Chapter Text
Killian could have sworn he remembered these high society parties being a lot more interesting. He swiped another glass of red as the waiter brought another tray around. The wine was still good, free and readily flowing as the chief police commissioner across the room took a blind eye to the blatant flouting of prohibition as usual. This was his... third glass now? Reece raised an eyebrow and huffed, still holding their first glass gingerly. Killian took Reece's hand, gently rubbing his thumb across their knuckles as Reece took a deep breath. Killian sipped the wine, frowning at the especially smoky flavours. Probably a rioja. Not his favourite, but Reece sometimes enjoyed the more savory flavours. He swapped their glasses, putting their empty glass down on another passing tray and watching as they drank it quickly. He squeezed their hand.
Idly he wondered if it might be best to move somewhere to intercept the next food trays. Going around were things he'd been missing - champagne poached shrimp on endive, small blinis with caviar... - but little of it remained if at all by the time it made their way over to them. He'd take what he could from this party, being an hour in with no idea why the two of them had been invited and few people to speak with. There were a few familiar faces, of course. Vincent Floares was making the rounds, as he usually did. His parents' neighbours were across the room as well, not that he could remember their names or would have spoken to them if he could. There was also that PI woman who sometimes came by The Nightcap, arguing with the aforementioned police commissioner about who knew what.
He knew Reece had been hoping they might find more contacts for work here, but Reece wasn't especially comfortable with introductions and the people who did know Killian in the room were already convinced he was a buffoon. He sighed.
This was the first time he'd been to one of these parties since Alina died. There was a hollow pain as he realised he'd previously skated by these parties on the back of Alina and Wendy's ease with people. Alina and her easy outgoing chatter and Wendy's cool condescension together had made the evenings enjoyable, if in different ways. He had no idea how they'd done it. There was a certain irony in how they hadn't been raised around these people and these social etiquette rules and took to them far better than he ever had.
"We could talk to Vincent, he certainly knows his way around," Killian said, unsure. He was also well aware Vincent thought Killian was a spoiled airhead, but having run out of other options... Reece nodded, all but dragging Killian across the room. Vincent saw them coming and turned.
"Mx Kenryd," he said with a smile. "It's a surprise to see you here."
"It was a surprise to be invited," they replied. "Killian and I find ourselves at a bit of a loss." Vincent turned to Killian, looking him up and down dismissively.
"I suppose Killian never did seem interested in ingratiating himself with these fine people," he said. Killian's mouth twisted downwards.
"I suppose I took the position I was in for granted," he said. In truth, he probably had taken his status for granted, but now he didn't have it - however well that fact was known - he didn't miss it. There was something freeing about the obscurity he'd been in over the last year. Not needing to be worried about society gossip and whether a misstep would ruin him forever. The day to day grind was still a struggle Killian wasn't used to, didn't know if he'd ever be used to. But there was something fulfilling about it that he'd never had before.
"Your parents aren't in attendance tonight?" Vincent asked, looking around the room. Killian winced, glad Vincent was looking away, and shrugged.
"I'm not sure, I moved out again and we haven't conversed to discuss this," he said, attempting - and he thought he was succeeding fairly well - the bored, airy tone that would have come naturally a year or two ago. Reece looked at him and back at Vincent, eyes narrowing. Vincent hummed.
"I find aligning one's social calendar to their contacts to be beneficial," Vincent said. "I'd suggest you do so in future." He turned, scanning the room for other people.
"That would be difficult when Killian's parents haven't spoken to him in the last year," Reece said. Killian spluttered as Vincent turned back around.
"Really?" Vincent asked. "That's not widely known."
"It was mutually beneficial," Killian admitted. "They didn't want the scandal, and I didn't want the attention." Vincent stared at him, judging. He straightened up. If it was known, he wasn't going to shy away from the judgement. He'd done nothing wrong. If he was going to be ostracised for it, he'd rather take that and spend his time around better people. Vincent tilted his head before looking between the two of them.
"Curious," he said before sighing. "Too many of our acquaintances seem overly fond of you. It seems they could be yet proved correct. If you require it, I could run some re-introductions. I'd utilise them if I were you, I won't be here next month to do it again." Killian let out a sigh of relief.
"That would be greatly appreciated, thank-you," he said.
