8Hey hi hello here we are again. This chapter sorta takes a darker turn than I intended for this story, but the saga of Mika & Kurda has never been easy or simple. Adding a formal TW for detailed a panic attack scene in the second half. There's a pretty obvious parallel to ch19 here, and within that parallel there's a direct callback to one specific moment. And the reason I'm highlighting it is because that moment is experienced from Mika's POV in 19, but Kurda's POV here in 24. But the words are never actually spoken out loud by either of them at any point. Do with that info what you will.
Also. While I am pleased to welcome Mr. Vancha March as a guest star for this episode of the Mika & Kurda's Show, I also apologize in advance if I've fumbled his characterization in any way, shape, or form. My confidence flies out the window the second I step outside my comfort zone. Speaking of Vancha, if you're reading this story I have to assume you've also read the Saga of Larten Crepsley. Mika and Vancha's conversation was inspired by events of Brothers To The Death. If you're familiar with that plotline you'll know it when you arrive at it.
Uhh some of this chapter is fun, believe it or not. Enjoy the fun parts and do your best with the other stuff.
Chapter 24: Pattern Recognition
DAY 3:
One thing about Kurda Smahlt is that he's a consummate good sport. It's something you cannot take away from him. Another thing is that he's a man of his word. Mika remained on the massage table for the entire duration of yesterday's session so that meant Kurda had no choice but to suck it up and accompany him to Lumber Jack's Axe Shack.
"This feels wrong." Kurda lamented as he inspected the axe in his hands.
"I know. These are nothing like the ones back home. I think they gave us children's axes. Maybe I should ask them if there's been a mistake." Mika replied with complete seriousness. He too was holding a small but very clean-looking axe and seemed quite underwhelmed by it.
"So that's the point of this?" Kurda said as they got in position. "We just throw it at the bullseye and hope for the best?"
Mika raised an eyebrow. "Weren't you listening to Lumber Jack's instructions?"
"Pretty sure his nametag said Gary."
"Whatever. All you have to do is hold it in front of you. Make sure you keep it vertical. Blade aimed at the bullseye and handle parallel to the target." Mika included a visual demonstration as he spoke. "Then you draw your arms overhead and backward. Bend them at the elbow so that the axe is just behind your head. Like you're throwing a ball."
"Right. Okay." Kurda made a halfhearted attempt to mirror what Mika was doing.
Mika stared at the bullseye like an eagle honing in on a rabbit. "I used to be really good at axe handling when I was a General. But I only have so much time to crosstrain these days. We're both rusty." He added.
Clearly Mika was trying to make Kurda feel more comfortable here on the outside of his comfort zone. Points for trying, but it would've been more convincing if Mika hadn't lodged his axe in the dead center of the bullseye on his very first throw.
"Beginner's luck." He insisted as Kurda rolled his eyes. "Your turn."
Kurda would've landed a bullseye too - if the target had been mounted two and a half feet to the left.
"Great first try." Said Mika with an affirmative nod. The patronizing ass.
Kurda winced. "You know what? I think I'd feel less offended if you just bullied me instead."
Half an hour later Kurda was just about out of good sportsmanship. His best throw so far still only landed halfway between the bullseye and the outer ring of the target. And his worst throw earned him a safety warning from Lumber Gary.
Then there was Mika who made it look effortless. Mika's worst throw landed maybe a millimetre outside the bullseye. Kurda kept glancing over at him, trying to copy his technique. But every time he looked he found himself forgetting to pay a shred of attention to the technique. Mika operated with a mechanical level of precision that was enthralling to watch. There was so much power behind each throw and yet he never overdid it. As if those thunderstorm grey eyes could simply look at the target and know exactly how much force he needed to use.
After catching himself staring a third time, Kurda refocused on his own target. Lined up for the shot. Threw. Prayed.
The axe bounced off the target handle-first and clattered to the floor. Kurda exhaled a groan of frustration he knew sounded petulant but he no longer had it in him to care.
"You good?" said Mika, shooting him a half-concerned-half-exasperated glance.
Kurda threw his hands in the air. "Listen. If this is how you felt when I semi-tricked you into getting a hot stone massage, I'm sorry and I'll never do it again. We're almost done, right?"
Mika opened his mouth to speak and Kurda knew what was coming next — the door's right over there, Smahlt. Nobody's forcing you to be here.
What he actually said was much more jarring. Because he looked like Mika, and he sounded like Mika, but the words he was saying couldn't possibly be Mika's:
"I know you can get a bullseye. You're just getting in your own head and psyching yourself out. We're here to have fun. Look, I haven't even been keeping score!" To prove his point, Mika earnestly held up the score card where he'd scribbled out his own column.
Kurda pressed his lips together as he shot a reproachful look in Mika's direction. "If fun is the goal, then there's really no point in me sticking around. I'm out. Meet me in the coffee shop when you're done."
"Wait a minute. Don't leave. Come on, Kurda."
Kurda didn't look back as he took a step towards the door. He didn't actually think Mika cared if he stayed or not. But a light tug Kurda's forearm halted him. Mika barely exerted an ounce of pressure but Kurda froze in his tracks.
"Hey. Don't leave." Mika repeated. His eyes were soft with concern, the likes of which he typically reserved for Gracie only. "Just one more try. You won't regret it."
"This isn't fun for me!" Kurda protested. "I'm glad you're having a good time but we can't all be Mika Ver Leth!"
Mika's brow furrowed. "You're making me out to be some kind of expert. I can practically hear Vanez in the back of my mind telling me my form has gone to shit."
Kurda massaged his temple and forced out through gritted teeth, "I never thought I'd say this. But you're so much worse when you're trying to be humble than when you're outright cocky."
"I'm honestly not that good —"
"Mika, the owner came out of his office and offered you a job."
To his credit, Mika discarded the humble bit he'd been trying out. They both knew it wasn't a good colour on him. But when he switched up his approach, Kurda wasn't convinced it was an improvement. Mika crossed his arms over his chest and looked Kurda up and down, as if sizing him up. Kurda automatically mirrored his posture, crossing his own arms and cocking a hip as he glared back at Mika.
"You know what gets me, Kurda? By all accounts, you should be excellent at this." Said Mika at last. "There's no brute force involved. No violence. It's literally just angles and physics. You're just half-assing it because you think it's beneath you."
"Am not!" Kurda shot back — far too quickly because that touched a nerve.
"Are too."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"So what?! I don't care if or why I'm bad at throwing a stupid weapon at an arbitrary red dot on a stupid wall! Not everything has to be a challenge!"
"See, I understand where you're coming from. I even respect it." Said Mika calmly. "But you have to remember we've been raising the same baby for almost three years now. So I know things about you. Sure, I learned it all against my will but that's irrelevant at this point —"
"You're right. It is."
"I know you love a challenge." Mika pressed on. "Once you get in your niche you're one of the most competitive fucks I've ever met in my life. Remember when we played chess?"
"Mmhm."
"I know you love to learn new things. And you're not afraid to fail as you go —"
"Is this your backwards way of acknowledging it's time to work on your own crippling phobia of failure?"
"What? No! What I'm getting at is that I know you want to hit that bullseye. You're just too stubborn to tarnish your brand."
"Mika, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
"You're right. It is stupid. So get out of your own head, put that big brain to work, and throw the damn axe like you mean it. Nobody will ever know except for me. I promise it won't make you any less you."
