In 1935-A Sham has no idea who Melvi is, and as far as I can tell Narita never indicates that Huey formally introduces Melvi to Sham before Ra's Lance, or even during it (so far). Essentially this entire fic is a "what-if" fic, aka "what if Huey did give Melvi a Sham vessel, and what if there was totally time in canon for Melvi to go through what he goes through in this fic" and "let's pretend that this is all even remotely plausible" and...and...you get the idea.

Note: Originally published on AO3, this fic was written with some of its text aligned to the right. Since FFN doesn't support this very basic HTML tag, I've had to adapt the formatting accordingly. In this case, the originally aligned right text is now represented via bolding, so if you're on desktop and the default font makes it hard to distinguish between bolded and regular text I recommend switching to a different font that better differentiates them.

"Sham," Huey said, without looking up from his papers, "Hilton is speaking with Salomé in lab five. White, dark blonde, wearing grey. I would like you to fetch her and bring her here. There is something I must discuss with both of you."

In the corner, a brunet man nodded from where he sat on a plain wooden chair but did not rise. "Understood. I'm on my way."

A knock sounded on the study door four minutes later. Sham stood and went to open it, revealing Hilton and himself standing at the threshold. He said nothing - having already greeted her at lab five - and merely swept his arm right, inviting her inside. Of course, there was no reason for his other vessel to offer a goodbye, and the vessel turned and took a seat on the couch outside.

Closing the door, Sham moved to stand by Hilton's side in front of Huey's desk. She acknowledged him with a curl of her lip.

After a few seconds, Huey finally looked up from his work and smiled blandly. "Ah, good. Thank you for coming, Hilton. Will Salomé want you back soon?"

"No, sir. He said that I should take as long as you needed."

Of course he did, Sham thought. He would do anything for his supreme leader.

"I see." Huey sat back in his seat, and folded his hands on top of his desk. "Now, Sham - unlike Hilton, you have never been formally introduced to the new leader of Time. This morning I placed a telephone call to him, and the two of us agreed that over the next few days he would benefit from a more...reliable line of communication with me."

Sham carefully kept his expression blank. "You would like one of my vessels to accompany him, Master Huey?"

"Correct, Sham." Huey's own expression didn't change either – always wearing that infuriating smile of his. "However, it appears that instead of you and I making the selection on our own, Melvi has some personal preferences that he would like to discuss with us in person. In fact, he should be arriving on the premises shortly. I've arranged an escort to bring him here when he does."

Hilton stiffened. "He's coming here, sir?" she asked, cautiously. "You're allowing him access to your private study? Isn't that a safety violation?"

Huey coolly raised an eyebrow at her, and she lowered her gaze. "Are you presuming that he will attack me, Hilton? Or that he will attempt to steal my research? If it will put your mind at ease, I'll put my work away for the time being." He gathered up his papers as he spoke, and deposited them in a drawer.

"It's not just th– it's not that, sir," Hilton protested, tapping painted fingernails against her arm. "Will he be coming along?"

What is she talkin-oh. Oh. It was all Sham could do to keep his current vessel from visibly reacting to that statement. In Chicago, a waiter at the Gunslack Hotel accidentally dropped a glass he'd been polishing and swore under his breath.

Huey shrugged a little. "I couldn't say."

Sham wondered if the bastard was enjoying this, though then again, did Huey genuinely enjoy anything? And what did he mean by 'personal preferences?' Surely not...

The rotary telephone on Huey's desk rang, and he picked up the receiver while keeping his eyes trained on Sham. Fifteen seconds later, he placed the receiver back on its perch. "Their escort is bringing them upstairs now."

"Them?" Hilton wrinkled her nose, decidedly disgruntled.

Outside Huey's study, the Sham sitting upon the couch straightened his back. The elevator doors on the opposite wall opened and out stepped Melvi, accompanied by three of Time's top employees...and his bodyguard, Felix Walken. Sham scrubbed a hand over his face and rose to greet them.

Inside the study, Sham shot Hilton a slightly apologetic look. "They're here," he said. "Excuse me."

