CHAPTER TEN

O cessate di piagarmi

O cessate mi morir!

(translation)

Either ease my pain

Or leave me to die!

— O Cessate Di Piagarmi

From the opera "Il Pompeo" by Alessandro Scarlatti

Robbie's repose was short-lived. Within moments he opened his eyes, and was startled by Sportacus, once again kneeling before him and staring at him far too keenly.

"Hi. I thought I'd stay and help you clean up."

Robbie made a pained noise, curling into the back of his chair. What was wrong with this hyperactive pixie? How many different ways could Robbie say to him 'leave me be' before it got into his thick superhero head?

"Láttu mig í friði," he ordered.

"Ég vil hjálpa," was the bubbly response.

Looking quite carefree, he nimbly began darting about the place, picking up pizza boxes and soft drink cans. Well, Robbie was clearly physically outmatched, so there would be no literal kicking him out. Trying to summon the energy to at least shout at the elf, Robbie tottered over to the little nook of the lair that served as his kitchen and took a desperate swig of something that looked alcoholic.

His eyes falling on the streams of mess that still remained, it dawned on Robbie that tonight had been the first time that the lair had ever held guests of any description. It had always just been his father ghosting in and out to build things, and then him, all on his own. Solitude had been the norm as long as he'd been here.

The liquor came up almost as quickly as it had gone down, and he coughed and spluttered in the sink. Sportacus was at his side instantly, insisting that the man wash his face and drink some water. At least Robbie could accredit the glassiness in his eyes to the alcohol.

After he was seated and his breathing was regular again, Sportacus smiled at him, and patted his shoulder.

"Thanks for letting us come here, Robbie. We all had a great time. After tonight, I don't think anyone in town will call you a bad guy anymore."

Robbie's eyes narrowed as he clutched his stomach. "Well, they'd be wrong."

The hero's heart sank. He recalled that look Robbie had stung him with before he began singing. The last time they had been alone together, there had been a harmony, a sensation between them that was almost warm. Robbie had said that he trusted Sportacus. Friendlier words had never escaped his mouth, and the elf had taken them as a talisman of the soul that sometimes shone out from behind the man's insults and misdeeds. But now, he was in retreat again, and regarded the whole world as his foe.

He couldn't keep on doing this. Not after all that had happened.

"Things are different now, Robbie," Sportacus said, inwardly cursing himself that he couldn't phrase it better. "We've all been working together."

Robbie tossed his head haughtily, rising from his chair. "You forget," he muttered, "you and I are still enemies."

"No, you just think that we should be enemies. I want to be your friend, Robbie. I like you."

The violent laugh he fired off was full of warning. "You don't like me, Sportacus. You barely even know me. And if you did know me, you'd detest me. I'm everything that disgusts you."

The elf stood his ground. "Then why did you say you trust me?"

Robbie though for a moment. "Because you're far too dense to try anything."

Again, he was falling back on insults. Something rose in Sportacus' chest.

"I don't believe you."

Robbie grinned and shook his head. "No, it's true, you really are a world class idiot."

He began to slowly pace about, his long legs stretching elegantly with each step, and Sportacus didn't take his eyes off him.

"See, the only reason you take any interest in me is because 'domesticating the local hostile weirdo' would look good on your list of achievements. If I had, like the others, gushed and sighed and fawned over you the moment you flipped into town, I'd be invisible to you."

"THAT'S NOT TRUE!"

Both of them drew back. That was the first time in living memory Sportacus had ever lashed out at anyone. The feeling that had coiled around his heart was so unpleasant, all burning and prickly.

Robbie tried to respond.

"Y…"

"Stop making things worse than they have to be! YOU'RE the one who always starts these things! I've NEVER wished any harm on you!"

The villain was silenced. Their eyes locked, clear blue hitting smoky green.

"I give up," the elf announced heatedly, shaking his head. "Stay down here with the chip on your shoulder, Robbie. I hope you enjoy yourself, 'cause I'm not indulging you."

Without looking back, he shimmied up the main entrance pipe like a speedy mongoose escaping a lion's den.

He was so angry, that he made it halfway up the airship ladder before realising he was unusually cold. He suddenly remembered taking off his vest while he'd been dancing.

It, and his crystal, were still draped over the railing of Robbie's catwalk.

**

Through his splitting headache and the squall of tears clouding his eyes, Robbie eventually heard it.

He fought his way out of the recliner and shuffled towards the blur of blue cloth on the railing. Sportacus' crystal was beeping madly.

He picked it up. It was hot to the touch, and was emitting an unusual red-orange light. That was no doubt Robbie's own achievement. Ha, well done, villain.

Within a minute, Sportacus could be heard shimmying his way down the unlocked hatch again. The sight the elf beheld when he hopped into the lair just about did him in.

Too far gone to fight back his tears, Robbie sniffed loudly. Staring at the cold floor, he thrust out the bejewelled garment.

"Just take it," he murmured, his voice cracking.

Sportacus did so, while drowning in his own remorse.

"Robbie…" he whispered, trying to calm the injured animal.

The gap between them felt like miles. The crystal kept beeping insistently.

"I think…" the hero intoned softly. "You're in need, Robbie."

The tall man had grasped the railing, turning away from Sportacus. "I'm just…" he muttered. "Don't bother. I'm a lost cause."

The hero wished he could see Robbie's face. He remembered the face of the charming little boy in Bessie's photographs. He would have been a precocious, cosseted thing who sang and danced, and babbled happily to strangers in a dazzling array of languages. A boy who smiled often, enjoyed laughing and who loved without fear. Sometimes he still emerged in passing swishes, like shy goldfish swimming about in a murky pond.

What had been that nickname he was given?

Sportacus gently rubbed Robbie's back.

"Glannitino… Kæra Glannitino…"

Robbie finally turned to Sportacus, his face full of fire and hurt.

"How much have they told you!?"

The elf instinctively began to back away.

"Get out of here, you vampire!"

"Robbie… I'm—"

"GET OUT!!!"

The crystal continued to beep as Sportacus settled into bed, and as it slowly died, he miserably pictured Glannitino crying himself to sleep.

A/N: Can't really think of anything to say atm, but I thought I'd give a heads up to you readers. I certainly haven't been ignoring your reviews, in fact I've been appreciating the feedback. Smoochies! :)