---
Sandra took a slow drag of her cigarette, watching the smoke curl into the already dark evening. She pulled her jacket around her a little tighter. The late autumn air was brisk but she was content outside. It was nice, after another year in prison, to feel the outside air, watch the crowds pass as life in Bukovie bustled. Also going inside meant going into the police station, and neither her nor the Bukovie police department wanted that. She took a look down at her watch and rolled her eyes. She let the butt of her cigarette drop to the floor, stubbing it out against the wet pavement with her foot before taking out her portagram and sending a quick message. 'Please tell me one of us is having an interesting evening,' she sent. She grimaced as she felt the first few drops of rain before tucking under a nearby tree. Her portagram buzzed.
'Sorry Pips, I blagged an invite to some fancy party and it sucks. Blue running late again?'. She smiled before looking around, noticing the cafe opposite was still serving outside and the canopy was up. She dashed across the street ducking her head in the door and ordering a cappuccino before sitting outside.
'At least he's consistent :). How bad could a party be?" she replied. The rain was pattering down now, the passersby a mix of hurried huddles and a kaleidoscope of umbrellas. She sent a message to Hugo letting him know she was across the road before taking the newspaper out of her bag and flipping to the jobs section. She skimmed, taking note of the job ad for the new dressmakers and circling it with a pen. It wouldn't be stable; she knew from her time working for King and her time living with Peter that dressmakers in Bukovie were more flammable than tinder, but it was something. The waiter came out with her coffee and she thanked him, taking a sip as she watched the rain continuing to fall outside.
"You know, miss, we have tables free inside," the waiter said from the doorway. She waved him off.
"I like it outside. Just not in the rain," she replied, taking another sip of the cappuccino. The waiter hesitated.
"Waiting for a friend or casing the place?" he asked.
"Sorry?" she asked. He gestured towards the police station opposite before shaking his head.
"Nevermind," he said, disappearing back inside. She frowned, half considering getting up to pursue the odd conversation but was distracted by the front door of the police station opening and a familiar if slightly frazzled figure darting out before checking his portagram and looking up sheepishly. She waved with a smile and she finished her coffee as he crossed the street carefully.
"Sorry, today was hectic, I got away as soon as I could..." he started.
"It's fine. I understand," she said, getting up and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Your work isn't anything we weren't both aware of before." He nodded stiffly before letting out a sigh.
"I just want to be better than that," he said.
"I know. And I love you for trying, but I understand," she stressed. He smiled, wrapping her in a hug and squeezing slightly better letting go.
"Hungry? We can still make that reservation," he said.
"Starved," she said, picking up the newspaper and putting it back in her bag.
"The new dressmakers is suspicious," Hugo said. She looked up to find him looking at her bag as if the paper would disappear if he stared hard enough.
"I know, but with two convictions and a couple of years of jail time under my belt, so am I. I'll take what I can get," she said. He winced.
"I mean more suspicious than normal, some of the other detectives have suspicions it's a front this time and not the usual loan shark scheme," he said seriously.
"And you?" she asked sharply.
"I'm looking into it," he said. She nodded.
"I'll wait until you've done that then. I've still got a few odd jobs I can pick up and we both know they'll always be hiring," she said. He frowned. She reached out and bopped his nose and he blinked in confusion. "Stop that. I can take care of myself. I've been doing this for years, I know when it's time to get out." Hugo sighed.
"I know, doesn't mean I'm happy about it," he said. Sandra shrugged.
"I can't let them pay for my rent forever. If this is how I get by, I've done worse. But we should go for that food. We'll both get grouchy if we don't." Hugo smiled and held out an arm for her to take.
"We both will, will we?" he asked, amused. She snorted.
"Oh, mostly you," she said as they started walking.
"You know my offer still stands, you could move in," he said. She shook her head.
"We already went over this. I don't want to sponge off you and you don't like the idea that I'd feel like I owed you," she said. He huffed.
"You wouldn't owe me anything. I want you to be safe and comfortable, that's all there is to it. But if you'd feel that way, I don't want to put you in that situation when there's other options you're happier with."
"Less 'happier with', more... needing to feel independently stable," she said.
"It's okay to ask for help," he said. She gave a weak smile.
"Maybe for some people."
---
Killian took a few steps outside, the light drizzling rain a surprisingly refreshing contrast to the stuffy heat inside. He didn't smoke anymore, having given up his occasional guilty habit because the smell made Reece's nose wrinkle in distaste and he couldn't stand it. But he wished there was a cigarette in his hands now, the undercurrent of nervousness making his hands shake slightly.
"I thought you were out of favour with crowds like this these days," a voice said from back near the door. Killian turned to find Peter leant against the wall, lit cigarette in hand.
"I'm not really sure I was ever in favour to begin with, just born in the right place at the right time," Killian said morosely. Peter chuckled.
