AN: So I was writing a much longer post-Tin Man story with a Cain-DG pairing (which I'm a big fan of) and began to wonder what a DG-Jeb pairing would look like, and so the first two chapters of this story was born...And then, I asked myself, What about Cain? And so, the third chapter's plot bunny arrived. And well, I hope you enjoy ; )
Rating: R - for language and EXPLICIT sexual references, a.k.a. smut
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Tin Man. I just like to make them my playthings.
New Leaves Part One:
DG:
I was home. I had family. I had friends. And I was a princess.
So okay, life couldn't be perfect, but it was pretty damn near close.
All kidding aside, home has its issues. It was after all ravaged by the evil Sorceress consumed with the desire to extinguish all Light. The Papay fields needed to be restored, the Wastelands rejuvenated, Longcoats and collaborators caught and prosecuted, all sorts of things. So as a family, we were kept pretty busy after the Double Eclipse.
Az also needed work. She was a lost, traumatized young woman who was struggling with separating her identity from the Witch's. Slowly, but surely, with lots of love and patience, she was recovering and on the road to self-forgiveness.
Turning over a new leaf in our post-Sorceress life, Az and I made a pact. We would not let life, witches, or fashion (this one was more for me than her) dictate to us. We would take charge of our lives instead of reacting to them, and we would not give an inch of figurative ground to our fears.
It was a pact we had to renew every day because life in the O.Z. under Reconstruction was constantly throwing challenges our way. Nomes with the intention of using their crazy ninja assassin skills on us Gale women invaded the City through underground tunnels. Greedy nobles, who would rather maintain their profits than help the less fortunate, sought to rest power away from the crown and into the hands of the council all because they took exception to us for asking so much of them. Puh-lease. Gossiping, spiteful courtier ladies who resented our youth, beauty, and status appeal to the limited pool of eligible bachelors were constantly slurring our characters and nitpicking every action we made. These are just a few examples of our trials.
My relationship with my parents needed to be rebuilt from the ground up. I had those few memories of my mother and the dreams, and of my father, a vague echo of a child's love for her daddy. I wasn't their little girl anymore, and although I was raised by OZians who instilled in me O.Z. values, I had grown up in a vastly different culture. It had helped that my father had understood where I was coming from (Thank goodness, he had experienced some of the sixties before he had crossed over) and that my mother was such a wise and patient woman. Little by little we were making progress.
As for my Robo-parents, they had been restored and were now showering love on the Central City orphans. I got to visit with them weekly, usually helping around the orphanage doing repairs – which Momsy got a kick out of because if fixing toilets was not too beneath a princess of the realm then washing dishes or doing laundry wasn't beneath her charges, as she frequently reminded them when they began to complain.
Raw was accepted again by his people. It seems that his heroic actions in helping me with my quest cancelled out his earlier cowardice. After reuniting Kalm with his mother, he had returned to the City at the Queen and Consort's request and became the family's Screener. He was so gifted an empath that anyone with harmful intent towards the family was spotted a mile off, which is how we detected the nomes. He also was a great friend to me and Az. He soothed her when her guilt and nightmares became overwhelming, and he soothed my fears and insecurities when my new career became too much. What we do in turn for him, I'll never know.
Glitch got his brain back. Reconnecting his neural networks has taken some time, so his adorable quirks are still present minus the zipper. He advises mother, but he is more like a Chief of Staff than a Minister of Technology and Experiments, which had been his former title. He still experiments, but there are far more explosions and half-burnt eyebrows involved than when he was just Ambrose.
He too has been a blessing to Az and me. He bolsters our confidences with his unflagging faith in the Gale women. He makes us laugh at his antics, and provides us the listening ear we need. This last is a rare find, because believe it or not, the O.Z. is filled with the same kind of greedy, grasping political vipers that good old Terra is, even with the Witch gone.
He has been a good friend, and I am happy to return the favor, which is probably why I have known before anyone else – except maybe Raw – that there was more than just friendship between him and Az.
The evening of my discovery, the three of us were chilling in mine and Az's shared sitting room. Az had fallen asleep in her chair by the fireplace. The book of Other-side poetry that Ahamo had given her was open in her lap and the Irish wolfhound puppy (Lumino, or Lum for short) that Glitch had given her was curled up on her feet, taking his duty as her personal foot-warmer quite seriously.
I had been so absorbed in my sketches that Glitch must have felt comfortable enough to let down his guard and just stare at her in awe and adoration from his position in the chair next to hers. When he saw that I had caught him, he blushed, sheepishly saying, "So the cat's out of the bag."
