Author: Simon
Pairing: Dick Grayson/ Garth
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Cleaning up after the war with the surface
Warnings: none
Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.
Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.
Feedback: Hell, yes.
Dogs of War
Part Three
The war between the surface nations—or a good percentage of them—and the Sovereign Realm of Atlantis had been declared over with all hostilities officially ended two days ago. Though the Atlans had suffered almost no losses, the various surface navies had lost almost twenty ships with the dead numbering over seven thousand and almost as many casualties. Beyond that, the weeks of embargo and blockade against almost all surface ports and shipping had wreaked havoc with shipping and the losses were in the billions.
King Orin had been removed from the throne and placed under secure medical observation. Garth was now ruler in his place.
Dick Grayson had been contacted the day before by some man at the U.S. State Department—yes, Dick had him checked out by Barbara before he agreed to anything—and had been told that safe passage had been arranged for him by His Majesty, King Garth and that he would be escorted within the hour to Gotham Harbor where he would be met by an Atlan ship ready to transport him to their capitol city. The State Department would be grateful for any insight he may have on the situation.
He had politely deferred a comment on that but has assured them that he had no political affiliation with the Atlan government. His only connection with the nation was a personal one.
Bruce had gone ballistic when he'd heard, insisting that Dick was being sucked into the politics of the whole international mess; that Garth was using him for his own agenda and that for him to agree to the extended visit was a mistake, a major one and he was allowing himself to become a political pawn.
Dick said he was going anyway—and he'd be careful. Bruce had been, well, he'd been less than appeased. That particular bridge wasn't exactly burned, but it was a bit singed.
No one on the Atlan ship had spoken to him for the hours it had taken them to get where they were going, though they had been perfectly polite and deferential despite that little short coming—well OK, Dick conceded that maybe they couldn't speak English. He had been shown to a private cabin and left in peace to read or nap. He had been offered food. Finally, using mostly hand gestures, he gathered that they had arrived and that he should get ready to go.
Dick stepped off the side of the ship onto the dock—or as Garth would have said, 'he disembarked from the entry port onto the quay'.
Whatever.
Garth wasn't there to meet him.
He was standing in an area that was dry. He was over a mile under water and they had arranged for him to step off the boat onto a dry floor. That was Garth's doing. It had to be. Or, as he thought to himself, 'duh', of course that was Garth's doing.
One of the few really concrete things Garth had told him about his home was that while most of the cities areas were flooded, there were some sections; some rooms and chambers that were kept dry. They had found it came in handy for any number of things and when they had decided to open trade with the surface it was pretty obvious that the dry rooms would be used a lot for the necessary back and forth. Maybe that had been the plan all along, Dick didn't really know though he was starting to appreciate that the Atlans were good at appearances and manipulation when they had reason to be. In fact one of the first surface visitors had been Robert Ballard and a few of his colleagues for a big dinner designed to showcase just how advanced and civilized the Atlans really were. Of course, that had been almost a year ago, before Arthur went nuts.
Everyone had been suitably impressed.
Garth had also mentioned that some of the dry areas were used as training rooms for Atlans who would be going up to the surface. Well, fine. That would make things easier, which made sense.
Judging by the number of armed guards, it was clearly a security area despite the number of people around, and Dick was intimidated by the military feel to the place, the coldness that was both physical and otherwise, the feeling that if he tried to open the wrong door or walked down the wrong hallway it would be a real big mistake.
He walked forward a little hesitantly to have his hand gently shaken and his arm carefully taken by Marcus, Garth's assistant from the UN. Happy to see a familiar face and a smile, Dick took his hand with some relief. He knew Garth relied on him pretty heavily and he had always seemed to be a pretty decent guy. "Mr. Grayson, we're grateful that you could come here on such short notice, especially after all that's happened in the last few weeks. It's good of you to do this for us." Marcus was leading him to a doorway, nodding at a couple of the people they passed. The guards and the various workers looked at Dick with open curiosity, but said nothing.
He wasn't doing this visit for them. He was doing it for Garth. "I'm glad to be of any help that I can." They were walking down a wide corridor lined in what looked like centuries old tapestries telling God knew what story. "Would it be possible for me to see Gar…His Majesty or is he busy?" Of course he's busy, you nit. He's a king and he's trying to unscrew the screw-ups of this stupid war he'd just ended.
"He's asked that you be brought to him as soon as you arrive, sir. We're going to him now—ah, forgive me. Perhaps you would you like to change first or get settled into you quarters before you meet with the King?"
