Cinnamon. The chapter title is Bad Decisions Taste Strangely Like Cinnamon but this site insists on character limits for literally everything =/

Crossposted to AO3 (it's a bit ahead of this, updating schedules are a mess)

In which Basso will take whatever victory he can get.

It was too warm, wherever he was. Warmer than… ticking. Clock. ...tower? Home. He was hot and sticky against his skin, and the second skin, and something tight and confining again over that. It didn't smell like home either, a heady scent of oil and paper and flame and… musk.

Okay, too far. Garrett opened his eyes, pushing himself up on elbow to take in his surroundings. The lack of ticking had him on edge already; the ticking was the sound of safety, but sometimes the cockwork still stopped working during the days. The altogether different smell of this place meant he was detangling the arm not bearing his weight, even as he blinked his eyes open and took in the room, searching for a threat or something he recognised.

A bookshelf loomed to the left of the bed, separation screens fanning outwards from it to seclude it; a candle was lit on the other side of the bookshelf, showing off intricate stonework and ragged couches. On the shelf was a scattering of papers and boxes and unlit candles, and- two shelves down, almost within reach, Garrett's bow and quiver. His climbing harness sat next to them, the buckles glinting faintly in what light carried through.

Further out, through the artificially narrow passage that connected the bed to the rest of the room, there was a desk. It was equally as messy as the shelf, but laden with many more loose sheafs of paper, a pair of leather-bound books, and two shining candles.

A soft caw caught his attention. There, next to the desk - a tall perch, and a dark black shape settled upon it. Faintly silvery whiskers - no, feathers - bloomed around the base of its beak. A bird- a rook-

Gwendolyn.

"What?"

He was in Basso's cellar. The anxiety eased with the realisation, although it didn't help the weirdly prickling feeling of realising he'd woken up in Basso's bed and couldn't remember how he'd gotten there. At least it was still dark outside. The blanket had been pinned across the little window, but sunlight looked different behind it. He can't have been here too long.

Gwendolyn warbled and there was the sharp rustle of wings as she took off from her perch. Automatically, Garrett held out his hand, fingers slightly curled, thumb tucked against his palm, index finger up; a makeshift perch. Like she did at the Clocktower, she landed on his hand, rubbed the side of her beak against his finger, and then she settled; shuffled her wings once, let all her feathers puff out. They slowly flattened back down again as she cocked her head and eyed him.

The ache made itself known as Garrett untangled himself from the blankets, relieved at the touch of cooler air against his throat and hands and- feet. He stripped me. Yeah, that was weird. It wasn't as if he didn't trust Basso not to hurt him, he just liked to keep his distance from other people. That they might harm him if they got too close wasn't even necessarily the reason, but Garrett always felt better with a certain radius of empty around him. Some nameless birds not included.

It wasn't exactly a single ache, but it permeated his whole body until he felt like one big bruise. Even just the movement required to sit up, stretch out (Gwendolyn's claws dug into his fingers even though he tried not to move her too much) made his heart rate pick up, and he closed his eyes to steady his breathing. Nothing like the awful sharp pain of last night, or the metallic fear that coated his tongue as the spotlights found him, but-

Garrett jerked, half trying to stand. It didn't really work on the bed, the surface uneven and giving way under even his scant weight, but Gwendolyn dug her talons in, wings flaring open, and then let go of her now unsteady perch. She did a quick circle and landed on the second top shelf of the bookcase, but she screeched as she did.

Not daring to grab anything, Garrett melted back into the corner of the bed, pressing against the stone wall. Only now that they paused did he realise the floor above him was bustling with footsteps and the low constant chatter of voices. One rang a little louder than the others - still indistinct, but Garrett recognised the tone. When he heard the loud clink before Basso opened the door, and then again before Basso even turned towards him, Garrett realised the cellar had been locked.

Pocketing the key, Basso turned towards his bed. His gaze went to the bookshelf before he squinted into the shadowy corner Garrett had retreated to.

"Garrett? You're awake, yeah?" And for a long moment, Garrett couldn't make himself respond. It felt like a hand around his throat, keeping him silent. The ache in his body was constant, but it was quiet. He would be slow and tender until it healed, but it wouldn't prevent him from movement. The sharp searing wetness behind his Primal eye was a different matter. It bubbled as Garrett fought for his voice.

Gwendolyn cawed, an indignant noise, and swooped down to perch on Basso's head. Basso let out a resigned sigh.

"Yeah. I'm up." It was forced, and even to Garrett it sounded cold, but it had taken enough effort just to get the words out in the first place that he didn't bother justifying his tone. Equally as forced, he leaned forward out of the deepest shadow, and then he picked his way across the bed - half crawling and half butt shuffling and why in blazes did Basso even have his bed pushed up against the wall anyway, getting across a mattress this big was always a pain in the ass and not even Garrett, not even Erin, could make it look graceful - and got to his feet.

The stone was a welcome chill against his bare feet.

Scowling, Basso took half a step closer, studying Garrett intently. The urge to back away reared its head in full force, and Garrett was suddenly hyper aware of the bed against his calves. The little scratch of guilt was back. He knew Basso wouldn't hurt him. He was still a little more than arm's reach away, and Garrett was ten times quicker, even in pain. Basso not only wouldn't, he couldn't. Physically. Garrett shoved that thought away.

A huff, and Basso folded his arms. "Ya look terrible, Garrett." It almost stung. It was probably true, though, considering how he felt, how off-kilter and fractious. "When did you last eat?"

