Work Text:
Of all the ways the prison could come up with to torture Simeon, the workroom housing Samson Tangaroa’s makeshift kitchen had to be the worst. Of course, prisoners weren’t allowed knives, but a pastry chef could make do. A guard must have already turned on the appliances, because the second Simeon entered, the usual stenches of sweat and barn animals and worse got blown out by a sickly sweet bomb of chocolate.
Considering the man himself was out frolicking in his fancy manor (and really, even Simeon couldn’t begrudge anyone caught up in Winner’s bullshit for catching a break), there was no reason a prison needed an oven. The best justification currently stood at the counter, humming and swaying while she whisked something in a bowl.
Simeon would’ve hidden out by the door, but the supplies he was supposed to be preparing for the circus were stored next to the kitchenette, which summed up the prison’s stance on sanitation. He skirted around Judy’s one-woman dance routine, hoping she wouldn’t notice.
“Oh, Mr. Saint. A pleasure seeing you here.”
Maybe it was his churning stomach, but he couldn’t be bothered to mask his reaction. “Yeah, it’s a real tea party.”
“A tea party! What a splendid idea. We should ask to have one in the yard.”
“Sure. Anyone who forgets to keep their pinky up gets fed to the crocodile.”
His attitude didn’t deter her humming as he yanked open the closet and started pulling down banners, balloons, and boomerangs the circus had left there. All weapons in the hands of a creative enough killer.
No sooner had he had the thought than Judy started singing.
“What’s a party without cake and tea? Give your guests a chocolate reverie!”
He dumped an unlabeled packet of animal food into his bag, wishing it was big enough to hide a body in.
“Mix the frosting up, nice and creamy. That’s the key to making cake dreamy!”
She spun around before stopping, all business as her sing-song tone melted away. “In all honesty, Mr. Saint, I would appreciate a chance to speak with you.”
“I’m listening.”
“What good timing, then. I can’t frost the cake until it’s done.” She set the bowl aside. “No one makes Samson’s chocolate cake like him, of course, but he’s busy helping out at the local theater. If I can make it sweet enough, it should at least be a nice surprise.”
Other prisoners muttered about her obsession with her idol, especially men who hadn’t come to terms with the fact that the great Judy Bound wasn’t going to fuck them. None of this was a problem for Simeon. Her devotion, he got, in the way only someone rescued from the cold could. The thing was that somehow, even with that, even with him being a master of psychoanalysis, he had no clue what went in her head. He hadn’t predicted her move against his—against Gusto, hadn’t even had her on his radar, really. At the time, he’d chalked it up to serendipity.
That didn’t mean he had to be grateful when every time he encountered her, he suffocated in sugar.
Metaphorically speaking. For some reason, she’d never actually offered him anything to taste. He’d be offended if he wasn’t relieved. He closed the closet door with his shoulder. “If you just want to chat about cake, I’m not your guy.”
“No, I realize that. Forgive me.”
He raised an eyebrow. She…huh?
“Or rather, I could have assumed,” she continued. “Back then, when I offered you chocolates, you looked so serious. You insisted you could only try Mr. Gusto’s.”
A numbness crept into his toes and fingers, making the bag handles feel loose in his grasp. He tightened his hold.
“What are you playing at?”
“Nothing. I only wish to—I beg your pardon, I should back up. You were so young. I don’t blame you for not remembering a housekeeper.”
He could only stare. Yes, he’d known she was Tangaroa’s housekeeper. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that they’d crossed paths. That she’d offered him a treat.
“You seemed rather unattended for such a young boy, with Mr. Gusto…otherwise occupied,” she said, her nose wrinkling. “So I checked in on you whenever I went by. When you refused food, I tried to sing with you instead, as Samson would have done were he not also busy. On the day of the finals, I noticed your absence, but I became otherwise occupied myself.”
Stealing statues, apparently. Pretty ballsy move. And hilarious, now that they all knew what had happened to the body.
Mysteriously enough, based on how she’d hunched over her clasped hands, she didn’t feel the same way. Though, even without her acting career, he never would have bought the tears dewing up her eyelashes.
Still, as she continued, he drank in each word like it would conjure up an image.
“When Samson was arrested, I was so…I heard that you and that other boy were missing, but…I’m sorry. I should have kept better track. I don’t know what paths you took to get here, but I can’t help but feel responsible.”
Like an idiot, Simeon just kept staring. A dozen people owed him this apology, and all of them had refused, not that he would have accepted it. He studied her face, straining to recognize anything that would let him snatch even a crumb of catharsis.
