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Crimson Claws

11.

David Xanatos was consistently in complete control of the situation. In the last 20 years, no one could remember a single event where he was anything but sovereign, confident, unfazed, perfectly prepared. Furthermore foresighted even in the face of basically unexpected events and skillfully balancing between charming arrogance and lulling aplomb. All of this both in business and socially.

It was all part of the game. Xanatos has always found people easy to win over as they were all-to-eager to believe in the security he radiated. They needed it. The hope for success that Xanatos embodied was as crucial as the very air they breathed. Xanatos was invincible in his business. Even in times of crushing financial chaos, his vast portfolio flourished around the world. He was both predator and omnivore, drawing energy and profit from whatever he touched and turning even minor defeats into new opportunities.

Yes, David Xanatos always stood strong and confident in even the most unpleasant of situations But this - today - under the bright blue sky at Bar Harbor Cemetery in Maine - was a real challenge for him for the first time in many years. Fox (Janine) at his side helped extremely in the last days and hours, even in her forties beautiful, poised, smart and so professional as he- his equal in every way. She shook just as many hands, knew how to respond to the mechanical expressions of condolences and praise for his father with sensitivity as well as supposedly deep sorrow, and noticeably buffered the impact of the people who wanted to pay their last respects to Petros Xanatos.

And Alex helped too - right now, because when David put a hand on his shoulder, he felt the strange power surrounding his offspring like a barely perceptible energy field. It could not be compared to electrical voltage. Humans (normal humans) didn't have the right receptors to explain this kind of energy correctly - what it felt like underneath the real physical sensation. Magic. No matter what he did - it helped. Because finally Petros' former neighbor, who had been praising his neatness and dutifulness and yada yada yada for 5 minutes and hadn't let go of his hand in a completely unnecessary consoling gesture with a final assurance that she'd always be there if he (the Manhattan billionaire with an army of henchmen and employees) needed anything, turned and walked away.

The area around the grave, which was in the process of being shoveled up by funeral home workers, had perhaps also emptied because of Alexander. Everyone knew there would still be food and drinks on the lawn of the Atlantic Oceanside Hotel and Event Center where old and even older friends and acquaintances of Petros Xanatos could commemorate him.

It amazed David that so many people had come to the funeral. How many people - almost half the town (of real residents, not newcomers or tourists) - had obviously valued his father. Yes, he had known that his distant, estranged sire, whom he had never been able to please, had been an active member of the community. Not just the grumpy man, one of the last real fishermen in the former fishing town that in recent years had blossomed into an excursion and recreation destination with good seafood restaurants, reasonably affordable hotels, a promenade and a wide range of activities around Acadia National Park.

The town's richest son had discreetly invested in everything, pushing the economy and tourism in a comparatively nature-friendly way. Not something his father - the disgruntled hardcore traditionalist who mistook progress and change for disrespectful desecration - appreciated, even if 80 percent of the town had found better work thanks to his son. There were more prospects than becoming a fisherman or gutting and canning carcasses in one of the fish processing plants.

Just thinking about it made David take a deep breath without the overwhelming feeling disappearing. He turned away from the grave when all the funeral attendees, including the pastor, had departed and looked out over the hill to the sea. Under the infinite sky, an infinite sea. Why did so many people - like Petros - see freedom in it - where David saw only emptiness? Dullness. Why had his father been held in such high esteem by the entire old-established town? Because he had helped one (or ten others) to paint their house? Because he had given this or that family fish from his catch for six months after their mother died? Because he had sat in the pub every Saturday night like the others, shouting at the football players on TV or listening to drunken stories?