His quarters? Wasn't he staying in Garth's room? "No, thank you. I'd just like to see him, if that's possible."
"The ship brought you directly to the palace dock, sir, we'll be at the conference room in just a minute."
Dick noticed that Marcus, usually pretty laid back when they'd met a few times in New York was much more formal now, more reserved. Well, that's only natural. It had hardly been a relaxing few weeks for them down here. From what Dick had been told, Garth and his staff had been placed under virtual arrest and were probably lucky to have escaped execution. Besides, Marcus was now the assistant to a King establishing a new reign—or whatever it was called, not just an ambassador. It was a whole new ballgame for everyone.
Marcus tried to make some small talk, asking about his trip in and trying to put Dick more at ease. It wasn't easy, but he was making an effort. They were about to turn down another hallway when Dick slowed down and asked quietly, "Hey, Marcus, I know there's a lot you can't talk about, but is he alright?"
Marcus stopped walking, regarded Dick for a second. "His Majesty has been working very hard, sir. He knows that in all likelihood what he does these next few months will determine the course of our nation and of our people for a long time to come. It is…a difficult position to be in."
So Garth was tired and stressed and feeling like the whole ocean was on his shoulders.
"I'll do whatever I can to help." Anything, he'd do anything. Talk, sex, entertain, act as a sounding board, offer opinions, sex; anything Garth needed.
Marcus smiled. "That was what I was praying you'd say. The King is, well he is our hope, you see. King Orin is a good man but a hard one. He was respected but—forgive me—he is not loved by the people. King Garth is a good man and he is loved for his kindness as well as his talents and he is greatly respected for the adversities he had to overcome. He always has been greatly loved by the people, though I doubt he believes that. His happiness is important to us." He smiled a little. "We know what we have in him, you see."
They stopped in front of a large door guarded by two armed men. Marcus said something to them, which Dick couldn't understand, but which made them stand aside and, knocking twice, opened the door. It was a conference room of some kind, now filled with about twenty people all busy trying to clean up the mess Arthur had made.
Garth was standing, along with half a dozen people, half bent over a large table that was covered in maps and what were probably treaties. His back was to the door and he hadn't seen them come in. Rolls of faxes were taking up one end of the workspace. The people were all intent on whatever they were studying and there seemed to be some sort of heated discussion between a couple of what Dick assumed to be more aides or councilors or some kind. He didn't recognize any of the advisors, or whatever they were. Over against the far wall was another group of people, these all on phones and speaking a dozen different surface languages to whoever was on the other end of the lines.
Marcus carefully cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Your Majesty."
"Yes, what is it?" His voice mild, Garth didn't turn around, still looking at a map of what appeared to be some part of the pacific.
"Your guest has arrived, sir."
Garth looked at Marcus for maybe half a second before turning around and straightening to his full height, his back to the rest of the room and his aides. Dick stood still, unsure of the etiquette and let Garth set the tone. The smile on his face was relief, joy, love—and all hidden from his staff. "If you will excuse me, ladies and gentlemen." The others looked at what was going on—Dick got the instant impression that they hadn't had any kind of a break since they'd gained power and declared peace—and exchanged looks with one another. The aides may not have ever met the King's lover, but it was obvious they'd heard of him.
"Mr. Grayson, how good of you to come so far to see us." Garth was in formal mode, gesturing but not touching, he led Dick back through the door he'd just entered, down a hallway and up some stairs to another door with another set of guards who stood aside as they approached, holding the door open for them to go through, pulling it closed behind them.
Garth's private rooms. The entire suite was in the dry part of the palace, as had all the sections Dick had been in so far.
The door closed silently behind them. Saying nothing, immediately they put their arms around one another, hugging, feeling the solid warmth and reassuring each other that they were really together again, that they were still alive and well.
Dick could feel the tension in Garth's muscles, in his back and shoulders. The lines of worry and exhaustion were etched on his face, his eyes were shadowed. Gently he pulled slightly back, getting a close look, his hands tracing the familiar planes of Garth's cheekbones and jaw in their own silent question and answer. Dick saw the effects of the last few weeks written clearly. Garth was close to his limit. His being asked to come down here wasn't just a whim or frivolous. He was needed. Garth was the only one who could put together what had been broken and if having his lover here to take away some of the tension was necessary, then so be it. He'd stay as long as he was needed.
