Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Two-day comms-dark drills weren’t quite the fun they had been when Santi was thirty. Or perhaps it was simply since the promotion. Harder to disappear from the world for a threat that wasn’t real when he knew of so many potential lurking threats at an international scale now. 

And then again, maybe it was just the familiar crash after days spent pumping adrenalin. 

He lingered with his captains to try and shake the bad mood, alternately praising them and hassling them until they refilled their water bottles, drank them, and filled in all the fucking paperwork that they would be too exhausted for once that adrenaline wore off. 

A sharp knock on the door. Santi’s body tried to react, but God, he was so drained that the rush hurt. “Enter,” he called.

Senior Captain Alamasi entered. Santi smiled in greeting, but it wedged awkwardly into his cheeks as she made straight for him. All business. Expression inscrutable as ever. She handed him his Codex. 

“Scholar Wolfe asks you to prioritise his message as much as you can.”

Santi flipped it open without looking, glaring. “There is an emergency protocol for-”

“And he said it didn’t qualify,” she interrupted him, firm and clear. He suppressed a scowl with difficulty and lowered his gaze to find the damned message. Her words faded. “Just to make sure you had access to your Codex after the drill before getting caught up in anything else.” 

There were three. 

Well, there were more than three, largely clustered in the work pages, but only three which mattered. Only three from Christopher. 

In case you arrive while I’m gone: I’m heading over to the boys’ house. They asked. Think Thomas might have finally lost patience with Jess pretending he's not ill. Can’t say I blame him. 

They’re both fed and watered the best I can manage, but Jess’ lungs are worse than I’d like. I’ll stay a while. Jess knows I’m perfectly willing to tie him to the bed if necessary. 

Still here. 

Santi wished for a way to record the time these had been sent. Especially that last one, terse and untidy enough to send a shiver down his spine.

Without looking up, he asked Alamasi to order him a carriage. 

“Already done, sir. It’s outside.”

That made him glance up, meeting her gaze with some combination of surprise and shame for the former. “Thank you.”

Alamasi nodded. “No less than you’d have done for any of us, sir. Go to your family.” 

In the carriage outside, another message arrived, even messier than before.

Summoned Medica transportation. Will likely still be there when you read this.

 

That hit Santi like a metal pole to the chest. For Wolfe, of all people, to not only agree that medical assistance was a good idea but the transport too? For Jess to agree - or to be unable to resist?

He held his breath until the shock faded and his fingers didn't tremble.

I'm on my way. Should beat Medica to you.

Chapter Text

Santi had said he’d arrive before the Medica did. His right foot twitched for the entire journey, despite the carriage driver’s noticeable increase in speed after Santi had said it was now urgent. In his younger years Santi would have bribed the driver to let him take the wheel and relied on luck to hide the traffic violations he made along the way, but a Curator of the Great Library whose face was regularly in the local Alexandrian newspapers couldn’t get away with that.

He might have done it anyway if it were Chris, or if Jess had been alone, but Jess had Thomas and Wolfe there and a Medica transport on route so his wild urge to race was slightly soothed. 

Nonetheless, he jumped out of the carriage before it had quite stopped. Three running steps towards Thomas’ front door, until a thought struck him. 

“Wait,” he said over his shoulder to the driver. Realised too late that he had given a command. Rude, to a civilian. “You’ll need to follow the Medica transport.” 

The front door was locked with a mechanism that needed an alphanumeric code, and Santi’s sluggish brain couldn’t bring it to mind. If only he’d ignored the boys’ paranoia and written it in his Codex like he’d wanted to, damn it. So he knocked instead. Realised again too late, the hard, rapid thump of that knock was too High Garda. Presumption of access. Confiscation, house-clearing. Neither Wolfe nor Jess would enjoy that. 

Sure enough, he heard Jess’ coughing restart even through the door. Guilt curdled hot and sour in his throat, and he prayed that had somehow been a coincidence. 

The door swung open and Thomas stood aside to let him in.

The house smelt musty, as if no-one had opened a window for several days, with a sour underlying tinge of vomit. The shower and all of the taps were running hot, making the very air drip with humidity.

