A/N

Fangs also available here under my Archive Of Our Own account, under the same username.

Baz

I'm still not sure if I'm any good at his, Simon's usually taken the lead when it comes to this sort of thing. He knows what to do, how to move his lips in just the right way, so that- Oh, yes. Just like that. I let my body move against his, my lips wandering. He gasps, grip tightening in my hair. I smile against his skin, enjoying how he feels under me. I want to hear him make more of those noises. His hand slides under my shirt, bringing warmth over my skin. "I love you…" I mumble, trailing kisses along his jaw. I say it again, enjoying the soft noises he makes as I slowly move down his neck. I'm kissing his freckles, mapping a path to the base of his neck. I bite the skin there gently, careful not-

His breath hitches.

Did I just- I pull away with a start, realising. "Fuck. I'm sorry, I-"

Simon grabs my arm, "no- I mean…" He offers me a smile, "I liked it."

That's nonsense, I can hear how fast his heart is going, and his breath. He's-

"Oh," I whisper.

Simon chuckles, "oh?"

I don't move, "you didn't think I was trying to, well…"

Simon lets his head fall back onto the carpet, stifling a laugh. "I knew it wasn't that kind of bite."

I study him carefully, "…want me to do it again?"

Simon

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Baz

Simon Snow is going to need to wear a collared shirt tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Fuck, what time is it? Is it tomorrow? I pull away for a moment, peering over at the window. It's still dark, but the moon is no longer high in the sky. I wouldn't be able to see it if it was. I let my head fall against his chest with a sigh. Fuck, there's going to be so many questions tomorrow, and we'll both be so tired…

Reluctantly, I press a quick kiss to skin. "Come on," I say, "bed."

I hear his heart skip a beat.

"To sleep, you numpty," I say, rolling my eyes.

Simon feigns a pout, getting to his feet, and I'm left with the sensation that this is in fact, my life. One of the few good parts.

And it's true.

Simon

The second I'm on my feet I realise the sense in going to bed. I'm fucking tired. Happy, in love, definitely. But also fucking tired. I think I've felt every possible emotion under the sun in just a few days, and then here Baz is, making feel a whole set of new ones. Well, familiar, but I've never felt them like this.

Baz suddenly looks a little lost, so I take his hand, guiding him over to his bed. I pull the covers back, climb underneath. I tug gently on his hand, and he comes easily, falling in beside me.

"You all good?" I ask, cause he still hasn't said anything. Snarky or otherwise.

He hums, moving closer.

I pull the covers over us, "right, uh. That's good then."

"Sleep," he mumbles.

I think that might actually be a possibility.

-v-v-

I watch Baz button up his shirt. It's got this nice pattern to it, and its colour makes the grey of his eyes seem a little blue. I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing him out of his uniform. At least he's not wearing jeans, I think I'd go mad if he did. I'm wearing them though, his jeans. It was that or my uniform trousers; Baz wouldn't let me touch his fancy slacks. They look better on him anyway. He gave me one of his collared button-ups as well; at this point I'm not sure I've ever seen him in the possession of a t-shirt.

Baz goes over to his mirror, and I watch as he inspects his jaw, brow furrowed. I think it looks a lot better, but I've seen what it looked like before. His family haven't.

"My siblings might be frightened…"

I go over to him, taking his hand, "they'll be worried, not frightened. Plus, your sisters live in the 'haunted house on the hill', so there's that."

Baz exhales, deeply. "Simon, this is obviously the Addams family house, I don't know what you're talking about."

I snort, "does that make you Pugsley?"

Baz turns, "how dare you, I'm clearly Wednesday Addams."

I let go of his hand to raise mine in surrender, "right, sorry. Should have known."

Baz smiles, just a little. It's more in his eyes.

The distinct smell of food distracts me, bloody hell it's strong. Eggs and bacon? The Pitches, making eggs and bacon. Huh. We'll probably be expected down soon then. Probably not at the same time either. I rub the back of my neck, "hey, um... do you want me to come down a bit later? If you don't want-"

Baz takes hold of my hand, "absolutely not."

Baz

We go downstairs, together.

Bunce is already there, deeply engaged in a conversation with mother. I suspect it's about how magical empathise can be put into words, or something of the like. Mother has always been very interested in that area, and Bunce never shuts up about it. Poor mother is trying to be polite, calmly endeavouring to keep Evalyn in her highchair whilst she talks. I can't see Fiona, but that's not unusual. She doesn't get up until past 11 am anyway.

Father is making a point at not looking up from his breakfast, which he doesn't appear to have touched. He's got the paper open though, so he's not completely in his head.

"Baz! You're back!"

I look just in time to see a little blur rushing towards me, her hair ribbon flying, before she stops short in front of me.

Joci looks at me for a moment, chewing on her ribbon. "Why is your face all beaten-up?"

"Well," I say, scooping her up, "I was terribly clumsy in my last football game, fell right on my face."

Father looks over at me, studying me. I can practically see him trying to infer what I might mean.

Joci touches my bruises tentatively, before pressing a quick kiss to each cheek. "Better?"

