In Fair Verona
Chapter Three
A/N: You guys are amazing. Seriously. (ETA- sorry about marking this chapter two before. This is why we don't post at three thirty eight in the morning. Also, a shoutout to breila-rose and jblostfan16 for being wonder-betas and calming my nerves about all the tricky parts).
The summer passes like that, with Kendall and Mercedes falling in and out of bed (or pools or dark corners at dark parties and once on her dad's bed).
It's the most fun Kendall has had in a long while; Mercedes is a whirlwind. She doesn't like the word no, seeing as how she apparently hasn't heard it all that often, and it means all her horizons are wide open. Frequent sex turns into talking, about friends or politics or surfing, even. And talking turns into hanging out, until the next thing Kendall knows he's spent every night in the past month with Mercedes, wrapped up in her laughter and her smile and the sweetness of her voice. He realizes it's an issue. Kendall has spent his whole life being warned against falling too much, too fast, too hard, but he doesn't know how to stop. He's infatuated with her. Mercedes makes his pulse beat faster and his jeans go tight. When she's gone, she's all he can think about.
Hell, same when she's there.
Being around her is like downing five shots of vodka in quick succession. Everything turns shiny and beautiful, and for a while the world is a dream. Then, when it's over, the world is hard and cold again. Kendall keeps trying to get closer to Mercedes to bring the shiny back.
It's inevitable that dating her has a down side.
Kendall has learned to cope with her slightly enigmatic behavior. He's made a habit of meeting up with her after work, even though he still has no idea where exactly it is that she works, and okay, maybe that bugs him. A lot.
"What exactly do you do? I haven't seen you at the studios," he asks for the millionth time. Mercedes smiles, the pink curve of her lips so self-assured, so fucking sexy that he almost gets distracted from the question.
"It's a secret."
Kendall takes a lot of pride in his ability to be sneaky and wheedle information out of people, but Mercedes consistently refuses to take the bait. Despite her carefree, slightly flighty attitude, the girl is sharp. It mostly just makes Kendall like her more.
Right up until the day that he finds out what exactly it is that Mercedes does.
He's in the studio, watching Gustavo work his magic. The man loves music with a depth and a passion that Kendall isn't used to, has rarely seen. There is nothing in the world he appreciates more; it is air, water, food. It is the reason he wakes up in the morning and the idea that lulls him to sleep every night. His body sings with it, with creative energy that hums beneath his skin. And once he figures out that Kendall's not a complete moron, he's sort of becoming okay with Kendall's presence. Gustavo lets him kick around the studio and push and poke things, and only yells at him if he's being obnoxious.
Like now.
"How am I obnoxious?" Kendall demands, glaring at the very heavy, very expensive piece of equipment that Gustavo just threw at him. It lays in smithereens on the floor.
"You hum. All the time. It's insufferable." Gustavo yells, his face red with the effort.
"At least he's on key." Kelly laughs.
Gustavo grumbles something rude and turns his attention back to the sound booth, where a timid boy stands, clenching his fingers nervously around the hem of his shirt. "Knight, shut up and let me think." He jabs the speaker button on the mixer and adds, "You, kid, try not to suck this time."
The guy nods frantically, and Kendall can practically smell his fear. He's about to tell Gustavo to let up already, but a pale face peeks into the studio. It's one of the mole men, Gustavo's sound techs, who spend all their time in the basement cutting together edits until they're radio-ready.
"Heads up," he says. "Zevon's on his way in."
"Dick," Kendall bites out, posture turning rigid. In the months he's worked at Rocque Records, Dak hasn't done anything to improve Kendall's opinion of him.
There's not even a reason for it. The guy just gives Kendall very bad vibes.
"Kendall!" Kelly turns her stern face on. Kendall only maybe cowers a little.
After a beat, Gustavo says, "He's right. I hate that kid. He's creepy."
Kelly objects, "He's nice."
"He's ambitious."
Kelly counters. "That's not a bad thing."
"It is when you indirectly work for the Copulation Cunts," Gustavo intones. Kelly smacks him across the head, jutting her chin towards the kid in the sound booth. "Language."
"Ow?" Gustavo glares, rubbing his head. "It's a sound proof box and I'm not pressing the button!"
"Still. Maybe he can lip read."
"Does he look smart enough for that?" Gustavo asks. Doubtfully, he mouths, "I don't think so."
Kendall snorts into his hand, ignoring the way Kelly directs more of her stern straight at him. Gustavo's still nodding his head emphatically when Dak walks into the studio.
"Gustavo, I need you to sign off on these for Griffin. Oh, hey, Kelly." He smiles, all sleazy. The hawk on his collar shines in the dim light, gold, when everything else is burnished.
Gustavo grunts and refuses to acknowledge Dak's existence. Kelly takes the proffered papers and says, "Gustavo's a little, um, busy, let me just-"
Kendall hops off the spinny chair he's been occupying for the past forty minutes. "Dak."
