SIMON
"What exactly were you two doing?" Baz asks, walking into the apartment and glaring at me. Penny tries to pull her hand from mine but I hold tight. I know she doesn't think I should do this, but there's no way I'll be able to face Baz without her.
"I really should leave the two of you to talk," Penny says, staring pointedly down at our intertwined fingers. I growl at her, as if she's getting out of this that easy. "Fine," she huffs, "Simon wanted to show me something. He did, and now I really must be going."
"Traitor," I snarl underneath my breath, and she throws an apologetic glance over her shoulder as she scurries away.
"I'd ask, but you and Bunce never did master that whole normal thing," he musters up a half-hearted chuckle, and I know he's on to me. "All right?"
"M'okay," I mumble, making room on the couch so he can sit.
"You sure?"
"Yes, Baz, I'm fine." He reaches over and presses his hand to my knee, stopping its bouncing. "A little jumpy, but whatever."
"You would tell me if there was something wrong though, right?" He tries to sound conversational, but his fingers are squeezing hard enough to bruise and his eyes are liquid pools of mercury boring into mine.
I gulp hard, nodding because there are no words in my head. "Good," he sighs, "because I have a present for you." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of keys, taking my hand and laying one in my palm. "It took a bit of persuasion, but we got the flat."
I want to kiss him. He's so happy, he glows, and I want to kiss him. Because I don't know when I'll be able to again. But, if I kiss him, the last bit of my resolve will disappear. And if I don't leave, I won't be able to save him from me.
"Thanks," I run my fingers along the grooves of the key, focusing on the way it bites into my skin. If I concentrate on the pain, maybe this won't be so difficult. "But I can't keep this."
"What? You afraid you going to lose them? I got a spare set to give to Bunce, but we can go and get some more made."
"No, Baz. I can't keep this." I set it on the table, twisting my hands together and training my eyes to the floor. "I'm not staying."
He doesn't say anything, and suddenly I need to keep talking to fill the silence. "I've been giving it a lot of thought. And you know I never do that, not ever, so you've got to believe that I'm this really seriously. It's just, New York and everything, it's your dream, not mine. I don't want another school, another life. I like the one I have back in England." The lies squeeze past the lump in my throat but sound easy to my own ears.
When I finally look over at him, at the way all the color drains from his face, my stomach tightens into a thick knot. He's as grey as the first day of school, eyes dulling with every word I say.
"You don't want a life here?" He whispers, completely still.
"I thought I could do this for you," the words hitch in my chest. I'm choking on them. "But it's all too much." I try to swallow, but it comes out as a feeble cough.
"You don't want a life…with me?"
I jump forward, taking his wrists and clasping them as tightly as I can. "No, I do. I just can't do it here. We still have the apartment in London, and I can get over the whole flying thing. We can make this work."
He still hasn't looked at me. "I told you that I wouldn't do this unless you were with me." He's freezing to the touch, and getting colder by the second. "I'll pack my things. We'll go back."
"You're not giving this up for me," he jerks away from my hand and I fall to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees. "I won't let you."
"You won't let me?" He's a mass of contradictions, a sheet of ice with a fire burning underneath. "This isn't your decision, Snow." He stands, walking towards the door stiffly. "Give me some time to settle everything with Julliard and then the flat, and we'll be on our way."
"No," I rush up from the floor, "Baz, you can't."
"Interestingly enough, I would have said the exact same thing if you came to me fucking weeks ago and said you were having doubts," he shouts, and it's the first crack in the top layer. "And yet, you," he jerks a finger at me, disbelief and betrayal and rage, so much rage, playing across his face, "you decided to tell me this now? Two weeks before we're both meant to start classes?"
"Because I knew you would try to stop me!" I scream back, and it feels good. I don't want to be sad, or depressed, and anger's easier. Yeah, anger. My fury brings tears to my eyes and sobs up my throat.
Crowley, I hate it when I cry like this. I can't keep a damned thought hidden from him once the tears start. And he already reads me so easily. "Aleister, of course I would try to stop you!" He shoots up, his hands balling at his side. "You're my boyfriend, Simon. You can't just decide to fucking leave the country!"
