The Aeolian Harp ~ Chapter 1

Disclaimer: It doesn't belong to me.

Author's Notes: Thanks EAG for all her help, and everyone who read Semblance of Eden. While this is a sequel to that story, you'll probably still be able to follow along if you don't want to read it first.

It was nearly second sundown when they reached Babylon again.

Midvalley sat by the stone in the fading light of the second sun, duller red and less vivid than its greater, brighter twin. He had planted a flowering thornbush here almost two years ago, and the shoot had grown, bloomed, and died, tumbling away into the desert. At least that's what he guessed.

It was one of the few plants that could make a living here, and it had been either that or that fat-leafed blue-green cactus that she always hated, because it'd leave milky juices all over her boots.

His fingers played over the stone, trailing through a season's worth of dust and sand. The etching was already wearing away, melting back into desert.

D-O-M-I

He brushed away the rest, but it was gone already. Stripped by winds and sand.

"Patch…" Midvalley sighed. "Well, I could go and find the son-of-a-bitch who sold me this piece of shit. But I don't have time today. So I brought you these."

Reaching into his sun-faded suit (it was black once, he remembered, black as midnight), he pulled out a handful of flowers. Thin paper, crackly tissue, slightly bent on their twisted paper stems, crushed from being in his coat.

"I bought these in town, because I didn't want him to know. But you probably don't want to hear about him." Midvalley cleared his throat. "I thought…a girl…always needs something pretty, right?"

He scooped away a handful of sand and planted them over the grave.

"Well. I can't stay long. The steamer's pulling away in an hour. We're going to Augusta. I don't know whether I'll come back this time." His jaw tightened. "It's getting really serious."

The distant rumble of the steamer.

The wind picked up, ruffling his hair, and the flowers caught in an updraft, scattering to the dunes that were slowly eating the little gated cemetery, burying the buried.

Midvalley stood up. "I'm sorry, Patch. I tried." He pulled out a flask. "This is all I can really do." His words closed up in his throat, and he poured, watching the amber liquid soak into the sand.

He emptied the flask and dropped it. In time either the desert would eat it or someone would take it; it didn't matter to him. Midvalley watched the horizon, eyes lost on the setting sun.

"There you are."

Midvalley cringed at that voice. He liked to think that he still had some secrets, and that this place was one of them. He had paid cash for the gravestone and the plot, money out of his own pocket. And he had been careful, ever so careful, to not be seen coming here on the few occasions he'd had to visit.

It had been a big year for him.

"Here I am," Midvalley said. He stood up, and moved a little, planting himself in front of the grave. If Legato got much closer, he'd be able to read the letters on it, faded or not.

"We mustn't delay," Legato said. "We can't afford to miss that steamer."

"There's still a little time. I was just taking care of something. You know, in case I don't get a chance to come out here for a while."

Legato came forward slowly, and Midvalley thought about holding his ground. He only lasted about two steps, though, before he cleared out of Legato's path. He moved aside, bowing his head. "Boss…"

Midvalley thought about explaining first, before Legato could ask. But, hell, what was there to explain? This wasn't exactly rocket science here. This wasn't science at all. It wasn't even something made by men.

Legato looked down at the tombstone for a while. "I see," he said at last.

He didn't kneel or crouch down, didn't drag his coat through the dirt. Midvalley had sometimes thought that it must have taken a lot of effort to keep that stupid coat so white and crisp in a place like this. But perhaps no more effort than it took to maintain that perfect body no one ever got to touch, or that handsome face that he never seemed to want anyone to look at.

"It's been here ever since," Midvalley said. "You didn't even let me have the body, so there's not really anyone buried under there. I just thought maybe if I put the marker here, near her hometown, she'd know where to look for it."

"The body…" Legato mused. "Yes. I had another use for it."

"I know. I'm not asking you to be sad or anything. I mean, I didn't do it for you."

There had been a time when he would have been too terrified to say even that much, but these days he felt very little of that old fear. Something had changed; Midvalley suspected it was himself. Legato was as constant as death. And if it seemed to him that something was different about Legato these days –perhaps he had lost his cruel streak; he no longer seemed to take the same pleasure in hurting that he once had – that was surely just his imagination.

