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The Sinners had left the House of Spiders and decided to head back to H. Corp for a quick respite on the way to the next destination.They had grown so used to the dull concrete jungles that it was nice to be able to relax someplace peaceful for once–at least, after the new heir was announced. Ishmael stayed relatively calm but all but jumped at the chance to drive her own boat in the lake, Don Quixote and Sinclair following aboard.
Rodya, Faust, and Yi Sang had taken to the streets to explore and stock up on things for the bus. Meursault had taken advice from Hong Lu and started working on a small rock garden, Hong Lu gathering up any petals that fell into a large pile. The other Sinners found other ways to keep themselves busy throughout the days.
After getting permission to fish in a smaller lake, Gregor was the first to grab the offered fishing pole, hunker down with a cold beer, and sat beneath an umbrella. He had only caught two small fish by the time the sun sunk low, but he had to admit that the peace was almost normal. He couldn’t recall the last time he fished, he must’ve still been a child and hanging out with his father who…hm. The image of the man was blurry but for some reason Gregor could still see that little lake so clearly.
By the time the sun had gone down, Hong Lu had offered everybody to make a bonfire on the estate’s property. They’d gathered up enough sticks and such from the rock garden they could use as kindling, and with nothing better to do, the Sinners got to work. The fire was large but comfortable, the batch of them gathered around. Food and drink were served to them all, and by the time plates were cleaned off, alcohol had started warming the rest of their limbs.
Gregor was nursing a bottle of beer when the Sinners started discussing their lives. By now, they’d all grown comfortable enough to share everything, and yet it was always a shock when something new was said. Don Quixote remembered having a pet rat in her tower though she didn’t recall ever bringing it with her. It had simply stayed with her for years before it passed in its sleep.
Which brought up Sinclair’s pet dog, something his mother loathed because it drooled a lot and left hair on her clothing. Then Rodya remembered the first time she drove a car. Outis’ first and last cigarette (Ryoshu had snickered), Meursault mentioned his old friend Marie in passing, Gregor’s other siblings. The list went on, slowly and surely, gaining speed like a freight train chugging along the path.
The conversation wobbled here and there for a while until Outis mentioned her child. It wasn’t often she spoke of her wife or child, but just watching those crow’s feet crinkle as Outis let her guard down for a moment had entranced all of the Sinners. Outis mentioned she had left to fight in the war to keep them safe so that there was a wife and child to return home to when she returned. Gregor’s stomach plummeted but he had to remind himself that he escaped the Smoke War, that he didn’t want to partake in it.
He didn’t harm her family, and he wasn’t the reason she was missing them now.
The guilt didn’t seem to want to leave his esophagus, and so he swallowed down the bile with a swig of beer.
Heathcliff just so happened to nudge his shoulder at the same time, giving him a sidelong glance and turning to his own bottle. Gregor rolled his eyes but continued to listen. Any hints now from the more secretive Sinners would probably help them all later in their fathoms. He tried to rationalize his thoughts that way but then something unexpected happened. Ryoshu set down her odachi across her lap and gave it a tentative stroke with her hand, akin to petting a small animal.
Gentle, almost reverent. She was quiet for a moment but then spoke up about Araya. The way she never really wanted to be a ‘mother’, how parenting was hard, but how it was so fulfilling as well. Hearing Araya’s voice first thing in the morning and seeing her eyes glittering with love. Every single tug on Ryoshu’s shirt to get her attention or the way she’d excitedly run into the room with a new picture book for her mom to read.
Ryoshu wasn’t technically her birth mother but it didn’t matter to her. Araya was hers, heart and soul. And now that everyone had known of what transpired between them, various eyes would glance from the sword to Ryoshu’s eyes. Hearing her speak about watermelons in the summer and kotatsu in the winter. The one time Araya tried to put on makeup and ended up looking like a clown. Ryoshu wasn’t even mad; it was probably the first time she’d laughed hard in her life, she stated.
The more she spoke about Araya, the gentler her hands became on the odachi. In fact, Ryoshu almost entirely omitted her SANGRIA, speaking plainly and with love in her words. Gregor hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath until his chest ached. He didn’t have kids of his own but he remembered when Grete was born. How small she was, swaddled in the cloth from the hospital. She barely had any hair on her head, this ugly little wrinkled bundle of tears. But Gregor knew then and there that he loved his little sister, and he would do everything he could to protect her.