David couldn't help but think (as he had for days, since the phone call informing him of his father's passing - died peacefully in his sleep and found by a neighbor he had planned to go fly fishing with) about who and how many would come to his own funeral. What would be said about him at his grave. Billionaire, businessman, philanthropist. And David couldn't help but think too that these simple people, here in the ass-crack of nowhere, would remember his, to him, frigid father (who had found and brought back the lost child of tourists, who had paid for Freddy Munchik's tab when he got drunk in the pub after his son's death with no money, who taught half the neighborhood kids how to fix their bikes) more genuinely and fondly than all the rich, pale, fake, stupidly grinning idiots expressing their infinite grief for the cameras who would "mourn" him.

What would be left of David Xanatos when the last article had sung his praises and the last documentary had described him and the last voices had demonized him? All the money he used to keep so many businesses going, all the people who got up for him every morning. No one really knew him - no one except his family, the Gargoyles with whom he shared his castle in the clouds, Owen.

A hand - no longer really small but with the promise of physical grandeur and surely so much more - slipped into his. The gesture of a child like he was but his understanding of David's currently troubled inner life and his look ancient.

"Dad, are you okay?"

He returned the pressure of his hand.

"Yes. Everything's fine." He looked down at his child whose forehead displayed an unconvinced frown, his eyes searchingly poking around his father's face. David smiled, knowing his offspring would have seen through his mask of calm insouciance even without Fae powers.

His beautiful, strong, always number one wife wrapped her arm around his, looking out over the bay of Bar Harbor with a sad smile, giving him support and at the same time space for his thoughts until they were alone and he could share them or not according to his preference.

"He ... It was time for him," David said, wrinkling his nose at a phrase that screamed submission to fate. A sentence that would NEVER have crossed the lips of his younger self (who had chased immortality and never achieved it - at least not the way he had imagined it).

"If he had accepted your offers of better medical care ... " Fox mused thoughtfully.

"He lived his life the way he wanted. And we live ours the way we want to. If nothing else, we were similar in that respect, my dear."

He kissed her lovingly if fleetingly and when they broke away, both smiling, David saw the laugh lines around her mouth and eyes - tiny and only magnifying her perfection - yet signs of the marching, racing, flying time. His own countenance in her wonderful eyes showed traces of gray temples. Something David Xanatos had found quite appealing in recent years - it suited him. But at that moment, although David's smile didn't waver and he didn't let on, his stomach grew cold.

Yes, David knew he was blessed. His wife. His son, who would carry on his legacy and cherish it. His children after him. Even a Gargoyle clan that had become more rather than less HIS clan in recent years. He was NOT the same man from 14, 15 years ago who had chased immortality for fear of decay and death and worst of all oblivion. And yet - when you stripped down all the ifs and buts and despite everything, it came down to simple truths. Bare at the end of the day like gnawed bones.

David Xanatos didn't just mourn. He regretted. He doubted. And he was afraid. A fear that had NEVER been called by that name, that had not reared its head for years and yet had always been there. And David Xanatos' fear, doubt and regret were not the normal feelings of a basically normal person. They were issues. That had to be eliminated. That could be eliminated. And therefore would. That's how he used to think. Before he had become wiser and learned that he could not achieve immortality by taking shortcuts. On this one point, he would have to go the way of all normal people, rich or poor. Did he wish he had more time? More certainty of being healthy and capable for a long time? Of course he did. But even if a Xanatos dreamed big - superior - he was no longer a fool. He would take and make the best use of what he was given.

His son took a deep breath, a gravity and discontent in that breath that made David's heart sink even further. Children thought their parents were gods. And wasn't everything he did and surrounded himself with so aloof and special that he seemed godlike despite his human status? He tried to be a good father. Approachable. As genuine as he could allow himself to be. But no father or mother likes to admit to being weak, doesn't want to appear that way, doesn't want to give their child any cause for concern or give the impression that the child has to take care of the parents. That's simply not how the roles were assigned. It shouldn't be.

David Xanatos laughed, briefly but with determination. So many dark thoughts were not his style. And by hell would he let this bad habit get the better of him. He bent down, grabbed his son under his legs and picked him up so that he was sitting on his interlocked arms. Then he made his way away from this depressing place and his thoughts, which were pragmatic but out of character.

