It wasn't the most foolish thing Mirk had ever done, but it was high on the list.

He could have blamed it on springtime. On the riotous green surrounding him, clawing at his arms and cheeks as he pushed his way through the forest. Underneath his own turbulent emotions and the fading joy of the party behind him, Mirk could sense the earth pulsing with life beneath his feet. Life wasn't always restorative, he'd come to realize. It could be as violent as it was healing, saplings bursting up through stone and vines prying apart clapboards and roof tiles. That violence was behind the heaviness in his chest, the aching need to do something, anything. But he wasn't that sort of person, the kind that liked to inflict his emotions on others. He'd had enough of that for one lifetime. Seen the other side of the coin.

Instead, Mirk sought out his own private clearing to cry in.

The end of the path he'd chosen blindly didn't end in another tent or canopy, thankfully. It was empty, small, its purpose unclear. As he swept into it, Mirk clawed off his satchel and let it fall to the ground, then ripped off his new emerald coat and threw it aside into the undergrowth. It was swallowed up by the forest, lost in it. If he never was able to find it again, Mirk didn't give a damn.

He took things one step further. With shaking hands, he pried off his boots and stockings, burying his feet in the carpet of clover and weeds that filled the clearing, his toes hooking into the damp earth beneath them. Mirk reached out to it with his mind, tried to anchor himself in it, find the steadiness that he relied on when his emotions ranged too far up and down their scale. But there was no comfort there that time, no security. The earth was as turbulent as he was. For an instant, it felt like there was no safety left anywhere, nothing that could steady him, nothing but a howling, evergreen gloom that threatened to swallow him whole and suck him back down into the kindling sickness.

Mirk cursed aloud that time. Then slapped himself. Then collapsed in a heap in the clover, fumbling at his side for his satchel and the bottle he'd crammed into it after crossing himself in apology for the curse.

It wasn't the first time he'd missed his family, that he'd felt like raging and sobbing in protest at what had been done to them. But the ache of their absence was usually a quiet thing, something that surfaced only for a flash and then was subsumed again by all the things in the City that kept him preoccupied. All that aside, he was painfully aware of how pathetic he was when he was this upset.

What did he have to cry for? Unspeakable tragedies filtered into the infirmary every day -- mangled fighters hauled through the field transporter by their bruised and broken comrades, mages who'd pushed themselves so hard to make enough gold to escape the City that they'd driven themselves mad, the constant stream of pale-faced, tight lipped officers' wives who refused to speak to him about what had happened but nevertheless bore the marks of it on their bodies, barren wombs and twisted spines and bruises in the shape of handprints. With all that kept in mind, it was easier to have a sensible perspective on things. What had happened to his family was terrible, but it was a much more mundane tragedy than Mirk had thought possible before he'd come to the City of Glass.

As for what had happened to him...he refused to think of it at all. At least not when he was awake.

For some reason he didn't understand, it was harder to ignore all of it in the teleporting mages' vale, in the face of so much love and acceptance. It wasn't that he was jealous, not really. He didn't envy Mordecai his mob of meddling relations, nor Danu her mismatched parents who came and went to an unpredictable rhythm that had left her afraid and surrounded by strangers in her bridal tent. He didn't want a replacement family.

He wanted his own needling aunts back, his own implacable, unfathomable father and his headstrong, teasing mother. His own sister who most definitely wouldn't have just glowered at whoever he decided to marry, but drawn her sword and challenged him in combat, to make sure that he was worthy, no matter what he had to say about him being a better judge of character than she was. And most of all, he wanted grand-père back, if only for an hour, just so that he could ask him what he'd given up to curse the Montignys and House Rose for taking grand-mère from him. So that he could repay that debt and move on with his life.

At least he was able to stop crying by the time he'd drained the bottle halfway. The Easterners did brew a potent spirit, even though it had a foul aftertaste. Healing magic hadn't yet concocted a potion that could rival liquor for blocking pain rising up from the inside rather than radiating from others. Mirk made himself cork the bottle then, purposefully rolling it out of reach so that he wouldn't be tempted to return to it. He was certain he'd be fall-down drunk by the end of the night, but it'd be better if he did it with his friends from the Seventh and the infirmary rather than alone.

He needed to go back before anyone noticed he was gone and came looking. He couldn't live with himself if he ruined Danu's wedding by moping.

Mirk tried a different tack then, tried to put all his excess potential to good use. It'd be tricky, channeling energy that was determined to grow, to split and sprout and seed, into a shield. But even if it didn't yield results, at least the trying would help calm him some. Draping an arm over his face to block out the afternoon sun, Mirk focused on his breathing, on reassembling his shielding and building it stronger with the benefits of the earth's bounty. Maybe if he put limits on it, tried to shield out anything that wasn't the earth while still letting the earth in. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so alone.