"Kendall."
"I'm so glad we all know each other's names," Gustavo intones.
"Hey, hey," Dak flashes his charming smile again, and Kendall's skin crawls. He doesn't get why Dak is all Hollywood pizzazz, all the time, when Hollywood doesn't even exist anymore. "No need for sarcasm, G-Man. I'll just get what I came for and be out of your hair in no time."
"That won't be soon enough," Kendall mutters, and it's only after the words have left his mouth that he realizes he's said them out loud. Kelly is making this absolutely horrified face, but Gustavo is smirking, and Dak is straight up laughing. Kendall stutters, "I didn't- um-"
"No harm no foul," Dak says, smooth as a snake. Kendall continues to hate him with his entire being.
"Thank you for bringing these down," Kelly intervenes, totally sincere, waving the papers around in the air like they might distract Dak's attention. Gustavo rolls his eyes.
"No probl- hey, is that Mercedes?" Gustavo, Kelly, and Kendall follow his gaze, where, coming up the stairs is the prettiest girl in the whole wide world. Dak's eyes narrow, evaluating. "Haven't seen her around in a while."
"I know. I was beginning to think that someone up there liked me." Gustavo glares at the ceiling and yells, "Thanks for nothing."
"Hey," Kendall protests, but no one's listening to him. Mercedes is on the top step, a vision in pastel. She makes him think of languid kisses wrapped up in her sheets, of fragrant nights and the devilish lilt of her voice when she tries to get him to loosen up already, Knight. But she isn't smiling, or doing much to acknowledge Kendall at all aside from a head nod. "Kendall."
"Hey, what-"
Mercedes isn't paying attention, her gaze already elsewhere. She grits out, "Dak."
"Goodie, we're doing the name thing again," Gustavo says. Then he turns on a grin that's faker than the one on Dak's face. "It is such a joy and a delight to see you, Mercedes. How can we help you?"
"Check your calendar. It's time for a progress report."
Mercedes crosses her arms.
Gustavo cowers.
Kendall is confused.
"Things are fine. Just fine," Gustavo's voice pitches high.
"Is anyone planning on telling me what's going on here?" Kendall interjects, because patience isn't high on his list of virtues.
Mercedes sighs, spares him a glance that is less than amused. "Later, baby."
Dak's smile flickers.
"Baby? Oh. You know…her." Gustavo says her the same way he might say bubonic plague. "No wonder you got the job."
Kendall wants to be insulted, but he doesn't know what that means, exactly. Mercedes isn't doing much to enlighten him, either. She's got a mean gleam in her eyes, and she says, "Bitter doesn't look good on you, old man. Show me what you've got."
Obediently, Gustavo spins back towards the sound booth, and okay. Kendall's bewilderment grows. He knew Mercedes had something to do with Rocque Records, but he wasn't aware it involved making Gustavo jump through hoops. He doesn't do that for anyone, as far as Kendall can tell, not even Kelly when she's at her strictest. But now Gustavo instructs the sickly kid in the booth to sing, and Mercedes listens for a whole five seconds before holding up a hand. "I've heard enough. No."
Kelly objects, "You haven't even-"
"He's pitchy. You have the tapes for the last month?"
Kelly frowns. She looks at the boy in the booth and then back at Mercedes before her shoulders slump. "I'll get them."
Kendall can't help it. "Is anyone planning on telling me what's going on?"
"Not now!" Gustavo, Kelly, and Mercedes snap.
Geez.
Dak smirks.
Kendall sulks. Mercedes smells really pretty, even from across the musty old studio, and he doesn't enjoy being confused. He watches the girl he's been banging all summer and Gustavo go about their business, completely at a loss. Gustavo continues to kowtow to Mercedes's every whim, and while Kendall is used to dropping to his knees for the girl at a single word, he's pretty sure she probably doesn't have the same kind of power over the record producer.
It's kind of boring to watch though, and Kendall is just about to go on rounds to make sure that patrolling is just as lame as he remembers when Dak beats him to it.
"Kelly, Mercedes. Nice seeing you," Dak says with hooded eyes and that reptilian grin. He wiggles his fingers with practiced composure, a beauty pageant wave that's not at all impressive.
"I'd say likewise, but." Mercedes purses her lips. "Don't let a building fall on you on your way out."
Well.
As soon as Dak is gone, Kendall decides he's had enough. He hooks his hand in Mercedes's elbow, trying to pretend that Kelly and Gustavo aren't laughing at him. "Come- stop squirming and come here." He drags her into the empty foyer. "What is going on? Dak?"
"Old boyfriend." Mercedes tilts her head to the side, considering. The sunlight hits the swell of her cleavage just so, and Kendall tries not to get distracted. "He's alright, except for the part where he has no soul."
