Sequel to This Is Us. Prequel to Bloodline / semicanon Vampire Mountain arc.
.·:·. .·:·.*
"Our coming-of-age has come and gone
Suddenly the summer, it's clear
I never had the courage of my convictions
As long as danger is near
And it's just around the corner, darling
'Cause it lives in me
No, I could never give you peace"
.·:·. .·:·.*
So begins the aftermath of a moment of chaotic weakness that cumulated in a raspberry liquor-flavoured kiss and a great deal of panicked introspection. Mika and Kurda distance themselves and long for the nights when the stifling tension between them was only political.
The silver lining? That orphan human baby they found is almost old enough to go to boarding school, thus bringing this era of forced proximity to an end.
Then everything will finally go back to normal.
I've emotionally recovered from BloodlineIsOverParty enough to pick my sorry carcass up off the floor and keep cracking away on the renovations. Thank you to everyone who showed up to that. I had a lovely time :)
So welcome back to the second story of the thing. (Haha get it? Story? Like in a house?)
The first time I did all this, it took two stories to bridge the gap between This Is Us and Bloodline. Those stories were called Call It What You Want and Endgame. I truly thought I cooked with those. I guess they were okay in their own way but not okay enough to earn diplomatic immunity in the rewrite. So in the canon-canon-divergent universe that is the Bloodline Timeline, they no longer exist and I'm doing this instead.
At this point I think Inevitably will be the only story I insert between This Is Us and Bloodline; I'd always wanted it to be a trilogy but things tend to go the opposite of according to plan so A) why do I bother planning at all and B) why do I bother telling anyone what the plan is. What a waste of a paragraph this has been.
Godspeed.
Prologue:Interim
EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO
MIKA
"Can't believe anyone in their right mind put you in charge." Kurda teased as he danced closer. The song had changed again; a slower beat. His hip kept bumping into Mika's. There was no way it wasn't intentional.
It took a sudden sharp sting for Mika to realize he'd been biting his lip, hard. He leaned closer, close enough to feel those rebellious strands of gold tickling his nose as he murmured low into Kurda's ear,
"I can't believe I let you in my mountain with that attitude."
If there was a single thought in Mika's mind, he couldn't hear it over the bass reverberating through his bones, drowning out the voice telling him this was going too far. He could barely even hear Kurda's whispered retort. Didn't matter. He would've recognized those three words anywhere:
"You're the worst."
Maybe it was the half-dozen different kinds of alcohol dissolving Mika's inhibition. Maybe it was the smirk playing on Kurda's lips like a dare. The world ground to a halt as Mika closed his eyes and leaned headlong into the the impulse to finally silence that smart mouth with his own.
Faces inches apart, he could smell the raspberry liqueur on Kurda's tongue.
Then he could taste it.
The throb of the bass ceased to exist in Mika's world. In the muffled silence he knew nothing past the softness of Kurda's mouth. That silver tongue slipped between Mika's lips with comfortable assurance. Didn't even fucking hesitate. As if Kurda had known it was coming and had been waiting patiently for Mika to catch up and kiss him —
I'm kissing him.
I'm kissing Kurda Smahlt.
NO!
Flight instinct violently seized control and jerked Mika backwards. The DJ's cacophony resumed its assault on his senses as before. The roar of it was second only to the sound of Mika's own heartbeat as it rocketed to an unsustainable pace.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…" Mika's every shallow breath was punctuated with the familiar cuss.
Your emotional support word, Kurda teased him once. But there wasn't a trace of mischief on that face now. Kurda's eyes were wide with confusion and dismay. That was all Mika saw; he couldn't bear to look at Kurda a second longer. He'd reached over an invisible line when he'd leaned in for that kiss.
All Mika could do now was pray to the fucking gods he hadn't left an indelible dark stain on what had been golden.
Mika rotated on the spot, searching with manic desperation for an escape route —
Raspberry liquor on his tongue. It's gone. Flash. Throb. Blood rushing to his head. Heart racing. How had any of this felt fun prior to three seconds ago? Fucking strobe lights. Fucking music pounding through the speakers. Fucking people everywhere. Blue eyes in the middle of his horizon, widening with concern. No. Look away. You crossed a line, you fucking idiot! Why did you do that to him? How are you this incompetent?