"...you appear...unwell."

The sudden voice knocked Mirk out of his thoughts, snapping him back to reality and making the shields he'd tried to cobble together fall apart once more. Had he really been concentrating so hard that he'd missed it? The way the forest around him had quieted, how the gold-green energy he could feel pulsing off everything had dimmed. The static hissing just beyond his shields. Feeling the heat rising on his face, he cracked one eye open.

Genesis was standing at the edge of the small clearing, near the end of the path that led back to the feasting and dancing. A perfectly composed pillar of darkness amidst all the exuberant greenery, expression once more hidden by his odd spectacles and ugly hat. Mirk sat up, scrubbing at his face with his shirtsleeve and trying to plaster an unconcerned smile on his face.

"I'm fine, messire," Mirk said, hating the way that the words came out in a croak rather than light and reassuring. "Did you find that book?"

The commander only nodded in response, drawing a few steps closer, out into the sunlight. Genesis was frowning, but it was impossible to tell what sort of frown it was without his eyes and brows there to help Mirk decipher the expression. His magic didn't feel particularly unsettled, at least, which meant that at least the drink and the bread hadn't already made Genesis ill. Part of Mirk wanted to roll to his feet and bolt for his side. But he restrained himself. "I'm...certain you're unwell," Genesis said, after a long pause.

The laugh that escaped Mirk was more bitter than he'd intended. The instant it was out of his mouth, he winced. "I...well. I don't want to trouble you, Genesis. But it's kind of you to think of me."

Genesis drew within arm's reach. But he didn't close the gap entirely, instead looming over him, still trying to puzzle out what had happened. Apparently, he was as incapable of deciphering the meaning of the strained smile on his face as Mirk was trying to sort out the meaning of Genesis's frown without his eyes to give him hints. "I was...told that a wedding is typically a positive event. Was I misinformed?"

"Oh, pas du tout! Of course I'm happy. It's nice for everyone to get a break. All that dancing and food..."

Though the corner of Genesis's mouth ticked at the mention of food, he didn't voice his opinion on the matter. Instead, he took things one step further, crouching down beside him so that he wasn't so far out of reach. Mirk didn't know if it was an invitation, one of his subtle gestures of acceptance, or simply a matter of needing to come closer to try to sort out what was happening. "You cannot eat meat. And you do not appear to be happy. I have...come to be able to see the difference."

It surprised Mirk. Either he had to look even worse than he expected, or Genesis must have been studying him especially often over the past few months. Mirk didn't know whether to be flattered by the attention or worried by it. With a helpless shrug, Mirk sighed. "It's hard to explain, messire."

The gesture was subtle. If Mirk hadn't been watching him so closely, too closely, studying his posture and his magic to try to make up for not being able to see his eyes, he might have missed it. But Genesis turned his hands outward, so that his wrists were exposed, his head tilting slightly back and to the left. Mirk had long since forgotten the word for the gesture, but he remembered it from the night they'd shared in the woods on the Festival of Shades, the last time Genesis had submitted to drinking alcohol. It was the gesture for being accepting of closeness, as the commander put it.

"I will listen." He paused, twisting his wrists out a hair further. How the cuffs of his uniform coat were still black and pristine after hauling countless loads of people and supplies through the Abyss that morning, Mirk didn't know. "You are always willing to listen to me. It's an...equivalent exchange."

In the face of that degree of forthrightness, with the earth and all its verdant bounty clamoring at him to cling and press, Mirk couldn't hold back any longer. "Can you take off that hat, messire? Or at least the spectacles. I can't tell what you're thinking with all that on. You know I can't feel you. Your face is all I have to help."

Genesis considered him, still sitting in the middle of the sun-dappled grove he'd decided to sulk in. Then he gestured at an expansive oak that towered over the back half of the clearing. "A proposition. You...move to the shade."

That was another thing Mirk remembered from the last time Genesis had drank -- whenever he imbibed, he had an even harder time than usual compensating for bright light. Nodding, Mirk hauled himself to his feet and trudged over to the oak. His eyes flicked to the half-empty bottle still lying in the grass, but Mirk walked past it. Instead, in an attempt to save himself, to quiet the gnawing sense of urgency that rose up sharp in him at seeing Genesis rise back to his feet out of the corner of his eye, he made a sweeping gesture with his right hand at the thin patch of weeds at the base of the oak tree, giving his magic free rein.