Kurda stared Mika down. "If I do this, it'll be for no other reason than to shut you up. Understand that."
He returned to the throw point and squared up once more with his old nemesis — the target board.
"Alright." Said Mika. "We're not leaving til you get a bullseye —"
"Our time slot is over at three."
"Unless Lumber Gary can physically remove me from the premises, we're not leaving til you get a bullseye. Okay, you're standing too close to the line. Move back a little." With surprising gentleness Mika prodded Kurda's ribcage with his fingertips to get him into position. "There. Your feet should be further apart — no, that's too far. Let me…" he nudged Kurda's foot with his toe til the stance was up to code, then finally handed him an axe and stood back to assess the situation. And to Kurda's alarm, his eyes lit up.
"Aww. Look at you." Said Mika with a disarming touch of fondness. "My little warlord."
Weird. That sounded more like something he'd say to Gracie than Kurda. Not so much the warlord part. It was the delivery. Phrasing, inflection, tone. Not to mention the way he was looking at Kurda the same way he looked at Gracie.
Kurda rolled his eyes and scoffed back. Usually he left the attitude to Mika, but the tables had turned far too much for his liking.
"What?" Mika protested innocently. "It's not every day I see you operate heavy weaponry! This is a big milestone for all of us."
"Don't patronize me. You thought these were the children's axes, remember?"
"Whatever. Let's get ready for the throw. Get your axe in position." Mika carefully guided Kurda's forearms into place, then touched his elbow to adjust. "This time think about where you want it to go, and point — yes! Just like that!"
"This feels like so many unnecessary steps to throw a sharp object at a piece of wood." Said Kurda.
Mika rolled his eyes but there was no hiding that determined glint. He moved out of Kurda's line of vision but stayed close, hovering just behind Kurda's right shoulder. Kurda could feel his warm breath on the back of his neck.
"Now move your arms back behind your head but maintain your grip on the axe." Mika continued. Kurda did as he was told, with Mika's meticulous hands guiding him as he drew back into throw position. "The axe needs to be in a straight line even when you can't see it. Good. You're almost ready."
The universe didn't even have the basic decency to give Kurda a warning for the electricity that shot up his spine the moment Mika's hand touched his lower back.
"If you're this stiff, you might as well drop your axe on the floor. Just relax." Mika murmured, lightly flexing his fingertips into Kurda's back where his palm was resting. The casual intimacy of the touch coupled with the deep-but-soft voice in Kurda's ear did nothing to ease the surge of crackling energy that was lighting his nerves up.
"Relax. That's rich coming from you." Kurda muttered back. Mika couldn't possibly know what he was doing. If he knew, he wouldn't be doing it.
"You can feel it, right?" Mika added.
"Feel what?!"
"The exact angle you need to release your axe for it to fly right into that bullseye. And you know exactly how hard you need to throw it. You're gauging the weight of the axe against the distance."
"Oh, yes. Definitely."
"Take a deep breath. It's just you, your axe, and the target. The rest of the world doesn't matter. I'm not here —"
"If only."
Mika exhaled a soft rumble of laughter that Kurda felt on the back of his neck. "Just throw it."
Finally Mika took a few steps back. Kurda eyeballed his target. Inhaled. Closed his eyes. Adjusted his grip on the handle. Pictured it spin as it soared towards the target. Opened his eyes. Exhaled. Thrust his arms forward. Released. It was all in the gods' hands now —
THUNK.
Kurda didn't get to process the satisfying sound of the steel blade biting into the wood because Mika nearly blew out his eardrum. "BULLSEYE!" He roared at the top of his lungs as he picked Kurda up in this jarring sort of celebratory hug-shake thing he normally saved for Arrow. "FUCK! YES! You did it! What did I tell you?!"
If Kurda was being perfectly honest, he was pretty sure he blacked out for a moment from how hard Mika was squeezing him. But it didn't hurt and he didn't mind. He could feel the genuine excitement in Mika's body, and hear the happiness in his voice. Kurda didn't think he'd ever been solely responsible for bringing out that side of Mika. Maybe in tandem with Gracie a time or two, but Gracie was in daycare on the other side of the village right now. It was just Mika and Kurda here. Kurda did that all by himself.
They say Mika never smiles. They don't know anything about him, but Kurda care less if they stay in the dark on this one. Kurda knew then and there he'd be fine with never sharing this smile with anyone else.
DAY SIX:
The first three days were so easy. So perfect.
The fourth day was good. Just good. No matter how many times Mika told himself it's just a meeting, just a job, just one day then it's over, there's nothing to worry about, he always ended up back in the same place. The silent doom spiral that threw his brain into a blender whenever the world became too much. Which wasn't often. But it wasn't never. And it was now.
By the fifth day he could feel himself start to withdraw. The once-pleasant bustling ambience of the resort now gave him headaches. His sleep became restless and inconsistent. He stopped feeling hungry. The food stopped tasting good. He didn't even put up a fight when Kurda asked if he wanted to try a place that specialized in salad. In hindsight he figured he probably should've expressed some opinions about that. Maybe then Kurda wouldn't have gotten wise.
Kurda's razor-sharp intelligence and wicked intuition were Mika's favourite things about him — until Mika became the subject of scrutiny. That was the worst part. The way Kurda seemed to pinpoint the exact second Mika's dark cloud caught up to him. Kurda had been keeping an eye on him ever since the afternoon of day five when Mika opted to stay in the hotel room while Kurda and Gracie went swimming. And even though it was better than the alternative (talking about it) Mika hated the way Kurda watched him from a distance. As if Mika was a sick but potentially dangerous animal under veterinary observation.
On the sixth morning — twenty-four hours til the meeting — Mika felt a familiar consciousness in his head as he lay there in bed waiting for Gracie and Kurda to wake up. None other than his prodigal colleague: the right honourable Sire March. Not expected, but not all that shocking.
VM: Guess where I am.
MVL: I have no idea where you are, but I have to assume it's about to become my problem.
Sure enough, that was followed by a brisk knock on the glass balcony door. The sound woke Kurda up and he understandably looked around in panic. Gracie sat up on her couch, bewildered, and peeled off her sleep mask.
"It's okay." Said Mika as he got out of bed and stretched. "Just Vancha."
Kurda looked offended, as if Mika had purposely left him in the dark. "You didn't tell me he was meeting up with you!"
Mika rolled his eyes and pulled a pair of flannel lounge pants over the boxers he'd been sleeping in. He'd bought the pants at a shop in the village a few days ago, after no small amount of peer pressure from Kurda.
"Stand down, General. I found out about this exactly five seconds before you did." Mika pulled the curtain aside and sure enough, there he was. Larger than life and grinning from ear to ear.
"Fancy meeting you here." Mika deadpanned as he slid the glass door open to admit Vancha.
"Sire Ver Leth. General Smahlt. Princess Smahlt-Ver Leth." Said Vancha, nodding to Mika, then Kurda, then Gracie as he looked around the room. Despite the fact that Vancha was his superior, Kurda couldn't stifle a scoff at Princess Smahlt-Ver Leth. Gracie moved closer to Mika while eyeing Vancha warily.
"Daddy, who's that?"
Mika picked her up so she could observe the visitor at eye-level. "This is Uncle Vancha. You've met him before. You just don't remember because you were really little."
Vancha grinned and reached out to Gracie, offering her a handshake. Which was a nice gesture but Mika could see at least a years' worth of grime caked under Vancha's nails. His lip curled in disgust and he swatted Vancha's hand away. Vancha chuckled at that.