"Wait, so you dated him before me?"
"Who said we're dating?"
"Oh. Um. Aren't we?" Kendall feels so old fashioned, like he's asked her to go steady or something.
"Calm down, I'm teasing." Mercedes laughs, lights up the room with it, and says, "Nah, he was…two boyfriends ago, I think?"
"Oh. That makes it a lot better." Except not at all. "And why does Gustavo seem to hate you?"
Mercedes shifts guiltily, moving from foot to foot with clicking heels. Kendall tries a different tactic. He stares out the big picture window across from Kelly's reception desk and asks in his firmest voice, "What exactly is it you do?"
She drums her fingers against the desk, examines her cuticles, twirls a finger through her hair. Then Mercedes says, "I'm in charge of scouting new acts for Rocque Records. If the refs look like they have talent, we audition them. I'm the final word on whether they make it on air."
Kendall isn't sure how to react to that. It's a big job.
It's a better paying job than his crummy security gig.
He whistles, "That's impressive."
Mercedes shrugs. "I know what sells, especially to the big investors in the northern citadel and the midlands. Not that anyone pays for the radio, but it takes power to keep it running. We thrive on donations."
"How do you even get into something like that?"
Mercedes examines her cuticles again. She picks at her skin. She frowns at a water stain in the far corner. Outside, a couple on their way to the beach laughs, long and loud. Inside, the empty space between the two of them is still, silent, stagnant.
Finally, she says, "Probably by being Arthur Griffin's daughter." She doesn't let Kendall process that bomb before barreling on, "I know what Daddy's friends and their families are looking for. Basically, I've been in charge of running the music end of the business since I was fourteen. That leaves Daddy to deal with Hawk. It's good business."
"You are…" Kendall pauses, not sure what to say. Smarter than I gave you credit for sounds rude. Filthy rich isn't exactly a compliment either. "Why didn't you just tell me?"
"People look at me differently when they know who I am. Sometimes I like it. Sometimes I don't." She straightens, a haughty tilt to her chin. "Dak is an example of when Daddy's name didn't work out so well for me."
Kendall wants to ask, but he isn't sure it's his business.
Besides, he's got more pressing things on his mind. Just. Mercedes is gorgeous, and he thinks he might even love her, but he's not going to die for her. He's not stupid. And fucking around with Griffin's daughter is really, really stupid. It's like handing death an embossed invitation.
All the things flitting through his mind must show on his face, and that's always been Kendall's curse; he wears everything right there, out in the open. Mercedes steps in close, ruffles his hair. She smells like roses. "Look, can we just, not talk about this? Things don't need to get heavy here. We're having fun, right?"
"Yeah, but I'd kind of like to-" She kisses him then, and Kendall mumbles the rest of the words into the soft skin of her mouth, "-not get-" She keeps on with the lips and the tongue and Kendall's arguments are fading fast. She tastes of the heat rising off the cracked concrete, crushed jacaranda blossoms and sweetness of her vermilion rouge. "-executed."
"Don't be ridiculous," Mercedes says right back into his mouth. She runs her tongue along his teeth, her fingertips pressing into Kendall's biceps. "As long as we don't get caught, where's the harm?"
Kendall knows there's an argument here, a really great argument that involves him continuing to do things like living and breathing.
Just.
With Mercedes's lips hot on his, it's hard to recall why those things are super important.
On the way out of the studio that afternoon, Kendall sees the scrawny singer from the sound booth, the guy that Mercedes called pitchy. He's dragging his feet as he trudges towards the heart of the city. It's like he's carrying a bag of bricks, but his arms are empty. Kendall wonders if he has anywhere to go. Because Mercedes, the girl Kendall's been worshipping like a goddess, probably just destroyed his life.
He's going to have to find work in construction, or in the market, or worse. The pay is going to be shit, and if he has a family to support, he's fucked. Royally.
Kendall tries not to care. Life is harsh. Music is cruel.
It still doesn't make it right.
The sun glares down at them, a lone, angry eye. He can feel sweat prick at the back of his neck. He thinks that it's been a really fucking long day.
And it doesn't get any better.
"You're home? Someone alert the media. It's a miracle!" James drawls from the couch, where he's draped himself lethargically across the cushions. It's barely six o'clock, but James doesn't look like he's moved an inch since Kendall left that morning, stopping off at the crashpad for a change of clothes between Mercedes's and the studio.
"Dude." Kendall makes to sit down, and when James refuses to move over, he situates himself half on James's lap. "Don't make that face. It might stick."
"Good," James retorts, this muscle in his jaw jumping like he's got his teeth gritted too hard. "Then everyone will know my best friend's a total Judas."
"Whoa, whoa, let's not get biblical. What's wrong?"
James frowns at the wall like it's done something distasteful. "You like your stupid girlfriend better than m- us. We haven't seen you in like, a month."