In the course of his trial, he’d gotten a glance at the IS-7 files, including a photo of him and Bronco with their dads. If he hadn’t been in cuffs, he would have shredded it. No, not until he could burn his father and that incriminating red coat. Not until he could make sense of Bronco standing in front of the man Simeon had thought of as his own dad. Not until he could cut out the face of that stupid, smiling child, his dark hair showing itself in Simeon’s roots, and…and…
Without the story he wove like a safety net, nothing could stop him from tumbling into that void.
If Kanis were here, he’d direct Simeon to focus on his surroundings, on any sense besides smell. The bag handles cutting into his fingers. The woman in front of him, bowed and sniffling.
As usual, he filled in the void by being pissed—and shockingly enough, he was running low on people from his past that weren’t locked away or in an early grave. But though it would be easy to take it out on her, somehow, the thought pissed him off more.
“You want a pity party? Find someone whose story you’re actually a part of to throw it in. My life isn’t one of your goddamn movies.”
She finally looked him in the eye. “I…yes, I’m being self-indulgent. Forgive—”
“No, no, no!” He dropped the bag, which miraculously didn’t spill animal pellets everywhere, and clutched his head. “Look, I may not remember shit, but I’ve seen you on the big screen. On billboards. Magazine covers—you’ve always got killer looks. Real talent for drama and hitting high notes. If you want to make it up to me, then be full of yourself!”
Seriously, how was he supposed to grind someone’s confidence into dust when it was already worth less than crumbs? He barked out a humorless laugh.
“Why would I have done all of this if the bane of my existence had been some housekeeper? I was up against a former chief prosecutor. A prison warden. A president. You weren’t even one of my pawns.”
“I suppose you’re right. I have enough to atone for without stealing someone else’s stage,” she said. “Still, it was kind of you to hear me out. And to compliment me.”
…What?
No, he’d…
Fuck, he had done those things. As if she’d plucked that boy out of the photo and sung to him instead.
The oven dinged. Without missing a beat, Judy spun around like she had skirts to swish and opened it. That nauseating smell blasted out like a missile. Without even attempting to have the last word, Simeon grabbed his bag, letting a stray set of juggling balls roll off as he escaped the room.
It wasn’t like Simeon ever wanted to see Regina Berry again, not after she’d ratted him out and let those beasts trample all over him. But her puppy dog eyes had convinced the guard to let Simeon meet with her in the yard, and at least that meant fresh air. A chance to clear out his head and nostrils after that train wreck.
The sun assaulted his eyes, bringing to mind the day he’d left the circus tent in chains. The light had mocked him, a reminder that he’d soon be locked away. Now, the safest place for him to be was an even darker cell.
Between the snow on the days that solidified their alliance, and Kanis willingly strolling right back into maximum security, that walk to the police car—with Kanis ‘persuading’ the officer to shove him and Simeon into the same vehicle—was the only day the sun had deigned to cover both of them. It exposed Kanis’s veins, tucked his shadow between much larger people’s, making him look small. Human.
At least he was still strong enough to scare off de Killer. Not to mention, he had control of the situation. He totally could’ve gotten away, if he’d wanted to.
Why the hell didn’t he want to?
A voice with no need to sweeten the pot echoed in his mind. Our home.
“Hi, Simeon! Over here, over here. The animals missed you.”
Immune to Regina’s charms, he nonetheless decided to blame her for his thoughts getting all gooey. Warily, he eyed her entourage—thankfully no tiger today, but that elephant stood in its pen, its trunk swaying. If he got aggressive, the animals would sense it. Besides, it would be better to play along while he sussed out what Regina wanted.
Then, he could hit her where it hurt.
He lumbered over, staying out of the elephant’s range as he set down his bag of goodies. “Hey, Regina. I missed them, too.”
“You should rejoin us, then! They’re lonely, now that I’m the only person in the animal taming division.”
Rejoin? What was she smoking?
“I’m, uh. Kind of busy being in jail.”
“That’s okay. The nice new warden said we could keep performing here. We’re having another show next month, so you have plenty of time to rehearse with us.”
The elephant scooped up an apple with its trunk. The last time he’d performed here, he’d devised a contraption to let the beast throw him offstage. It had since proven it didn’t need any help with that.
Still, any longterm offer had a chance of giving him some leeway.
“Wow, that’s so kind of you! I’d love to perform with everyone again,” he said.
This earned the predictable amount of bouncing, her ringlets haloing her head. “Did you hear that, Azea? We’re actually getting one of our friends back!”