He couldn't stay here. He had to get out. Had to find the door and —
There. Run.
So many people in the way. Pushing through the crowd feels like wading through deep water with iron chains hanging from his body. Door's so far away.
"Fuck… can't do this… run… have to run…"
"Mika?" A voice follows him. A voice he knows well. Don't follow me, Kurda. Please don't fucking follow me.
"Can't do this… can't be here… have to run…"
Almost at the door. So close. He reaches for the handle —
"Mika! Wake up!"
PRESENT DAY
VAMPIRE MOUNTAIN
STILL MIKA
"Mika! Wake up!"
The handle disappeared at the touch of his fingertips. The neon strobe lights went dark. The music ceased. He was back in his coffin. The only light here was the familiar flicker of the fireplace on the rough stone walls. And the only sound was Arra's soft sigh of exasperation as she watched him re-orient himself in present day.
"Wha'happened?" The words tumbled from Mika's lips in a clumsy tangle as he sat up to face her at eye-level.
Arra was already sitting upright. The dim light of the burned-out fireplace cast an orange glow on her deceptively elegant features. She raised an eyebrow and hit Mika with the glare of scathing reproach he almost regretted teaching her because she wore it better than he did.
Fuck.
"You were talking in your sleep. Again." She informed him bluntly.
"What did I say?" Mika ventured, dreading the answer. He didn't know if he could trust his sleep-self to keep a secret.
"The usual. That you can't be here. That you had to run somewhere. That you can't do this, although I have no idea what this you're referring to." Arra paused. Her mouth hardened ever so slightly and continued, "I'm starting to wonder if I should be taking it personally."
Mika sighed and nodded along with her debrief. All he needed to know was that he hadn't said anything about kissing Kurda. As long as he'd kept that to himself he was in the clear. He'd had much worse dreams. This didn't even crack the top hundred. It wasn't even a dream, really. Dreams take all kinds of creative liberties; stretch reality til it's unrecognizable. This was just a memory. That kept coming back. Again and again and again and —
"And you said fuck a lot, but you do that when you're awake too." Arra added, managing a brittle smile.
Mika laughed in relief that it hadn't been worse. Then he leaned in to kiss her cheek and run his fingers through her hair. Her dark locks were almost invisible against the (his) shirt she was wearing. It was far too big for her, but the way it fell off her shoulder made it all the more flattering.
Arra had been spending most of her nights here in his coffin. So many nights that Mika installed a lock on the door that separated his suite from Gracie's while promising if she ever got sick or had a bad dream in the middle of the night, all she had to do was knock on his door and he'd be right there like always. She'd responded with a patronizing nod of approval and went back to colouring. She remained oblivious whilst he remained overthinking it.
It was casual. Still, Mika decided if the night ever came (it wouldn't) when he and Arra reached a place where they wanted to be openly committed to each other, Gracie would be the first to know. (He'd need her approval, hypothetically). But until then, Arra always made sure to disappear before Gracie woke up.
If only everything else could be so simple.
Arra was already out of the coffin and getting dressed for another long night of conducting training sessions in the Hall of Baker Wrent — she was filling in for an old tutor who'd fractured his femur several months ago. Many were doubtful she'd give him his job back when he healed enough to get back to work.
Mika banished all memories of blue eyes to the back of his mind in time to watch Arra slip out of his shirt and into her white tank top and tan pants. She caught his eye through the mirror as she started to braid her hair.
"Guess I should ask if you're alright, shouldn't I?" She remarked offhandedly. To her credit, her face softened with something adjacent to concern.
"I wouldn't bother." Mika shrugged, slowly climbing out of the coffin in search of today's monochrome ensemble. After all, emotional detachment was one of the things he liked about her. It was so much easier like this. "Nothing's broken or bleeding. I still have a pulse. Overall I feel quite functional."
"That's good, then." Said Arra.
She didn't look convinced. Mika matched her subtle side-eye with a less subtle one of his own as he took a cautious step closer to her. "Do I not look functional?"
"You look fine." She assured him loftily. "But you sounded stressed in your dream."