James, obviously, is not thrilled by Kendall's happiness.
"You're exaggerating. I was home this morning."
"Am I?" James snorts. "Really?"
"Yes."
"You were home for like, ten minutes. I've barely seen you all week," James complains, kicking the arm of the sofa with his boot. He's wearing leather; leather pants, and a leather vest, and not really a lot else. The scent of the skin is thick in Kendall's nose. He'd crack some joke about James dressing like he's in a biker gang, but James is saying, "I can't believe you've been ditching your best friends for some girl."
"And I can't believe you're being like this." Kendall groans. "Why are you even mad? You're the one who told me to hook up with Mercedes in the first place."
"So you could get over Jo!" James retorts, and he's up in Kendall's face, intense fury, the sky and the city a blazing reflection in his eyes.
"Why do you care if I'm over Jo or not?" Kendall demands, and his voice is getting louder, because James is too close, too passionate. Kendall can taste his breath on his lips. His tongue darts out, unconsciously, and he wouldn't even notice if James wasn't up in his space, but James follows the movement with his eyes.
Kendall bolts off up the couch. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end, electrified, but his spine is icy cold, fear turned tangible.
He doesn't even know why he's afraid.
"I do, man, but you just came off one bad relationship. You don't know what you want." James hops to his feet with easy grace, following Kendall on his backtrack. He doesn't even seem to notice that anything's wrong, but that's James; forever blissfully oblivious to the fact that Kendall feels uncomfortable and hot, skin too tight, something burning caught in his throat, like he's trying to swallow down the sun. James just forages on, using his bossy voice, "Luckily, you have me. I'm going to teach you to play the field."
Kendall's eyes widen. "Great offer. No."
"Fine." Primly, James says, "I'm going to the cabaret. You can join me, or you can go cavort with your…lady friend." He states, "Bros over hos."
"You're going to go watch Carlos dance?"
James shrugs a shoulder, supremely unconcerned. "Sure, why not?"
"That's a little gay, dude."
"Your face is a little gay."
"Oh, that's mature."
"Are you coming or not?" James snaps, and of course Kendall is. Pride makes people do stupid things, and James's pride is obviously hurt. Kendall can't leave James like this, angry and off-balance.
He needs to make it better, somehow.
The moon is a watermark in the bright blue sky.
Kendall listens to the crunch of their footsteps against gravel and tries not to worry. He's never seen Carlos dance before. James and Logan visited the cabaret a handful of times after Carlos landed the job, but mostly their stories about the place just made Kendall feel uncomfortable. He doesn't like the idea of strangers jerking off to one of his best friends, even if his best friend is wearing a sequined bra and nylons at the time.
He also doesn't like the idea that someone can be arrested for doing the same, if they look too into it. What defines over-eagerness, and how does one go about avoiding it? Kendall wishes the line between lust and certain demise were more clearly demarcated. He wishes Carlos wasn't involved in what seems like a witch hunt to Kendall, plain and simple.
"Come on, buddy, this will be great. It's a beautiful night, and we are going to get wasted." James gestures at the sky, and it's not exactly reassuring. He looks at the stars like they are living, breathing entities. Like he can see them move and change and sparkle, diamond-esque. When Kendall looks up, their bright faces betray nothing. He's still worried.
"Seriously," James adds, amplifying his voice, like volume will make the crease mark on Kendall's face vanish.
It works, a little. James lights up when he smiles, happiness radiant as starshine. It transforms him, and Kendall is not immune to that. He tries to smile back, says, "Yeah. Great," and even if it's not super convincing, it's good enough for James.
It has to be, because they're there.
The cabaret where Carlos works has always been a cabaret. Maybe it was something different back in the twenties, a lounge or a speakeasy, but it's hard to imagine the dilapidated building with its burnt out neon signs ever selling anything but flesh and sex. James walks behind the high flying, dirty white sign advertising Girls-Girls-Girls beneath the words Gentlemen's Club, like lust and intoxication are gentlemanly pursuits. He heads straight in, as if he owns the place, because James is accustomed to being the most attractive person in the room and has the sense of entitlement that goes right along with it.
He orders them each a glass of moonshine and stalks right up to the front of the club, ignoring the shadowy figures of men they don't know, hunkered down in booths, caught somewhere between desire and shame. He settles down at a table and motions wildly for Kendall to join him.
Kendall slinks towards the booth, face burning. There are three dancers in action right now, Carlos and two others that Kendall doesn't know. "This is wrong," Kendall announces. "Very wrong."
James orders, "Relax. Have fun. Enjoy yourself."
That's hard. Kendall can barely concentrate on the dancers, too occupied with judging the patrons. He doesn't like being unable to tell who to trust, who is just a normal Joe, looking for a good time, and who is a city minder, a spy looking for someone to hang on the business end of a noose.