His potential eclipsed his physical senses for a second, turning everything into a mess of green and gold, intersecting lines that mirrored the reach of every plant in the clearing, his mind filled with the discordant voices of dozens of living things aching to stretch, to curl, to bloom. When his vision cleared, Mirk saw that the clover had overtaken the bare earth beneath the tree, mixed in with some kind of softer, longer field grass. And a vine pockmarked with tiny white flowers had latched on to the potential Mirk had flung at the tree and used it to scale halfway up the oak's trunk. Despite everything, Mirk gave a tired laugh as he collapsed into a heap at the base of the oak, leaning back against it.

"Maybe that was a bit much..."

Genesis didn't comment. But he did take off his hat and spectacles, reaching through the shadows cast by the oak and retrieving his overcoat. He tucked them into its breast pocket, then spread the coat out over the clover and grass Mirk had grown before sitting down beside him.

"Are you feeling all right?" Mirk asked him, studying his face. The only tell Mirk had noticed from the last time Genesis had drank was that strange, owlish blinking. That and his willingness to be more open than usual. The latter was there, but he couldn't spot the difference in his eyes. His pupils were always smaller than an average person's, save for when it was very dark. Mirk had never decided which he liked more -- having more of that inhumanly clear blue on display, or the intimacy of darkness. "I tried some of that bread after you left. It was spicy even for me."

Genesis made one of his grimacing grins at the memory of it. But he nodded. "I...believe the wine is counteracting the effects. For now."

That left Mirk with no avenue of escape, no way to babble his way out of the conversation he'd agreed to. A foolish decision on his part, but the whole day had been full of those. Mirk sighed, leaning his head back against the tree again, trying to find some balance in the feel of its roots stretching out deep beneath him. And trying to avoid thinking about how he'd rather find that balance by leaning against Genesis instead. "I miss my family."

Genesis's brows — long, elegant, just like the rest of him — arched at this. "I'm aware of this."

Mirk hated the way that tears prickled at the corners of his eyes all over again as he tried to think of how to explain. "It's easier not to think about them when I'm in the City. Even being around the other French mages isn't so hard. Or, at least, it's not hard in the same way. It's just..."

"...just?"

He didn't dare look over at Genesis again. If he did, Mirk knew he'd lose what little momentum he'd found. "I never planned on getting married. I was dedicated to the Church, you know. And even when Oncle Marc passed, God bless him, I was trying my best to think of some way I could avoid it. So it isn't as if I'm missing something I thought I'd ever have. Besides, I've been to dozens of weddings. Most of the ladies I was acquainted with were older than me because of the circles maman moved in. And the men I got along best with were all a few years older, more your age. I'm too soft for most of the things the younger men like. You know, riding, hunting, fencing."

"That is less a matter of weakness and more one of...magical circumstance."

"It doesn't matter," Mirk said with a sigh. "It all ends up the same. Anyway, the point is, I wasn't expecting something like this. I was expecting something...hmm, harder, maybe? Sais pas. The whole point of noble weddings isn't love. It's politics. Half of the marriages are love matches these days, but even then. Everything is power. Show. Paying debts. I know that's going on here too, in a way, but it feels different. It's so...warm. Everyone's so happy."

Genesis thought this through for a time in silence, motionless beside him. But Mirk could feel his magic shifting, as it always did — while Genesis always disciplined his body into perfect stillness, save for when he was upset, he compensated by allowing the shadows freer rein. They curled. Searched. Ebbed and flowed with all the emotions Mirk would never be able to feel, and that Genesis worked so hard to master. At present, it was twice as shady underneath the oak's branches than it ought to have been. Mirk wasn't certain what to make of it.

"I...understand that Mordecai's being married was an important matter to his family. Owing to the death of his parents. A...bitter loss, as Abram's first family was killed by plague. To lose nearly all of the second due to some...confrontation with the guilds was considered by many in his profession a sign that all those related to him directly were cursed. Superstition. But...many people are superstitious."

Surprised, Mirk glanced over at Genesis. Even without the terrible spectacles and hat in the way, his expression was still hard to read. Blank, emotionless. Though his eyes were ticking back and forth as he thought, as they often did. "Really? So many? Are none of the people here related to him?"

"Primarily through Zora. Regardless. I believe that does not...directly relate to your present concerns."

Laughing, Mirk let his head fall back against the tree, watching the blanket of leaves above him dance and flash in the breeze. "I suppose not. You're getting too clever for me, messire. Even at this."

"No. I still...do not entirely understand why this is a cause for distress."