"Right. Because I'm all fun and games when I'm awake." Mika snorted. He glanced at himself in the mirror and found it strangely hard to meet his own eyes.
That was met with a light huff of impatience and Arra shot back, "You know what I mean."
Mika sifted through his dresser in silence for several moments. Weighing his words. Contemplating how much to give away. She was as adverse to oversharing as he was. More, even. Arra Sails truly was a remarkable woman.
"Shouldn't be news to you that I'm a bad sleeper." Mika told her at last, hating how blunt and detached his own voice sounded. They'd been informally fucking each other for well over a century. Why did it suddenly feel like there was a stone wall between them?
"Of course it isn't." Said Arra. Her voice was clipped and curt. She was as uncomfortable in these waters as he was. "But I've never heard you talk like that. What were you dreaming about?"
"I don't know. It was long gone the moment I woke up." Mika lied through his teeth. "But usually I remember the ones with gratuitous shock value, so it couldn't have been that bad."
His second lie was silent; a lie of omission. Not only did he remember the dream, he could even pinpoint the root cause: Kurda was due back at the mountain by the end of the month. They hadn't spoken — truly spoken — since the kiss. Their sporadic telepathic conversations had been limited to Gracie updates, which Mika kept as brief as possible.
Arra seemed satisfied with his answer. Then again it was hard to tell with her. Almost as if she'd studied from the ultimate closed book. Oh, the irony.
"Good to know. Thanks." Arra replied as she knelt to the floor and began to lace her boots. Her tone was as brisk and matter-of-fact as if she was taking notes in a senior Generals meeting.
"My point was that you can't take it personally." Mika added with a hollow ghost of a laugh, suddenly feeling like his explanation had been lacking somehow.
"Then I won't." Said Arra as she drew up to her full height once more. Graceful as a lioness she closed the distance between herself and Mika with several easy strides. She rose to her tiptoes to place a swift but firm kiss on his lips, which he returned with sincerity. She broke away before he was ready.
Now Mika could read her face perfectly. He knew exactly what she was thinking.
"If you leave now, you can bypass the main corridor while the guards are switching shifts. Nobody will realize you came from my room." He offered.
She shot him a playful grin over her shoulder as she headed for the door. "Oh, don't you worry. Nobody will ever know I was here. Trust me."
Mika exhaled a hollow half-laugh as he watched her go.
"I'm not the one who's worried."
EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO (AGAIN)
KURDA
It took Kurda all of three minutes to fight his way off the dance floor and out of the crowded bar, but he made the journey with a deep pit of dread forming in his stomach. Three minutes was more than enough for Mika to flit for the hills.
One second they'd been dancing, literally dancing on that fine line they'd both become so familiar with. In truth, Kurda couldn't believe they hadn't crossed it til know.
But the look in Mika's eyes when they parted — shock, revulsion, panic — came from a starkly different reality than the one Kurda had been living in. Kurda found himself questioning who initiated the kiss in the first place. He was certain it had been Mika. Now he wasn't sure. They were both drunk, after all. And even if Mika had been the instigator, Kurda had been so ready it didn't even matter.
Kurda found Mika sitting hunched over on a bench outside. The softly falling snow made him look like he had a critical case of dandruff. But as proud as Kurda was of his knack for making Mika laugh, this wasn't the time.
"Gods, there you are." Said Kurda, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "Are you okay? You just disappeared!"
His heart sank as Mika looked up, regarding him through wild eyes. For a moment Kurda feared he'd bolt again.
""I…I'm so sorry I did that to you, Kurda." Mika forced out after a moment of visible struggling. His face was ghostly white; a stark contrast to the red blotches Kurda could feel breaking out all across his own face, neck, and chest.
The words Kurda wanted to say — Did that to me? I thought it felt right, I liked it, — all died in the back of his throat, burned away by the acid there.
"It's fine. I'm sorry, too." He croaked instead.
