Azkadellia's Okay! Part 9: Knives Purchased; Masochism Denied.
Banner by magicscalpel~!
AUTHORS: andrealyn and luchia13
TITLE: Azkadellia's Okay! (With Ambrose and the Cains' help), Part 9: Knives Purchased; Masochism Denied.
RATING: R. Just in case.
PAIRING: Ambrose/Cain (or Cain/Ambrose, whatever), VERY FUTURE Az/OC, Jeb/OC/OC
DESCRIPTION: When the Witch picks another target, everything changes. Including switching out the Roboparents for Ambrose and the only Tin Man who knows what's going on (and his kid).
This Part: Cain and Ambrose don't have phone sex, Jeb doesn't get a bomb, and neither does Azkadellia.
Part 1: Things Explode; Iceland Blamed.
Part 2: Pink House Purchased; Introductions Ensue.
Part 3: Fight In Classroom; Landslide Victory.
Part 4: Cain Doesn't Move; Children Scream.
Part 5: Countries Massacred; Restaurant Warned.
Part 6: Dog In Prison; Keys Lost.
Part 7: Woman Hurt; Ship Sinks.
Part 8: Judgment Questioned; Test Given.
Azkadellia's Okay!
(With Ambrose and the Cains' help)
Part 9: Knives Purchased; Masochism Denied.
"So...how's the weather?"
"It's okay. Fifty-nine out."
"Fifty-nine? That's a weird temperature. What do you even wear when it's fifty-nine?"
"Just what I normally wear. Jeans, boots, shirt, hat."
"...take the hat off."
"What do you mean? ...Okay, it's off. Why'd you want that? And how are you?"
"I've been better. And I wanted the hat off because you're indoors. Why wear a hat indoors?"
"Because I like my hat? I know what you mean about the better though. I'll be back in a couple days, you know. Soon enough. How are things back home?"
"Fine, put the hat back on then. But things here are safe, educational, and stressful. I'd forgotten how hard only one - well. It's stressful. Two days seems like a very long time right now, Cain."
"The hat's off. It stays off. It's sitting in a chair staring at me, in fact. And I know, but I signed myself up for this and I'm resolved to staying. I've got a duty here. ...are you okay?"
"I'm tired and I just...I suddenly feel very tall in the house, that's all. I'm more worried about you if you think your hat's staring at you."
"I'm not going crazy, Ambrose. It's a figure of speech. Just...just two days, okay? Where are you right now?"
"I can handle two days. And I'm...well. Don't get mad, but I'm in your little pink house because I didn't think sitting in the living room would be very smart if the conversation turned the wrong way."
"Yeah? And I'm not mad. You're welcome in there anytime you like. That mean you're on my bed?"
"Yes, I'm on your big manly-colored bed. Have I ever mentioned it's softer than mine? Anyway, I was thinking maybe I should make a spare key for the lab. For emergencies only, of course, in case something happens while I'm down there."
"Mmhmm. You mean besides the copy I already have, seeing as I stole your key and made one?"
"...number one, you are very lucky you told me that over the phone, and two, remember you'd do a lot of damage if you go bumbling around in there and could kill us, which leads to number three, don't go in there unless it's an emergency."
"I wouldn't go in there, sweetheart. It's a copy to have in case I hear a loud explosion and I need to check to make sure you're still breathing. I kind of have a vested interested in you, you know."
"You make it sound like I'm incompetent or something! And alright, since we're admitting to things with vested interests, I put a tracking device in your truck. You could have picked a nicer hotel for yourself, according to the last check."
"You put a...Ambrose, I swear to the gods...give me one good reason I shouldn't go tear apart the truck and look for that thing?"
"I'll give you a couple. One, you'd probably never find it, two, if you did take it off I'd just stick another one on when you got back, and three, have you noticed that nice little boost you get around, oh, sixty-five miles an hour?"
"Fine. Fine, I'll keep it, if you let me keep the key. Hey Ambrose. What are you wearing?"
"I didn't blow up your truck, so just promise you won't blow up my lab. And just my shirt and pants, really. It's been a long day."
"Wish I were there. They took us out for drinks after the last symposium meeting and all I could think about was that bed you're on right now."
"...I wish so too. And...well. Just forty-eight hours and you're home."
"This is going to sound crazy, but spend the night in that bed. I want to be able to come home and find myself in a bed that smells like you. Which is even crazier aloud, but do it for me? I could use a little comfort when I get back."
"I will. And...hell. Cain, the house feels dead without you. The only people Azkadellia's spoken with have been Toto, Jeb, me, and Karen since you left. I'm doing my best to keep the kids happy but they miss you as much as I do."
"Az misses me? You miss me?"
"She misses you. And I...I miss you, Cain."
"I miss you more than I thought I would, sweetheart. Bed's far too cold without you in it and there's no one to talk to about my day. I guess I'd convinced myself things weren't as serious as they are, huh."
"I keep expecting you to be places and then you aren't, and it just...I don't know. But I hate it, I can't sleep anymore, and I want you home where you belong. Gods, it really is serious, isn't it."
"Forty-eight hours. I really think you and I ought to have this conversation face to face. Or maybe that's just my wanting to see you. Think we can do that?"
"We can do that. We should do that. And I...well. It's late. I should get some sleep."
"Not yet. Not yet, okay? Just lie down and talk with me for a while, just until we fall asleep. Tell me what's been going on."
