Feb. 10th, 2008 12:57 pm
Longest Battle 5/8
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lovely_ambitionThe Longest Battle 5/8
Pairing: Ambrose/Cain, Queen/Ahamo
Disclaimer: I do not own them at all.
Summary: The Witch won't rest until she has the O.Z. in darkness, no matter how she must do it, no matter how long it takes.
Rating: PG-13 to R.
Notes: This acts as an AU to the entire Tin Man series and hinges on just one question: "What if DG hadn't let go?" Fifteen annuals pass and while some things may remain the same, many is different. EXTREME thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
blackletter for being a wonderful & efficient beta.
CHAPTER ONE: In which DG holds on, Zero takes matters into his own hands, Adora Cain is a casualty, Ambrose is given a lifetime of glitches, and Jeb Cain gets into Ambrose's bed before his father does.
CHAPTER TWO: In which the search for the Mystic Man begins, Cain makes failed attempts at bonding, Jeb hides well, and a tentative agreement is made between Ambrose and Cain.
CHAPTER THREE: In which Ambrose reveals why he hates Zero so much, it's Jeb's and then Wyatt's birthday, and Cain finds out that you can never have too much heart.
CHAPTER FOUR: In which Cain and Ambrose are exiled, they meet a Viewer named Raw who can feel the O.Z., Ambrose has to face the facts, and mobats have a nasty bite.
Ambrose nearly tore his hair out in the time it took Raw to find his way back to them. Cain had been near-delirious and was rambling on and on about Adora and Jeb and Ambrose, and ‘protect Jeb’ and continuous words about the Iron Suit, which made Ambrose’s heart freeze up. Cain was still sweating and his already-pale skin was looking whiter with every hour. Ambrose refused to let Cain out of his lap and he refused to let go of the words that Cain had spoken, that glimmer of hope in a tunnel of darkness. “Cain,” Ambrose tiredly pleaded, at least once an hour. “Don’t fade. Have faith, Cain, have strength.”
“You said…have heart,” Cain gasped out the words.
“Don’t talk, you stubborn idiot, you need your rest,” Ambrose lashed, but even his anger was weary. He wanted to make sure that Cain would make it to when Raw returned. The bleeding had all but stopped, but Ambrose had no way of knowing how much poison had gotten into his system between Raw leaving and that present moment.
As much as he appreciated Cain’s physical attributes, none of them mattered anymore. Ambrose wasn’t so shallow that he could have settled on a pretty face and let that be it. He needed something beyond the surface and he saw everything that he wanted in Cain.
And Cain saw something in Ambrose in return.
He was still processing that part of it and wondering if he should just chalk that up to temporary madness, but he didn’t want to. He selfishly wanted to accept the words as having been true and well-meant and when this was all through, they could go back to the palace and the Queen would rescind her exile and they could properly talk.
He rocked Cain back and forth in his arms slightly to keep him from slipping unconscious and to reassure himself that he wasn’t about to go anywhere.
In order for them to go back to the palace and be able to talk freely about the matter while scientists put the machine to work, in order for that to happen, he needed Cain to stay alive and with him. He needed Cain to survive and it was more than the fact that he was his best friend and his protection on the road, but because Ambrose had never felt this way about anyone in the past. He had never made time before, but he would push aside every last second right now if it meant saving Cain’s life.
Finally, after twenty-one hours, Raw found his way back to them with herbs stuffed into every part of his clothing and Ambrose could finally breathe.
“What took you so long?” Ambrose demanded, refusing to let Cain out of his grasp, arms still wrapped around him and a hand pressing to the wound with desperation. He was nearly moved to ire but for a stray thought that Cain wouldn’t want him to be so angry with Raw over something that he couldn’t control. He sighed and gestured into the distance. “Never mind, just help him, would you?”
Ambrose had been pushed aside while Raw did his work and all he could do was watch on as a half-conscious Cain met Ambrose’s gaze and smiled peacefully.
