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Brood of a New Age

43.

Another hot day was coming to an end. The daytime residents of Manhattan longed for the cooler temperatures of the night to soothe their air-conditioning-damaged bodies, but gargoyles were little affected by cold or heat. On the still sun-heated statues of the members of the Manhattan clan, as well as the two members on probation, elaborate spider webs of cracks spread a few seconds after sunset. The crackling and crunching of stone, blood freezing inhuman moans, groans, hisses, roars and shrieks like a sound engineer of a horror movie could never have done better, resounded over the blowing wind and surged against the walls of the tower and the castle walls below. The two humans (Elisa on the highest platform of the turret, Luca one level below), who two hours ago had been mistaken for an amorous but frugal couple, stepped back as the protectors of the night burst from their shells with, from their bodies exploding, shards of stone.

Grace and Dante, as always the very first act, exchanged a glance across two perches - making sure in silent consultation that everything was okay with the other. They continued to wake more quietly than the others but stretched and yawned similarly. Luca's queen of hearts stretched, arching her back like a cat, so that even her wings and tail curled in a lovely manner. Dante scratched himself extensively, making more dust than the resident gargoyles in their loincloths because of his vest and ragged jeans. Luca grinned at the memory of how Goliath had offered to exchange their human clothing for a tunic and loincloth on the second night, and both had been seriously appalled. That Grace didn't want to wear less after her leather belt as clothing time Luca understood but at the idea of the gray gangster walking around in one of those loincloths (which he described as "just slips with bibs" whenever the subject came up) he had to laugh again.

Grace and Dante turned to look at him. His sweetheart smiled when she saw him, his maybe soon-to-be brother-in-law grumbled (Did he really think that just now? Dante - his brother-in-law? That was like having Don Vito Corleone for a brother-in-law!). Not wanting to let the latest storm of worry inside him show, and not wanting to blurt out out of blind panic that in his suitcase in his room under his bed was the pick-up slip for the customized ring from Tiffany that would be ready in three days, he pressed a paper cup of espresso into Dante's claws. It was undignified for Italians, but these drinks from the coffee shop a block from the Eyrie were better than anything the coffee machines in the castle spat out, and it had become Lucas' routine to please his friends. Grace accepted her latte macchiato more gratefully. Her kiss on his temple, as delicate as a butterfly, wiped away all ominous thoughts and doubts.

"Good morning, Luca. I mean, good evening. Did you have a good day?" she inquired.

"Yes, I was a little sightseeing."

"Oh, how nice. What did you see?" asked the red female while taking a sip from her cup. He watched as Goliath glided remarkably silently from the top of the tower with Elisa in his arms, followed by other members of the clan who often scattered for a few minutes right after waking up. Hasty evening greetings were exchanged but no one seemed eager for more intense contact with the Italians. Hopefully only he saw Elisa, embracing Goliath's neck, give him an encouraging and extremely embarrassing thumbs up. However, when Dante gave him a questioning and scowling look right after, Luca knew that at least he had caught on.

"Uhhh among other things the Statue of Liberty and the museum in it. It was very crowded there. That's why uhh, I thought if you wanted to-." He rubbed the sweaty back of his neck, feeling like he was seventeen again. "-You and me, we should go to the Statue of Liberty together sometime. It's less busy at night and I'm sure it's beautifully lit."

She gave him her Madonna smile and he instantly felt stupid because she must have seen the Statue of Liberty a dozen times in her three-plus weeks in America. After all, she and Dante had searched the entire island and had been flying patrol for a week now. Besides, she'd have to haul that stupid human lump around. Even if she could lift a car - he didn't consider that the most tempting idea. But her look was full of warmth as well as her words.

"Watching this with you, I would like that very much."

"Then... next week?" asked Luca hopefully, in the middle of Dante's offensive retching. The gray gargoyle shook himself, still perched on his pinnacle, still holding the cup, and reached down his throat into the frighteningly wide gaping beak and pulled out a small stone shard right under Grace's and Luca's eyes. "Must have landed in the cup. And then in me," he muttered not really sounding guilty for disgustingly interrupting the romantic moment. His sister rolled her eyes. "Come Luca, Goliath wants to show me some exercises in the gym before breakfast and patrol. See you later brother."

"Bye, lovebirds," grunted the gray gargoyle, who was now alone on the tower.