"I already did." He blurs in front of me, and my eyes sting. Still, I can't bring myself to blink, because I'll only get a few more moments like this. I've planned a lifetime of staring at Baz. It'll be strange when I won't be able to. "And my plane leaves two days from now."
He stills, his jaw dropping as he gazes at me with wide eyes. "You bought a ticket?" He gasps. "You're doing this? You're actually leaving." He sways, and I move just in time, catching him as he falls. He clings to me, curling into a ball and pressing his forehead to my neck. "Please don't do this Simon, please." He weeps, shooting ripples of pain up through me. I smooth his hair back, rocking us both back and forth as I try to quiet my own sniffles.
"I don't want to leave you, Baz. I really don't. Please don't make this harder than it needs to be." I murmur, his nose brushing against my chest and his fist curling around my shirt. I don't know who I'm trying to comfort, or who needs it more, or how I'll ever live with the memory of him like this, utterly destroyed because of me.
I just know it hurts. Crowley, it hurts.
"Please," I whisper, more for myself, "just let me go."
BAZ
I don't know how long we stay on the floor. Penelope and Micah each walk in at some point, take a quick look at us, and then make themselves scarce, but I don't care.
I don't care about anything.
He wants to pack his things by himself, but his clothes are so intermixed with mine that I end up beside him, silently folding my shirts.
"Crowley, have you never heard of an iron?" I sneer, taking one of my button downs and trying to smooth out the wrinkles, letting out a frustrated roar when I can't.
For all that's wrong with this situation and the choices he's making, I do have to give him this; he doesn't rise to my bait. I want to support him, but I just don't understand how he can think being thousands of miles away from each other is a solution to a problem I didn't even realize we had.
"I don't think it can be helped," he frowns, handing it back to me gingerly. "I'll buy you a new one if you want."
"You planning on shipping it to me then?" I ask, jerking up from the ground and kicking my suitcase away. Let him search for his things. "I promised Stephanie I would reschedule the tour for today, so I guess I'll just see you later."
"Don't go Baz," he pleads. "I leave tomorrow."
"And nothing I say will make a difference," I snarl, "so, I'm going to go deal with my future. Which you apparently won't be apart of."
"You're being really unfair," he argues, and he's seconds from crying again. He scrubs a hand over his face, letting out a wary sigh.
"Maybe so."
"I'm doing this for the both of us." I wonder if he genuinely believes that, or if maybe it's the only way he can convince himself to get on the plane.
"How noble of you, Snow."
"Simon," he says challengingly, walking forward until his toes touch mine. (Goddamn my heart, still racing at the sight of his socked feet. I might be a self-diagnosed foot fetishist.) "You call me Snow when you're mocking me, when you're laughing and I know you love me. You can't call me Snow like this."
"Like what, Snow?" His name is ten syllables in my mouth, long and drawn out and bitter.
"Like this," he throws his hand out and gestures at me, "like when I thought you hated me. Like when I never imagined I could love you this much. Like-like…" he shakes his head, at a loss for words.
So I help him. "I can't do this right now. I can't cancel on Stephanie again. Bad impressions and all that."
"It's not like we have a ton of time for this conversation, Baz."
I purse my lips (I don't want to admit that he's right. But I don't want to fight with him anymore. I only want one thing from him and it's the one thing he won't do.) "I'm sorry, I really have to go."
I go over to the door, resisting the urge to look back at him. "I'm sorry, too," he whispers.
I still don't look back.
Penelope drags me to the airport with them the next day, says I'll regret it if he leaves and I'm not there to say goodbye. What she doesn't seem to realize is that it won't matter.
"You'll call me when you land?" Penelope asks him, even though it sounds more like an order. "And I don't mean after you've reached the flat, had a late dinner and a few scones. I mean the second the plane touches down."
Simon hassles his hair, so long and golden since he refuses to cut it. I wonder belatedly if it'll be as long as mine the next time I see him (and then I wonder if there'll even be a next time.) "Yes mum," he teases, yanking her into an embrace. "You better be waiting by the phone."
"I still think you're making a mistake," her voice drops, and she casts her gaze over to me for a moment. I raise an eyebrow, studying her carefully. There's something in her eyes, something that just doesn't sit right. It's close to a knowing glimmer, a burden that she doesn't want to carry.