In the last month or so Garth had been virtually kidnapped at gunpoint from his office in the UN, transported against his will back to Poseidonis, kept prisoner—probably under threat of his life—been somehow involved in a takeover coup against his mentor, his King, the man who at least nominally raised him, been upgraded to King and was now trying to salvage his nation and his race.
Christ, no wonder he looked like he was hanging on by his fingernails. And being Garth, other than him looking like he might need a couple of good night's sleep, no one who didn't know him well would have any idea of the toll it was taking on him.
"So, how you been?"
That brought a ghost of a smile. "Ducky."
"You look like shit." Dick could say that to Garth, no one else could. And if Dick said it, Garth knew it was true.
"Your being here will help, maybe not in my getting any rest, but it will relieve some of the stress." The invitation was clear.
"Need some stress relief now?"
Somewhere a bell sounded what was probably the time. A moment later there was a discrete knock at the door. "Come." Another aide or something came in. Garth dropped his arms from Dick, moving a discreet two feet away.
"Forgive the intrusion, Your Majesty, but the President of the United States is on a conference call with the Prime Minister of Great Britain. They're waiting for you, sir."
Without the slightest hint of either his frustration or exhaustion, Garth simply asked that it be patched through to his quarters. Turning to his desk when the phone made some chiming sound, Dick ceased to exist for the next twenty minutes while Garth calmly undid some more of the mess.
Trying to stay out of the way, Dick walked into the inner room, Garth's bedroom, and looked for something to do—a book to read or something. There were walls of books, hundreds of them. Everything was in Atlan. Sitting on top of what seemed to be some kind of a dresser was a copy of Garth's favorite picture of Dick—one taken a year or more ago on a beach. He was laughing at something Garth had said and after he had clicked the snap they had gone into the water to explore and make love.
It had been a good day, one of the best they'd had and that was saying something. It had been their first real vacation together, just the two of them. It was the first time they had really confirmed how well they were matched to one another, how well they got along, how much they wanted to be together. It had been the stuff of dreams.
Garth found Dick sitting on the edge of the bed, still idly holding the framed picture. He sat beside him, kissing the side of his neck, nuzzling.
"When was the last time you had a full night's sleep?"
"Asked the kettle of the pot? When was your last full night?" Garth was trying to turn it into a joke. Dick wasn't biting.
"You can't work if you fall over. We're both tired; take a nap with me?"
One of the first real expressions of actual annoyance Dick had ever seen on Garth's face surprised him. "You're not my mother and I don't need a nursemaid. If that's why they called you down here, don't bother."
Stunned by the real anger, Dick withdrew, his arm dropping down to Garth's waist, holding lightly. "It's just that I'm worried about you. I've been worried since this started and…"
"And Marcus and whoever else called you and told you that I needed looking after. Is that it?"
"…They know—they all know that you're the reason this war is settled—or will be. They're all, they want to help you, make all of this easier for you if they can. If I can. You're king now." The though gave Dick pause. He'd probably never get used to that. "You're important and…"
"And if my lover is here, if I get laid then I'll be easier to deal with and a bit more 'relaxed'. Is that it?"
"Jesus, you know that's not it. I love you. I want to help you. I don't have an hidden agenda."
"Then you're the only one." He stopped. This wasn't like him, proof of what he'd been through. "I'm sorry." His voice was low. "I never wanted this. You know that. I never wanted to be king."
Dick was looking at the floor, a mosaic of different colored stones set in some kind of circular pattern that seemed to swirl. "I know, but it's…"
"What I was born to do. I know." They weren't touching now, Dick had removed his arm and Garth was rigid, defeated, exhausted, his arms hanging at his sides. "You know that this is forever, don't you? It's the only way that it works. I can't resign or retire or hand this over to someone else. The only way out for me is death."
"Arthur was removed." He saw the look on Garth's face. "I didn't mean that. I just mean that there are ways if you really want out. After the problems with the surface are settled, you could hand this over to regents or something. You could assign yourself an heir or, I don't know, there must be some kind of provisions."
Garth sighed in what sounded like exasperation. "You're not understanding. This is why I was conceived and born. This is why I exist, to fill this position. Everything in my life has been aimed at this. It's my reason for being." He paused a moment, trying to see if Dick understood what he was saying. "The misperception is that being a king means that you're in charge, that whatever you want is yours with just a word or a wave of the hand. The truth is that I'm more bound than any servant here and it's a life sentence without parole. I'm here to serve. I serve my country and my people. Part of the ceremony, the coronation ceremony, is my putting on a ring. I literally marry my country and there's no divorce. I become the physical embodiment of my people and my nation. I have power, of course, but I'm tied by millennia of tradition and law. I cease being me, being 'Garth' and become this entity called 'The King'." He gave Dick a half smile. "Technically you're not even allowed to touch me."
