Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Inej comes back in a puff of laughter and wild, loose hair escaping from her braid. She’s almost always quiet, wary and observant, disappearing in the noises — but today is a special day. Today is the day before their best friends’ marriage. 

Today his Wraith, his Spider, his Inej, his everything comes laughing, shutting her eyes and moving swiftly over the rooftops. 

He’d asked — wondered whether he should go to the harbor to pick her up, feeling horribly frustrated by the fact he didn’t even have a precise time for her arrival. And maybe, more than a little bit annoyed that she hadn’t even bothered to reply to his last letter. But Inej always likes to do things her own way, he supposes, so it’s no surprise. The Wraith isn’t one for predictability, after all. She leaves you hanging, uses silence deliberately like an invisible rope hanging over your head, sewing intricate threads — a spider web made of secrets and quietness. That hadn’t stopped him from worrying a million times whether she was okay or had been attacked or really, if it’s appropriate for him to go fetch her and —

She beats him to it. 

She catches him by surprise, like she always has. He’s in his office, writing and reading over the week’s notes on transaction and profit, trying to hold up his leg in a way that wouldn’t hurt (it still hurts, in a quiet and ruinous way). Right now, he’s terribly focused, so lost in his work like he so often is that he doesn’t even see her come, that he doesn’t even catch sight of her from the corner of his eye. That’s a failing on his part, a weakness, something he can’t afford. Not ever, not with anyone, because a shortcoming in the Barrel means certain death. But with Inej…he thinks he can manage.

“Good to be back, Kaz,” he hears her murmur, startling him from his reverie, and echoing the words from all those years ago. 

Kaz whips his head quickly, unable to speak, left with his mouth hanging a bit open, because right there, just on top of his office roof and in front of his open window — is Inej. Dressed as a pirate, white linen shirt and a deep blue vest covering her slim body. Knives tucked everywhere, as usual. Kaz doesn’t even have the time, the energy to take it all in, because in seconds she’s laughing, throwing her head back in that way that makes locks of her hair get free from her braid and the rest of the world cease to exist. Kaz feels a bit like a fool, jerking his head upwards to catch the full glory of Inej laughing under the sun, eyes closed in pure bliss. It’s so much, so much.

It’s all so reminiscent of the afternoons they’ve spent together, ages ago — Kaz meticulously working on his schemes, Inej feeding the crows — that it hits him with the force of a bullet, leaving him with nothing to do but to stare and stare. He thinks he possibly may be blushing, too. 

He believes she has noticed, if the way she laughs, almost derisively, is anything to go by. 

“Did I make you at a loss for words, Kaz?” she teases.

Yes, he thinks, but he’s not going to say that. 

Kaz clears his throat. “Never, Wraith. I see all those months away at sea haven’t taken away your eagerness.”

Inej stops her laughing, chest slowly falling into a soft rhythm. She looks at him with an unsettling sort of intensity, like she’s silently challenging him — and it’s a look Kaz has seen on countless occasions, now. It would almost annoy him, if he didn’t know it’s all in good nature. There's a smile on her lips, too; a small, private one. Almost like she’s saying enough words with her eyes alone, and that — being able to understand Kaz and be understood — pleases her beyond measure.  

She’s still standing outside his window, though, and Kaz — he’s a gentleman, after all. 

He offers her his gloved hand. 

Not that he thinks Inej needs it, with her lithe body and swift movements. It’s more like he wants to do it.

Inej darts her eyes away from Kaz’s, down to his waiting hand, and takes it in her own. He guides her attentively inside his room, and waits until she’s with her feet planted on the ground to let go of her. He almost wants to kiss the back of her hand to see if her lips would quirk up in a smile, if her eyes would gleam in amusement. He has done that plenty: on nights spent watching the stars from his rooftop and on more private, intimate ones, where kisses come easier and the world seems full of blessings . On nights even Kaz could believe the existence of Saints.

But it has been months since he has last seen her and Kaz — he’s feeling oddly overwhelmed.

Inej smiles, though, and his gaze lingers on her exposed collarbone, the beautiful glow of her dark skin, the silkish hair tickling the soft skin of her neck, her deep eyes, her small mouth, the curve of her nose.

It feels overwhelming. It feels like a miracle. 

How can she possibly get more beautiful each time he sees her? She’s lovely, lovely, and he aches with the need to tell her, and the inability to get the words out. 

