Welcome to 2023! If you read my Christmas special you might remember me mentioning in the notes I was anticipating my next update to be Bloodline. I hope to god people don't actually read those notes because my predictions are wrong with hilarious consistency.
Chapter 22: Collateral Damage (ft. Damage Control)
Kurda woke up in a world of pain. He didn't remember going to bed, much less closing his coffin lid. For several minutes the darkness was soothing to his throbbing head. Until his stomach began to churn in the throes of nausea and the lid became yet another hurdle between himself and the nearest puke receptacle.
He flung the lid upwards with all his might. Thank the gods - the bucket was within reach. It was just a beaten-up wooden thing but to Kurda it gleamed like a beacon across the room. He staggered to it, collapsed to his knees, and retched til he was half-convinced he'd brought up at least one vital organ. And worst of all, he only felt maybe thirty percent better.
His warm coffin was calling him back, but he'd be damned if he let that bucket of puke fester in the corner. Fortunately there was an easy fix for that. He'd tiptoe into Mika's room to dump the contents down the water closet and be on his way. If you've been with us since the beginning you'll recall Kurda's room is technically Mika's storage cavern. It's not equipped with its own set of facilities.
Kurda slipped in and emptied the bucket as stealthily as a panther. On his way out he happened to glance at Mika's coffin.
Mika was there, of course. Would've been weird if he wasn't. But he wasn't alone. Arra was there next to him. Tucked into the crook of his arm, with her arm draped across his chest. Both fast asleep. Blissfully, obliviously asleep.
Kurda's stomach dropped in a way he couldn't blame on any amount of alcohol. This felt like the fall from an immense height. But he didn't have time to stand there unpacking the why.
The thing about Mika is that he never isn't on high alert. Even when he's asleep. The squeak of the water closet door hinges was all it took. Mika sat up like he was ready for a fight - but his posture relaxed when he identified the intruder.
"Kurda? Wha'thefuck're you doing in here?" He mumbled, blinking sleepily in a way that might've been endearing in any other situation. But spite temporarily overrode the pounding ache in Kurda's head.
"Really? You're asking me what I'm doing?!"
"This is my room, so yes. I am asking you that!"
"Apparently your room is a popular location tonight." Kurda hissed.
Mika let out a low groan, giving the distinct impression he'd been hoping Kurda would just ignore the fact that Arra was there. But their muttered exchange was enough to wake her up too. And she had the sheer nerve to look annoyed. She was glaring at Kurda as though he was causing her some sort of inconvenience.
"Smahlt?" Arra grunted. Even through the haze of sleepiness she still managed to nail Kurda with a glare twice as eviscerating as Mika's highest setting.
"Fancy meeting me here, right?" Kurda snapped back sarcastically. He ignored the burning in his throat as he turned his gaze back to Mika. "Gods, Mika. I knew you had a streak of stupid in you. But I thought you were smarter than this."
Mika's face twisted into a mask of befuddlement that was far less endearing. "Huh?!"
So he was feigning ignorance. It took everything in Kurda not to shout the words at the top of his lungs: "You hooked up with somebody while our child was asleep in the next room!"
What happened next was intriguing. Or it would've been, had Kurda been able to slow his racing thoughts enough to look beyond the surface.
Mika was highly skilled at keeping his emotions to himself. But every now and then he slips and his eyes betray everything. Kurda's accusation shattered Mika's cold defences like a baseball bat to a sheet of frozen glass. His steely eyes widened and the stubborn line of his mouth gave way to pure dismay.
"Charna's fucking guts, is that what you think happened?" Mika groaned, closing his eyes and running a hand through his hair.
"What the hell else could it possibly be?!" Kurda fired back. But his conviction was already faltering.
"I'm out of here. Have fun with this." Arra muttered to Mika, rolling her eyes as she got up. It belatedly occurred to Kurda that she'd been fully clothed under the blanket.
"See you later." Said Mika dully.
"Stand down, General. Nothing happened." Arra added, shooting Kurda a scathing glare over her shoulder as she slipped out of the room.
And then there were two.
"Mika, I -" Kurda didn't know where he was going with that. But Mika saved him the trouble of figuring it out.
"Every fucking time, Kurda. How do you still default to the worst possible conclusion? How do you still think that little of me after everything we've been through?" Mika cut him off in a harsh whisper. "I went to bed alone. I was almost asleep when Arra came stumbling into my coffin and kissed me. I didn't invite her. But to be fair, we've been hooking up for about half a century now."
Kurda felt an uncomfortable heat radiating from his core, scorching through his stomach, burning up his throat and setting his face on fire. "Figures. Always knew there was something between you." He retorted through gritted teeth.
"But I shut her down this time!" Mika continued. "She was wasted. So I let her sleep it off in my coffin. With the understanding she had to leave before Gracie woke up and asked questions. I didn't factor you into the equation."
Kurda closed his eyes and exhaled slowly through his nose. He'd known that all along. Not the specifics, but the hard fact of the matter that of course Mika and Arra hadn't actually had sex. Mika was too responsible, too conscientious. Of course the man who cut Gracie's pancakes into tiny little heart shapes would never dream of hosting a hookup while he was supposed to be looking after her.
And somehow that made Kurda feel worse. At least a late night rendezvous in the aftermath of a party would've made sense. But the sight of Arra nestled comfortably against Mika's chest? His arm curled protectively around her? Both fully clothed, sharing that space for no reason other than they wanted to? It stung for reasons Kurda was in no condition to unpack. All he could do was roll his eyes and let out a harsh laugh that tore his throat on the way out.
"Of course not. Why would you factor me into any equation?"
Mika slowly stood up from his coffin and wandered over to flop dejectedly into his desk chair, watching Kurda out of the corner of his eye all the while.
"I'm not playing this game, Kurda. You're an adult with critical thinking skills. I don't blame you for being angry over what you thought happened. I know what it looked like, and I would've made the same assumption if the tables were turned." Said Mika. He was speaking in diplomat mode now, but he was struggling. Almost as if he was just as shaken by this as Kurda was. "But now that I've provided context for the situation, there's no reason you should still be looking at me like that. I would never be that careless."
"I know you wouldn't, Mika. I didn't think it through. I made an assumption, and I was wrong. I'm sorry." The last of the fight evaporated from Kurda's body and he sank defeatedly to the floor with his back resting on the wall. The cool rock was soothing against his aching body. How was this his third atrociously bad hangover this year alone? This never used to happen. (He blamed Mika).
"Since when don't you think things through?" Mika challenged him. And it occurred to Kurda that Mika hadn't yet told him to get the fuck out, even though he would've been well within his rights to do so.
"Since I walked in on my least favourite person in bed with my second least favourite person." Kurda replied. He forced a thin smile, because Mika was still studying him with an intense sort of… Kurda didn't exactly know what it was. Confusion? Concern?