"... When I got up this evening." It was easier to speak, the phantom hand around his throat starting to loosen, but everything still felt…. Garrett kept an eye on Basso, but he picked his way closer to the bookshelf and started redressing. Harness first - cinched up to the new, narrow eyelets he'd put in, ignoring the ripples of frustration and fear and self-loathing that flooded out at the reminder. He was trying to manage the consequences of the Primal worsening, and it was the best he could do. At least the harness could still be fitted to him properly. If he'd just left it, refused to acknowledge the deterioration, then he would be in far more danger.

Basso reached up and Gwendolyn hopped from his head to his hand, watching as Garrett gave a light tug on the harness to ensure it was sitting right, repeated the action at different points, in different directions, and then wrapped the scarf around his neck, secured his cloak around his shoulders. He eyed his bow for a moment, and then left it. He knew he wasn't going anywhere soon - Basso would demand answers. Basso deserved answers. Instead, he sat on the bed, tugged on his boots and laced them up, and then made sure his gloves were clipped back into place. Even unarmed, he felt better.

All the same, he left his hood down. It was too warm in here.

Basso didn't come any closer, but he was squinting down at Garrett once more. "... Garrett, that wasn't this evening. It's tomorrow. Ya slept through the day." Even, flat tone. Unusually inexpressive, even if Garrett didn't always pick up the expression. Controlled - too controlled. Almost hollow.

It spread from Basso to Garrett, opening in his chest. Tomorrow. It wasn't that it was still dark, it had gotten dark again. His hands closed in his lap, fingernails digging into the leather. There were little pricks of blood that had dried on his finger pads, and fresher dots on the inner edges of his index and middle fingers where Gwendolyn had dug her talons in.

Where had those other injuries come from?

"... What the hell happened out there, Garrett?" Strained, now, after the stretch of silence when Garrett didn't respond. Basso dropped into the chair behind his desk, running a hand through his hair. He looked… tired. His face was drawn, dark little smudges visible under his eyes. Had he slept at all while Garrett had been passed out in his bed? Another scratch of guilt to add to the collection.

After a moment, Garrett went back to staring at his hands. "... I don't know." It grated to admit it, his chest tightening painfully, but he didn't even remember coming here. He'd stolen the comb, and gotten to the bridge… somehow… and then… Garrett remembered the shouting and the firelight, he remembered the gleam of a crossbow bolt. His left hand ached. He remembered running, and then he remembered the blue shine of the Primal and the pain that went with it, echoes of panic…

Safety. He'd been looking for safety.

"You don't know."

Garrett sighed, rubbed his face. The black smudges that stuck to his fingers as he pulled away reminded him he'd been geared for thievery, and he grimaced - the kohl would be smeared all over his face by now. "I…" Glanced sideways at his bow, itching for the weapon, but all too aware that there was nothing to defend himself from. "I slipped up. Had to run." And sudden cold filled his chest, like he'd been dunked in ice water. His eyes shot up to Basso's. "I didn't lead the Watch here, did I?" He was going to kick himself if he hadn't even lost them before coming here. Basso was his friend, and he was a good fence, but even he couldn't get away with housing the Master Thief. Harlan already knew that they were connected - he'd taken Basso in order to get information out of him regarding their relationship. If he knew just how far that friendship went… Well, nobody deserved the kinds of things the General would do to them.

There was something strange in Basso's gaze. A sharp, glinting thing that didn't seem angry at all. Pain. The coldness seeped out into Garrett's limbs. "Nah. Lost 'em good before ya got anywhere near here. I figured that was deliberate."

This time, Garrett looked away.

"... I ain't never seen ya like that, Garrett. You got here looking like Red Jenny herself was after you, 'cept I know you'd have just laughed in her face. You were terrified. And then ya just…" A vague, sweeping gesture, blowing out the rest of his breath. Gwendolyn cawed quietly, flapping her wings. "What happened."

Not a question. Garrett felt his shoulders tense at the command, and for a split second he wanted to flee, but he forced it down, took a deep breath, made his hands uncurl. He still couldn't look up. "... I don't know, Basso."

The strange sound finally dragged Garrett's gaze upwards, concern spreading out over the cold feeling like a thin skein over too much liquid. Basso was on his feet again, hands clenched at his sides. "It ain't the fucking Primal again, is it?" But there was no uncertainty in his tone. Why would there be? It was the same answer Garrett had given him every time he asked about his missing year.

"It's been getting worse." It was time to admit it. Admit it. There's something wrong with me. He'd known for a while. He had to stop trying to push through it like nothing had changed. He was going to get himself killed. The hand closed around his throat again. Garrett swallowed and hissed softly, trying to shake the feeling. He hadn't felt fear like this in a long time. It took him back to being young and helpless; it bubbled in his gut like boiling sewage. Toxic. "There's…" Caught, stopped. Garrett gritted his teeth and tried again. "I can't control it anymore."

That counts.

Not exactly what he needed to say, but it was close enough. Basso knew him better than anyone. He'd understand what it meant. He had to.

Whatever interpretation he'd expected Basso to have, he wasn't ready for the snarl. Gwendolyn screeched indignantly and took off again before landing on her perch. Basso paced for a few steps, stopped, shook himself, paced back again. It was only when he glanced towards Garrett and grimaced that Garrett realised he was watching, stock still where he sat on the edge of Basso's bed.

Carefully, the movement more controlled than Garrett had believed the man capable of, Basso strode back to his chair and sat in it. His hands stayed on his thighs, fingers dug in, shoulders quivering with tension. Had Garrett misread him entirely? Had he said entirely the wrong thing?

Ever so slowly, he started inching closer to his bow.

"... Fuckin' Primal," Basso muttered venomously. "What do you mean, you can't control it anymore?" Controlled again, less hollow and more furious, but held tight.