Kaz realizes, maybe a bit slowly, that he still hasn’t said much. He knows Inej isn’t uncomfortable around silence, and he isn’t either, but this? She still manages to make him weak, to take him aback.

She’s also still waiting for him to say something, giving him the grace of patience. 

“Was your trip here a good one, Wraith?” he says, meeting her eyes again as he does.

Her eyes light up with something, but it’s a brief thing, because his Wraith masters well the art of silence and balance above all else. “Very good. The sea was kind and giving,” she murmurs. “It’s almost as if the Saints wanted me to arrive here early.”

“Your Saints, Inej, would want you strong and fighting at Sea.”

“You can’t possibly know that,” she huffs. “They’d want what’s best for my fate. Being here now is destiny.” Kaz rolls his eyes.

It’s good to see she hasn’t changed a bit

“Was being captured as a little girl destiny, too?”

“I have no time for your acidic retorts.” When  she speaks, she sounds dry and firm. He knows he’s said the wrong thing — and just about has the time to feel sorry for it before she changes topic. 

“When is the merry couple getting married tomorrow, anyway?” Inej asks, looking all around herself like Kaz’s office is an old friend. 

“Late afternoon. Alys’ country house,” Kaz rasps. He sees Inej nod like she understands, and clean one of her knives — he thinks it’s the one called Lizabeta — with a clean towel. 

There’s a few more seconds of silence — or maybe minutes, Kaz couldn’t tell — until Inej speaks again, soft and deliberate. “Kaz…” she murmurs, holding a hand out. It’s a small hand, that much he knows, because by now he knows and recognizes and adores her body, really, even if the waves still come to claim him as their own and drown him until he can’t breathe. He loves Inej, and he adores every single detail of her body. Right now, he watches as she slowly, delicately reaches her hand out to brush fingertips against his own. There’s almost a question tacked into that one small word, a silent one, a soft one, and Kaz really does love the sound of his name on her tongue.

“Yes, darling?” He says, feeling bold. He sees her blush lightly, and allows himself to feel good about it 

“I have brought you something,” she murmurs, still keeping the tone of her voice light and deliberate .

Kaz doesn’t know what he expects. A token of her strength, a symbol of her revenge, maybe some teeth of an infamous slaver, a finger of a dead man, a valuable information that she’s overheard on board.

That’s not what he gets.

Inej searches in one of the pockets of her trousers and then —  held softly just above her palms — are shells and stones, blue and green and glimmering. Kaz doesn’t know a lot about the True Sea, but right now he does know these stones make a beautiful sight. Inej just holds her hands out, as if she’s just waiting for Kaz to scoop them in. 

He blinks, startled. She looks a bit sheepish, too — and it’s a weird look, on the fearsome Wraith —- not one he minds, certainly. If anything, he feels lucky to be allowed to see this side of her too. Inej offers him a soft smile. “This is a gift. I found each of these on the sand, or I dove in to get them at the bottom of the sea. I thought of you every time I picked them up.”

I thought of you, I thought of you. Those words burn in his brain like paper set aflame.

Kaz nods, slowly, and scoops them in his own gloved hands carefully. Now that he can see them contrasting against the black of the fabric he always wears, they reflect shades of bluish green even more. “They’re beautiful,” Kaz murmurs. He doesn’t say, just like you, but he sure does think it. 

Now there’s this image of Inej, diving into the seas and down to the bottom of the ocean, swimming gracefully and collecting all those small things just for him. Small, unnoticed details. Kaz sure does love those, details never go unnoticed to him — and he feels warm knowing that Inej has lingered on this routine, this small moment just for him. 

The image of Inej: swooping in into endless blue water, moving swiftly and gracefully like a mermaid. Kaz tries and tries to keep the image of water and death at bay. He doesn’t want to associate Inej with death, ever, too afraid that it would come up to creep up his spine anyway.

But he finds himself surprised to discover that there’s none of it now, in his office, illuminated by a dim light — Inej’s hair caressing her cheek and neck oh so gently. He finds, surprised as one can be, that he doesn’t feel the usual pull towards a pitch black. No death, do dread, no fear. They seem worlds away, echoes of sirens’ chants lost in the wind, remembrance of something far, far away. Now, all he can think of is that Inej looks wonderfully alive. Alive, in the way her eyes gleam with something like joy, alive in the way her blush spreads through her cheeks, alive, with delicate fingers lightly caressing Kaz’s, testing the waters.