"I won't tell anyone," I promised, whispering.
"Not even her?" he asked hopefully and yet sadly.
"Not even her," I replied solemnly, my heart going out to him. "Are you ever going to tell her?"
He waved his hand, saying hopelessly, "What's the point? …The point? …The point?"
"Glitch?" I cut in, concerned. He only did this when his emotions were really high and deeply felt.
Rubbing at his forehead, he mumbled morosely, "She'll never see me that way. We're barely friends as it is, because she can scarcely see past this infernal scar without flinching."
"I think you give her far too little credit, my usually intrepid and wise friend," I murmured in my sister's defense.
He just shrugged and got up, brushing a light kiss across the top of Az's hair before he slipped from the room.
But little did we know that my sister is an excellent actress and was awake enough to catch the gist of that conversation. As a result, she began to look at him in whole different light. And in the spirit of turning over a new leaf and keeping in mind of our pact, she did an uncharacteristically audacious thing.
Just before midnight on the eve of the New Annual, she slipped out of the overcrowded ballroom to the balcony. She was soon (predictably) joined by Glitch. And when the clock struck twelve, Azkadellia Gale, princess of the O.Z., employed an Other-side custom and kissed her prince silly to welcome in the new annual and declare her love.
How do I know all this? Well, I confess – I'm an unrepentant voyeur.
I had hid behind a tall plant in the opposite balcony. My only regret is that I couldn't get closer to hear what was said. Az is a private person and still refuses to divulge the details and so responsible that she turns down the alcoholic beverages I ply her with when she begins to feel the least bit tipsy. Humph.
And now we come to the Cains.
Tin Man Cain accepted the post offered him by the Queen as head of the Central City law enforcement. Ever since the Eclipse (minus a short stint when he was handling personal affairs like his and Adora's cabin), he has been reforming the police force that the Witch disbursed and cleaning up the City.
I also have weekly visits with him so I can report that he too is recovering. He's still grieving for Adora and healing from his time in the iron maiden and has yet to take Glitch up on his offer to find him a professional psychiatrist that can help him deal with his boy scout syndrome or deeper issues, but he's okay.
And for the record, he's still just a friend, and I am not secretly pining for there to be more.
Why not? Because this princess doesn't follow the normal fairy tale plot. She did most of the rescuing in her adventure, and although very thankful for her knight in shining armor, she has not felt the need to be swept off her feet by him and taken to his castle as a prize.
Don't get me wrong. He's very, very attractive – with those deep blue eyes of his, capable hands, soothing masculine voice, his broad, well, everything, and his tight ass. His very presence is masculine and protective, the epitome of Cowboy Hero in both the genres of little boy westerns and big girl romances.
All of these marvelous qualities did lead me to consider him in a romantic way. I even got to the point of imagining heavy make-out sessions, but every time I imagined us doing it, his face would freeze in the most ridiculous sex face and my fantasy would implode with my laughter. I mean really? Serious, overprotective Wyatt Cain dropping his stoic mask along with his pants and…and…yeah, it's just not something I can get beyond.
So he's my best friend. I fix his appliances, draw him sketches and paint him pictures to brighten up his bachelor pad, and tell him the latest Dorothigale gaffe at court, like at the University's first polo tourney 'accidentally' sloshing my raspberry Gillikin ice all down young Lord Grabby-hands' shirt front. He listens to my tales of woe over yet another frustrating day of lessons with Toto, and at the end of them, faithfully offers to shoot the Pooch. He also cooks me delicious home-cooked meals that the Palace kitchens can't seem to do and Momsy doesn't have the time for when I visit, and teaches me how to whittle.
He still calls me 'Kid,' but not because he sees me as one – no, he does better than Ahamo does in that department – but because I'm like a daughter to him; the daughter that he gets to do all the fun things with and none of unpleasant disciplinary things. In the case of Grabby-hands, he got to laugh with me over the man's outrage, and then he taught me how to lay anyone out flat who got too friendly like that again. Poor Ahamo had to stand behind mother and look stern as she lectured me on the proper way to handle such situations.
He's my friend. He'd do anything for me, and I'd do anything for him, which is why I made it my personal mission to bring laughter and joy into his son's dark and loss-filled life.
Jeb Cain had given up his life of violence the night of the Eclipse. He had seen too much blood and death, and so he had respectfully declined the Queen's offer of a command in her newly formed army. Instead, he had enrolled at the Central City University. He has yet to declare a major, unsure of his own likes and dislikes much less goals, so he dabbles in a little of everything – except medicine. Even the basic anatomy class dissections bring back too many horrific memories.