Santi hurried to the bedroom. He didn't really know why; it wasn't like he'd be able to help. But he needed to, there was a hook in his chest pulling him through the messy house until he came face to face with Jess, stacked into a sitting position with cushions. His face was ashen and sweaty. The muscles in his neck and chest contorted with each cough. Still, he met Santi's eyes and to Santi's horror even tried to get up.

Christopher grabbed Jess' shoulders and shouted his name angrily; Santi just whipped his hand up into the High Garda signal for STOP.

He didn't know why he'd done that. If someone had asked him, he would have laughed at the idea that Jess could still remember, would still want to remember, signals that he'd learnt for six months over two years ago.

And yet Jess froze obediently, then developed an expression that on a stronger day would have been a scowl or a glare. Whether at Santi for the action or himself for falling for it, who knew?

"If you can do something that stupid, you can try to breathe again," Wolfe snapped, his voice sharp and his tone bitter. Jess slid his glare sideways towards Wolfe, but managed a weak sniff in through his nose. The prescribed slow exhale of the exercise just exploded into another cough, and what definitely sounded like a fragmented obscenity. Santi tried to catch Wolfe's eye, but his gaze just bounced off. He knew that tight, shielded, prickly focus too well, and knew it wouldn't drop just for his concern.

"Don't give us that attitude, son. Your lips are blue." With that, he headed back into the kitchen where Thomas was standing awkwardly next to the oven. "Good point. When did any of you last eat?"

Thomas shrugged. "Yesterday. Wolfe cooked."

Santi stopped mid-step, his ears picking up the blazing warning signs. Oh, God. Another one to worry about? Wolfe hadn't mentioned anything about Thomas. Khalila had said a few days ago, now that Santi wrung out his aching brain for scraps, that Thomas was feeling low at the moment. But there was low and then there was that quiet, slow, utterly lifeless tone that Santi wished he didn't recognise best in Chris' voice, and, yes, no real facial expression either. Fuck, it was a miracle Thomas had been able to answer the door, by the look of him.

"Sit down." Fuck, he needed to rein his officer side in. "I'll get you a drink."

Thomas silently began to limp towards the table. One foot dragged heavily - lasting nerve damage from the arena battle. Where was his cane? Thinking about that, where was Jess' breathing mask? What had the boys got themselves into, and exactly how late had they asked for help?

There was another too-loud knock on the door. The Medica were here.

Chapter Text

Santi let the three Medicas in, then darted back to turn off the taps in the kitchen, before they all forgot and the boys had to pay a city's worth of hot water bills. The heat and humidity was giving him a headache, too. "Through here," he said, pointing the Medicas down the hallway.

One of the Medicas was a familiar face. "Afternoon, Jess," she called as she walked through.

"Can you walk?" asked a different Medica. Santi groaned as predictably Jess replied in the affirmative. He caught Thomas' eye to share the emotion, but Thomas just blinked blankly back at him.

"Like fuck you can," Wolfe snapped.

 Santi peered down the hall. Obviously he wanted to see how that would go, but also Wolfe swearing around other Library employees usually meant he was very close to losing his temper, and Santi didn't want this particular Medica chased away. Dragonfire was rare and Thomas' antidote, although undeniably effective, was also largely untested, so it was a relief to see someone who had treated Jess several times before and knew about as much as anyone did. Sure enough his partner looked worn out and frustrated, shirt sleeves crumpled up to his elbows and hair falling out of its bindings.

For some fucking reason they were actually letting Jess try. Santi could see his own frustration echoed in Wolfe's rigid posture. The Medica's face was implacable. Slowly, shakily, gasping for air, Jess leaned forwards. Swung his bare legs over the side of the bed. Bounced on the mattress to give himself some extra spring, and -

- and he hadn't even reached standing before his knees were crumpling, his head wagging limply on his neck as he fell. Santi found himself taking half a step forwards automatically. The floor creaked behind him, suggesting Thomas was also moving - but of course, Chris was there immediately. 

"You are a fucking idiot who makes terrible choices," he snarled in a low voice, his voice tightening as he took Jess' full weight on one arm, before lowering him carefully down to the bed again. Oh yes, Chris was right on the edge of his patience for sure. Out of the corner of his eye, Santi saw Thomas frown and wondered if he was noticing the same thing.