He turned and opened the door for the second time that day. His other vessel stepped aside so that Melvi could enter the study, and then held out his arms to block Felix and the other men from entering.

Melvi stopped in his tracks. He tugged on the lapels of his coat, and turned to look at Huey with an unctuous smile. "Mr. Laforet, I would prefer my bodyguard to be present with me at all times. I am sure your subordinates mean me no harm, but..."

"Not at all." Huey looked over at Sham, and he shifted a little to his left. Felix immediately shouldered past him and into the study.

"Hiya, dad!" he exclaimed, and then caught himself. "I mean, dad, sir. Sir. It's an honor to meet you again."

Huey widened his smile just a tad, but it remained as emotionless as ever. "How gracious of you."

"Chané's as amazing as always, sir," sighed Felix, his cheeks flushing pale pink. "Honest. She's really training hard for your sake, you better believe it."

"Is that so?"

As pleasantries between the two were exchanged - Huey's empty, Felix's genuinely heartfelt - Sham closed the door on his other vessel and the three Time employees. By the time he returned to his place by Hilton's side, Melvi had claimed one of the two high back upholstered chairs in front of Huey's desk, one leg draped over the other while he rested his arms on the armrests. Melvi loudly cleared his throat.

"Enough, Felix. We have serious business to discuss."

Felix's expression darkened slightly. "Sure, sure." Threw a polite nod Huey's way. "Excuse me, sir." He stepped back, and moved past Sham and Hilton to stand against the wall. Hilton refused to acknowledge him even as their arms brushed, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on her master.

Huey watched Felix go, and then resettled his gaze on Melvi. "Well, since you are so keen to move on, shall I introduce you to Sham?"

Sham stepped forward to stand between the two chairs. Melvi looked him up and down with the same smirk on his face that he'd shown Firo and the casino patrons back at the Martillo casino.

"So you're Sham, then? My name is Melvi. As Mr. Laforet may have already explained, I took over Time from Croquis quite recently." Sham opened his mouth, but Melvi languidly raised his hand to censure him. "No need to explain what you are. I know perfectly well what your true nature is, just as I do Hilton's. My purpose here today is to negotiate acquiring you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sham saw Hilton's lips tighten with displeasure. Admittedly, Sham himself couldn't help but inwardly bristle from his own personal grievance. Acquire indeed. Huey tilted his head slightly to the side. "That's right... You mentioned something along the lines of 'personal preferences' earlier, when we spoke over the phone."

Melvi steepled his fingers together, and his eyes crinkled with self-satisfied pleasure. "Yes, hence the word 'negotiations.' You see, any old vessel simply won't do. I must have one tailored to my conditions - I'm sure you understand. Quality control is so very important in my line of work."

Sham wondered if he needed permission to speak up now - if he had to be allowed to participate in the 'negotiations' over his very being. Who does Melvi think he is? Tailor-made? Absolutely ridiculous.

"Hm." Huey regarded Melvi through long eyelashes, his eyes half-lidded. "Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement."

"Thank you, Mr. Laforet," cajoled Melvi. "Now, as for my requirements...I want a tall Sham with short black hair, a handsome face, and a lean physique, preferably in his late twenties to thirties. He must be well-spoken - perhaps a Boston Brahmin, if you've one in your collection, Mr. Laforet? - and exceedingly well-dressed and well-groomed. I suppose a bachelor would be best, since I will presumably require him on call at all times - so no dependents either. In essence, I want a Sham that exudes excellence. Is all that doable, Mr. Laforet?"

He could at least have the decency to ask me directly.

Huey cocked an eyebrow at Sham. "Well, Sham, what do you think?"

Sham frowned a little, and quickly reviewed his authorized vessels in his head. Not including his unauthorized vessels severely limited his options, but of course he couldn't use them in this instance. Since Melvi had specified 'Boston Brahmin,' he decided he'd scan his Bostonian vessels first - surely he had at least one in high standing...