He looked around again, realizing that everyone had really left him. The painful sting that should have been triggered quickly ebbed into relief. He reached for his cigarettes, lit one, took a deep puff, and rubbed his tense neck, which didn't seem to go away no matter how much stone-sleep he had. As if he was constantly ducking his head. To avoid bumping into anyone. To play the good gargoyle. And yet to screw it up again and again because the way of the Americans went against the grain of him or his way went against the grain of them. He had not even been under such pressure under Guilinao's constant threats. Because it was not only about him. He had to keep reminding himself that he was doing it for Grace. That it must mean a lot to HIM because it meant a lot to her to be here. Yet he only longed for home, for his old life.

Honestly, he didn't think it was so bad that he wasn't expected to hurt or kill people anymore. But he felt so out of place among these Samaritans. And even though he tried really hard not to show his nastiest, most unpleasant side like the first night, he didn't really feel a growing bond between himself and his fellow beings. They avoided him unless it could not be helped. And he avoided them as well. He had also rarely otherwise sought the proximity of other people like that of his father's employees in Italy. But with certain members of the family, who had learned how to take him, he had been able to talk. Sometimes they had even described him as charming or entertaining. Qualities that he could not show here.

He heard a not-too-massive body cutting through the air currents and coming toward him. The ice-blue female gargoyle with the shorter beak landed on the battlement beside him.

"Hello, Dante-kun."

He hurriedly stubbed out his nearly-smoked cigarette on his resting place. He wouldn't have done that for one of the others. For her, he did.

"Sigora Katana. Buona notte. How is the egg?" he asked politely since he had figured out for himself over the last few nights that it had to be her and Brooklyn's egg that was lying there so frighteningly large and alive in the rookery. She looked for it every night after she woke up and flipped it over because that was what had to be done with gargoyle eggs, apparently (again, a knowledge he didn't want to have).

She smiled and the motherly warmth of her smile made him smile too.

"The egg is doing wonderfully. I can hear the hatchling in there moving already."

"When is it due?"

"On or near the night of the Spring Equinox next year. All eggs hatch around that time." Her look changed from indulgent and proud to worried. Dante tilted his head.

"What's wrong?"

She smiled and waved it off. "Oh. Mother thoughts, inappropriate for a warrior. I'm just worried. How the events of a few weeks ago or the time travel affected the little one. But eggs were always in danger. At all times. Ten years is so long and often clutches had to be defended from immediate danger or even relocated."

Dante turned to the older female and rubbed his arm in concern. As always uncomfortable with such wacky topics that involved magic or futuristic technology. "But Nashville was also conceived during time travel. And his egg was laid during that."

"Yes," Katana admitted, sighing deeply. "That wasn't easy either."

Dante did something he rarely dared and reached to the side. He touched Katana on the shoulder and when she looked up and tolerated that, he brushed his knuckles very gently and fleetingly across the arch of her brow. He felt strange and effeminate himself when he did this, but he had seen Gargoyles practice this gesture among themselves several times now. And this Hudson had done it with Grace and afterwards she had been so calm and relaxed. And he kind of wanted Katana to loosen up, too (something that seemed to be difficult for her as a Japanese anyway). When the ice-blue female looked at him in amazement right after the gesture, Dante withdrew his hands convinced he had just done something very inappropriate.

"Sorry," he said dejectedly. "I just wanted to say ... Nashville turned out great. He's a fine boy. Why would it be any different with this egg if the events during time travel didn't affect him at all."

He looked up again as Katana laughed softly but choppily. Had he heard her chuckle before? That little burst of emotion instantly made her seem at least twenty years younger. But in doing so, smiling sadly with moist eyes (which for some reason made Dante think that the time dances hadn't quite bypassed her firstborn after all), she too raised her arm and pressed her knuckles to his forehead.

He groaned in surprise at the soothing sensation that washed over him, almost loosening the tense knot in his neck muscles.

"Like you were just now, you should always be, Dante," she said, wiping her cheeks with her fingers before tears uncharacteristic of warrior women ran down them.

He emitted a dark grunt that broke up the situation.

"A wimp you want me to be."

"No. A person who lets his heart speak. Because that, too, is a part of you apart from your ... bleaker self."

"Nicely phrased. Thank you."

"It's obvious you're unhappy."

"What makes you think that?"

"You're here more for Grace than for you. Everyone can tell that. But it's not just about her."