"Huh?" Jess wriggled weakly in Chris' grip. "What? Da?"

That hit Santi in the heart. Jess had called Wolfe Dad a few times by now, generally while tipsy so that the emotion was excusable, but that was definitely 'Da'. Which person was Jess calling out for, semiconscious and ill? Biology be damned, Santi prayed that it wasn't Callum.

"You're fine, Jess," Wolfe said in English, quiet and gentle, his frustration hidden, now that Jess wasn't in a state to deal with it. He stroked Jess' forehead and squeezed his hand when he clawed the air. "You're safe. Relax." Santi was almost jealous. He could compartmentalise with the best of them, but he wasn't as good at being kind while he did it as Chris was.

"Will you let us carry you out now?" asked the Medica. Jess nodded. Santi scowled. That was a hell of a lot to put someone so weak through just to defeat their own well-known stubbornness. Even as he fumed, though, he accepted that it was probably right. The only thing that could outlast Jess was Jess.

As Jess was wheeled through the kitchen, he suddenly rolled over and whipped off the breathing mask he had only just accepted. "Thom-" Cough, cough.

"I'm here," Thomas said from behind Santi.

"Are - you?" Jess asked, carefully. The strength of his glare surprised Santi. 

Thomas sighed. "Yes."

Santi turned to look at Thomas, hoping for an explanation of the terse little exchange, and was struck anew by Thomas' blank, empty expression. Maybe Jess hadn't wanted Thomas to be left on his own. Sounded like a damned good idea. "Come with me." Fuck, another motherfucking order. "We'll follow in the carriage." He inhaled and scratched an itch on his arm. "Please."

Thomas sighed again, but nodded and picked up his boots from where they lay next to the sofa. Even his movements were slower than they should be. Santi sought to catch Wolfe's eye. Managed a brief, business-like connection as Wolfe followed the stretcher outside, but that was all.

Chapter Text

Thomas' feet were shoved haphazardly into his loosely tied boots. The very sight made Santi twitch.

"You're limping. Where's your cane? Or the brace?"

Thomas shrugged yet again, with a bewildered and exhausted facial expression more suited to being asked to solve world hunger than the location of his mobility aids. Poor lad.

"I'll find them. Go and sit in the carriage." That got him the whites of Thomas' eyes showing as he turned away. Santi bit his lip hard enough to suppress the reprimand. Thomas, a grown man and a gold band Scholar, wasn't under Santi's command and it was reasonable for that tone to rankle him.

The brace was absolutely nowhere to be seen in the messy house. God only knew where it had ended up. Santi eventually spotted the cane handle sticking out from behind the sofa. When Chris had needed a crutch after breaking his ankle on a past mission, he had bought an expensive and attractive one. Thomas, being Thomas, had made his instead, and in its own way it was just as much a thing of beauty with its polished surfaces and handle perfectly fitted to Thomas' large hands. Santi swung it in his grip like a quarterstaff as he headed for the door. Well-balanced. He absolutely wouldn't have put it past Thomas to consider its usage in self-defence. Hell, given Jess' disturbing similarity to Chris' worst tendencies, he'd likely persuaded Thomas to put a dagger inside the thing. Santi gave it a shake. Seemed solid, which meant little when the maker was as skilled as Thomas. 

Damned search hadn't helped his headache.

The Medica transport was long gone by the time their carriage rolled away in pursuit. Shutting the door, Santi took stock of the situation. Jess was clearly very unwell, but his life wasn't imminently at risk. He was with the experts, on the way to their full-time care, and kept company by Wolfe. On the other hand, the three of them hadn't eaten in probably at least a day, and Santi was aware that he was doing only marginally better in that respect. Therefore, yes, it would be a net benefit if he delayed his and Thomas' arrival slightly in order to buy everyone food and drink. He let the driver know about the change of plans.

"Why?" Thomas asked, as soon as the carriage moved off. His hands were knotted together, his elbows resting on his knees. Santi explained his thoughts, as politely as he could, and Thomas nodded slowly. Still, a frown marred his brow.