"Don't start Penny," he murmurs back, "this is hard enough." He pulls back from her, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before slapping Micah's back. "Don't let her get into too much trouble."
"As if he could let me do anything," Penelope snorts. He laughs, wrapping an arm around her waist.
"If anything, you're the one who'll need a babysitter," Micah jokes good-naturedly, either purposefully blind or truly oblivious to the tension in the air. Because next in line is me, and I have no idea what Simon will say. And I don't even want to think about what I'll be expected to do when he's gone.
"Well," Simon starts, shoving his hands into his pocket and looking at me hopefully (what does he want anyway? My blessing?), "I'll ring you too when I get back to the flat?"
"Don't bother." He flinches, and I regret it instantly. I promised myself that I wouldn't say a thing. It would only lead to trouble because I want to hurt him. I want him to feel the pain resting in the pit of my stomach. And I swore to myself a long time ago that I would never hurt Simon Snow ever again.
"Come on Baz, this doesn't have to be a big deal," he steps towards me. I inch away from him before I can think. "Can I at least get a goodbye?"
I clamp my lips shut, determined not to go back on my word. But if I look at him too long, if I say goodbye, if I let him kiss me, I'll shatter. And there'll be no one left to pick up the pieces when all I can do is hurt.
Still, I can't handle having him stare at me with those ordinary, extraordinary eyes, so finally my lips curve into a sneer. "You'll miss your flight."
He sucks in a shuddery breath, and I know he's about to cry.
No one can cry like Simon fucking Snow. (That thought breaks my heart. It feels like the last time I'll ever see it.)
"Okay then, I guess I'm off." He lingers, and I count out my heartbeats waiting for him to leave.
One. No more wings brushing against my cheeks. No tail wrapped around my ankle.
Two. No more moles and laughs and cherry scones.
Three. No more tawny curls and whispered I-love-you's at five o'clock in the morning.
Four - No more anything.
Penelope clears her throat, and I rip my eyes away from Simon's back. "You ready to go?" She asks tentatively. It makes me frown. Penelope Bunce is a lot of things (a lot of annoying things), but she's never hesitant. "Baz?" She says gently, taking my hand and squeezing. "Come on."
I follow after them numbly; ignoring the concerned glances Penelope throws my way. "You two will visit all the time, and you'll stay busy with school." We're outside, and the sun is too bright. It's boiling the little blood inside of me. And it doesn't help that it feels like she's keeping something from me. Every worried sigh and tender look, it burns me from inside out. "Everything will be okay."
I pride myself on remaining somewhat composed at all times. It was nearly impossible to do back at Watford, and I slipped up now and then, but I've always tried. And for the past two days, I've tried. I really have.
But now, I snap.
"You don't know that," I pinch her wrist, pulling it from me. She let's out a surprised gasp, turning to direct a wide-eyed stare my way. I clasp onto her tighter, slipping her ring off smoothly so she won't be able to spell me away before pushing her back against the nearest car.
"Baz!" Micah yells, clawing at my shoulder. I plant my hand against his chest, shoving him as far back as I can with my eyes still on Penelope.
"What aren't you telling me?" I growl, pressing my arm to her neck. Not hard enough to hurt, just so that she can't move. Or lie.
"I'm going to chalk this up to momentary insanity Basilton," she hisses, grabbing at my arm as she squirms.
Someone comes up behind me, and when I turn to snarl at him, he jumps back (the fangs tend to terrify some, if not most, people). Still, he soldiers on, drawing himself up to his full five-foot-ten inches. "Is there a problem miss?"
I yank out my wand with my free hand and tap it to my arm, feeling the magic surge from me to Penelope's hand. "There's Nothing To See Here!" I shout, and he immediately looks around, confused.
"Penny," Micah roars, his head whipping back and forth frantically as he tries to find us, hidden away by my magic.
"Such a waste," Penelope scoffs, pushing hard at me.
"If you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly in the mood for conversation." I scowl. "What aren't you and Simon telling me? Why is he doing this?"
"Ask him!"
