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He stands just outside of Meghill’s office, far enough away to give them privacy, but not too far that he can’t snoop. What kind of unofficial spymaster would he be if he couldn’t snoop, even a little?
Nikki and Meghill speak in low tones, heads bent close together. Angert can’t hear them, but he thinks, perhaps, he understands what is being said — though Momo’s presence confounds him.
“Read the room,” he mutters to himself. “Can’t even give them a moment of privacy?”
After all, if Angert can be polite enough to keep himself removed, couldn’t Momo?
He decided to study the small, ugly feeling in his chest instead of watching them. Nikki would be a great match, his own personal emotions aside. The people love her, and her role as the Witness in the Tide Sending Ceremony already makes her the best candidate. While Meghill isn’t being pressured to settle down and his position as Clan Chief is well established, Angert knows it’s only a matter of time before someone starts talking.
And, in the end, it’s not like they were anything official. He knows he doesn’t have any right to get between them, if something were to happen.
“Hey!”
Angert jerks out of his thoughts, blinking down at Momo’s pouting face — then lifting his gaze further to find Nikki standing before him. Her eyebrows are creased in a worried frown, and her lower lip looks seconds away from trembling.
“Your Excellency!” he chimes, the smile immediately coming to his face as he ducks into a bow. Only a little mocking, for old time’s sake. “Are you on your way to another grand adventure?”
As he straightens his posture, he can see Meghill over her shoulder. He stands with his hands braced on his desk, head bent, shoulders hunched. Angert’s hands twitch at his sides, wanting to go to him, wanting to know what Nikki said to leave him in such a state.
“What, no greeting for me?” Momo counters, despite the fact that he always bristles when Angert addresses him as ‘Meowliness’. “I should make you give me some BBQ for that injustice!”
He presses his hand to his heart and opens his mouth to quip back, but Nikki glances down at her companion and asks, “Momo, can you give us a moment?”
Momo’s eyes go wide and he sputters out an offended, “What?” He looks to Angert, as if this is somehow his fault, then back to Nikki. “Leave you alone? With him?”
“Don’t worry, Your Meowliness,” Angert says, and despite the cloak, he can see Momo’s bristling fur. Worth it. “I won’t lay a hand on the Saintess.”
Nikki’s smile is small and weak, and he realizes suddenly just how exhausted she looks. Has she even had a chance to take a break since arriving in the Boneyard? Since waking up among the Shroomlings? Even when he was running with the Docilists, he spent more time than necessary running after her across Itzaland.
It’s the same heart-weary exhaustion he’s seen in Meghill, and Angert adds that to the mental tally.
“It’s just a moment, Momo. I promise I’ll fill you in after, but I need to tell him privately.” She leans down to rest the palm of her hand reassuringly between Momo’s ears.
The ears twitch and Momo lifts a threatening paw in Angert’s direction, to his own eyes, then back to Angert. An unspoken I’ll be watching you, and he bites back on the laugh that tries desperately to escape at the image.
Instead, he clears his throat and waves a hand to gesture for Nikki to lead the way. “After you then, Your Excellency.”
They leave Momo muttering darkly to himself before he wanders over to where some children are playing a block game.
There’s nowhere quite private in the atrium, but she finds a quiet corner tucked out of the way that at least doesn’t have any prying ears. She fidgets nervously without saying anything for a moment, and once again he’s left wondering just what she said to Meghill before leaving his office.
He doesn’t know how to be serious around her. He’s only been teasing, mildly antagonistic, or worried about his people. Which one is he supposed to play now? Maybe worry for Meghill, because he is worried, more than anything, and that’s a sub-division of his people and—
Nikki surprises him by suddenly flinging her arms around his waist and hiding her face in his chest, a small, hiccuping sound that might be a sob, might be her smacking herself against one of his metal decorations escaping her lips.
“Woah—” His hands hover awkwardly in the air, uncertain of where to land or what to do. “Nikki, is everything alright?”