Rupert Cohen. Oliver Jarsdel. Thomas Ing-

"Thomas Ingham," he muttered, astonished, "is from a Brahmin family. Twenty-nine years old. He has dark brown hair, not black, and he's a classical scholar - which bears no usefulness to Time's trade, I realize. Still, he's certainly well-educated and well-mannered, and he is not yet married."

Melvi pressed his head back against his chair's plush upholstery. "Did I indicate to you at any point that I cared what his profession was? Classical scholar, steel developer, basket-weaver - it makes no difference to me. After all, your sole purpose over the next few days will be to function as my personal messenger boy."

Sham grit his teeth, and did not dignify Melvi with a response. Melvi hardly seemed to care as he prattled on. "Now, I'll have to meet this Thomas in person before I decide on concretes. How soon can you come to Manhattan?"

He shrugged. "I don't know the train times for certain, but I believe a train from Boston would take around five hours."

"Then leave at once on the next available transit. We'll begin a trial period as soon as you arrive."

'Trial-period.' What a farce. 'Oh, I've dragged one of your vessels over two hundred miles southwest away from his life to serve me but I may not accept him in the end even though he's you and the vessel makes no difference whatsoever?' Honestly. At least Thomas isn't an only child.

Huey made no indication that he was displeased with Melvi taking the reins, so Sham clasped his hands behind his back and gave Melvi a grimacing smile. "Fine. I'll be here as soon as possible."

Sham-as-Thomas arrived in Manhattan early that evening, spending his train ride writing hasty letters to his family and academic contacts apologizing for the sudden departure and explaining that he'd been called away for research consultation. To support his claim, alongside the typical traveler's affairs he'd snatched up a few books and his own personal research notes to take on the journey. It fell that he couldn't fit them all in his suitcase, and he'd ran to the train station with Demosthenes and Euripides under one arm and Aeschylus under the other.

Aeschylus's Oresteia had always been one of Thomas' favorites right up until Sham had acquired him for his own - of course he couldn't leave that behind. If Time or Huey sent some written verification of their own to the Inghams - that would relieve some of the pressure.

Two Time employees met him at Pennsylvania Station. "Your trial period starts now," said the one on the left.

"But my things, my accommodation–"

"–Will be taken under our jurisdiction. Please follow us. Mr. Melvi is waiting."

One of the Time employees took his suitcase for him, and the other held his hands out for the books. Sham handed over two of them but refused to relinquish Oresteia; he kept it neatly tucked under his arm while all three of them headed for a car parked two streets away from the station.

The car ride took approximately ten minutes, during which time Sham busied himself with his other vessels. It occurred to him that Melvi would expect his full attention at all times, a thought that gave several of his older vessels indigestion. Still – still, this was a prime opportunity to learn about Melvi. In fact, he should be celebrating right now – he hadn't even known Melvi existed before the incident in Firo's casino, and now he could potentially have a front row seat to Melvi's personal operations.

So when their car rolled up to the curb and he spotted Melvi and Felix standing outside a high-end French restaurant, Sham squared his shoulders, clutched at Oresteia, and stepped out of the vehicle with his chin held high.

"You certainly took your time," drawled Melvi. Sham forced a chuckle at the pun; only to realize a moment later that Melvi hadn't intended it, judging from his sour expression. "Too bad. You missed an excellent coq au vin."

Melvi didn't look at all particularly sorry that Sham had missed out on the meal – why, Sham was fairly certain that Melvi was baiting him, but he wasn't about to give Melvi the satisfaction of a reaction. He merely stood and waited while Melvi cast a critical eye up and down Thomas Ingham's body.

"Not the worst, appearance-wise," Melvi remarked, after a moment. "Defined jaw, good posture – satisfactory. How does he sound? Say something so I can hear."

Sham considered, and then flipped open Oresteia to the text of the Agamemnon. It was in Greek, but Thomas was well versed in the ancient language and had read Oresteia so many times as to be able to translate it easily. "Just to stay alive, should we bow down before these tyrants, who desecrate the house? No, we can't do that. Death would be preferable, a gentler fate than such a tyranny. But—"

Melvi raised his hand, and Sham fell silent. "I admit, he does sound well-bred. Fine – yes, he can stay on for the time being. Inform Mr. Laforet that I have hold of you."