Mirk knew he'd end up sounding pathetic. That he shouldn't expect any sympathy, especially from someone who'd led as hard and desolate a life as Genesis. But it would be better to get it over and done with, even if Genesis thought him a fool once he'd admitted it. "If I was to marry one day, it...makes me sad that my family won't be there to share it. I'd thought they'd always be there. And even if I never did marry, there were other things I wanted to share with them. I can't help but think...well. That they died while I was still a disappointment. Someone better than me should have survived."

Again, Genesis was silent for a long time. When he did speak, it was slowly, with that certain precision that meant he was choosing his words carefully. "This, I...may understand. To an extent. I lost the first fight I went into alongside my nis'yk and his c'aytka. And we will never have the opportunity to fight together again."

That time, when Mirk looked over toward Genesis, he was thinking even harder than last time. Searching fruitlessly in that imaginary book of his for the right way to proceed. Mirk decided to let him think. To let him say his whole piece, instead of trying once more to draw attention away from himself by latching on to the strangeness of the customs Genesis had grown up with and asking him to explain.

"There are...two further points that may offer you comfort," Genesis finally said. "First, your family is not...gone, as you say. Perhaps in a technical sense, but the K'maneda had a...different perspective on family. It is not a determined thing. Those who...birthed you are only one part. The most important members were those who are chosen. As...freedom is the aspect that gives things value. From that perspective, your family has not come to an end. It is only beginning. As now...you may choose your family. Of your own free will. Second..."

Genesis quit looking for answers in his steel-trap memory then, turning to what was in front of him. Down at him, searching his expression as he spoke. "...you are not a disappointment. In my estimation. I have...witnessed your efforts at supporting your remaining blood relations. I do not understand the purpose of many of them, but the effort involved appears to be...considerable. I believe they will result in more success now that you are...acting true to your nature more often again."

Despite his confusion, a smile stole over Mirk's face. He didn't fight to suppress it or the feeling of gladness that accompanied it. Or the heat that rose to his face again. Genesis really had been watching him closely, observing him even when Mirk thought the commander had put him entirely out of mind. "True to my nature?"

"You are t'ksyn. First in action. First in conviction. The one who attacks. We all must...balance our nature. To a degree. But your actions are the most true when you act on your conviction." Genesis paused, hissing in frustration as he tried to explain the things that seemed evident to him, but that no one still living understood. "It...is in several things. When you speak your mind, without hesitation, others listen. As...Mordecai's grandparents did this afternoon. And it is in this," Genesis said, waving a vague hand at the remains of the casual outfit Mirk had cobbled together.

Mirk looked down at himself, smoothing a hand over his rumpled waistcoat, looking at the matching crystal buttons he'd had added to the cuffs of his shirt and the faint beginnings of grass stains on the knees of his breeches from all his wallowing around in the grass. "This? But it's just any old thing, really. Nothing special."

"I have observed that among the royalist mages, your clothing is like armor. It is intended to produce certain effects. Those effects are...much more striking when you choose something that you prefer. Regardless of whatever cost or fashion that may also be involved."

He felt the heat double on his cheeks, felt his smile widening into a grin. "I'm glad you think so, messire."

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

Hissing in frustration again, Genesis looked away. His gaze had wandered lower again as soon as he'd realized he hadn't offended him, Mirk noticed, once again tracing the edge of his frame, as if searching for something that had fallen out of place, that needed correcting. "I do not know if any of this has been of use to you. But these are my opinions. If they are unsatisfactory...so be it."

Mirk hesitated. He knew that he shouldn't. Knew that acting on the nagging urge to press closer that had been burning in the back of his mind all day was the path to ruin. But hadn't Genesis said that he preferred him when he acted on his convictions? And Mirk knew full well what he wanted, even if his desires weren't right. "Thank you, Genesis. It has. But..."

It was an awkward gesture. Unnatural, like holding a pose for a portrait that put his best features on display despite the position being entirely artificial. But Genesis had done his best to put his thoughts into words Mirk could understand. The least he could do in return was try to force his own impulses into a form Genesis could understand without having to search that invisible rulebook of his. Mirk twisted his palms around so that his wrists were showing and craned his neck to one side. Genesis turned to look at him at the motion, brow lowering in confusion.

"...may I? If it's no trouble."

"It's not."

It felt like easing out of a too-tight coat, kicking off shoes that had pinching his toes all morning. Mirk shoved himself to the right and pressed himself against Genesis's side, wrapping his arms around him and leaning his head against his chest. He abandoned his poor attempt at rebuilt mental shielding, closing his eyes and basking in the peace that came with being so close to Genesis's chaotic magic. There was safety in that, security. No matter how much energy the earth bled into him, no matter how frustrated and useless and overwhelmed he felt, that darkness that surrounded Genesis's mind would always be limitless. Bottomless. A nothingness that was capable of everything.