Dante threw his head back and looked grimly across the expanse of the megametropolis before him. So very different from Naples where history and corruption oozed from every crumbling crack. New York was not a whit better when it came to crime and evil. It just hid the dirt a little better under bright lights and bustle. He found New York - perhaps all of America - somehow mendacious because of that. And the Manhattan gargoyles too naive. Like Don Quixote tilting at windmills.

"I ... am not made to live in a clan. Yet ... I should. Where it's kind of similar to a family," he admitted to himself.

Katana looked at him assessingly from the side. She was not sure what he meant by family at this point. The narration about his human father and this Giuliano never sounded like a functional family.

"Everyone here is sooo ... decent. It's ..."

" - suffocating?"

"YES! And I want to lash out and scream all the time."

"Is that anger still in you from your experience with your cousin?"

"Could be. I don't know." He touched his scar which ran crosswise over his eye.

"How old were you when he inflicted this one on you?"

"Hard to say. Maybe four? So ... eight in human years. Giuliano was thirteen. It was not yet a matter of succession. It was just a game to him. A mischievous kid who liked to pull cats by their tails and rip ants' legs off. I guess the day before he just didn't find cats and ants. The razor blade was dirty and I was so bloody I didn't dare go to dad all night for him to clean my cuts. Et voilà- forever a scarface."

"I'm sorry ... that Broadway called you that."

Dante smirked. "Don't be. I need someone to bicker with a bit - without it turning into a fight. But we haven't quite figured out that balance here yet. I can tell. It's the first scar Giuliano gave me. Somehow ... he robbed me of something with it. I don't even remember what. But there's a piece of me missing. Maybe, the piece that prevents me from being satisfied. Or ... that I can be conform."

"Conform. I could tell you so much about conformity."

"I've heard Brooklyn's stories. Things were strict in Japan, weren't they? A lot - bowing and ... stuff like that.

Katana smiled as broadly as her beak would allow. To human eyes, it would have looked frightening, and even Dante, who had grown up so human, felt a shiver creep up his spine. But the older woman's eyes were so loving.

"There was a lot of - stuff like that. The Ishimura clan adopted a lot of rituals from the human Japanese. For the sake of peace. And then I fell in love with a foreign gargoyle - a tenth-century Gajin who was as indifferent to burrs in his mane as he was to a thousand-year-old loincloth."

Now both gargoyles laughed.

"He could make himself a braid- like mine," jokingly offered Dante.

"Oh, honestly, I love his long hair. The way it blows in the wind- I don't need any other magic."

"And if his hair ever falls out?"

"Then he'll still have that sexy eye patch."

Dante laughed out loud, and it was the most genuine laugh he'd gotten out in years.

In agreement, Katana made a casual gesture. "As you can tell, I'm practicing- loosening up. Not being a barbarian- not that. But you can love persons and things that at first seem incompatible with you. And these lead the soul to happiness and bring inner peace to the mind."

"Inner peace?"

"Yes. The most important thing you can achieve. Love makes one feel complete. But inner peace also holds broken souls together. Have you ever had something like that? Can you remember anything like that?"

"Inner peace? I'm the last one to achieve something like that."

"At some point in your life there must have been something where you felt at home. Where you could find peace... It can be a small thing that seems ridiculous to others but makes you ... see the light. It doesn't have to be here with this clan. You don't have to force yourself to make this work."

Dante shook his head, frowning. "Where would I go? Without Grace. What am I supposed to do with myself if I don't have someone to show me the way."

"I can't tell you that. But whoever will accompany you on parts of the way, the best journeys are made by mutual consent. And not just because one person is dragging the other behind them."

"I have to at least try not to mess it up for Grace."

"You're so close - just natural because you didn't grow up in a big community. But you and she can act independently and will evolve independently. Nothing can stop this development even if it scares you."

"It doesn't scare me, I know that. She has to find out for herself if she can and wants to live in this clan here." He looked at Katana seriously. "Hudson said a gargoyle is nothing without its clan. A gargoyle withers, physically and psychologically, without its clan or a community. But I don't think Grace fits in here any more than I do. I know she's very capable of pulling herself together and fitting in - but at what cost? I just want her to be happy."

Katana stroked his head like a child and was again surprised that the violent offender allowed this to happen so humbly. "You're a lot more receptive than you seem. But a community doesn't have to be made up of gargoyles. In Ishimura, we counted many humans among our clan or our confidants. That can also be good. And a community does not have to consist of many individuals. If you are good to each other and trust each other, two people are enough to be happy. Sometimes ... the happiness you need is not the happiness that seems to be obvious. That's true for you and Grace."