She hesitates, then shakes her head. “I don’t know.” He can feel her inhale as her grip tightens imperceptively around him. “About Meghill… I…”
Great dragons, did he drastically misunderstand this? Did Meghill perhaps bring up the offer to her, confess, even, and she rejected him? And then Nikki— she—
Well, he can’t say he isn’t flattered—
“I’m worried about him,” Nikki finally says, not fully stepping away but pulling her hands around to cover her face with them. “He’s not letting himself mourn for her.”
Oh.
There is a brief, shameful rush of relief as he realizes what she’s saying that Angert stomps down and shoves to the back of his mind to inspect later.
This whole time he was worried about the wrong thing, and the relief is replaced by a cold blade of doubt.
He knew, of course, that Nikki’s involvement with uncovering the truth about Medeal would take its toll on Meghill. He knew, of course, that sending Medeal off to be reincarnated would strike such a blow to their stoic Clan Leader.
Angert just thought that after everything he would have been able to tell.
Did he let himself be fooled by the charade that Meghill puts on for all of the Parksolians? Did he honestly think that this, too, would be something that Nikki could fix when he couldn’t?
He finally lets his hands land on her shoulders, an awkward return of the embrace. “It’s very kind of you to be so worried about him.”
Nikki tilts her face up and a frustrated look flashes over her face. “Angert.”
“Your Excellency— Ouch!” He flinches as she jabs a finger into his unprotected side. “What?”
She pokes him again as she finally takes a step back. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I!” Which he knows is hard to believe, especially when he sounds more petulant than defensive, but he doesn’t know how else he is supposed to express it. “I mean it. I’m glad you can be there for him.”
Her shoulders slump in momentary defeat, but then all trace of her exhaustion is gone as soon as she pulls her shoulders back and sets her hands on her hips. “Fine, I will spell it out for you since you insist on making this difficult: Meghill needs you right now. Not me.”
“Oh?” Angert winces at the way his voice lifts too hopefully on the question. “And why not you?” And why does he insist on digging his own grave a little deeper with each question?
Nikki turns her head away, and there’s something in the motion, in the way that her jaw sets, that reminds him suddenly and fiercely of Medeal. “I represent too much of what he lost. I was the focus of Medeal’s attention while he was left here to pick up the pieces, and then I took her place as the Witness—...” She trails off, one arm wrapping around her middle as the other lifts to her mouth, to hold back the words that she doesn’t want to say. “He won’t admit as much, so please. Make sure that he doesn’t burn himself up to try and ignore what he’s feeling.”
Angert rocks forward on the balls of his feet but remains rooted to the spot. “But why come to me?” he makes himself ask, though he can’t think of anyone more suited to the task. Only he’s just as tied up in Medeal as Nikki is, spending the last few years infiltrating her organization and tracking her movements.
“You are his most special person,” she says with such confident honesty that he can’t help the sudden laugh that escapes him.
It’s really not that funny, but again there’s that selfish relief washing over him, renewing the surge of laughter. “And you figured that out on your own, Saintess?”
She pouts, fists returning to her hips, and she tries to make herself look taller in the face of his amusement. “Yes! And it is obvious that you care about him as well, so I don’t know why you’re being difficult!”
It’s true he’s being difficult, and it’s true that he cares about Meghill — more than words, more than anything. Enough to leave the Boneyard for years to chase after a woman bent on the destruction of her own race simply because Meghill asked him to.
And here he was working himself up into a mood because he thought there might have been something between Meghill and Nikki.
He wipes a tear from his eyes and manages to control the laughter long enough to put on a genuine smile. “Thank you, Nikki.”
She narrows her eyes, as if waiting for him to turn it into a joke. When he doesn’t, she deflates and the momentary burst of spunk is gone. But she returns his smile with one of her own, and he can see the love and care that she shows everything sparkling behind the exhaustion. “Look after him, Angert.”
He presses a hand to his heart and inclines his head. “I will.”
Nikki surprises him by placing one of her hands to his cheek. “And I’ll know if you don’t,” she says cheerfully despite the threatening words. Then she places a kiss on his cheek. “Give it to him for me.” With a parting wink, she whirls away in a cloud of pink hair and heads back towards Momo.