"Because…?"
"My person is sacred and you're a commoner." A beat. "I could be persuaded to make an exception for you, though. I could knight you or something, maybe give you a title—that would soften the effect."
Dick didn't see the humor, or at least he didn't acknowledge it. "You can't ever come back to the surface?"
"On a state visit, possibly even on a personal holiday, but then only with bodyguards and a entourage and I'd still have to come back here. I have to remain a visible symbol for the people and the nation." He caught the facts sinking in for Dick. "It's not that bad, not all the time. I can move the government into a more liberal position on a lot of things and because we're relatively small, I can come and go pretty much at will down here. I even have a sort of open house once a week so that anyone in the kingdom who has a problem can come and talk to me about it. Sometimes I can help."
Dick was looking at the floor again. There were a lot of different colors in it. "So that's it? I mean I don't want to sound like a jerk here, but you have to pretty much stay here and I, well, I guess that's it for us, isn't it?"
Garth took his hand, caressing and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. "We knew this could happen sooner or later. It's just happened sooner than we thought it would."
God. Dick's mind was trying to figure something out, anything that would make it be different than it was. "I could stay here. You said it's not a big deal being gay here. I could stay with you. There are a lot of parts of the place that are dry and you could do that spell so I could breathe down here. It would be fine…"
"Rob…and do what? Live in my shadow? Walk two steps behind? Leave everything and everyone on the surface? Quit your job, hang up Nightwing?" He shook his head. "You know you don't want that."
"I know I want you, though."
Garth sighed. "I know." He paused. "You're here now, for a while?" Dick nodded. "Good. First I'll have your things moved here from whatever guestroom they've assigned you to. Then I'll show you around so you can get your bearings, meet some people. You already know a few—Marcus, Xan is here for another day or two before he goes back up to the surface. Most people here don't speak English, so I'll get someone to translate for you and you can start to learn Atlan if you want."
God, he was always planning, organizing. Sometimes it made Dick tired just to listen to him. "Garth, first, before all of that, can we make love?"
Garth smiled, lifted his own shirt off. "I was trained to supposedly have perfect manners—being a good host and all of that. You're not just being polite here, are you? Being a good guest?" He removed Dick's shirt next, letting his hands trail down the length of Dick's shoulders and chest as he did so, feeling the skin jump as his fingertips glided over and down. "I wouldn't want you to feel obligated."
They were kissing, their arms around one another, fallen back onto the bed and starting to twine around one another, jeans and leggings gone. Garth rolled them over so that he was looking down at the astoundingly beautiful face, the features which never ceased to amaze him. There was an old belief in Atlantis which had been passed on to the ancient Greeks, the one that perfection offended the Gods as only a god could ever hope to attain it, but to Garth, Dick came as close as one could.
He could feel the familiar stroking down the muscles of his back, taste Dick's mouth, hear the soft sounds they were both making. He began to position himself so that in moments he would be inside feeling the heat and the friction, the welcome and the knowledge that they were really, finally together. He started to feel the pressure and the anticipation, heard the gasp of pleasure tinged with the slight pain from Rob as he started the slow push…
The words were in Atlan. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. My complete apologies, but the president of France is returning your call and we thought that you might prefer to take it in here, if that meets with your approval."
"Please tell him that I will be with him shortly." His voice sounding normal, the response completely ignored what they were doing or that they had been interrupted.
"Of course, Your Majesty." The man withdrew, the door closing soundlessly behind him.
Looking down at Robbie beneath him, feeling the hardness between them become soft, Garth almost, but not quite, burst out laughing. Dick just looked chagrinned, annoyed and frustrated. "Do you want to finish?"
"Jesus, Garth, haven't your servants heard of knocking? We were…Jesus."
"They are completely discrete. He saw nothing."
"Except your ass about to pound me into the mattress."
"I've told you before, we're not prudes. I'm sure he's seen it before somewhere or other. Besides, we stopped believing kings were gods centuries ago, he knows I'm as human as the next man." Dick really was upset and, truth be known, Garth wasn't all that happy about it himself though for different reasons. "I'll make sure that from now on no one enters without express invitation." The mood was completely broken; there was no point in trying to continue just now. Later would have to do if they could, if they weren't interrupted again.
Garth understood, if Dick didn't, that his life was no longer his own.