The elephant turned its focus on the duo. Though it chafed him not to command it, Simeon kept perfectly still, as if that would keep it from recognizing him.
Regina poked him in the side with her wand. “Go on, Simeon, give her a shake!”
The first trick he ever did with the elephant, and his official induction into the animal taming division, happened to put him in contact with the part of the elephant he was most avoiding.
“Oh, no, I can’t,” he said.
“Of course you can. How are you going to perform if we can’t all work together?”
It did defeat the purpose if he backed down. And at least it’d be a tiny ego boost to reconquer this damn elephant.
“Okay. I’ll try.”
Trying to imitate Kanis’s silent footsteps, he approached the enclosure. With his cuffs back on, he couldn’t stretch his arms, but he lifted his hands together with cupped palms.
“Hey, Azea. Shake.”
Her ears fluttered as she stared down at him. He opened one of his hands, waving it a bit, jostling his chain.
“Shake, Azea! Shake. It’s me, remember? Your tamer.”
“Don’t be shy. It’s just Simeon. Our friend.”
The word curdled in his gut. Only, this time, he hadn’t been foolish enough to think that a boisterous blonde ever meant it.
Azea’s trunk swung up past his hands. She trumpeted a war cry before smacking her trunk down on his fingers.
He pulled them back with a sharp gasp, cursing at the pain. Before he could gather himself, the trunk swung again, battering his arms and head.
“Get—ow—this cursed—ow—beast off of me!”
Regina only giggled. “Aw, look, she missed her favorite playmate so much.”
Simeon ducked away from the elephant, stumbling back far enough that the other animals couldn’t jump on him. He could have sworn they were tittering with Regina.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Is this your idea of revenge?”
“Don’t be silly. If we all get along, we can put on a better show for everyone.”
“Like I’d ever perform with you! Don’t you get it? I used you. Betrayed you. And you betrayed me, so the least you can do is get mad for me.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t betray anyone. You upset the animals all on your own. But it’s okay. I’m sure they’ll forgive you.”
There was something eerily matter-of-fact about the way she said it. Not the fake sweetener Laguarde always laced her speech with, but an innocence that existed in some other reality, one he couldn’t reach into and warp.
It left him sputtering while the guard marched over, seeming more upset at the idea of Regina in peril than the actual peril Simeon had just been in. Either way, he was bruised up enough that the guard decided it was worth keeping his job to drag Simeon inside for a checkup, and at this point, Simeon just wanted to get away from the sun.
Among the holdovers from dear old Fifi’s tenure as warden, Simeon couldn’t say he minded that there were still animals running the place, but the glorified prison labor was another story. He could hear her voice now, dripping like syrup: Isn’t it just so wonderful that sweet little Mimi Miney gets to be a nurse again? Not only is she helping out all my other darlings, but she’s finally moving past that silly fiasco. What was it, again? Medical malpractice? Oh, Simeon, looks like you’re up. You’d better hold very, very still…
He hobbled into the workroom where Mimi had set up shop, in a corner anyone would be hard-pressed to call sterile given the animal dander (none of which was Helmut’s, of course—good boys trained not to leave behind evidence were hypoallergenic). She wasn’t bothering with pretenses, her chin slumped against her fist while she pet the guinea pig in her lap, watching ‘Calisto Yew’ wash dishes. The spy sometimes worked with military levels of efficiency, but she was barely trying to win a fight with a crusty pot, indicating this wasn’t a Shih-na day.
In the nearest corner, Acro made headway on a scarf in Galactica’s colors. He theoretically could’ve done that in his cell, but even those dull knitting needles couldn’t be removed from this room (for anyone but Kanis in his knitting era, naturally). Considering their mutual acquaintance had landed Simeon in here, he decided Acro was the next-best target. He let his lip wobble into a pout as he drooped in front of Mini.
“Nurse, you’ve gotta—ow—help me.”
Her eyes flicked up toward him, not gaining anything resembling a bedside manner, but she spoke in the lilt of her late sister. “Aw. That looks, like, so painful.”
So it was one of those days. Interesting. Killing two birds with one stone would certainly make up for his flops.
“Yeah, it hurts all over. But the worst part is, that lady is just so scary. That whip! And the way she laughed while that elephant was hitting me! I thought I was a goner…and she claimed she just wanted to play…”
Out of the corner of his eye, Acro stiffened. Without turning, Simeon couldn’t savor his neighbor’s expression, but even without spending much time in his cell, living opposite his fellow former circus member had let him study Acro’s mannerisms. Enough to catch the way his brow turned heavy and his jaw tightened, the way his overgrown muscles went still, his calm sharpening rather than shattering.