Oh, I can stay on. How generous of you.

"I've made contact with Melvi, sir."

"Oh?"

"He's satisfied with Thomas 'for the time being.'"

"I see. You may proceed."

Sham cleared his throat. "I've passed your message along."

"'I've passed your message along, sir," corrected Melvi. "Come along, Sham. I'm scheduled to conduct an inspection of one of Time's supply warehouses within the hour."

And so they were off, and so it began. Throughout the inspection and throughout the ensuing visits to Time's multiple offices and storage units scattered across Manhattan, Melvi relished in treating Sham as little more than a living telephone. The only times he directly interacted with Sham in-between information relay orders were to criticize his posture or to sound off a disdainful quip or three about the nature of Sham's existence.

It wasn't as if Sham wasn't used to being treated as an object. Goodness knows, his vessels sat near motionless in Huey's and Renee's vicinities for ages on end with their sole purpose being to transmit information, but there was something increasingly irritating when it came to Melvi's entire demeanor. Not just in how he treated Sham, but the way he treated everyone. Oh, it wasn't that he was rude or crass – Melvi made a point of being unfailingly polite in his manner of speech – but he consistently carried himself with an unflinching smugness that permeated the air around him.

It was…tiring.

Some of that weariness must have shown on Sham's face by the second day, because Huey took one glance at Sham in the corner of his study and gently asked, "Is something troubling you?" Hilton – who'd arrived just a few minutes earlier to deliver a few files from Salomé – paused in front of Huey's desk to look over to Sham's chair in turn.

"No, sir," replied Sham, but he couldn't stop himself from wincing. "That is, not exactly. Melvi is…rather demanding, that's all."

Huey's lips twitched; he ducked his head and chuckled lightly. "Aha… Yes, he does have a rather presumptuous personality, doesn't he?"

"…It's nothing to worry about, Master. I apologize for disturbing your work."

"No need to apologize." Huey's expression turned thoughtful, in a calculating way. "After all, he appears to have affected you to some degree. And you have no desire to change your circumstances, in spite of your treatment?"

The conversation was treading into dangerous territory. Sham swallowed. "I…sir, I won't deny that the thought has…crossed my mind."

Huey nodded. "Would it relieve you to know that Hilton feels similarly?"

A choked noise escaped Hilton's mouth.

"It's all right, Hilton. There's no sense in hiding it – I can tell that Melvi causes you some amount of discomfort." Huey rested his chin upon his hands, elbows on his desk. "If you two want to take measures against Melvi's deportment, I won't stop you."

Sham and Hilton shared a cautious look. "Sir?" Hilton hazarded.

"Of course, I won't condone something that would impede him from his work or my own engagements," Huey clarified. "But I see no reason why I should interfere with my subordinates' interpersonal dramas. What you do in your own time is up to you."

Bastard. Anything we do next will somehow fall in line with his will. Despite his misgivings, Sham couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation sing through his veins. He'd suppressed the feeling before, but here it was at full force. Revenge.

He opened his mouth. "If it pleases you, sir…" he said, cautiously. "I have an idea I'd like to try…"

Ricardo? I have a favor I'd like to ask of you.

I'm listening.

::::

Melvi snapped his fingers at Sham, who straggled a few paces behind him. "Hurry up – you're lagging."

"My apologies, sir."

Melvi hummed as Sham joined his side. "No no, I understand – it is crowded, after all – but Felix here is keeping up just fine with me, so the least you could do is attempt the same."

On his right, Felix brusquely shouldered past a couple walking down the pavement in the opposite direction and shrugged. "I mean, you can argue that, sure, but there's only one of me, y'know? It's kind of unfair to look at someone and say that they oughta do as I do, 'cause nobody can do as I do except for me."

"If you say so," Melvi said, rolling his eyes. "Now, Sham, where exactly are you taking me? Don't forget, I intend to be offshore at sundown."