Garrett continued the slow quest to be armed again without alarming Basso further. "I've told you about the Primal energy in my eye. I can use it to… augment my skills." Basso nodded, gaze locked on Garrett's. It was hindering how much movement Garrett could make. Deep down, he still didn't believe Basso would actually do anything to him, but it didn't stop the sickening anxiety from the violent response. He'd been unprepared. Complacent. The fact remained that if Basso had wanted to hurt him, he'd have been utterly at Basso's mercy. "... I can't fully control it anymore."

It came out easier, the second time. Maybe he'd understand now.

Basso took a sharp breath in through his nose, held it, let it blow out. Closed his eyes. Garrett darted at the chance, slipped his quiver and bow in swift, practiced movements. By the time Basso looked at him again, he was seated on the bed - not quite in the same place - and fully armed. The wrinkle that creased Basso's brow did not go unmissed.

"..." This time, Basso looked away instead. "How long?" Garrett tilted his head slightly, not understanding the specifics of what Basso wanted. "How long has it been outta control?"

Now, Garrett shrugged. "It's the Primal, Basso, it's always been out of control." The glare that met his snide comment was not pleased. The tension slithered down Garrett's spine. "Look, it was always painful if I overused it. It's just been… getting worse. There's no need to look like that."

A mistake. He'd made a mistake. The rage that lit in Basso's eyes was undeniable; recognition fluttered through Garrett's chest. He'd seen that anger before - when he'd told Basso to cut Erin. That he already had. It caused a tremor in Garrett's chest, his heart skipping a beat; that had been the only time Garrett had ever been truly afraid Basso would never speak to him again. It had taken two months for Jenivere's next visit. But even as he remembered that, the tension eased a little and Garrett no longer held his hands ready to grab his bow. Basso had been so angry back then too, and he'd never done anything remotely violent towards Garrett. A chair or two had suffered his wrath in Garrett's place.

"You never fucking told me it was hurting you."

Voice low. He hardly sounded like himself. Taking a deep breath, Garrett reminded himself again: Basso was trustworthy. He was safe here - as safe as he was anywhere.

"I try not to use it. It wasn't an issue." Maybe he was pushing his luck. Maybe he should just let Basso have at it.

Another low little snarl, and Gwendolyn cawed in response. She was upset. Probably hadn't felt this kind of tension in the air before. "So it's an issue now? If ya can't control it, why use it?"

"It… doesn't work like that." Oh crap. He was really going to have to actually explain it, wasn't he? He'd never actually given details on how the Primal worked, on how he focused. It would sound batshit, and Basso wasn't exactly keyed up on the Primal knowledge. He knew that it existed, that it was some form of energy, and that it had all but killed Erin. He knew it had been the reason for Garrett's disappearance for a year. He knew-

It struck Garrett all at once. Basso knew that the Primal had been the reason for such a big chunk of his segment of the hellscape The City had become. That he'd lost Erin (they were friends too, right? Garrett wasn't sure Erin had friends, and he was fully aware of the irony in that thought); that he'd thought he'd lost Garrett. This anger wasn't directed at Garrett - it was the Primal.

Garrett sighed, but at least the fluttery tension in his chest eased off. He rubbed his face again, and then ran a hand back through his hair. Grimaced. Needed to wash it. "... I can… see certain things, when I look through the Primal. I can't see certain… other things. Like light." Or shadow. Basso's eyes narrowed, and then widened in understanding. "When it first started, I had to concentrate on it. Now… sometimes I can't turn it off. It's getting worse."

And he hated that it almost sounded plaintive, but he couldn't bring himself to admit it in the right words. There was something wrong with him. Garrett gritted his teeth, jaw clenching, and then immediately regretting it. The pain sparked up behind his right eye, smouldering like the last embers of a fire even while the rest of him still ached. He flexed his left hand, trying to distract himself, to do something constructive. After a few moments, the stiffness was already noticeably less.

"... You said it hurts ya." Garrett just nodded. If it was anyone else he'd never admit that, but at this point refusing to do so was just lying, and Basso deserved better than bald-faced lies. "Is that why you ain't been eating? I know you added more notches to that harness."

"Eyelets." Automatic. Something nitpicky to zero in on, something he could fall back into sass with. Garrett knew himself well enough to know what he was doing. Defuse and escape. If he derailed the situation, then it was easier to climb out of.

"What?"

"Well, technically only the metal rings are the eyelets, so I suppose you're not entirely wrong, but-"

"Trickster's tears, Garrett. I don't care about the metal eyes-its." That was an old curse. Where had Basso picked that one up? ...Which was definitely the pertinent question. "Is that why?"

Sighed, a breath that Garrett couldn't be sure hadn't been stolen, because for half a second the room swam with blue light. He pressed the heel of his palm into his eye. "... Yeah. Constant migraine does wonders for your appetite. You should try it sometime, Basso, maybe you'll get back in shape."

"Har de ha ha." Sarcastic, but Basso definitely wasn't focusing on the snippy reply. It was too much to hope for, Garrett supposed, that he might distract the man. "You thought maybe to pay the apothecary a visit?" A little indignant, maybe even waspish, but Basso already knew the answer.

Garrett scowled at him, but he was fully aware he didn't cut a very intimidating figure - not when Basso had put hands to him and felt how delicate he was getting, not when he still had one hand dug into his eye because it hurt. "What do you think, Basso?"

"I think that worrying about that shit screwing with ya senses doesn't fucking mean much when you can't even handle a simple job right now."

Flat. Probably not meant as an insult, but Basso had never pulled his punches before. Garrett lowered his hand, wincing as his eyes caught the candlelight, and looked away. Basso sighed softly - the anger drained out of his voice.