He thinks, absentmindedly, that he’s still in his gloves.

He ought to take them off.

And he does, he does, relishing in Inej’s delighted twitch of lips, in her light gasp and in her hand coming to hold his, firmer now. Bolder, because she knows he can take it, she knows time has passed since he shaked at such delicate touch. Oh, how he loves this. He wants to make amends, to make himself better, stronger, to see her this bold, this brave around him more and more and more.

He wants to give her everything.

Instead, he murmurs some words he’s tucked away in his chest like a treasure at the bottom of his ocean. “Sorry, Inej”

Her eyebrows furrow. “What for, Shevrati?”

He grins at the sound of that name. Know–nothing.

He grins, and he lets himself come a bit closer, walking into the delicate, holy halo that surrounds Inej. He doesn’t believe in Saints, and times have passed since he left the pretenses and hypocrisies of something holy existing, or caring about him. But the sight of her like this — the existence of Inej, brave and lovely and alive — it sure does feel like the most holy thing he’s ever known. 

“For what I said earlier, Inej,” he does kiss her hand now.“For everything, everything.”

Every wrong word, everything left unsaid. 

He sees Inej stutter, a bit like she’s feeling vulnerable, much like Kaz feels too. She has taught him that: there’s no shame in stripping yourself bare, in giving your heart to other hands, Kaz. You have to do that, if you want to be with someone . And she is his Wraith, his Queen, the only one he could allow himself to be weak with. As much as a man like him can stand to be weak, that is. 

But He’s not Dirtyhands with her, and she’s not The Fearsome Wraith. 

They’re just Kaz and Inej. A boy and a girl. 

She seems taken aback, almost a bit uncomfortable, made speechless. And that’s a weird look on her: her silence is always deliberate, a choice, something she exercises on others, something that gives her power. But she can’t be powerful all the time, he assumes. That’s another giveaway, another frailness she allows herself in front of him too.

Now, Inej looks at him, expression unreadable and skin glowing and he thinks — this is enough.

Inej, when she gets her words out, sounds testing, but pleased, too. “That’s a good thing to hear from you, Kaz,” she smiles. “You should tell me you’re sorry more often.”

“Will you forgive me now, Wraith?” he murmurs, not caring about a thing in the world but her words, her reply.

Her eyes glint with mirth. “Maybe,” she whispers, “But I like you the way you are. Difficult and crooked, at times.”

Kaz smiles, unable to stop himself. “Always one for idealism, Inej.”

Chapter Text

Kaz has never liked too much noise.

However, in the Barrel it could be useful. To hide theft, to confuse pigeons, to conduct his work better and better still. It could be a diversion.

What it is now, though, is none of that. It’s bright, joyful noise, with laughter and cheers laced with it. It’s sappy, and so disgustingly fit for Wylan and Jesper’s wedding, but Kaz tolerates it. He likes it, even, if it means it makes his best friends happy. This is noise for the sake of noise: noise because they can allow it, and they’re happy. 

They’re stupid, but they are happy too. He’s their best man, and he wasn’t surprised when Jesper told him, but he didn't take it lightly. Most of all, it was a relief to be able to sit next to Inej in the first row of seats, to have her anchoring him to the present. It’s a bit overwhelming, too: all that joy and all that love shared freely, unapologetically.

To stand there and see his best friends bound themselves to eternity is its own kind of torture, because he isn’t able and never would be to tell them how much he loves them. How much he wishes them well.

They don’t seem to mind it, though: they never do. It seems they have become accustomed to the failings and rough edges of having Dirtyhands as one of your closest friends. They seem not to expect anything from him, like having him be present and near and silent and rude is enough. Good, he thinks. He finds it oddly reassuring.

The afternoon is long, and there are a lot of tears. Not from Kaz, necessarily, but from Inej, certainly — sitting by his side and sobbing in the quietest way. From nearly everyone, or…certainly, from the people closest to the grooms. Colm, Marya, Nina, even Matthias — they all shed tears at some point, and Kaz is left there, unmovable and left unable to do nothing but stare.

There is something on the tip of his tongue. Something swooping in his stomach that feels like endless affection, an incommunicable feeling that hits him with a force that almost takes him by surprise. 