"…I'm second least, right?" Mika replied eventually. He spoke with complete seriousness, but Kurda knew him well enough to know the dry sarcasm was an offering of an unspoken truce.
"Of course." Kurda replied.
And with that, the truce was sealed.
"Good. For what it's worth, even though it wasn't what you thought, I'm still sorry." Said Mika.
The apology caught Kurda off-guard, but he didn't let on. He looked Mika in the eye and answered, "Since it wasn't what I thought, there's nothing to be sorry for."
Mika took a breath like he was about to speak, but paused in a way that made it painfully obvious he was rethinking the words in real time. When he finally spoke there was no way for Kurda to know if it was actually wanted to say, or if he'd changed track at the last second.
"Does it bother you that I've been with Arra?" Mika asked quietly.
Kurda's face began to burn all over again.
Yes.
"It's none of my business who you've been with."
"That wasn't the question, Kurda."
"I don't know what you want me to say!" Kurda snapped. The words came tearing out with far more vitriol than he planned, and he dialled it back and forced himself to match Mika's diplomacy. "You know exactly how I feel about Arra. If you're planning on making her a more permanent part of your life, and Gracie's life by association, then I'd want to have a serious discussion about that -"
"That isn't in my plans." Mika interjected. "I can't picture Arra being openly committed to anyone but Crepsley. And I can't picture me being openly committed to anyone." The last few words came out as a dark chuckle but his face was impossible to read. It occurred to Kurda that, logically speaking, he should feel reassured by that statement. But he didn't.
"Then I don't have an opinion, because then it's none of my business." Said Kurda.
Mika arched an eyebrow and dead-eyed Kurda with a level of skepticism that was palpable in the air between them. "Really? Your face looks like you've got at least one opinion rattling around in there somewhere. Am I wrong? Can you picture me with anyone?"
Kurda didn't know where this was going. But he was getting off the ride here and now. He angled his body to properly meet Mika's gaze and told him with steadfast conviction: "Of course not. You're impossible to get along with."
Maybe Mika already regretted opening that can of worms, because his eyes brightened as if he'd found some kind of twisted reassurance in Kurda's jab.
"Exactly."
They sat in silence for a moment more, letting the water flow under the bridge. Kurda felt a little lighter now. Mentally, at least. Physically he still felt like his body weighed a thousand pounds.
"So how much do you remember from last night?" Mika broke the silence.
"Almost nothing." Said Kurda grimly.
Mika arched an eyebrow. "You don't remember me putting you to bed?"
"You put me to bed?"
"It was more like wrestling a blind moose calf, but yeah. You don't remember any of that?"
"No. Why are you looking at me like that? Did I do something I should be regretting?"
Mika's lips twitched, but he held his poker face. "Nothing comes to mind. You're a belligerent drunk, but that's on me. I told you it was your turn to let loose. The one time you actually listened to me."
Not for the first time since he woke up, Kurda didn't feel any better.
"Oh gods, Mika… here I am grilling you when I was the one acting like a drunken idiot - and I don't even remember any of it."
"Mmhm. Ironic, isn't it?"
"Please tell me Gracie didn't witness me embarrassing myself."
"You're fine. I left her with Paris and Seba while I dealt with you. I went back for her once you were no longer a menace to the entire mountain. She was playing checkers with one of their old General friends. And she was winning."
Kurda smiled despite himself. "Ah. It's sweet when they let her win. I give those crusty old vampires a hard time, but some of them have good hearts."
"Oh, he wasn't letting her win. She was very much beating his ass."
Kurda chuckled at the mental image, but didn't respond. Even though he was sitting down, the walls around him still seemed to be spinning. He hunched forward with his head in his hands, forcing himself to breathe through the second wave of nausea.
"You should go back to bed." Mika suggested. Kurda nodded mutely, and Mika helped him to his feet. He set a due course for his coffin, but the sudden motion coupled with the onslaught of unwanted emotion gave him no choice but to detour back to Mika's water closet. It wasn't until he'd finally finished dry heaving that he realized Mika was kneeling beside him, dutifully holding his hair back.
"I'm never drinking again." Kurda choked out, curling up in a fetal position on the floor.
"I was about to suggest you practice more. But your idea is probably better." Said Mika.
Kurda kept his eyes closed. He wasn't relishing the trek back to his coffin. Suddenly there appeared a sudden warm weight all over his shivering body. Mika had draped a blanket around him, right there on the floor. Kurda didn't have the energy to summon a sarcastic remark. It was all he could to to croak out, "Thanks."
"Don't worry about it. Might as well stay close to the water closet til you feel better."
Kurda could hear Mika stoking the fireplace in the distance, and within minutes the drafty room began to heat up. It wasn't much longer before he heard the soft bubble of boiling water, accompanied by the aroma of fresh coffee intermingled with that of the cedar wood. Kurda felt a twinge of guilt.
"Mika, you don't have to do this for me."
Mika scoffed. "Believe it or not, my world doesn't revolve around you. This is what I do when I wake up. The only thing out of my ordinary is that you're lying on my floor like the world's saddest rug."
Kurda chuckled despite himself. It hurt. His body, not the joke. The joke was funny, because Mika said it in that I'm-being-dead-fucking-serious way nobody else could pull off. Kurda kept his eyes closed and pulled the blanket up to his nose, half-listening to Mika going about his business in the background. Eventually the footsteps came closer til they stopped by where Kurda was laying, then Kurda felt a firm but gentle prod against his ribcage.
"What?"
"Coffee's on the floor beside you."
"Oh. Thank you."
The steaming mug was worth the effort it took Kurda to unfurl from his warm cocoon and sit up. It tasted as good as it smelled. Mika knows his way around caffeine.
"No problem. Not much point going back to bed. Gracie will be up soon." Said Mika with a noncommittal shrug. Then to his surprise, he sat down on the floor a few feet away. They sat in silence for some time, slowly sipping from their mugs.
"Kurda?"
"Yes?"
"We're good, right?"
"We're good."
"That's a relief." Said Mika quietly. "Because completely unrelated to the Arra thing, I actually had a really bad night and all I've wanted to do was tell you about it."
There it was again. The molten lump blazing in Kurda's stomach. "Oh gods, what?"
Mika exhaled heavily as he stared up at the ceiling. He hesitated like the words were putting up a fight before croaking out,
"I yelled at Gracie."
Kurda frowned. The desolation in Mika's voice left him with more concerns than the words themselves. He said it like he was confessing to murder.
"Why?"
"I was sitting with Paris and Seba and a few others. Talking to some General. I took my eyes off her for five seconds…" Mika paused, and Kurda's heart sank. "…and when I looked back she'd picked up a mug of blood someone left sitting there."