"Garrett… So we should deal with this Primal shit, but first we gotta get you back on your feet. There ain't no point going after it if ya just gonna hurt yourself. So, start with an apothecary, get you eating again. We can work on the other shit afterwards."

It sounded so reasonable when he said it like that. It didn't stop the creeping feeling of nausea as he considered willingly drugging himself. "I know a good chemist. I can get you something in the next hour, and she won't ask questions. Won't answer them neither."

Garrett's stomach dropped. Basso wanted him to- now? He accepted that Basso was going to needle him about it, and if Garrett was honest then he was probably right - dealing with the symptoms and consequences first before going after the cause - but it didn't make the thought of impairing himself any more appealing. He couldn't make the climb up the Clocktower in that state, it would be suicide. In all likelihood, that meant staying here. A thousand reasons that was a bad idea sprung up, and the burning sensation slid out from behind his eye, moving across his face, following the scar. Quietly, he hissed.

A warble from Gwendolyn. "... Garrett, if I thought I could leave ya to just eat more, I would. You ain't ever been stupid enough to neglect yourself," unlike some other thieves, Erin's face flashing in his mind, "so clearly this thing is hurting you enough to stop you." Teeth gritted, but Basso was still right. It had taken a few months before Garrett had given into his decreased appetite and actually cut down on his meals. A few months, and a few too many times vomiting.

It had been years since Garrett had pushed himself hard enough to vomit, but the exertion required to do his work in combination with the pain spikes had become overwhelming. So Garrett had stopped eating in the evenings, and only nibbled during dawn, before going to sleep. He hadn't always remembered.

"I have no intention of drugging myself, Basso." Dark, almost growled - he cursed internally. Basso was right, he needed to do something.

The tension was back in his chest all the same, making it hard to breathe. He trusted Basso, but… This was an open cellar, locked or not. Hidden in the corner or not, Garrett disliked being somewhere so accessible in the first place. Being here and being high, unable to defend himself, made the tension turn to panic. Garrett swallowed it, clenching his hands against the tremor that threatened.

"Piss off, you don't." Snapped. "That Primal shit isn't gonna fix itself. It nearly killed Erin already, and I ain't gonna let it kill you." An altogether different anger, now, vicious and dark. "First thing is putting some meat back on ya. And clearly you need something to take the edge off."

Or he wouldn't have gotten to this point in the first place. Part of Garrett desperately wanted to give in - let Basso look after him. I'm not okay. I can't control it and I'm not okay. But it made the knot of panic in his chest balloon, suffocating from the inside out. If he wasn't self-reliant then he wasn't worth a damn. Why the hell would Basso look after him if he wasn't worth his weight (more than, I weigh nothing) in gold?

Because Basso cares about me personally. It was an uneasy thought, squirming in under the growing breathlessness. Because Basso isn't just here for the loot I bring in. Not much better, flexing his hands, gaze turned away from him.

"I…"

This time, it sounded like pity in Basso's voice. Garrett's hands tightened in his lap. "Stay here. You'll be safe here. Gwen'll give a yell if anyone but me is coming anyway. Door'll be locked. I'll be back in the hour."

Basso got to his feet, stretched a little, gave Gwendolyn a scratch, and left without another word. The door was clicked locked behind him.

For a long few minutes, Garrett just sat in silence.

He had options. The first - and he was doing his best to resist it, hands laced together in his lap - was to just leave. The door was locked but he fit through the window (there so many advantages to being small, even without the weight loss), and they both knew the lock didn't even qualify as a minor obstacle. Not that Garrett particularly wanted to pick the lock to Basso's cellar; he was very good, but locks were finicky and picking them often left damage even when done right. Garrett just didn't care that everybody else might have to get theirs repaired or replaced.

Or he could stay. There were a dozen other options in between, fluttering through Garrett's mind like jagged-winged butterflies, but in the end they all condensed into staying, or going. Running. Garrett stared into nothing, thoughts swirling. If he stayed then Basso was going to make him take whatever illicit substance his chemist whipped up for him, but if he left then not only would the problem continue, but Basso would be angry.

Worse, Basso would probably be hurt.

Garrett sighed and dropped his head into his hands; he was alone. Only Gwendolyn was here to see his indecision. Stay or go, be drugged or stay sick, be made vulnerable or… stay vulnerable.

Sighing again, Garrett took off his bow and quiver, set them beside him, and threw himself back onto the bed. He could go and avoid the drugs - and the way his senses would blur until he couldn't tell them apart - and the dimming of the headache that he'd had so long he couldn't even remember what it was like without it. He could flee the fear and tight panic at the idea of being here, and being so vulnerable and losing all judgement and coordination, and being completely at Basso's mercy.

Or he could stay. Basso wouldn't hurt him - he could finally relax (once he was drugged it wouldn't matter that he was vulnerable anymore, because he wouldn't care), he could live a while without the constant headache.

It was as appealing as it was terrifying.

Only after a few more minutes considering it, and Gwendolyn warbling softly (to herself? Did birds get bored?) did Garrett realise the other problem. Stupid. It took you that long. I can't keep this up. If he stayed, then Basso would expect him to keep taking whatever drug he came back with. The whole point was to get him back up to a healthy weight, to the point where he could work and exist without being so dangerously weak that even a basic theft left him exhausted and - in this case - sloppy enough to get caught, weak enough to pass out after a simple run.

But… Stupid, stupid. He should have done it differently. He should have stopped working instead of stopped eating. He should have- Should have, should have. It didn't matter now. I can't keep this up.

That thought circled around, louder than the others - devouring them.