He offered her his pinky finger and her entire fist engulfed it. He remembered just how hard his heart started pounding, an exhilaration he’d never experienced before. A new life was brought into the world and would live in his house, play with his toys one day, go to the same schools as him, eat the same meals at the table. That was just him being an older brother for once.
As he got older, that memory never left, but it did mutate. What if instead of his mother it was his wife, and instead of his sister, it was his own child? He wondered if they’d have his hair or eyes or their mother’s, wondered what life would be like as a father sometimes. But then he’d snap back to reality, scoff at himself for such disgusting ideas, and clear his mind until the tobacco burned his lungs.
He wasn’t fit to be a soldier or a son, what would possess him to think he’d be a parent?
He glanced over at Sinclair. He’d brought up wanting to settle down one day, start a family of his own. He’d probably be great at it. He was gentle and calm, compassionate and friendly. His eyes slid over to Don Quixote, totally enraptured in the story being told. While not the same, she was told to ‘continue the family’ as the father of the Bloodfiends. She’d mentioned it felt identical to a real family tie, that you knew you weren’t related to so-and-so but your soul couldn’t tell the difference. Maybe it wasn’t the same but she still had that urge deep down, she’d mentioned before.
Gregor pulled his mouth to the side and thought about it. Even their Guide had used to visit an orphanage, Charon being one of those children. He peered down at the neck of his bottle and thought about what would happen when LCB disbanded. Where would they go? Would some of the Sinners end up settling down and starting families?
Why was the thought of that twisting his stomach into knots?
He wasn’t even sure why it was bothering him so much, he didn’t really care about getting married, let alone making a clone of himself. He didn’t see the point. The world was dark enough and hard enough to live in as a human, what would he be doing bringing a kid into the world when he wasn’t even sure if G. Corp soldiers still existed?
“Faust will help Sinclair to his room,” Faust spoke up and snapped Gregor from his thoughts. The blond was swaying slightly on his feet, exclaiming he was alright, but there were no less than seven bottles beside his feet. Gregor snorted gently, making a comment about Germans under his breath.
Yi Sang followed suit, muffling a yawn behind his forearm. Meursault bid everyone good night as well. Then Outis. Ishmael. The bus slowly milled back inside after cleaning up their respective messes. Heathcliff started kicking dirt and sand onto the fire until it was more smoke than flames, stuffing his hands in his pockets and keeping his head down as he trudged back onto the bus.
Eventually, Gregor was the last one outside but it suited him just fine. Someone had to make sure the fire went fully out and he figured that’d be his duty. He lit up another cigarette and leaned his head back against a tree trunk. The night here was stunning, so many stars in the sky, some of different colors. Maybe the sky was fake, he didn't remember the logistics, but it didn’t matter right now. It reminded him of the War times, taking a respite by a fire in a trash can keeping the soldiers warm. Some ate canned food, others were puffing cigarettes with as much as they could muster with insect heads.
The only change now was that instead of the scent of dried blood and viscera, all he could make out was the faded scent of garlic and the booze in his hand. He rested the cigarette in his fingers as he took a swig, swishing it around and gulping it down. Truthfully, he didn’t like beer, but right now it was the closest comfort he had.
He’d been lost in his thoughts and poking at the ground with the tip of his claw when he heard the creak of the bus’ door open. Out stumbled Heathcliff, cocking his head at him. “Comin’ to bed?” he questioned and Gregor hummed noncommittally.
Heathcliff came to stand beside him and leaned against the tree, crossing his arms and brushing the bangs from his face. “Well, suppose I can keep watch too.”
Gregor hummed again and took another swig. He was getting more foam than beer and felt his mood sour further. He’d been debating getting another one when the scuff of one of Heathcliff’s shoes beside him drew his attention. “You gonna tell me what you’re thinkin’ or nah?”
“Nah,” Gregor replied, taking the last swig of his beer and fighting the urge to throw the bottle into the bonfire in anger. “Just got in my head is all.”
“Uh huh.” Another scuff of a shoe. “I hate when you get all mopey, mate.”