"I've tried!" I cry, and my eyes water irritatingly. Her lips twitch angrily, and she wants to fight back, I can tell. But as soon as the first tear slips out, she softens, groaning reluctantly. "What don't I know?"
"Once I Was Blind, But Now I See!" Micah's magic is like ice, a gusty blast of the air conditioner on a hot afternoon. Penelope shivers, her gaze darting past my shoulder.
"Micah," she says frantically, "no!"
"Strike A Match!" I know that spell particularly well, mastered it as a child before I realized I didn't need it. A ball of fire hovers over Micah's palm, and his face is twisted in ferocious concentration.
"Put that out," she screams, eyes flicking nervously between Micah's hand and my face. He hooks his free hand into my shoulder, but I don't budge. There are beads of sweat doting my forehead, and I can feel the heat on the side of my face.
"Let. Her. Go," he barks. I didn't understand the two of them together before (he's much too…boring for someone like Penelope Bunce) but now I get it. It's more than just intelligence that binds them, more than just curiosity. It's the passion for what matters, the ability to do what needs to be done when it's for someone you love.
I find myself hoping that he won't call my bluff. That an ember will catch and I'll go up like flypaper, and I won't have to feel this way. So…hopeless. (What's it say about me that I can't last ten minutes without Simon?)
"Just listen to him, Baz, please," Penelope says desperately, "this isn't worth it."
"Either you tell me what's happening, or you might as well tell him to put me out of my misery."
Micah grits his teeth, preparing himself to do something he'll regret. Penelope stiffens, shaking her head fast enough to whip her hair into my face. "His magic!" She shouts, and she's not pushing my arm off anymore. If anything, she's holding me. I lean back, confused, and the heat is almost unbearable. "Micah, stop!" She's firm and unwavering, the same ice from Micah's magic in her voice. "Basilton may be the biggest prat in the universe, but I won't forgive you if you kill him."
"Out Like A Light!" He heaves out a sigh of relief as the flame disappears, slumping forward. "I lived up to my end of the bargain."
I pull back from Penelope, still trying to understand. Simon's magic? It's been years since those two words went together.
"My ring, Basilton. Now." I toss it to her silently, tensing for whatever she's got planned. "Excellent." She slips it back on, glaring at me. And then she sucker punches me, shaking out her hand as I double over, coughing. "All right?" She asks, bending so that she can meet my eyes.
"Sure," I croak, taking a few deep breaths before I can straighten with a wince. "Who taught you how to throw a punch like that? It couldn't have been your father, unless he read it in some book."
"Once my best friend started dating a vampire, I figured it was time to become acquainted with less magical methods of self-defense." She makes a fist with some effort. "I think I broke my bloody thumb."
Paying no mind to the fact that she may have ruptured my spleen at the same time as she damaged her hand, I take my wand and whisper, "Good as New!" She hisses, (she's never been a fan of my particular brand of magic), but wriggles her fingers with no issue.
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it," I wheeze. "Now clarify, please."
She's trembling, out of anger, because of my magic, I don't know. "He got his magic back. It…manifested for the first time here, in New York, the other day. But I think he might have felt it back in California."
"What did it feel like?"
Her eyebrows knit together. "What?"
"His magic," I say urgently, "could you feel it?"
"Sure." She adopts the look that I've come to associate with her. Inquisitive, determined, clinical. "Wet," she decides, "more like humid. Weightless and thick, and constantly moving. He's not a bomb anymore, it's deeper. Just as powerful but in a different sort of way."
I frown, my mind moving past her explanation. "The ocean. That's why it tried to pull him in. It was drawn to him." I think of all the nights I dreamt of the beach (the tosser was leaking magic in his sleep), the feeling of waves that day I saw him on the balcony, the salty taste in my month when I walked into the performance hall. "That was him, the instruments?"
"Yeah," she confirms. "It's how he showed me his magic. And the day he said that he had to go."
That's the one part I can't comprehend. "He loves his magic. And he won't have it in England. Why would he give it up?"
"Because there's something Simon loves more than his magic," she rolls her eyes when it's obvious I don't understand, "you, you git. Think about it. From the second you two got together, it put you in more danger than you'd ever been in. The Insidious Humdrum used you against him, everything that happened with The Mage. He'd rather lose both you and his magic if it meant that you were safe."