"Relax," James repeats, a hand on Kendall's thigh, and that isn't helping anything. Around them, beneath the music, there is a rustle of clothes, the slap of skin. There are men, hands on their dicks, and this is the epitome of what Kendall's been told is wrong since he first came to Verona. He tries to reign in his nerves, tries to keep them from clanging-jangling-ringing discordantly inside of him, but he doesn't know how.
"Yeah. Um. That guy kind of looks like you," Kendall jokes, pointing to one of the dancers, but it's only after the words fall from his lips that he realizes it's not actually a joke. Beneath the fedora and the pageboy wig and the silly clothes that don't fit quite right, the sultry-eyed man on stage really does bear a remarkable resemblance to James.
Kendall watches his hips, awed. Even in a dress, the guy looks like a guy, like James, from the line of his jaw to the planes of his chest to the shape of his thighs where they peek from beneath his skirt. James takes a sip of his shine, a grin perched on his lips. The comparison is obviously making him preen.
Ass.
On stage, Carlos is killing it. He moves his body like it's boneless. Every jerk of his hips is obscene. Kendall tries to concentrate on that instead of the James-doppelganger, but it doesn't make him feel better. Kendall sinks further into his seat and moans. "This is so, so wrong. It's Carlos. In a wig."
"Pretend it's someone else," James replies easily, squeezing Kendall's thigh. His hand is a firebrand, marking Kendall through his jeans.
"Someone other than Carlos? In a wig? I don't think I can do that."
One of the other dancers is wearing less than Carlos and the other dude, down to women's underwear and close to taking that off. Kendall is mortified.
Especially at the end, when he bends over, and all they can see is ass. Despite himself, he asks, "Hey, where are his…?"
"Fashion tape," James says sagely. "Hurts like a bitch, but keeps it all up front. That's why they always end with a booty shot."
"I…yeah, I didn't need to know that." Kendall says, and he's considering asking how James knows that, only, Carlos spots them.
"Hey Desperado." Carlos hops of stage, wearing an ecstatic grin. He wends his hands around James's neck, seating himself fully in James's lap for all of two seconds before he grabs the glass of shine sitting forgotten on the table behind him. He downs it in one go, letting some of the clear liquid trickle down his chin, his throat, glistening across the planes of his chest.
"Carlos," Kendall warns, spotting a man who could be an inspector eyeing the way that James's hands rest snug against their friend's hips. It's a familiar kind of terror that pounds through his veins, makes his fingers twitch for his gun.
Carlos finds the mark in seconds, murmurs, "Relax, K-dawg. Just having some fun. Besides," he flicks James fondly in the ear. "This guy is asking for it. What's with all the leather, urban cowboy?"
"I look good."
"You look like you're into bondage."
"How do you know I'm not?"
Carlos's eyebrows knit together. Then he shrugs. "Touché." He wiggles around in James's lap, shoves a hand down his skirt.
"Please keep your clothes on," Kendall pleads.
Carlos looks insulted. "No offense, dude, but I'm not giving either of you a lap dance."
"That's the best news I've heard all day," Kendall replies. "What are you doing?"
"The tape they make us put on our junk is murder." Carlos eyes Kendall's glass of shine, and Kendall shoves it forward. "Thanks, man. Water of life."
"I don't know about that."
"Don't be such a sourpuss."
"Yeah, Kendall." James laughs, the sound lost under the pounding rhythm of the radio, Griffin's work invading their ears. "Don't be such a sourpuss."
That's hard for Kendall to do though. The man who might be an inspector is an inspector. He's at their table, looming. Suspiciously, he asks Carlos, "What are you doing?"
Carlos brightens, shifting in James's lap. "These are my roommates. We're going over our shopping list."
The man scowls. "Couldn't you do that on your own time?"
"Sure." Carlos shrugs, licks his bright red lips. "I'm taking fifteen."
The man doesn't exactly look pleased, but he backs off. Not far enough to make Kendall's heart calm down. He clutches at his chest, makes Carlos laugh. "Dude, stop freaking out."
"Easy for you to say."
Carlos grins. "I know. What we need here is some more liquor."
He orders up a round, and then another, and then a third, before he has to go back up on stage, shimmy his hips for other men, their desire a held breath, guilt and want tangled inexplicably together. And through it, James and Kendall drink, round after round, until they're stumbling to L'Amour past one in the morning, ordering up more shine from Lucy, who delivers with an amused quirk of her eyebrows. She lets James hit on her for a full minute before putting a stop to it, telling him to behave himself and not to get into too much trouble.
And trouble is a definite possibility here. The bar is filled with girls, pretty young things, bones and curves, thin lips and cupid's bows. Leggy and short, big breasted and small, skin like ivory and lush chocolate and honey. James imparts his wisdom like it's god given, all sage and full of shit. "The secret with girls is that you've got to be bold. Go big or go home."
