Jan. 15th, 2008 04:19 pm
Impermanence 3/5
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lovely_ambitionTitle: Impermanence 3/5
Pairing: Glitch/Cain
Disclaimer: They do not belong to me. They really don't.
Rating: PG-13.
Notes: Part One here. Part Two here. While Part Four is done, it will be posted on Thursday rather than tomorrow due to my being away.
Summary: Five annuals pass and Cain becomes a grandfather.
When Cain left the palace permanently, Ambrose moved into his former room. It was a small balm after three annuals of being wholly in love with the man, but the knowing that he had been in that room, had slept in that bed, had used each of its facets, that was enough to get Ambrose through some of the colder, darker nights. It had been five annuals now since the reign of the Wicked Witch, as too many people had taken to calling her, embellishing the facts with flashy narrative now that the worst scars were beginning to heal over.
Admittedly, things were better.
People had begun to move on. DG had met herself something of a fine young man in the court and they had their secret sessions in dark corners where they only thought that no one could see them. Azkadellia smiled more and was even able to make public appearances without bowing out after only several minutes, for fear that someone would try and kill her in angry revenge. The Queen and Amaho settled into their reign, slowly giving both DG and Azkadellia more and more responsibility.
Jeb married one annual ago and Ambrose had been pleasantly surprised to find the young man on his doorstep to personally invite him to the wedding. He had been so touched by the invitation that he hadn’t even stopped to remember just whom this child belonged to.
The wedding, as it turned out, had been a difficult affair.
It had been pleasant enough to get away from the palace and to wear his absolute finest and dance with women (and the occasional man) who wanted absolutely nothing from him. It was good to see Jeb Cain smile so radiantly and experiencing the love that he so completely deserved.
At the same time, the entire affair had been painful for Ambrose. The first thing he had seen when he arrived at the outdoor ceremony was Wyatt Cain dressed impeccably well in a long suit-jacket the colour of the woods and a completely new vest and pair of pants. He had taken his hat off for the event, which only showed off the light curls of his hair at the new length he had taken to keeping his hair at.
His hair was, Ambrose theorized, just long enough to grab onto. That had been a hard image to shake for some time and it wasn’t until the happy couple was kissing that Ambrose began to applaud along with them and stopped considering the grey flecks in Cain’s hair, now that he was getting on in age even more so.
He didn’t dance with Wyatt Cain that night. Not because he didn’t want to, but because the other man had spent the night speaking either with his son or his son’s new wife and Ambrose hadn’t wanted to intrude.
Now, an annual later, there were continuous letters arriving to the palace and inviting Ambrose to come and visit the Cains.
He had taken his leave from the palace and had taken several neatly-packed bags with him to the small village they now lived in, which was twenty-minutes from the palace and adjacent to a babbling brook that seemed instantly soothing to the mind and spirit. Ambrose took a moment to close his eyes and let it wash over him, soothing his nerves about visiting for all of a moment. When he opened his eyes, Jeb’s pretty young wife was running out to greet him, followed in turn by the younger of the two Cain men.
Ambrose tried valiantly not to let his disappointment show, that he wished it were Wyatt coming towards him with strong and eager arms.
The reason that he hadn’t been greeted by his old friend became eminently clear as they got closer to the house and Jeb talked eagerly about how they had a room that was perfect for Ambrose and Cain himself had made sure of it.
“You had a child,” Ambrose remarked, his voice soft with innocence and surprised joy as he watched Cain step onto the front porch and tend to his new grandson, swathed in a thick wool blanket within his arms. The entire world seemed to fall away and make itself unimportant as he watched Cain’s devoted attention to the baby.
Eventually, Cain lifted his gaze and turned a sunny grin towards them. “Ambrose!” he called over heartily, nodding to the porch. “C’mere and see the new addition to the Cains.”