"...alright. Well, I. I put my class at war with each other, and a fraternity wants me to be some sort of...of sponsor thing. I don't know what's really going on with that. How about you?"
"Only you could do that in a matter of days. Me? I took notes for the new recruits, checked out several new protocols and got wined and dined by suppliers. Dreamt of you last night...y'know, the thing. The weird pond dream again with you and I all wet and surrounded by ducks."
"The ducks will never stop being strange. Probably says something about your psyche and voyeurism, but anyway. I got the obnoxious button one again. You know, where they just keep popping off but staying shut and neither of us can...anyway. Jeb's team won at soccer, like usual, and apparently Az's little court is starting some sort of letter about gay rights to a senator, which I only know by way of Karen, who is apparently very excited about it, and I don't know if I should stop them or not."
"Stop them. We're not doing that, we are not calling attention to ourselves and I swear I'll drive back tonight if I have to do it myself. Misplace the letter. We have a higher purpose and that's not to do with Otherside politics."
"Alright. I just thought it was interesting, since Azkadellia didn't have anything to do with it, according to Karen. If it was just Az I'd have stomped it fast, but...anyway. How do you think things will turn out with that higher purpose of ours?"
"I don't want to talk about it. Not right now. Right now, just keep talking and I'm going to lie myself down and take off my boots and my shirt and I'm going to listen to your voice. Okay?"
"Alright. I'm kind of already in your bed though. So...huh. I can't really think of much to say. The house is still pink. Toto's still the moodiest man-dog ever."
"I know you'll take good care of everything until I get back. Just a couple more days and I'll be home, safe and sound, but I think m'going to pass out here. I'll call tomorrow before I leave, okay? Take care, Ambrose and we'll talk soon enough."
"Okay. I'll see you, so...Goodnight."
"Goodnight, sweetheart. Talk to you in the morning."
--
By now there was practically protocol.
Azkadellia seemed to constantly finish her homework faster than Jeb, and he’d know it was one of those nights when, instead of letting her stay and help Jeb a little, Ambrose would send her to bed for a completely logical and undeniably good reason. Like any young lady who knew she’d been defeated, Azkadellia would say goodnight and head up to her room like the whole thing had been her idea. Ambrose would get rid of Cain, and then they’d go down into the lab that seemed more like a splinter in their world than anything else - a touch of the deadly O.Z. inside their Otherside home.
Tonight, the walk down the stairs was silent, Ambrose just as somber as he’d been since Jeb’s father had gone to Colorado. Jeb didn’t like either of their attempts at dealing with…whatever their thing was. If he hadn’t known his father, Jeb would have almost said he was running, and if he hadn’t known Ambrose, he might have said he was pouting.
“Do you have the handkerchief with you?” Ambrose asked, breaking the silence and snapping Jeb back to their surroundings. They’d stopped in the open, not-full-of-terrifying-weapons area, Ambrose standing in front of him.
Jeb nodded, pulling it out of his back pocket and then pulling the seam. The cloth snapped into place as a ridiculously sharp knife, and Ambrose nodded. It was the newest and possibly deadliest James Bond gadget Ambrose had given him. Jeb had seen the cloth knife cut through iron, and he didn’t doubt that the butterknife-sized object could cut through bone just as easily.
“Now turn it back into a handkerchief,” Ambrose said simply. Jeb gave him a confused look, but did as he was told. He touched the seams back together (which were apparently conductive wires or something; it was all very scientific and Q-like, and Jeb was glad that James Bond only had to use the things and not understand why they worked, just how.
Ambrose nodded again, and pulled out what looked like a normal piece of chocolate, unwrapping it.
“What’s this one do-” Jeb began, reaching for the gadget, only to gape as Ambrose frowned at him and ate it. “It was just chocolate?!”
Ambrose shook his head, smiling a little and pulling out another piece, handing it to Jeb. “Not everything in here’s deadly. I happen to like chocolate a bit too much to turn it into a weapon.” When Jeb had grabbed the chocolate and started biting into it (unlike Ambrose, who seemed to have simply swallowed it whole), the inventor walked over to the very last table, lined flush against the vault. “Besides, I’d always be checking my chocolate to make sure it wouldn’t explode my skull the moment I bit into it. Also, you’re not getting a weapon this time.”
“Bih’m nobht?” Jeb shouted out in utter confusion, completely forgetting his mouth was full. It earned a chuckle from Ambrose, and he pulled out what looked like a small bottle of eyedrops, the tiny type people with contacts wore.
“Sometimes it’s a lot more useful to restrain an attacker than officially neutralize one,” he said, voice going into teacher-mode. “This is a dangerous thing for me to teach you, and you’re not getting much more information than this for a long time, Jeb.” Like usual in these situations, Jeb got a firm Look, and Ambrose received a nod. “Alright. This is a liquid that you’re going to put three drops of onto that napkin and then put on the attacker’s mouth. They’ll be knocked out cold in three seconds, but make sure this stays on them for those three seconds, or else they will just be very confused and very, very angry.”
Jeb frowned. “You’re giving me knock-out drops?”
Ambrose sighed, already moving to one of his paper-strewn desks. “Yes, Jeb, I’m giving you ‘knock-out drops’ if that’s really what you want to call it.”