Kaz feels...so much. Pure, unbidden affection for Wylan and Jesper, adoration for the way Inej’s shoulder brushes over his ever so slightly, overwhelmedness and almost a sense of impotence in front of it all. But he doesn’t shed any tears; he just watches and watches and watches in utter and complete silence.

He watches as Jesper and Wylan begin to pronounce the vows, their gazes never straying from one another, completely wrapped in their own world. Even from his spot, he can see their eyes filled with such pure adoration and love that it feels almost uncomfortable to look at.

He watches, as a man like Jesper is now nothing but serious, eyes gleaming with tears the whole time, his face just a mere mirror of all his raw emotions. Kaz can see everything, everything: love, adoration, want, vulnerability.

There is so much vulnerability. So much, that Kaz has started to feel uncomfortable. 

Vulnerability isn’t an option, not really, for a man like Kaz — it means weakness, giving away his power to greedy hands.

Danger.

Inej had been his weakness, his vulnerability all those years ago, and Jan Van Eck had noticed it and punished him for being so stupid to let his guard down. 

It’s not an option, but when he thinks of it, all the doings and undoings of the past few years, all the effort put into getting better — they’ve been made in the name of Inej. In the name of vulnerability, too, in a sense.

Kaz isn’t sure what that means.

But he keeps watching, nonetheless. He watches the way their lips quirk into a smile — more often than not — or the way Jesper mouths something to Wylan, whispering something that no one else could hear. Gentle reassurances, sweet nothings, Kaz supposes. Wylan is silent all the time, serious, eager, blue eyes stubborn and sincere, like they’ve always been. But his lips stretch wide in a smile every time Jesper whispers something just for him to hear.

Jesper is the first to cry. They aren’t even done with their vows — before exchanging the rings — when Jesper starts to sob. Wylan cries too, later, but it’s much quieter. Jesper cries and cries and cries almost for the entirety of the ceremony.

The thing is, there is so much noise.

Now, the people are clapping and cheering when Wylan kisses his freshly–made husband and pulls him down as they both smile, wide, idiotic. There’s so much noise, later, too, with music and people laughing and the press of bodies and small talk that Kaz doesn’t really subscribe to. He just sits at his table, and does what he can to enjoy the frivolous conviviality. It’s made better, certainly, by the presence of Inej at his side, always at his side. 

Now, they’re all sitting in round, embellished tables in a garden. It’s a stretching afternoon, soft with a light they don’t usually get in Ketterdam, and the space is adorned with fresh flowers. It’s so distinguishably beautiful and nostalgic, that Kaz doesn’t have the words for it. He just feels, and feels.

Wylan and Jesper have sorted the Guests into many different tables: Marya sitting close to Colm and Inej’s parents. Alys and Bajan and Plumje. And even their friends from the Barrel: he can see Rotty and Specht and Anika and Pim, already looking drunk as anything and trying to contain themselves.

It’s no wonder they made a table solely for Kaz and Inej and Nina and Matthias.

The merry couple has graced them with their presence, too. What it means, though, is that they are in the middle of the garden, and lots of attention is planted on them, because this is the table the freshly made husbands are sitting at.

Kaz doesn’t like all the prying, all the attention, all the joyous jubilee — not really. But he can make do for his best friends. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Inej leans her head on his shoulders, closed eyelashes and ebony hair let loose on her back. It’s so reminiscent of endless, delicate nights they’ve spent together that Kaz feels his heart skip a bit.

“Yes,” he rasps, voice feeling unsteady. “It is beautiful.”

“You two stop acting like disgusting lovebirds and come enjoy the dinner,” comes Nina’s yelling, far too loud than necessary.

Apparently, dinner has been served.

Inej sighs, and squirms on her seat, taking her head away from Kaz’s shoulder. 

“As if you haven’t spent the past hours making out with Helvar in the back garden,” Kaz spits out. Yes, he is bitter about Zenik making Inej leave her head from his shoulder, and so what?

He’s extremely pleased when he sees both Nina and her Fjerdan flush and horrendous shade of pink. “How…how did you know that, Demjin?” Matthias splutters.

Kaz grins, “I thought I wouldn’t hear that nickname anymore, Helvar. It’s good to be reminded of good old times.”

He just about catches Matthias’ furrowed face morph into an amicable smile before—

Jesper rattles his forks on their table, and every one of them turns their head to watch him. “Silence” he sentences, and Wylan, draped all over him and sitting on his lap, just giggles.