“What’s his name?” Ambrose asked curiously as his heavy feet lead him forward to stand beside Cain, their hips touching and Ambrose was barely conscious of the space between them. He extended a long finger into the blanket to brush at flushed and swollen little cheeks and piercing blue eyes that he would recognize anywhere.
“Well, Father sort of twisted my elbow…” Jeb admitted with a rueful grin.
“We all agreed,” his wife sternly added.
“His name’s Wyatt G. Cain, Jr.,” Cain announced proudly, bouncing the little one so gently that it surprised Ambrose to see the Tin Man be so careful and gentle, so unlike every other fantasy and possibility that Ambrose played out in his mind of being with the other man. “The G, of course,” he continued, “being for Glitch.”
Ambrose stared at the young family around him, one that had suffered entirely too much loss over too short a period of time, swayed impossibly by such a small thing that he could barely speak.
“For me.”
“What can I say, Ambrose,” Cain offered, as even and careful as always as he handed little Wyatt over to his mother. “You’re a part of this family.”
Oh, how Ambrose wished that didn’t sting as much as it did. Family wasn’t precisely the road he so badly wanted to walk down. Family didn’t want to pull Cain aside and mess up that longer hair of his, strip him of his vest and descend into a straddle to show him just how much he had come to want him and love him. Family didn’t fall in love with each other and get the happily-ever-after the storybooks spoke of.
*
They drank ale in front of a minimalistic fire in the guest room; Ambrose sitting back and cupping his drink while Cain poked at the embers. The younger generation had long ago poured themselves into bed while the older men contented themselves with the warming drinks.
The tipsiness was settling in pleasantly and Ambrose curled in his chair towards both the warmth of the fire and Cain.
“Do you enjoy it out here in the wilderness?” he asked, sounding far sleepier than he was. It was hard to help, though, when he had been thoroughly charmed and pampered in Cain’s home. Every spare moment that he had, Ambrose would watch Cain with his new grandson and observe the smattering of blond hairs that were now more rapidly turning to grey and the way that Cain seemed to look more affable in general now.
“This is hardly wilderness. I’m pretty sure we still count as pampered citizens,” Cain chuckled to himself, reaching over for his hat and slowly lifting himself out of his crouch to rest one hand on Ambrose’s chair, the other placing that old fedora on his head. “I noticed you’re going a bit grey there,” he observed, a spark in his eyes.
“Well, we can’t all be perfect,” Ambrose replied, holding onto Cain’s look. “Especially those of us who have already gone grey.”
Cain’s smile was as warm as the firelight and Ambrose took a deep and hurried gulp of his ale to distract himself from saying anything else. The hat felt right on his head, which was a strange concept, that it could feel so right, this piece of Cain’s clothing. While it would have been nice to imbibe in more ale, Ambrose found himself arrested by the piercing pain of something foreign shooting through his head, causing him to let out a yelp of surprise as he clasped his head in his hands.
Before he knew it, Cain’s hands were clasped tightly around both Ambrose’s wrist and one was pressed to his forehead.
“You okay there?” he asked, worriedly.
“I think I’ve drank too much,” Ambrose admitted when the headache dulled, just enough to become a throbbing, pulsating annoyance of a thing that the firelight only served to worsen.
“C’mon, you’re staying the night with me,” Cain ordered, sending both thrills of immediate anxiety and elated anticipation through Ambrose at the kind gesture and though his impulse was to say ‘No! I couldn’t possibly!’ he found himself accepting the charity with weary, open arms.
Cain put him to bed and Ambrose let him, ignoring whatever dignity he was losing in the matter in favour of the light touches and the quiet glimpses he received of Cain in the soft light of the early morning, a light which dear Adora Cain must have seen and memorized in her life. Now, Ambrose was the one receiving it, staring up at the man as he leaned over the coverlets and gave Ambrose that barely there smile.
“How about in the morning, you can show me where I went wrong in carving that toy horse for little Wyatt,” he suggested.
Ambrose was far past the point where he could respond and he murmured a tired word of agreement before the world was a haze to him and he could bask in the warmth of the Cain home, knowing all too clearly that this was where he wanted to be.