Ambrose had developed a bad habit of never really dismissing Jeb, instead simply going back to other work and expecting him to go. Jeb usually went, too, but this…this hadn’t been the normal Ambrose he saw. The man hadn’t even been excited about his invention. Ambrose wasn’t himself, and Jeb knew why.
Jeb cleared his throat. “I didn’t really have a problem with it, you know.”
A hand snuck into Ambrose’s hair. His eyes were still on the paper, just like his pencil. “With what?”
“You and my father,” Jeb said. “The only thing I really minded was not being told about it. I know I’m a kid and all that-”
“Jeb, it’s not because you’re a child.”
“Then what was it?” He frowned at the man. “Were you keeping it a secret because you were embarrassed or something?” Ambrose finally looked up and gave him a look that usually meant the conversation was over, but Jeb wasn’t moving. “Please tell me.”
Ambrose let out a breath and threw the pencil back onto the papers, crossing his arms and swiveling the chair around to face Jeb. “It’s complicated, Jeb.”
“Everything’s complicated here,” Jeb pointed out. “I think of Az as my big sister, which makes her sister mine too, even if she killed my mom.”
Ambrose’s mouth dropped open. “That’s-”
“Please just talk to me about it. I want to know why you even hid from us.”
Ambrose closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair one more time. “We didn’t think you two would be able to understand a…casual relationship. If it all fell apart, we didn’t want to hurt you both.”
“So instead you just hurt each other and yourselves.” Jeb nodded. “I wouldn’t tell me about that either.”
“Jeb, we’re not masochists.” When Jeb gave him a confused look. “It basically means people who like being hurt.”
Jeb frowned at him. “What else do you call all of this? Being hurt means being sad, and you both seemed to do as much as you could to be as sad as possible. My father goes off on a trip when everyone knows he doesn’t want to, and you practically lock yourself in here.”
Ambrose stared at Jeb for a while. “Jeb, sometimes you and Azkadellia scare me with how wise you are.” He paused. “You really didn’t have a problem with it?”
“My dad was happy, you were happy. I liked that a lot more than this masochist thing.” Jeb thought for a moment, and then nodded, tucking the handkerchief back in his pocket. “You should get back together when Dad gets back. Be happy again, but without sneaking around.”
Ambrose just kept staring at him, so Jeb smiled back. He hesitated, but finally headed for the stairs.
“Jeb?”
Jeb had a foot on the stairs already when Ambrose said his name, but he turned.
Ambrose looked quiet, which wasn’t something normal. Usually he was moving, scribbling, smiling, some part of him always doing something. He looked frozen, but nodded with a small smile. “Thank you, Jeb.”
Jeb grinned. “Thanks, Q.”
He was already running up the stairs and barely managed to close the door before Ambrose’s usual “I’m not Q and you are not James Bond, Jeb!” protest got through to the main house.
--
Cain had never been any good with awkward situations in his life. He’d always wanted them to magically vanish in a cloud of good intentions and prayers to the gods. Worse yet were the awkward situations that just couldn’t be avoided. For instance, Cain knew that when he got back from Denver and walked in that front door, he was going to have two kids to deal with.
Jeb was fine. Jeb, he just had to explain why he left for so long - the longest they had ever been apart in their lives. He had souvenirs and a hug for Jeb along with an explanation about why he’d gone for work. But Azkadellia proved far more awkward, considering that the last thing they’d done before he left was argue loudly enough to cause reverberations in the house.
He’d thought about some kind of souvenir to make it up to her, but didn’t like the notion of buying her love back. He still got her a book about important women in Colorado’s history - along with some rock candy - mostly because he knew there’d be complaints if Jeb and Ambrose got gifts and she didn’t.
He had even picked up a little doggie bed for Toto.
All the purchases in the world didn’t matter, though, unless he did this apology right and that was what the items in the sheath was for. It was lying on the table and was meant for Az when she got home from school - which Cain noticed was later than usual, almost as if she were avoiding the awkwardness of the confrontation as much as he wanted to.
She got home forty minutes later and very neatly hung up her coat and bag before turning to stare at Cain. He stared back. It was a very strange Mexican standoff involving a lot more guilt than a standoff usually would and neither of them dared to flinch, lest the other run away in the time it took to blink.
“Azkadellia,” he greeted.
“Mr. Cain,” was her quiet return. She clutched onto her pale-grey sweater tightly, her long and lacquered nails reflecting the kitchen light dully. She almost looked sick and Cain had to stop himself from bolting to his feet to check her temperature and hug her and promise it was all going to be alright. “How was your trip?”
“It was lonely,” he admitted frankly, getting to his feet slowly and wandering over to coax her into a hug. She didn’t have to be sick for him to do that. “Hey Princess,” he murmured, feeling how they both stiffened at the hug, like they weren’t sure it was the right thing to do. “I’m sorry for what I told you. I could have found a better way to put it.”
“You were right, though,” Azkadellia murmured quietly. “And I’m sorry.”
“We never should have kept it from you and Ambrose and I should have explained it better,” Cain insisted, easing back to brush away the slightest tear track on her face with his thumb. “I want you to be able to come to us when you don’t understand something. That ranges from Ambrose and I to boys to girls to math you don’t get. We just don’t want anything to happen to you and the more information that’s out there about us, the more prone we are to attack.”
“I know,” Azkadellia insisted. “I know, I know, please, Mr. Cain, I know,” she begged.
