Chapter Text
The first time they inadvertently crossed paths was in the waiting room of a veterinary office, Blackquill with Taka on his shoulder and Saint holding a cage full of hummingbirds. When their eyes met, both men started slightly at the jump scare of seeing the other in an unexpected location, then froze up with the chilly dread of having to occupy a room together for an unspecified amount of time.
Being the confrontational sort, Blackquill opted to take the seat right next to his ex. "How long have you been out?" he asked, looking not at the man beside him, but the TV across the room, which played Jammin' Ninja on mute.
"Not long," replied Saint, his gaze fixed on the same point. "A couple weeks now."
Blackquill grunted in acknowledgement, and the conversation died.
After a couple of minutes, Saint asked, "Is Taka okay?"
"He's fine. We're here for a routine check-up." Another non-starter. After a bit, he asked, "You're back with the circus?"
"Yeah." Saint turned his gaze down into the cage. "These guys got into the magician's strawberry milk. They seem fine, but the boss wanted me to check."
Blackquill turned to look at the tiny creatures. "They're quite lovely. Very vibrant plumage."
Saint snickered, a natural reaction finally bubbling up to the surface. "Nerd."
The comment, which might have annoyed Blackquill once upon a time, elicited a wry smile. "I'm truly surprised to see you. I thought you'd never leave your cage, no matter how wide the door was left open."
"Kanis wore me down," he said, and the sadness in his voice told the whole story.
"Is he–"
"It's not good." He let out a very controlled breath. "I'd rather be with him right now, but this was what he wanted."
"I'm sorry to hear it," replied Blackquill.
Saint shrugged lightly. Blackquill had often wondered what would happen when Kanis was no longer around to keep Saint grounded, but had never quite pictured an outcome like this one, one where he seemed... defeated.
Although he already knew the answer would be, Blackquill asked, "I don't suppose you have anyone you can speak to on these matters."
That put a bit of the bite back into Saint's demeanor. "Are you seriously asking me that?"
"No, I suppose not."
Silence fell once more, as Blackquill attempted to silence the part of him that wanted to offer help. Back in the clink, Saint had refused that help, over and over again. He would refuse it now. Or even worse, he might accept it, and then he'd be back in Blackquill's life, like a persistent stain.
And yet, Blackquill began, "Say, Sinner–"
He was interrupted, however, when the door to the waiting room opened and a veterinary aid stepped out. "Berry?"
"Oh, that's me," said Saint, practically rocketing out of his chair.
Well. That was probably for the best.
The second time they inadvertently crossed paths was at Kanis's funeral. This time, their mutual presence was a known factor; Saint had invited Blackquill, stating merely, "He always liked you." But Blackquill had kept a respectful distance, lurking out of the side and observing the sparse but unfamiliar faces among the mourners, only occasionally stealing glances of the redhead.
What he didn't expect was to run into Saint in the mortuary's men's room, halfway through the service, clutching edges of the sink with a death grip and glaring intensely into the bathroom mirror. Saint noticed the other's entry, eyes flicking over to meet his in the reflection, but made no comment as he straightened himself up. Within seconds, he had replaced his veneer of casual apathy, turning and nodding to Blackquill as though nothing were wrong.
As though he didn't have those deep bags under his eyes, or the dead-eyed, haggard stare of a man who wasn't crying, but maybe should have been.
In a moment of ill-advised sympathy, Blackquill asked, "Would you like to get a drink after this?"
"Do you remember that time when Kanis meditated so hard they thought he died?"
Surprisingly enough, Saint had agreed to the invitation, and the two of them had popped into the nearest bar, sitting at a table in the corner and ordering themselves a pitcher of beer. It had taken a couple of drinks, but soon Saint had relaxed enough to start chatting up a storm.
"No, no I do not."
"Really? That must have been after I stopped talking to you. Okay, so he was in the hole — I don't remember why, actually. I assume it was my fault. But he was in the hole, and he was meditating, like he always did in there. And when this useless new guard they sent to bring him back to his cell goes to check on him, he was unresponsive. It was the guy's first week on the job or something like that; I think they were hazing him. Anyway, he couldn't get Kanis's attention, and he panicked. Ran off to get help, leaving the cell door wide open behind him. Kanis could've walked right out."
"Did he?"