Kurda's stomach turned over in a way that, not for the first time, had nothing to do with his hangover.
"No." He choked out, shaking his head. "Please don't tell me -"
"It's okay. It didn't happen." Mika cut in. He caught Kurda's eye meaningfully, as if making sure the reassurance hit home. But his expression was as grim as ever as he continued: "Only because I yelled at her to put it down. Like, really yelled. It happened so fast. I didn't have time to do anything else."
There it was. That was why he was overwhelmed with remorse. Not because he yelled. Because something terrible almost happened on his watch, and then he yelled. Kurda nodded in acknowledgement as he processed all of that. Gradually he felt the blood return to his face and limbs as his heart rate slowed back to a more comfortable pace.
"Good. I mean, not good. But you did the right thing, obviously." Kurda replied at last. "It could've turned out much worse."
Mika didn't say anything. He picked up his mug but didn't drink it. There was a strange detachment in his eyes as he say there staring at the object, like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with it.
Kurda sighed. "It ruined your whole night, didn't it?"
Those words seemed to cut through through the invisible fog between them.
"You should've seen the look on her face. She was so confused. And hurt. At first I didn't know what to say. I took her for a walk and eventually managed to explain she didn't do anything wrong, and sometimes in an emergency we need to shout to get someone's attention. I think she understood, but I… I don't fucking know, Kurda. It was awful. And I wished you were there. You're so much better at all that than I am." Mika finished at last.
"Then why didn't you come find me?"
"It was your night to have fun."
"I still would've -"
"This was after I put you to bed."
Kurda grimaced. "Fair enough. By the sounds of it, you handled it perfectly."
Mika's brow furrowed like he was fact-checking that statement in his head.
"You sure?" He murmured after a moment.
"Completely sure." Said Kurda honestly. "If it makes you feel better, I think you were more traumatized than she was."
Mika managed a weak laugh and rolled his eyes. "Oh, I already knew that. She was over it within the hour."
Kurda smiled in response, but inside he was already steeling himself. The absolute last time and place he wanted to broach this topic was sitting on the floor at 5:00, hungover, on three hours of sleep. He held Mika's gaze, readying himself to pull the trigger: We got lucky this time. But she can't stay here forever. We've always known that, and we need to talk about it before something worse happens.
The words died on his tongue and faded back into the shadowy recesses of his mind. He couldn't bring himself to open that door. Mika already looked troubled. And Kurda had to believe it was because he'd reached the same conclusion. The dreaded conversation had waited this long. It could wait a little longer.
"I love how soft you are for her. Have I ever told you that?" Kurda told him instead.
Mika stared back at him, visibly blindsided. "…Not in those words." He answered slowly, studying Kurda's face as if trying to decode a subliminal message that didn't exist.
"I mean it." Said Kurda.
That seemed to be enough persuasion for Mika to take Kurda at face value. He smiled ruefully, and even managed a weary chuckle.
"Thanks. I learned it from you."
The third and final night of the Festival of the Undead came and went uneventfully. As always the third night was set aside for quiet reflection rather than boisterous revelling. The Princes were all required to give speeches and whatnot so Kurda kept Gracie for most of it. And when it was all said and done, Council launched immediately into full swing.
Mika was grateful to be busy. Because as long as he was busy, he didn't have time to talk to Kurda. About anything. Not that he would've known where to start. Or if he should start.
Theoretically they were at peace.
Theoretically the Arra debacle was water under the bridge.
Theoretically there was no reason anything should feel different.
But in reality Mika had no way to know for sure Kurda didn't remember anything from the second night. And that uncertainty put Mika on edge. Even if Kurda remembered, no way he'd admit it. Mika wouldn't have admitted it if the tables were turned. The almost-kiss had happened so quickly. One second he was putting Kurda's drunk ass to bed while Kurda teased him without mercy. The next second they slipped - literally - and their lips were inches apart. Kurda was staring up at him like he knew exactly what he was doing. Mika's body hung there in limbo til his brain reset itself and he backtracked hard.
And the next second (at least that was how quickly it seemed to happen) all thoughts of Kurda had been eclipsed from his mind and he was sitting in a stairwell on the other side of the mountain holding his crying baby girl. After that moment of gut-wrenching panic where she almost took a sip of human blood.
It wasn't the blood itself that rocked Mika to the core. Well, it kind of was. He had no idea happens if a human drinks human blood. Maybe nothing. Maybe she would've gotten sick. Maybe very sick. Either way the whole situation was wrong, and that's what Mika was hung up on. Wrong that it came so close to happening. Wrong that she was at that table in the first place. And even though the acknowledgment made his heart ache, it was ultimately wrong that she was here. At all. In Vampire Mountain.
But if not here… then where?
Mika remedied all that convoluted uncertainty the only way he knew how: lock it up in the iron box at the back of his mind and go to work.
He didn't cross paths with Arra til they ended up in the same conference, almost a week after that second night. And he didn't have a single doubt in his mind she'd been avoiding him. It didn't bother him. She was almost as busy as he was. Her past few decades had seen a steady rise to stardom and she was now one of the most popular Generals in the clan.
She was the first one to arrive in the meeting room, aside from Mika. Show up early so they know you want to be there was one of the life lessons he'd had drilled into her head.
"General Sails." He greeted her as she took a seat across the table from him.
"Sire Ver Leth." She rolled her eyes as she purposely over-enunciated the title to give an air of mock pompousness. She knows she doesn't have to take him seriously when there are no witnesses. And she also knows he prefers it that way.
"Heard from Vanez you smoked Akimov on the bars the other night. Congratulations." Said Mika.
Arra arched one thin, dark eyebrow and shot him a sly smile. "What? Don't tell me you're surprised."
"I'm never surprised when it's you and the bars. Call me when you challenge her to a rematch on the axe range, though."
She scoffed and whipped her pencil across the table like a dart. He caught it effortlessly, laughing because he knew she'd been aiming at the wall beside him, not at him.
"I'm sorry I showed up in your room that night." She told him abruptly as the laughter subsided. "Force of habit."
"I know it is." Said Mika. "No need to be sorry. Everything alright with you?
"Of course. You know me."
Mika purposely held her gaze. "Yeah. I do. That's why I'm asking."
Arra let out a soft huff of frustration as if she'd been busted, and ran a battle-scarred hand through her dark shiny hair. It was longer than ever these days. Usually she kept it contained in a braid or two, so Mika hadn't really noticed til now.
"I don't know, Mika. Maybe it's because it was fifty years ago this year. Maybe I'm getting soft - and if that's the case, I need you to promise you'll kill me."
"Put it on my schedule and I'll see if I can get around to it." Mika deadpanned. That got a wry smirk out of her, but her grey eyes were still shadowy.