"I'd like to go to Mercedes's now."
James makes this displeased noise that implies what Kendall has said physically pains him. "Come on, you can't ditch me for her again."
Kendall sighs, concedes. He's drunk enough that the day is a hazy memory, but he still recalls that Mercedes is his boss's daughter.
Maybe it's time to cool it.
Just a little.
Kendall's not going to like, cheat on her or anything. He's just going to make sure James doesn't get his pretty face smashed in. He's kind of an insane drunk. Which he proves, half an hour later.
In the midst of James's lesson on girls, he hits on the wrong one. She's a pretty little thing, blonde, with eyes like midwinter, like the snow back home in Minnesota. Kendall almost thinks that's why James chooses her. Unfortunately, her boyfriend is on them in seconds, up in James's face, causing a scene.
It's okay, Kendall thinks, because their guns are checked, James's sword hanging safely on a hook near the entry of the bar. It's okay, until it's not okay. Lucy decides to arbitrate, tells them "Get out before I use my big, shiny boots to kick you out," and then they're back on the street, with guns and sword and the boyfriend's knife.
James is baiting him, toying with him like it's his job. He says that the winter-girl is looking for a real man, that he can't help it if she's not satisfied with what she's got, and he ignores Kendall when he tries to say, "Dude, you're drunk, and you're angry and I don't think this is a good idea."
"Sure it is." James says, drawing his sword, and the guy's eyes get comically wide.
"What the fuck is that?"
"A sword," Kendall replies calmly, because calm is the only thing he can be right now. If he shows fear, they're done for. No one wins a fight with weakness, and he still wants to deescalate this situation.
"Does he know how to use it?"
Kendall glances at James, who is brandishing the weapon like it's a gun, arms braced, stance even. He admits, "I honestly have no idea."
The man flourishes his knife, holds it out to ward off James and his dumb weapon, and Kendall's hands are twitching over the handle of his gun, still holstered. The world shrinks down to Kendall, James, and the man. Kendall's senses sharpen; he can see the knife with dizzy clarity, and the moonlight shimmering across James's sword like it is a silvered lake, and every ragged rise and fall of their opponent's chest. He can feel the staleness of the air, the residual heat of the sun still steeped into the concrete, and each and every lump in the asphalt, unsteady under his feet. And he can smell; James, the moonshine, and sweat, bitter, like fear.
All Kendall can think of is how, when they first came to Verona, they swore to protect each other, no matter what. James drew the side of a blade across his hand and red welled to the surface of his flesh, immediate in its reaction. Kendall's blood was more sluggish, because James was gentler when he cut him, holding his eyes in his hypnotic gaze as the point of the sword pierced his skin. It was done, they were blood brothers, for life.
For life.
For life.
For life.
Kendall steps in front of the knife without thinking, protecting all of James's fleshy bits with his own. There is nothing he wouldn't do to protect him, even if this is all James's fault for being a drunken ass. He presses forward into the knife, feeling it nick his skin.
The girl shrieks, tells her boyfriend not to be stupid, tells him to stop before he ends up spending the night in jail, and that's all it would be really. If he killed Kendall, he would spend a night in jail and then maybe face exile, nothing more.
So many things are illegal in Verona, but murder is not one of them.
"Stop it," the girl begs with her solstice eyes, and Kendall can feel blood trickling down his throat. His heart is a beat, a rhythm, a pulse that he can feel, that he can taste. He is not afraid, not quite, pliant with liquor and more aware of James at his back, a steadying presence, than the cut on his skin.
It's just blood.
The man steps away, tells James to watch himself, calls him a son of a whore and the whole fight is about to start all over again, except James has this old ring, a thick silver band with a cross hatch of ridges. He rarely wears it, too small for his fingers, but it's always on him, strung on a chain around his neck or fiddled between his fingers. Kendall uses it to drag him away, the silver biting into James's throat.
He can feel the silver press against his palm. It's cold. Unnaturally so. Kendall refuses to let go of it until they're home, until James is kicking off his shoes, laughing to himself about the whole debacle. Kendall cups a hand around his cheek and the laughter catches there, sparkling in his eyes like stars.
"You have to be quiet." He warns, "Logan's sleeping."
James presses his fingers to Kendall's lips, his eyes turning hard and serious for a beat. He agrees, "Hush." Then he breaks into laughter again, raucous and uncontrollable. He snatches his hand back, licking up and down the length of his index finger like it's a popsicle. "You taste like moonshine."
He looks wild, shine reddened eyes and hair all elegantly disheveled. He also looks like sex.
Like maybe he's had it, or wants it, or plans on having it.
In the still of their bedroom, Logan snoring soft in the corner, James walks towards Kendall with purpose that makes his entire body go taut with longing. When James is like this, drunk and untamed, he glows. It's hard not to feel blessed with his attention focused solely on Kendall. "I knew you'd be okay, you know. With the knife."