Gracie looked at Mika. Then she looked at Vancha. She stared him up and down rather judiciously, then looked back to Mika to deliver the verdict: "Uncle Vancha's stinky."
Vancha howled.
"I know, honey." Said Mika seriously. "That's why we don't see much of him. Uncle Vancha is an outdoor Prince."
Somehow Vancha found even more joy in Mika's dry joke than Gracie's constructive criticism. He doubled over, gasping for air and slapping his knee so hard it knocked loose a few sunburn peels.
"Can I help you with something?" Mika inquired. Even though he knew full well why Vancha was here.
"Fine, fine. You caught me. I didn't just come here to bless you with my presence." Said Vancha once he'd caught his breath. "I wanted to meet with you before you meet with you-know-who."
"Oh, so you want the Sentinel Collective job after all?" Said Mika as drily as ever.
"Charna's guts, you're on a roll today! Have you always been this funny?" Vancha snorted, slapping Mika on the shoulder. "I could listen to your grand jokes all day long. But we'll get down to business later. I'm famished from my trip. What sorts of wild game can be found in this area?"
Mika rolled his eyes. "Believe it or not, I haven't felt the need to kill a meal in the woods since we arrived. This hotel does in fact offer gourmet room service. Think your fragile constitution can handle that?"
Vancha let out a long groan of disappointment, but his eyes were still twinkling as he sighed, "I'll make an exception this one time."
"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over your smell. I'm going to need you to take a shower before we do anything else." Mika pointed at the bathroom door. "If there's any soap left when you're done, you weren't trying hard enough."
"You always were one to drive a hard bargain! But I suppose I can meet your demands. I was due for a bath next month anyway." Vancha disappeared into the bathroom, humming merrily under his breath as he went.
"You really didn't know he was coming?" Kurda asked Mika in an undertone once they heard the water running.
"Had no idea. Guess I'm not that surprised, though. He's always had quite a few thoughts about the Collective. Now that the job's changing hands it makes sense he wants to see where I'm at with all of it." Said Mika.
"Out of all the Princes he's always had the lowest opinion on the Collective." Kurda pressed. "Do you think he's here to try to get you on the same page as him?"
Mika shrugged. "Yes and no. He holds strong to his beliefs but he's not in the business of conversion. He knows I'll hear him out because I respect him as a colleague and friend."
"Ah. Fair enough."
Kurda's words sounded placated but his face looked all too expectant. Mika's patience was wearing thin.
"Kurda, you know I can't talk to you about any of this. Not to mention it'd hurt your reputation if the other Generals ever had reason to suspect you were getting classified information. You'll hear everything in the official debrief anyway."
"I know, I know. You've only reminded me a dozen times."
"Because it's important you understand it. Chok never directly involved any Generals in his dealings with the Collective. And until I have a better idea of how it's going to go, I'm sticking to his approach."
Kurda raised an eyebrow and shot Mika a wry smile. "And yet here I am."
"You're not one of my Generals this week. You're her manager." Mika retorted. Right on cue, Gracie climbed up onto Kurda's bed. Messy-haired, pyjama-clad, and grinning like she was ready for the day despite the outward appearance that suggested otherwise.
To Mika's relief, getting Gracie's show on the road was enough to put Kurda's undoubtedly well-intentioned prying on hold.
For now.
Kurda and Gracie parted ways with Mika and Vancha after breakfast. Kurda asked Gracie if she'd be open to taking a day off from daycare to shop for some new clothes instead. While Gracie didn't put up a big fuss about skipping daycare, she was visibly disappointed when they walked past the playroom door on their way out to the village. How profoundly bittersweet it was that she'd taken to it so well.
Kurda treasured every precious millisecond with his baby girl. He didn't know what her future held but he did know she wouldn't be little forever. Every day with her was a gift. But in his heart he knew she needed to be among other humans. And it had crossed his mind she might need that more than she needed Mika and Kurda. Her brief stint in daycare had cemented what Kurda had already expected. It was an excruciating pill to swallow.
They were walking hand-in-hand towards a trendy clothing boutique with a kids' section when Gracie spied a familiar face she'd seen in daycare several days ago. One of the girls she'd been colouring with during the crayon war. The girl was with her parents, and they were heading towards a restaurant. Gracie and the other girl exchanged grins and waves from across the quaint little town square before disappearing from each other's line of vision.
"You have a lot of fun playing with the other kids, don't you?" Kurda ventured.
"Lots of fun. That's my friend Rose."
"She looks very nice."
Gracie nodded affirmatively, and after a moment's hesitation Kurda added: "…Do you think you'd be happy if you got to see other kids every day?"
"Yeah! I love the playroom. And I love Miss Lucy. And I love Rose. But not Corey."
(They'd learned via her daily recaps that Corey was the name of the crayon thief they'd witnessed through the window).
"I'm glad you're having lots of fun." Said Kurda. "You were very brave to try a new adventure. It was worth being a little scared at first, wasn't it?"
Gracie nodded again, a proud smile creeping across her face.
"Honey Bee, do you remember when we told you that this place isn't forever?" Kurda continued. "We're only here for a little while. In a few days we're going back home."
"Yeah. I 'member."
"Do you feel happy or sad about going home?"
Gracie pressed her lips together and wrinkled her nose a bit, giving the impression she was giving major thought to the question. Kurda loved that about her. He didn't rush her for an answer. After about a minute she looked up at him seriously and answered: "Happy-sad."
Kurda nodded in encouragement. "Little bit of both, huh?"
"Happy 'cause I miss Lovely and Papa Paris and Grampa Seba and Uncle Arrow. But also sad 'cause I home doesn't have the playroom or Miss Lucy or Rose." She paused, then her face brightened as she added - "But also happy 'cause home doesn't have Corey."
"What was your favourite part about daycare?"
"Friends."
"What's your favourite part about home?"
"Daddy. And Daddy. And Lovely."
"All good answers." Said Kurda, grinning. "Hey, if it makes you feel any better, all of your friends will be going back to their homes too. They're all here on vacation just like us. And I know they'll miss you as much as you miss them."
"Can they just come home with us?"
Kurda almost chuckled at the irony of that, but caught himself. There was no easy way to explain to Gracie that even one child in Vampire Mountain was too many.
"If only it worked like that."
They arrived at the clothing boutique, and all serious discussion was immediately put on pause.
See, Gracie gets new clothes and stuff whenever she needs them. Which is pretty often with how fast she's growing. Just because her home base is a giant rock in the middle of nowhere doesn't mean she isn't dressed sharper than half the kids in this place. Because Mika can flit to and from the mountain whenever he wants (and give Kurda clearance to do the same) that's never been an issue. It's just that for the sake of safety and convenience they run such errands without Gracie.
As clever as she is, she doesn't have the slightest concept of how clothing sizes work. All she knew was what she liked, which were the colours pink, turquoise, lime green, black (of course), and anything patterned with florals, cheetah spots, or birds. She accumulated an armful of stuff from the adult's section before Kurda caught up with her and gently steered her towards the children's corner.
Kurda wasn't watching the clock, but he was confident it was well past lunchtime when Gracie finally started trying things on. She was absolutely over the fitting room's item limit, but the teenage employee at the counter didn't seem to care. So it began.