"I can take care of myself," I growl (even though the last five minutes have proven otherwise). "And you should have told me before that idiot spent seven hundred dollars on a plane ticket."
"It wasn't my place," she protests, "and when he asks why I couldn't keep my big mouth shut, I'll tell him that his charming boyfriend manhandled it out of me."
"Sorry," I say sheepishly. "Really. I'd stay and apologize more, but-"
"Get out of here already," she waves me away, "Micah will kick your arse later."
"Deal," I say magnanimously, already backing away from them.
"I don't have my passport," I hiss a few minutes later. I wish in movies they would show how difficult it is to actually get through security to the gates. Drumming my fingers on the counter, I scowl as the boarding agent clacks along the keyboard. He glances up at me, clucking disapprovingly.
"And as I told you, Mr. Patch-"
"Pitch-" I correct him through clenched teeth.
"Apologies, Mr. Pitch." He rolls his eyes. "You, being an international citizen, need your passport to be able to buy a ticket and go through to the gates."
"But I'm not even trying to go anywhere," I exclaim, checking my watch. Forty-five minutes until Simon's flight. "All I need is to talk to my boyfriend, and then I'll happily leave."
"Boyfriend?" He looks up with renewed interest, lowering his glasses with a smile. "You two aren't traveling together?"
"Not at the moment, no."
"Well, I can't let you go waltzing around the airport just to chat with your boyfriend, but I'm sure I can be convinced after a drink or two."
Oh, for crying out loud. "This is a fucking waste of time."
"Language, sailor," he simpers. I snatch back my ID, tucking it into my wallet and pulling out my wand for the umpteenth time today.
"I was going to try and do this the reasonable way, but this is absolutely ridiculous." His face screws with bemusement. "Sorry." I shrug, walking away from him and over to the security line.
"Sir," he calls after me, "sir, you don't have a boarding pass!" His screams are attracting the attention of a few nearby security guards, but I stride forward, ignoring them as they begin to whisper.
I don't stop until I'm about to pass through security, a hand falling onto my shoulder. "You can't go through without a boarding pass."
I channel every ounce of my magic, Simon's face in my mind and his name imprinted on my heart. I think of his expression when he left, the feel of his arms around me, his laugh. And I feel it, buzzing through me, flames licking at my feet, sparks whooshing past my ears. "Take Your Time!" It spreads like a forest fire, touching everyone that I see and then past those I can't. It pulses through me, and it's stronger than any spell I've casted in the past two years. It feels like the entire world slows, that time stops and limbs float in the air and all their stolen energy finds its way to me. It's like I've just fed, filled to the brim. I'm humming with it, each of my cells burning at the edges.
And suddenly I get what it's like to be Simon fucking Snow.
I don't know how long the spell will last, and it's hard to stay serious when the universe is moving in slow motion, so I start running. I jump over suitcases and glide around strollers and run around entire airport searching for him. I take the gates in alphabetical and numerical order, peek into the planes, watch as people sit like statues, their movements small and sluggish.
And even though I sprint like I never have before, it starts to feel as if this was an incredible waste of magic and effort. Because Simon's always been the most infuriatingly trying person I know, so of course it would be impossible to find him.
My phone chirps in my pocket, and I know it's probably Penelope. This spell never last as long on the magickal, but it's still annoying as hell. And after what happened earlier, I'll be on the receiving end of an earful and an arse whooping.
Marvelous.
I reach for it, scrubbing a hand over my face as I notice as everything picks up speed, just slightly. Enough to know that I've just about run out of time. "I suppose this is your doing then?" I spin, still trying to catch my breath.
Bunce can wait. "What makes you say that?"
"Feels like when I burnt my hand trying to curl your hair," Simon won't look at me. It's okay though. I don't think I can look at him either. "Basilton Pitch, the patron saint of sweeping gestures." He says.
"Look, Simon-"
"Baz, um-"
We pause, and he cracks the first real smile I've seen on him the past few days. "You go. You were always better at the whole talking thing than me."
"You don't have to leave," I say, and the smile disappears. "And I'm not letting you."