"Oh yeah?" Kendall's breath hitches. He's unbuttoning his shirt, fingers stumbling over the holes, the thick buttons.
"Sure. Everyone loves you best," James says softly. He reaches out, touches Kendall's lips a second time, lighter, reverent. "You're everybody's golden boy. Even mine."
Kendall doesn't know how to answer, doesn't know how to keep breathing with James so close and intimate and sweet. He feels like he's perched on the edge of something, and he should think of something to say to put a stop to it, to keep whatever's happening from going forward. Words are not his friend right now, but James is, James is his friend and his brother and more, something more, something Kendall can't quite name.
Luckily, he doesn't have to. James trips back onto his bed, collapses into a heap of laughter that tapers off into the soft sound of his breath, deepening, turning to sleep. Kendall watches him for a long time, touches his mouth and wonders what, if anything, would have happened.
Kendall doesn't come home for a week after that night. He feels embarrassed, even though he didn't do anything wrong.
He hides beneath the covers of Mercedes's bed at night and heads straight to the studios when the break of dawn requires him to sneak out. It's going really well until Mercedes tells him, "It's been ten days straight. I'm getting sick of your face," and so Kendall traipses back home, mournful for it. His saving grace turns out to be a visit from Camille, who is sitting on the couch, talking to Logan and Carlos when Kendall walks in.
James is perched on the windowsill, strumming Kendall's guitar, which Kendall only really has a vague idea how to use. It was a gift from his dad, back when he had a dad. Even before the fall of mankind, the man was a bastard. Kendall's never been particularly motivated to learn how to use his dumb present.
James, by contrast, is well on his way to mastering the instrument. The song he's playing is pretty, but melancholic. He keeps playing through Kendall's entrance, pretends that nothing at all is amiss.
Camille makes room for Kendall the second he walks in, regardless of the glare James aims his way. She stretches her feet across Kendall's lap and says, "Long time, no see. How is the wicked bitch of the west?"
"Fine."
"She must be better than fine if you've been spending every night since June in her bed."
James misses a chord. It is jarring, hanging in the air for one long discordant moment before dissipating. Kendall says, "She's pretty great."
"You guys going to get hitched and have a little brood of your own?"
"As if," Kendall snorts. He's not interested in having kids, even if it is his God-given duty or whatever the CC would like. "We both like sex, alright? The only way anything else will be happening is at the end of a shotgun."
"Don't jinx yourself," James mutters darkly. Logan laughs. Carlos smirks.
"God, you're fucked up," Camille leans her head against the arm of the couch. "All of you, for thinking that's funny."
"It's true." James argues. "He should get out while he still can."
Kendall rolls his eyes. He fights the urge to say anything snarky.
"Don't know why you're mad," Logan tells James, smirking. He recites, "Do your civic duty. Repopulate. Kendall's just doing what the signs say. Often and repeatedly."
James makes a face. "Ick."
Hypocrite.
"You've done your own fair share of repopulating," Logan replies mildly, taking Kendall's side. "You don't leave any girls for the rest of us."
"You're all pigs," Camille interjects primly. Kendall can feel the muscles of her calves, gone tight and tense. He thinks maybe the subject should be changed. Immediately.
"Please." James hops of the windowsill and slings an arm around her shoulders. "Take me as your betrothed and save me from my womanizing ways."
"Hands off," Kendall instructs, trying to slip back into friend mode like it's an easy thing to do. He tells James, "I have dibs."
Camille rolls her eyes. "The only reason I'm not slicing off any of your valuables right now is because I know you're joking."
"Also, illegal," Carlos adds, wincing and crossing his legs protectively.
Camille just smiles, all sweet and wicked at the same time. "Like that's ever stopped me."
Logan's the only one who doesn't look amused. Probably because he's always looking for a reason to prove Camille wrong, ever since the day she dumped him on his ass. It really burns him that she outwits him at every turn.
Seriously he says, "It shouldn't bother you so much. Society's practically run by hormones. We're just doing what the government tells us to."
"We?" Camille cocks an eyebrow. Lightly she retorts, "Like any girl's given you the time of day since- forever."
Logan's cheeks redden. Carlos slaps him on the ass and laughs. Still, he plays the supportive friend. "You consort with just as many men as we do women. It's not like the reproduction laws aren't equal opportunity."
All the humor in Camille's eyes dies. She bites out, "There's nothing equal about public hangings for women caught having abortions, or the shame and humiliation that surrounds girls who miscarry, or wait too long to have a kid. There's nothing at all equal about being forced to care for a baby when you want to hold down a job, a life. No one expects anything at all from you."
Logan's frowning, itching for a fight, "But-"
"I'm free to sleep with whoever I want, sure. That doesn't mean I'm free." Camille gets up, shoving Kendall's legs off her lap. "Sometimes I can't believe you guys."