And yet he was asking, "Are you sad?"

"Pardon me?"

"Are you sad?" Midvalley said again. "Even a little? She was in love with you. You knew that, didn't you?"

"I knew," Legato said.

"Do you even know what that word means? I mean, Boss, no offense, but…"

"No, none taken. You are the artist among us, Midvalley. It must be necessary for you to have a deeper understanding of such things than the common man. I won't claim to have your sophistication, but I believe I understand now a little better than I did before."

"Do you miss her?"

Legato shook his head. "Next you'll be asking me if I wish I hadn't let it happen. Let's not travel that thorny road. It isn't something either of us particularly wants to do, is it?"

"Yes, sir," Midvalley muttered. He wished Legato would just leave. He had been hoping for another few minutes here, to finish saying what needed to be said. But he could see now the Sandsteamer shimmering on the far horizon, drawing closer by the minute.

He knew he wasn't going to get a chance, not even to tell her goodbye. Legato wasn't even going to let him have that.

"Anyway," he said suddenly. "Anyway, it's better than Nick ever got."

"Yes," Legato said mildly. "You're right."

He wasn't fooling anyone. Midvalley knew Legato was surprised to hear that name from him, though probably not as surprised as Midvalley was that he'd said it. He had hardly even dared to think it in weeks. Whenever he'd come close, he'd pulled away violently, as if it burned him.

He'd spent a lot of time running through the mnemonic devices from his music school days: Every Good Boy Does Fine. F-A-C-E spells Face. Fat Chicks Go Dancing At Ed's Bar. Every Angel Does Got Beautiful Eyes.

"I barely saw him at all near the end there," Midvalley said. "Always out running around with… you know. But I didn't really miss him then. I could always just look forward to when I'd see him again. Like when you're a little kid and you're in the bathtub and you duck your head under the water and see how long you can hold your breath. Every time you try to make it a little bit longer, because it's like even way back then you understand that the way to appreciate the things you have is to not have them for a while. Then, when you get them back, it's like discovering them for the first time."

Midvalley looked down.

"But then, you're a real pro when it comes to denying yourself. You understand. Maybe. But even if you don't, it's not going to matter much longer. We know each other too well by now, Boss. You and I, we know each other too well to be keeping secrets this late in the game. And I guess you must hate me. I hate you, too. Anyone who knows each other as well as we do ought to hate each other."

"You always hated me, Midvalley. From the moment you saw me."

"Yeah?" Midvalley laughed harshly. "I barely remember anymore. That was so long ago. Did it bother you at all?"

Legato was quiet for a while. At first Midvalley thought that he didn't intend to answer, but it seemed he was only thinking about the reply.

"I had come to expect no different," he said at last.

"Dominique didn't hate you."

"No," Legato said. "Most of the time, she did not."

The way he said it, it sounded like that was the best he could ever hope for. Against his better judgment, Midvalley looked up. Legato's eyes were still turned down, focused on the grave at his feet. And there was something in his still profile that had not been there before, something tinted rose by the light of the red sun. And Midvalley wondered, had he been wrong to think that Legato never changed? For wasn't he looking at a different man than he had a year ago? A man who had changed so slowly, so gradually, that it couldn't even be seen by the naked eye.

Like a star that burnt out a thousand years ago; the light from its death wouldn't reach them until long after it was gone.

"Boss?" Midvalley asked, very softly. "Are you lonely?"

Legato turned his head slightly, and his hair shifted over his face. "I've never been alone, Midvalley. Not even for a moment."

That hadn't really been an answer to his question. But it was so clumsy an evasion, that Midvalley actually felt a little bad. Legato really wasn't very good at things like this. He really hadn't had a lot of practice.

"Right," Midvalley said, and sighed. "I forgot. Anyway, we better get back. We're going to miss that steamer."

Legato turned away from the grave, and he started down the hill. It seemed easy for him to leave it behind. He only looked back once, when they were far enough down the path that it was nearly out of sight. Midvalley wondered if he was remembering anything in particular.

Because Midvalley sure as hell was. He remembered it all.