The child automatically clutched at his head to keep from toppling over and braining himself on a gravestone. The sound of a startled little animal escaped him where Fox laughed fondly at the sight of her husband carrying his almost teenage son down the hill to the waiting car. They had left the reporters in New York. So what if some little muckraker from Bar Harbor made a scoop here? Should they.

"Dad, put me down. You're embarrassing! I'm too big for this!"

"You might be too big tomorrow. But not today!" he said with a laugh and clamped the squirming boy, who had totally forgotten that he could probably hex himself out of this, under his arms, completely crumpling his and the child's suit. Even behind him, he could hear the gravediggers chortling and laughing at the antics of the billionaire family. David imagined his father's ghost lingering by his grave, shaking his head sullenly and grumbling about how his wayward son couldn't even show respect at his father's grave.

.

.

Grant Turnbull nodded to the nurses as they turned to him. He knew one of them. The other, younger one was new to him. Forgotten were the coffee cups in their hands and their chitchat.

He smiled courteously and jovially, as he usually did, but the women's faces were positively radiant. Just what a reasonably well-toned body with broad shoulders, a slim abdomen and a face with chiseled cheekbones and chin (Elisa's words, not his) did. Add to that his tailored suit, even if he left the jacket off in this current heatwave. Everyone looked good in a suit - that was a fact and not (only) down to him.

At first, female attention had made him uncomfortable, it had left him overwhelmed and at a loss as to how he could reject women without, well, rejecting them. He didn't want to hurt anyone, but he already had the perfect partner. Things had gotten so much better since he wore the engagement ring.

"Hi. Is Elisa here?" he asked, lifting the cloth bag of tupperware and knowing he looked like a dog whose master had gone out without announcing it, and the older of the two pointed in the approximate direction of the elevator where the younger one was staring at him with that dreamy smile. And a hint of disappointment, her eyes on the ring finger of his left hand.

"She's gone downstairs, get some fresh air."

"Thanks a lot, I'm sure I'll run into her," Grant replied. A second of wider smiles again, a nod, then he turned around. As he waited for the elevator he couldn't help but hear the women whispering.

"Oh, my God, he's gorgeous," he heard the younger one say.

"I know!" Confirmed the other excitedly like a schoolgirl. "And he comes every night after work and brings Elisa dinner and they cuddle and whisper and he's so smitten with his fiancée. He's a dream."

"But Elisa Maza... I thought that was the..."

"Yes! She is."

"But I thought she had Goliath as-"

"Well, she has. Officially, they go to public events together. Sometimes. So they went and I'm sure they'll go again when Elisa goes back to work as a cop. You know Gargoyles are secretive apart from Nash. But honestly, such an interspecies relationship is quite sweet and serves the purpose of them visibly integrating. But a woman has needs that are ... a little more down to earth - especially after a certain age," said the older one and how she put it was among the top 5 of the more sensitive interpretations of Elisa Maza's interactions with Grant Turnbull the human AND Goliath the gargoyle.

"So this whole thing with Miss Maza and Goliath is just for the press?" the younger woman inquired with a conspiratorial and incredulous tone, eager for gossip and background information that she would probably post somewhere if it wouldn't cost her her job. Xanatos Media's bloodhounds had become extremely good at either deleting such posts within minutes or sending out lawsuits that would make mere mortals weep.

"I don't think so. Elisa and Goliath are a thing. But ... so are Elisa Maza and Mr. Turnbull."

"So ... a love triangle? Or a V?"

"What on earth is a V?" asked the older one, bewildered, while the younger one giggled.

Mr. Turnbull rolled his eyes when the elevator finally arrived and he got in. The things people made up! But he was forgiving as long as it was just idle gossip. What was he supposed to do? People were just people, they liked to talk because they didn't have much else. Tomorrow it would be about Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, the day after tomorrow about someone else.