A bead of sweat rolled down Sham's cheek, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. "It was a last minute decision. Master Huey said that some of the local aspiring reporters are trying to investigate further into the seaplane incident, and that he thought you ought to know of their interest. There's an intern who wants to meet with you…oh." He checked his wristwatch – an expensive model – and sighed. "I'll go see if I can hail a cab, sir. Excuse me."

With that, Thomas Ingham disappeared into the crowd ahead, weaving his way between men, women, and children alike. Once he'd vanished from view, Melvi clucked his tongue in irritation and drew his coat closer about his chest as they walked. "Really, such airs. He didn't even ask me for permission to go off on his own."

Felix scoffed. "What, you're saying he hadda ask you if he could do something that was gonna make your life easier anyway? Don't tell me he needs to raise his hand so that he can go off to the men's room too."

Melvi wrinkled his nose. "He's a glorified telephone, nothing more, nothing less. I'm the one in charge here. He should do what I say without question."

A brunet man walking in the opposite direction bumped into Melvi's shoulder. "How very conceited of you," he said, as he continued on his way.

Melvi glared at Felix – wasn't it his job to prevent such physical contact from happening? "Watch—"

"Utterly coldhearted," sneered a teenaged girl, sauntering past Melvi's right side.

"Not to mention hotheaded," added a middle-aged man, somewhere on Melvi's left.

Melvi's breath quickened, and his muscles tensed as he became hyper-aware of his surroundings. What? What's –

"You're just—"

"—Going through life—"

"—Acting as if you're untouchable."

Multiple people spoke, one after the other – an elderly woman in front of him, a man lighting a cigarette on the curb, voices overlapping and gazes uniformly accusatory. Three women standing together under an awning turned to stare at him in unison. "So sure of yourself," they intoned, scorn written across their faces in triplicate.

"So superior."

"Expecting life to—"

"—cater to—"

"—Your whims. You should really—"

"—just—"

"—stop."

Melvi shuddered, ice trickling down his spine as the people around him slowed to a crawl simultaneously. They were walking slower, talking slower, breathing slower – even Felix's pace dragged, his limbs moving like they were encased in treacle.

And then they ceased movement entirely.

He watched in horrified fascination as Felix's leg halted mid-step and remained frozen with his right foot suspended outward in front of him, mouth open mid-word. And beyond Felix – why, beyond him a couple had come to a stop arm-in-arm, the woman's face twisted up in soundless laughter.

What—? What—!

Melvi whirled about in-place, irrational, instinctual fear gripping his heart. Everyone around him had frozen in his or her own paces, mid-step, mid-word, mid-breath. He couldn't help but imagine that his were the only pair of lungs working amongst the crowd around him – but it wasn't just the crowd, was it? He dropped his gaze to several large birds by the curb, beaks dipped down to peck at breadcrumbs strewn about by a sewer gutter. One stood with its wings half-opened, as if it were about to take off into the air.

Unnatural silence blanketed the street. The usual familiar rumble of automobile motors was totally absent – and no wonder, for when Melvi raised his head to look at the street he saw that the passing cars had also frozen in their tracks. One man leaned out of his door's window with one hand on the wheel and the other hanging outside the window frame, face contorted into a snarl as if he were shouting at a boy running across the street – who had been running, at least.

Unwilingly, Melvi's gaze traveled upward, upward – up past the cars and toward the buildings on the opposite side of the street. A few people dawdled at their windows, elbows resting on windowsills as they gazed upon the world below them – and they did not move either. The woman who'd frozen while airing out a shirt remained frozen, as did the birds perched on the telephone wires and street lamps.

He gasped for air. Struggled to contain the cold terror skittering across his skin and burrowing its way into his heart. Logically, he knew that time had not actually stopped – but everything had happened so fast that he couldn't help but almost think that it had. The street he was on connected to a perpendicular street which lay at the end of this block, and the traffic there too was stopped, and why couldn't he hear any noise and his hands trembled as he raised his arm to check his wristwatch.

The second hand ticked steadily onward.

