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Such unguarded tenderness was downright shameful for a Roman commander of Octavius' caliber – shameful in that it was unusual, odd, bizarre – even.
Truth be told, the moment should've been simple, mundane, and devoid of confliction. It was nothing more than Octavius cocooned in Jedediah’s arms on the ground, enclosed. The comfortable, small moment spent with Jedediah was lulling him gently into near passive contentment. Octavius was idle, for once, because having the opportunity to hold the short locks of Jedediah's straw-like hair between his two fingers or just being able to stare at his face long enough that it was branded into his eyes, was more than enough.
Octavius knew in his heart and mind that he adored Jedediah with all he was. Jedediah just had something about him, a rare mix of spunk and loyalty that beguiled Octavius endlessly. For a long while, it had irritated him greatly, and he had no issue expressing his grievances to the other, night after night in a constant cycle. Likewise, Jedediah was quite alright with ‘fighting it out’ with Octavius. But now, things were much different. It was funny, the way perceptions of others could change with only a few actions. Even more comical, Octavius couldn't exactly pin when this switch had occurred.
The museum around them was still active, still thrumming with the same steady heartbeat it always had, as life was breathed onto each wax figure, each miniature, and each diorama. He could hear the ever-distant chitter of Dexter, undoubtedly attempting to steal something, the faint clomping of Little Texas– Roosevelt's steed, as well as the Fee-fi-fo-fum of Rexy. But, what did it matter when it was just the two of them on a smooth plateau within Jedediah's exhibit? What did Octavius care, when he was exactly where he wanted to be?
The stillness from the man holding him cued to Octavius that Jedediah had promptly fallen asleep. So, logically, it was very much a good idea for Octavius to do the same.
To his dismay, a tidal wave of perilous penitence had washed over Octavius coldly, thus forcing him awake. He realized very quickly that he shouldn't have been there enjoying himself like this.
It wasn't necessarily that he was ashamed to have laid down with Jedediah, no. In fact, he usually adored small moments such as these, for they were sparse and pure, akin to – as Jedediah put it rather inanely– ‘needles in haystacks’.
Really, the only thing haunting Octavius was the vague notion that he was turning up absent for the valiant soldiers who relied on him wholeheartedly. This thought that he wasn't there for them when he should be – that he had forsaken them in favor of his companion – made his intestines tie knots upon themselves, he nearly shuddered with burning guilt. He didn't intend to have stayed this long, it simply just happened.
But the circumstances meant nothing, because, literal or not, he swore an oath to do his best as the general of his legion. That meant refusing these demeaning, dainty affairs of the heart. Octavius knew of the teachings embroidered into his mind, and beliefs his people had; genuine, affectionate romance was a devastation to the common man and his ability for composure. Cupid’s amorous arrows were dipped in malice, after all. He was conditioned to refusing it at all costs. It was callous, and utilitarian, yes, though Octavius felt it was the morally met course of action to take.
This love would maybe destroy him, maybe cause him to become rash – worst of all, it could cause him to rattle the delicate equilibrium between responsibility and devotion he perpetually existed in and render it totally undone.
Duty held more weight than love, it always had and always will. Duty. Duty to the society he lived in, duty to his ancestors, to the Gods he worshiped, to the state – surely, these tasks would metaphorically, viciously quarter him with time. It didn't sway him in any particular way.
Surprisingly, there was no resentment in Octavius' heart for the ascetic life he had indoctrinated himself into. Quite the opposite. He relished it, enjoyed it, too. Great pride was to be had in his esteemed role. For this very reason, the shame gnawed at him relentlessly like pebbles being pelted his way. In some rights, he deserved it. And the negativity he was incurring upon himself was very much warranted.
‘Was the mere presence of a companion all it took for me to cave entirely? Was that all there was to my person, and furthermore my character?’ Octavius knew that as leader, he must be both strong and unyielding. His capability to fulfill the role was reliant on his resolve – his resolve, which was clearly frail, at the moment. Octavius was wholly unworthy of his current position.
Jedediah had properly worn him thin.
‘Unacceptable’, Octavius thought. ‘Humiliating, too. I’m being pathetic, at best.’.
Mind warring with blissful domesticity and obligations, his fingers snagged under the rim of his nearby helmet. He, rather unceremoniously, rose to his feet with as much silence as he could muster, and slipped on the headpiece. The heaviness settled evenly on his head, a familiar and comforting warmth. He was hoping he could simply sneak out to the night, and return to his own diorama going unnoticed.
Octavius was vacillating when he decided to turn away without a single word. He knew of his own cowardice, but his cowardice was for all the right reasons. It was justifiable enough.