When the bed dipped with unexpected warmth and a welcomed presence, Ambrose did his best not to turn and reach out, to beckon Cain closer to temporarily indulge in the company of someone else. He contented himself with the safety that Cain was mere inches away and that he didn’t flinch when Ambrose’s hand brushed his back in trying to get acclimated.
Small steps made up the journey, after all.
*
Within two months, it became heartbreakingly, staggeringly clear just what was going on with Ambrose, though he hid it extremely well to the people who knew him best. He knew exactly what was causing the headaches and thankfully, he was able to contain most of his ‘outbursts’ to his own room and never let it show in public.
Ambrose was losing his mind, slowly but surely.
It was just a matter of time before all of Cain’s devoted and friendly proclamations that he would always be Glitch to him would become the cold truth, not just to the Tin Man, but to the entire O.Z. Ambrose spent his days writing furiously in a gambit to challenge time to a duel, managing to pen out his history, his lost fifteen annuals, his inventions, his ideas.
In a more private journal, he spent his days accounting for his interactions with friends and co-workers.
In yet another journal all-together, he wrote about his feelings towards Cain and how to explain them. At first, he had used prose of the highest order with superfluous adjectives and intense imagery and metaphor. Eventually, he conceded to the fact that when his mind left him, he wouldn’t understand half of that. So he simplified it:
There is a man named Wyatt Cain and you love him very much, even if he doesn’t know this. He will always protect you. You will likely always love him unless he does some unmentionable rude thing, which isn’t out of the question. Don’t make too much of a scene about it. It would be embarrassing.
Ambrose set the journals aside and though he briefly considered burning them, he let them be. Even with a greatly reduced mark of intelligence, he would understand that a secret was a secret. He wished this inevitable chain of events didn’t grip him with icy panic, but he resolved himself to one constant thought that kept him safe and protected. If nothing else, Ambrose knew that not all was lost.
Unrequited love or not, Wyatt Cain would protect him.
tbc
Pairing: Glitch/Cain
Disclaimer: They do not belong to me. They really don't.
Rating: PG-13.
Notes: Part One here. Part Two here. While Part Four is done, it will be posted on Thursday rather than tomorrow due to my being away.
Summary: Five annuals pass and Cain becomes a grandfather.
When Cain left the palace permanently, Ambrose moved into his former room. It was a small balm after three annuals of being wholly in love with the man, but the knowing that he had been in that room, had slept in that bed, had used each of its facets, that was enough to get Ambrose through some of the colder, darker nights. It had been five annuals now since the reign of the Wicked Witch, as too many people had taken to calling her, embellishing the facts with flashy narrative now that the worst scars were beginning to heal over.
Admittedly, things were better.
People had begun to move on. DG had met herself something of a fine young man in the court and they had their secret sessions in dark corners where they only thought that no one could see them. Azkadellia smiled more and was even able to make public appearances without bowing out after only several minutes, for fear that someone would try and kill her in angry revenge. The Queen and Amaho settled into their reign, slowly giving both DG and Azkadellia more and more responsibility.
Jeb married one annual ago and Ambrose had been pleasantly surprised to find the young man on his doorstep to personally invite him to the wedding. He had been so touched by the invitation that he hadn’t even stopped to remember just whom this child belonged to.
The wedding, as it turned out, had been a difficult affair.
It had been pleasant enough to get away from the palace and to wear his absolute finest and dance with women (and the occasional man) who wanted absolutely nothing from him. It was good to see Jeb Cain smile so radiantly and experiencing the love that he so completely deserved.
At the same time, the entire affair had been painful for Ambrose. The first thing he had seen when he arrived at the outdoor ceremony was Wyatt Cain dressed impeccably well in a long suit-jacket the colour of the woods and a completely new vest and pair of pants. He had taken his hat off for the event, which only showed off the light curls of his hair at the new length he had taken to keeping his hair at.