Cain released her and turned to the table, slowly unsheathing the items he had with him. “These are some very old daggers that I purchased from an auction a couple months back,” he informed her, smoothing a flat palm over the surface of one. Azkadellia inched closer to get a better look, her curiosity getting the better of her as it would anyone when shiny objects as neat-looking as the daggers were in question.
“Do you use them often?”
“Never at all,” Cain replied easily, taking his time to go through this slowly. While they’d both said their apologies, things still felt tense in the air between them and he knew that it would take time to get back to the way things used to be. He just intended to start fixing them right then and there. “They’re not mine.”
“Are they stolen?” Azkadellia asked politely.
“No, kid, they’re for you.”
There was a gun sitting in a drawer for Jeb when he was old enough. It was for the inevitable return to the O.Z. and he’d made sure both kids knew how to wield a gun with perfect accuracy. However, he knew it probably wasn’t as befitting a princess to be taking down an evil witch with a shotgun in hand. That had been when he’d dragged Ambrose to each and every antiques shop in town and made him go over every last piece of weaponry with him, just to find the right ones for Azkadellia. Jeb’s gun was marked with ornate carvings and hints of gold in the handle. Azkadellia’s swords were curved, gorgeous, and very sharp. They also were small enough to be concealed in a dress.
“Me? I don’t understand,” Azkadellia murmured, but Cain caught the glint of excitement lingering in her eyes.
“We’re going to start learning how to use them,” he encouraged, handing her one and then the other. “You’re nearly sixteen annuals, it’s about time. Think of it as part one of an early gift.”
And then that glint turned into a full-blown expression of joy and she wrapped her hand gracefully around the handle. She looked ready to tell Cain something, as though there were words bubbling on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t say anything. Cain couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or relieved of that fact.
“Come on, out in the back. I’ll teach you a couple paces,” Cain encouraged, tugging her along.
He didn’t go over much. He didn’t even teach her any assertive moves. He was happy to start her off slow and learning how to defend herself from an attack. She would let Ambrose and Toto teach her about magic, seeing as that was vehemently not Cain’s area of expertise. But this, he was good at. He was good at footwork and agility and grace, at teaching people how to avoid attacks with an economy of movement. He watched her critically and never held back. He was honest about when she needed improvement and he was honest about his praise.
They practiced like this for two hours until Cain could notice a slight wheeze when it came to Azkadellia’s movements. “Come on,” he gently encouraged, prying the daggers from her grip. “Let’s put these away, go get some ice cream and you can tell me about your days and then ask me anything you want.”
While he wasn’t about to take back the fact that he disapproved of how she had handled the situation of finding out, Cain did feel regretful about both the way he reacted and had nearly run off, as if that would solve any problems.
He told her as much as they sat in a booth at the ice cream parlor and she twirled her silver spoon in between bites of frozen yogurt. Cain had chosen something very chocolate-laden, almost as if to see what Ambrose was talking about - and also because Cain wanted to revisit the taste of chocolate on his lips, except this time it wasn’t from kissing every inch of Ambrose’s mouth, inside and out.
“I don’t want to see you unhappy is all,” Azkadellia confessed, when they got back onto the subject of Ambrose and Cain and they did so with hushed voices and many euphemisms, just in case. “That’s why I wanted to ask for more information. I want to know how to make it go as smoothly as possible. I didn’t like the fighting very much and I think it would be very backwards if you two were to degenerate into that again.”
“We’re always going to bicker, Az,” Cain pointed out, almost feeling guilty over that.
“I understand about bickering. But you used to fight,” she said, very seriously. “I had to take Jeb outside several times because he was beginning to think one or both of you were bound to be hurt.”
Cain watched her for a long while, ice cream forgotten. He just watched her, noting her grace and elegance, but also her enthusiasm at really going at the food. Her hair sat slightly disheveled from their paces, but Cain thought it made her look even more beautiful and he couldn’t imagine a man ever being more proud of a daughter of his, even if she wasn’t blood-related.
“We’re making a concerted effort to stop,” he promised. “And, not that he knows yet, not that Jeb knows yet, but I don’t think we’re sleeping around anymore.”
Azkadellia stared up at him. “What? It’s over?”
“No. Well, yes, in a manner of speaking,” Cain said, awkwardness coming to settle upon his chest, sitting there almost with an impossibly large weight. “I just think rather than sex, that he and I are going to uh, date,” he managed, coughing. “Or, at least, that’s my intention. Gods know with Ambrose, right?”
They ate in silence after that and when they arrived home, Azkadellia lingered around the truck while Cain locked everything up. This time, it was her that initiated the hug, nearly throwing herself into his arms and Cain lifted her up off the ground and even went so far as to spin her slightly before pressing a kiss to her hair.
“I really missed you,” she admitted quietly, hugging him tightly. “I felt stupid for talking about it in public when I should have understood how rumors get started that way. I won’t do it again, please don’t go again?”
“I won’t,” Cain murmured and ran his hand over her nearly-raven hair, again and again. He brought her closer and just held on.
He was supposed to protect a Princess and while he was sure the Queen would have wanted him to do everything in his power to keep her safe, he was also fairly sure that she hadn’t intended for Cain to love Azkadellia like a daughter.
But you couldn’t change what already was.
--
Cain had been in the little house for some time now. He'd been back sometime in the middle of the day and he'd seen Azkadellia and Jeb and had made his peace with both of them -- which was harder with Az than it was with Jeb, since all it took to earn his son's forgiveness was the souvenir from the Mint. He'd gone upstairs to go see if he could trade any of the coins. Azkadellia had needed more soothing, but they'd gotten there eventually.