For a long time, Mirk was silent and still, reassured by the slow rise and fall of Genesis's breathing as he tried to will his own heart to stop pounding against his ribs, to slow nearer to the rhythm of the inhumanly slow beating of the heart beneath his cheek. Then he sighed, savoring how the damp, earthy smell of the fresh growth beneath them complemented the faint scent of Genesis's cleaning potions and soaps. "You're really being very patient, messire," Mirk said, without opening his eyes. "I'd have thought that all this wedding business would have put you in a mood."

"It did," he said, flatly. A moment later, Mirk felt him shift in his hold, then felt the light press of his fingertips on his hair as he stroked it. "But this is more...agreeable."

Curious, Mirk lifted his head from Genesis's chest and looked up at him. There wasn't any trace of strain in his expression, though Mirk did think he saw some confusion there, in the way one corner of his mouth was twitching and the way his brows were still pulled down. It made his chest ache, but in a way that warmed him as much as his realization back at the wedding party had chilled him to the bone. "I always thought you didn't like people hanging off you."

"I don't," he said, tone still flat. "But it is...less the touch I dislike, as I have said before, and more...the lack of warning. You made an attempt."

Mirk laughed outright, but didn't pull away from him. "What's that gesture called again? Ces...or was it ka..."

"C'ktac."

"That's it. I'm afraid I'll never get it right...methinks my teeth don't work that way..."

"As I said. You...made an attempt."

"I'll try to remember from now on," Mirk said, leaning his head against his chest again. "I...well. Sometimes I get a little ahead of myself and forget."

"It is...simple to tell when it's coming. Regardless of your efforts."

Mirk didn't know whether to be ashamed over being so transparent, or concerned by the intensity with which Genesis must have been studying him to be able to sort things out without guidance. "Is it?"

"Your heart accelerates. And your...eyes take on a certain...sheen."

Mirk sighed. "Methinks I can't compete with that. Like I said, I can't feel you at all."

"I have been told by other empaths that they find this...unsettling."

"I don't think so," Mirk replied, without any hesitation. Then he pressed things a step further. If Genesis was being open with him, even if it was mostly due to having drink forced on him again, the least he could do was reciprocate. "Honestly, it's a relief."

"...explain."

"I have to hold my shields up all day, if I'm not around mages who like to keep to themselves. Sometimes I'd rather just rest. And...hmm. Methinks people don't mean to do it most of the time, but being able to feel so much makes it easier for people to hurt you, if they want to. People can't help being sad or being angry. But I feel it all the same. Besides, it makes you more interesting."

"I...see."

Mirk hesitated. "But...well. It does mean that I can't tell whether or not I'm bothering you. Like this. I...can't tell whether you're just tolerating me or not. It..."

It was pathetic. It was a path it was better not to go down, at the end of the day. But the other thing about Genesis when he was in that sort of mood, if Mirk was reading him correctly, was that he wouldn't think to lie to spare his feelings, even if he wanted to. And perhaps if he learned the truth, then maybe it would dispel some of the unnatural desires that were clawing at the back of his mind even then, making his cheeks burn as he turned his head to look up at Genesis once more. "It does make me feel better. Being close like this. But I don't want to take advantage of you."

Genesis's brows lowered once more, and he made an odd hissing noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "You are incapable of that."

"Euh...pardon?"

"I am not ignorant," he said, very slowly, once again choosing his words with care. "And I do not submit to things I do not wish to do. Not without...good reason. I am compelled often enough as it is to...submit. Due to the bindings. I will not do it otherwise."

He was approaching dangerous territory, Mirk sensed. A place it would be hard to come back from. Yet, he continued to press. "Then why do you put up with all of this?"

Genesis's brows lowered further, as he struggled to explain. He hadn't quit stroking his hair, and now he chose to draw attention to it, his hand momentarily closing over the crown of his head. "It is not...disagreeable to me. I do not understand why you are comforted by this. But I...find the texture...pleasing. So it would be incorrect to assume that there is no mutual benefit."

An incredulous laugh slipped past Mirk's lips. But he pressed closer against Genesis's chest, lest the commander think he was offended or disgusted by what he'd said. It was just that it was almost impossible for Mirk to believe. "I suppose I'd never thought of things that way."

"Humans have...different senses. I am told that things I find objectionable are not so on many occasions. It is only reasonable to assume that the inverse may also be true. That there are certain...textures I appreciate that others do not. Your hair is...not quite smooth. But also not rough. It is...interesting."

"I'm glad we both like it, then, I suppose. I never thought of it as anything special. "

Again, Genesis gaze shifted lower. Tracing down his side, like he was searching for something that was out of place. "I...do not dislike closeness. As I said. I...find...pressure to be...agreeable. Weight. It has a...calming effect. When it is not combined with some other thing that is objectionable."