As to what Jeb thought of my mission…let's just say that he at first was none too receptive. He thought that my bi-monthly to weekly visits were his father's way of checking up on him. (As if the Chief Tin Man would do something so overt.) But as soon as finals week came around, he became much more receptive to my royal demands that he take a break from his studies to go on mini-expeditions with me.
We went on picnics, hikes, and herb-gathering forays (to replenish Raw's stores). I made him teach me basic survival stuff, and I taught him how to ride a motorcycle.
I'm not ashamed to say that my stunt with the Gillikin ice had been done mostly for his benefit. Over Lord Lech's shoulder, I had seen Jeb with his dorm mates. They were laughing at some freshman's misfortune, but he was watching the two of us and looking positively murderous. (His father would have been so proud of his chivalrous son.) I wanted to make him smile. I got an outright laugh instead. It was glorious.
Yep, it was right in that moment that I knew I had fallen head over heels in love with my best friend's son.
I loved his integrity. I loved his take charge attitude. I loved his passion. He may have mastered the Cain poker face and stoic expression, but the man felt everything so strongly, down to his bones, which is why his whole body shook when he was overcome with fury or laughter.
I loved his devotion to his family and friends. Every week, he goes and visits his men and women who are still recovering from their wounds in the hospital. And although he's still struggling to find the right footing in his relationship with his father, anytime someone makes a derogatory remark because they don't like his policies, he greatly desires to set them straight. One man was foolish enough to refuse to recant his statement and get into Jeb's face about it. Jeb walked away with a beaut of a black eye; the other guy left on a stretcher.
I loved his ability to be a good judge of character. He had taken one look at Az the night of the Eclipse and had seen the truth of our story about the possession. He needed nothing more.
I loved his ability to assign blame exactly where it belongs. He refused to let his father torture himself over how his Resistance activities led to their family's tragedy. "Zero and the Witch were to blame, period." And when I had confessed the reason behind my nightmares - my guilt for letting go of Az and abandoning her to the Witch - he got so offended on my child-self's behalf that he actually vocalized what his outraged Look was communicating.
"You were five. You're sister was twelve. You're combined magic may have been strong enough to have withstood the centuries old witch, or it may not have. She could have sent her mobats to separate you, and the end result would have been the same. You don't know. The Sorceress and those who chose to support her over your mother caused the fifteen years' worth of devastation. Not you. Got that, Princess?"
I loved the cute yet irritating little half-smirk of his that he used when someone (such as me) had done something positively foolish. I loved how when he is tired from long nights of studying he splays his fingers from both hands over his face and mushes it together, making the most hideous pug-like, or maybe a better descriptive is deformed fish-like, faces. I loved how when he was nervous about something, he would scratch the back of his head three times and then pat down his rumpled hair twice. I loved how he looked like such a bad boy sitting all sexily astride my motorcycle.
I love him.
And I had no idea how he felt about me. But in the name of not giving into my fears, I began the campaign of wooing said sir.
All of my mini-school vacation activities began to involve things like archery, shooting a rifle, and so forth because they "required" that he touch me to demonstrate. And when we rode my motorcycle, I would tighten my grip around him far more than was strictly necessary and press my curves into him as I would breathily or huskily whisper directions or encouragement into his ear. I am ashamed to say that I sunk to the level of chick flick ploys. But all things are fair in love and war, right?
I even went so far as to pretend I, a home-bred farm girl, didn't know how to fish, and he had to assist me in casting the first few times, pressing my body into his lean frame "for support" and all that. And for that fib, I got punished.
You see, Jeb Cain is no one's fool. He caught on pretty quickly. So the third time I did this, he pressed back, causing my brain to go into a hormonal stupor, which allowed him to take the rod from my hands, set it aside, and then pick me up and threw me off the pier into the lake water below without any interference on my part.
Still drawing on chick flick clichés, when he went to help me out, I pulled him in with me to retaliate and a water-dunking fight ensued. But that's where the cliché ends, because (sadly) we did not kiss at the end of it.
After we got out, I asked him, "What did you do that for?"
He just gave me a Look. Cain men Looks speak volumes, by the way, and Jeb's was particularly eloquent. His raised eyebrows, his narrow, skeptical eyes, and his pursed lips with a slight turn up at the corner as if he was slightly amused said this: You know exactly why I did that. You know how to fish and were just using your wily woman ways in an attempt to seduce me. I'm flattered, but really? That was the best you could come up with? So you know, I know, and the OZian people know that you totally deserved it. Don't deny it.