And then there was Ambrose.
Cain had retreated to his house after he spoke to the kids and made sure dinner was out and set out the three various bags of souvenirs (geological findings, literature on Colorado, and several chemistry kits) on the table with a bouquet of flowers that he was half-considering throwing in the trash. He didn't know why he'd bought the things except for some old married-man wisdom about how flowers were what you bought in precarious situations.
So he had his items to show for himself and then more importantly, he had himself. He just sort of counted on the fact that Ambrose would come talk to him when he got in the door and wouldn't go seal himself down in his lab. Cain ran a hand through his hair as he paced the room back and forth and just tried to set all the pieces of his life into the new order, the new puzzle, the new way they sat.
Ambrose was getting very, very tired of leading twelve countries through treaties and battles that someone had compared to a game called Dungeons and Dragons, whatever that meant. He was getting tired of a lot of things, but when he walked into the house, he knew Cain was there, which meant he didn't have to do two people's amount of parenting anymore while running on little to no sleep. He almost felt slightly braindead, but Cain was home, which was a very, very nice change. At least he could maybe ask for some kind of neck massage or something.
He put away his briefcase, actually took off his coat (he was very, very slowly getting used to not wearing one all the time), and finally went on over to the little pink house. Ambrose paused before just walking in. For some reason he felt like he needed to be proper for this talk of theirs, so he knocked on the door first.
Cain didn't jump at the sound of the knock and instead took a long and deep breath as he walked to the door with a determined stride and pulled it open, unable to help the stupid smile on his face at seeing Ambrose. He grasped a fist of his shirt and yanked him close for a long kiss.
Sure, there needed to be talking, but who said it had to come before this? He tugged Ambrose into the house, pushing the door shut, all the while he was still kissing him, like trying to breathe through another man's mouth.
Ambrose kissed back just as hard, wrapping one arm tightly around Cain and the other immediately went to his jawline. With his eyes shut, he was practically getting to know the inside of Cain's mouth all over again.
His eyes opened and he blinked when he tasted that flavor that wasn't pure Cain. He pulled back slightly, licking his own lips. "Chocolate?" Ambrose practically panted out, grinning.
Cain just gave a sheepish laugh, hitching Ambrose closer as he gave him one last peck on the lips. "It reminds me of you. I prefer it to anything else." Cain leaned in for one last long kiss before easing away to study Ambrose and brush his palm over his cheek before he sat down on the edge of the big bed, with all the manly-colored beddings. "So..."
Ambrose cleared his throat. Kissing was a lot easier than figuring out how to start this sort of a conversation. He couldn't even remember ever having one. But he was the one who'd been Royal Advisor, right? He could figure something out. Ambrose had been doing treaties all day, after all...
"A longer-term alliance between us?" Ambrose blurted out, and immediately felt like an idiot for...well. Everything. "Um. I'm glad you're home and I missed you." He blushed. "I've been doing treaties all day, sorry."
Cain couldn't help a weary laugh at his words and he slid his boots and his hat off as he gave Ambrose a pleased laugh, easing into a lean back onto the bed. "Gods, did I miss you," he said fondly. "Come on, let's call it what it is. You and I have been sleeping together for months and can't sleep alone anymore if we don't have the other. We enjoy the conversation, or I do, at least. So I think the word for it is dating, Ambrose," he pointed out.
He sat up, just enough to tug Ambrose closer by the shirt and onto the bed.
"I even missed shouting at you," he admitted, and pulled off his shoes. "So if we're dating shouldn't you be asking me out?" Ambrose managed to keep a smirk off his lips. Well, mostly. His eyes certainly weren't concealing the amusement.
"Why? Already got you into bed with me," Cain said with a broad grin on his face, but he folded and went serious, settling in amongst all the pillows. "Ambrose Brown," he said very seriously. "Will you come and get dinner with me and I will even let you devour all the breadsticks in the world and I won't even kiss you unless you give me a signal?"
"I'd be happy to, especially the breadstick part, but you better be kissing me without a signal," Ambrose said, and grinned before kissing Cain hard enough that the mattress dipped a bit. He was practically smirking after that. "That's part of the fun."
Cain let out an 'oof' as he was pinned with the kiss and wrapped his arms around Ambrose's waist to tug him closer and rub a hand up and down his back. "Gods, I really did miss you," he admitted, kissing him again and rolling them until he was pinning Ambrose to the bed. "Me and Jeb talked. And Az and I made up," he informed him. Cain began brushing his thumb over a stray curl on Ambrose's forehead, nudging it back into place before he started running all his fingers through Ambrose's hair. "Think I'll just start buying you breadsticks all the time."
"I talked to Jeb too." Ambrose was keeping most of the details of that conversation to himself, though, since Cain learning his son thought he was becoming James Bond thanks to all the equipment Ambrose had given him wasn't exactly a good thing to bring up at any time. He smiled, sighing lightly at the feel of Cain's hands in his hair. Hell, he'd even missed that. "I'm glad you and Az made up. She was...well. Not happy when you were gone.”
Cain just kept running his fingers through Ambrose's hair as he repositioned himself atop the other men, slowly sliding into a straddle. "She and I both admitted we were in the wrong in ways," he said, low and serious as he pressed his lips to Ambrose's neck. “Could just get a whole shipment, you know, in bulk. Boxes of breadsticks for the house.”