On the first floor, Grant wandered around a bit until he saw his sweetheart sitting on one of the chairs by the closed and dark cafeteria. The coffee- and snack machines were always working and Elisa needed her latte no matter what state she was in.

Grant smiled fondly from afar when he saw her lounging in the chair. The light blue polo shirt with the hospital's name on it and the name tag that read Children Life Volunteer under her name looked right on her. She looked content if introverted and pensive, as she often had been in recent weeks, so much so that she didn't even notice him as he approached.

Hardly anything about her showed that the last few months had been an ordeal for her (and the clan and Elisa's family). Even in her weakest moments, she was the strongest woman Grant had ever met. You'd think she'd have had enough of hospitals after her breast cancer diagnosis and treatment, including surgery. His sweetheart had finished her radiation procedure a few weeks ago, had recovered quickly but would be off work for another few weeks. The ceiling had fallen on her head in her apartment and the boredom had made his power woman more irritable than the stress of the illness. She had volunteered at St. Jude Children's Research Hospital and was much more balanced since then, even if it sometimes stung Grant to see her interacting with the kids. As if ... her unwillingness to have or even adopt children was something she did out of misplaced loyalty to him.

Elisa was good with those entrusted to her care, patient when they nearly went mad, crying and risking pulling their IVs because their birth parents couldn't be with them at night. Or amusingly serious when she played tea party or lent her voice to stuffed animals or sang to the little ones. Or naturally and calmly when she played cards or board games with the older ones. Grant hadn't watched everything, but Goliath had sporadically observed her from the outside of the windows (well, he had snooped around a bit, it was in his nature). It was no longer the case that today's children were always afraid of gargoyles. But it just wasn't okay if you didn't volunteer to lurk around the little patients' rooms, even if those little ones thought you were more cool than creepy. And it drew attention to Goliath and his relationship with Elisa that no one needed, especially not children who should be sleeping and recovering.

But the way she treated the children. And now here she sat in thought ... Grant wished her most of all that she did what made her happy. If her volunteer work here changed her mind ... if she wanted children - however. He would go every yard with her.

Elisa finally looked up when he was almost at her side. And her smile was wonderful and so much more meaningful and telling than that of thousands of nurses. A lovely lingering kiss, then her eyes fell on his cloth bag.

"Heaven sent you," she said as he unpacked his loot.

"Quite literally," he smugly tried a flat joke and Elisa chuckled as she unwrapped the cutlery from the towel and he opened the tupperware bowls with the salad and vegetable lasagna. Elisa sighed with delight and shoveled big bites into her mouth less than 10 seconds later. Grant loved watching her eat, especially when he had provided it. It was an instinct, but he also knew that people didn't like to be watched while they ate, so he pulled out his cell phone and pretended to be engaged. Suggesting Elisa heat up the lasagna in a microwave would only have earned him a pointed comment, so he let it go.

"Lexington landed in New York," he said after scrolling around a bit.

"Ahh, he made a stop in Spain after England to investigate this one leak at one of Xanatos companies," Elisa said, her tone making Grant smirk.

"You're worried that Lex does things for Xanatos so often. But not that he spends a few weeks with the London clan twice a year."

Elisa lifted her head from the bowl, looking at her fiancé a little embarrassed.

"I- Lex is a big-ass boy. But Xanatos will always be shady. It amuses him to do things we can't figure out and ... I don't want him to negatively affect Lexington."

Grant nodded. There were secrets ... they ferment inside you to the point of toxic rot if you don't get rid of them and share them. Elisa knew about Puck's vision that had been planted in Goliath's head to get control of the Phoenix Gate back then. Even though they were sure that future had been averted... that perverted vision of terror lingered in the back of their minds.

"Don't worry about it. We'll always keep an eye on him, even if he's gone sometimes. Our Lexington is smart and has enough integrity to withstand Xanatos siren call. "

"Yes, he is," Elisa said and continued eating for a few minutes, also politely poking at the salad Grant pushed towards her encouragingly.

