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“You’re doing what?”
Wax turned back to find Wayne several paces behind him, stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. He looked up at Wax in horror.
Wax sighed, walking over to join him. “I’m retiring,” he repeated.
“You can’t retire,” Wayne said. “You know that ain’t real.”
Wax raised an eyebrow. “You think retirement isn’t real.”
“‘Course not. It's made up by criminals, on account of them trying to trick hardworking folks into giving up persecuting ‘em. They convince a conner to give it up just as he's getting into his prime detectiving years. Then—" Wayne snapped his fingers in front of Wax's nose. "Murderer's home free."
Wax batted his hand away. “Criminals didn’t invent retirement, Wayne.”
Wayne shook his head in sympathy. “‘S’what they want you to think, mate.”
“It'll be fine," Wax said, trying to steer them back on topic. "It'll be weird at first, but you and Marasi are more than capable of chasing down the big stuff. I've got plenty of other things to keep me busy—senate hearings, new experiments I want to try. Frankly, the constables will probably be relieved to hear I'm backing down. Do you know they've been making Marasi write reports on what I'm doing? And after what happened in New Seran, with the Bands… I feel like I'm finally ready to leave my past behind me. Start fresh. Does that make sense?"
Wax looked over at Wayne, vaguely surprised that he hadn't interrupted yet. Wayne’s expression was unreadable. “Start fresh,” he echoed, in the odd way he sometimes did when he was learning a new voice.
“Yeah.”
Wayne’s eyes hardened. “You promised,” he said, voice tight.
Wax frowned. “Promised what? When?”
Wayne's face went carefully blank. “Nothing.”
Wax felt, suddenly, that he was missing something. "Wayne—"
"'S'nothin'," Wayne said breezily, waving a hand through the air and dancing lightly around Wax, making his way backwards down the sidewalk. Wax watched with narrowed eyes, tracking his movements.
"You oughta celebrate,” Wayne said. “New phase o' life, and all that. Alas, duty still calls for the working man. Taking your leave, m'lord." Wayne bowed deeply, then turned on his heel and disappeared down a side alley.
Wax watched him go, blinking in confusion. He felt off-balance, unsure how this conversation had spiraled so quickly out of control. He walked slowly, thinking, the tassels of his mistcoat rustling softly. He'd known Wayne wouldn't be thrilled about his retirement. He had prepared for that. He also expected Wayne would soon invent some fake crime to try to drag him back in the game; against his better judgment, Wax was actually looking forward to it.
But something was wrong, something he’d missed. Promise, he thought. What did I promise?
And suddenly, the pin dropped.
Wax was an idiot.
“I didn’t mean to,” the kid whined, trailing behind Wax as he led them out of the bar, gun smoking. “Honest. It’s just, I could tell by his clothes he was from the city, and I figured, well, it’s always good to practice my voices, ain’t it? ‘Specially if you ever need me to go undercover. And I didn’t mean to grab his hat, but he just left it right out on the back of his chair. And I thought to myself, there’s no better way to get inside a man’s head than by gettin’ inside his hat. And then—”
Wax turned abruptly, causing Wayne to slam into him. Harmony, but he was still skin and bones, even after nearly a year. Wax glared down at him. “I don’t need to hear the story again. I was there, remember?”
Wayne stood up straight, stiff as a board. “Yessir.”
“I told you to stop calling me that,” Wax grumbled. He eyed Wayne, who looked younger than his years in his stolen hat. Wax had let him keep it, in the end. After all, the man had turned out to be their fugitive. Wayne had spotted the fake accent; Wax had spotted the gun under his coat.
Problem was, today was meant to be a stakeout, not a confrontation.
Wax sighed, tucking his gun back into its holster. He sat down on an abandoned bench and patted the spot next to him. Wayne hesitated before joining him, pulling one leg up so he could rest an elbow on his knee. Wax stretched an arm along the back of the bench and turned to face him.
“Wayne, what’s the first rule of working with me?”
Wayne swallowed, meeting his eyes. “Don’t put innocent folks in danger.”
“And what did you do today when you confronted an armed criminal in a crowded bar?”
Wayne looked away, letting out a shaky breath. “Put innocent folks in danger,” he whispered.
“I know you didn’t mean to,” Wax said, voice gentle. Wayne’s eyes darted back up to watch him. “You’re not in trouble. But you know we need to be more careful than that.”
“Yeah,” Wayne said, barely audible.
Wax lifted his arm from the bench and wrapped it around Wayne’s shoulders. The kid was trembling, and it tugged at something deep in Wax’s chest. Wayne pulled both feet up onto the bench and curled into Wax’s side, knocking the hat backwards off his head. He didn’t seem to notice. For a moment they just breathed together, watching the sunset as it spilled orange and pink over the horizon. This was one of Wax's favorite things about the Roughs—wide open skies, a horizon unobstructed by teeming masses of people. He could breathe out here, for what felt like the first time in his life.