“Don't you dare buy in bulk!" Ambrose found himself shouting out in horror. "If dating takes half the fun out of everything, I'm just going to say you're the pool boy in the relationship." Unfortunately, that summoned up the image of Cain in nothing but a speedo and his hat. He smacked a hand to his eyes. "Make that gardener."
"Why can't I buy in bulk?" he mumbled against Ambrose's pulse. "What's wrong with that?"
Ambrose let out a pleased humming noise, tilting his neck to give Cain even more surface to cover if he wanted it. He ran his fingers up Cain's spine, smiling softly. "Gods, fine. You win. I missed you too much. Go ahead, buy in bulk, just master the art of the microwave first."
"Or I could kidnap you on a nightly basis," Cain continued, slowly dragging his tongue up to Ambrose's jaw and biting there lightly. "Fresh breadsticks, pasta, crisp lettuce every night. Put some meat on those bones of yours," he added with a low laugh, playfully nudging at Ambrose's hipbones.
"If you're going to kidnap me, do it for something better than Italian food," Ambrose said, and when Cain's hands went for the hips, he grabbed them, using Cain's hands to maneuver the other man over him. Ambrose dropped one hand above his head, using the free one to gently grab Cain's chin and lead him into a sweet, deep kiss, pulling out of it with a smile.
"Take-out Italian food," Cain negotiated in between that long, lengthy, sweet, deep kiss, running his hand up and down Ambrose's hip when he got it free. "In this bed here." He gave a long exhalation and settled against Ambrose, nudged in tightly. "Dating," he said, just to hear it aloud. "Gods, dating you. I haven't dated in...well, a long time," he very quietly spoke, a bit sobered up by the epiphany. "So, we're dating," he assessed. "Which means you and me and dates. Covert ones.”
"Dating usually means dates," Ambrose agreed, reaching a hand out to just touch Cain's side. "But...well. Leave secrecy and being covert to me." He politely left out how miserable Cain was at being 'covert' since he'd been very sweetly promised take-out Italian food.
Cain just gave a pleased half-murmur of a sound at the touch and gave Ambrose a 'Look'. "What, I'm not covert enough for you? I do plenty fine at blending in at the station."
"You blend in by switching 'annuals' for 'years' and being a Tin Man. Going from tin to copper isn't that big a difference. You're covert enough for me, but not Baker. By the way, congratulations on being my first official boyfriend.”
"You're my first boyfriend too. Well, if you don't count that one time in Central," he admitted, rustling the covers slightly.
Ambrose smiled at him. "'That one time in Central?' Do I even want to know?"
"Fellow Tin Man, we were both too aggressive," Cain filled in the blanks easily and let it just end at that. “And uh, I suppose you have a standing invitation for here, but it'd be a good idea for you to watch over the kids."
“I'll watch the kids. We both do." He let out a sigh. "I'll rig up some sophisticated sort of baby monitor that registers infrared movement in the house, maybe."
Adjusting, Cain leaned down to slowly kick off his socks and contemplated what Ambrose was saying. "If you did something like that, there'd be nothing to keep you from staying out here more often," he pointed out.
Ambrose paused, mind going through a lot of different possibilities and not all of them technological. "...I could probably get that done a little faster, too."
Cain bent his head to start kissing up Ambrose's neck again with a muffled 'good' while he slowly wound one leg and wrapped it around his waist. "Tomorrow, then. You and me out here, Italian food. Jeb and Az can do their homework and I'm keeping you all night." Cain returned to the kissing, good and slow and carefully placed. "We could do this slow. Date for a while before you spend more time out here. It'd give you time to come up with a system."
Ambrose didn't like that idea at all, but sighed and nodded, still kissing Cain. "Slow's probably the best idea. Installation would probably-" He cut himself off by kissing Cain again, a hand going onto the conveniently-placed leg. "-take a couple weeks anyway. Can't leave them defenseless, after all."
"And we shouldn't shock them, me staying in your room," Cain admitted in a grumble, seeing as he wasn't exactly keen on nights apart, not after that show of being unable to sleep after only five nights. He turned and cupped Ambrose's cheek, driving in a little harder with his kissing. "I could borrow a pair of radios from work...?" he floated the idea, now getting a little distracted by Ambrose's neck and his jaw and his lips and he was going back to the lips now, kissing him while working a hand down into his pants.
"Don't think that'd be too shocking anymore," Ambrose said with a small smile, eyes going a bit wide at the hand.
"Do you want us to stay in your room?" Cain asked, willing to go with that and he punctuated the question with a kiss to match Ambrose's, his hand slowly working the pants loose as he nipped at Ambrose's earlobe.
"No, just felt like pointing out the obvious," Ambrose muttered, trying very, very hard to ignore how much he'd missed this, and not just because the sex was really good. "And are the radios for us or them? Right now I'm saying us since it'd be obtrusive for the kids and...well." He kissed Cain again, hard and with just a bit more bite. "Radios could be fun."
"Radios for an emergency," he clarified, easing off of Ambrose and staring down at him, a bit pink in the cheeks. "You're okay with the fact that we're essentially talking about you moving in eventually, right?" he asked, in a very gentle tone that was usually used to calm animals.