Angert watches her go for a moment longer before he makes himself take the first step towards Meghill’s office. The second and third come easier after that, and soon he’s striding purposefully through the atrium, past the guards flanking the study doors, and then—
Then he remembers he’s not here for work.
Meghill is still standing hunched over his desk, not looking like he’s moved at all since Nikki left him, and Angert wonders how bad it must actually be that he couldn’t at least move out of view.
Angert pivots on his heel and nods to the guards. “The Clan Chief is not to be disturbed unless it's a matter of utmost importance,” he says in his most official voice.
They nod back, and Angert begins to swing the doors shut.
Just before they close, he looks up to see Nikki smiling back at him. She waves, and then she’s gone. The doors snick softly shut, and the chatter from the atrium is cut off. There’s still the distant sounds from the market below the open windows, but it’s distant enough that it won’t intrude on their solitude.
Slowly, uncertain of what he’ll see, Angert turns back towards Meghill.
The Clan Chief had stirred at the sound of his voice, but it was only to curl further in on himself. His gloved fingers grip the desk hard enough that his skin will probably be mottled beneath the pressure, his nails unable to dig furrows into the polished surface. “What is it, Angert?” he asks, his voice low and rough as he tries to keep his emotions in check.
He lets out an exasperated sigh and crosses the distance to stand beside Meghill. He leans his hip against the table and crosses his arms over his chest, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. “I really wish you would stop acting like you can’t let your guard down around me.”
From the corner of his eyes, he can see Meghill stiffen. Is that better or worse than the wilting? “I don’t know what you mean.”
His mouth opens, the quip on his tongue, but he manages to bite it back before more than a strangled sound escapes. No, he can’t put up a front while accusing Meghill of doing the same. If they are to be honest with each other, the way they once were, then he can’t hide behind teasing.
So he reaches up and puts a hand on Meghill’s shoulder, allowing himself to turn towards the other man; careful to give him space if he needs it, but bringing them closer together. Closer than they’ve allowed themselves to be in a while, what with the people’s eyes on the new Clan Chief and the investigation into Medeal’s absence. Hip to hip, a hinge that could turn either way.
Meghill’s warmth is instantly familiar, and he tries not to melt into it. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to — all of that with Medeal and Nikki — but you know that I’m here for you, don’t you?”
“I—” Meghill’s voice catches, and he coughs to clear it. “I know.”
“And will you?” He hesitates, then lets his hand slide up to Meghill’s neck, the intimacy of the gesture hampered by the gloves, but he can remember the feel of the skin against the rough edges of the scales. Can remember the silken silver hair between his fingers.
The moment hangs by a thread, Angert holding his breath as he wills himself to not jerk his hand away and apologize.
Then Meghill releases a shaky breath and he shifts in towards Angert. Prises one hand from the desk to wrap around Angert’s waist, the other slipping around his shoulders. They both step in towards each other to close the distance between them.
Meghill tucks his forehead against Angert’s shoulder, and he rests his cheek against Meghill’s head, their horns knocking together like clumsy teenagers, unfamiliar with their own bodies.
“I don’t know how,” Megill says, voice muffled against Angert’s leather armor.
“It’s alright,” Angert reassures him, smoothing his hand over Meghill’s hair before letting it settle comfortably against the back of his neck — cradling the base of his skull to hold him in place. “I’m not going anywhere.”
A wounded sound escapes Meghill, and their grips tighten around one another. “I’m sorry I pushed you away.”
“What?” Angert gives a breathless laugh. “You asked me to look into something for you, and I did so willingly. Not just because you’re Clan Chief.” Just another thing he didn’t know how to be honest about, not with the others standing right there and too many emotions tangled in the years between them.
“Not just that,” he says, his hand moving to the small of Angert’s back, a mirror to the hand against his neck. The soft leather of his gloves makes a small shiver shoot up Angert’s spine. “I kept asking you to cover me as I ran off to investigate with Nikki. I just… I had hoped I would see her one last time. That I could talk to her.”
That he could convince her to stay.
A little brother running after his older sister, begging her to not leave him behind.