"About that I need to think about."

"Do that, Dante-chan. Think about ways to find inner peace. But at the same time- help me in the kitchen," she instructed him and slid off the masonry. If anyone else had said that, Dante would have snapped. Luca would have tasted his foot and even his sister would have gotten a snide comment. But Katana he followed without rejoinder, glad that someone took the lead, even if it was only to the castle kitchen of the clan.

.

.

After breakfast Brooklyn didn't find his son in his room. Though he found it odd that Nashville had been given a fully furnished room by Xanatos (just as they were all to move into one by one) and though he and Lexington had first checked every inch and piece of furniture for bugs or anything else and found nothing, he had to admit that a room they could call their own was quite useful when searching for the brood. But Nash wasn't there. Nor was he in the training hall where Goliath, slowly and with the gruesome results of the first training in mind, coached Grace in hand-to-hand combat WITHOUT breaking bones. This he did every night now and Brooklyn was worried that if Elisa found out about these certainly platonic hours, she would still resent Goliath.

Elisa herself he found brooding in front of the computer with Lexington and though it burned under his claws to look over their shoulders at whatever, he knew one of them would come to him or Goliath if it was clan business.

His next trip to the kitchen didn't reveal his son, but his own mate and Dante, who were drying the dishes from breakfast. THAT was disturbing. He briefly considered whether it was an option that he himself resented his partner's private moments with the young gray gargoyle. After all, Katana had a minor well-hidden weakness for tragic misfits (after all, she had wanted the timedancer) and yes, Dante was good-looking in his own way .The beak, of course - but other than that? Was it the scars? Was it the goatee? Should he grow a beard himself? But it was really hard to keep the beginning beard growth when the stone sleep was always blowing off the stubble.

Brooklyn went on without distracting the two from their domestic - but at least not problematic - task. Whether he was worried that his mate was allowing the potential killer to cling to her? Rather not so much. She could take care of herself. And any idiot could see that it was neither from Katana nor from Dante a relationship like the one that developed between male and female who were physically attracted to each other. And even if other signals came from Dante, Brooklyn had unlimited trust in his mate. She loved him unconditionally as he loved her unconditionally, as it should be between longtime mates. Still... Brooklyn decided to plan another romantic evening for the two of them. He had to find out where semi-professional sumo matches were currently being held again in New York. Katana LOVED to watch these fights. One of the few times the seemingly over-disciplined Japanese gargoyle woman laughed heartily because the American "fights" of the 20th century were so incredibly incorrect. It was like a mix of a clown program at the circus and a comedy show for her.

Oddly enough, Brooklyn eventually found his son in the library over his books. Math again. Why did the boy have such a hard time with it, even though everything to do with foreign languages seemed to come easily to him? Maybe it was just his own talent. To be honest, Brooklyn wasn't really one of those people (or fathers) who really put that much emphasis on schooling. After all, although he had, unlike Broadway, attended reading classes at the old Wywern Castle in the tenth century, he had always been more of a leaning by doing type. Trial and error, instinct and later life experience was what had kept him alive on his time travels. Not algebra. Nor foreign languages, because the side effect of the Phoenixgate had translated every language for him. Still, it was important that he kept Nashville studying. If only to keep him busy and prevent him from going too far off course. And even though Nash was acting very ... unsuspicious, Coldstone and Lexington had told him yesterday that he had been distracted and introverted again on patrol with them. So uncharacteristic, when until two weeks ago these few hours had always been the highlight of his week. Now it seemed as if he just wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.

Brooklyn pushed the previously ajar double door to the library further open and Nashville needed a second to wipe that brainless blissful smile and distant enchanted stare off his face that he had caught his son with more often in the last few nights. That was another thing. But Brooklyn didn't want to play the nagging dominant over-father again.

"Hey champ. What about patrol?" he asked nonchalantly.

His son gave him a moody look. Thank heavens!- finally, a normal typical Nashville reaction!

"Tonight is not one of my nights," said the fruit of his loins.

"Ah. Nights-schmights fiddle-faddle. Now that we have more gargoyles for patrols you can get out a little more often. Nights are so short, aren't they?" tried Brooklyn in casual chit-chat with his son, realizing he had liked the casual chit-chat with the lions back in the Colosseum better.