"He didn't even notice! They sent an army of guards when they realized, like an actually silly amount of armed men in case they needed to subdue the five-foot-nothing blind geriatric, and they found him exactly where they left him. One of them had the sense to take his pulse and he was just, like, 'Oh, hello.'"
Blackquill chuckled. "How very like him."
"Yeah. He told me this story like he'd become one with the universe in there, but I think he just fell asleep." His smile, aimed toward the glass in his hand rather than the man sitting across from him, was crooked and wistful.
"You're the one who falls asleep every time you try to meditate," Blackquill prodded.
"I'm just not suited to it. I don't want to turn my brain off. There'll be plenty of time for that when I join the old man in hell." He polished off his drink and began pouring himself another. "In other news, I'd forgotten how good an on-tap beer can taste."
"Would you believe that I sometimes miss the taste of pruno?" Blackquill confessed. It was something he couldn't say to someone who had never been on the inside. A normal person would never have understood.
"Sure I would. Hell, I still miss the stuff Matt used to make. The guy had a gift for it. It was his one redeeming quality."
"Yes, I suppose it was." There was a name Blackquill hadn't heard in a long time. How many times had Saint sneaked him flasks of Engarde's 'refreshing' toilet wine? They had still been together, then, all the way up to the former actor's violent demise.
"De Killer was at the funeral," said Saint abruptly. "Did you notice him?"
Blackquill had never seen de Killer before, but the shock of this statement still hit him. "Are you serious? Why didn't you inform anyone?"
Saint shot him an utterly unimpressed look. "Because I didn't want the funeral to become a double feature where I got cremated alongside Kanis like a pharaoh's pet dog."
"...Is your life in danger?"
"Not from de Killer. Probably. Doesn't mean I'm stupid enough to push his buttons. That's the kind of lesson a guy only needs to learn once."
Blackquill supposed he couldn't argue with that. Saint's obsessive drive for self-preservation was usually a shameless show of pathetic cowardice, but in this case... well, there was no blaming him for not sticking his hand into the proverbial hornet's nest.
"Well, if you're not going to be joining Kanis in the grave," Blackquill said, because it was as good a segue as any, "what do you intend to do?"
"Honestly? No idea. It's a little embarrassing, to tell you the truth! It's not like me, you know? I've always prided myself on being ten steps ahead."
"No, I'd say it's exactly like you," Blackquill replied. "You're peerlessly driven when it comes to seeing your long-term goals through. You never give up or change course, even in cases when you truly should. But you never quite know what to do with yourself once you've accomplished a goal. There's always a bit of whiplash to you, like a car that's reached its destination at full speed and can only stop by yanking the emergency brake."
"What are you talking about? I haven't had any real goals in a long time." Saint asked, but his frown was sour, as it often was when he was perceived.
"Of course you did. Your goal was to stay as close to Kanis as you could, for as long as possible."
Simeon huffed and took a drink of his beer, but did not deny it.
"Thus, it's time for a new objective. Perhaps you could challenge yourself to live as a normal person might."
"I am a literal circus clown. That's not a challenge, it's an impossibility."
"Then aim for the top of your career. Become the world's greatest circus clown."
It had been half a joke, and Saint snickered appropriately. "Now, see, that's interesting. My return to the circus has been controversial with the fans, actually."
"I suppose it would be difficult for some to accept a cold-blooded killer in their family-friendly entertainment."
"First of all, go fuck yourself, I'm a hot-blooded killer. Second, Acro is just as much of a murderer as I am, and the heat died down with him pretty quickly, after he got out. But my case is a little different. Because yes, there are protesters, but I also have fans. Like, a lot of them."
"That doesn't surprise me," said Blackquill, who recalled that Saint received more fan mail than most.
"Right? I've got the true crime geeks, the 'I can fix him' girls barking up the wrong tree, the vigilante edgelords, the Zheng Faese influencers... did you know I'm a super popular meme in Zheng Fa?"
"I don't waste my time on the Internet..." Blackquill frowned. "By the way, I don't know what an 'influencer' is and have not bothered to ask."
"Oh, that's this new fad that came about while we were locked up. As far as I can tell, it's this online scam where charismatic sociopaths pretend to be people's friends online but are actually just walking human billboards. I've been looking into trying it out myself."
"Of course you have..."
"Anyway, I've been telling the ringmaster, we should lean into the true crime stuff, and I could bring a lot of money in, but he was dead-set against it. In fact, after the first show I did, he pulled me entirely, because he didn't like the image it was conveying. So now I'm stuck on stagehand duties."