"We'll all just victims of circumstance," Peter said. Killian raised an eyebrow.
"You seem to be doing well for yourself," he said. Peter shrugged.
"I am at the moment. I'm working to keep it that way, but you can never be too sure," he said.
"Right," Killian murmured lightly.
"Which reminds me. I turned down a job from your parents recently. They're looking for you. I assume they'll hire someone else," Peter said. Killian's eyes narrowed.
"You turned it down? It would have been the easiest job you'd ever done, you know where I am a couple of nights a week." Peter shrugged.
"What happens in some places is none of my clients' business," he said. "Though you should know they're probably on their way here. Your mother was delayed leaving work by an emergency at the hospital."
"I don't think I want to know how you know that," Killian said uneasily.
"Good choice," Peter replied.
"Do your contacts know what you do for a living?" Killian asked. Peter looked back blankly for a moment before raising an eyebrow.
"You don't think I go around asking gang members if they've committed any crimes lately, do you?" Peter asked. Killian blushed.
"Good point." Peter shook his head and held out the pack of cigarettes. Killian hesitated, considering for a few moments before shaking his head. Peter shrugged and put them back in his pocket, finally taking a drag from his own and frowning at it, having burnt a fair way down during the conversation. "I shouldn't. I think I've already upset Reece tonight," Killian said, looking away.
"So that's why you're out here. What did you do?" Peter asked.
"Surprised you haven't already guessed," Killian grumbled.
"I might have, I've spent most of the night in there. Doesn't really matter though does it?" Peter asked. Killian looked back at him.
"What do you mean?" he asked. Peter grimaced.
"I'm not explaining that one tonight. Just tell me," he said. Killian huffed.
"Most of the people in there think I'm still living with my family. Same old buffoonish Killian, family disappointment still living at home and doing nothing. And it was easy for me to keep that ruse going. All my life the only lesson that ever stuck was that scandals could ruin you. But it's not fair to Reece. I owe them so much for where I am and how I'm happy for the first time in years. Keeping this act going is disrespectful."
"And is that why they're mad?" Peter asked. Killian frowned.
"Why wouldn't it be?" he asked. Peter shook his head.
"People never stop being stupid about the people they love... talk to them," he said, before pushing himself away from the wall. "I'm bored so I'm going to say goodbye to Elena and go, but uh, good chat."
"Of course you're just gonna cryptically leave me like I'm too dumb to understand. Because you never did anything stupid, obviously."
"Everyone does stupid things," Peter said. The tone was light but there was something about it that made Killian take a step back. Peter tossed his cigarette butt down and ashed it as Killian looked pointedly at the ashtray on a nearby table. "Especially me. Now get your head out of your ass and go talk to them." He took a breath before slipping back inside, Killian looking on. Killian sighed, sitting down at one of the tables and burying his head in his hands with the sudden urge to scream when the door opened again and Reece stepped out.
"I've been looking for you, are you... okay?" Reece asked uneasily. Killian looked up.
"Are you?" he asked. "You're here with the worst plus one in history because everyone thinks I'm a buffoon, and they'd be right. But that's not fair on you." Reece shook their head.
"Killian, no. Sometimes, like right now, you are one of the most dimwitted fools I've ever had the pleasure to meet. But you're smart, in your own way, and kind, and funny, and thoughtful. I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at anyone dismissing you," they said. He blinked.
"I don't think anyone has ever said those words about me, I don't know know what you see in me," he said softly. Reece walked over to sit next to him, wrapping an arm around him and giving him a quick squeeze before dropping their arm again.
"Well they're true," they said.
"Killian!" a woman exclaimed as she stepped out, looking back into the doorway. "See dear I was certain we could trust that charming young man." Killian froze.
"Mother?" he asked. He internalised a groan. Peter had said his parents were on their way and it had entirely slipped his mind when Reece came outside. His mother kept walking over, his father walking through the door after her.
"Charming? He's a very strange man," his father said. His mother hummed.
"I can admire a man for having convictions," she said. His father huffed, and his mother looked Killian up and down. "Your hair is a mess, but otherwise you look well."
"I am," he confirmed simply before looking at Reece. "Reece, these are my parents, Maurice and Agatha. Mother, Father, this is Reece, my partner."
"Your partner in your advertising business?" his father asked, an interested gleam in his eyes as he stepped forward, attention solely on Reece. "I have contacts who have been raving about you." Killian took Reece's hand.
"That, but I more meant personally," he specified. His father spluttered.
"And just when I thought you might have made a good decision for once in your life! Absolutely not. You do not mix business and... your personal life. It's doomed to ruin. Something you would likely know if you ever displayed a drop of intellect!" his father yelled. Killian flinched.