He strode along with all the calmness in the world, all the evenness that refused to give away the slightest hint of sorrow and regret. Octavius knew this sudden abandonment wasn't right to Jedediah. But, he still was bound by neck to certain responsibilities that were in desperate need of tending to. He would've made it back to his own abode successfully, had it not been for the both confused and mildly annoyed –
“Octavius!”
It was a hex spoken unto his physical body rendering him totally immobile. He looked back then turned around, only for the sake of appearing somewhat stout, and brave for Jedediah. In no situation should Octavius appear weak.
“Jedediah.” He blinked once, twice. Each syllable slipped out of his mouth with clarity, and passable tact. Any possible long-winded retort failed to complete the journey to his mind. Instead, he chose to study Jedediah’s body language very closely, noticing the strong tension in his brows, the general acuteness of his stance, and his more intense-than-usual expression.
“Octavius, what in tarnation are you doin’?” Jedediah's previously jagged tone, reminiscent of a glass shard, had flattened out into something kinder, more questioning. Octavius was still on edge – even if it was obvious that Jedediah was genuinely confused, rather than furious.
Octavius stammered, “I…” He was many things, the best liar wasn't one of them. He wondered what he could possibly say to bypass the situation. “I was merely stretching my legs.” He brought a clear-cut, blunt quality to his voice.
He added lightly, “They had fallen asleep.” Even Octavius knew that his small untruth wasn't terribly plausible. Moreover, Octavius had become increasingly aware that he had taken too long to reply. Therefore, his lie was standing on altogether shaky grounds.
“Uh-huh…” Jedediah sounded out very slowly, nodding his head, and feigning that the excuse made complete perfect sense in his mind.
The minimal tapping of Jedediah's boot, the way he had simply chosen to slowly glance at the ground, before meeting Octavius' eyes again, how he was vaguely wrangling a grimace on his face; all were glaring red signals that Octavius' fib was hardly satisfactory. And Octavius knew that. Quite frankly, it made him feel as though his heart was going to rip through his throat.
“Look,” a hint of irritation snuck into his sound. “Can't ya just be honest with me? Acknowledge the corn?” Jedediah questioned, not fully grabbing the bull by the horns, but definitely poking the bear.
Octavius' instinctual response was to refute, and to abjure. So, abjure and refute, he did. “Honest? About what?” The question arrived, inherently redundant.
“Well, I know that you were just up-and-leaving without a word.” Jedediah calmly stated, as though completely impassive to Octavius' attempted escape – just to avoid the subtext of genuine hurt that would poison any positive outcomes.
“And fine. Whatever. I'll let you go if that's what you want.” He made a hand gesture, to personify that Octavius' decision didn't wound him in the slightest. “But,” he added suddenly, almost causing a physical pain to shoot through Octavius, as though Jupiter himself had prodded him with a searing lightning bolt. “I just want you to tell me why you're going.” His cadence curbed, “That's all.”
A small crack appeared in his voice, which wasn't out-of-the-ordinary for someone with Jedediah's general sound. Still, the small waiver paired with how Jedediah had just broken eye contact to stare at the ground with more tension in his face than ever made Octavius felt as though he had been stomped on numerous times.
He despised the defeatist attitude emanating from Jedediah in ever potent waves. As much as Jedediah was trying to seem perfectly composed, Octavius felt it was clear as day that Jedediah was wounded by his actions; the mere idea that Octavius, inadvertently, afflicted Jedediah crushed the commander beyond belief, leaving him off-kilter. To Octavius, seeing Jedediah like this was just about the ugliest sight in the world.
“I told you, I just needed to take a small walk.” Octavius lied again, mentally wincing as he did so.
Jedediah asserted, “Come on, we both know that ain't true!” Octavius wasn't one to fawn when scolded, and Jedediah was no exception. Still, perhaps the guilt was eroding his will, bit by bit, and second by second.
“I don't know why.” Octavius admitted gravely – well-aware that his reply was quite possibly the stupidest thing he had said in this whole interaction yet. He let the tension simmer slowly between them, a scorching hot potato being fervently thrown at one another purely to avoid injury. It was a delicate dance of defending themselves while actively trying their best not to hurt one another.
“That ain't right,” Jedediah criticized. “You gotta quit jawin’ with me, here, Octavius.” He seemed tempted to scrub his hand over his face in a single downward motion, but the action fell short and stopped early. “‘I don't know’ – that's what liars say. There's always a reason behind why we do what we do.” He pushed forth, endlessly poking and prodding with less care than typical.
Octavius wished to mollify the situation desperately, more than anything. But, the means to attaining that weren't all too accessible. “The dawn is soon, I need to get back to my people.”
Jedediah visibly squinted, and shook his head. “Since when did you care about that?”
The retort felt like a spear in the back-end of the knee, to which Octavius would instinctively raise his shield to defend himself. “I always have!”
“You didn't the time I put you in the stocks!” Jedediah reminisced to lighten the mood; it was a meager, but honorable attempt.