"Hmph. You should be grateful they took you back at all."
"I mean, I am. In my own way. At the very least, I have nothing against him or the circus. It's been kind of nostalgic. But I don't think it's a good match. I'm bad press for them, and it's no fun for me when I can't perform."
You're always performing, Blackquill did not say. "Will you be seeking alternative employment, then?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I don't even really need to work, if I don't want to..." He didn't elaborate, but he didn't need to. He must have tucked away a great deal of money back in the clink, having taken over Kanis's role as the Fixer, and likely Kanis would have left him a nest egg on top of that.
"Do you want to? There must be something you want."
He shrugged and took a drink.
"I'm surprised you're not talking about returning to your cage, now that the old man isn't around to know about it."
"Oh, that's on the table," Saint replied darkly. "It's probably inevitable. But I'm not in any rush. There's always a cozy room waiting for me if I ever want to go home."
His distasteful way of phrasing it was surely for no other purpose than irritating Blackquill, and even more irritatingly, it succeeded. As ever, Saint showed gratitude for nothing, was thankful to no one...
Except Kanis. Whom he was mourning. So Blackquill bit his tongue and changed the subject. "Do you have a safe ride home?"
"I was thinking of doing a couple hits of meth in the back alley and then stealing a hot rod." When this poor joke earned him a withering look, he laughed and said, "Seriously, I'm fine. Did you know you can just summon rides with your phone now?"
Blackquill blinked at him. "You weren't in the clink that long. How else would one call a cab?"
"No, I mean—oh, never mind." He stood up, tossing a few bills down to cover his half of the tab. "I'm going to head out. Thanks for not being an asshole about all of this."
"If only I could say the same," quipped Blackquill, and they exchanged an amused smile. One that was only slightly dangerous.
The next time they met, it was no longer a coincidence. It was a ring of the doorbell amidst the steady drumbeat of rain and Simeon Saint at his door, looking for all the world like a drowned rat despite his thick, red raincoat. He had a backpack on, and his expression was almost pained as he asked, "Can I crash here tonight?"
Blackquill's first instinct was, naturally, one of suspicion. What was his aim? Why not a hotel? How did Saint even know where he lived? He should've slammed the door shut then and there, but Saint looked so damnably pitiful that he found himself stepping aside to let the poor bastard in.
Besides, it was the right thing to do, and despite all of the bitterness and hurt that had passed between them, he had the distinct feeling that Saint would have done the same for him, had their positions been reversed. He'd have been an absolute prick about it, but he wouldn't have left Simon out in the cold.
"I quit the circus," said Saint, shedding his coat and waterlogged shoes in the doorway. "It's just — it's a bad situation."
That was a tip of an iceberg if ever there were one. "What happened?"
Saint beelined for the living room couch as if he owned the place. "I went back to the ringmaster and asked for a small part in the show. I offered to cover my face completely. I pushed it maybe a little too hard, because he knows just as well as I do that the reason their ticket sales have spiked is because of me. Nobody was even supposed to know it was me, except somebody sure did, and threw a rock straight at me. I, of course, ducked, and it whacked the ventriloquist right in the head, which — while funny and karmically deserved by that particular person — wasn't the outcome I was hoping for."
As with all things that Saint told him, Blackquill debated the veracity. A story like this would be very easy to check, so he decided it was probably true. Whether the timing or his involvement or his intentions were being accurately portrayed, he could not say, but the raw facts of the matter were most likely not fabricated.
"You may take the couch for the evening, but there will be ground rules."
"You're the boss."
"'The night' means one night. No more than that."
"That was the plan." Saint pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.
Blackquill said, "Next rule: If you're going to smoke, smoke outside."
"Oh, that's right. You quit." Saint shoved the pack back into his pocket with a huff. "You could've said that before I stripped off my rain gear." He started to get up.
"Hold on," Blackquill sighed. He headed toward his bedroom, pulled an item from one of his most private of drawers, and returned to offer it over. A nicotine patch.
He regretted it the second he saw a glimmer of delight cross Saint's eyes. "Hawk feathers aren't enough, huh?"
"Do you want this or don't you?"
"Desperately," came the reply, followed by a, "Pretty please?" and the batting of eyes.
Spite was not worth the impending crankiness of Saint without his nicotine, so Blackquill handed over the patch before taking a seat opposite him. "And I will say now, I have no desire to reinitiate a romantic relationship with you."