Licking the back of his teeth, Gregor sighed and felt himself wilt. He could claim he was fine until he was blue in the face but it would do little against someone as stubborn as Heathcliff. Better to bite the metaphorical bullet now and get it over with. “The conversations after dinner made me…” He huffed a laugh through his nose and shook his head. His ponytail had gotten too loose and rubbed against his back. “Homesick, I guess.”
“Y’never really talk about your home. Figured you hated that place.”
“I did. I do but…before the arm thing life was easier. Simpler. I had every single typical dream you could think of for when I became an adult. But, you know.” He raised his insectoid arm slightly and dropped it back down to the ground with a deep sigh. He put the cigarette back fully into his mouth and took in a shaky inhale until it stung.
“It’s just-” Gregor exhaled the smoke roughly and snubbed out the stick on the dirt with too much force, whitening the tips of his fingers. “I dunno, bud. Just wishful thinking and ramblings from an old man. Don’t worry about it.” He curled up in on himself in the chill away from the bonfire off to the side, currently smoldering down its last embers and barely belching any sparks. It made the world quiet, far too silent, and it made Heathcliff feel itchy. Anxious.
“I ain’t stupid, mate,” he said lowly, pointing at the very fire the other Sinners were drinking, eating, and laughing around only an hour prior. Now they slept peacefully in the bus, awaiting the next day’s adventure, seemingly blinded to the anguish of one of their own. “I saw how you were looking at Ryoshu. Rest of the lot was seein’ stars in her eyes but you were watchin’ her mouth at every word. She was sayin’ stuff you liked.”
Gregor said nothing, just continued holding his arms like he would fall apart if he didn’t. To anybody else, if they overheard Heathcliff, maybe they thought Gregor was enamored with her. But Heathcliff was right, he wasn’t stupid, he was observant. Annoyingly so. Meursault would file away those observations until they were needed; Heathcliff would blurt them out and make you face them.
Heathcliff sighed, his voice lowering even further. His voice was too rugged to whisper but it felt like a gentle caress of a breeze nonetheless when it ghosted across Gregor’s ears. “You heard her talkin’ about her kid and I can see baby fever clear as day. No shame in wanting to be a dad, too.”
Gregor stiffened. Heathcliff watched his throat bob and then watched as Gregor went pale, finally looking up at him with all the strength of a frightened animal. Hell, Sinclair could give him a run for his money, they might even be twins at this point in time.
Heathcliff sat down and grunted, squatting down and resting his arms over the top of his knees. “It’s not like I hadn’t thought about it all those years ago either. With me and–well.” he cleared his throat. “Point is, sometimes you just think ‘I was treated like absolute trash, if I had rugrats of my own, I’d treat ‘em nicer than I was ever treated.’ All sorts of shite like that. But…”
Heathcliff wrung his hands and Gregor nodded in understanding.
“You’re too messed up to even consider the possibility you might just…not be good for them, either.” Gregor supplied, lowering his head back down.
Heathcliff hummed and placed his hands on the back of his neck, tipping his head down in shame. “Back in the Manor, during all of that…when I was told that I–” He sighed, shaking his head. “I once thought that me n’ Cathy could’ve had a family. She was great with kids, she was always so gentle and spoke all sweet-like. I’d be lying if I didn’t picture her with a big belly crocheting up a pair of socks or whatever. I had dreams of it sometimes after she gave me this ring.”
He held up the hand to reveal the silver band, grown tarnished and scuffed from years of abuse. “But then I’d get nightmares too. What if something happened and I lost her and had to raise a kid on my own? O-Or what if the kids ended up like me but not the ‘now’ me. The old one, the fuck up?”
He took in a shuddering breath and pressed more pressure behind his neck as if to prostrate himself in punishment, awaiting a divine strike of lightning. “When the Erlking–when I, I mean–mentioned the other Heathcliffs, I saw all of their lives flash before me when I had the Golden Bough. And do you know what fuckin’ took the piss outta my sails? In one of those lives, I was a dad, but it wasn’t with Cathy.”
Gregor tipped his head. “...I don’t understand. She was your lover, right, so then…”
Heathcliff shook his head solemnly. “In one world, she wasn’t. I was a right big prick to her, claimed I loved her. I don’t know the chain of events but…I could see Isabella c-crying, pushing at me, and I…” Heathcliff had gone pale. He dropped from his squat fully onto his knees, slowly sitting down properly and stretching his legs out. His voice cracked when he spoke next. “What kind of monster does that and deserves to be a father?”