"I just… everything about this fucking mountain makes me think of him." She murmured, low and bitter. "Before I ended up in your room that night, I was having a really good time. I won a tournament and broke a record. All the Generals congratulated me, even the old bastards who used to tell me to go back to the kitchen. I felt like I was on top of the world. And then… I thought I saw him."
"Oh?"
She sighed again - a harsh, weary sound - and rested her elbows on the table, clutching her forehead in her palms. "It was so stupid. I was up on the bars and I saw red in the corner. His red. I'd know it anywhere. And for one fucking second, I thought… I thought he came here after all. But it was just Seba walking past."
Mika's heart sank at the self-loathing in her voice. He knew that feeling.
"It's an easy mistake to make." He told her. "Their cloaks are made of the same fabric." Then he cringed at his own words. Really, Sire Ver Leth? Over 200 years in politics and that's the best response you can come up with? Dumbass.
Once upon a time Mika really did believe Arra was the one for him. Then he saw her and Larten together, and accepted he was wrong. Larten and Arra were endgame in a way few vampires are lucky enough to find. Anyone with eyes could see that. And Mika was happy for them with every fibre of his being. (He was married to his dream job at that point anyway).
Then Larten cut her off. He cut everyone off. But he shattered Arra.
As a Prince, Mika would inevitably welcome Larten back to the clan with open arms if that night ever came. But as Arra's friend, former mentor, and emotionally invested part-time fuck buddy, he'd need to get Larten in the sporting halls and hash a few things out before considering him a pal again.
But he didn't know how to say that out loud. So instead he said,
"…I could ask Seba to wear a different colour?"
That was easily in the top five stupidest sequences of words he'd ever strung together but it made her snicker. He'd take that as a win.
The sound of approaching footsteps pulled their attention to the door for a moment. Arra visibly tensed because gods forbid someone accidentally walk in while she was being vulnerable. She's the only vampire Mika's ever met who's more emotionally closed off than he is. That part isn't his fault, though. She was like that when he got her. It was why they meshed so well.
But it was a false alarm. Just someone walking past. Arra relaxed a little.
"I swear I'd been doing well until I came back for Council." She spoke up after a pause. "And every time I come back here I always think it's going to be different. But it's not. It never is. And I just needed to think about something else for a while. So I ran to you."
"Well, I didn't think you were just interested in my company." Said Mika.
Arra let out a derisive scoff and punched him in the shoulder. It hurt; she never held back. That was Mika's favourite thing about her.
"It's not like that!" She snapped. "I don't compare you to him. You and I are our own thing."
"Yeah, I know." Mika told her seriously. "He's the one you think about when you're sad. And I'm the one you fuck when you're sad."
Her eyes narrowed and she drew breath to retort, but just then the door opened to admit Paris Skyle. A couple of older Generals filed in behind him and took their seats.
"Sire Ver Leth. General Sails. Both as punctual as ever." Paris greeted them with an oblivious smile.
"Sire Skyle. Good to see you." Arra replied. She spoke with ironclad professionalism and shifted to addressing Mika in the same manner as the room filled up.
Their friendship was no secret but her career could suffer if anyone misinterpreted it as preferential treatment. And even though almost everybody in this clan is smart enough to recognize that Arra could mop the floor with them, there are still some men in this world who don't want to see a woman succeed. And gods forbid those men get their filthy hands on a shred of ammunition they can twist out of context to use against her.
Mika is one of the four most powerful men in the world. The world beyond the vampire clan may not know it, but it's true. And the thing about power is that once you attain a certain amount, it just isn't about you anymore. Every decision you make has a ripple effect. And those ripples can leave collateral damage in their wake.
Arra purposefully distanced herself from Mika when his investiture nomination was announced. She never came right out and told him that was the reason. But he knew. And he didn't blame her. That was a long time ago. She was a senior General now. Indisputably one of the best. It was almost certain nobody would bat an eye if Arra or Mika addressed each other casually in an official meeting. But she was too ambitious to chance it. And Mika respected the hell out of that.
The meeting was uneventful. A few of the Generals were late. Mika punished them by grilling them in front of their peers for exactly thirty seconds upon their arrival. Then he moved on and got started. The items up for discussion were pertaining to breakaway cub groups. The twenty-first century was closing in fast. This new world was an entirely different landscape from the one the current Princes and Generals grew up in. And out of everyone in the clan, the cubs would be more exposed to it than anyone else.
The discussions were mostly concerning what kind of rules and regulations - if any - should be put in place for current and future cubs. How those rules would be enforced. How infractions would be managed.
It lasted almost three hours. But Mika wasn't counting. Being pragmatic and proactive were two of his favourite hobbies. And as the youngest current Prince he needed to be on top of this. (Arrow really should've attended this one instead of Paris, but he had a scheduling conflict with another meeting he found more appealing than this one).
Everyone was hungry and tired by the time things wrapped up, but it had been a productive session. Mika was both intrigued and apprehensive over how quickly the world was changing and what that could potentially mean for the clan. But now he felt that much more prepared for it, and to be prepared was to be marginally less anxious.
He was more than ready to go pick up his baby girl and enjoy a good meal. He stood up from the table, yawned, and stretched. He arched his body to the right side - crack. He didn't know if it was supposed to make that sound, but it felt good. He repeated it to the left side. Took a little more effort to get the same crack, but he managed at last.
Arra had waited for him, even if only to roll her eyes as he exhaled in satisfaction.
"Food, then bars?" She asked.
"For sure. I'm gonna have Gracie with me so I can't stay all night but I'll come for a bit."
"Mika, wait a moment if you don't mind. I need a word." Paris called as Mika headed for the door.
"Meet me whenever." Said Arra. Mika nodded and she slipped out the door. Mika settled back into his chair, shifting the angle so he could see Paris face-to-face.
"I'm all yours. For ten minutes at the most, then I have to go get Gracie. Kurda has to go to a tunnel thing. Or maybe a hypothetical clan unity thing. I forget."
"You? Forget a scheduling detail that doesn't even have anything to do with you? You must need a break." Paris chuckled.
"Next Festival's only eleven years, eleven months, and three weeks away. I'll take a break then." Said Mika.
Paris chuckled again, but there was something in his eyes that told Mika this wasn't just going to be small talk he'd been expecting.
"Don't be alarmed. Nothing is wrong." Said Paris.
"I wasn't-"
"Please, Mika. You know I can see right through you. Which means I can see your razor-sharp mind leaping straight to the worst possible conclusion before I even open my mouth."
"I like to be prepared. But by all means, keep me in suspense."
"Sadism has never been my style. I'll get right to it. You're now in your 70th year of serving the clan as a Prince. You earned your title at a far younger age than any that came before you and it's been my honour to watch you rise to the challenge."