Melvi let out a shaky breath. "Sh-Sham," he hissed, cursing himself for the stammer, for his vulnerability. "Hilton. I know it's you. I know it's you, it has to be you—"

It had to be them. It had to, there was no other rational explanation for what was occurring around him.

Every single man, woman, and child surrounding Melvi now – on the streets, in the cars, leaning out the windows of the buildings on either side of the street – were Shams and Hiltons. Not Felix, he told himself, overly harsh, not Felix, not him. But Felix had frozen too, so…so?

In other words, Melvi was utterly surrounded by two supreme consciousnesses. If they so chose, they could swarm upon him and kill him in a heartbeat.

"Sham," he croaked, vision swimming. "Sham." His breath hung in the air in front of him, and dissipated – a small comfort. "Felix!"

He continued to hold his wristwatch out firmly in front of him. The second hand ticked reassuringly onward, and after half a minute, the world did too. Idling engine revved, birds cawed, and all around Melvi he heard people exhaling simultaneously.

And then – they simultaneously inhaled, Felix included. Everyone – the people on the pavement around him, the people across the street, those driving the cars and leaning out the windows – they all inhaled, and if someone had told Melvi that everyone across the globe had inhaled together right then and there, he would have believed them.

Heads turned to look at Melvi, to stare at him. Old and young, male and female, rich and poor – all around him, people turned their heads and stared straight into his soul. Felix did the same, his eyes round and wide and damnably piercing.

Blood pounded in Melvi's ears. Surrounded. Like automatons, they advanced upon him in a steady shuffle – not only those immediately nearby but those on the other side of the street too. An elderly couple rose from a bench, three girls raised their arms out to him as they closed the gap, every which way he turned there were faces coming closer, closer, unblinking and cold. He staggered back; a pair of arms caught him and he let out a strangled gasp, screwing his eyes shut—

"There you are," Felix whispered, by his ear, "that's the real you. That won't do. A dealer always has to keep his poker face, after all."

Icy recognition swept over Melvi in an instant. He knew those words – those were his own words, the very same ones he'd used against Firo in the Martillo casino. Melvi had delighted in delivering that line, reveling in what had been a positively delicious victory against that Prochainezo filth. With his own words used against him, that memory would forever be tainted sour.

"Unhand me," Melvi spat, wrenching himself out of Felix's grasp. It was no secret that Felix despised him and likely planned to target him after his job was done, but damn it, as long as the man was still contractually obliged not to harm Melvi in any way Melvi would not stand for such unbridled mockery. He jerked down the cuffs of his coat with stiff fingers, desperate to retain whatever shred of dignity he still had left. Finally, he looked up, fully prepared to give Sham and Hilton a piece of his mind.

Only the surrounding crowds had already resumed mobile normalcy while Melvi had been…preoccupied. The elderly couple had sat back down, automobiles trundled down the street, and even the frozen birds flapped their wings and took to the sky. It was as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred at all, and as Melvi listened to the overlapping chatter all around him (my doesn't he look pale / I wonder what the matter is / the poor dear) his mouth contorted into an ugly, impotent snarl.

Felix, meanwhile, regarded him with a placid, neutral expression. Not a hair on his head was out of place. Melvi wanted to throttle him.

"Excuse me, sir," called Sham, and Thomas Ingham wormed his way through the crowd toward Melvi and Felix. He came to a stop in front of them, looking infuriatingly unruffled. "I've arranged a cab for you. Follow me, please." His eyes bored into Melvi's soul, and rage buzzed behind Melvi's eyelids. "Unless there's a problem? Sir?"

Damn him. Damn him. Sweat had completely soaked through Melvi's undershirt, and he could feel the fabric clinging uncomfortably to his skin. "No," he ground out, finally. He knows he's won. Damn him! "There's…no problem. Lead the way."

Sham merely cocked his head to the side and remained rooted to the spot.

"What," Melvi breathed, hot fury broiling in his lungs, "What is it you want from me? You're my subordinate, you know – your little stunt just now hardly—"

Felix clamped a heavy hand down on Melvi's shoulder. "Gee, I'm just a measly old bodyguard, but it seems to me like maybe you're acting sorta rude right now, huh?"