Mirk wasn't certain what Genesis was suggesting to him, though it made the heat on the sides of his face become nearly unbearable. Not for the first time that afternoon, Mirk found himself cursing exactly what he found so appealing about Genesis -- his inability to tell what Genesis was feeling, to have presses of dismay or delight against his mind to nudge him toward what others required most in their time of need. There were no unspoken expectations pressing against his mind that encouraged him to shift against Genesis's side, that made him press closer still, swinging his legs over so that they were draped across Genesis's. There was only his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, his own longing clawing at his chest, making him give in to the idle desires that possessed him so often as of late. Desire that he let unfurl at Genesis's vague grant of permission.

Genesis didn't push him away. Didn't draw back. Instead, he looked down at his legs, left bare below the knee because he'd shoved off his boots and stockings in order to have direct contact with the earth, skin on soil. His mouth twisted into an odd, pursed-lip expression that gave way to one of his strained attempts at a smile. One that was similar to the expression that had crossed Genesis's face what felt like ages ago, when Mirk had taken it upon himself to press the knots out of Genesis's back by hand instead of trying to work them out with his healing magic.

"Is it all right?" Mirk asked.

"Your legs are...heavier than one would expect. From their dimensions."

Again, Mirk laughed. "Is that supposed to be a compliment, messire?"

"It is an...observation."

Against his better instincts, Mirk pressed things one step further still. Ready to retreat at the first signs of refusal, he shoved himself over further, square into Genesis's lap.

There was no refusal. But Genesis did hold himself very still, the steady rise and fall of his breathing pausing for so long that Mirk would have been concerned, had he not been well aware of how infrequently the commander actually needed to breathe. Then, with another strange, hissing half-laugh, half-sigh, Genesis came unstuck, reaching with his free hand to adjust Mirk's legs so that they were more properly straight.

Mirk relaxed too, allowing his head to fall back against Genesis's chest as he sunk down further into the static that washed over his mind at being so close to him. Surrendering to its coldness, letting all the accumulated frustration and upset that had wracked him all morning to flow out of him, into that darkness that surrounded Genesis's mind. As he'd expected, Genesis's lap, his thin legs that were all muscle and bone, weren't as yielding and comfortable as a well-worn cushion or mattress. But Mirk savored the feel of them nevertheless.

"This is not a...foreign gesture to me," Genesis said. "Somewhat. This is sitting t'cadek position. Save for the lack of precise alignment and the...arms. They are left at one's sides."

"What does it mean?"

"It is...used in meditation. And spellcraft that requires the participation of more than one individual. To align oneself with another. Among other things. Gestures...can function on several levels."

"Maybe things aren't as different between the way your people did things and the way we do them after all," Mirk said, relaxing even further against Genesis's thin chest. That wasn't as comfortable as a mattress or a cushion either, technically speaking. But it was like a balm to Mirk's frazzled nerves all the same. "This is...hmm. There's no one name for this, I suppose. It just makes me feel better. That's a little like meditation, non?"

"There is...one thing I do not understand, however."

"What?"

"You have...said repeatedly that you never intend to engage in marriage. But I do not understand your reasoning. As this appears to be...a matter of some importance among most people. And a form of closeness that few people question."

Mirk didn't know how to answer that question. How to explain all the parts without giving himself away, without risking the comfort he found in leaning against Genesis's chest and letting his mind be cradled against the forgiving static of his magic. But he did the best he could, if only to put the question to rest so that he could go back to ignoring the implications of the position he'd found himself in.

"It's like I said, messire. Marriage is different for nobles than it is for people like Danu and Mordecai. There are some people who have love marriages, like my parents did. But often nobles marry to secure their family's wealth. Or their position in the guilds. Methinks if I hadn't inherited, I might have been able to avoid that, but now it's bound to be a given. Grand-père left us with full ledgers and his staff. I'm sure that many other families are hoping that they could get an heir out a marriage who would have magic closer to grand-père's or my father's than mine. And I'm certain they'd offer a rich dowry for that chance. But..."

"But?"

"It's not right. It would make things easier for my uncle and cousins, but I can find another way. I won't take away someone's chance at a love marriage just to make things easier for myself."

"I...see." Genesis shifted, picking up stroking his hair again as he thought. Perhaps he could sense how much his question unsettled him, had heard some change in his heartbeat or his breathing. "I think it strange that you find none of your fellow royalists desirable. You appear to...like most people."