I smile, "yes, thank you."

Simon is watching me, with a frankly ridiculous amount of fondness in his eyes. Blushing, I move to put Joci back in her chair. Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. Penny is not helping, either. She is terrible at hiding her obvious enjoyment at my embarrassment.

Looking away, I notice that Joci's eggs are untouched. Perfect, a distraction. I tap her plate, "you better eat those, or else you might find yourself tripping over in football games as well."

She begins eating them immediately.

I sit down next to Mordelia, leaving the only remaining chair next to Penny. Simon might be able to save mother. Mordelia pokes her tongue out at me, her usual greeting. I stick mine out back.

Simon tries to hide a laugh, failing miserably.

Shaking my head, I take my fork and dive in. Politely, obviously. But those eggs smelt delicious, and I'm absolutely starving. I take a bite, and almost groan from how good it is. Magic tables have nothing on a Pitch's cooking.

And then I notice the obvious absence of Penny or mothers voice.

Heavens, I didn't actually groan, did I? I look up, and find I have become the centre focus of mother and father. Penny looks at me, her expression commanding my attention. She has a remarkable ability to communicate full sentences without saying anything at all. Her eyes fall to my plate.

I look at my plate, confused. Was I not supposed to eat-

Oh.

That's exactly it.

Shit.

I look to Simon, silently asking for help.

He gets it, after a moment. He turns to father, "do you mind if I look at that paper, Sir?"

Father unfreezes, as if coming out of a trance, and passes Simon the newspaper. At least he isn't staring anymore.

Simon

Shit, shit, shit. Baz forgot.

At least, I think that's what happened. Last time I was here, he didn't eat in front of them, cause his fangs popped out. He just sat their politely and took the food to his room later, or ate it up in his room.

He must be hungry though, because after a few moments, he starts eating again. Slowly, like he's trying not to draw attention to himself.

Better not stare at him then.

I look at the paper, reading the page Malcolm had open when he passed it.

I grow cold.

A new dead spot, in the middle of London.

The humdrum.

Fuck, how- I'd forgotten.

I forgot I had to worry about him. Fight him.

He wasn't important.

Baz was.

Is.

Penny nudges me with her knee, "let me see."

I pass the newspaper, swallowing. I can see her reading the words in my head, even though I'm not looking. I know she's got that furrow in a brow she always gets when she's thinking. In the corner of my eye I see her push up her glasses, turning to me.

"Simon, can I have my phone back please, I'd like to call my mum later."

I nod, pulling the phone out of my pocket and passing it to her. She takes my wrist instead, holding it steady.

"You okay?"

My magic doesn't feel like it's going to explode just yet, so that's got to count for something. I'm just… anxious. I give her a curt nod. Anxiety can't hurt them if it gets stronger, so it doesn't matter.

She takes the phone.

Malcolm

The Snow boy wants to leave. He's wanted to for quite some time now, and the completion of breakfast has only seemed to intensify his need. He's fidgeting incessantly where he sits, looking over at my son every so often.

I am thankful my daughters are far too young to have picked up on the obvious shift of mood this breakfast, happily eating away why the rest of sat in an uncomfortable silence.

Basilton had eaten in front of us, and a lot of food at that, yet his fangs had not appeared.

He'd decided a very long time ago that he wouldn't eat in front of us. I think he believed it bothered us to see evidence of his vampirism. Yet, he had done so just now, without the appearance of his fangs.

Had he gained control over the impulsion?

It seemed his friends are aware of his habit. The girl, Bunce. She'd had a similar reaction, finally ceasing her endless conversation, however remarkable. How many of Basilton's friends knew?

Breakfast finished, Basilton start to rise, already looking towards the Snow boy. I clear my throat, "Basilton, if you and your guests could remain here for a moment." He sits immediately, though his expression could do with some improvement.

I sit silently, waiting for the room to clear. Mordelia drags her sisters off somewhere, likely to investigate the 'hidden' room I told them about last night, before they'd gone to bed. Solving a few puzzles would keep them occupied for a while. Daphne had planned a surprise at the end for them. I have the horrible suspicion it's an animal.

More pressingly, I need to figure out what in the seven hells has happened to my son.

Now alone, Basilton's guests look like they're being held under wand-point. I sigh, "I am sure you can all understand that any questions I might have are a result of the sheer elusiveness of yesterday's events."

Basilton exhales, "Father-"

"I am speaking, Son," I take care to keep my authority in my voice's strength, not in its volume. Shouting is undignified, and suggested the loss of authority. "Late yesterday afternoon," I continue, "you called Fiona and demanded her to pick you up with no explanation, other than 'the Mage'. You told her Simon was hurt, but yet I see no injury. When you arrived, I see bruises across your face, and you tell me the mage was responsible for your mother's death. I have some questions, son."

I watch Basilton's friends carefully. Suggesting that their head-mage was a murderer didn't draw any expressions of outrage or disbelief, so the idea isn't foreign to them. "I wish to speak to all of you individually," I say, "I won't be led to believe false tales that might threaten my family's safety. Son, I will speak to you first." I turn to the girl, "Mrs Bunce, if you would use this time to call your mother, I suggest you do not report any war-starting information about The Mage just yet."