"Nah, thanks Brooklyn," Nashville shot him down.

"But you were always so fired up about patrolling."

Now Nashville sounded downright defiant as his tone sharpened and his gaze grew grimmer. "I still am. But I can't neglect the other stuff. First you're unhappy that I keep wanting to go, now the opposite doesn't suit you either!"

Brooklyn struggling not to get bitchy again, sat down in one of the chairs next to his son. He didn't want to argue again. He didn't want to get loud again no matter if Nash pushed his buttons. He knew he'd been too hard on him the last few months and hardly knew how to be less hard. He saw how introverted Nash often was. How he sometimes looked at some in the clan, but especially at Lexington- so discontented and sorrowful because he was thinking about how to prevent or change what the time stream had intended. The past could not be changed-that was law. But even to influence the future they had seen was almost impossible because no one knew HOW they had to make their decisions to change what could/should/had to happen. Everything was so difficult. TOO difficult for a boy like Nashville. Heck- even too difficult for Brooklyn himself. He wished there were those "rocks" in the flow of time that Lexington had speculated about so smart-alecky and yet unaware that his own fate was at stake. But it just wasn't that simple. If it was, he could have done so much more better on his travels. As always with the subject of Phoenixgate, which he absolutely hated, he got a headache. As if he was missing certain pieces of the puzzle for the big picture. Maybe it was simply because he wasn't smart enough and never would be. Before that feeling of drowning could set in again, Brooklyn forced himself back to the surface of the here and now. THIS was his here and now.

"Hudson would stay home and you could take off with Lex and Grace." Brooklyn tried, suspecting that Nashville might be eager to spend time with the beautiful Italian female. Once again he was disappointed. At least the boy no longer sounded angry but insecure. Brooklyn thought he knew the reason.

"I think ... I'd rather stay here."

"Did Goliath have a talk with you?"

"Since you know about it, he'll have told you himself," Nashville said precociously, and his father rolled his eye with a grin.

"Must have been an interesting conversation."

"Be glad you weren't there."

"I am- really."

"You don't get off that easy when it comes to Eggwardo," Nash said with a grin, and Brooklyn ruffled his hair.

"Now you sound like your mother, Gnash."

"And would that be so bad, my love? If our first hatchling took after me?" asked Katana from the doorway in which she had just appeared - ninja-typically silently - and smirked at her mate now - woman-typically patronizingly. Brooklyn cleared his throat and stood up, suddenly 30 years younger in the presence of his beloved.

"Of course that would be absolutely wonderful," he lied as he came over to her and kissed her on the side of her short beak. Nash knew he was lying. Katana did, too. But the sweetness of her timedancer made her feel lenient.

"We're ready for patrol," she said, lovingly arranging Brooklyn's stray strands of hair, which he humbly approved. Nashville took a deep breath to discreetly break through his parents' awkward expressions of affection. For the first time, though, he didn't just find them embarrassing. For the first time, he thought he wished Graziella looked at him the way his mom looked at his dad.

His mom leaned in again and kissed him on the brow ridge.

"Good night, my busy Gnash-chan."

"Good night, my best Okaachan."

Brooklyn grinned at the fact that his partner and son were addressing each other with the cutest and most bonding Japanese forms of address. Even if it stung him because he hadn't heard an Otōsan (let alone Otōchan) from Nashville in months. Not even the american Dad for weeks. It shouldn't bother him - considering that in the future they wanted to raise the Hatchlings more in the old gargoyle tradition, where even small children addressed adults by elder or first name without referring to blood ties. But it hurt him maybe because Nash wanted to hurt him a little with it. Which proved that he had to try harder to be a better fairer father and clan leader for the youngest. He and Katana were already at the door when Nashville cleared his throat again, demanding their attention.

"Katana? Brooklyn?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't call me Gnash anymore. It's kind of dumb."

The Second in Command looked at his partner briefly as she looked at him in surprise. Then they smiled mildly at the realization that the self-given nick-name phase was probably over.

"Okay, Nashville. As you wish."

Dads who try to talk nonchalantly to their kids are SO embarrassing.

No matter what I write in the future - no matter what character gets tortured or dies ... that I let Brooklyn say "Nights-schmights fiddle-faddle" will be the worst thing I've ever thought up regarding these stories. I'm putting myself in the disgrace corner.

Thanks for reading, Q.T.