Mika shook his head. He looked like he was in pain. "It's not your fault. I made a mistake. I didn't mean for it to happen. My head's a fucking mess. I was in such a bad place last night…" he hunched over again, pressing his palms against his forehead as if trying to punish the memories within. Mika had never sounded less like Mika. He was rambling in disjointed sentence fragments. Spiralling. "And when the meeting was finally over, I just… I don't know. I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't thinking. I drank too much… didn't get enough sleep… crossed a line. Not that there's any excusing it. It was a mistake. It was all a mistake. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"
Standing three feet away Kurda could feel the scalding humiliation radiating from Mika like wildfire — and when Mika's voice trailed off, the silence that followed hung over both of them like smoke. If the kiss was a mistake in Mika's iron-barricaded universe, a mistake it was. There was nothing Kurda could do or say that would convince him otherwise.
I see how it is. I see what you really think of me. I see it all so clearly now.
"It's fine, Mika." Kurda repeated, more quietly. "You're right. It was a mistake. It didn't mean anything. And it won't happen again."
Mika gave no indication he heard him.
PRESENT DAY
FRINGE OF THE NORTHERN MOUNTAIN RANGE (500 KILOMETRES FROM VAMPIRE MOUNTAIN)
STILL KURDA
"What are you afraid of? Think your clanmates are going to point and laugh?" Glalda smirked in that way he knew would make Kurda bristle. The vampaneze threw another log on the fire and reached over to shake Kurda's shoulder and added — "Because they're doing that already, sweetheart."
The motion was in good fun, but Glalda's hand lingered on Kurda's shoulder. Tightly. For someone who said a lot, Glalda tended to say the most when he said nothing at all.
Kurda turned, unable to entirely keep his jaw from hardening as he delivered what he hoped would be a sobering reminder: "You know damn well I'd walk with my head held high if I bore your mark on my cheek. The fact that you offered it at all isn't an honour I take lightly."
Kurda could feel Cyrus's eyes on his face. His former apprentice was studying him curiously from across the campfire, no doubt wondering if Kurda actually had the guts to go that far.
Guts, or lack thereof, were irrelevant. Timing, on the other hand… that was everything.
"Gods, you're so righteous." Glalda snorted. He gave Kurda's shoulder one more squeeze before pulling away.
"Am I righteous or am I just right?" Kurda lipped back, enjoying the way Glalda's lips curled into a jagged-tooth smile at the playful jab. Hard to believe he'd known the vampaneze for so long he'd still had a full set of teeth when they met.
"Would you really do it?" Cyrus spoke up abruptly, yanking Kurda's focus back to reality.
"Do what?"
"Bear the mark of the vampaneze on your cheek!"
"Ah. Of course I would. Without question." Kurda told Cyrus honestly. "But I'd be a fool to disregard the inevitable consequences. As proud as I'd be, I might as well exile myself if I was to walk back into the mountain with their mark on my face. And everything I've done will have been for nothing."
Glalda let out a harsh laugh at that. "Exile? You mean execute."
"I know our laws." Kurda replied, pointedly not matching Glalda's energy. "I'd be ostracized, but I wouldn't be in violation of any established rule."
Glalda's face twisted into a sneer of almost scathing condescension as he rolled his eyes. Oddly enough, the expression was reminiscent of Mika. At least, the version of Mika that Kurda used to know. But if Mika's reaction to the kiss was any indication, it'd be the only version Kurda would ever know again.
"Only because the notion hasn't occurred to any vampire in history." Said Glada. "Some things are too obvious to mention."
"You're the one who offered!" Kurda countered, trying not to let his exasperation filter into his voice. "And I stand by what I said. I'd be honoured to let you mark me. I just need to work harder to solidify myself as a vampire of good standing first. For all our sake."
Glalda rolled his eyes again but didn't seem interested in arguing further.
The three nightwalkers — Kurda, Cyrus, and Gannen — retreated into the abandoned barn they'd chosen to sleep away the sunlight. Kurda shot Glalda a hopeful smile as they each laid out their individual sleeping bags. Glalda returned the smile. It seemed strained, still Kurda knew sincerity when he saw it. Glalda was slow to trust, and the presence of an unfamiliar vampire — Cyrus — had him even more tight-lipped than ever. Kurda had no regrets about inviting his young charge to travel with him for the duration of a year, but it had come at the expense of speaking freely with Glalda.
Still, it had been good. For all of them.