Things were going pretty smoothly until she tried on a pair of pink sequined pants that she clearly loved more than life itself — but there was only one size left in the store. Kurda had been skeptical when she picked them up, but he figured she might as well try. Sometimes sizes can appear deceiving.
"What do you think of the pants?" Kurda called from outside the door.
"I love them." She replied with conviction. "They're the best pants in the whole world!"
"Do they fit?"
"Yes. We take them with us!"
"Can you open the door for a second? I believe you, I just want to see how cool they look."
Like I said, Kurda knows Gracie is smart as hell. He also doesn't trust her to make that kind of executive decision on her own. And this is why. She was wearing one of the pant legs around her entire body like a floor-length gown while the other leg hung behind her shoulders like a cape.
Kurda had to press his lips together and take a deep breath to keep from laughing. "Darling, you're as pretty as a wildflower. But I'm afraid those pants don't fit you."
She rolled her eyes at Kurda. Because he was the one being unreasonable here. Obviously. (Gods, for someone who doesn't look anything like Mika, she looks an awful lot like Mika),
"They do fit. I'm wearing them."
She really wasn't making this easy.
"Technically yes." Kurda sighed. "But your legs are supposed to be in the leg holes. Did you try them that way first?"
"Yeah."
"And that didn't work out?"
"I like this way better."
"I see."
Of course Kurda bought the stupid tacky sequin pants that wouldn't fit her for at least two more years. What would you have done?
Their next stop was a little bakery that overlooked the skating pond. They settled into a window booth with two hot chocolates and a platter of scones and muffins. Gracie kept peeking into the bag to make sure the pants were still there. Kurda watched the skaters through the frosty window glass, but his mind started to wander. Wander right back to the hotel where Mika was presumably still meeting with Vancha. Despite what Mika seemed to think, Kurda did understand Mika's reluctance to talk about it. And while Kurda cared about his professional reputation more than Mika implied, that wasn't why he wished Mika would open up about it. And all Kurda wanted now was to shake him (ever so gently) and shout in his face (very softly): I'm not trying to use you, I just want to help!
"Daddy?" Gracie piped up, unknowingly interrupted his train of thought.
"Yes, love?"
"What's a school?"
The question and its connotation landed on Kurda like an anvil.
"School?" He echoed. He'd heard her loud and clear, but extra context would help him strategize his answer. And something told him he'd need a strategy for this one.
"Yeah. The big girls in the daycare said they're staying in the hotel because their school broke. Why'd it break?"
Kurda smiled again. "Ah. They mean their school is closed for winter break. They're here on vacation. Like us."
"But what's a school?"
Okay. I can handle this. This is fine.
"A school is a place where children go to learn all kinds of things." Kurda explained, choosing to proceed with caution instead of blatantly dodging the question. She could and would pick up on that. "They learn everything from reading, to math, to science —"
"I can read!" Gracie interrupted proudly. "You taught me!"
Fact check: Gracie doesn't actually know how to read. Not completely, anyway. Kurda's working on it and she's quite advanced for her age. She can recognize certain words but her idea of reading is still opening a picture book and describing the illustrations.
"That's right." Said Kurda. "You're one of the best readers in the whole mountain."
Fact check: That's true.
"Is that why I don't go to school? 'Cause you already taught me to read?"
"Not quite, Honey Bee." Kurda laughed. "You're too young to go to school."
Fact check: Still true. He's in the clear.
"Oh." Gracie pondered that as she sipped her cocoa. Her facial expression was literally identical to Mika when he's having a glass of ale after a long meeting. Then she put her cup down, looked Kurda dead in the eye and asked,
"When do I go to school?"
Damn it.
"Someday you will. Hey, how's your chocolate scone? Think I could try a piece?" Kurda knew that was a lame attempt to shift her attention, but desperate times.
"No." Said Gracie flatly.
"Why not?"
Gracie popped another piece into her mouth and told him, "Chocolate's bad for you."
"Ah. I see. Thanks for looking out for me." Kurda snorted in laughter at her cold conviction.
"Welcome, Daddy."
Kurda didn't reply. He just smiled back at her, because how could he not? This was a perfect moment. A rare bright spot in a life that was satisfying in many ways, albeit never easy, rarely simple, and so far from perfect. Gracie had lit up his life more in two years than anyone or anything else had in the two centuries that came before. So rather than filling the silence, Kurda chose to just bask in that glow for a moment. No uncertainty ahead. No stress behind. Just love, warmth, and refined sugar right now.
Not filling the silence was the wrong choice. Because Gracie filled it for him.
"When's someday?"
Seriously? Come on!
"What do you mean?" His attempts to stall were getting pathetic. He could tell by the way she was staring at him the way Mika stares at wayward cubs during disciplinary hearings. And she addressed Kurda in the same manner; speaking slowly and clearly like she wasn't sure he was keeping up.
"When do I go to school?"
They'd never actually talked about this, Mika and Kurda. They both knew it'd have to happen (as Kurda said) someday. They'd both kind of implied it a couple of times. They both knew it was inevitable, because it was. They'd just never talked about it. Or talked about how to talk to Gracie about it.
Moral of the story is you should talk about things. Even hard things. Especially hard things.
"When you're older, Gracie." Said Kurda gently.
"How much older?"
What age do they start these days? Kurda didn't know. He didn't even get to go to school himself.
"When you're six." He replied. Sounded right. Either way it was a nice round number. And it was almost twice as old as she was right now. That'd be plenty of time to iron out the logistics.
"When am I six?"
This is where it gets bittersweet. They'll never know exactly when she'll be six. Because they have no way to know when she was born. They're almost certain they know the year, based on how old she looked when they found her. They celebrate her birthday on October 21st because that's the day they found her. But they'll never know for sure. And neither will she.
"About three years from now." Said Kurda.
She nodded studiously while staring back at him as though studying his face for additional context clues. Kurda braced himself for another line of questioning. But the gods allowed him a small mercy. She picked up a crumb of chocolate scone from her plate and held it out to him.
"Here's some chocolate, Daddy."
Kurda struggled to keep a straight face as he accepted the offering and called that a win for now.
Mika hadn't necessarily wanted to spend his entire day locked in the suite with Vancha, but Vancha had been travelling even more than usual for the past few years. Rest stops had been few and far between for him, so the green-haired traditionalist even admitted to appreciating this brief reprieve.
Vancha didn't go straight for the heart of the matter; the Sentinel Collective. First he asked Mika for a rundown of the most recent Council gathering. The Festival, all the key meetings and conferences, recent mountain developments, new news, all that. And Mika likes talking about all that, so no problems there.
Once Vancha was brought up to speed, he took a turn updating Mika on his whereabouts. He'd mostly been meeting up with various Generals and spending a few weeks travelling with each of them in turn. Vancha had always been a strong believer that walking among the clan in a literal sense gave the Princes more credibility. Mika certainly didn't disagree. He made a point of doing the same at least once a decade — which is about as often as Vancha visits the Mountain. In his heart of hearts, Mika prefers being an indoor Prince as much as Vancha prefers being an outdoor one.
All that catching up brought them to approximately lunch time. Mika wasn't hungry but he recognized he should eat something. He ordered a basket of curly fries for himself, and tried not to sigh into the phone as he relayed Vancha's request: a rare steak, rarer than rare, think of the rarest steak you've ever seen and add more blood. I wish I was joking. I promise I'll tip.
