Until The Levee
Chapter Two
"...police have yet to determine who is responsible for the vandalism on sixth avenue but have placed twenty-four hour surveillance in an effort to apprehend those responsible, leaving the avenue residents feeling more at ease..."
Broadway reads the words aloud but is hardly registering them. He dabs his middle finger against his tongue to turn the page. He's become so used to touch screens and tablets the past few years that reading from a newspaper feels almost archaic. When he takes the time to actually think about how rapidly technology had changed even in the two short decades since they woke from their spell it makes his head spin - he can only imagine what the world will look like two decades from now.
Lexington is probably more excited than anyone about future technology, he thinks to himself, smiling, only for it die along with the words in his mouth.
"Broadway?"
"Hm?" Broadway glances up and then jumps, shaking the paper in his hands. "Oh! Sorry. I was thinking."
"What about this time?" Hudson rocks in his chair with hands laced over his belly.
They're sitting across from each other in front of a fire Goliath built before leaving for patrol. Bronx lounges at Hudson's feet, asleep. The flames chase away the chill leaking through the castle walls, shadows dancing upon them.
There are few rooms left of the Wyvern castle that Xanatos has not renovated in some way; this one remains mostly in its original form, lacking even outlets for electricity. Broadway remembers it as Princess Katharine's bedroom - he remembers where her crib sat before it was exchanged for a bed much larger, how she used to lean out of the very window Hudson had his back to when she was still small enough to not be afraid of the gargoyles on the turrets above, how she'd watch them fly protective circles in the sky. And he remembers when her window shut with disdain, and how it never opened again.
Broadway finds himself staring at the space where the princess' large canopy bed used to sit, remembering how, when he was small, he wondered what sleeping in a bed must feel like.
He abruptly shakes his head and scans the newspaper to try and find where he left off.
"Nothing," he says, too quickly, clearing his throat.
"Lad, you know you can't lie to me. Can see right through ya." After a pause, Hudson laughs. "See right through ya, ha!"
A soft chuckle escapes Broadway's lips. "Is that going to be your thing now? Self deprecating humor?"
"Well, my thing used to be fighting humans, then robots and fae creatures and all sorts of things in between. But I'm not much use for that anymore, am I?" He says it very matter of factly, blind eyes blinking slowly at the fire. Orange flames reflect in one yellow sheathed eye, the other white. "Besides, if I can still make you laugh, then all's still well, ain't it lad?"
Broadway reaches out and wraps his hand around Hudson's wrist, the skin leathery and scarred.
"Don't think I forgot I asked you a question, now. I know my mind's not what it used to be but I know when you're trying to dodge me."
Withdrawing his hand, Broadway sighs, folding the newspaper neatly in his lap. "I know."
"What is it then? What's bothering you?"
He sucks his cheek between his teeth and chews, watching Hudson in thought. With Hudson, it is always a guessing game of what he will remember and what he won't; reading the paper to him can be a repeated exercise one day or something Hudson will listen to all the way through once and then mention a minute detail the next evening. On the one hand he risks Hudson repeating something to Goliath that might upset him, and on the other hand, Broadway lies to someone he loves - or worse, tricks Hudson into forgetting that he ever poised in the question in the first place.
None of them are particularly appealing options.
"It's cause you miss your work, eh?" Hudson drops one hand at the side of the chair, searching, and Bronx, one eye peeling open as if he can sense Hudson's movements, slowly cranes his head upward so the tips of Hudson's claws can drag along the top of his head.
Broadway blinks at the suggestion. He leans back in the chair and turns toward the fire, pupils blown orange, and tries to remember the last time he worked a case. Goliath asked him to come back to the castle to help with taking care of Hudson ... two months ago? Three? Had it been that long already? The memory is as vivid as yesterday and a hundred years ago all at once - Goliath holding his arms across chest like he was afraid to reveal it, shuffling in the doorway of Broadway's office, too big for it, too lost and alien even after twenty years in this world, afraid to admit the severity of Hudson's declining condition out loud, as if by refusing to do so would make it less of a reality.
Goliath did not say the words I think Hudson is dying then, and he still refuses to do so now, but they were written in his face. There was no time to really reflect on what it meant at the time, no time to be sad or ask questions. Broadway simply packed what he needed and he returned to the castle that very night with Goliath at his side.
Clan is always first, after all.