Kurda knew Glalda would be gone before the vampires woke up. Even this great distance was too close to Vampire Mountain for Glalda's liking and Kurda was pleasantly surprised he'd travelled this far with them. The rest of his vampaneze companions had dispersed long before now. He didn't blame them. Council may be long over, but the chances of crossing paths with other vampires at the edge of the mountain range were never zero.
Within half an hour, both Cyrus and Glalda's breathing had slowed and deepened as they fell asleep. For some reason the realization made Kurda feel more wide awake than ever. This restlessness in his bones had become a familiar sensation and he knew it would only increase as he began the final approach to Vampire Mountain. He'd never felt such intense conflict within himself before.
He'd missed Gracie so terribly his entire chest cavity ached. Her string of human life was so short compared to his own, and he'd missed over a year of it. But who was he to turn his nose up at a mission from a Prince? He'd carried out his promise to Vancha to the absolute best of his abilities.
I want you to locate a vampaneze named Gannen Harst and ask if he'd be willing to meet with one of the Vampire Princes, Vancha asked Kurda that night eighteen months ago.
Kurda's heart had leapt at the implication. Is this Gannen Harst an old friend of yours? He'd asked. You think he wants to reconnect?
Vancha had shrugged his questions off. I haven't seen Gannen since long before the treaty. I dare say it would be an overstatement to say he's a friend. But this brings me to the fine print of my request. When and if you speak with Gannen, you are not to use my name. All I want is for you to ask the question as I phrased it. Please mind-link with me to relay his answer and I'll direct you from there.
Kurda met up with his former apprentice Cyrus shortly after embarking on his mission. And after over a year of searching — admittedly, with the help of Kurda's old friend Glalda — they'd finally found Gannen Harst.
Gannen was impressively elusive. Kurda couldn't help but compliment him on it when they finally met. The vampaneze was wary, and Kurda was certain Gannen only gave him the time of night because Glalda vouched for him.
All that searching cumulated in a half-hour conversation that ended with Gannen's simple answer to the question Kurda had been waiting to ask ever since he turned his back on the snow-capped mountain range — and Mika.
I respectfully decline, Gannen told him. The words were diplomatic, concise, and ironclad.
Vancha had been very clear that Kurda was to accept whatever answer Gannen gave, and not to push further. Kurda had never been so tempted to disobey a direct order. But he successfully held his tongue and parted ways with Gannen minutes later.
When Kurda recounted the meeting to Vancha through their mind-link afterwards, all Vancha had to say was, Thank you for your time and effort, General Smahlt. You've done well. Carry on as you were.
That's it?! Kurda wanted to say. Again, he filtered his response to the most professional setting: Thank you for the opportunity, Sire March. Please don't hesitate to call on me again.
Although the context (or lack thereof) of Vancha's request left Kurda with more questions than answers, the trip wasn't a waste of time by any stretch. Glalda was mentally bonded with many of the same vampaneze Kurda had befriended over the decades, so with his help Kurda was able to meet up with almost a dozen of his purple-skinned acquaintances. Best of all, Cyrus was with him for all of it. Cyrus got it. He trusted and understood Kurda completely. Sure, Kurda was the one who taught him everything he knew. But his presence and support made Kurda feel — for once — like he wasn't the odd one out in the world. What a pleasant change it had been.
That sense of progress coupled with the knowledge that in a few short weeks he'd be able to pick up his Baby Princess Honey Bee, spin her in a circle, kiss her forehead, sing silly songs, hear about everything she'd done and learned since they'd been apart…
All of that was almost enough to forget the revulsion on Mika's face when he pulled back from that kiss.
They never spoke of it. They'd walked back to the hotel in silence with six feet of dead air between them. Kurda wouldn't know if Mika looked at him at any point during that, because Kurda kept his head down and eyes forward. It was only as they stood outside the door to their suite that Kurda stole a final glance — only for his heart to sink at the expression on Mika's face. Or more accurately, the total lack thereof. That was when he knew. Even if Vancha hadn't been camped out on their floor, even if Gracie hadn't been tucked in and dozing soundly on the couch, they still wouldn't have talked about it. Not that night. Not the next morning. Not a single word.
And if denial came so automatically to Mika, Kurda had no choice but to resign himself to the fact that it was better for everyone if they carried on like it never happened at all.