lasted one-skipped heartbeat, but you resumed almost coyly, "Silco, if I didn't know any better, I would say you actually want me there." Your teasing only earned you a short exhale through nostrils to show his bemusement, but you continued, still playful and unassuming, even if you were anything but. "Why? Miss my food?"

A finger reached out, and scooped up some batter that had dribbled from the side of the bowl.

"If you only knew of the slop they sell at the corners… and unlike here in the Promenade, their creators aren't usually pretty enough to make-up for the lacking in flavor." His offhanded flattery, toeing the line of flirtation, was overshadowed by the unacceptable tasting of the cake-batter, which you tried to halt with a swat of your mixing-spoon.

The jerk dodged, and seeing your ire, stroked it to new heights by sticking the finger into his mouth, oblivious to your fuming as he hummed at the taste. "Hm. Sweetness. Not something usually found in the Lanes, though I've certainly acquired taste for it..."

"So you come up here to get your weekly-fix and pester me?" You grumble, "I'm flattered." Words were juxtaposed in action, as you again went to swat at him with your mixing-spatula.

Some of the batter, maybe only a few drops, went flying with the action, and peppered a angular cheek. The young man jerked from the action, but his reflexes kicked in at the same time, and before you could smack him in-true, his hand flashed out to the bowl, and-

Batter, splattered across your nose.

A blink, as you stared at Silco. Teal-eyes watch you casually, neutral even, as he pointedly reached for a nearby towel to rid himself of the evidence.

But it was a blow one cannot forgive, and that one cannot allow to go unpunished.

Silco jumped when a drier fistful of the mixture exploded on his chest, and you couldn't stop the giggle from bubbling up as he gazed down, almost stricken at the splattering of flour, like it had been a gunshot instead the beginnings of a silly, silly food-fight.

"... Apologize."

"Never."

It was a declaration of war. One that was met with a hand flashing out to gather another handful, this one landing with a wet splat on your shoulder.

The way the two of you devolved into pure childishness, of the likes of which you didn't even experience when you were actually children, was absurd.

Ridiculous, as your cackles turned to shrieks, with Silco's silent grin breaking into a small, audible chuckle. The chase around the counter was not hindered by your larger, nearly-adult sizes - in fact, after a particularly skilled throw, with flour-mixture splashing his inky black hair, the man smoothly hopped over the counter you were eager to keep between you.

"Silco-!"

Escape was already impossible, but Silco's arms wrapping around your waist felt like the metaphorical sound of lock clicking shut. Stupidly long, wiry arms caged to you against the counter, before it snagged the mixing-bowl nearby and you were helpless to push him away.

An audible smack, and you gasped in outrage, but Silco's evil little smile only spread into a grin as he thumbed the mess, smearing it across your cheek.

"You're evil."

"Perhaps."

"Annoyance..."

"Both you and Enforcers seem to think so."

"Intolerable."

Long dark hair brushes against your forehead, just before his own rests against yours - body heat capable of melting you if you didn't freeze at his quiet, musing sigh. "You love me, though."

Silence passes with time, but he just stands there, resting his forehead against yours - one eye swollen, the other gently closed. After a moment, your eyes close too, and as silly, messy and caked-in-cake batter that you are, you take a moment, and just bask in the fact that he’s here.

Not for long - he’ll leave again, but the fact that he’s always come back, that he’s always sought you out, ever since the first night you both met... that gives you that hopeful feeling you’ve seen in his face.

Both your eyes are closed, with Silco’s arms around you, and for a moment, you think it can stay like this - that you can be like this, forever.

And you start to tell him as such, “Silco?”

It’s hard not to shiver, when his breath is so warm, and only inches from your own.

“Yes?”

“I... we could-”

There’s never been a louder slam of a door opening in your entire life, and you and Silco immediately jerk back from each-other in surprise at the volume. You aren’t given enough time to mourn the divide, because your mentor in already rounding on you both, finger and tongue already wagging in outrage.

“I...! The gall of you two- you clean this up now, and you!” You are required to take a moment to recover with how sharply the mop was shoved into your arms - and your gut, and you look up in time to see Silco actually appear weary at the seething rage of your mentor, driving him backwards towards the door. “Out! Out, and STAY out, damn sump-raker!”

The insult is enough to cool his hesitancy, and Silco’s is cool enough to carry like a breeze, “Customer-service like this, explains why I don’t pay.”

“Yeah, and i’ll get the Enforcers crashin’ down on you the next time you do! Stay out.” The seething tone has you clutching your broom, and you step forward the moment Silco is shoved out the door, half-stumbling. Catching himself with ease, his bright green meets your own in the instant before the door shuts, and once more, you’re the target of the baker’s ire.

It’s quieter, however, and only comes with a shake of the head in disgust at the sight of you, clenching a broom, with yourself and counter coated in the remains of a food-fight. “Unbelievable...”

You counted yourself lucky that they only turned, storming away without sharper words, and a unspoken order to clean-up. That didn’t need any further prompting, and guilt began to brew inside as you made quick work to wiping up the floor, brushing batter from your face in the meantime.

It had always been disapproved-of, your relationship to Silco and the others. While you were thankfully never caught for feeding him that first night, and all the others that came after, the presence of fissure-foundlings was not an appreciated sight, and with Enforcers closing closer and closer in on the rumblings from deeper in the Underground...

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Silco doesn’t dare to knock any louder, but you’re quick to look up at the quietest of sounds from him. Giving a scan of the shop from beyond it's front door, it only takes him a second for his eyes to find you, and after another, to mouth one-question.

"Tonight?"

Tonight.

Tonight, could mean a million things. It could mean problems, rather than solutions - confliction, rather than conclusion.

Tonight leaves far too much open for interpretation, and you already made a mess of the kitchen - a mess between you and Silco would preferably like to be avoided as well.

And yet, you find yourself mouthing back, without any hesitation, "Yes."

The smile that crosses his face, and that hopeful, bright gleaming in his eyes, is quick to make all those doubts go away, and makes your cleaning-hands work even quicker, for the sake of tonight.