Not that Simeon gave a shit.
He wanted to turn to Acro and jump on the opening, but that seemed dangerously close to giving a shit, considering the alternative was following Mimi’s instructions. Which were, in theory, supposed to help him not die. So with a genuine wince, he lowered himself into the folding chair scattered with guinea pig fur. Just what any patient could hope for.
“Um, you’re not gonna stab me with needles or anything, are you?” he said while he rolled up his sleeves.
“They, like, forgot to put all the needles in my ‘welcome to prison’ goodie bag.”
That registered as slightly less sarcastic to someone who knew Laguarde. “That’s good. So, you doublecheck all the medicines, right? I’d hate to get the wrong one.”
Her hands clenched. “You’re, like, on thin fucking ice.”
A frisson of victory distracted from his pain. He let his voice drop.
“I didn’t know itty-bitty Ini Miney swore.”
To his irritation, all she gave him was an eye roll. Nobody outside of maximum security prison appreciated psychologically damaging wordplay.
“The way you were acting, I figured it was opposite day, soo…”
“Oh, was that all?” he said. His voice pitched into an imitation of her own imitation. “I thought you were, like, embracing the face you see in the mirror every day.”
She seized his wrist, turning it over. Though her gaze was focused on his arm, a false smile stretched her cheeks. “I’m just gonna check your injuries. Does it hurt to move your arm like this?”
He grimaced. Though the prison didn’t exactly hand out surgeon’s kits, it still occurred to the part of Simeon fixated on self-preservation that he should’ve focused on riling up the incidentally hot former acrobat instead of his nurse. The guinea pig seemed to agree, as it was huddled up by Acro’s yarn, and animals had good instincts until someone like Simeon got his hooks into them.
With Simeon more bruised than bleeding, Mimi checked that he hadn’t gotten a concussion or broken anything, then gave him a sealed packet containing a single tablet—a carefully regulated painkiller. He’d have to ask Kanis for something more effective. It seemed that with a guard at the door, Mini wasn’t willing to actually beat up a patient, so Simeon reclined in the chair.
“Seriously, though. I get it, you know?” he said. “Having your past stolen from you. Your own reflection feeling like an imposter. Must be rough.”
A loud clank came from the direction of the sink. Simeon’s mouth curled. Make that three birds.
Laughter interrupted his satisfaction. He jerked his head to find that Calisto had doubled over, smearing soap suds on her stomach.
“Your own reflection…pfft! You said that like it was supposed to sound so cool. What kind of cheap movie therapy are you running over there?”
She sauntered over and draped an arm over Mimi’s shoulder. To add insult to injury, the hurt that had been pinching Mimi’s face smoothed over at the contact.
“If I were you, I’d get out of the nurse’s chair before trying out lines,” Calisto said.
They both looked down at him, Calisto grinning and Mimi affecting cool indifference, like the cheap movie in question was a Mean Girls parody. Two-on-one was so not fair. He cast a look at Acro, who he hadn’t completely antagonized that day, and who’d made steady progress on his scarf in the meantime. Simeon was never against turning the most chivalrous (genuinely or otherwise) man in the room into his personal shield.
Though lifting his hands to his head would’ve hurt, he curled into himself, pouting again. “Do you see them ganging up on me? And with me being injured, too! I thought nurses were supposed to be nice.”
Without missing a stitch, Acro said, “You know where the door is.”
The serene dismissal burned him more than Calisto barking in his ear.
The day the new warden was assigned, Kanis had whispered something that made him pale. Whatever story he fed him, it had earned Simeon unmitigated access to maximum security prison, along with the most basic of comforts. Even Simeon wasn’t sure what problems he’d averted thanks to Kanis’s intervention, but it didn’t stop him from trudging with a wince into Kanis’s cell.
Nor did it keep him from halting at the sight of an interloper perched atop a shelf: a single slice of chocolate cake.
“What is that doing in here?” He pointed, sure the direction of his voice would be enough for Kanis to guess his problem.
“I apologize. I meant to keep it out of Helmut’s reach, but I never returned to it.”
Simeon glared at the offending substance. Kanis made no move to get up from his bed, where he sat cross-legged, for once no tool or game close at hand.
“Don’t worry, I’ll dispose of it,” Kanis said. “The actor’s work is not as polished as her predecessor, but I have to admire the intent.”
Thanks to Kanis being the only one in the cell that could handle sweets, Simeon hadn’t even realized he had a taste for them.