She gapes at me, as if offended. Good, she won't then, probably to prove a point. It'll keep her from talking to Snow as well. I rise from my seat and turn for the living room, Basilton following silently behind me.

I take a seat in one of the armchairs, and Basilton sits across from me. I try to relax; so he might. I don't wish to interrogate him, last night had not been easy. He's also fidgeting.

He never fidgets.

I pick up a book from the table, "I will not force you to speak. You may do so when you are ready. I will not angry, just tell me when you so I can understand."

And so, I read.

And read.

And read.

"Mother visited Simon"

Well.

That wasn't what I expected.

I put down my book, "I'm not sure I follow."

Baz lifts his eyes to me, for a moment, "when the veil lifted, I wasn't there. Simon was, she spoke to him. Told him to find Nicodemus, because he knew who did it. That's what Simon was doing here over Christmas, helping me. We found him, learnt who he was, but he wouldn't tell us anything."

Simon told him this information, helped? Perhaps he-

"Before you say it, Father. Simon was not working for the Mage. The mage wouldn't send Simon to uncover a murder he committed. And he wasn't lying either, if you paid more attention you would know he's hopeless at it."

I breathe, "Snow might not have known what he was getting into, it doesn't prove that he hasn't been giving the Mage information, with or without ill-intent."

Basilton bristles, "you said you would listen."

He waits, as if he expects me to interrupt. I don't.

"We got… closer. Became friends." Basilton swallows, "he saved my life, Father. He saved it from me."

I feel my heart freeze, "Basil…" He fidgets again, won't make eye contact.

His voice shakes, "when we went back to school, the Mage pulled me out of class, said he wanted to work with me to… improve the safety of Watford." He tries to wipe his tears before I see, breath laboured. "He-" His voice wavers, and the tears fall.

Something is so very wrong.

I find myself holding him, like I had last night. When he'd told me about Natasha. Whatever it is has hurt him more. "Son, let me help you" I say gently, keeping my own voice as steady as I can, "what has he done?"

He nods, gripping my arms. "I fought, I promise I fought, but they held my mouth open." He starts to shake, "Father, he took my fangs."

I hold on to him, and I can hear my own heart in my chest. The anger threatening to set alight. And surely, I will let it. But not now. Not when- I'd never thought… I breathe, "Basil… you don't, you don't have to explain any more if-"

He shakes his head, "Simon, he- He's been looking after me. Found me food these last few days. Blood. Penny too. She's the one that figured it out. About mother."

I file that information away for when I speak to Mrs Bunce. I have many questions, by Basil fingers are digging into my arm now. I'm not sure how to reassure him, other than to keep listening.

"-and the Mage, he wanted Simon to… I think he used my fangs, for a potion. Wanted Simon to drink it." He takes another breath; a tremble within it. "Simon refused, and the Mage- he struck Simon so hard he went off, and we panicked. I called Fiona. Came here."

I wait for him to compose himself, for his breath to slow, keeping my own in check. "The Mage, do you know what he intended by giving Simon your… the potion?"

Basilton glances at the door, for a moment. "I think the Mage believed it would improve Simon's magical capabilities."

"Did he drink it?"

Basilton looks up at me again, and his eyes have darkened. Anger, I assume.

"I told you Simon refused it, he has the bruise to prove it," he hisses.

I look at my son's scars, the way they've preserved impressions of his attackers' hands. What they must have done, to be able to take his fangs. Snow may as well have had a light flush to his face, the damage seemed so little. To have only fled after Snow had his confrontation raises suspicion in my mind. Why would Snow not urge my son to leave sooner, if he did indeed care? Perhaps he could not reject the Mage?

"You said he went off?" I ask, Basil has mentioned something like this to me, I'm sure of it. There have been countless tales over the years of Snow's failings in magic. How he was unable to control his power.

Basil looks at me, calculating. Like he's choosing his words. Perhaps it's a vulnerability of Snow's? Something beyond simple ineptness.

"The Mage has never struck Simon, the shock made him lose hold of his magic."

I know that's not all of it, but I won't press. Not yet. I'll be talking to Snow soon, if he wishes to stay here. "You said he helped you with feeding, how long has he known?"

Baz almost snorts, "I'm pretty sure he's known since fifth year, Father."

"Basilton."

"Father."

I breathe, "was there anyone else who knew of your condition?"

He shakes his head, starts to pull away. "No, but-"

"Then how can you be certain that Snow did not play a part in this? Knowingly or otherwise." I say it without accusation, but love can make you blind. Basilton has to think, no matter how much he cares for the boy. "If no one else knew, Son, there is no other way the Mage could have learnt the information than from Simon."

Basilton rises to his feet, jaw set.

"Son-"

"I know what this is about," Basilton says, voice low.

I frown, "I say these things not to hurt you, or because of any prejudice you think I have. But the situation calls for a level of-"

Basilton slams the door, and the walls shake.