Mika raised an eyebrow but allowed himself a brittle smile. "Ah. So this is a performance review. When can I schedule yours?"
"I'm free next Tuesday." Said Paris. He smirked before turning serious again. "But no, this isn't that. I've been giving careful thought to my collection of responsibilities. And there's one in particular I'd like you to inherit."
Mika's stomach dropped immediately and he opened his mouth to object. But Paris rolled his eyes and raised a hand, silencing Mika before he even got started. "Oh, don't be so dramatic. I'm not dying yet. I simply want to remove a few things from my plate. After all, you're the one who tells me I shouldn't be making long journeys at my age."
Mika relaxed and he shot Paris a wry grin."Fine. I guess I can do my job and yours at the same time. What have you got for me?"
"I have been contemplating this for a long time now, but tonight's meeting about our changing world has reaffirmed my certainty I am making the correct decision."
"You usually do." Said Mika.
Paris was still smiling, but there was a strain to it that hadn't been there before.
"The Sentinel Collective is scheduled to meet with a vampire clan representative in three months' time. As you already know, that representative has been Chok Yamada ever since the Collective was founded in 1956." Paris began, speaking in a pointedly measured cadence. And Mika knew right then he'd let his guard down too soon.
"I guess Chok won't be able to make it this time around." Mika remarked. "So you want me to help you prepare? Is that what you're getting at?"
Paris sighed. For a moment he almost looked his age. "Listen, Mika… you know as well as I do that the original regulations we agreed upon in 1956 make it very clear that when a representing Prince passes away, the role will automatically go to whoever has the most most seniority."
"Yeah. I was there. Voted on it, signed it and everything. I thought that seemed like a reasonable way to go about it."
The Sentinel Collective was a small human organization that operated discreetly within the World Security Council ever since the end of the Second World War. Their role was analysis and management of potentially supernatural threats against humanity. They knew enough about the clan to recognize evidence of vampire involvement, and had the means to access all the information in the global database and extract very specific bits and pieces. They compiled that into a series of reports which they shared with a designated Prince every ten years, who reported all of it back to his colleagues and the Generals.
And it was the one and only high-level executive duty Mika wanted nothing to do with.
"I too, felt it was a logical protocol." Paris murmured. "…At the time. But I fear the world has changed too much for what was logical back then."
Every hair on Mika's body stood on end as goosebumps peppered his arms but he took a deep breath. Poker face or whatever.
"Enough dancing around." He told Paris tersely. "Get to the point."
"Sure, I could attend the meeting and carry out my duty. And maybe if I'm lucky - or unlucky - I'll be around for next decade's meeting." Paris continued. "And then I will be gone and the responsibility will change hands once more -"
"Why are you complaining? You show up for a few meetings, and when you're finished here it'll become Vancha's problem."
"You know damn well Vancha doesn't want it. Never has. He's the only one of us who voted against it in 1956. He'll do it if his duty demands him to -"
"Good, because it does."
"Mika. You and I both know it should be you. And before you snap back at me, I've already discussed this with both Vancha and Arrow and they were in overwhelming agreement. You are built for this! You yourself once represented the clan in our first official negotiation with the human government-"
"First and last." Mika cut him off, unable to keep the vicious sharpness his tone. When he closed his eyes he could still see those sickly inauthentic grins leering back at him from across the table in that lavish hotel. And the ugly symbols they wore on their uniforms.
Paris's face fell. He looked concerned. Paternal, even. His hand drifted out and settled on Mika's tense forearm.
"It won't be like that time. I know how heavily that memory weighs on you. If we'd known then what we know now, we never would've put any of our own in that position." Said Paris quietly. "But they knew more about us than we did about them. They had a dangerous advantage. And I firmly believe they would have gone to war against us if you hadn't handled the situation as carefully as you did. Will you hear me out?"
Mika didn't relax, but he did force himself to nod.
"The Sentinel Collective is important. It allows us to manage our own, rather than risk further exposure. It minimizes fallout from wayward vampires and keeps those wayward vampires from ending up in the human legal system, and the ensuing questions that would be raised once the humans detected something… supernatural." Paris explained.
It took everything in Mika not to snap back. And the only reason he was able to reply calmly was that he could see how important this was to Paris.
"I know how it works! I've been listening to Chok's debriefs for the past seven decades. I thought I made it fairly obvious I had no interest in taking this on. Ever."
"Yes, I gathered that." Paris snorted, sounding momentarily amused. "You've always been a compulsive overachiever. It wasn't lost on me that this was the only official duty you've never once tried to involve yourself in."
"So that's it? I spend my entire life running my body and mind into the ground for this clan - for you - just to be told I don't get a choice about the one thing I've said no to? In what universe is that fucking fair?"
Even though he was sitting upright and speaking in a even, professional manner, Mika was acutely aware this was as close as he'd ever come to throwing a literal temper tantrum. Even though the only evidence of his inner turmoil was the slight crack in his voice as he said the one thing.
Paris moved his hand from Mika's arm to his shoulder. And they sat there in silence. The only motion in the entire room was Paris' thumb gently moving back and forth. Mika could feel the cautious attempt at reassurance even through the thick leather jacket he was wearing. And it occurred to him that if his human father expressed even a fraction of the care and attentiveness that Paris did… well, Mika would've been dead for at least two hundred years by now. Because it never would've occurred to him to leave his home in the first place.
"I understand your hesitation, Mika. Really. I do. You are so, so deliberate in everything you do and say." Paris ventured after a while. His bright azure eyes locked into Mika's, almost plaintively. "This is why it must be you. Vancha and Arrow are magnificent Princes in their own right. But they lack your cool head and ability to appear neutral - even when you feel otherwise."
Mika held Paris's gaze for a moment before withdrawing from the point of physical contact and retreating into himself. Hunched over, elbows on the table, face in his hands, fingertips pressed into his scalp. There, he exhaled a long, weary breath that came from the deepest part of his lungs.
"I feel otherwise right now, Paris. I feel really fucking otherwise about this."
Kurda heard Arrow approach (there was no mistaking that rhythmic lumbering) but he didn't look up from the document he was editing in his cozy corner of the Hall of Khledon Lurt. Cyrus was sitting across from him doing the same thing. Kurda was going to be running a meeting about fifteen minutes from now. And even though Cyrus had long since graduated from the role of apprentice, he was reprising it once more this evening.
If the footsteps hadn't made it obvious, Kurda could've deducted it was Arrow by the way Cyrus let out a soft huff of disdain. At least Gracie rolled out the welcome wagon. She stood up on the bench and hopped up and down at the sight of Arrow approaching. Kurda braced himself for the oncoming assault to his eardrums.
"Uckle A!" Gracie hollered.
"What's going on tonight, Boss Lady?!" Arrow boomed back.