Angert wonders if, deep down, Meghill feels like Angert abandoned him too. Even though it was an official investigation, a request of the Clan Chief to his subject, Angert did mean it when he said he went willingly. He’s not afraid to let Meghill know when he’s wrong — the benefit of being friends for so long. He knew it would be a worthwhile endeavor to investigate the new Docilism cult cropping up in Spira.
He stares at the door across the room that leads to Medeal’s study. The door is cracked open, and Angert wonders what sort of memories are flooding out of it. What did Meghill and Nikki discover, and will Meghill ever tell him?
“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Angert eventually says. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He should be the one apologizing. He brought back the locket and then only gave Meghill grief about it. Of course it would become a point of obsession; it was Medeal’s, one of the only personal items she left behind. Along with the ocarina that Nikki handed over, Meghill has precious little left of his sister that is his alone.
All of the memories, all of the research, is shared with the Parksolians. And Meghill would never deny his people their own right to mourn a beloved healer and leader. He would put their grief before his any day, which is the whole problem to begin with.
The trembling starts so gradually that Angert doesn’t even realize until Meghill’s grip tightens around him yet again, pulling them even closer together. And then he can feel the other man shaking in his arms, the strained breaths as he tries to hold back the tears.
“The people lost a friend, but don’t forget that you lost a sister,” Angert says. In the back of his head, he can hear Momo’s teasing voice say I’m struggling to get used to you acting so serious. “Whenever you decide that you need someone to talk to, I will be at your side.”
It takes a long moment before Meghill manages a strained, “Thank you, Angert. For everything.”
Angert thinks of all the things he could have done better, could have tried harder to hold onto, could have done at all, and wonders how much of it is his own grief at failing to stop Medeal before it came to this.
Instead, he guides Meghill’s head up off his shoulder. He gently wipes away the tears that refuse to fall with the pad of his thumb, then leans in to press his lips to the corner of Meghill’s eye. Cool scales and warm skin, the taste of salt and the smell of Dragonbreath flowers. He drinks it in as he hears Meghill let out a soft sigh of relief. “Cancel your meetings for the rest of the day.”
There’s just the slightest hesitation before Meghill says, “But—”
“No, no buts. Pass them off to your secretary, or just reschedule them.” Angert pulls away, thrilling at the way that Meghill attempts to chase after before catching himself. “And turn off your Pear Pal. I don’t want to hear that thing chirping.”
“It’s in my desk.” Meghill makes a vague gesture towards his chair, though he doesn’t move from his spot. Just explaining that it will be out of the way as he catches on to Angert’s intentions.
“Good.” He feels young and reckless as he takes Meghill’s hand, drawing him away from the desk and back towards the door. “You’re coming back to my place. And!” He holds up a hand to forestall any potential questions. “Nothing has to happen. Nothing that you don’t want. But I want you to rest without anyone pestering you for the rest of the day.”
Meghill’s smile looks like a rag wrung out to dry too many times, pale and shapeless. But he tugs Angert back in so their legs tangle together, chest to chest, reaching for each other out of muscle memory and a shared desire to know the other still remembers the dance. Angert kisses him first, and feels Meghill melt into it beneath his hands.
“Please don’t cut me out,” Angert blurts, the truth tearing out of his mouth before he can stop it. “I want nothing more than to be the first person you turn to. For anything — for everything.”
Startled, Meghill stares at him in silence for an uncomfortably long time. Or just a few seconds, Angert genuinely can’t tell because his brain is too busy screeching at how he ruined it by making this about him and his own hurt.
But then Meghill’s expression softens in relief, and he presses his gloved thumb to the corner of Angert’s mouth. “I promise. You are my partner in everything. I trust you with my heart.”
Angert knows that there will still be tender wounds that will be uncovered as the days go on, ways that grief will rear its ugly head and things will be said that neither of them mean. This isn’t the first time that either of them have lost a family member; it will just be the one that will be the hardest to heal from.
One day they’ll be able to talk about Medeal and Nikki’s role in all of it, but Angert is content to leave it at this for now — Meghill’s hand in his, and the knowledge that they can still stand side by side through even the worst storms.