Tragedy, Comedy and Pancakes
This is pure wish-fulfilling schlock. And I don't care. This is penance/a gift (hopefully) for all you lovely people who were left hanging by my unplanned hiatus. And Nella wanted a kitchen fluff for chapter 12, so...
It was worth it, was Anik Kadam's first thought as Kelsey came into the kitchen wearing nothing but her pajamas, a fluffy white dressing-gown and a shy, sweet smile. The staying up late, timing the cooking of his crêpes to perfection with the little increasingly close together noises, that indicated sleep was slipping away from her. He had calculated that by the time she awoke the hot chocolate would be perfect drinking temperature and the sliced fruit would still be fresh-looking. He had placed the tray on her bedside table with the most care and silence that he could summon into his near-immortal frame.
He had stolen a quick glance at her. She looked so troubled. She had fought for her life too many times that day, against booby traps and a panther, of all things. Kadam felt a wave of guilt. He had conveniently "forgotten" about the traps in the caves and sent Ren in unprepared, hoping the game would end with one of its players out of commission. He had relied on Ren being noble and leaving Kelsey behind when things got dangerous; the separation of a few hundred years had made Kadam forget what an utter ungallant ass his young charge could be. Kelsey had been through hell, and it was Kadam's fault. Every sob that he had heard echoing from the shower, as the events of the day finally caught up with her, had been a thousand lashes to his heart. So a midnight snack was the least he could do. His old teacher, the great Auguste Escoffier, would have been proud of his pancakes – even if he would have denied it with a little gallic shrug and said: "Ça ira."
Kadam had been at the top of the stairs when he had heard the young American's little gasp of surprise and pleasure. Definitely worth it. Even if he hadn't been able to find the blue rose which he'd spent all day dyeing to silvery blue perfection (originally he would have presented the worried Kelsey with breakfast in bed, complete with a single rose to comfort her, and to help her forget the immature princeling that she'd only just met). He still thought it was worth the effort when Kelsey appeared in the kitchen the next morning, carrying the tray from the night before. She seemed happy and relaxed, her eyes and skin aglow with peace and warmth, and her caramel curls in frankly adorable bed-headded disarray.
He jolted out of his dreams of running his fingers through that hair long enough to remember his manners and take the tray from her hands.
"Good morning, Kelsey," he said cheerily, dropping all the Memsahib-ish "Miss Kelsey" nonsense. "Did you sleep well?"
"Good morning, Mr Kadam. A lot better after that, I can tell you!" She sleepily indicated the empty tray, now on the counter. "Thank you for that, by the way. You didn't have to." Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Kadam could have sworn that her gaze had become soft and sweet as treacle.
"Nonsense, nonsense. It was the least I could do. Anyway, sit down. Would you like coffee, tea or juice?"
She perched on a stool next to Kadam's vacated one and frowned a moment in thought, as though what to drink was a conundrum too confusing for the morning.
"Surprise me," she said eventually.
For a moment Kadam considered being pure evil and teaching her a lesson about putting decisions into other people's hands, by giving her something like Lapsang – which was so dark and smoky it was sure to make her splutter seven ways to Sunday. But she was not Dhiren, so he wasn't feeling pure evil.
"Earl Grey it is, then," he murmured into the cupboard. He had better ways of making her splutter.
He made a cup for himself as well and sat down next to her on the counter. He fiddled with his shirtsleeves as an awkward silence stretched out, with Kelsey being either too zoned out, or too engrossed in her own thoughts to engage.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Kadam broke into her reverie. She looked up with the most lovely, hazy smile.
"Sorry... I was just thinking. This is crazy."
"You're thinking this only now!" He laughed.
"Shut up! I mean, two months ago I was plain ol', brown bread, girl-next-door type Kelsey Hayes – the hardest decision that I had to make all year was if I was gonna do my midterm paper on Hamlet, or Romeo and Juliet. Now I'm apparently the Great White Chosen Special Snowflake, and I've gotta save the world – or help Ren save the world, and I don't even know what I'm doing here. The caged bird sang and now I'm playing Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? Nobody's goddamn told me anything. Or asked me if this is whatI want. Don't I get a choice?" Her hands curled around her mug as the last few days finally overwhelmed her, her knuckles turning white. Without thinking, Kadam prised her hands from the hot china and encased them within his own.
"You always get a choice." His eyes bored into hers. "Always. If anyone tries to take that from you, you have to run as fast you can in the opposite direction. Or call me, so I can distract them long enough for you to run."
That elicited a weak chuckle from the increasingly watery-eyed young lady in front of him. A watery-eyed young lady who, apparently, didn't want to let go of his hands. Kadam tried another tack.
"Which did you choose in the end? For your midterm paper?"
"Romeo and Juliet."
"Don't tell me you think that play is romantic?" He scoffed comically.
"What? It totally is! Their love transcends all the hate and they're together forever in the end."
"No it doesn't! They both have to hide from they're own families, they're too scared of being cut off, or their parents' reaction to openly declare their love." He pointed out.
"Fine, you might – might – have a point there. But they're still together in the end." She said it as though that were the mighty trump card.
"No. They're dead in the end. There's a difference. Double-suicide is not romantic. That's the reason it's a tragedy; that two people in love weren't allowed to have a normal relationship in their own time and pace, but were driven from one extreme to the next by their families' mutual hatred, until suicide became the easiest option. It's a love story on fast-forward which crashes into a wall." Kadam was just proud that he had remembered the word "fast-forward" on the fly. He almost missed the wry little smile that curled up at the corner of Kelsey's mouth.
"Okay fine, suicide is not romantic," she conceded. "But I still love those two together."
"Didn't say you couldn't..." He muttered as she released his hands to sip delicately at her tea. Kadam was struck with a bolt of inspiration. "I prefer Shakespeare's comedies, personally."
"Oh? Why's that?" She took another pensive sip of tea, concealing a growing grin.
He locked eyes with her.
"In a comedy, they fight for the ending, The reasons tragedies always end badly is because the protagonists sign over their free-will and just let destiny take it where they will. Othello and Desdemona could have had a happy ending if they'd just talked, rather than saying "que sera" to it all. Hamlet and Ophelia could have run away together and let Claudius alone, or been more clever. By the very nature of the story, they have no power over their fates. Beatrice and Benedick fought against themselves and their own flaws to be together -"
Any other thoughts which Kadam had about the nature of freewill in comedy were cut short by Kelsey's lips pressed on his.
"Shut up and kiss me," she murmured, before pressing her mouth onto his again
After the initial shock of the taste of her bergamot lips against his, Kadam wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap – deepening the kiss. He ran a finger along her cheek and raked his fingers through her wild hair. She snaked her arms around him and pressed herself as close as humanly possibly, running her hands over his shoulder blades. The angle became awkward and Kelsey heard a frustrated little sigh. With very little effort (praise be to supernatural amulets!) Kadam lifted her up onto the counter and breathed kisses along her collarbone. With a commanding finger under his chin, she forced his gaze up to hers; she grabbed his collar and pulled him closer, to stand between her dangling legs. She arrested his mouth in hers. He grabbed her and pulled her closer to the edge, wrapping her pale legs around his hips. He took over the dance of lips, and tongues and teeth, - teasing and revealing with playfulness and passion. A little moan escaped her:
"Kadam..."
"Anik," he whispered directly into her ear. "Call me Anik..."
Free will had a flavour. Its name was Anik Kadam.