He kissed Dick gently, with apology. Pushing away, rolling off Dick, Garth pulled on a robe and went to his private desk in a far niche of the outer room. Speaking into some kind of phone, he was patched through to the French President. Speaking in fluent French, Garth did his best for twenty minutes to diffuse the strains between the two countries, reassuring the man that debts would be paid and that the new Atlan administration was only interested in repairing whatever damage had been done both to surface ships and to relations between the various people's.
When he finally returned to the bedchamber, Dick was looking through a personal projection device similar to a photo album, but looking more like a palm pilot. The images were of Garth and Arthur when they were both younger, Tula was there, smiling and hugging Garth. There were formal pictures, obviously posed, of a royal looking couple—probably Garth's parents or something. He sat back on the edge of the bed, next to his lover, watching Dick thumb through his life.
"You've seen those before, haven't you?" Garth was now dressed again and back in his formal, professional mode. Dick was still naked and for some reason it made him a little self-conscious. Maybe it was where he was since it had never bothered him before.
Dick shook his head. He hadn't and he hadn't known that Garth was a better looking version of his father and that his mother had been what Grace Kelly would have looked like if she were even more beautiful. No wonder Garth looked the way he did. With those two as parents the deck was stacked pretty high in his favor.
"I have to go back to the conference room, but I'll send Marcus back to show you around. We can have dinner in a couple of hours if that's alright with you."
As if he had a choice. "Sure, sounds great." Garth caught the tone of his voice and gave him a look. They both knew what he was trying to do and what all depended on him getting it right. The two of them being together as a couple simply didn't register on the radar right now.
"I'm sorry, Rob. I know this is terrible for you." He kissed Dick's bare shoulder then laid his head there for a moment. "Later, I'll make sure we're not disturbed." Kissing Dick's cheek and with his mind already on the chaos he was trying to sort out, he left to get back to work. He turned away, but caught himself, "I almost forgot." Putting his hand on Dick's neck he leaned close enough for them to kiss again before he had to leave.
Inside of ten minutes Marcus was knocking on the outer door. Dick, dressed again in his jeans and a tee shirt let him in.
"I understand you'd like a tour?"
"Gar... The King thinks it would be a good idea if I know my way around." Marcus nodded. Sure, he should know where things were but it was a time killer and they both knew it.
They were headed down a corridor to wherever it was Marcus was taking him. It was fascinating, of course, but Dick was a lot more concerned about Garth than he was about ancient art and architecture. "His Majesty is glad that you're here. I see the difference already. He's happier, more relaxed. This is what we hoped for." Dick didn't answer. It wasn't what he had hoped for, but he had just arrived and the situation wasn't what you'd call a vacation for anyone involved. In fact, so far it ranked up there with bamboo shoots under his nails for fun.
Dick couldn't think of an answer for that which wouldn't be insipid. He opted for changing the subject. "Have you spoken to Ann since all of this happened?" Garth's main secretary/assistant back at the UN. Marcus' main surface squeeze.
"She seems to understand that I'll be working down here for the foreseeable future. We were both prepared for that happening sooner or later, I'm sure that she's fine."
One of the characteristics of the Atlan mentality Dick had noticed was an almost complete lack of sentimentality. Dick had noticed it with Garth but had thought it was just his response to the way he'd been raised or just his basic personality. That picture album was an anomaly. To hear Marcus dismiss Ann with a throwaway sentence seemed needlessly cruel, though. Dick knew that she had fallen for Marcus when they had worked together in New York and it had seemed mutual. Well, maybe not. Maybe for Marcus she was just a diversion—or maybe he was just defensive.
They passed by the main conference room, staterooms, the throne room, the royal library, the art galleries, the docking areas, the gardens. Marcus stopped in each area, explaining, answering any questions, giving history and how the events of the war with the surface had played out where they were walking. He told Dick how Arthur had been taken, gently and seemingly with relief, restrained, sedated. The population had never supported the war and was overjoyed to have it ended so quickly and decisively. He told Dick how the royal guards had immediately supported Garth, how he had been hailed as a hero and savior of the city and the nation. His poll numbers were astronomical and he was greatly loved both as a king and for himself.
Garth was whom they had been waiting for and his people would do whatever it took to make sure they kept him. His coming had been foretold by their legends. He had been expected and now he would lead them into the future.