I blushed. It was rather embarrassing to be caught out like that.
But as I was wallowing in self-pity, he silently stalked up to me, grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to face him. And when I looked up at him startled, he kissed me. Forcefully. Passionately. Desperately.
I returned it with everything I had. My hands slid up into his gloriously thick and silky locks, fisting in them as I forced him closer and angled his head just right. I pressed my soft curves against his hard wiry frame, causing him to groan and to relocate his hands from my arms to the back of my neck and my lower back, molding me to him. He nibbled on my lower lip and then sucked on it, eliciting a moan, which allowed him to slip his tongue past my (by then) swollen lips … and then I was falling.
I had jumped off a cliff to avoid Papay runners, and the feelings that I was experiencing was much like that. Amazement that this was actually happening. Giddiness from the adrenaline rush. Fear – not of suffering a horrible death in unknown waters, but fear that this was all a dream or that he would stop and I would find out it didn't mean what I thought it did.
The one emotion that hadn't been part of my cliff jumping experience was that of joy. If I had died in that moment, I would have died the happiest girl in the whole O.Z.
Unfortunately, in that moment a breeze had to blow across us letting us know that the magnificent heat that we were generating was not enough to combat the evening chill, especially for two very soaked people. So we reluctantly pulled apart and went about doing practical stuff like building a fire and so forth.
While we were drying, we had the Discussion. I confessed my love for him. He confessed his love for me. We talked of where we wanted to go from there. (We hadn't a clue other than we wanted there to be an 'us.') And we kissed a lot.
I am not my sister. If given enough drinks (and I never turn down a free one), I could be coaxed into sharing these emotionally intimate details, but as I'm currently not intoxicated, that's all you voyeurs are going to get.
Anyways, after that our relationship changed. He was the one who was the Distracter from Responsibility. He was constantly stopping by and interrupting valiant attempts to keep up with my correspondence, assigned reading, and council proposals.
His methods alternated between two delightful tactics. The first started out with him lightly rubbing the back of my neck with his rough calloused thumbs and then progressing to peppering my neck, shoulders, throat, and jaw with light kisses. The second began with a massage intended to relieve stress but would leave me as putty in his hands (what superb hands!) and ended with a heavy make-out session.
He also liked to sneak me out of the Palace and royal functions under the disguise of my glamour charms to go for mini-adventures. Some involved our usual activities, plus physical displays of affection. Some involved more sedate things like picnics and hours of sketching (with him being my primary subject; his body fascinated me so). Others included nights out on the town, dancing, dining, theatre-going, and so forth.
That's where we were tonight, the theatre. It was some horrible play about an Other-sider who seduces a betrothed woman and their union produces a wicked witch-ling child determined to destroy the pillars of OZian society. As a child of an Other-sider who did marry a betrothed woman and whose sister was the child who would later be possessed by a wicked witch who nearly succeeded in such an endeavor, I greatly resented this obvious attack on my family and their use of the arts to do it.
Jeb's warm brown eyes met mine, as he whispered, "I'm sorry. Poor choice. Do you wanna go?"
I nodded numbly and let him lead me out. We climbed into the carriage, and he immediately pulled me to his side, wrapping his arm around me as he kissed the top of my head comfortingly.
"Why do people have to be so hateful?" I mumbled into his jacket lapels, beginning to not really care any more as his scent overwhelmed me: soap, leather, and forest on a rainy day.
"I don't know," he sighed. "I've been asking myself that question since I was eleven years old."
Knowing he was thinking of the day Zero locked his father in the iron maiden, I made a soft mewl as I began to kiss my way up his neck, nipping lightly, and then soothing the flesh with a feather light brush of my lips.
He turned his head, and our lips met and sparks flew. Within seconds I was in his lap, straddling him, running my hands over his chest and abs, rocking against him along with the jolt of the carriage over the cobblestones. His left hand was buried in my hair pulling it out of the pins, with his arm supporting my back while his right hand dug into my hip, either trying to hold me still or to encourage me to grind harder. (I went with the latter interpretation.) All the while, our tongues were battling for dominance, plundering, exploring, caressing, stroking.
When the carriage came to stop outside his apartment, I pulled back gasping. He took advantage of this and began nuzzling my neck, causing me to arch into him.
"Jeb…Jeb…Do you want to continue this…?" I managed to stammer out.
He lifted his head and gave me a Look. His normally warm brown eyes were dilated with scorching passion and burning need, clearly saying: What kind of question is that, woman?
It was a stupid question, that's what it was. And after the night that followed, it was a question that I would never ask again.