And gods bless the poor kitchen staff, they delivered magnificently and were tipped accordingly. Vancha was as happy as could possibly be expected while eating something he didn't hunt himself. Mika made it about halfway through his curly fries. He'd hoped the first bite would trigger some kind of dormant hunger — he was fully aware he hadn't been eating enough — but there was no magical flip of the switch. The fries looked exactly as perfect as they did on the first night. And he was certain they tasted the same too, even though the less rational side of his mind was telling him otherwise. Eventually he gave up and pushed the leftovers to the side.
Vancha watched him, eyebrow raised. Analyzing him just like Kurda had been doing. But Mika didn't afford Vancha nearly the same level of patience.
"What are you looking at?"
"A waste of food. Thought you'd be hungrier."
"I'm not going to waste anything. Kurda might want them later. But if you've still got room on top of all that raw meat, feel free to have at it while they're still warm."
So that was Vancha's dessert.
"You're more like Paris than I realized." Vancha remarked through a mouthful of fries. "I always knew when he was on edge 'cause he'd stop eating. Good thing too. It was his only tell. I wouldn't have known otherwise."
Mika allowed Vancha a chilly smile. "And it was any of your business, I'm sure he would've just told you."
"Glad to see old age hasn't dulled your wit."
"Age? We were born in the same decade."
Vancha smirked and shot Mika a wink. Mika had been sitting on the side of his bed, across from Vancha on the couch. But he rolled his eyes and swung his legs up onto the bed so he could lean against the headboard and get comfortable while he waited for Vancha to finish his meal. Admittedly he felt a little guilty over his chilly reception of Vancha. Not only were they capable of working well together, they were in fact close friends. Mika knew he wasn't in an ideal frame of mind and that wasn't fair to Vancha. But it was the only frame he had.
Vancha savoured every last fry, then downed the side dish of ketchup like a shot of liquor. Mika almost threw up at the sight. He hated ketchup at the best of times. And this was not the best of times. Vancha sighed in satisfaction and leaned back into the couch cushions, his hands folded comfortably behind his head. Mika, face devoid of expression, silently held Vancha's gaze and waited.
"So… Paris passed the big job along to you, eh?"
There it was. Mika narrowed his eyes. "You knew he was going to. Arrow too. I still haven't forgiven him for not warning me. I didn't speak to him for almost the entire day afterwards."
"I imagine that was very difficult for Arrow." Vancha snorted.
"He was inconsolable. Got all teary around the fifteenth hour of silent treatment. I had to give it up. The guards were giving him funny looks."
"You two are more devoted than any married couple I've ever met."
Mika shrugged. Wasn't the first time he'd heard that. Wouldn't be the last. "You and Larten would've ended up the same way. You know, if he hadn't rejected his nomination and fucked off to… ?" He raised a questioning eyebrow at Vancha who gave him nothing.
"I still don't know where he is." Said Vancha flatly. "It's none of my business. Or yours. Admirable attempt to change the subject, though."
"Worth a try. Let's get on with it once and for all. Say what you came here to say."
"It's always amused me how you're only this direct when you're impatient." Vancha chuckled. "Granted, that's more often than not. But fine. I won't beat around the bush. Gods know I do enough of that as it is."
Mika wrinkled his nose. "I can't tell if you mean the literal forest, or if that's supposed to be an innuendo for something. Either way I don't like it."
Vancha cackled in amusement and slapped the table. "It wasn't. But it is now!"
"You're vile."
"Now who's getting off-topic? Anyhow, I wanted to talk to you before the grand gathering of the shadow people."
"Sentinel Collective."
"Same thing. That's what they are, you know. They lurk in the shadows and curate their collection of our secrets."
"I know how it works. We were both there when it was voted on. I don't like it any more than you —"
"But you voted for it anyway."
Here we go, Mika thought.
"What choice did we have? Fuck, no wonder you were on board when Paris told you he was giving it to me. You thought you might be able to get me on your side." Said Mika coolly.
"I won't deny that."
"Say it, then."
"Fine." The last of the amusement faded from Vancha's weathered face as he looked Mika dead in the eye. "Walk away, Mika. You don't want to be here, so don't."
"Like a petulant child who cares for nothing except getting their way, regardless of the consequences? Hell of a suggestion, Sire March. Can't believe I didn't think of it myself."
"Listen to me. If you go on record stating you're no longer in support of the clan keeping ties with the shadow people, that'll mean a fifty-fifty split among the Princes. It'll have to go to a vote among the Generals. And the margin may be tight, but I believe the majority would agree with us."
"Right. Okay. And the Collective is left with all that information on our people — which they'll continue to gather with or without our involvement, might I add — and no designated authority to report it to. Sure, maybe they'll keep it quiet to prevent mass panic. Or maybe they'll take it into their own hands. And you know damn well what all those hands are capable of."
Vancha's forehead twitched, but he held Mika's gaze calmly. "So we train more Generals to keep our clan in line and off their radar. And if necessary, consider more severe punishments for the ones who take things too far." He suggested.
"Vampires know how to evade other vampires, regardless of rank. It's the humans they act careless around. Do you really think doubling down on law enforcement is going to make the outliers think twice? That's how the seeds of mutiny take root." Mika scoffed.
Vancha's gaze hardened. "You're worried about mutiny? I know you like to be prepared, but that's a hell of a hypothetical. And I'd take a civil war in our own clan over a handful of powerful humans deciding they don't want to quietly coexist anymore."
"So would I. That's why I'm going to their meeting. That's the entire point of all of this." Mika forced out through gritted teeth.
Vancha shook his head slowly. "Mika… I know you were never the same after the mission they sent you on, the one before the second Great War. That rattled you like nothing else ever has. I can tell, because regardless of the outcome it was the most high-profile mission any Prince has ever undertaken. And you never talk about it."
Mika's body stiffened as Vancha opened that metaphorical door, but he spoke as curtly as ever. "You don't really see me that often."
"Well, do you ever talk about it?"
"No. Why would I want to think about it, much less talk about it?"
"What I want to know is why would you want to sit down at a table with powerful humans operating on their own agenda, again?"
Mika swung around to face Vancha directly, still sitting on the bed but both feet firmly on the floor now. Just in case he felt like getting up in a hurry. "Wow." He murmured, exhaling the word in a soft chuckle that didn't contain an ounce of humour. "That's a low fucking blow, Vancha."
"I'm not proud of it. But it got you thinking — and that's what I wanted." Vancha replied grimly. Mika wholeheartedly believed that Vancha didn't want to revisit that part of history any more than he did, but that didn't count for much right now.
"What I think is it doesn't make a damn bit of difference what I think about it! They already know enough to hurt us if they wanted to!" Mika fired back. "The only part of this I can control is whether or not they want to hurt us."
"Can you, though? You can sit among them, play their games, pass their tests. Hell, you could even make them like you. And you still won't ever be able to control what they do with the knowledge they have. Your power means nothing to them. Once you walk into that room you'll be no different than any human diplomat."
Mika could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He had to make a conscious effort to unlock his jaw before addressing Vancha. That gave him time to weigh his words before letting them fly:
"I'm not having this fight with you again, Vancha. You weren't the only one who got too close for comfort while the human race was tearing itself apart during the war. But you weren't thrown in blind like I was. Your intervention had a fifty percent chance of not destroying us, and those are generous odds. You gambled with the entire fucking clan on a whim. I love you as a brother and respect you as a colleague but I will never forgive you for that."