At that statement, he watched Saint's face carefully for signs of irritation or indignation. What he saw, or thought he saw, was a flash of sadness. Fantastic. Now he got to wonder whether it was real, faked, or imagined.
"I didn't expect you would be," he said, any possible weaknesses smothered by the veneer of apathy. "Anything else? A curfew? A chore wheel?"
"I'm afraid I don't have a spare set of sheets, but you'll find clean towels in the bathroom closet and cup noodles in the kitchen. If you need me, I'll be in my room."
This time, Blackquill was certain that he'd seen an odd look cross Saint's face, but he wasn't clear on what it meant. Curious as he was, he thought it better not to probe. The last thing he needed was to become too invested and get drawn back into the other man's web. So he did as he said he would, retiring to his bedroom and settling in with a book. After a few minutes, he heard the shower being used, and the sound of running water was so unexpectedly relaxing that he decided to call it an early night.
It was a good night when Blackquill fell asleep within the first hour. Good nights came more and more frequently since his release, but they were still rare enough to earn the distinction. That night was a good one, and he thought he might have been dreaming when he was ungraciously torn away from his slumber. The shift in his bed roused him immediately, and he lurched upright, groping under his pillow for a shiv that was not there.
"It's just me," came the quiet voice of Saint, who had slid in beside him — undressed, it would seem, based on what little he could see in the dim light.
"What do you think you're doing!?" he barked, ashamed of his own racing heart.
"I thought you might like some company," Saint purred.
"Have the years of incarceration driven you deaf and dotty? I told you I was not interested."
"I got the hint, don't worry," said Saint. "No romance. I'll keep my mouth shut, and I won't get attached—"
Blackquill planted his hands firmly on the other man's shoulders, maintaining a solid distance. "Are you being intentionally obtuse? Discretion is not the issue here."
"Are you serious?" He had expected to see Saint putting on a hurt facade, but the look there was almost incredulous.
"As serious as the serial killer in block D."
"As much as Serious Steve? That's pretty serious." Somewhat belated, the appearance of hurt appeared, and Saint scooted toward the edge of the bed, glancing away.
And Blackquill remembered an inkling of something that Saint had once told him, a small joke that had slipped out in a moment of inebriated post-coital banter. He could not remember exactly what had been said, but Saint had implied that there had been a period in his youth where he traded sexual favors for a warm place to sleep at night. Surely he didn't expect for this to be anything like that? Or... had he taken Blackquill's announcement that he was going to bed as a signal?
He wasn't sure. He honestly wasn't. Saint was rarely fully honest, but he also rarely put on entirely false pretenses. Instead, he blended his truth and lies so finely that they became indistinguishable.
"Go back to bed," Blackquill ordered, keeping his tone as level and gentle as possible. "We need not speak of this again."
When Blackquill awoke the next morning, Saint was not in his living room. Unsurprised, and not blaming Saint for wanting to cut and run after the embarrassment of the previous night, he assumed that the troublesome man had left and set about making his breakfast, putting on the kettle and tossing a thin cut of fish into the toaster oven. He was pulling out the instant miso when he noticed the figure out on his balcony. There stood Saint, leaning over the railing, smoking and staring out onto the street down below.
After adding more fish to cook, Blackquill headed outside, standing beside his guest. "Good morning."
"Morning," Saint replied without so much as a glance in his direction. The mug that he was using as an ashtray showed signs of him being out there for quite some time.
For a few minutes, they stood there in silence, soon interrupted by the beep of kitchen appliances. "Come inside," Blackquill said. "I'm preparing breakfast."
"Sure." Saint put out the cigarette and followed him in, sitting down at the kitchen table.
"How long have you been up?" Blackquill asked as he returned to his food preparation.
"I wanted to see the sunrise."
Blackquill needed no further explanation, his heart warming a touch at the mere mention. He had done the same in his first few days of freedom. Sunsets as well. "It's beautiful, isn't it? I never truly appreciated it before the clink."
"I always did," Saint replied, a bit distantly. "I could never be sure that I'd live to see another one.."
Blackquill served up the food, setting out two plates of miso, fish, and rice and taking his seat. Saint looked down at his glorious Japanese breakfast as though he'd been served some manner of alien cuisine.
"...Can I have a spoon?"
"The drawer is behind you."
Saint got himself a spoon. "It was a good time to go hot air ballooning, too. Sunrise. The circus wouldn't let me touch the balloon this time around, though."