Kurda winced at the noise and massaged his temples as Arrow commenced his nightly ritual of picking Gracie up and tossing her in the air while she laughed hysterically.
"Good to see you too, Sire Arrow." Said Kurda.
"Smahlt. Karim. Good evening." Arrow replied, wholly unbothered by Kurda's halfhearted passive-aggression. Probably hadn't even noticed. "Mika asked me to come pick her up from you. Paris needed him for something. I just finished my last meeting of the night."
He started walking away with Gracie draped over his shoulder. Kurda rolled his eyes and called him back. "Where are you going? She wasn't finished eating her supper. And she'll need her sweater and shoes."
"Right. Sorry." Arrow doubled back and plunked himself down on the bench, a few feet away from Kurda.
Truth be told, Kurda didn't actually mind. His next meeting started in fifteen minutes and until that point he'd been multitasking: swapping back and forth between his editing and trying to convince Gracie to finish her food. But Uncle Arrow sped things along by making a game of it. He'd pick up a bit of Gracie's food and make like he was about to pop it into his mouth with great enthusiasm. Her competitive instinct (prey drive?) would kick in and she'd snatch it back and eat it herself. Kurda's well familiar with that strategy - he just didn't have time for games tonight.
Cyrus's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as he glanced at Arrow, then he shot Kurda a funny look. Kurda kept his face neutral. Cyrus began his stint as Kurda's apprentice around the same time Arrow's investiture nomination was passed. So Cyrus knew exactly how Kurda felt about Arrow's public so-called comeback. No wonder he felt the math here didn't add up.
Cyrus held his tongue til they got out of the Hall of Khledon Lurt, and Kurda was surprised he managed that long.
"So you really are thick as thieves with them now, aren't you?" He asked pointedly, one dark eyebrow raised as he regarded Kurda out of shrewd, beady eyes.
"Say what you mean, Cyrus."
"Fine. Professionalism is one thing. But since when are you this friendly with the Princes? And since when have they so much as given you the time of night?"
Kurda let out a dry, humourless chuckle. This was exactly what he thought it was going to be.
"For the first time, I have something in common with them. That's all. My beliefs haven't changed. Let's just say I've achieved a certain level of compartmentalization where Arrow is concerned."
"Explain Ver Leth, then. You used to think he was just as bad or worse!" Cyrus challenged him. "Don't you remember saying, 'I don't know who's worse, the a rock-brained brute with the critical thinking skills of a snail? Or the self-serving, power hungry, egomaniac who thinks he's the gods gift to earth?'"
"I think you might be paraphrasing a little." Kurda replied lightly. While knowing full well he did say that at least once over the years. And meant it.
Predictably, Cyrus scoffed at him. "Tell yourself whatever you have to. And don't get me wrong, I think it's incredible how you've taken care of the human. I just never took you for a sellout."
The word hit Kurda like a gut punch.
"Sellout? Cyrus, do you even know me?!" Kurda shot back as they continued to walk down the corridor. Suddenly the fires of blazing, defiant, indignation were lapping at him from the inside. "I stand by much of what I've said about Mika over the years. Yes, he does have an ego complex the size of the damn moon. Yet somehow not a shred of self-esteem to go with that. But he's not power hungry. Although he'd rather you believe that than know the truth - which is that he thinks the world will literally crumble beneath his feet if he stops working for a single night -"
Kurda knew he sounded ridiculous. Cyrus was staring back at him like he had three heads. But he couldn't stop the words bubbling from his lips.
"-And as difficult as he can be, I can tell you for a fact he's harsher on himself than he is on anyone else. I've witnessed it firsthand. I can also tell you he'd pick up and move this entire mountain with his bare hands if Gracie needed him to. And until I know what the rest of my daughter's life is going to look like, that is the most important thing to me. I am not a sellout."
Cyrus stopped walking and regarded Kurda critically for several beats of silence, his mahogany eyes glinting as he seemed to search Kurda's face. Search for what, Kurda didn't know.
"So he's a workaholic who's capable of being kind to an innocent child. That doesn't make him some kind of hero." Cyrus said bluntly after a moment.
Kurda threw his hands in the air out of frustration. "I know that, Cyrus! I never said he was a shining example of an upstanding citizen!"
"Then why do you talk about him like that?" Cyrus pushed back. "Hell, why do you look at him they way you do?"
Kurda's body tensed but didn't allow himself to waver. He held Cyrus's critical gaze.
"How do I look at him?"
Cyrus already looked like he regretted going there. He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "When you were playing chess with him on the first night of the Festival, it just… it seemed like you… I don't know how to explain it." He muttered his way into silence.
Then it hit Kurda like a bolt of lightning. The déjà-vu. Kurda had witnessed this exact conversation play out between Mika and Arra in the Hall of Perta Vin-Grahl. Like Arra was for Mika, Cyrus had once been Kurda's greatest confidant. Like Arra and Mika, Cyrus and Kurda's lives pulled them in separate directions. And like Arra, Cyrus eventually came back to find his beloved friend in an entirely new life that just didn't make sense. And Kurda couldn't hold that against him. How many times had Cyrus been his listening ear when he needed to vent his frustrations? And how many frustrations had been directly related to Mika specifically? Countless.
So Kurda lowered his guard. Forced a smile and squeezed Cyrus's shoulder. And he borrowed the exact words Mika said to Arra:
""I love Gracie more than I've ever loved anything. Mika's the only one who gets it, because he's in it with me." Kurda told him. "But don't you worry. Just because there's more to him than I realized, doesn't mean he's any less the arrogant prick I've always known he was."
Cyrus rolled his eyes but shot him a wry grin in return.
"Thank the gods for that"
The issue was put to rest. Cyrus seemed appeased by Kurda's affirmation. They arrived at the meeting room and got straight to business.
Kurda's mind kept wandering back to the second night of the Festival. He hadn't been lying when he said he couldn't remember what happened. All he knew for sure was that he'd almost gotten in a fight from which Mika had rescued him - and subsequently gotten him safely to bed.
So it didn't mean anything that Kurda's foggy, incomplete highlight reel kept looping back to Mika's face - far closer to Kurda's than what either of them would've considered normal.
Mika had said it himself; drunk Kurda has the physical coordination of a blind moose calf. He'd probably tripped and taken Mika down with him. It didn't mean anything. They hadn't kissed. They hadn't even almost kissed.
Sure, they were raising a baby that shared both their last names. Sure, things had changed. And sure, Kurda was mature enough to admit (silently, to himself) that Mika was objectively, conventionally, and unfortunately attractive. So what?
When it all came down to it, Kurda would always be Kurda. Mika would always be Mika.
And there wasn't enough liquor on this earth to go there.