His hair was, Ambrose theorized, just long enough to grab onto. That had been a hard image to shake for some time and it wasn’t until the happy couple was kissing that Ambrose began to applaud along with them and stopped considering the grey flecks in Cain’s hair, now that he was getting on in age even more so.
He didn’t dance with Wyatt Cain that night. Not because he didn’t want to, but because the other man had spent the night speaking either with his son or his son’s new wife and Ambrose hadn’t wanted to intrude.
Now, an annual later, there were continuous letters arriving to the palace and inviting Ambrose to come and visit the Cains.
He had taken his leave from the palace and had taken several neatly-packed bags with him to the small village they now lived in, which was twenty-minutes from the palace and adjacent to a babbling brook that seemed instantly soothing to the mind and spirit. Ambrose took a moment to close his eyes and let it wash over him, soothing his nerves about visiting for all of a moment. When he opened his eyes, Jeb’s pretty young wife was running out to greet him, followed in turn by the younger of the two Cain men.
Ambrose tried valiantly not to let his disappointment show, that he wished it were Wyatt coming towards him with strong and eager arms.
The reason that he hadn’t been greeted by his old friend became eminently clear as they got closer to the house and Jeb talked eagerly about how they had a room that was perfect for Ambrose and Cain himself had made sure of it.
“You had a child,” Ambrose remarked, his voice soft with innocence and surprised joy as he watched Cain step onto the front porch and tend to his new grandson, swathed in a thick wool blanket within his arms. The entire world seemed to fall away and make itself unimportant as he watched Cain’s devoted attention to the baby.
Eventually, Cain lifted his gaze and turned a sunny grin towards them. “Ambrose!” he called over heartily, nodding to the porch. “C’mere and see the new addition to the Cains.”
“What’s his name?” Ambrose asked curiously as his heavy feet lead him forward to stand beside Cain, their hips touching and Ambrose was barely conscious of the space between them. He extended a long finger into the blanket to brush at flushed and swollen little cheeks and piercing blue eyes that he would recognize anywhere.
“Well, Father sort of twisted my elbow…” Jeb admitted with a rueful grin.
“We all agreed,” his wife sternly added.
“His name’s Wyatt G. Cain, Jr.,” Cain announced proudly, bouncing the little one so gently that it surprised Ambrose to see the Tin Man be so careful and gentle, so unlike every other fantasy and possibility that Ambrose played out in his mind of being with the other man. “The G, of course,” he continued, “being for Glitch.”
Ambrose stared at the young family around him, one that had suffered entirely too much loss over too short a period of time, swayed impossibly by such a small thing that he could barely speak.
“For me.”
“What can I say, Ambrose,” Cain offered, as even and careful as always as he handed little Wyatt over to his mother. “You’re a part of this family.”
Oh, how Ambrose wished that didn’t sting as much as it did. Family wasn’t precisely the road he so badly wanted to walk down. Family didn’t want to pull Cain aside and mess up that longer hair of his, strip him of his vest and descend into a straddle to show him just how much he had come to want him and love him. Family didn’t fall in love with each other and get the happily-ever-after the storybooks spoke of.
*
They drank ale in front of a minimalistic fire in the guest room; Ambrose sitting back and cupping his drink while Cain poked at the embers. The younger generation had long ago poured themselves into bed while the older men contented themselves with the warming drinks.
The tipsiness was settling in pleasantly and Ambrose curled in his chair towards both the warmth of the fire and Cain.
“Do you enjoy it out here in the wilderness?” he asked, sounding far sleepier than he was. It was hard to help, though, when he had been thoroughly charmed and pampered in Cain’s home. Every spare moment that he had, Ambrose would watch Cain with his new grandson and observe the smattering of blond hairs that were now more rapidly turning to grey and the way that Cain seemed to look more affable in general now.