Santi tried to put himself in Thomas' shoes. "Jess is in excellent hands. We won't be long."

Thomas' gaze sharpened. "Indeed. Wolfe is there."

There was something inexplicably accusatory in there that sent Santi's instincts ablaze.

Relax, he ordered himself sternly. Thomas is just worried.

An explanation came to him, far too late to be useful, and he cursed aloud.

"I'm sorry. We should have discussed who was travelling with Jess."

He'd just assumed it would be Chris. And so had Chris. Because Jess was their son and although they were all figuring that out together, some things seemed obvious. But Jess, too, was a grown man, and he had been in a relationship with Thomas for well over a year now. The two of them were an inseparable unit, and everyone knew it. Why hadn't he and Chris -

-shit, had Jess been asking for Thomas to come? Earlier?

"Thom-" Cough, cough.

"I'm here," Thomas said from behind Santi.

"Are - you?" Jess asked, carefully. The strength of his glare surprised Santi. 

Thomas sighed. "Yes."

His insides twisting with guilt, Santi made reluctant eye contact with Thomas. Some of the tension seemed to have left Thomas' broad shoulders. He reached over and gently took his cane from Santi's hand, laying it across his lap.

"Food would be good," he said, like a peace offering.

Chapter Text

The carriage came to a halt across the street from one of the midweek marketplaces.

"Are you coming?"

"No."

Fighting irritation at Thomas' curt response, Santi hurried onto the bustling street. Thankfully, it didn't take him long to find a stall selling hot filled flatbreads. Something mild for Chris, given his reaction to stress. Meaty baladi for Thomas, and ... well. Santi withdrew his hand from his unthinking choice for Jess; something spicy. If Jess was even going to be able or allowed to eat right now, heavy chillies and goat's cheese were surely not good for him. An image of Jess, blue-tinged and gasping from his bed, flashed in front of Santi. He shook his head to dislodge it like a fly. Enough of that.

He picked up a few cheap metal drinks containers and filled them with fruit juice. Chris could complain about the metallic aftertaste when he remembered to bring his own damned flask for once. And beer for himself. He fucking deserved it. That reminded him to scribble a quick note to his senior captain about swapping companies across countries for heat or cold acclimatation training, respectively. The northern European soldiers had underperformed in yesterday's exercise.

Already actioned, sir. God, he loved competent subordinates.

Like Zara. Don't fucking think about Zara.

Than-

Sir. You're supposed to be with your family.

He gripped his stylus hard enough to hurt at the reprimand. Sometimes Alamasi let her age excuse her.

I'm just buying us food. No-one's dead yet. He eyed that uneasily even as it spilled onto the page. Black humour, most certainly.

Give my regards to all, sir.

When he climbed back into the carriage, Thomas met his eyes briefly and then looked straight back down at his knees. The young man's blankness was getting on Santi's nerves. He'd had enough for a lifetime of that with Chris. Blank and silent and still.

"Here." He held the meat-filled flatbread out. Thomas looked at it - golden, crispy, aromatic. Sighed. Ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm not hungry."

"Eat anyway." Not a flat soldier's snap this time, but his side of an exchange that, for once, was far older than Chris' imprisonment. "I know that food can be unappealing. Even when it's in your mouth, sometimes. But chew it and swallow it anyway, and then it's done."

Thomas took the flatbread and eyed it.

"No. Stop thinking. Just eat." Santi banged on the ceiling and the carriage set off again. It rattled on. Thomas managed to swallow two mouthfuls, almost the whole thing, before he ducked his head and breathed in deeply through his nose. Without thinking, Santi offered his half-drunk bottle of beer. "Wash it down. It's kill or cure, with nausea."

Obediently, Thomas took the bottle for one gulp, before giving it back. "You have experience with this, then?"

Santi snorted. "Twenty years of seeing things that turn the stomach. My fair share of feeling like a rattling, empty shell, too, though not, obviously ..." He waved a hand in Thomas' direction. Thomas' brow furrowed, then he rolled his eyes.