Eventually - how long had it been? Garrett shivered realising he couldn't tell, that his internal clock wasn't working - he was shaken from his brooding by Gwendolyn shrieking. Her wings flapped, though her talons gripped her perch tightly and she didn't catch any air, and the gravelly call rang in the small, stone room. Snatching up his quiver and bow, Garrett crept back across the bed as quickly as he dared, trying to be silent. Groans he knew were hidden in the mattress but couldn't remember the locations of - Stupid, you're losing your edge- Fuck that, you've lost it - went up around him, and he was suddenly grateful that Gwendolyn's caws covered them up.

The rook went quiet as the key turned in the lock with a click. Garrett held his breath, pressing himself further back into the shadows. Basso hadn't lit the candles by the bed, giving Garrett as much darkness as possible; gratitude welled in his chest at the unexpected thoughtfulness. It was a bubble under the rising panic and whirling confusion. Who had a key to the cellar that wasn't Basso? Gwendolyn wouldn't have alerted him if it was Basso (he did, admittedly, have a very distinctive tread), but nobody else should have the key to that door.

It came open silently, and a man with soft brown hair and loose, warm linen clothing came in. One hand balancing a tray that held both a jug and a plate and somehow didn't tip, the man shut the door behind him - left it unlocked - and then set the tray down on Basso's desk. He squinted towards the bed, but Garrett watched his eyes skate over him without pause. Can't see me. The panic swelled into relief.

"... Hey, you up? Basso told me his thief wanted some food. About time, too - I was about to clock out for the day. Night. Eh, whatever. You didn't eat breakfast, so I assume you were asleep all day. Wild shit, sleeping during the day." He shook his head, the candlelight dancing on his copper skin. "Ignore that. Anyway, I brought dinner for you. Are you seriously not going to come out?" And he waited a full minute, squinting into the shadows, but otherwise quite patiently.

Garrett stayed right where he was, motionless. His heart was slowing down a little, as much as the pain behind his eye allowed, finally recognising the man. Drathen had been at the Burrick for as long as Garrett could remember. He was, by all accounts, a good man - he knew Basso trusted him. All the same, Garrett didn't know him. He felt less threatened by the man's presence, knowing that he had been with Basso for so long, but it wasn't enough to make him reveal himself.

Don't show yourself. Stay out of the light. He'd learned oh so very fast that failure was akin to suicide.

Eventually, Drathen shrugged. "Eh, whatever. Tell Basso he's got bad taste in women, thief." And he walked away, paused with his hand on the door handle. "...Oh- Eat that this time. I'm not wasting good ingredients on you if you're just going to send them back up."

Shut the door behind him, locked it, walked away. Garrett followed the sound of Drathen's footsteps all the way back up the stairs and then back behind the Crippled Burrick until they faded completely. Gwendolyn warbled at him softly. Her head tilted, eyeing the tray of food that Drathen had left on the desk; her beak clacked. With a sigh, Garrett pulled himself out of the shadows, making his way back across the bed into the half-light, and then off completely and fully into view. "Oh, you want some?" Amused; the thought of having the rook eat his food and trying to convince Basso that it had been him was a good one. Much better than the others circling him like carrion crows. "Here." Eyeing the plate a moment, Garrett picked out some of the rice and offered it to her. She plucked it from his palm delicately, squishing the pieces to paste in her beak before swallowing, carefully avoiding nipping him.

When she figured there was none left, she gave his fingers and affectionate nibble, warbled, and set about grooming her feathers. Garrett scratched her head gently. It was easier, looking at her - hurt less than looking in the direction of the candles. "Basso's going to be beside himself when you die." Sighed. Jenivere had been bad enough, and Basso had been at odds with the magpie. He made no secret of his love for Gwendolyn. "Working with him is going to be a nightmare."

Which was true, but the idea upset Garrett a little as well. He'd been attached to Jenivere too, even if he tried to deny it. When Gwendolyn went, the world was going to lose a damn good bird.

All of which was depressing as hell, but ultimately a distraction that he was happy to keep thinking about. Gwendolyn cawed at him quietly.

"Alright, alright."

Garrett turned back to the tray, half-closing his right eye as the light struck it; sharp, pulsing pain shot back through his head, bounced in his skull, and made its way down his neck. Even the thought of actually chewing and swallowing the food - simple rice and some kind of poultry, with a sauce that Garrett supposed would smell pleasant if it didn't make his stomach turn - was utterly nauseating. Instead, he picked up the glass, poured half a measure of water into it from the jug, and studied it with a frown. Carefully, he lifted it to his face and gave it a sniff. No untoward odours came off it, no signs of the myriad poisons he could detect that way. A quick glance at the candle through the glass yielded no sign of discolouration or particulates and a spike of pain that settled into throbbing behind both eyes and all the way around his skull. Eyes narrow in response, Garrett considered Gwendolyn.

"You know, Basso will kill me if you die." But he said it conversationally and offered the glass to her all the same. She warbled, scraped one set of talons against the glass like she might hop to the rim and perch, and then took a beakful of water.

Garrett slunk back to the bed to sit in less light. He left his bow and quiver in the far corner where he'd taken them and sat cross legged, cloak pulled around his side and into his lap. For a few minutes, he just watched the rook for any sign of pain or paralysis, or anything else that poison might do. She eyed him back, flipped her tail, started grooming her feathers. Eyed his plate and hopped a little closer to it, looked back at him. He scowled at her. Eventually, he had to accept the obvious; there was nothing wrong with the water.

He sipped as Gwendolyn warbled again, and it seemed to satisfy her. "You're just fletching waiting to happen, you know that?" he asked her mildly; she cawed, flapped her wings, and watched him with one eye as he sipped again. The water was pleasantly cool, and while the actual action of swallowing was uncomfortable it soothed the nausea a little. He took another. "Happy?"