Now Vancha was the one with a stiff jaw. For the first time that day, Mika had gotten under his skin. "And as I said back then, you can't argue with success." He replied.
"That is not, and has never been my point." Said Mika.
Vancha said nothing for a moment. Just sat there staring back at Mika through wary eyes as he shook his head slowly. Like he was disappointed. Mika didn't react.
"It wasn't a whim. Tell yourself whatever you want, except that." Said Vancha at last, voice notably strained. "I took a calculated risk. Don't you dare look me in the eye and imply I didn't consider my strategy from every possible angle and weigh every possible outcome before I made my move."
"And like I said, I'm not having that fight with you again." Mika replied evenly. "If it means that much to you, by all means let's take this to the forest and duel it out."
Vancha sighed and broke eye contact for the first time. He ran his hands across his face and through his tangled hair as he closed his eyes wearily. "I don't want to fight you, Mika. Not over that, anyway."
"Then all I have to say at this point is that it's a waste of time and energy to compare the Collective to them."
"I don't entirely disagree, but you're missing my point as much as you insist I've missed yours. The Collective is still human."
Mika was straight-up exasperated now. He threw his hands in the air. "Since when do you think less of humans?!"
"I don't think less of humans. I'm cautious of their numbers and resources, as are you! We're on the same side here!" Vancha thundered. "Gods, Mika! Do you think you're the only one who sees that flag in your nightmares? I held my nails to the throat of the monster himself. I had his life in the palm of my hand. And I didn't finish the job." His voice cracked but his eyes stayed fixed on Mika's, blazing with the same bitter intensity.
Mika felt a sickening chill wash over his body. He held Vancha's gaze steadily even though all he wanted to do was run far away from here. He didn't know what to say. Because what do you say to that?
Vancha found his voice again before Mika did.
"I know you think I'm doubting your abilities, and you won't believe otherwise no matter how many times I try to tell you." He murmured. "The truth is that you're easily the best vampire in the clan, living or dead, to handle this job. But no matter how well you play their games we'll never be able to control or predict how they use their power. It's better for everyone if we just stay the hell away. Just think about it."
Vancha didn't stay for a third meal. And if he'd expressed that intention, Mika would've been the one to leave instead. With that said there were no hard feelings by the time Vancha climbed back down the way he'd came in and headed for the forest. They'd made peace long ago with the ultimate truth that their approaches to leadership were about as different as it got. Mika agreed to meet with Vancha again after tomorrow's meeting to give him a detailed recap of the exchange from a fresh perspective.
Until then, there was nothing left to discuss. Nothing left to prepare. Nothing left to do but continue his ongoing efforts to silently talk himself down from the ledge. And Mika doesn't like to brag, but he's really good at that.
What he's not good at is turning his brain off. But he supposed losing himself in The Wiggles was as close as he'd ever get. These moments were getting fewer and farther between. Gracie still loved her cuddles but the older she got, the less she wanted to sit still for long periods of time. But vacations were tiring business. So tonight she was quite happy to watch television from the comfort of Mika's arms as they sat there in the hotel bed. He could've stayed in this cozy limbo forever. Gods, if only that was an option.
Kurda had been quiet over on the other bed, occupied with the book he'd bought earlier in the week. Very few words had been exchanged in the several hours since he'd finally given up trying to convince Mika to order something, anything from room service. Mika got so tired of telling him over and over he wasn't hungry he eventually just stopped responding altogether. He wasn't proud of resorting to the silent treatment but it was easier than trying to explain that the very thought of food made his stomach want to turn inside-out right now. Because that would become a whole other thing.
With that said, Mika was surprised it took as long as it did for Kurda to break the long silence. It was shortly after Gracie had fallen asleep with her head on Mika's chest. He was just about to carry her to her couch before Kurda spoke up.
"How've you been?"
"Huh?"
As we've discussed, Mika is a world-class public speaker and his silver tongue is second only to Kurda's. And yet, when confronted with an even vaguely personal inquiry, the best he can do is huh. Mika knows that. He hates that.
"I said how have you been?" Kurda repeated more slowly. "Regarding tomorrow, specifically. You feeling okay about it?"
Mika also already knows Kurda already knows he isn't feeling okay about any of this. And that's at least three times as much as Mika wants him to know. So you'd think Kurda would at least have the decency to take the win and be quiet about it.
"Oh. Yeah. It'll be fine." Said Mika, punctuating it with a noncommittal shrug to make it convincing. Which was a waste of time.
Kurda grimaced and sighed in resignation. "I heard your conversation with Vancha. Part of it, anyway. And don't look at me like that! I'd never intentionally eavesdrop on you! I was bringing Gracie back to the room to put our shopping bags away when I heard you from the other side of the door. I told Gracie I'd lost the room key so we'd have to come back later, and we left."
Mika groaned in abject dismay and ran a hand through his hair. "What'd you hear?"
"The part where you went down memory lane about the second Great War." Kurda admitted.
"Oh." Said Mika. (Hey, they can't all be zingers).
"Don't take any of that to heart." Kurda told him earnestly. "You know I have a very high opinion of Van — er, Sire March. But his devotion to tradition puts him at a disadvantage on the brink of the twenty-first century! It's one thing for him to hold strong to his own beliefs. I respect him for it. I just hope you do the same. You came here to strengthen an alliance that's been helping keep us safe for decades now. Don't second-guess yourself."
Mika closed his eyes and sighed again. How many sighs does it take to get his point across? Trick question. There's no force in this universe strong enough to launch that point across the chasm of disconnect between them.
He glanced over at Kurda and forced a smile he knew was brittle at best. But it was all he had. "It's just another job, and I'm going to complete it to the best of my abilities. While the nature of this particular job brings back memories I'd rather not revisit, the fact remains that it's an entirely different situation. It's going to be fine."
Kurda raised an eyebrow challengingly, and that alone was enough to cause something to shut down in the back of Mika's brain.
"You're talking to me like this is a conference at Council. Come on, Mika. It's me. Do you even believe what you're saying?" Kurda pressed. "I can see you struggling. And I'm trying to talk you through it. If not as a friend, then as a colleague —"
"Unless they threw you an investiture ceremony without me knowing, you're not my colleague." Mika cut him off, trying to keep the snark as minimal as he could. Which wasn't all that minimal. "So I'm going to practice what we've been preaching to Gracie by utilizing both my words and manners: Please give me space. I don't want to talk right now. Thank you."
"Who am I to argue with your big boy words?" Kurda chuckled bitterly as he said it. He was as frustrated with Mika as Mika was with him. Mika dropped all amiability from his voice.
"I'm not playing around. If you won't listen to me as your friend, I'll tell you again as your superior. And I'd rather not pull rank on you while our daughter is asleep in my arms."
"You're the boss, Sire. I'll leave you to it. Just promise me you understand you don't have to act strong for us. I already know you're strong. And she thinks you're perfect. You have nothing to prove." Kurda ventured after a weighted pause.
What Mika wanted to say: I have everything to prove, and everything to lose. How can you not fucking understand that?
What Mika actually said, because he was done: "I'm going to bed."
He carried Gracie to the couch and tucked her into her arrangement of blankets, then returned to his bed and did the same.
Kurda said nothing more. Mika eventually drifted off to restless sleep.
"Sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you've been ruined." - Ocean Vuong,
On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous
TWO HOURS LATER:
Kurda sat up on high alert in the king-size hotel bed, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he blinked himself awake. There it was. He hadn't imagined the low moaning noise that filtered into his dreams, or the sound of movement coming from Mika's bed.