They both watched as a boy with light brown hair approached. But not to them. He went to one of the snack machines and without looking at the selection because he obviously knew immediately what he wanted, he inserted coins and pressed the combinations for a pack of Peanut butter M&Ms and a Sprite. Both fell crunching and clattering into the dispensing chute, were grabbed and without even acknowledging them the boy of perhaps 12 marched away. His eyes were tired and hard, his mouth had something pinched that was strange in a child or could simply be an expression of approaching puberty, and he was wearing jeans and a Digimon T-shirt.

As he walked away, Grant noticed Elisa's eyes lingering on his form. His back view made his slender figure all the more apparent. But he was just slim... Not too slim. Nothing seemed special about him. He didn't seem malnourished, he didn't have a scratch on him, he wasn't dirty. His clothes weren't the newest, seemed well worn and soft but in good condition. Damn, Grant could smell the detergent and fabric softener on his clothes. What was Elisa so captivated by?

"Elisa..."

"Jeah?" she said, picking up her fork again to scrape the remains out of the tupperware bowl.

"A nickel for your thoughts."

Elisa grinned at him lovingly and a little know-it-all.

"It's called a penny. A penny for your thoughts."

Grant smiled. By now, he only made mistakes like that to amuse his love. Most of the time.

"What about the boy?" he asked and Elisa shrugged her shoulders.

"I think I just miss the job. See problematic stuff where there's nothing to be found. And I don't really have much to do with him or his sister because he always seems to be around and the girl isn't in distress sleeping alone."

"Elisa, they can remove the detective from the department but not the instinct from the detective. And that was your cop face. What does your instinct tell you?"

"That ... jeah, was the brother of one of the patients. Seriously ill child. And according to the nurses, been here for almost 3 months - bouncing back and forth in her condition. Her brother is here every night. And I mean every night. From what I've heard. Sometimes I don't know when or if he leaves. I've never seen the father. The mother is deceased. Last year."

Grant raised inquiring an eyebrow. Normal human children couldn't stay out for hours every night and it was strange that the father never accompanied him. Even if the boy lived nearby ...

"Did you talk to him about it?"

Elisa quirked one corner of her mouth unhappily. "On what grounds should I question him? He regularly brings his father's confirmations to the information forms about the further treatment, said his father just works long hours. But what father wouldn't regularly check on his child lying in the hospital, even if it was just to hold the sleeping child's hand. I mean ... I ... would do that."

Elisa took a deep breath and emptied her latte. Closed the Tupperware with a frustrated vigor that made Grant feel sorry for the material as she continued to speak. "I'm not working as a cop right now, don't have access to the resources. And it was obvious the kid thought I was a busybody when I tried to draw him into a conversation. I felt like one of my old aunts trying to pin you down. He said then he needed to check on his sister. And since then-" Now Elisa flashed a smile and it was fond and almost proud. "He's a tricky guy, dodging me at almost every opportunity or marching around so determinedly that it seems inappropriate to stop him. I think he's playing me. My cop instinct says he's playing everyone."

Grant leaned back in the chair, which was a little small for his stature.

"You don't have access to the resources ... But others do. I'll put Goliath on it. After you tell us if we're in a V relationship. Whatever that may be."

Elisa looked at him with a smile, that sly expression around her eyes that he absolutely adored.

.

Puts on her clever glasses* "Well Grant. U see - it means Elisa fucks you AND the Gargoyle and u both are so totally into that."

Or how LGBTQIA+ wiki put`s it:

V Polyamory or Vee Polyamory is a term to describe a type of polyamorous relationship which involves three people, where one person is in a relationship with two partners who are not in a relationship with each other. For example: A is dating B and C, but B and C are not dating each other. It is not the same a cheating because all people involved are aware of all other parties and consent to it. The two people on the "ends of V", may or may not identify as polyamorous, but still consent to their partner having another partner.

Thanks for reading, Q.T.