AN: This originally came from an ask to somebodysavefrederickchilton at Tumblr; I just decided to act on that ask. Beta'd by eren-get-in-my-jaeger—many, many thanks!
Feedback is always welcome!
John Dee stared long and hard at the werewolves' broad backs as they walked through the dark and fog-hidden Pont Sant' Angelo by the Tiber River. In all the years of service to his masters, he could never quite figure how they received the items that they asked him to retrieve. Oftentimes a creature or a minor Elder in debt to his masters would appear right beside the leygate that connected the Earth to another Shadowrealm, and regard him passively before asking for the item. Other times, the item would disappear without a trace. But the Elders that Dee served very rarely came down to the Earth themselves.
This time, it was a basket of apples from the garden of the Hesperides that they asked him to get. The task proved to be rather difficult, but John Dee had long since lived with difficulties annoyingly manifesting themselves in the most oppurtune of times, and this was no different from the rest. The Ladon was a formidable guardian, and the nymphs were quick in plucking the apples from the tree. If Virginia Dare had accompanied him to the garden Shadowrealm, then his task would have been made a hundred times easier.
The Magician had long since turned his back on the werewolves and walked in the opposite direction. Away he went, and soon, even the Roman emperor Hadrian's mausoleum fully dissolved in the evening's thick fog. Rome was dark, and only when Dee passed under a dim yellow lamplight did his features composed. The pinstriped suit that he chose to wear to the garden was singed and torn at the edges and creases, and the back of his coat was darker than the rest of his attire, half-burned from the Ladon's breath. His face was flecked with soot and dirt, scratched by the woodland spells that the Hesperidean nymphs conjured as he fled to the leygate to Earth's Shadowrealm. Dee's slate-gray eyes glinted under furrowed brows, and his mouth was set in a thin frown.
It has been a decade since Virginia had walked out on him, effectively putting a stop to their plans of marriage and breaking their relationship. A decade was too short a time compared to the years spent mourning for the families that he had but barely knew him, but that did not stop the melancholy to wash over the Magician.
…A fight over a trifle that grew heated and almost consumed them both.
…A playful peck to the top of his head. Dee need not another reminder that he is a small man, but it was a kiss nonetheless, and he eventually came to appreciate it.
…Virginia ruffling his already mess of a morning hair. He grumbled in annoyance. "I am not a child, Virginia."
Her hand stopped…only to start patting his hair. "Said like a true child, John."
…The English Magician John Dee, glaring at the jar of biscuits on top of the cupboard. Virginia stopped by his side and poked him in the shoulder. "I could reach that, you know." He turned to face her, and glared even harder as as she cracked a coy smile.
Two centuries' worth of association—and affection, even (he dared not say love, because he couldn't be sure if, even in all their plans for marriage, love is what Virginia had felt)—lost.
Dee paused in his tracks, then backtracked to an abandoned alley that he recognized to be leading to a leygate directed to the Americas. He looked quizzically at the darkness seemingly radiating from the end of that alley, and eventually he sighed. The chances of seeing Virginia in America are very slim indeed. And if he did see her—or she him—Dee would probably get himself close to being killed. Maybe he would really die.
Dr. John Dee stepped to the darkness, and found himself in the heart of New York's underground city.