“This is hardly wilderness. I’m pretty sure we still count as pampered citizens,” Cain chuckled to himself, reaching over for his hat and slowly lifting himself out of his crouch to rest one hand on Ambrose’s chair, the other placing that old fedora on his head. “I noticed you’re going a bit grey there,” he observed, a spark in his eyes.
“Well, we can’t all be perfect,” Ambrose replied, holding onto Cain’s look. “Especially those of us who have already gone grey.”
Cain’s smile was as warm as the firelight and Ambrose took a deep and hurried gulp of his ale to distract himself from saying anything else. The hat felt right on his head, which was a strange concept, that it could feel so right, this piece of Cain’s clothing. While it would have been nice to imbibe in more ale, Ambrose found himself arrested by the piercing pain of something foreign shooting through his head, causing him to let out a yelp of surprise as he clasped his head in his hands.
Before he knew it, Cain’s hands were clasped tightly around both Ambrose’s wrist and one was pressed to his forehead.
“You okay there?” he asked, worriedly.
“I think I’ve drank too much,” Ambrose admitted when the headache dulled, just enough to become a throbbing, pulsating annoyance of a thing that the firelight only served to worsen.
“C’mon, you’re staying the night with me,” Cain ordered, sending both thrills of immediate anxiety and elated anticipation through Ambrose at the kind gesture and though his impulse was to say ‘No! I couldn’t possibly!’ he found himself accepting the charity with weary, open arms.
Cain put him to bed and Ambrose let him, ignoring whatever dignity he was losing in the matter in favour of the light touches and the quiet glimpses he received of Cain in the soft light of the early morning, a light which dear Adora Cain must have seen and memorized in her life. Now, Ambrose was the one receiving it, staring up at the man as he leaned over the coverlets and gave Ambrose that barely there smile.
“How about in the morning, you can show me where I went wrong in carving that toy horse for little Wyatt,” he suggested.
Ambrose was far past the point where he could respond and he murmured a tired word of agreement before the world was a haze to him and he could bask in the warmth of the Cain home, knowing all too clearly that this was where he wanted to be.
When the bed dipped with unexpected warmth and a welcomed presence, Ambrose did his best not to turn and reach out, to beckon Cain closer to temporarily indulge in the company of someone else. He contented himself with the safety that Cain was mere inches away and that he didn’t flinch when Ambrose’s hand brushed his back in trying to get acclimated.
Small steps made up the journey, after all.
*
Within two months, it became heartbreakingly, staggeringly clear just what was going on with Ambrose, though he hid it extremely well to the people who knew him best. He knew exactly what was causing the headaches and thankfully, he was able to contain most of his ‘outbursts’ to his own room and never let it show in public.
Ambrose was losing his mind, slowly but surely.
It was just a matter of time before all of Cain’s devoted and friendly proclamations that he would always be Glitch to him would become the cold truth, not just to the Tin Man, but to the entire O.Z. Ambrose spent his days writing furiously in a gambit to challenge time to a duel, managing to pen out his history, his lost fifteen annuals, his inventions, his ideas.
In a more private journal, he spent his days accounting for his interactions with friends and co-workers.
In yet another journal all-together, he wrote about his feelings towards Cain and how to explain them. At first, he had used prose of the highest order with superfluous adjectives and intense imagery and metaphor. Eventually, he conceded to the fact that when his mind left him, he wouldn’t understand half of that. So he simplified it:
There is a man named Wyatt Cain and you love him very much, even if he doesn’t know this. He will always protect you. You will likely always love him unless he does some unmentionable rude thing, which isn’t out of the question. Don’t make too much of a scene about it. It would be embarrassing.
Ambrose set the journals aside and though he briefly considered burning them, he let them be. Even with a greatly reduced mark of intelligence, he would understand that a secret was a secret. He wished this inevitable chain of events didn’t grip him with icy panic, but he resolved himself to one constant thought that kept him safe and protected. If nothing else, Ambrose knew that not all was lost.
Unrequited love or not, Wyatt Cain would protect him.
tbc
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