Gregor put a hand on the expanse of Heathcliff’s back and made the harness clink. Heathcliff put a hand over his mouth for a moment and took in a shaky breath, shaking his head. “I was terrified, mate. I’d done a lot of terrible shite in my life but I would never do that to a woman. To anyone. I’d happily knock a bloke’s lights out but I would never-”
He could feel Heathcliff's back muscles ripple beneath his fingertips and he rubbed a little faster. Either the man was going to vomit or pass out and he wasn’t sure which he wanted to handle right now. Neither. “That was just one possibility out of hundreds and hundreds. I’m sure we all have a future where we’ve done the same or worse.”
“Hah.” Heathcliff thunked his head back against the tree and looked skyward. “Y’know, ‘s kinda why I like you the most, mate. Even at my lowest you still make me feel…” He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he raised his hand again skyward, letting the stars glint off of the band. “She’s probably having a right fit watchin’ me right now. Thought I only liked birds but here I am kissing a bloke good night these days.”
Gregor laughed. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m in the same boat. Never thought I’d be into men but I didn’t really have a preference. Just always defaulted to a wife and a son. Maybe I just wanted to be a better man than my father, your guess is as good as mine. Old age made me flexible I guess.”
“Ain’t a problem.” Heathcliff placed a hand to his chest. “Overheard some of the ladies calling these tits once so we’re dandy.”
Gregor was glad he didn’t have beer left because he knew he would’ve spewed it everywhere. A surprised bark of a laugh escaped him, covering his mouth with his claw and staring at Heathcliff in disbelief. The Brit just grinned, knocking into him lightly with a shoulder. “Seriously?” Gregor asked, shoulders still shaking with barely concealed giggles.
Heathcliff just shrugged, happy the conversation steered elsewhere. “Well, alright, humor me: I’m out of the equation. You meet a nice lass, get married, and she wants a kid. What’s stopping you?”
“I figured it’d be obvious,” he said, raising the claw again away from his mouth. “But…assuming a woman would take me as a bug guy? And assuming I don’t give her the praying mantis treatment in bed–you know, because of the excitement morph situation–I…can’t.”
“You’re not scared, are ya?”
Gregor scoffed. “I think every parent is scared but…no. I literally can’t.”
“C’mon, mate, caterpillars ain’t that scary. It’d be like permanently swaddled.”
Gregor blinked at him. Ah, he thinks the baby will be a bug, too. “No, it’d come out human. Assuming it would even make it to term.” he shook his head. “What I mean is I literally can’t. The surgery? We’re all sterilized. Women soldiers were rare enough that they were fine but the men…yeah. So. I can’t.”
Realizing he was joking at the worst time to alleviate the mood, Heathcliff just frowned. “I–fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t–”
“Nah, it’s fine. Not like I’d go around announcing it or anything. Best I can do is adopt, and I can’t do that either because most G. Corp soldiers were cannibals, so unless a baby falls from the sky I’m good.”
He really wanted another smoke, but instead he took to tapping his nails along the bottle. They sat like that for a while, just absorbing everything they’d learned from each other. Heathcliff piped up first. “I wish I knew my birth parents sometimes. What if they were someone like Outis or Ryoshu and I was loved proper? Yeah, I’m here now, but I hit so many dead ends in my life. I don’t know if I ever really wanted a kid or just wanted to be the parent I wish I had.”
Gregor nodded. “My dad left when I was young. Sometimes I wish I knew what he looked like. Sometimes I wonder if my mother would’ve done any of this to me if he was still around. But…” he could barely remember the faces of his siblings, either. “I turned out alright, I think. Everything led me to this spot at this moment so it can’t be all bad.”
Heathcliff hummed. He remembered the day he was found, in ragged clothes with dirty feet and hair, barely clinging to life. He didn’t eat that day, busking was difficult in the Backstreets. Even though he hated the Manor, hated Hindley, he was still fed, bathed, and given a warm bed. He could’ve died that night.
Now here he was, sitting next to someone he didn’t think he’d have ever fallen for, watching the final embers of a bonfire going out and discussing ‘what-ifs’ like it was natural. Maybe it was. He didn’t want kids, not anymore. What he wanted back then was to prove himself, to be the stability and support he'd never gotten as a child. He couldn’t help but think Gregor was the same. Being a child and then just torn apart and experimented on by the parent made to love and care for you, he couldn’t fathom it.