He thinks he’s tipsy already. He thinks they both are.

“No one is allowed to make out at our wedding,” Jesper continues. “If anything, me and Wy are the only ones who could.”

“Jes,” Wylan complains, squirming where he’s sitting on top of him.

“What, Mr. Fahey?” Jesper kisses his cheek, and nudges his head against his neck until Wylan turns around to kiss him properly. They have decided to join their surnames together, into something like Van Eck–Fahey, or Fahey-Van Eck, Kaz honestly has no clue. But Wylan has been calling Jesper Mr. Van Eck all evening, giggling and kissing him stupid. Every time they call each other like that, they both burst into laughter, like that’s the most fun and amusing thing that could ever happen to them.

Kaz turns around, not wanting to be presented with the sight of his best friends having no privacy.

Nina snorts. “Well, we must get to the dinner plates, mustn’t we?”

They do.

Inej, at his side, ever so slightly touches her elbow on his, maybe unintentionally, but neither of them say anything. The evening — it lingers, like red wine flowing on a tabletop.

He’s not exactly comfortable, or pleased — but he makes do. His presence was asked, wanted — and that’s enough already. It has to be. Even if Inej laughing and chattering with their friends is the only thing that grounds him.

Jesper and Wylan start dancing, then, to some sappy slow music that has them wrapped in each other and sway slowly.

Gross, he thinks. But another thought comes to him, unwanted and uncomfortable: good, good, they’re happy. They’re swaying around, with hands on waists and too-big smiles that just scream I’m in love. He knows it wouldn't be ideal if they were in the Barrel — bare, vulnerable like that. Pigeons. And yet, he can't help but wish he and Inej could do that very thing.

They are in their stupid waistcoats they were terribly pleased about, Jesper’s lilac one with embroidered jurda blossoms, and Wylan’s light blue with embedded little stars all around his buttons. He doesn’t care much about those details, because it doesn’t matter much to him, but he knows it means a lot to them. That they chose those patterns and colors because they wanted something that would speak their own language.

Dancing — it’s a thing he knows he would be far too embarrassed and incapable to even try, so his body goes rigid as Nina and Matthias join the dance, and almost everyone else finds a partner of their own.

Inej stays at his side, though, silent and beautiful and observant. There’s something like a question lingering on the air. 

“I suppose you don’t want to dance,” she murmurs, putting words to the silence falling over them .

If only it was just as easy. 

But no, the press of all those bodies close is still something that makes him want of vomit. She knows that, she knows that, and then why is she asking? He feels a spike of rage at the thought: unwelcome, unwanted. He knows Inej doesn’t deserve that, and yet he’s given people less than they deserved over and over again. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Wraith,” he murmurs, reaching out to grab her wrist in hand. 

She jerks to look at him, chestnut brown eyes wide and surprised, hair falling off her shoulder. Kaz exhales shakily.

Saints, is she beautiful.

Inej doesn’t say anything; she just keeps looking at him with guarded, hurt eyes, like she’s expecting him to do something stupid, or maybe challenging him to do better, be a better man for her.

Kaz inhales, for her, and doesn’t know where he finds the words to speak next.

“I heard there’s a quiet space, just behind the alcove right here. We could go, if you want to…” he leaves the sentence hanging, feeling a heavy lump on his throat at the exposed vulnerability.

When he looks back at Inej, he finds her with an eyebrow raised, and a little amused grin on her face. “You want to dance alone with me, Kaz Brekker?” She murmurs, and her voice sounds like a weirdly comforting lullaby.

Kaz groans, feeling his face flush and body go rigid. Why does she have to tease me like that, he hopelessly thinks.

"Yes, Inej," he breathes. Then, he leans forward to press a kiss on the back of her hand. Reverentially, slowly.

He hopes it conveys the force and depth of his devotion.

Inej remains silent, and Kaz thinks he can spot the hint of a blush even on the dark skin of her face. She looks endlessly pleased, though, and that is more than enough for Kaz.

She presses harder on his hand, then, urging him to stand up, to follow her, to dance with her. And that's what they do: not as close as Kaz would like to be, but close, nonetheless. He can smell the scent of her hair, he can feel the place his gloved hand rests on her waist, he can hear the bubbling sound of her laughter close to his own ear.

He spends the whole evening uselessly, stupidly thinking I love you, I love you, I love you.

He thinks that this, for now, is enough.