“You ate Tangaroa’s desserts?”
He couldn’t even pinpoint why that rankled him. It wasn’t like it was his old man’s candy.
“I did. That pastry chef…they let him deliver his treats in person, at times. He had an unmatched well of calm, for a man who sang and danced his way into prison.” Kanis closed his eyes. “Only one topic ever seemed to deflate him. He had a daughter. A little one he’d found in the cold. And even if they stayed in touch, he knew that whenever she was cast back out, as long as he remained caged in his cell, he couldn’t reach her.”
He stroked Helmut, who let out a little whine. Simeon watched them, if only to avoid looking at the cake, but if his silver tongue had been rusty all day, now it was leaden.
His aches got to him, and he buckled over with a groan. Kanis turned sharply toward him.
“Are you hurt, pup?”
Admitting to losing a fight with an elephant stung. On one of those fateful snowy days, he had grabbed Kanis’s sleeve and begged to become his apprentice. Kanis’s fingers had closed over his, gently prying him away, with a warning that the path he walked was not one for a child.
But, well. Simeon was an adult now, and surely someone who clung to Kanis’s shadow should be able to hold his own in the face of circus animals and laughing inmates.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” Simeon said. “You know how jail is.”
He collapsed onto the mattress set aside for him, heavy enough to let it creak. Though the visual performance was unnecessary, he indulged in stuffing his face into the pillow, letting his arm drape off the side.
Of all his attempts at manipulation, it was the sloppiest—and the most unveiled in its motives. All day, he’d tried and failed to get a rise out of people. This, this was a little boy he recognized, the one reflected in the orphanage window, the one who’d only ever wanted one thing: for someone to care enough to come for him.
The other mattress creaked. Though Kanis could stab someone’s heart unnoticed, two sets of footsteps padded audibly over to Simeon, stopping at his side.
Fingers carded through his hair, and Simeon fought every instinct to either jerk away or lean in, sure it would stop if he acknowledged it. But it stopped anyway as a hand brushed away his bangs, the heel pressing against his temple. Kanis withdrew. Simeon refused to open his eyes, but Helmut’s snout pressed against his side as if to keep him patient. He reached down to scratch between Helmut’s ears.
Helmut retreated, and a weight draped across Simeon, yarn tickling his neck. He didn’t move. If he didn’t settle into it, maybe he wasn’t a grown man being tucked into bed. The blanket was just…falling on him.
Nonetheless, he snorted at the thought that only he could be this nonchalant about death brushing so close to his throat.
“Surprised you haven’t made enough of these to open a store,” Simeon said.
“This cell has three occupants, at most.”
“Because you and Helmut needed hundreds of chess pieces?”
The silence lasted long enough that he opened his eyes.
“Chess pieces take up less space.” Kanis wasn’t facing toward him, or anything in particular, his mouth set in a line. “I find the knitting isn’t quite intricate enough to keep my interest.”
Hundreds of blankets couldn’t have stopped Simeon’s blood from running cold. When Kanis had bared his throat to that little cow wannabe, Simeon hadn’t processed it. After having his plot unraveled, being trampled, and witnessing assassins throw down over him, all with the backdrop of a circus tent, that was the one image that hadn’t felt real. It didn’t even haunt his nightmares. It was in these moments, when Kanis’ face went flat, when it was clear he’d already lived a life and found it wanting, that Simeon’s lungs went into overtime.
This wasn’t something he could fix by setting fire to an orphanage.
“There’s gotta be more intricate patterns,” he said. “I mean, it’s you. You could probably invent a whole new purpose for yarn.”
Kanis let out a tiny huff and reached to pet Helmut, the gesture too absent for him.
Just as Simeon was trying to remember every craft in the universe, as if this was now the master plot his life depended on, a new fire ignited in him. Because he’d been dancing to others’ tunes all day, when there was only one person he cared about entertaining. If this prison wanted him to be its clown, then fine. He’d show them all a clown. But only if Kanis could attend.
He propped himself up, mentally designing an audio-focused circus act. There was no way a prisoner would be allowed to handle fireworks, but Regina could get away with anything. Kanis would probably like to hear the animals…which meant getting even that blasted elephant back on Simeon’s side. But he was a mastermind. A puppeteer. Even if it meant staying in Regina’s good graces, he could manage it.
Kanis’s head quirked toward him, like he could hear the gears turn. “What’s going on in that mind of yours, pup?”
A grin spread across Simeon’s face, crooked and real.
“You’re just gonna have to wait and see.”