Dick had wondered if Marcus really believed that or if he was toting the party line, though he had the sense not to ask. Sure, Marcus and Garth's staff supported him and liked him and all of that, but what about the other cities? What about the priests who had ordered his death when he was born? Weren't they still around? What about the ones who had some complaint with—well, with whatever they had complaints with? Sure, his own people were happy to have him on the throne, but what about everyone else?
"Where is Lady Mera?" Dick had been wondering about that. He barely knew the woman, but she could be a powerful enemy if she decided to withhold her support from Garth and his new government.
"She is tending to the former king. We're assured that she'll do nothing to impede our progress. She's sworn her allegiance to the new King."
Well, maybe. Mera would follow her own agenda, whatever it was. She always did.
Walking down the various corridors, through the many rooms, Dick noticed the looks he was getting from the people they passed. It was all subtle, nothing obvious, but he was being watched, pointed out and he knew that the moment he and Marcus moved to the next chamber, they were asking questions, forming opinions about the king's surface bit of entertainment. He felt like a circus freak stared at by the townies—something he thought he'd put behind him when he was eight years old.
"This is one of the things the King thought you might enjoy, Mr. Grayson." They were passing through a doorway into a garden of indescribable beauty. It was planted with flowers and plants unknown on the surface—or at least unknown to Dick. There were winding paths, secluded alcoves, strategically placed benches. It was wonderful and he started wondering if they would be able to make love here some night when they were alone and Garth could dismiss his guards. Maybe. They would both like that. It had been too long and they needed to reconnect.
"Will people down here accept us being together? Will it make any problems for the king?" The title almost stuck in his throat, but from now on, that's who Garth was in public—get used to it, kid.
"As I mentioned, Mr. Grayson, the King is important to us, therefore anyone who matters to him becomes important to us. As we wish for his happiness, you are accepted." They walked a couple more steps. "You have concerns?"
Not that he was about to confide in Marcus, no. "Only the obvious ones."
"Then you shouldn't be worried. No one will criticize in any way. The fact that you're a landsman may well stand us in good stead for rebuilding international relations now that the war is ended."
Uh-huh. Dick was dubious, at best, but there was no point in getting into this here and now. And Dick wasn't about to bother Garth about anything like this, not now.
"Will I be allowed to contact friends on the surface while I'm here?"
"Really, Mr. Grayson; you're not a prisoner. I should think you could contact anyone you'd like." Another turn down another passageway. "I understand that you were approached by some of your government's representatives during the war, Mr. Grayson. It's fortunate that you were kept unaware of anything that could be a breach to either country's national security. I hope that you weren't in any way inconvenienced by that."
"No, it wasn't any big deal. They just asked me some questions then left me alone."
"You do know that you were watched, of course."
"You mean during the war? I assumed as much."
"Yes, during the war of course but before as well. Your apartment was under surveillance for the last three years, ever since you and the King became close. Surely you knew that?" They were strolling through the garden, crossing to some other part of the palace.
"Garth and I were spied on?"
Marcus smiled, laughing quietly. "Of course you were. At the time he was a foreign prince with a claim to the throne as well as being Ambassador to your country. You are a citizen of the United States. There were obvious areas for concern there. You must have known. The King expressed his annoyance about it to me several times…you didn't know?"
Dick shook his head, feeling like an idiot. Of course they were watched. How could they not have been?
"I suppose he was trying to prevent you from worrying." They went in another door. Dick had no idea where they were. And Garth hadn't let him know that they were being watched? God, that was so damn like Garth to keep something like that to himself so he could just go about his day-to-day life without a thought. Of course Bruce had to have known about it as well, damnit. Bruce knew everything.
And come to think about it, he had personally swept the apartment for bugs at least a dozen times and come up with nothing. What was that about? He knew he couldn't have missed any CIA or FBI taps or bugs. They had to have come from Atlantis. Marcus hadn't said who was bugging them. Fucking Arthur.
"Ah, and here we are back at the main conference room." The guards stood aside, eyes flicking to look at Dick. Marcus opened the door and they were in the room where Dick had first seen Garth, who was now speaking with a couple of his flunkies about whatever they were talking about. Finishing his conversation he smiled openly at Dick.
"Good, perfect timing. I'm just finished. Thank you, Marcus. Rob? I need a break. Let's…" He gestured with his hand and they left. "Are you starting to get your bearings?"
Waiting until they were out of the main room and walking down the hallway, relatively alone and speaking in English, Dick finally responded. "Yeah—were you ever going to tell me that there were bugs in the apartment? And why the hell were they there?"