"If I might recall you said photograph classes would also lead me to ruin, so you'll forgive me if I don't pay attention to you," Killian replied.
"Insolent brat. You never did pay attention to me and you should have. You're a disgrace. Here unkempt and in a cheap suit. When Kenryd here gets tired of you and your antics they'll be able to find another photographer and then where will you be? Naive, desperate photographers are a dime a dozen."
"Excuse me?" Reece said icily. "Killian would have had no struggle picking up work at any photography house in the city. He's talented, hard working, and I would have struggled to do this without him - both in terms of his photography skills, and his support."
"That's a little heavy handed don't you think? 'Talented and hard working' are words that have never applied to my son, not for lack of encouragement. Stringing him along is cruel," his father said.
"And if you're being honest, then are you just dating my son to keep him around? He always was a bleeding heart," his mother cut in. His father snorted.
"Enough," Killian spat. "Reece is one of the best people I've ever met. Talk to me how you want, but leave Reece out of your vile accusations. Why do you care anyway, you made it clear to me I wasn't your son while I was 'wasting time on a hobby for destitute fools and the most overindulgent, lazy old money', to quote."
"We wanted you to be secure. We had hoped you'd get over this flight of fancy once you'd had a reality check, and come home and study for a real job," Agatha said.
"I'm happy, and I can make a living in the arts, why was that never enough?" Killian said.
"It's not stable, it exists off the whims of other people," his mother protested.
"People make it work. Olivia Carmine, Vincent Floares, and for all your hatred of art there's a Van Gogh in the dining room."
"Van Gogh was mentally disturbed and commit suicide at 37 after failing to make any impact, and was financially supported by his brother up to that point. You do not have a sibling to prop you up and I hope I can expect more from you than a tragic end," his mother fired back before looking away. Killian looked up, noting the faces in the window attempting to look as if they weren't looking. A part of him panicked. How much had people seen? How much had they heard through the glass windows? Could they still control this damage? It was muted however, a learned screaming distress in the back of his mind walled off by a haze of complete indifference. He looked at Reece before looking back at his parents again. The anger had faded as he realised whatever happened next was entirely his decision. It was novel. His entire life had felt like a freefall controlled by other people until he met Reece, and now he could return the favour of his parents' lifelong derision. And as he'd said to Reece just a moment ago, few people had ever accused Killian of being kind.
"And the others?" he asked lightly. Now he was glancing past them again he noticed one of the windows was cracked open. "And our other acquaintances in the arts? Like Lawrence Sullivan?" His mothers' eyebrows twitched, realising something was off, his father however...
"Layabouts born with silver spoons lodged into their crevices," Maurice snarled. Agatha grabbed his arm and tried to interject to stop him, but he ignored her. "They don't succeed because it's the difference between comfort and destitution, they succeed because it would be a bigger trial not to with all their golden parachutes." Killian smirked.
"I'm sure they found that enlightening, father," he said, nodding towards the window. His parents turned in horror. "I believe I may have outstayed my welcome here, Reece. My apologies." Reece let out an exhale of breath that might have either been a sigh or a vague laugh.
"I do concur, Killian. No apology needed but we should likely consider departing the premises..." they went back towards the door. He could feel the pit in his stomach at the idea of having to walk through the crowd after that scene, but there were no other exits from the garden. He squeezed Reece's hand and straightened his spine, nose up in the air as he walked.
"Killian," his mother hoarsely called after them. He ignored it, and they went in. Killian locked eyes with Vincent as they walked through the gossiping crowd, and Vincent huffed.
"I once told someone I considered you cruel and unkind. And that your parents might have done well to raise a hand to you as a child," Vincent mused softly. "I suppose I hadn't considered it was a learnt behaviour. That aside, that scene was unnecessary." Killian shrugged.
"It was, yes," he said unabashedly before hesitating. "I might consider sending an apology to our host." Vincent smiled.
"Arielle is partial to calla lillies and, if you can source it, 20 year old grand cru beaujolais," he said simply. Killian nodded and thanked him, recieving a nod in return, before he left with Reece through the front door.
---
"Evening love." The bartender looked up from their prep with a grin, setting down the knife they were chopping limes with and smiling, leaning to give Peter a quick kiss.
"This is a surprise," they said. "Usual?" Peter nodded and smiled.
"Yeah, I finished my latest job earlier than I thought I would. I'm dropping off my report tomorrow afternoon and I'm otherwise free for a few days," he said. The bartender grabbed the vodka and coffee liqueur and poured 2 ounces of vodka and one of the coffee liqueur into a mixing glass.