"You okay?" Kurda asked in an undertone.
But Mika was still dead asleep, suffering in the clutches of whatever nightmare had pulled him under. Kurda got up and nudged his shoulder in an attempt to wake him. Mika's breathing was shallow and erratic. Every muscle in his sweat-drenched body was rigid. Kurda winced at the way he was grinding his teeth together. Wherever Mika was, he was fighting for his life. The crisp white sheets were already torn where he'd dug his nails in as he thrashed and whimpered in fear.
"No… n-no…"
"Hey. Wake up." Kurda pressed, voice wavering as he started getting scared himself. "Come on, Mika. Wake up. It's okay. I'm here. Just wake up."
This nightmare wasn't backing down. Kurda gripped Mika's shoulder and shook it as hard as he could. It worked — but almost cost Kurda his nose. Mika snapped awake and sat up so fast his forehead would've left a hell of a dent if Kurda hadn't gotten out of the way so quickly. But cosmetic damage was the last thing Kurda was worried about.
"It's okay. It was just a dream." Kurda told him softly, trying to calm himself as much as Mika. "We're all safe. Nothing happened." Easier said than proved. There was a moment where Kurda was certain Mika had no idea where he was, who he was, or who Kurda was. He seemed to be staring through Kurda, not at him. His lips moved but no sound came out.
"Mikaaa…" Kurda dragged out the second syllable low and slow as ran his fingertips down Mika's arm, hoping the touch would recalibrate him somehow. "Hey. You're okay. It's just me. Just Kurda. Everything's okay."
Mika's eyes slid into focus but it wasn't an improvement. The panic attack picked up seamlessly where the nightmare left off. Maybe they'd been one entity all along. Mika didn't even get a second to catch his breath.
"K-Kurda… I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I don't… I—I can't..." He forced the words out between gasps, entire body trembling as he sat there tangled in sweaty sheets. But even at his breaking point he tried to hide it. Pressing his palms to his temples, raking his hands through his hair. He was looking anywhere but at Kurda, as if searching for an escape route. Whether that reaction was conscious choice or automatic instinct Kurda didn't know. He bit back the question on the tip of his tongue - what were you dreaming about? Going back there right now wouldn't help anyone.
"Don't be sorry. Come here." Even as Kurda opened his arms in the offer of an embrace he knew it was futile.
Mika pushed past Kurda and stumbled towards the bathroom sink where turned the tap and splashed cold water on his face. Or he tried. His hands were shaking so hard most of the water didn't make it that far. He gave up and stood hunched over with both palms leaning on countertop. Head bowed, chest and back shuddering as he fought to breathe, fingers flexing against the unyielding marble like he was trying to bury his nails in it.
"It's okay, Mika. I swear. Whatever it was, it wasn't real. You hear me? It was just a dream." Kurda tried in vain to reassure him. The moment Kurda's made contact with Mika's shoulder, Mika jerked away like it burned and he growled through gritted teeth,
"I know that."
Kurda had seen this before. Two nights before the opening ceremony of the Festival. And both times he'd witnessed the slow disappearance of the Mika he'd come to know. Watched as Mika was replaced by a moody, aloof, impersonal shell of a man Kurda barely recognized. And all he could do was wait for the shell to crack
"Can I do anything to help?"
"No."
"I'll get you something to drink."
"I'm fine. Just go back to bed."
"Don't do this again. Please. Don't push me away when we both know —"
"I'm fucking fine, Kurda!"
Mika didn't shout, because even at rock bottom he won't wake Gracie up. But the raspy words were loaded with so much hostility that anyone else in the world probably would've fallen for it. Anyone else would've heard what Mika wanted them to hear: Don't touch me. Don't look at me. Get out.
And gods damn, he was a hell of an actor. But that's the thing about acting. It isn't real. No matter how convincing your performance is, it doesn't mean a damn thing if your audience refuses to buy it. All Kurda heard was, Can't breathe. Can't do this. Help me.
Kurda left the bathroom. Went to make sure Gracie was still sleeping like a rock. Then he took a plastic bag from the small bucket on the fridge and slipped out to the hallway to fill it with ice cubes from the machine. In the minute and a half Kurda was gone, Mika had sank to the floor, sitting with his face in his hands and his back pressed against the cold tile wall. And despite how hard he was trying to steady himself, he was still breathing in harsh gasps.
"May I see your arm?" Kurda murmured as he knelt there. To his surprise and relief Mika didn't protest as Kurda gently held the ice pack to his inner wrist.
"What're you — ow."
"Sorry. Just some ice. It'll help your body reset its nervous system."
"You just made that up."
"Shhhh. Just close your eyes and breathe with me."
"Fuck off."
"Or hyperventilate til you pass out. That's fine too. It's your world. I'm just living in it." Kurda murmured, maintaining the same soothing cadence even as he shifted to sarcasm.
And yet it was the familiarness of the sarcasm that Mika seemed to take comfort in. He didn't answer, but it spoke more than words that he didn't push Kurda's hand away. Kurda stopped trying to fill the silence. He just kept running the makeshift ice pack along the sensitive skin of Mika's inner right arm til Mika pulled back and folded the limb against his chest — then offered up his left arm for a turn. That was the only communication exchanged; the silent implication that the ice felt good.
"I'm gonna try something. Stop me if it's too much." Kurda spoke up after a while. He slowly slid the ice beneath the neckline of the black t-shirt Mika was wearing, pressing it right against his heart. Mika flinched and Kurda waited for him to push his hand away. But after a moment Mika seemed to lean into it. That was the turning point. Slowly but surely his body relaxed and his breathing evened out. Kurda stayed by his side, right there on the chilly bathroom floor.
The end of the storm left a swath of destruction in its wake. Mika was still leaning against the wall, face pale and eyes half-open. He was shivering from cold rather than panic now. Kurda threw the half-melted ice cubes at the sink — and missed by about a foot. But his failure elicited a weak exhalation from Mika that wouldn't qualify as a chuckle, but sounded like he tried for a second. Go figure.
Kurda's other hand — the warmer one that hadn't touched the ice — drifted back to Mika's chest. For a moment he held his palm against Mika's heart, exhaling his own sigh of relief as he felt it beating steadily once more. Finally he rose to his feet. Stretched a little. He didn't think he'd been sitting on the floor that long but the aching stiffness in his body suggested more time had passed than he realized. He offered Mika a hand and gently pulled him up. Mika was calmer now, but still visibly shaken.
"There you go, Sunshine. All better." Kurda ventured, offering a soft, rueful smile. Mika didn't reciprocate but Kurda hadn't expected him to. An hour wasn't enough time to unlearn two and a half centuries of associating emotion with shame.
"I guess. Thanks."
"Need anything else?"
"S'okay. I'm gonna shower. Go back to bed. Sorry I woke you."
Kurda's smile disappeared. He could've left it at that. He should've left it at that. But keeping his mouth shut when he feels this strongly about something is worse than any consequence he can imagine. So he didn't leave it at that.
"That's what you're sorry for?" He blurted out.
Mika was already shaking his head. He knew what was coming. "Kurda… I can't do this right now."
"You don't have to do this at all! I could see it coming from a mile away, just like before the Festival!" Kurda couldn't stop the words that were bubbling out of his lips in a frenzy. He knew this wasn't the time or place. But if not now, when?!