She warbled. Sometimes Garrett wondered if she actually understood him, or if it was just a happy accident. Maybe she was playing them all for fools. Being a pet was certainly a comfortable life. Gwendolyn didn't even have a cage.

Garrett filled the glass full again when he was done, and returned to his position cross legged on the bed. At some point Gwendolyn flew over, perched on his knee - her weight wasn't inconsiderable, and he felt a little unbalanced by it but it was an almost comforting feeling, the bird providing companionship without offering threat - and she dipped her beak into the glass when he lowered it.

So long he spent sitting, thoughts chasing themselves in circles as he debating staying or going, that eventually Gwendolyn gave another soft caw, fluffing her feathers out and shaking herself, snatching Garrett's attention. She gave a self-satisfied warble, dipped her beak for some water, and then Garrett heard the footsteps. A tread he recognised - heavy and slow. Comfortable. He was still on the bed in the half-light when the lock clicked and the door silently opened. Basso took a glance around as he came in, and visibly relaxed at the sight, although the lines around his eyes tightened a little when he spotted the untouched food.

Garrett tried to push away the stab of guilt and irritation. It was a miracle the smell alone hadn't done more than cause a dull ache in his gut. That's probably not better. A little sigh at the realisation; Basso was right. He had slept all day, and had barely gotten out of bed tonight, and he still couldn't stomach food - not even simple food.

"... You know why I don't want to take whatever you've got," he forced out. Get ahead of the game here - if he beat Basso to it, then he could still feel like he had some control over the situation. Hopefully… it would make it easier.

Basso blinked, taken aback, and then sighed. "Yeah, cause you're a paranoid bastard. No, I get it," at the scowl Garrett shot at him, "but you couldn't fight off a one-legged pigeon, Garrett. You're in no state. So shut up and let me stop you from getting yourself fucking killed."

Hackles up at that, hands tightening on the glass, but he fought down the response because Basso was right. He's right. Telling himself that didn't make much of a difference, but Garrett tried to pretend that it did - he was dangerously weak, dangerously sloppy, dangerously slow. Forgetful. He hadn't even considered that the Watch patrols might have changed in the time it had taken him to steal the comb. Once he'd seen their routes, he'd just assumed they'd remain and put the thought out of his head.

He sipped the water for something to do, distracting himself long enough to put down the anger and fear bubbling up in his throat. Basso glanced between him and the jug at the movement, seeming surprised; he'd probably never seen Garrett drink anything before. It was a rare occasion indeed that he drank anything someone else offered him. For the most part, Garrett collected rainwater and drank that - it was one of the only things he could guarantee hadn't been tampered with.

"Okay."

Voice low, forced out between his teeth, a little afraid that the glass might shatter in his hands as he gripped it even tighter. Gwendolyn rubbed her beak against the leather of his leg. It was almost worth it to see how Basso's entire body relaxed, almost slumped. Garrett couldn't quite tell if it was relief or shock. Might have been both.

Stepping over to the tray, Basso produced a thick package from somewhere on him - I have got to ask him about his pockets - and set it beside the jug of water. He didn't question Garrett, something the thief was immensely grateful for. Probably didn't want to risk Garrett's nerve. It was a good call; Garrett was quite sure that he'd back out if given half a chance. His skin itched as Basso unwrapped the package and revealed a gleaming glass bottle. It was clear and unmarked, corked and sealed with wax like expensive wine, and filled with a clear liquid that sparkled the faintest red in the light.

It suddenly struck Garrett that such a concoction at this time on such short notice must have cost a small fortune.

"I figured you didn't want to have to inject the damn stuff." Garrett suppressed a shudder; Basso had guessed correctly. Memories not his own flashed through his mind, sending icy skitters under his skin, and pain flickered in his right eye for a completely different reason than the Primal, needle-sharp. Pulling away the last of the wrapping, Garrett saw him set down a much smaller glass, almost like an open vial. "She said one of these in a glass of water was enough. No more'n twice a day."

Garrett did some quick mental math. Tried. His thoughts kept spinning away, peeled back by agony, but eventually he settled on the roughest estimate he could. The whole bottle would last months at that rate of consumption, assuming Garrett needed and used it twice a day. This stuff was that potent? Garrett re-estimated the cost of it; make that a large fortune.

Part of him wondered if he should pay Basso back for that. It was an odd, alien sensation - parting with coin was a completely unfamiliar action. He stopped for a few seconds, feeling out the idea before rejecting it. The faint associated queasiness at the idea Basso would willingly waste so much money on him was far outweighed by the reflexive revulsion at the idea of paying that much himself. He was the Master Thief. He didn't buy things.

For a long moment, they just looked at each other. Gwendolyn cawed unhappily, took some more water from Garrett's glass, and then took off and landed on Basso's shoulder. He reached up absently to pet her, seemed to relax a little more as she nibbled his ear.

"... Do ya want me to-?"

"No." Sharp, almost defensive.

Unfair, but it was bad enough that he was considering- agreeing to this folly. Garrett didn't think he'd be able to handle watching Basso drug him, voluntary or not. At this point, he wasn't even certain how voluntary it was. Would Basso even let him leave if he tried?