"Honestly, no," Broadway says, sighing again. "I mean, I liked my job. At first. But it was starting to … I don't know."
"Bore ya?"
He chuckled. "A little."
The last case he worked was one of infidelity. Again. Not the most exciting work and not the cases he preferred but by far the most popular. Another marriage broken because of his exposure of one partner's lies, more children traumatized by the inevitable divorce, and while Broadway knew it was just a job and that he wasn't the one doing anything wrong ... there was still a degree of guilt lingering inside of him after those cases, knowing that he played a role in turning even one child's entire world upside down.
It wasn't like it was in the beginning, over ten years ago, before Elisa … before. When Elisa was still on the force, and he'd just opened his own private investigating branch, the two of them partnered up together many times. They'd always made a great team, even more so after Elisa no longer had to worry about hiding Broadway or protecting his identity, and especially after Broadway trained at the police academy to polish his natural skills. Together they cracked down on organized crime, hunted weapon distributors in the city, waited in the shadows of known street alleys and caught dealers one by one. Those were the days Broadway loved what he did. It was almost exactly like the movies - heart in his ears, the thrill of the chase, one more bad guy locked up. He was every childhood dream realized.
But after … everything was different, after. Elisa was forced to retire. Broadway took on any case that came his way, even when the client couldn't pay the bill, just to absorb every moment of his time so there was nothing left for visits or catching up or feelings he refused to acknowledge. He shattered marriage vows, trailed after missing people, investigated home robberies that the police didn't have time for. He even went looking for lost dogs. From the moment he emerged from stone sleep until dawn thawed the edges of the world in the morning, Broadway worked.
Goliath's timing was impeccable, as it often was. The last infidelity case had just ended. The wife's ring still sat on his desk where she'd slammed it down before storming off with pictures of her husband with another woman clutched in her other hand. Broadway didn't know what to do with the ring, but didn't spare it another thought. He was about to bury himself in the next email requesting a consultation, eager to plunge right back into work, surrounded by a growing pile of shredded stone in a circle around his desk chair from falling asleep and waking in the same position night after night (funny how it had never occurred to him before that stone skin collected somewhere).
Work kept him busy. Work kept him from thinking about anything or anyone else. If he worked, he was being productive. He was helping people. He was doing something good. Private Investigator Broadway found people, discovered the truth, followed clues, dismantled notorious plans before they even had a chance to form. P.I. Broadway didn't hurt anyone except people who deserved it. He was determined to be that Broadway as long as he could, and no other version of himself. Especially the young, stupid version of him that he longed to purge from his memory.
Seeing the rest of his clan regularly, or visiting with Elisa ... they were experiences of a double edged sword; warmth and love and kindness from people he knew cared about him, and the constant reminder of who he'd been and what he'd done.
Work was easier. Work was simple. Work was helping.
It wasn't until after Broadway locked up his office and dove into the sky with Goliath that he realized how long it had been since he took the time to even enjoy a leisurely flight around Manhattan. He'd spent so long watching the world through the lens of his camera and collecting evidence and living his life on the ground that smelled of gasoline and exhaust and where humans made the messes he tried to clean up that he'd almost forgotten what the city looked like from above.
Up close it can get so ugly and warped but from far away, it's still beautiful.
Taking care of Hudson has become his new job. Feeding, dressing, grooming. Really, he's just as busy as he was before, except now he has time to do other things he likes; cooking, reading, spending time with his clan - most of them, anyway.
There are brief interludes. Lexington, mostly. When the smallest of their clan isn't doing his own job. DJ work. Broadway still can't believe what a niche Lexington found in the underground techno club scene. He's insanely popular, too, which keeps him busy, but Broadway knows that Lexington is also trying to work away his own guilt.
When they get together, though, they don't talk about guilt. They don't do much talking at all. What is there to talk about? Their splintered clan? Hudson's failing health? Goliath's stubborn denial? None of those are easy to talk about - but kissing is easy. Having Lexington to himself for a night every couple of weeks is like a salve on a burn: temporary.
It all comes rushing back as soon as he leaves and Broadway is left alone, again, to try and hold everything together.
"Then what is it?"
Hudson's voice draws Broadway back into the present. Turning away from the fire, Broadway fixes his gaze on Hudson, watches the shadows shift on the old man's weathered face.