They were headed back to Garth's rooms. "I assumed you knew." He seemed completely oblivious about any intrusion or breach of their privacy or any of that. "By law any member of the royal family has to have bodyguards and security around them at all times."
"Because of the succession?"
"Of course. If I were kidnapped or something there could be a blackmail attempt against the government."
"So everything we said and did was transmitted back to Arthur?"
"Why did you think I always had the TV on or music playing? It helped confuse the mics." They got to where they were going. "I did remove the equipment from the bedroom and the bathroom."
"But we fucked on practically every square inch of that place."
Garth smiled. "Yes, we did. I think we should christen this place as well, don't you?"
"Jesus, Garth, how can you be so nonchalant about this?"
Garth had led him to the large bed—larger than the one they shared in 'Haven—and was removing his lover's shirt, followed by the rest of his clothing as well as his own. "Because it didn't matter. Honestly, it didn't, Rob. I've been living with security since I was seven. After a while you learn to ignore it, besides, it was a tradeoff with the council. They allowed me to dispense with live in, twenty four hour body guards if we had some taps in the house."
"And you never mentioned this to me?"
He kissed Dick's mouth, trying to silence him and change the subject. "I don't want to talk about this right now. I want to make love."
Garth could do that, just turn off one subject and switch to another. Dick never could. "Well, I want to talk about this."
"Rob…" He was pressing Dick onto the mattress, climbing on top and starting to work his way down the strong neck to the collarbones, kissing, licking, nibbling. "I want to make love…be inside of you…feel you come with me…" His hands, his long, strong fingers were caressing Dick's skin, up and down his ribs, slowly, one at a time, his legs pressing between Dick's thighs.
"Are you sure one of your servants isn't going to walk in?"
"I left orders that I'm not to be disturbed." He was kissing Dick's jaw, up to his cheekbones.
"Are we being watched?"
Another gentle kiss. "No."
"Cameras?"
"No."
"No microphones?"
"Shhh." He leaned in for another, deeper kiss, wanting to get past talking and onto other things, but…
"I can't believe that you knew we were being watched and never said anything to me for like three years. I can't believe…"
The mood was broken. Garth rolled onto his side, facing Dick, one hand resting on his lover's stomach, head propped up on the other. His voice, as always, was quiet, calm. "And how could you not have known, if you want to come down to it. You've been trained by the finest detective on the planet, you're a police officer in your own right and you knew that you were living with and having an affair with not only a foreign ambassador but also a senior member of a ruling Royal family. How could you not think that your own State Department would have us watched—as well as my own foreign office? You had to have known if you'd given it any thought whatsoever."
"Don't start with that. Don't try to throw this onto me." Dick was angry—angry at everything that had happened, angry that the life they'd built together was gone, that they would never just be able to be themselves again. He watched Garth get off the bed, standing against a bureau maybe six feet away, just waiting for Dick, waiting for him to catch his breath and marshal his thoughts. From now on they would be 'The King and his Consort'. There would always be guards outside the door, always be people watching them whenever they stuck their heads out of the private rooms. If they ventured up to the surface, either together or alone, they would be followed by reporters and security and…he wanted it to be the way it was just a month ago when they could just be themselves and no one cared.
"Dick, Rob—what did you think it would be like?" The question was quiet, no belligerence in it, just a simple question.
Christ. That was the problem; he hadn't given it all that much thought. He'd been living with Garth for three years and had managed to shove any thoughts of the reality of his existence right out the door and turned the lock on them. Of course he knew about all the things Garth had just said—he just didn't want to. He never had and, frankly, he still didn't really want to.
He'd even known that at some point—in an unspecified, ambiguous future—that Garth would have to resign his work with the Titans, give up his ambassadorship and go home to be a prince or a king or whatever. He knew this. He did. They had never discussed it, but he'd known.
Garth had known. In fact, he probably could have given some kind of a timetable if he'd had to.
He wanted to go back to their apartment and just be Garth and Dick again. He wanted them to be Nightwing and Tempest again.
Instead they were His Majesty and Mister Grayson with guards at the door—at every door they were behind, in fact. Garth had grown up with guards. It was second nature to him.
And what was the alternative? Never see one another again other than in some formal setting? Make polite small talk at some state dinner?
Garth had lived on the surface for years, had fit in as well as he could into a culture that was as foreign to him as though he'd walked onto Mars. Okay, now it was Dick's turn to deal. That was the only alternative, at least for now.
