Work Text:
Witch’s Potion: You discover a witch’s ancient spell book. Write a recipe for a magical potion and the effects it gives you if you drink it.
“What is this stuff?” Buck asked, staring at the pile of boxes filling the normally neat condo’s entry. His gaze moved from the standard cardboard packing boxes to a very old fashioned, brass bound, steamer trunk to a large wooden crate with bits of straw peeking through its slats.
“This is my inheritance from my Aunt Naomi’s estate,” Ezra said as he carefully edged past the larger man. Instead of his normal bespoke suits or the tailored slacks and shirts that his coworker was used to seeing him wear, he was wearing simple, plain cotton trousers, a loose fitting, cotton shirt and his feet were bare.
“Your aunt?” Buck asked, puzzled as he had never heard the man mention any family beyond his mother. Then the other words hit him and he blinked. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, a bit surprised by the news. He knew the younger agent had not mentioned anyone he knew dying. “Didn’t know you’d lost someone,” he added contritely.
“I had not said,” Ezra admitted quietly. He moved several things on the shelf by the door, adjusting them just so. Once they were settled to his satisfaction, he placed the protective brass and glass cover over them and studied the effect. Nodding to himself, he turned his full attention to his teammate patiently, “How may I help you today?”
“Ya sure I ain’t interrupting?” Buck asked, gesturing at the half unpacked boxes and the stacks of books the southerner had cleared from his shelves.
“The living come before the dead, Mr. Wilmington,” Ezra said easily. He glanced at the detritus that covered much of the living room. “Please, head for the kitchen, it will be more comfortable.”
Nodding, Buck obediently headed for the back of the condo and its small kitchen. Along the way, he noted several new items, presumably part of Ezra’s inheritance. They were all small, unique, and somehow fitting his friend’s personality. But at the same time, none of them were really things he would have thought to see in Ezra’s home. In the kitchen, he found a large pot on the stove, its contents bubbling gently, filling the room with a light, effervescent scent.
“It is not ready,” Ezra’s voice was a gentle warning, stopping Buck’s hand where it had reached for a ladle. “It needs to finish cooking to be the desired consistency. Then it must set and cure.”
Buck felt his eyebrows rise as he took a deep breath, enjoying the scent. “It smells good,” he admitted.
Holding out a beer, Ezra closed the refrigerator door and leaned against the countertop. Once Buck had accepted the offering, he opened his water bottle and took a sip. “You came to me for something?”
“Oh, yeah,” Buck focused on the reason for visiting Ezra at his home, on the weekend, during their precious and very rare, guaranteed downtime. “I wanted to ask you about…” he paused before forcing himself to continue. He had rarely seen Ezra truly be mean spirited when asked for help. Neither had he seen the Southerner mock or be cruel when it came to serious matters. “I wanted to ask you if you know what I’m doing wrong,” he managed finally, “with Inez.”
Ezra froze, eyes locked on the mustached man. He took in the serious, reticent demeanor and the plaintive, confused expression. With a sigh, he plucked the beer from Buck’s grasp and placed it in the sink. “Sit,” he ordered gently. “This needs to be a serious, sober conversation.”
Without waiting to see if Buck did so, he padded over to a cupboard and removed a pair of fine porcelain tea cups so thin that his fingers cast shadows through the sides. Placing them on a tray, he filled the rest of it with the appropriate condiments and utensils before he set the whole on the table. A moment later he added a plate of the cookies he kept on hand for when his teammates visited. Then he moved over to the stove.
Beside it, resting on a plain wooden bookstand was a book, its pages a deep, golden brown from age and use. A soft silk weight held it open to a recipe. His finger traced the words without quite touching the page as he re-read the actual recipe. He studied the elegant notes under it for a moment, he double-checked his memory against the information there. Satisfied, he filled a plain white tea pot and joined his friend.
“Thought ya said it wasn’t ready,” Buck protested, eyeing the teapot warily.
“It is a bit weak,” Ezra admitted calmly. “But it will do and you are a friend, so I felt the clarity was worth it.” He poured the golden liquid for both of them, adding a spoonful of honey to Buck’s.
“What is it?” Buck asked even as he gingerly picked up the delicate cup and took a sip. He paused, savoring it before taking a proper drink.
“It is called clear sight,” Ezra admitted, taking a drink from his own cup. He noted how Buck’s eyes went wide at the name but he did not clarify further. He had seen the other man’s reaction just to the scent of the tea. He had been preparing the family recipe partly for future use and partly because the scent brought him surcease from his emotions as he dealt with his Aunt Naomi’s gifts. But for this, he felt that they would need the true clarity of mind, because he considered both Ines and Buck his friends. And he did not want them to be hurt. He took a second sip.
“I…” Buck nodded and took another sip of his own tea.