"I thought you were at some wine and snacks event with Elena tonight?" the bartender asked, considering and then grabbing the bottle of chocolate bitters and dashing some into the glass before adding ice. Peter smirked.
"I was, but it was boring so I might have caused some chaos and left."
"Might have?" the bartender asked curiously. Peter shrugged.
"I didn't stay to find out. Sometimes a mystery is nice." The bartender raised their eyebrows, stirring the mixing glass. Peter sat on the bar stool, pulling out his portagram. 'Blue not still leaving you hanging, right?' he sent to Sandra. The bartender strained the mixture out over a rocks glass with fresh ice and quickly grated some chocolate over it before putting it down in front of Peter. "Thanks, love."
The bartender smiled, washing the mixing glass and measure in the sink before taking a sip of the stone cold coffee that had been sat on the side for a while with a grimace. There was a gentle ping across the room as Ilya got a message on her portagram and she frowned at it, before getting up and walking over to the bar.
"An Eastern Ruby, if you don't mind," she said. The bartender glanced over at Ilya's table, noting the still half full drink on it.
"Vincent's coming back early?" they asked. Ilya nodded. Peter raised his eyebrows as the bartender prepared the drink. Once it was done they handed it to Ilya, who took it back to the table.
"Chaos, huh?" they asked, amused. The doors opened and Vincent wandered in, looking like he'd swallowed a lemon.
"Minor chaos," he insisted. "Of the personal, small group variety."
The bartender looked back in disbelief and Peter shrugged, looking at Vincent and Ilya's table with a flash of concern as the bartender washed their shaker.
The bartender looked over and Peter found a spot of the back of the bar to stare at as Vincent, who'd finished the drink surprisingly fast, ambled over. They grabbed the gin and vermouth and a clean mixing glass before Vincent waved them off.
"No, I'm done for tonight, I just wanted a quick chat with Peter," he said, a tight smile on his face. Peter grit his teeth and looked at Vincent, a questioning eyebrow raised. Vincent blinked, as if noticing something surprising. "Weren't you at the dinner party tonight? When did you leave?"
"I don't know, not that long ago, around nine? Why, did something happen?" Peter asked casually. Vincent's eyes narrowed.
"I see..." he said.
"Was that all?" Peter asked. Vincent frowned and took a deep breath.
"I don't know if Sandra saw the letter I sent," Vincent started. Peter bristled and Vincent hurried his words. "I just wanted her to know the offer still stands, but I need to know soon." Peter paused.
"Offer?" he asked.
"Ilya and I are leaving to travel for a few months in about three weeks. I know Sandra struggled to find work after what I did, I wanted to offer her the shop while we're gone. She did love books," Vincent said. Peter stared at him.
"What you did to her was unforgivable, but she tried to kill you," he said slowly, confused. "If she'd done that to me, well that's just business, but that's not how you work." Vincent shuffled awkwardly.
"Edward Bulwer-Lytton wrote in Zanoni, 'Life, that ever needs forgiveness, has, for its first duty, to forgive'. Some of the friends I've made over the last few years have taught me that it's perhaps not enough to preserve the words of those who came before us, but to live by them too." Peter leaned back on the bar, taking a sip of his drink before shrugging.
"Okay," he said. "I'll pass the message on. No guarantees on anything else, she does what she wants."
"Thank-you," Vincent said. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. "By the way, I have a collection of James Wagner upstairs, some of it original edition." Peter tilted his head and looked at the bartender.
"You've been talking about me and my mystery surname?" he asked, faintly amused. "Any reason why?" The bartender shook their head.
"No I... uh, you're Bukovian and that's not a common surname around here. It's not uncommon for... people like you to pick their own surname. So I made a guess," Vincent said, looking back and forth between the two of them.
"And if I told you I was just a big fan of Leon Wagner, the wrestler, as a kid?" Peter asked. Vincent sighed.
"Then I'd be disappointed, but that would be mostly my own fault for ascribing my own hobbies onto other people," he said. "I'll leave you to your night." He turned and headed back to his table with Ilya. Peter smirked, drumming his fingers across the bar as he looked at the bartender.
"Never tell him, but he wasn't wrong," he said. The bartender rolled their eyes and smiled.
"Good to know," they said. Peter's portagram buzzed and he took it out. 'No, I think I'd have stormed the police station by now if he was. Hope you can slip out of your party soon x'. He smiled and put it away before turning back to the bartender and ordering another drink.