Maybe not forever, no, but hell, talk about it being the least he could do. When you came down to it, their day-to-day life wouldn't be all that different than on the surface—yeah, well, sort of. They would each have their work to do every day, they would share an apartment, they would be lovers and have that together. And the fact was that Garth's work was important, both to his own people and the surface nations. It was—and Dick could help him, make the work go smoother.
But what work would he have? What the hell would he do all day while Garth was ruling the nation?
Aye, there's the rub. He couldn't—wouldn't just be an appendage. He needed something substantial to do. He couldn't deal with all of this without it. They'd talk about this, they would. They'd come up with something—hell, it wasn't like he was completely without resources.
"God, Garth, I'm sorry." He sat up, facing the man he'd promised years ago to stand by and help. He'd said that years ago and he'd meant it. Now it was time to put up and follow through or go home. "I am. I'm sorry. You've been dealing with—everything; ending the war and Arthur flipping out and trying to clean up this whole fucking mess and I've been whining and complaining about—God, I'm sorry." He held out his hand, Garth moved forward a couple of paces and took it, sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers still laced, legs barely touching. "I guess I knew that we were being watched. I did. I just didn't want to think about it."
"It won't be that bad. It's just getting used to everything right now—for both of us. After a couple of weeks this will all be easier."
Dick nodded. Garth was right. He was. In a few weeks, maybe a month…
"You said that you'd be here for a while—like a week, a month—a year? What were you talking about?"
Oh, God. How long? Forever? He didn't want to live here for the rest of his life. Of course he wanted to be with Garth, but move to Atlantis? Leave everyone, leave the surface and everything familiar to live a mile underwater. Even living with Garth that would be, God, that would be…
"And I've been thinking; you could be a help to me here, if you're willing." He seemed afraid that Dick might actually turn him down.
"How…?"
"You know more about security than anyone here. We've always been so isolated that we simply haven't much need for it, but now with the change of Head of State and the war and landsmen coming down here for negotiations and educational and scientific and cultural exchanges, well, we need a lot more of that sort of thing. If you'd be willing, you could have a major say in that. And when I have to go up to the surface, I'll need some kind of security detail, you could make sure that it's not oppressive; you know what I'm willing to put up with." He looked hopefully at Dick. "I need your help, Rob."
And he was making up a job to keep him busy and out of trouble, Dick knew that and Garth probably knew that he knew. It didn't matter.
"How long were you thinking about staying down here?"
Yeah, well, he wasn't sure. Dick hadn't actually set any kind of a timetable or anything. "As long as you need me here, I guess."
"That's too easy an answer, Rob. What about your job on the surface? What about your friends there and Bruce and Alfred? You're surely not thinking that this is a permanent move, were you?" Please, by all the Gods, say yes. "You can always go back whenever you want, you know that—for a visit, forever—whatever you want. You don't have any real ties keeping you here."
Except Garth—and maybe helping a little with smoothing the way for things, greasing some wheels, reestablishing trade with Wayne Corp and easing the way where he could for everyone.
But what about Nightwing? What about his job—his jobs?
Nightwing would be back—Nightwing wasn't really going away. He was just changing his base of operations a bit for now.
And as for the 'Haven PD—the State Department should be able to arrange a leave of absence for Officer Grayson with no problem.
This could work.
"I, I don't know. I guess I thought I'd play it by ear, see how it goes." He hit on something else they'd been avoiding. "But what about the people here? Landsmen aren't exactly popular in this neck of the woods."
Garth saw the look on his face. "The people here will accept you." He said it with such complete conviction that it broached no room for argument.
"There was something else I was wondering about."
Garth was trying to change the subject back to lovemaking, pressing against Dick, his movements subtle and obvious. "Umm?"
"All that compensation you said you'd pay—that Atlantis would pay—for all those ships that were sunk and all the people who were killed and the lost trade and all of that. That's gotta be a fortune, how are you going to pay for all of that? Is Atlantis that rich?"
Like this was the last thing he wanted to talk about, Garth sighed, leaned back, "The estimate is approximately one hundred and twenty seven billion American dollars and no, we don't have that in the treasury right now."
"So how are you…?"
Not quite rolling his eyes at his lover's denseness, Garth almost patiently explained it. "How did I make my own fortune?"
"You found a couple of loaded wrecks, but…?"
"We're Atlans. We know where there's more. All we have to do is salvage it."
"Yeah, but…"
"Rob."
"Oh, right…this is going to work, isn't it? At least for now."
"You mean this?"
"Well, yes, that will, too..." A Pause. "Of course, it always did…"
The end
12/5/04
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