Three nights later Paris summoned the Generals to the Hall of Princes to announce his decision to pass on working with the Sentinel Collective.
Mika wanted to want this. He was trying to want this. The cold, analytical side of his brain - the dominant side - knew Paris was right. Mika was by far the best candidate for the job. And he knew it was both futile and unfair to compare this to the last time he sat down at a table with humans who knew more about him than he did about them. It was like comparing apples and oranges. Hell, more like apples and codfish. It wasn't the same thing. Not even close.
Kurda was there in the crowd of Generals — they'd left Gracie with Seba. Arra was there too. Over the past couple decades Mika had noted a distinct shift in the average age demographic among the Generals. Back when he was rising through the ranks, the vast majority of them were far older than he was now. Mika was just hitting his prime at almost 260. But over half of the crowd peering back at him tonight hadn't even cracked their second century.
There were mixed opinions among the Generals about the Collective. That wasn't new, and didn't seem overtly correlated to age. Most of the Generals agreed the pros outweighed the cons - the Collective enhanced their ability to monitor their brethren. Others felt it was a liability; that even a limited amount of contact with humanity could put the clan at risk. And they were all right.
So when Paris commenced his opening address to the small group who'd gathered, Mika played his part the only way he knew how. Flawlessly. He nodded along and delivered additional comments when Paris paused. And he could tell when Paris was getting ready to wrap it up by the way he shot Mika a sideways glance and smiled encouragingly.
"…So keeping all of that in mind, I am officially announcing our collective decision to dissolve the seniority policy that decides which Prince will represent us among the Sentinel Collective. In the wake of the great Sire Yamada's passing, the responsibilities that would have fallen to myself… will be given instead to Sire Ver Leth."
Paris paused to allow a murmur of chatter to ripple through the room before he started to speak again:
"Regardless of our individual opinions, there is no point denying the world is changing at a faster pace than ever before. Gods know Mika's open mind and modern manner of thinking will equip him to execute these duties better than I ever could."
Paris beamed as he said it, like it was a promotion or an accomplishment. Mika arranged his face into a polite smile and nodded reflexively as the Generals delivered an obligatory round of applause.
"Thank you, Paris. As always I'm honoured by your faith in me. I will do everything I can to maintain the mutually beneficial working relationship that's been established." Said Mika as the room quieted. "Does anyone have any questions? Yes, Barclay?"
"Sires, I say this with all due respect. It's well known that you yourselves have never felt… erm… enthusiastic about sending representatives to meet with the Collective." Tor Barclay spoke up from a middle row.
Congratulations on your basic observational skills, Mika thought.
"In a perfect world, humans would be completely oblivious to our existence." He told Barclay. "But we all know the world is far from perfect. We should count ourselves fortunate so few of them know the truth. Not a single Prince has ever gone on record stating they like being involved with the Collective, and that's not going to change with me."
"Would you consider using this as an opportunity to back away from the Collective altogether?" Barclay pressed. "Couldn't someone just tell them nobody was willing to fill Chok's role after his passing?"
"Do you think that wasn't the first thing I thought of?" Mika retorted, his smooth diplomacy slipping for a moment.
Paris reached over and swatted him in the shoulder, then picked up seamlessly where Mika left off: "The Collective won't go away if we cut them off. They have more than just rumours and myths about us. They have records. Evidence. They even names of vampires who've gotten too comfortable in the human world. So as long as we hear them out once a decade and assure them we've got everything under control, they keep our secret because they know it's safer for both sides that way."
Barclay nodded in reluctant agreement as Paris said his piece. It was almost over. Mika silently prayed they were all hungry and ready to get out of here when he heard a familiar voice chime in from the front row.
As always Kurda sounded like he'd gotten the exact right amount of sleep, enjoyed three square meals, and probably even taken a drink of water somewhere in there. Mika couldn't relate to any of that.
"If I may offer a different perspective," Kurda spoke up earnestly, "I see our ongoing involvement with the Collective as an excellent opportunity for a safer transition into the future -"
"Of course you do."
The scathing words were out of Mika's mouth before he could bite his tongue. And it wasn't so much the words themselves — it was how he said them.
For just one second it was years ago and he was facing off yet again against the same Kurda with whom he'd traded jabs back and forth across countless meeting tables over the decades. The same Kurda who seemingly went out of his way to challenge Mika at every turn as if that his sole purpose in life was to make Mika second-guess every decision he'd ever made.
For that one second Mika lost sight of the Kurda who, at the end of these long, exhausting nights, went home to the same baby girl that Mika did. The same Kurda who tucked her in, kissed her goodnight, and went to sleep on the other side of the door with one ear open in case she had a bad dream.
And all it took was that one second for that Kurda and this Kurda became one in the same. And Mika couldn't take it back. All he could do was watch this Kurda's blue eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.
"Right." Kurda replied coolly. "I was just going to say we should embrace a line of communication with the human world that already exists in a capacity over which we have a certain amount of control. So we might as well give serious thought to how we can make the most of it. Whether the rest of you want to admit it or not, the world is changing and it's going to get harder and harder to keep our collective secrets from a population of billions. And yes, there are literal billions of them to several thousand of us. If you haven't already done the math, that's a dangerous ratio with the wrong management." He paused, then looked Mika dead in the eye and added, "Don't worry, I'm done talking now."
People underestimate Kurda because his breezy, warm-hearted demeanour can be interpreted as naivety or weakness. Not a fucking chance. Kurda can play the game as well as anyone. If he was hurt by Mika's retort - and he was, it was so obvious - he didn't let on. He carried right on without dropping his composure.
A couple other Generals had minor questions. They were largely fielded by Mika with some input from Paris and Arrow here and there. And then it was over. The Generals dispersed and Kurda was gone before Mika had a chance to say anything. Not like Mika knew what to say anyway.
Paris had a few other things to discuss with Mika and Arrow, so it was another hour still before Mika finally got to leave the Hall of Princes and pick Gracie up from Seba. Only to find out Kurda had already done that, and had taken advantage of a rare day of mildish mountain weather to bring her outside for some fresh air.
Mika knew for a fact Kurda didn't want him there. If he had, he would've told Mika where he was going. So Mika told himself he wouldn't follow.
Mika tells himself a lot of things.
It wasn't hard to find them. There's a spot near the south access tunnel that's sheltered by rock and peppered with evergreen trees that provide enough shade to keep a fully-blooded vampire from sizzling. They brought Gracie out there for fresh air and sunshine as often as the harsh climate would allow - always wishing it was more.
The sun was rising; painting the sky pink and orange as it crept up over the other side of the mountain. They had lots of time. Kurda surely detected Mika approaching before Gracie did, but she was the first to greet him. She stopped what she was doing (building a snowman) and sprinted into his arms. Or at least she tried. She got caught in a deep drift and wiped out. Face first but laughing as Mika rushed over and picked her up. Her thick fur cloak kept her well-insulated, as did the bearskin snowsuit the mountain tailors had made for her earlier that year.