Even more unfair. Of course he would. Basso had never been shy about calling Garrett (and everyone else) out on what he saw as stupidity, but he never forced anyone to do what he wanted. All the same, Garrett didn't want to have to remember Basso drugging him. For another few seconds, they just stared, and then slowly - reluctantly - Garrett got to his feet. He set the glass down on the tray, turning away from the direct light, and refilled it. Tried not to let his hands shake. Wasn't sure if he succeeded. Basso was watching, the gaze like a razor at Garrett's neck, hair on end, but he didn't dare comment on it. Couldn't trust that his voice would come out okay if he tried. Filling the little measuring vial was a lot harder than he'd hoped, even if the wax broke and peeled off easily enough and the cork came free with a satisfying pop. His hands were definitely shaking as he did, and a few drops spilled over the edge before Garrett tilted the bottle back up.

For a moment he froze, aware that Basso was still watching, and then he just sighed, set the bottle down, corked it. The liquid had a faintly sharp scent, almost like cinnamon. It made the pain in his eyes sharper; the whole of his nose ached ferociously, as if the bone was melting under his skin. Nausea roiled in his stomach, closing his throat.

Once again, for a few moments, Garrett just stared at the little vial. A thousand curses sang in his mind as he realised he was really doing this - he was actually going to tip this unknown drug into his glass and consume it, willingly. Of course he was. Basso was still watching.

"... Fuck this." Muttered, but he picked up the vial and emptied it into the water, setting it back down half a second later. As fast as he could. No second-guessing himself - except, of course, he could always just tip the water out. "Fuck you in particular." Aimed at Basso, although Garrett didn't take his eyes off the glass.

It wasn't so big of a glass. The shaking was blatant now, but Garrett picked it up and sculled the whole thing in a few gulps. Bitterness chased the drink down, the sharp cinnamon-y smell eclipsing his senses, and even as he set the glass back down he gagged on it. Reflexive - poison - but Garrett gripped the edge of the desk and closed his eyes, trying to keep his breathing even. He was breathing through his mouth. His heart raced in his chest, a caged bird. Best not name it Gwendolyn then. The thought was hysterical.

Basso's voice was distant. "Hey, easy. It'll take a few minutes to kick in since you aren't injecting it, but maybe you oughta sit down. She said it shouldn't fuck with your mind too much, but it'll screw up your balance. Garrett? Hey, can you hear me?"

An edge in there, but Garrett couldn't concentrate on it. His breathing rang in his own ears. He could feel his heart, beating frantically, like pressure on his ribcage. It ached.

However long he stood there, eventually he felt his heart start to slow down. Under control. And then slower, his breathing easing into something more leisurely than it had been in a long time. Not my control, though. The low chuckle broke through. He liked things to be under control, but had he ever actually specified his own? He couldn't remember. Funny. All fine. Fucked to the void but it's under control. Not mine. Not Basso's either. Some chemist. Don't know her name - call her Gwendolyn.

All under Gwendolyn's control.

"Garrett?" An new edge there, to Basso's voice. Maybe he should try some of whatever this shit was. Maybe he'd chill out. "Hey, come on. Sit down."

Garrett opened his eyes, still gripping the desk. It was a good thing he was, because when he looked up and turned his head to Basso, the whole room spun around him and he tilted. Arms closed around him, panic spiked for a split second and he twitched, and then it settled back into something dull and pleasantly heavy in his chest. "You're upside down."

A sigh. Anxious? Couldn't tell. Might not matter. "Over here, Garrett." And then muttering that he couldn't quite make out; his ears buzzed quietly. It was… not unpleasant, actually. He was set on the bed, and then gently lowered as he leaned. Sprawled now, head propped up on one hand, laid out on his side watching Basso move back towards the desk,

"I don't buy things."

"What?" Baffled, stopping what he was doing to look over.

"I don't buy things. I'm not paying you for that." He pointed with his free hand at the bottle, and then studied it more intently. Why was that? He hadn't noticed the faint patterning on the glass before.

The light. He was studying it in the light. There was a faint pressure in his right eye, a reminder of the power that lay coiled there, but it didn't hurt. Nothing hurt.

Nothing hurt.

Unbidden, laughter burst from his throat, and Basso took a step back. Nothing hurt. Garrett knew his thoughts were muddled, spinning and darting, glittering dragonflies he couldn't quite catch hold of, but it didn't feel so different to how he'd been feeling these past months. His thoughts were muddled and there was this constant nagging sensation in the back of his mind, like he was missing something, forgetting something - but lying on his side like this, comfortable on the bed, the room stayed steady and he could still see and hear clearly, and the pain was but a memory and distant not-entirely-unpleasant pressure in his Primal eye.

Maybe he still couldn't - shouldn't but totally could - work in this state, but it was no worse than the pain. It was much better. It didn't hurt and- the smell of the food hit him suddenly and his stomach growled. Starving. When was the last time he'd eaten a full meal?

No. Scratch. When was the last time he'd eaten?

"Basso. Pass m-" The bowl was held in front of him, a spoon offered right after. Garrett sat up, blinked dazedly as the room did a dance, and then took them as it settled. "Thanks." Without hesitation, he dug in.

From his peripheral vision, he watched Basso sit down slowly in his chair, and then stretch out and relax. The sigh was audible over the faint buzz. Was that a real sound? Garrett wasn't sure. It didn't matter much - if Basso could hear it or not, who cared? Gwendolyn fluttered over, hopped closer, and warbled quietly. Garrett offered her a half-hearted glare. Then, despite himself, he scooped a little rice and offered her that instead.

"Hey, hey, don't spoil my bird," Basso scolded him, but for the first time tonight he was smiling. "She'll get fat."

Garrett shrugged, watched Gwendolyn knock the rest of the rice off the spoon and onto the blanket, and then scooped another mouthful for himself. "Like owner like pet."

"Yeah, yeah. Fuck you too."