"We've been living together for three annuals, Cain, just in case you hadn't noticed," Ambrose sighed. "This is just bed arrangements we're talking about." He leaned up and grabbed a handful of shirt, grinning and pulling Cain back down for another kiss. "Fine, radios. For emergencies until I get everything up and running." He paused, frowning slightly as reality nudged its way into the little pink house, and groaned against Cain's neck. "And design and test and fabricate it."
Whatever Cain was about to say was muffled by the kiss and it even stole away his thoughts and so he was left opening his mouth like a goldfish, unaware of coherent words. And then came the groaning against his neck, with those vibrations and he forced himself to focus. "Got eleven annuals yet," he managed, words a bit tense, higher-pitched than usual. "So, how about you and I work on officially becoming a couple?"
Eleven annuals. The thought nearly made Ambrose reconsider his view of this being nothing but a discussion about bunking arrangements and a more serious commitment, but really, did it matter? Either way it wasn't the annuals that they were talking about.
He smiled, concentrated on the amusing thought of Cain trying to be 'covert' on dates, and kissed Cain lightly. "Sounds like a plan."
--
Ambrose's classes were the talk of campus when it came to student enjoyment. He was charismatic, cared about the students, and was never dull, according to every last conversation about Professor Ambrose Brown. Three annuals into his time at Baker University, all the descriptions were still apt.
Wyatt Cain hadn't been seen in a class since those first few weeks, but he was back again. It led the students to whispering about a possible surprise search of bags, the whole of the class descending into a rapid-fire hushed whisper about what might be going on. He was wearing the normal hat, but instead of his typical vest, he was in a dark button-down and a jacket above his beige trousers, looking more like he was about to go out for a fancy dinner than crack down on campus drugs.
And instead of asking a single student any interrogative questions, he just adjusted his hat and sat himself down in the aisle of the first row, settling in with his legs spread wide and watching Professor Brown as he lectured.
It was ten minutes in and the Sheriff had snuck in the back-way, but he hadn't caused a disturbance, himself. It was the students overreaction that had created a wave of noise that now dissipated. While most students returned to paying attention to the lecture, some students (the guilty ones who had a certain smell on their breath) were anxiously watching Sheriff Cain, who didn't seem to be doing anything more than rubbing his thumb up and down a pencil, eyes never leaving the Professor.
Cain, if he knew that people were watching him, didn't act like it. He'd come to give Ambrose a ride home and seeing as he was early, thought that he might as well drop in on the lecture and just watch a while. So when he caught Ambrose's attention for the first time, he offered him the very barest of sly smiles.
This time, maybe he wouldn't even get hit in the face with a briefcase.
Honestly, when Ambrose caught sight of Cain sitting there with that sort of smile and insinuating things with a pencil as a prop, the idea of pulling his briefcase out was tempting anyway. Just seeing the other man in the classroom had brought his discussion (not a lecture; even the students agreed it was more of a discussion, even if sometimes it was with himself) of peace treaties to a screeching car wreck of a stop, leaving a verb hanging in the air, doing nothing.
He finally managed to clear his throat and return to peace treaties after shooting Cain a look that very clearly stated don't you dare, scribbling out some things he'd gotten out of a history book about the end of World War I.
Cain was sure he had absolutely no idea what Ambrose could mean with a look like that and he resumed a very innocent expression in turn as he sank deeper into his seat, adjusting his suit jacket as his legs splayed even further apart. When he got Ambrose's attention again, he mouthed 'ride home' at him, just so he knew Cain didn't come by just to torture him.
It wasn't a Wednesday, after all. Those were solely-torture days.
Cain craned his head to one side as he read the writing about World War I, then his gaze slowly dipped down to take in the very aesthetic view that all the students had of Professor Brown from the row of seats Cain was in.
Ambrose ignored him. He'd gotten better at adapting to Otherside culture and finally just wore a long, loose coat over the shirt and pants nowadays. If it showed off a bit more than he really wanted to, fine, he didn't care, Cain could stare at him all he wanted. He had a class to teach about how peace treaties were actually a lot more dangerous than war itself sometimes, and-
He blinked, and stared at the sentence he'd written, immediately grabbing the eraser and slicing the chalk off the board, blushing a bit. Cain is staring at my ass was not educational, and he shot a look back at Cain, which he regretted even more. The sheriff was practically straddling the damn chair.
Ambrose had a class to teach. War and peace and agreements were important stuff, and he was going to get through this because he was stronger than that devious 'oh look at me, I'm so corruptible' look Cain had and he jumped back as he realized he'd just snapped his chalk in half.
"...Professor?" one of the students called out a bit hesitantly, and he turned, ignoring Cain. "I can't read the board."
Ambrose blinked, and looked back at the board, which was full of the lab-scrawling script he'd managed to avoid using until now. And Cain. Oh, he was going to hurt that man if this kept up.
Cain couldn't help the stupid smile on his lips that he tipped his hat over his face to conceal slightly. After all, he never in a million annuals would have thought he could get a reaction like this out of Ambrose and now, he was slightly victorious in something. But all the same, he really did care for Ambrose, so he laughed quietly to himself as he pushed to his feet and slowly excused himself from the classroom, giving Ambrose one last long look.
At this rate, Cain was either going to get very lucky or very, very injured.