"I'm worried about you, Hudson." The words make Broadway's chest and throat ache. He swallows hard and looks down at the paper folded smoothly in his lap, the words beginning to blur with tears, becoming formless and illegible like they were twenty years ago, when he didn't know how to read.
Maybe the world was easier to look at when he didn't understand.
"Ah," Hudson says, rocking back in the chair and staring knowingly at the ceiling. His hands fold over his belly again. "Aye. I'm worried, too." He takes a deep breath, hands rising on his stomach, falling again. "Not about me, no. I'm an old warrior. I've won all my battles. I'm ready, when the time comes. But Goliath." Hudson closes his eyes, a wince crossing his face.
Broadway is immediately on his feet, but Hudson lifts a hand that makes him pause.
"And the others." Hudson opens his eyes again - and they're damp. "I know Lexington is doing alright but I miss him, and who knows what Brooklyn is up to …"
Brooklyn's name rips through Broadway like a gunshot. He puts a hand over his mouth and stares hard at the fire, trying to name the emotions that rise up in his chest and throat when he blinks and sees a flash of Brooklyn's face on his eyelids, but he can't. It feels tender like a bruise and tastes like acid in his mouth.
"Trouble, no doubt, and, oh, I miss him too. I miss the clan we used to be." Hudson's hands clench into fists. "If I go and it's all still a mess, I'm worried Goliath will be all alone at the end of it and -" Hudson gasps for breath and shakes his head.
"Hudson." Broadway kneels at his elder's side and takes both of his leathery hands between his own. "I won't let that happen. I swear it."
Prying one hand free, Hudson searches for the side of Broadway's face and when he finds it he cups it gently, staring down at him but not seeing him. A wrinkled finger brushes one of Broadway's tears away.
"I want my family together again, lad," Hudson says, lower lip quivering. "Clan comes first. Clan always comes first. When did that stop being true?"
"It still is -"
"It ain't either!"
Hudson's raised voice startles Bronx, who lifts his head and stares between the two of them with a distinct frown and narrowed, concerned eyes.
"We're all split up." Hudson shakes his head and grabs a fistfull of shirt front over his heart. "Out there, doing your own things … human things. It isn't the gargoyle way, being apart. We stay together. We don't walk away. We don't abandon each other."
"I'll bring them home, Hudson," Broadway says, but Hudson isn't listening anymore - his head swivels back and forth with sudden vigor, his breathing rapid and labored as blind eyes spin in a wild search.
"D'ya hear that, lad? The vikings!"
Hudson dives for his hip and withdraws his sword with a silver sound and a catch of orange flame on the blade; Broadway is quick, wrapping his thick hand around Hudson's wrist again and pushing it aside.
"They're comin', we have to protect that castle - the eggs in the rookery -!"
"Hudson!"
Broadway's voice is loud and sharp and fills the entire room. It startles Hudson into stillness, his wrinkled face lost and frightened, and Broadway aches looking at him. Twisting the blade out of Hudson's grip, Broadway places it carefully on the floor and then takes Hudson's face in one hand, using the other to smooth white hair back along his scalp.
"I'm going to bring them home, okay? I promise. We'll be together again."
"Before I go?" Hudson says it gently, his earlier panic no longer touching his voice, and Broadway's instinct is to tell him that he's not going anywhere - but then he remembers Goliath in the kitchen, firmly rooted in his denial, how Broadway wanted to shake him and make him realize the truth so Broadway wasn't the only one looking at it alone. He realizes, then, that he's not alone - Hudson knows, Hudson has known longer than Broadway has, and his blind eyes see more than Broadway or Goliath ever will.
So Broadway nods. He says, "Yes, before you go," and Hudson sighs with relief and lets his head fall back against the chair.
Returning to his seat, Broadway falls into it, feeling heavy and worn and like he could sleep for another thousand years. He folds his arm and stares into the fire. There are too many thoughts in his head and he pretends that he is feeding each of them into the flames, all of them up in smoke.
"Lad?"
"Yes?"
"Could you read the paper to me?" Hudson shifts in the chair and reaches down for Bronx again. The beast inclines his head into the old man's touch. "Gotta make sure that the coppers are still fighting crime since I can't anymore," he chuckles.
There is only a beat of silence. "Sure," Broadway says, swiping the paper from the floor where it fell. He unfolds it carefully with sharp claws.
"Vandalism: Gang Activity?" Broadway reads for the second time, and his voice is only slightly choked.