Melvi curled his hands into fists. "…Thank you for hailing the cab, Sham." Thank you for not killing me. Is that what you want? You can pretend that's what I mean all you like but the sentiment is utterly insincere. "That will be all."

Sham nodded, and then turned back toward the end of the block. Melvi followed in his wake, uncomfortably aware that every single vessel around him was watching his every movement.

::::

"…That's about the gist of it, sir."

Huey's lips quirked upwards, and he tapped his pen against the mahogany surface of his desk. "Do you have anything to add, Hilton?"

"No sir," Hilton replied, leaning against the wall opposite Sham with her arms crossed in front of her chest. The vessel speaking wasn't the blonde who'd been present at the Twins' previous meeting with Huey – this one was a black woman in a grey business outfit, her skirt coming down to her mid-shins. "Sham's report was…thorough."

Sham shot her a glance from where he stood in front of Huey's desk – using the same vessel normally assigned to Huey's side – and then looked back at Huey. "Felix Walken was entirely cooperative, Master Huey," he offered, after a moment. "He was extremely enthusiastic about the whole venture, from start to finish."

Huey chuckled softly at that. "An expected reaction, to be sure. His opinion of Melvi has never been a very high one. Including him in your plan was a clever thought. My goodness, it must have given Melvi quite a fright."

There was no derogatory sentiment in Huey's words, but Sham imagined that Melvi would hardly appreciate such a statement.

Huey's gaze flicked over to Hilton. "Tell me," he said, "are you satisfied?"

A pleased little smile crept up Hilton's face. "I admit it was…gratifying."

"And you, Sham?"

It was my idea to begin with. Of course I found it satisfying. "If Melvi's behavior towards us changes as a result of our…actions, then that will be enough."

Huey steepled his fingers together, the same gesture Melvi had used a few days ago when he was supremely self-satisfied. Nervousness prickled across the nape of Sham's neck, and he wondered if he'd said the wrong thing.

"Oh, hell."

"Hey, Donny, where's the kid going?"

"Dunno."

"I didn't care how I was treated before - Did I give it away? Shit!"

"Nick, what's the kid shouting about over there?"

"…Sounds kinda worrying, boss. Maybe Jacuzzi should talk to him."

"I see." Huey's smile turned wry. "Well then, both of you are dismissed."

"Yes sir."

Sham shambled over to his corner chair, and Hilton clicked her heels together and headed for the study door. Once she closed it behind her, Sham rose from his position on the outside couch to catch her attention.

"Hilton, wait."

Hilton reluctantly turned to face him, her brows furrowed. "What is it?"

"I just wanted to thank you for taking part in the scheme. You didn't have to, and I appreciate that."

"Don't get the wrong idea," she scoffed, placing her hands on her hips. "I didn't do it for you. I played along because I frankly can't stand that Melvi for more than five seconds at a time."

Sham shrugged in a deliberately amicable way, and stuck his hand out with more confidence than he had within him. "And I respect that. Really, I appreciate it. We made a good team." A bold claim, but he figured what the hell.

Hilton hesitated, and took the proffered hand. "We did," she said, and Sham thought he saw a trace of something wistful in her expression – but it was gone just as soon as he blinked. "His face was priceless."

Both of them flashed awkward smiles at each other – awkward, but perhaps the first genuine ones either of them had granted the other in some time.

But Hilton's expression soon hardened, and the moment was over. "I have to get going," she muttered, and she retracted her hand and swept past him down the hall.

Sham watched her go, only remembering to lower his own hand after several seconds had passed. A vague sadness thrummed inside him, accompanied by an unfamiliar sense of isolation. As he walked back to the couch, he reached out with his mind – and was perhaps just a tiny bit relieved when it connected to someone else's.

Ricardo?

I'm here. What is it?

I never thanked you for that favor.

Don't mention it. Your information has proved invaluable to my plans. Unlike my grandfather, I recognize the importance of reciprocation.

Mm. Still…arranging those street blockades was quite generous of you.