Ambrose tried to not watch Cain leave, but ended up watching him go out of the corner of his eye anyway as he cleared his throat and picked up the half piece of chalk, smiling at the class when the door swung shut. They probably knew something was up between them - he was teaching them to be observant, after all - but it was practically town lore that Professor Brown and the sheriff shared a house for their kids' sake and ended up getting in fights loud enough that the neighbors would have called the cops if it wasn't the sheriff getting into the fights.
He cleared his throat again, turning back to the board and rewriting everything he'd scrawled, ignoring the thought of Cain, which was surprisingly easy compared to other things he'd had to do over the years. Besides, he was just waiting outside. All things considered, he was being almost courteous.
So the discussion continued, with Ambrose outlining the basic forms of peace treaties and finally getting the point across that the class war was over, since he knew how heated a couple countries' battles had ended up.
"Your people may carry a grudge against them for the rest of their lives," Ambrose concluded, always a bit surprised that not a single person in his class ever started packing up, even when it was obvious they'd get to leave in less than a minute. "That doesn't mean their leaders should. We'll go back into actual learning tomorrow and you can start negotiations." He smiled, dismissing them in the same way he always did. "Learn more, and have a good day, guys!"
The chorus of "thank you" and "you too" and other muddled phrases made him smile, shaking his head and heading towards the briefcase that still had a small ding in it from Cain's face.
Cain waited for the surge of students and kept a completely even expression on his face as he waited for them to go. Enough annuals had passed that these students would only know the story (legend, really) of the time he and Ambrose got in a physical fight in his class.
When the last trickled out, he wandered into the class and leaned on the door. "So," Cain voiced aloud, now smiling that same sly grin he had on his face before. He crossed the room and sat himself down in the same seat in the front row he'd been occupying before. "Am I in trouble, Professor?"
Ambrose shook his head, sighing and trying to keep a smile off his lips. "I don't know if I should tell you you're a very naughty boy and have extra homework or actually try to explain how straddling chairs and doing provocative things to pencils isn't helping any of these kids get their money's worth." He laughed a little and hopped up onto the little desk he used just for storage, giving Cain a slightly guilty look. "I started a war."
Cain eased himself to his feet and wandered over to the small desk, leaning right beside Ambrose as he spoke. "I hope it was for a good cause. You know how I feel about needless wars." His voice was slightly teasing, but only people who knew him well could hear the slight difference in pitch. "And Ambrose," he pointed out, leaning over and letting his breath exhale onto his neck. "What things with my pencil? I was just holding it."
"It was a war of passion," Ambrose said, deciding it was true enough. "Probably not a good cause but at least they learned a lot from it?" He was really starting to hate how easily Cain could get to him. "Gods, you always go for the neck," he muttered, and put a hand onto Cain's chin, barely restraining himself from kissing him. "We're in public and this is not covert." Ambrose still leaned forward, but dropped his hand and leaned back, making a disappointed noise. "This is a bad idea, and you are a horrible student and have a lot of homework when we get home and aren't allowed to sit in the front row of my class anymore."
“Maybe I like the front of the class. Keeps the students on edge from doing anything too illegal, at least for the next thirty minutes." Cain eased back, knowing that he could only tease so far before they got too open and that was the last thing he wanted. So he slowly slid off his jacket and draped it over his arm, standing up and giving Ambrose a 'what gives?' look. "Homework?" he echoed. "You're not serious.”
Ambrose grinned, grabbing the briefcase and raising an eyebrow at Cain. "If you're going to come to class, you're going to have to do all the work. Haven't gotten a single paper from you yet, you know. You're failing," Ambrose said lightly.
“If you really want a paper or two from me, you'll get one. Didn't think you cared to be reminded of some of the battles the Tin Men fought back in the O.Z.," he said, voice bordering on too-quiet. He had ten unsent reports about the bombing in the little pink house. He had to write them, had to get it out, but no one had ever seen them. No one but himself.
That made Ambrose screech to a halt, the playful mood evaporating. "...the papers were on forms of government and their country, actually." It still didn't feel like he'd said enough, but Ambrose couldn't think of anything else to say. His own mind swamped him with thoughts of DG, what Azkadellia had gone through, all the things he could have tried to do to make things right.
Cain rested a broad hand on Ambrose's back for just the tiniest of seconds, warm and secure and giving an air of safety as he opened the door for him and then the hand dropped as if it were never there. "Then you can expect a paper about The Great Cain Country," he said, trying to lift the mood back into something more promising. "Jeb and I will lock ourselves in the little pink house for hours on end," he assured, very serious. "No interruptions, not when we have to plan a very intricate ruling system." And possibly with additional to-scale models.
He cleared his throat, looking away a bit. "Alright, then no straddling the chair. Actually being able to teach is kind of important." He managed a feeble smile. "Let's go home."
"Yeah, home."
"You know, for some reason I expected a Cain Empire," Ambrose said a bit dryly, trying to take his mind off the O.Z. It was hard, even harder when Cain said home and he realized that was a house on the Otherside. "Maybe I'll give the kids lessons on the O.Z.'s geography," he said simply.
After they were in public, Cain didn't lay his hand on Ambrose at all, instead heading for the car an arm's distance away from him. "I think they'd like that. I know I'd appreciate Jeb getting those lessons." It was better than the lessons he got from his favorite soap, As Fate Spins By. They still had time to go, but all the roads ended back in the O.Z. one day. "Give them the lessons. And I'll write you a paper."
They could focus on the there and now, for the time being, though. That was their luxury.
Tbc