Mirk laughed, tiredly, pressing himself harder against Genesis's chest. He hoped the laugh didn't sound as bitter to Genesis as it did to his own ears. "There's a difference between liking someone and loving them, Genesis. You are right, though. I like lots of people. But it's not the same."

"It's...not the same," Genesis repeated, his flat tone conveying his lack of understanding as well as one of his jumbled expressions.

"It's hard to explain. It's a feeling thing. And everyone feels love differently."

"I will have to take your word on that. As I can feel...none of it."

Mirk was beginning to wonder about that. How little Genesis felt, and how little he understood, as he continued to meticulously stroke his hair, arranging all the parts of it that always slipped out of place. Maybe it wasn't an absence of sentiment, of understanding, but an inability to express or show those things in a way that made sense to other people. Or perhaps he was the one who was misunderstanding things, who was foolish enough to see tenderness and warmth in all of Genesis's odd habits.

Love could heighten perception, could highlight details that were easy to overlook. But it could also put meaning in things that ultimately meant nothing.

"I know it'd be better if I went back soon," Mirk said. "But would you mind if I rested here? Just for a while? It's been a long day."

"I am...not opposed."

With that grant of permission, Mirk let go of all the conflicting emotions raging in his body, the fear gnawing at his stomach and the desire coursing up his spine, and surrendered to the comfort of at least getting to be closer than usual to the man he knew, without a shred of doubt, that he loved.

- - -

It was near dusk by the time Mirk summoned the will to get up, to force himself back into the parts of his outfit that he'd discarded in his earlier fit of self-indulgent upset. Then he put on a pleasant expression that insinuated nothing had ever been wrong before returning to the larger clearing in the teleporters' vale where the reception party was still in full swing. The shadows stretched long across the clearing when Mirk emerged out of the woods, Genesis following after him.

The commander hadn't needed any extra time to compose himself. Genesis never bothered with trying to put on a brave or pleasant face for others. And his clothing never looked bedraggled or unseemly, no matter what he did. He'd spent the afternoon reading the book that Mordecai's grandfather had loaned him, more than happy to spend his time flipping through its crumbling pages rather than subjecting himself to the party. Mirk would have found the fact that Genesis preferred to pass his time with him draped across his lap more encouraging if he also hadn't been so very aware of how much Genesis despised parties.

Which was why it surprised Mirk that Genesis’s arrival got noticed first. Mordecai came tearing out a crowd that'd gathered at the center of the clearing, a prudent distance from the cooking fire that'd been built up high to ward off the dusk. "Gen! Gen, there you are! You've got to come help!"

When Genesis didn't deign to reply to him, instead staring off at the crowd with a deepening frown, Mirk stepped in. "What's wrong?" Only once Mordecai had come closer did Mirk notice how rumpled his wedding suit was, one of its arms half torn off. "Did something happen?"

"Oh! Mirk! Good, I was looking for you too. You should go help Yule patch up the losers, or else he's going to complain so much that Danny's going to have to help." Before Mirk could ask him what he meant about patching up the losers, Mordecai had moved on, planting himself square in front of Genesis and clasping his hands together, pleading with him. "Please, Gen, just this once? Niv's already beat Slava. No one else stands a chance! My cousin got drunk and bet half his loot from the last three caravans against Niv and zeyde will kill me if he loses it. I swear, I'll talk him into giving you a quarter if you'll just—"

Genesis raised one hand, cutting Mordecai off. "Enough."

"Please?" Mordecai begged, one final time.

Rather than saying anything, Genesis stalked over closer to the crowd, grimly unbuttoning his overcoat and the uniform jacket beneath it as he went. With a yell of mingled triumph and relief, along with some arcane gesture of thanks up to the sky, Mordecai ran after him.

It took Mirk a moment to find Yule at the edge of the crowd. The older healer was working his way sullenly through a line of the biggest men among the Seventh and Mordecai's kin. They were all the worse for wear, half of them bleeding from split lips and clutching aching ribs. They were all too drunk to be sullen, though, most of them chatting excitedly with one another and digging spare coins out of trouser pockets and boots. "What's happening, Yule?" Mirk asked him.

"About time you showed up," Yule said crossly, shoving a roll of bandages and a pot of bruise balm at him. "They're doing one of their stupid village things again. Start from the back and work your way toward me. Since you decided to go take a nap while the rest of us were working, you can handle the worst."

With a slow nod, Mirk went to the back of the line, where Eva was scolding Slava. The giant fighter was sprawled flat on his back on the ground, still breathing hard, one arm curled around his stomach and one eye half-swollen shut. Still, he was grinning, even in the face of both his injuries and Eva's disapproval. "Help me sit up, Evashka," he said up at her, waving his free arm. "I want to see that bastard finally get it, even if I didn't get to do it myself."