You should thank Christopher. He was very…enthusiastic. I only talked to the right people. Funny. I thought the Russo Family name was worthless, but apparently it carries more weight here than I thought. …No. Not the family's name. My cousin's. Of course.

Perhaps. But there's something you haven't considered.

What?

You. I think you've made quite the impression on the locals. Don Martillo, Jacuzzi's group… Those delinquents who took part in the blockade today most certainly did not do so for the Russo name. Not for the vanquished Family, nor for your cousin Ladd.

…Money talks. I clothed and fed them for a while. That's all there was to it.

If you say so.

…Sham?

Yes?

Do you think Huey knows that we colluded? The blockades were orchestrated to look spontaneous, to emerge organically, but…I suppose their existence was simply too convenient for your plan for one not to suspect collusion of some sort.

I...don't know. You said that Chris was involved, right? So it could look as if I directly asked him to help out a little. That's not so suspicious. After all, he and I are Lamia in the end, right?

Even if he works for me?

Even if he works for you. Even if I've betrayed Huey. As far as I know, Huey hasn't created a homunculus who can read minds yet. So we should be safe. Well. You should be safe.

… …

For all I know, Huey's been aware of my betrayal since it first crossed my mind that it was possible to betray him. But I don't think he knows about you. I'd like to keep it that way. The Russo name wasn't connected to what happened with the blockades. There should be no reason For him to suspect your involvement.

…But he could suspect that the participants were unauthorized vessels. I'm sure you've thought of such a possibility.

…I have. Heaven help me, I have. I thought about it before I asked you for that favor, in all honesty. It's too late to worry about it now.

I have to go now, Sham. Play it safe for a while.

Understood.

Again, thank you.

…

'Play it safe.' Easier said than done. If I were playing it safe then I'd have never actively betrayed Huey in the first place. I certainly wouldn't have tried to obstruct Huey in Chicago, and I certainly wouldn't have expressed my displeasure when it came to Melvi's personality. And it was downright reckless of me to contact Ricardo and ask for a favor. If I'd only ignored Ricardo's thoughts when we both yielded – if I only hadn't processed them, then…

Do you regret yielding?

...I thought you had to go.

You were thinking too loudly. Do you regret that you tried to take me for yourself?

It's not like I knew what would happen, back then. If I had known about you, then… no, I wouldn't have tried to acquire you. But do I regret what I have learned? Do I regret the experiences you have taught me? Well… Why ask me in the first place? You should be able to tell for yourself.

…Yes. Quite so. …Please try to think a little more quietly. I have business that needs attending.

…

…Well. Either way… Whether I do or don't… It's too late for regrets as it is. All I can do now – all we can do now…

Is look to the future…

…And try to do our best.

Look, it's highly self-indulgent from start to finish. Basically the image of Sham and Hilton using their vessels to commandeer an entire street and make it look like time had stopped (and Melvi freaking the hell out as a result) took hold of me and refused to leave for weeks and weeks until I had to at least try and write it out. The entire concept just made my day. It delights me.

Regarding Felix's involvement - yeah, he was never originally intended to be in this. In fact, the thought didn't cross my mind until I was writing it, and remembered that if Melvi was still in contact with/working with Huey, then Felix was probably still his bodyguard.

I think it sort of worked out in the end, since having a non Sham/Hilton vessel there and smoothly 'freezing' with the rest of the vessels probably would have been a little disorienting? At least, for a few seconds or so.

First time writing Melvi. Hopefully I'll be able to write him with a little more depth someday.

(Why, yes, the title is a terrible attempt at a pun. The fact that it's a very similar title to insertimaginativenamehere's latest fic is a funny but honest coincidence).

Oh, and regarding the references to Aeschylus' Oresteia - well, there's a little personal backstory to its inclusion. By which I mean that the Oresteia is one of my Aunt's favorite works of literature, and she regards it as one of the greatest works of all time. Or at least, she considers Aeschylus to be one of the finest playwrights who ever lived. It's been a year since we last talked about it, but I believe she's described it as 'transcendent.' She's read it in the original language and has sharp opinions on what English translations ought to be recommended.