“If you wanna leave me behind in the morning,” Wayne said, “I promise I won’t follow. I’m good at disappearing. Won’t cause any trouble for ya.”
Wax frowned down at him, startled. “What? Wayne, it was a mistake. Nobody's making you leave."
“Already had a second chance, didn’t I? More than I deserved.”
“Hey,” Wax said. “Look at me.”
Wayne shifted under his arm, just enough to crane his head up and meet Wax’s eyes.
“It’s not about what you deserve," Wax said. "None of us deserve anything, not out here. It's about what you learn, and how you help people. You did both today."
"I guess."
"C'mon. What did you learn?"
"Learned to be more careful. To wait."
Wax nodded. "Good. And how did you help?"
"Uh…"
"You found our guy. Folks in this town are safer here than they were yesterday."
Wayne looked away, furrowing his eyebrows. Wax lifted his hand off the kid's shoulder and ruffled his hair. "And you got yourself a new hat. I'm sure that will help, somehow. At some point."
Wayne glanced up, finally realizing his hat had fallen off. He leaned over the back of the bench to grab it, legs dangling behind him, and Wax cursed and increased his weight as the bench threatened to topple over backwards. Wayne finally turned back around, dusting off the brim of the hat before dropping it on his head. He sat up on the back of the bench, boots resting on the seat. He put a hand on Wax's shoulder, gaining his balance, and looked down at him.
"The infamous Dawnshot," Wayne said, in a startlingly accurate imitation of their fugitive's voice—high class Elendel, with an odd twang of Roughs. "Come here often, or am I just special?"
Wax stared at him, then collapsed into laughter. Wayne grinned, satisfied, and Wax dusted off his knees and stood. "Come on. Let's head home."
Wayne hopped down from the bench, following as Wax led the way to the stables. Halfway there, Wax stopped and put a hand on Wayne's shoulder. Wayne looked up at him, tilting his head in question.
"I mean it," Wax said, voice quiet in the fading light. "I'm not leaving you behind, no matter what you think you deserve. Understand?"
Wayne didn’t look like he believed him, but he nodded tentatively. That was okay; Wax could work with that. As he turned back to continue toward the stables, he almost missed Wayne's soft words.
"You promise?"
Wax turned back to face him, then nodded once. "Yeah. I promise."
It was nearly dark by the time he found Wayne sitting on the highest balcony of Ladrian Mansion, legs dangling off the edge. Wax jumped down from the roof and landed lightly behind him.
"You know I hate when you sit like that," Wax said.
"Yes, ma," Wayne said, but his heart clearly wasn't in it. He didn't move back from the edge.
Wax settled down beside him. "Wayne, I—"
"Don't want to talk about it," Wayne said. "About time you retired anyways, you've been going gray for years now."
"What?" Wax ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not going gray."
"Are too."
"I am not—" Wax cut himself off. "This isn't what I came here to talk about."
"Well, you came here to talk about somethin' stupid, so it's only fair if—"
"Wayne."
Wayne glared at him. "What."
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Apology accepted. It ain’t easy accepting the truth about yourself, mate. Don’t worry, the gray makes you look distinguished.”
Wax felt his eye twitch. “About leaving my past behind, Wayne. I shouldn’t have said that; it’s not what I meant.”
“You sure?” Wayne asked, voice weary.
Wax frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Seems like a pattern, is all I’m saying. Left me in the Roughs to come here. Left this place,” Wayne gestured at the mansion around them, “For the penthouse. Now you’re leavin’ lawman Wax behind. Eventually a fellow starts to wonder if he should take a hint.”
I’m good at disappearing. Won’t cause any trouble for ya.
Wax closed his eyes for a moment, searching for the words to explain. “Wayne, when I said that, I was talking about everything with Lessie. With Harmony. This guilt and pain I’ve been carrying around… for a while, I was sure it would bury me.” He opened his eyes, staring out at the city. No mists tonight. “But now, I feel like… it’s not as heavy anymore. I can keep Lessie’s hat on the wall, and it’s a good memory, not a knife to the chest. I can start over.”
Wayne was watching him steadily, eyes reflecting the city lights. “How?”
Wax blinked. “How what?”
“How do you just… stop caring?” Wayne huffed out a breath, almost a laugh. “Ain’t worked for me yet, but of course you figured it out.”
Wax shook his head. “I didn’t stop caring. I just let the wound scab over. It still aches, but it’s not fresh anymore.”
Wayne snorted. “Think mine’s infected, then. Better to lop the whole thing off, I figure.”
“Not on my watch, you don’t.”
“And if you ain’t watching anymore?”
Wax frowned. “We’re still going to see each other, Wayne.”