In all his confusion and the chaos rippling through the crowd, Mirk had completely forgotten about Genesis. But his attention was dragged back to him now. Not because of the man himself, but because of an overwhelming wave of delight that sparked up at the center of the crowd. It was coming from K'aekniv.

The half-angel had taken his own fair share of hits that evening, his bare chest and arms covered with scratches and bruises. But he showed no signs of slowing down. His feathers were puffed up in excitement, his face split in an eager grin. "Snegurochka! You want to try your luck too, huh?"

The crowd was backtracking, leaving a wide circle around K'aekniv. And Genesis, who the crowd parted to make way for, as he finished the laborious process of properly folding back the sleeves of his shirt. The shadows of the fast approaching night gathered thick about him, making it look almost like he hadn't taken off his overcoat, but merely replaced it with one that was even more alive and malevolent.

"Luck...has nothing to do with it," Genesis replied. He didn't raise his voice, but the crowd had fallen silent at his appearance, making him easy to hear all the way from its edge.

"No! With this, luck is everything," K'aekniv countered. "It's the rules. Whoever wins at the fights after a wedding is the one who'll marry next. So you know I have to win."

It became clear to Mirk then why so many men had come out to fight, even the ones who didn't usually engage in casual fighting. Genesis paused. "Is there...some manner of contractual agreement?"

"Contract! No! Like I said, it's luck! All the old gods will smile on you if you win."

Reassured, Genesis completed his preparations, making sure that the high collar of his shirt was fastened tight around his neck. "I will...disprove your superstition."

"This is going to be good," Slava said in a too-loud whisper, grinning up at both him and Eva as the surgeon grabbed hold of his thick arm and pulled him up into a sitting position. "We can only ever get Gen to really go all out when he's had a drink."

He wasn't going all out, as Slava put it. Mirk had seen the way that K'aekniv had shifted when he'd needed to fight Genesis for real, his loud emotions shifting to an unnerving, focused calmness. At present, K'aekniv was still grandstanding, waving his arms and wings and shouting encouragement to whip up the crowd. He got some shouts of agreement back, but most of the activity was focused on an intense exchange of fresh bets.

Mirk could see why a casual observer might think a real fight was about to happen. The shadows were growing ever thicker around Genesis. But the commander didn't have the unnatural, humorless grin on his face that came when he truly lost track of himself. Instead there was only his usual cold blankness, though his eyes had a focus to them that Mirk recognized. One that only usually came when he was genuinely fascinated by something or someone. Already invested.

"Name your terms," Genesis said.

"No magic! That's as good as cheating with you. Just whatever you can do with that bony ass of yours."

"I...will not require magic to handle the...likes of you."

"You think you're good shit, huh? Fine! I'll make it a little harder. You'll have to pin me five seconds instead of three."

"This is stupid," Eva said, her palm pressed against one eye, tamping down on a growing headache.

Mirk half agreed with her. But it was nice to see Genesis agreeing to the Easterners' idea of fun for once instead of refusing to get involved. Especially since the cause for celebration was much less grim than at the Festival of Shades. "It's fine, Eva. I'll take care of both of them once it's over."

"Why must men be such idiots?" she asked no one in particular, looking down the long line of men who'd stopped pestering Yule for the exact opposite kind of attention than the one he favored, their focus fixed on the impending fight. "I thought Comrade Genesis was better than this."

All Mirk could offer her in response to that was a helpless shrug. Though, really, he was no better than the rest. Rather than rolling his eyes and wincing like Eva, he found himself smiling along with the other men. And it was only partially because it was hard to shut K'aekniv's excitement out of his mind.

"Count!" K'aekniv bellowed.

The crowd began a rowdy, jumbled countdown from five to one. Faster than thought, even without the help of his magic, Genesis was there the instant the one was past their lips, landing the first kick against K'aekniv's side. The half-angel grunted, but laughed and rallied, almost managing to grab hold of Genesis's leg on the next kick and bring him down.

Mirk wasn't looking forward to dealing with either of their injuries. And wasn't invested in who won. But the fight did give him the chance to see Genesis's fluid, inhuman grace in its finest form as he darted around K'aekniv, ducking punches and grabs and delivering spinning blows of his own. Because there was no real violence in it, no killing intent, Mirk could for once admire that beauty without regret. How smoothly Genesis moved, all long limbs and precision, always perfectly balanced, an extension of the living dark that lingered behind him. Untapped, but still restless.

Healing a few cracked ribs and black eyes seemed like a small price to pay for such a wondrous show. Though Mirk sincerely doubted that Genesis would be the next to marry, even if he won.