"Don't be like that. You're the future," Logan calls after her, purposely being a douchebag, quoting more CC propaganda posters.
He gets a shoe to the face for his trouble. Camille yells back, "Do I look like I want to be the future?"
She storms out of the apartment, all fire and brimstone and righteous anger. Carlos asks, "What did I say?"
Kendall squeezes his eyes shut. He knew this conversation was going to be trouble. He should have put a stop to it the second it started. "They just passed the new law, the one entitling the guard to prosecute women who are childless at twenty. Camille's only got…what, two more years?"
"Prosecute? Persecute, more like," James slaps his hand against the sound hole of the guitar. The strings twang under his fingers. "A kid will destroy her career."
"How- how do you even know that?" Logan splutters, because he's usually their current affairs guy.
"I'm in Gustavo's personal detail, and Griffin's on the board." Kendall shrugs fluidly. "I hear things."
"Well. Shit," Logan curses. "I fucked that up. I should go apolo-"
Something hits the side of the house with a thunk. Logan blanches. "Is she throwing knives?"
"I'd save the apology. Unless you want to play human dartboard. I'll talk to her," James volunteers.
Kendall frowns. "Maybe it's better if I do that."
James bristles. "Why?"
"I've never tried to get into her pants."
"I'm not interested in Camille like that." Kendall gives James a dubious look and he cocks his head to the side. "Anymore. Fine." James slumps into the seat Kendall vacated, crosses his arms and his ankles, scuffed boots on the coffee table. "Go."
Kendall does. The sun peeks out from behind the clouds, filters rays of light through holes and cracks and crevices to shine down on a few blessed locales. There is an aura of gold around the buildings he can see, tapering into the encroaching blue-gray. It looks like the city is on fire.
Kendall almost wishes it were.
He finds Camille sitting in the alley outside their crashpad, thumbing the edge of one of her knives. She looks terrifying, and strong, a maelstrom of rage and wanting and primal urges beneath her delicate exterior. Kendall settles down beside her, stares at the brick façade of the wall across from him. He says, "Logan's an ass. Carlos too." At Camille's look, he adds, "And James. …And me. Sorry. Want to go throw water balloons at Hawk's border patrol?"
Camille smirks. Then she schools her face. "I see what you're doing and I don't appreciate it. It doesn't make what you guys said okay."
"No. It really, really doesn't," Kendall agrees. "And you don't have to forgive us."
"What am I supposed to do?"
"You're supposed to do whatever you feel like doing. It's not my business," Kendall tells her. "You know what is? Water balloons."
"Don't treat me like I need to be handled."
"Hey, I'm not." Kendall holds up his hands. "I'm just worried about you."
Camille looks away. She doesn't want his pity or his concern, and Kendall gets that; he really does. Still. He can't just leave her out here, moping and miserable. He thinks about bringing up water balloons again, but obviously that isn't working. He decides not to press the subject. Fooling around isn't going to fix this.
He's not sure that anything can.
Finally, Camille begins, "I never dreamed about growing up and being a mom. I never wanted to get married."
"What did you want?"
"To train orcas. At Sea World. My dad had this old VHS of Free Willy, and a black and white TV and a generator…" she trails off. "I wonder if there are even any killer whales left out there."
"The ocean's a big place."
"It is. Then I wanted to be an actress, and then…Two years, Kendall. I've only got two years. Less than." She doesn't bury her head in her hands, but the lines of her body are tired, exhausted. She looks like she wants to cry, but she doesn't, won't in front of Kendall. Not ever. That's just not who Camille is.
Tentatively, he asks, "What are you going to do?"
"Evade them for as long as I can. I'll have to forge papers…do you think I can pass for sixteen?"
"I think you can pass for fourteen, when the time comes," Kendall says. "And I'll help. We all will."
"Logan?"
"Logan's a dick. He doesn't mean to be. You hurt him really badly, and pain makes people lash out."
Camille stiffens. "That doesn't excuse acting like an ignorant, petty jackass."
"No, it doesn't," Kendall agrees. "He'll figure that out eventually."
Hopefully.
"Doesn't mean I'll forgive him for it."
"No one's asking you to. I'm not going to apologize for them. Us. We're morons. Like I said before, you do whatever you need to make this okay."
"Nothing about this is okay. You take away a person's basic human rights and what exactly do they have left?"
The sunset is fading into night, darkness triumphing at last. Kendall takes a deep breath, confesses, "I don't know."
He's not good with this stuff, not great with trying to fight something he doesn't completely understand. Certainty in her voice, Camille says, "And you won't do anything about it."
What can he do? What is there that Kendall can possibly do to stop Verona or the world from crumbling? "You want me to?"
"I want to get the hell out of this city, before it burns. Because it will. One day, all of this will be ashes."
Kendall doesn't disagree.
Mostly because Camille's right.