He was careful to step in time with the ticking of the massive gears. His boots were thick leather and fitted, and while they were quieter than the stiff noble shoes he wore around the court, they couldn't hide his tread completely. He would have killed for some soft leather or fabric, but he was meant to be here on Official Royal Business; besides which, Corvo didn't hold with the illegal dealings that lent themselves to such things.

Leon would die before he let Corvo down.

So, he made sure to step in time with the immense ticking. It made for slow exploration, but at least it was quite dim in here. There was evidence of a fire once burned in the large brazier on the upper floor, and unlit candles littered the tables. A workbench and bookshelves dominated the rest of the floor, picked out in the faint yellow-grey of Dark Vision. Little shimmers, holding the barest hint of green, picked out what looked to be an impressive set of leatherworking tools, and next to them fletching equipment.

Leon's fingers twitched, tempted to steal the bundles of feathers, but he let them be. He wasn't even supposed to be out exploring like this, so he couldn't risk taking anything. Further down, kept quite orderly in a series of low drawers, was a collection of other tools and crafting gear. Leon wasn't sure what had been made with them, but he hoped it was also impressive.

Slowly, he made his way down the stairs; one at a time, steps and heartbeat settling into rhythm with the ticking of the great clock.

The floor below shone. Trinkets littered every available surface, organised into groups. Only half of them made any sense to Leon, but his breath caught all the same. Faintly blue light made the whole lower floor glow, a thousand things he could line his pockets with. A quick glance around, and he caught no echo of yellow in his Vision. No shudders in the air that indicated sound or movement. Abandoning his stealth, Leon dashed down the stairs and examined the collections.

Several sets of rings, and Leon started seeing why they were grouped such as he studied them. One set all adorned with various skulls; another with pretty clusters of gems and gold filigree. A set of bracelets that reared into snake heads made his skin crawl, but they shone prettily in the faint blue. Two more sets of brooches - a series of lovely butterflies and one more of elongated flowers- no, three sets of brooches, the third a collection of carved faces. Maybe they were pendants? Leon would need light to be certain.

And fully… eighteen shining city plaques in neat rows. Despite himself, Leon whistled. A truly impressive haul. Absolutely wondrous. Many dozens of other things winked faint blue around him. He hadn't seen a stash of treasures this impressive since-

Leon's heart stopped. His Dark Vision flickered out, the faint warmth in the rune on his back flickering out with it. Pitch blackness met him without it; he wouldn't have the faintest clue there was several fortunes sitting innocently in front of him if he hadn't come across the lair with Vision active.

"Outsider's tits." Whispered, mixed awe and panic. "This must be- Oh, shit, oh shit."

Frantically, Leon reactivated his Dark Vision, feeling the warmth sear across his rune, and spun around. Blue glitters flashed by, the treasures winking their temptations. He caught sight of another bookshelf in the alcove under the top floor, another table, a bed in the far corner. They didn't matter. No gleam of yellow, no sound, no movement. Leon sprinted up the stairs, clambered onto the wide open sill, and reached out his hand to aim. Thumb and forefinger extended in an L-shape, he closed one eye to get a better defined point, aimed at the next roof. For a moment, his rune burned white hot and then he blinked to the next rooftop over. It dulled back down to a dim warmth, and then nothing as he deactivated Dark Vision again.

Light enough out here to see without it. Nowhere near as dark as inside the clock tower. Couldn't risk Corvo picking up on his sudden flush of emotion with their Arcane Bond active, couldn't risk-

He darted from one rooftop to the next, moving mundanely now to avoid giving Corvo his exact location, only to pull up short. The twisted mask met him, protective wires covering the mouth like stitches in a wound, the lenses glinting menacingly in the hollow eye sockets. Normally, it was a face of comfort - now, Leon gulped.

"H-hey, Lord Protector. N-nice night!" Laughed; too high pitched. Fucking stammered. I'm doomed. Outsider save me.

Corvo folded his arms in silence.

For a few moments, Leon just looked back up at him, forced smile painful, and then he slumped and groaned. "Look, I haven't taken anything! I was just exploring! The buildings here are- It's like they were designed to be travelled by rooftop! So much better than Dunwall- No, I mean- Fuck. Just- fuck."

Finally, Corvo let out a soft sound. It couldn't be called laughter, but Leon all but collapsed in relief. It was about as close as Corvo had gotten since they'd been given this assignment. "Come, Leon. We must return. You should not have wandered."

"I know. I'm sorry, I'm just…" Not capable of coming up with a good enough excuse. Boredom was a terrible reason to endanger the mission Empress Kaldwin had bestowed upon them.

Corvo shook his head and started to lead the way back to Auldale across the roofs. It wouldn't do to be seen wandering outside of the area - or indeed, outside the grounds of the manor General Harlan had assigned them. The dim gold glow of Corvo's marked hand was hidden behind his gloves; the rune burned every time Leon blinked after him, but he was used to the flashes of pain by now. They didn't slow.

"I understand. Everyone is restless; this isn't a pleasant assignment. Political messes never are - and this Harlan… is quite unreasonable."

"We're not here to catch his criminals, and we especially aren't here to facilitate their torture!" Leon exclaimed, the words bursting out of him. A moment later, he shied away. He didn't expect Corvo to be upset with the sentiment, but it was a dangerous opinion to voice - here, in hostile territory, with a hostile host, and only the other Messengers for safety. "... Sorry, Corvo. I just don't see why we should do this. I don't want to do this."

Corvo was silent. In his silence, they made their way to the street level, to the river, took a running jump and blinked the rest of the way across, and then ran back to the manor where the Messengers were housed. Only when they came in the back door did Corvo finally speak.

"I agree. I won't assist the General in torturing a man I know nothing about." A strange edge to his voice there, and Leon's heart sank.

"... So…?"

"So I will learn about him."