“I wasn't staying there on my own volition.” Octavius continued to defend himself, eyeing the look on Jedediah's face that walked the line between a simper and a smirk.
“Well, I'm not talkin’ about the part where I left ya in the stocks. I'm moreso talkin' about how you took initiative to head into my territory knowing that there was a chance that I'd keep ya there.” Jedediah elaborated, knowing a good chunk of what he just laid out was the truth.
Octavius wished he could've just up and left, maybe recite a little soliloquy, and resolve this tomorrow. Yet, he fleshed it out and continued to engage. “It doesn't change the fact that-”
Jedediah skillfully cut him off, “I know. I know, toga boy.” He placatingly, playfully, patted Octavius' armoured chest. “Though, think of it this way, when you were left in the stocks, your soldiers were just fine the next day, yeah?”
Octavius mulled over it, and considered the after effects of said situation. Granted, through the grapevine, he did hear that the Night Guard - Larry - had received quite the reprimand from the director of the museum. Nonetheless, it was still correct to say that the Roman soldiers were unharmed. Unfortunately, that meant Jedediah was correct.
“While true, it could've very well been an isolated incident.” Octavius observed wisely.
“Now you're just drawing it out, Octavius.” Jedediah remarked, though, realizing how crude it sounded – he vied for leeway to retract it. “What I really mean is that although your men depend on you – it's alright to have some time to yourself for once.”
Octavius took it into consideration. Indeed, it was appealing. Enough to make him cave. But, then again, the idea of losing of abandoning his duties figuratively struck him in the back of the knees. And it caused him to well up with self-reproach once more. These rules, these principles which he abided by blindly, provided structure in his life. Therefore, in theory, should offer him this sense of tranquility – and by extension, happiness. Though, he couldn't say he was necessarily happy prior to the change. Enduring. Floating. Living. But nowhere near happy. Here and now, he was happy. Octavius found a mundane sense of peace with Jedediah in his proximity.
He could live forever. For a while, at the very least. He wasn't impervious to being injured, or wounded. But, what he was immune to was aging. His skin remained smooth, gained no wrinkles, or any signs of time to begin with – much unlike the various night guards that inhabited and skulked about the museum each night. Essentially, as long as he wasn't hurt, and as long as the tablet remained in the museum, he was more-or-less an immortal being.
Knowing he was bound to a lengthy existence, Octavius could not help but wonder the value said rules possessed.
What's more, Octavius was aware that to a point, Jedediah shared his struggles – shared the burden of leadership. He understood the weight of the crown. So, it wasn't as though Jedediah was saying comforting nothings just to encourage Octavius' return, no. He was saying it from his own personal experience.
“Fine.” Octavius grinned for the first time in the whole conversation, a sudden wave of electric delight washing over him. “You've made a fair point.”
“Knew you'd come ‘round.” Jedediah chuckled a little, his hand hesitating as he briefly wondered whether to pat Octavius on the shoulder or full-on throw his arms around Octavius' neck. He decided on the latter.
Octavius sighed – with this vague amusement – as he rested his own hands on Jedediah's biceps. Though his previous beam had simmered down by a margin, it was still present in halves as he watched Jedediah lean in.
“Calm yourself.” Octavius hummed, nagging only for the sake of nagging. He offered an arrogant, subtle smile when he saw the inauthentic, miffed look Octavius gave him. Yet, Octavius felt compelled to clarify. “I'm only jesting.”
“Jesting, huh?” Jedediah hummed, raising his brows slightly.
“Jesting. Yes.” Octavius, affirmed, giving a single nod.
Jedediah commented under his breath, "I'll show you 'jesting', cracker-jack."
Jedediah's cheeky comment was followed by a small kiss on the mouth. For a second, Octavius stared a bit lamely at Jedediah before returning the gesture with a peck.
“Okay, okay.” Jedediah pulled away, easygoing at last. “No more standing around like a bump on a log.” He eyed where he and Octavius were initially napping before.
“Indeed.” Octavius nodded his head, catching where Jedediah's line of sight was. “Let us take our leave.”
The climb up to the plateau wasn't at all difficult, it could hardly be called a climb in the first place. Before he laid down next to Jedediah, he was sure to place his helmet beside Jedediah's hat.
Jedediah didn't mind the weight of Octavius' head on his upper arm as he lay on his side, looking at Octavius directly.
Octavius, once more, allowed himself to be held. Although, now he was much more at ease than earlier. Quietly, he hoped that the sun would hit them painlessly, smoothly. So that the involuntary freezing of their own bodies would go unnoticed by the pair themselves – and that it would feel like only a split second and not hours.
He swatted away these thoughts, preventing them from corrupting the fragile happenstance. He simply shut his eyes, and let sleep seize him.