“When?” Wayne asked, with a forcefulness that shocked Wax. “Where, exactly, do I fit into your bright new future?”
Wax turned to face him, one leg still dangling over the edge of the balcony and the other crossed in front of him. “Do you know why you’ve always annoyed me so successfully over the years?”
“Wow, you’re flat awful at being comforting, mate.”
“Because,” Wax continued, “You have a way of wedging your way into my life. Stick figures on my notes for a case I never told you about. A bucket of water on my head so I'd be awake to watch the sunrise with you.” He met Wayne’s eyes. “Following me to the city when I was out of my head with grief and needed a friend, but wasn’t ready to admit it.”
"Just feels like maybe there ain't room for me anymore," Wayne said.
Wax shook his head. "You always have a place with me. That’s never changing.” He hesitated, then took a chance. “I promise.”
Wayne finally pulled his feet back from the edge of the balcony, and Wax watched as he drew his knees to his chest and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. Something about the posture was achingly familiar.
"You still having nightmares?" Wax asked softly. He hadn't been there to listen out for them, he realized, these past few weeks. Wax was living in the penthouse with Steris, while Wayne drifted between the mansion and MeLaan's.
Wayne let out a shaky laugh. "You're in 'em now, sometimes. Should feel special. That's a privilege, that is."
"What do you mean I'm in—" Wax cut off abruptly, realization dawning. He remembered dying, his body crushed under stone. Pain, sharp and piercing and unlike anything he'd ever felt; then, a terrifying numbness. Coughing up dust and being unable to catch his breath.
And Wayne, cradling his broken hand, both their fingers stained bright with blood.
Rusts, Wax really was an idiot.
Wax scooted over and wrapped an arm around Wayne, using his other hand to gently pry his hands from his eyes. Wayne came easily, limbs unlocking and curling around him like a child. Wax tucked Wayne's head carefully under his chin, palm heavy at the base of his neck. Wayne always breathed easier with something to ground him.
"'S'just different," Wayne eventually said, voice quiet in the dark. "Out here." He said out here the same way Wax talked about the Roughs.
"It's so much more crowded," Wax agreed. "It feels like the streets are never empty. I could barely sleep the first week I got here, it was so loud at night."
"Nah," Wayne said. "Well, yeah, sure. But I mean… us. We're different out here. Used to be simple, back home."
"Yeah," Wax said. It wasn't easy, making a living out in the Roughs; anyone who claimed otherwise was lying. But there had been a simplicity in the patterns of their weeks, a satisfaction that came with finishing a job and knowing your town was safer because of it. They never had many luxuries out there—no made-to-order Terris food or quick rides to the shop for metallurgy equipment. They made do with simple meals around a wooden table, shoved near the window to take advantage of the last of the evening light. Three pairs of worn boots lined up carefully by the door; well-loved paperbacks stacked haphazardly on what seemed like every available surface. Laughter, warm and bright and seemingly endless, escaping through the cracks in the wood.
Those were good years, despite how they ended. It had been home, for a time.
“Right,” Wax said suddenly, patting Wayne’s shoulder. Wayne sat up, blinking owlishly, and Wax couldn’t hold back a fond smile. “We’re going home. You need anything from here?”
Wayne tilted his head, confused. “We’re going…?”
“Home,” Wax said, wincing as he stood, his back protesting the movement. Rusts, he really was getting old. “You’re moving into the penthouse with us. It’s not as big as this place, but there’s plenty of room.” He looked down at Wayne, trying to gauge his reaction in the dim light. His eyes were narrowed, and he seemed to be waiting for Wax to pull the rug out from under him.
Wax held out a hand. Promise.
Wayne smiled, sudden and bright. He ignored Wax’s hand and jumped lightly to his feet. “Might’ve stuck a packed bag in your closet last week. In case of emergencies, such as you invitin’ me to move in.”
Wayne raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit presumptuous, isn’t it?”
“Ain’t presumptuous if I’m right,” Wayne said, smug.
“I don’t think you understand what that word means.”
“Now that’s presumptuous,” Wayne said, eyes twinkling.
“Don’t make me regret this,” Wax grumbled, holding out an arm.
Wayne stepped close and held on tight. “You drivin’?”
“Yeah. You ready?”
“Can we stop for dinner on the way? I found this really great place—”
“We have food at home, Wayne.”
“Right, but this place has really good curry, and those weird little dumplings you like, and frankly I think you owe me after makin’ me live on the streets for weeks—”
“You weren’t on the streets, Wayne. You were living in a mansion.”
“Semantics.”
Wax dropped a coin and Pushed off the balcony, wind rushing around them. The city passed beneath them, swirling rivers of light.
“So we’re going, right?” Wayne asked.
Wax eyed him, then sighed. “Where is it?”
Wayne grinned.