"Daddy! Look at my 'no-man!"
"Now that's quality architecture." Said Mika as he inspected the shapeless mound of snow with rocks for eyes. "Do you want a job? One of our foremen just retired."
Gracie let out a loud peal of laughter because her vocabulary wasn't sophisticated enough to say, "Me? Grace Arra Smahlt-Ver Leth? Partake in manual labour? Marvellous joke, Father Dear. Please do tell another."
For a moment, Mika forgot everything else. He kissed the snow-dusted top of her head as she snuggled into his chest. From time to time it just snuck up on him all over again; the realization it was possible to love something this much. Astonishing, sobering, beautiful, and terrifying all at once.
Kurda wandered over to where Mika was standing with Gracie. He'd been over by a tree, gathering sticks that were presumably intended to serve as limbs for the snowman.
"I found you." Mika greeted him.
"I wasn't hiding." Kurda replied. He didn't sound hostile. He didn't even sound bitter. He sounded overtly polite. Pointedly diplomatic. And somehow that was worse. Mika would recognize that tone anywhere. After all, he'd invented it.
"Kurda, I'm -"
But Kurda was already shaking his head because he already knew what Mika was going to say because of course he did. Mika fell silent.
KS: Not in front of her. Remember, she understands things now.
Mika nodded mutely and changed trajectory.
"…I'm glad you found time for an outing. It's a beautiful day for it." He said instead.
"Sunshine helps us grow big and strong." Kurda's voice was honey-sweet and melodious again; he was talking to Gracie. He booped her nose. She grinned mischievously and pretended (?) to bite at his finger.
They spent over an hour out in the chilly morning air, working til the snowman had a snowfamily. Mika and Kurda exchanged few words with each other but plenty with Gracie.
The three of them went for a walk once she'd tired of rolling snowballs. Vampire Mountain's long shadow allowed them enough shade to stroll through the forest even as daylight broke.
Gracie kept running ahead of them, carried by those little legs that seemed to get faster and more agile with every passing day. Mika and Kurda hung back and allowed her space to adventure independently while keeping her in their lines of vision.
"You don't have to feel bad, you know." Kurda spoke up out of nowhere as they ambled side-by-side. "You said it yourself — you weren't surprised by the opinion I expressed in the meeting. Nor was I surprised by your reception of it. Honestly, I would've been worried if you didn't have a scathing retort."
Mika almost stopped walking, but Gracie was moving at such a brisk clip they couldn't afford to pause lest she disappear from sight. But he did have to pick his jaw up out of the snow. "Kurda, I was completely out of line. You didn't deserve that."
Kurda kept his eyes fixed dead ahead. It was unclear whether his intention was to keep track of Gracie or avoid looking at Mika.
"You're right. I didn't." Kurda replied conversationally." "But it didn't even crack the top ten rudest things my beloved fellow vampires have said to me this year alone. So don't go losing sleep over it. Gods know you don't get enough sleep."
"That's not the point." Mika pressed. "I shouldn't have spoken to you that way."
Only then did Kurda shoot Mika a wry, disparaging look. Like Mika was being deliberately dense. "You speak to everyone that way. What? Why are you looking at me like that? Do you want me to be mad at you? I'm sure I could find a reason."
"Kurda… I'm trying to apologize."
"I forgive you! I wasn't bothered in the first place."
"Now that's a bold-faced lie if I've ever heard one."
"Fine. It stung for a moment. But just a moment. Then I remembered we were in a professional setting. We weren't Gracie's dads. We were General Smahlt and Sire Ver Leth. And we both know exactly what to expect from each other at this point. There's something to be said for consistency."
There was something about all of this that just felt off. The words made sense. They seemed genuine. And it certainly wasn't the first time either of them had stumbled their way through an apology after crossing a line. All Mika knew was that this time felt different. Different bad.
But he didn't know how to describe that feeling so he didn't say anything else. They just kept walking. The sun was reflecting off the snow now. Not enough to do any real damage, but just enough to cause a slight prickle on the exposed skin of his hands and face.
Gracie showed no signs of slowing anytime soon. Eventually they'd have to tell her it was time to turn around. And if she wasn't into that plan, they'd have to pick her up and carry her home. Preferably not kicking and screaming, but she wasn't above guilt tripping if she felt strongly enough.
"I'm glad you came outside." Said Kurda after a while. "I firmly believe micro-dosing on sunshine is good for us too."
Mika let out a sharp laugh of amusement at that notion. "Okay, Vancha. Whatever you say."
"I don't mean standing outdoors in open defiance til an entire layer of your skin sizzles off your body!" Kurda scoffed, gently elbowing Mika in the ribs. "I mean taking it in little bits at a time. Not to the point where it hurts. Just enough to remind us where we came from."
"I knew what you meant."
"Sure you did."
They walked on in silence for a little longer. Every now and then Gracie would turn around to make sure they were still there. Then she'd shoot them a mischievous gap-toothed grin and scamper onwards.
"I have to meet with the Collective three months from now." Mika broke the silence. "They always use the same location — Chok picked it out when he first started working with them. It's a resort town on the south end of this mountain range. Big fancy hotel. Attracts a lot of rich humans. Skiers, businessmen, all that."
"I know the exact place you mean. I've stopped there to rest on my way here a few times over the years. Never stayed in the hotel, though." Said Kurda.
"Yeah. Same here. It's a nice area."
"You looking forwards to your vacation?"
"It's not a vacation. I'm going there to work."
Kurda rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Come on. The meetings will be over before you know it. Then you can order an expensive meal and eat it in your lavish hotel room. Hell, book a few extra nights. Lounge in the pool. Get a hot stone massage or something."
"You lost me at massage." Mika snorted.
"You're so predictable." Said Kurda. Which was ironic because he clearly hadn't predicted what Mika said next:
"I want you to come with me. You and Gracie."
For the first time that night, Kurda looked genuinely surprised. His eyes widened with disbelief and - thank the gods - excitement. "Yeah? You'd want us there?"
"It'd be a great opportunity for Gracie." Said Mika. "We can spend the week. She can have a taste of the real world. And it's less than an hour's flit from here."
"Wow. Our first family vacation. This is going to be fun." Kurda grinned impishly, cheeks flushed pink and snowflakes dotting his hair. (As if that hair wasn't already shiny enough without all those tiny diamonds sparkling in it).
Mika felt himself start to smile back. Caught himself. Rolled his eyes.
"Call it what you want. I'm calling it a business trip."
Yeah I kind of threw in this Sentinel Collective plotline out of nowhere. I'm trying something out.