"Could that be, perhaps, because you used it as a tool for kidnapping and murder?"
Saint huffed and took a sip of miso. With his spoon. Like a barbarian.
Blackquill said, "Well. I'm reasonably assured that are more sunrises where that come from."
"Not for me," came the dark reply.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" asked Blackquill, who knew exactly what it meant.
"I'm going back. Last night was the last straw, honestly."
"You'd throw away your freedom over a single rejection?"
"Not that, jackass." Saint rolled his eyes. "I'm talking about what happened at the circus."
"So, because you lost a single job..."
"Not just that. I was already having a bad day. Did you know that the prison won't let me have the dog I trained?"
That news surprised Blackquill a bit. "Truly? I thought that prisoners were allowed to bring their animals with them..."
"The problem is, she wasn't 'my' dog. She was Kanis's. He tried to get me to transfer ownership when I left, but... he knew he was dying, and I knew he was dying. I left the prison because that was his last wish, but I wasn't going to let him die alone."
"Then, he didn't leave the beast to you?"
"She wasn't 'his' dog, either. She was a replacement for his original dog, provided by the prison. So she's the state's dog. And because she is trained, they want to save her for the next time they have a blind prisoner."
Hearing the story, Blackquill found himself on the side of the clink. It was sad that Saint was denied access to an animal he cared for, but the legal ownership of the animal was perfectly fair, and a blind man would get far more use out of the creature than Saint.
He asked himself, would he have empathized more of it were a bird? ...Probably. So he tried to employ a bit of sympathy when he replied. "There are plenty of dogs in this city who require the care of a loving master—"
"I want that dog," Saint snapped, a sudden flame bursting out from beneath the ice.
"So much that you'd return to the clink? If the creature is earmarked for a blind prisoner, it wouldn't be assigned to you from the beginning..."
"I'd figure something out," came the defensive reply.
"Oh, you will? And yet you can't figure something out from a position of freedom?"
"You call this freedom?" Saint was peering back down at his food again, his small spark of fire already snuffed out. "The outside world is nothing but a bigger cage, and one that has never held a place for me."
He wasn't being manipulative right now, Blackquill realized. This was a man who had already given up, and therefore had no objective. Despair rang out with every word. And though Blackquill could have ignored the statement, or treated it with the disapproval it deserved, he decided to try a different tactic: Simon Says.
"Tch. You've lost your edge. The Sinner I knew would have that accursed canine by his side by the end of the day."
Though Saint said nothing, sharp eyes raised to glare at Blackquill. There you are, he thought with a touch of satisfaction.
"If you really wish to throw away your life, that's your prerogative," he continued. "But your excuse for doing so is rather pathetic, wouldn't you say?"
Saint snorted. "Pretty sure I told you nearly the same thing, once upon a time."
When Simeon next showed up at Blackquill's door, the massive, black hound was by his side.
"I offered to train as many helper animals as they wanted," he said. "So I guess I have a new job, too?"
A satisfying outcome. Blackquill smiled. "See what you can do when you apply your wiles to the task?"
"Oh, shut up. I have one more thing to tell you."
Maybe that satisfaction had been premature. "Oh?"
"I'm shacking up with your sister."
Blackquill sighed. The statement might have had more impact if it were not about the two most homosexual people he'd ever had the reluctant pleasure of knowing. "This old joke again?"
"I'm serious. We're gonna be roomies once she's out. I've been having trouble finding a new place now that I've moved out of the circus, and she's gotta get a new place anyway."
It didn't entirely sit right with Simon, but if anyone could handle Saint's nonsense, it was Aura. "My sister won't be released for another month. What's your plan until then?"
He shrugged. "Long-stay hotel, probably. I'll figure it out."
The perpetual problem with Simeon Saint was that everything, absolutely everything required scrutiny. Was all of this a tactic, and if so, to what end? Did he involve Aura to drag Simon back in, or was she simply his last remaining friend? There was no way of knowing concretely.
And even worse, it didn't matter. Disengaging with Saint was no longer an option. For the sake of his sister, he needed to keep an eye on the man. He needed to be certain that his family was safe.
"Tch. Buy yourself some sheets. You'll be staying on my couch."
"You serious?"
"As a heart attack. Don't make me regret it."
Simeon offered a wry smile. "C'mon, Blackquill. We both know you already regret it."