"That's why you did all of this? So that I'll have to say no again?" He shrugs helplessly. "I can't stay here." He frowns, stepping out of the way of a captain moving at a snail's pace.
"Is it because of your magic?" I ask, and he gulps, mouth falling open with surprise.
"When did-how did you-?"
"Bunce," I explain, "I sort of forced it our of her."
He narrows his eyes at me. "How?"
"Does it really matter?" I snap, immediately on the defensive. He doesn't get to treat me as if I'm the bad guy when he was willing to ruin us over a lie. "Why wouldn't you just tell me?" He shrugs again, and it sets me on edge. "And don't you dare spout any of that nonsense about trying to protect me."
"It's not that simple." He steps forward, his suitcase forgotten. "Everything was just wrong when I had magic. Between us and with the World of Mages." I start to protest, but he stops me with a hand to my elbow. "You really think that mixing me and magic here would end any better?"
"That doesn't explain you keeping something this big from me, or deciding that I couldn't come back with you."
"You're the one who acted as if this was some big break-up," he says, "I figured once I got back and this was all over, we could talk about it like adults."
"Adults?" I sneer. "You're running away."
His jaw sets stubbornly. "Am not."
"Sure you are," I say just as doggedly, tilting my chin up. I glare down my nose at him, daring him to argue. "But, here's the thing, Snow. I'm faster than you. Always have been, always will be. So you can run as far and as long as you want, but I'll always be there to drag your idiotic arse back."
He growls, lifting a finger to make a point, but then drops it, looking confused. "Is this a fight? Because we both sound like we're in a fight, and I want to win like we're in a fight, but this doesn't feel like a fight?"
"I didn't come here for that," I hitch up an eyebrow, "I came to say that I can take care of myself-"
"Numpties," he mutters.
"Aleister, can you keep quiet for a fucking second?" I huff. "I can take care of myself," I repeat again, louder, "I don't need you protecting me from anyone, especially not yourself. So if you go, it's for you and only you."
"But Baz," there's a whine in his voice, and it almost pulls a smile from me.
"No buts," I interrupt, "I love you, and if you feel as if this is what you have to do, well then be my guest. But it's misguided, and selfish, and I don't agree with it."
I turn to go, stilling when I hear a murmured, "I'm scared." I spin around, watching as he grabs at his tail and winds it around his wrist. "I don't think I can do this. I barely could handle being what everyone expected of me, The Chosen One, Simon the savior, and I'm out of practice. What I'm even worse than before?"
"Not possible," I reply automatically, and a rumble goes down his throat. I'm not sure if it's a growl or a laugh (knowing the idiot, it's both). "If you're looking for a teacher, there's no better than Bunce and I. But if you're looking for an escape route, don't let me keep you."
This time, when I go, he doesn't try to stop me. I don't think I believed he would. "Speed Of Light!" I close my eyes, see myself sinking in the waves, caught in the eye of a hurricane. (Hurricane Simon. Fitting.) And then the universe is right again. The noise is almost too much, the sounds of the airport all rushing at me as time races by to correct for my meddling.
I swallow hard against the nausea that comes with it, waiting for it to pass before walking out. The boarding agent is right where I left him, looking incredibly confused as I stroll past.
"Next time you and Simon fight, can you please leave the rest of the world out of it?" Penelope asks when I reach them. Micah's seconds away from vomiting, an interesting shade of green tinting his cheeks. "You can't just toy with time."
"I'll add that to my list of transgressions." I sag forward, exhausted. (It's the least of what I deserve. Penelope's right, messing with time can lead to disastrous repercussions. I've gotten off lucky with a bit of fatigue.) "Can we go please?"
"Is there room for a fourth?" Even with sleep threatening to overtake me, my eyes snap up as I whisk around, my chest warming at Simon's sheepish expression.
Penelope, ignoring her irritation with me, breaks out into a beam, skipping forward to throw her arms around him. "Of course." He smiles at me from over her shoulder, and I can't hold back my own. "Oh, and just because you didn't actually get on the plane doesn't mean you don't still owe me seven hundred dollars." She ushers him over to the car. "Let's discuss payment plans."
He doesn't stop smiling the entire ride home, (bloody prat). I don't either (never said I wasn't one as well).