“C’mon, let’s go inside.” Heathcliff gave the fire another round of dirt kicks and pushed against the sticks, making sure there were no hidden embers. Satisfied, he turned around and saw Gregor standing there. He was peering at Heathcliff, a hair tie between three fingers and his hair fully down. The beer bottle hung loosely between those tied fingers, and he leaned only slightly, letting the tip of his claw rest in the dirt. “You good?”
“Yeah, I just…” Gregor sheepishly peered down at the bottle and then back up at Heathcliff, crossing said arm against his chest. In the dark, his tattoo was unreadable. “I don’t think I say it enough but thanks for always bringing me back.”
Heathcliff cocked his head. For a minute, the tree bark looked like insect chitin, the darkness making Gregor’s honey-brown eyes look all the darker. A flash of the Emperor made Heathcliff quickly rub at his forehead with his shoulder, schooling his face back to neutrality. The man that stood before him now was beautiful and lost, a broken heart that needed mending. “Yeah, well, we’re stuck at the hip now, you’re not leavin’ me alone.”
He crossed the space between them and then slowly wrapped his arms over Gregor’s shoulders. He felt the bug arm move back a bit, but then raise, the blunt side of it pressing to Heathcliff's back while the human arm let warmth against the fabric of his shirt. “We’re better off not bringing any kids into the world, but you know somethin’ else? We’re gonna make it a better place for future generations to live in one day.”
Gregor’s fingers tightened in Heathcliff’s shirt. “Yeah? What makes you so sure?”
“Well.” Heathcliff rubbed his back and pulled away slowly, making sure Gregor could move the bug arm before it snagged on the harness. “If any of the lot have kids, I wanna make sure they can play outside safely. And, maybe I want Uncle Heathcliff privileges when they need a babysitter.”
“That depends, did you ever keep that toy hammer you were given?”
“That’s none of your business, mate.”
Gregor laughed, taking the bottle and tossing it out as he made his way to the bus with Heathcliff in tow. They prepared for bed and did their nightly routines, opting to share a bed and sleep off the buzz from the alcohol. Gregor hated sharing a bed specifically because he had to sleep curled away from them, his arm closest to the wall. That didn’t seem to bother Heathcliff who scooted closer and filled the gap.
“If it matters,” he said, voice already growing heavy from him barely keeping conscious, “I’m glad we were fucked up kids.” Heathcliff ducked his head to yawn and put his forehead between Gregor’s shoulder blades. “If either of us were brought up right, we probably wouldn’t be here right now. Silver linings or whatever Faust would call it.”
Gregor turned his head. “You would really prefer that I went through a ton of experiments and be stuck in this room right now than to be with Catherine?”
Heathcliff was silent for so long that Gregor assumed he fell asleep. When he spoke up, it rumbled against his spine and made Gregor jolt. “Catherine isn’t here with me. You are, mate. If we were meant to be, I wouldn’t be talking about wanting rugrats, I’d probably have ‘em. I’d be asking what color she wanted their bedrooms painted, not snuggled up in a dry bed being warm with my partner and his pet.”
Gregor’s eyes followed a small crack along the wall. He didn’t have anything to say to that. Instead, Heathcliff pressed a kiss to the middle of his spine. “The next time we're dogging, I’ll call it baby-making if it'll make you feel better.”
“I think we’d have to break up then and there.”
This time, it was Heathcliff’s turn to laugh, a sleepy little rattle against his spine. “Good, cuz I felt sick saying it and I dunno if it’s the beer. Now go to sleep, I’m tired, and my head is starting to spin.”
Turning his head as far as he could, Gregor gave him a nuzzle. “If it matters, I think you’d have made a good father.” Heathcliff didn’t respond, already breathing lightly against Gregor’s back, warming old scars and healed flesh. He smiled softly. “This room could be painted though if you're up for it. I’m thinking blue.” The arm against him tightened and then loosened and Gregor relaxed against it. “Purple, then. I’m too short to reach the ceiling, bud, you gotta help me with it.”
Grinning against the pillow, he settled into the warmth, and for once the sound of war coming from the window was drowned out by gentle breathing behind him. Perhaps a child who grew up unloved could heal as an adult in time. He looked forward to that day.