"But maybe this is not caused by Rome, commander." To his shock, Santi heard sarcasm there. "Maybe it is caused by the Artifex turning down my improvements to the Lighthouse lift in favour of accepting my earlier proposal to stabilise the Lighthouse crystals for another potential Ray usage." He shrugged. "Maybe it is caused by hearing of that spate of released Obscurist suicides. And maybe by nothing at all." He bit into the flatbread savagely. "Regardless, I was useless for Jess."

For a moment there, Santi had expected Thomas' growing anger to turn on him. Had welcomed the idea, to be honest. Restraining such a big man in tight confines would be a challenge. But then Thomas had swung inwards instead - and oh merciless Lord, did Santi relate to that thought too strongly. Being unable to protect your loved one.

"Asking for help is useful," he said, eventually. Thomas nodded. He looked as unconvinced as Santi felt by that sentence. They both startled as the carriage came to an abrupt halt.

"Thank you for the food. And the guidance." Thomas licked the crumbs from his fingers. "I needed that."

Something unwound in Santi's chest, just for a moment. "Good."

Chapter Text

Carriage traffic thickened through the centre of the city, and Santi watched his own growing tension appear in Thomas' clenched hands and rising shoulders. Logically, Jess would be no differently-off if they arrived ten or fifteen minutes than they had intended. Emotionally was another beast entirely.

He rubbed his aching brow and peered out of the window for a distraction. By some beautiful chance, one did in fact appear.

"That used to be a punishment," he said, gesturing to where a uniformed member of the High Garda was directing traffic at the crossing ahead. Lieutenant, by what could be seen of the uniform. Thomas looked too, and made a polite but unenthusiastic sound. "Used to be full of idiots who got caught in the bars or scuffling in the barracks." He noticed Thomas giving him a meaningful little head tilt. That surprised a chuckle out of him. "Yes, that's from experience."

Thomas' lips twitched. He wiped his mouth clean from the grease of his food and readjusted his grip on his cane. "And then your leaders realised that giving control of a city's traffic flow to hungover, short-tempered people was a stupid idea?"

Santi tipped his empty beer bottle to Thomas in a faux salute. "There was more complaining about the policy's effects on commerce than that, but essentially, yes."

"Were you a particularly easy-to-rile man, when you were younger?"

That out-of-the-blue question hit Santi wrong, thudding into his ribcage much like a drunkard's inciting slap, and he gave Thomas a careful look. But he couldn't see mockery there, just a touch more life than there had been when he'd climbed into the carriage. That was good. That could be paid for with a bit of honesty. That seemed ... fair.

"Outwardly, yes. Inwardly ..." He shrugged. "I enjoy fighting. Enjoyed." Where was Thomas going with this? He'd only seen Thomas lose his temper violently once, and although he vaguely remembered it as being impressive, he'd been rather occupied trying to kill Brendan Brightwell for kidnapping Christopher at the time. Ha; 'Brendan'. Jess and his fucking Machiavellian machinations. Best not to dwell back on that. What had he been saying? "If I wanted a fight, I could always provoke it, or, yes, respond to someone's minor goad. But to be riled into genuinely losing control? Less so."

"Over Wolfe."

Santi's heart jumped in his chest. He raised the empty bottle to his lips to hide whatever expression might have just crossed his face. Thomas hadn't just been terrifyingly perceptive. He had no idea what Santi had just been thinking about. It was unfortunately well-known that he was protective over Christopher, going back to his old squad-mates who'd mocked him for his actions in Russia all those years ago. It was obvious. This wasn't about that.

He grunted, a meaningless response. 

"How did you survive when he was taken?"

I didn't.

Badly.

Other people didn't.

No. Not that topic. Absolutely fucking not. "How long has Jess been unwell for?" he asked. Demanded.

Thomas' shoulders shot back up around his ears again. "A week, maybe. I'm not certain."

"And how long before you messaged Wolfe did you know that you have should been doing just that?"

Thomas took longer to reply than typical. Perhaps unpicking the more complex Greek grammar in that sentence. Perhaps trying to lie, or weighing up the truth. "Probably when his mask ran out the day before we messaged Wolfe."

Santi nodded. Looked back out of the window. Their carriage rumbled on in silence.