Mika's face was unreadable. He stood there like a statue as Kurda's words broke over his stony exterior. His lack of reaction only made Kurda's frustration spike a fever pitch as he continued: "I know you haven't been sleeping. You stopped eating. And when I try to talk to you about it, you brush me off! Do you know how unfair it is for you to keep shutting me out and making me guess where it hurts?"
Mika's eyes darkened. His jaw clenched. And Kurda knew he'd gone too far. Right words, words possible time.
"Shut up."
"What did you just say to me?"
"For once in your life. Just. Shut. Up." Mika forced out, voice reduced to a gravelly rasp. His dead-eyed stare didn't waver. "You want me to talk to you? Fine. Here it is. What gives you the right to think you're entitled to every thought and feeling that crosses my mind?! I don't make you guess anything. You take that upon yourself. And when I ask you — no, I beg you to leave me alone, you turn around and play the martyr!"
Kurda's stomach twisted. It was all wrong. He was so wrong. "I don't answer to the voice in your head that's convinced you you don't deserve to be cared for." Kurda fired back. "Because no matter how hard you try to convince me otherwise, that voice isn't you. And I'm going to care about you either way, so you might as well save us both some trouble and let me in!"
As he stood there trying to catch his breath, there was a moment he swore against all odds he witnessed Mika's barbed-wire walls start to fall away. His eyes softened, his jaw un-clenched and Kurda finally caught a glimpse of the Mika he knew. The one who smirked back at Kurda in the pool, who obliged his playful attempts to make him dance, who determinedly coached him to a perfect bullseye on the axe range.
Then it was over so quickly Kurda wondered if he'd just imagined it. Mika's face hardened again and the faint light died from his eyes like a candle in a hurricane as he shook his head and backed away.
"I'm not letting you in, Kurda. There's no fucking room for you where I am. And if you knew what it looked like on this side, you wouldn't want to be here either. Do you understand me?" Mika spoke slowly and clearly, with ironclad conviction. Again, he didn't shout. And as always, that made it worse.
Kurda felt the fight drain from his body. He wasn't going to win this one, because that would require Mika waving a white flag. And he doesn't own anything in that colour.
"No. I don't understand you. And maybe I'm a fool for trying." Kurda whispered. His voice quavered but didn't break. "I'm just sorry that this feels easier to you than the alternative."
Kurda closed the door behind him and returned to his bed. His only consolation was that Gracie was still asleep. Kid could sleep through a hurricane. He picked his book up, knowing he wouldn't fall asleep anytime soon. A moment later he heard the water running. He was only partially absorbing the words on the crisp white pages when his keen ears picked up another sound from within the steady white noise of the shower.
Kurda's heart sank into his stomach as he identified it. Mika was sobbing. Breathless, fractured. Like he was in pain. And scared. And alone. And there was nothing Kurda could do to make it stop because walking back in there would only be salt in the wound.
I'm right here! Kurda wanted to scream. I'm right here on the other side of the door, waiting for you to realize how much you mean to me!
Instead he slipped out to the deserted hallway a second time, to the brightly-lit vending machine full of assorted confections and snacks. He bought a blue Gatorade and a bag of Doritos which he set on the pillow beside him.
By the time Mika re-emerged, the hot water had washed away all evidence except the red around his eyes. As if the breakdown was a crime to be covered up. No doubt he saw it that way.
He paused when he saw Kurda, as though surprised to see him still awake.
"Hi." Said Kurda quietly.
"Hi." Mika whispered. His eyes didn't linger on Kurda. His movements were stiff and unsteady as he turned away and began rifling through the drawers in search of fresh clothes to sleep in.
"How are you feeling now?" Kurda ventured as Mika put on a clean t-shirt and pair of boxers.
Kurda didn't anticipate anything remotely close to an honest response. He watched Mika's face, waiting for it to harden again. Waited for him to snap back some abrasive retort, quite possibly his hit single I'm Fine. Or better yet, the remix: I'm Fucking Fine, Kurda!
But Mika just stood there, staring blankly into nothing, arms hanging limp at his sides. He kept glancing at Gracie as if reassuring himself she was still there. Eventually he met Kurda's gaze with bloodshot eyes and croaked out in a voice so raw Kurda wouldn't have recognized it if he hadn't seen his lips move:
"I'm so fucking tired."
"Come here." Kurda whispered for the second time that night. He patted the bed beside him, drawing Mika's attention to the snack offering he'd strategically placed there. There was a faint glimmer of recognition in his eyes as he presumably remembered the last time he had Doritos in a hotel. Then his gaze drifted back to the bed he'd started out in, trying to gauge which option was worse: crawling back into those sweat-dampened sheets alone — or permitting himself to take up the warm, dry space Kurda was offering. After a moment's hesitation he trudged over and tucked himself in beside Kurda.
The Gatorade was a good choice. Mika downed half the bottle in what seemed like one gulp; very obviously realizing in that moment how dehydrated he was. Then he started on the Doritos. Kurda turned the television to the news channel. Subtitles on, and muted to keep Gracie asleep. They'd come this far.
"Dinner and a show." Kurda joked softly. "I know you love the news. We can leave it on as long as you want."
Mika half-nodded and continued to nibble on his Doritos as they watched the screen in silence. Kurda pretended he didn't notice the way Mika kept glancing over at him with suspicion. No, it was apprehension. Like a child anticipating a reprimand.
It didn't take long for Mika to finish the snack. He tossed the empty bottle into the wastebasket across the room — hole in one, naturally — and finally pulled the covers up over himself as he nestled in for the night. He lay there on his back for some time, staring up at the ceiling through glazed eyes. The width of the bed allowed for a healthy buffer zone between them. It was hard to hear the words Mika eventually rasped out::
"I'm sorry, Kurda. For everything. This is the only way I know how to be."
"Shhh. It's okay."
"…That's it?"
Kurda sighed. Forced a smile he knew looked as weary as Mika felt. Bit back the words he wanted to say — I'm so sorry it took 260 years for someone to be gentle with you.
"Yeah." Kurda whispered. "That's it. Just rest now."
Mika had nothing left. He slowly rolled onto his side and curled up with his back to Kurda. Kurda could tell when he finally drifted off to sleep by the way his breathing slowed and deepened.
Kurda turned off the television but continued to read his book. Mika twitched ever so slightly and Kurda prepared to wake him. But first he paused and he was glad he did. This time it wasn't a nightmare. Just a string of disjointed words that sounded like he was sleep-talking himself through some Vampire Mountain administrative mundanity. Then, to Kurda's surprise, he shifted closer til his back was nestled against Kurda's hip. One final soft sigh as if he'd just arrived home after a long journey. Then his entire body relaxed and went still.
Kurda felt guilty over how his eyes were drawn back to Mika's face no matter how many times he looked away. Mika seemed an entirely different person in sleep, eyes closed and face free of tension. The mask was off, crumpled and discarded on the floor. He wasn't trying to be anything to anyone right now. He was just Mika. It was by far his best look. It occurred to Kurda how badly he wished he could just tell Mika that, and suddenly there it was again. Just like that moment in the pool. And in the ballroom. And in the axe range. The unfamiliar flutter in his stomach that wasn't so unfamiliar anymore.
Rhetorical questions cycled through Kurda's scattered mind as he watched Mika's back shift slowly with each breath.
Isn't this easier? It could always be this simple if you'd let it. What are you afraid of?
Or do you just not want to?