“Make it through, Cain,” Ambrose muttered, biting at his thumb anxiously. “Have confidence, please,” he pleaded, pacing back and forth when his feet refused to stay in the same place.
Time seemed to slip by with alarming speed and Ambrose thought that he must have suffered an episode in the duration, that somehow, he must have simply lost his mind to let so much time out of his grasp. Eventually, Raw was able to heal not only the bleed of the bite, but get most of the poison out of it and Cain spoke his first coherent words in a long time.
“You’re looking pale there, sweetheart,” he croaked out in Ambrose’s direction. “A man might think you were worrying over me.”
“Oh, screw you, Tin Man,” Ambrose muttered, without any genuine malice to the words at all. Cain knew what he really meant anyhow.
*
Cain was feeling better, but not perfect. Travelling still felt like a burden and he couldn’t go as fast as he’d like. It took them longer than it should have to find the remaining parts for the machine, given that some days Cain couldn’t even get up for the pain in his system from lingering traces of poison that Raw couldn’t do anything about, despite his best efforts. Some days, he would only be able to make a half day’s journey or his temper would get so short that he was useless around anyone but Ambrose and Raw. Some days, he was fine, but predicting those was like predicting a twister.
They just couldn’t do it with any continuous success.
Eventually, the three and a half annuals of exile lapsed and Ambrose had in his possession a bag’s worth of small mechanical parts and large ones both, little projects made by geniuses in barns and fortresses with specialties more advanced than Cain could even name. It meant that they could finally go home.
Neither Cain nor Ambrose had said much to one another after the mobat attack, much to Raw’s displeasure. The Viewer made continuous hints and comments when they broke out arguing over something small and stupid like the temperature of dinner or Ambrose’s state of dress. “Stop fighting,” Raw snapped at them one night, cracking a twig in half. “Not what either of you want to do.”
But Cain was a stubborn man and Ambrose seemed inured to defeat, refusing to give in.
Cain knew they should talk about it, given that they clearly both felt something. Ambrose probably didn’t feel exactly as Cain did, given that no two people were ever identical, but he clearly respected Cain and enjoyed his company and Cain was starting to get to the point where he couldn’t imagine a future that didn’t involve Ambrose, in some form. The fact that he’d started to have uncomfortably enjoyable thoughts about Ambrose’s physical features had been difficult at first for a man like Cain to admit to and he’d denied their existence for a long while. Eventually, it just seemed childish to pretend they weren’t happening and he admitted that the Advisor was a sight, not to mention intelligent, brave, a good fighter, and an even better conversationalist. Apparently, he was something of a dancer (so Ambrose said), but Cain hadn’t had the opportunity to see him in action yet.
Still, it was a leap to go from admitting all of that and accepting that Ambrose felt the same. There was a whole chasm from accepting that Ambrose felt for him and doing something about it.
So Cain chose to ignore it as best as he could, at least until he got back to the palace and got Jeb’s opinion on the matter and on Ambrose. He knew his son had a good eye for the world and if he was ready, if he was willing to give his blessing, then Cain might just have to start taking leaps.
“There it is,” Ambrose commented as the three of them stared at a structure they hadn’t seen in a very long time. “Home.”
For some people, Cain thought, but didn’t add. Why ruin the mood?
*
When they returned to the palace, things were strained between Cain and Ambrose, considering what had happened after the mobat bite. As much as Raw had healed the physical ache of the bite, the poison still sent uncomfortable pulses through Cain’s system now and again and he spent most of his time sleeping off the injury.
Jeb, now ten annuals old, was bright-eyed and curious about the O.Z. and spent all of his time in Cain’s room. He flipped over pages in his lesson-book and showed him sketches of little machines he and the Princesses had come up with and spoke about how he had convinced the Queen (with Ahamo’s help) to let Jeb learn how to fight because it would have been what Cain wanted.
“Az’s birthday was amazing, Father,” Jeb spoke one day as he settled into a cross-legged position in the chair beside the bed. “She’s eighteen annuals now and that means that she’s next in line to take over the whole kingdom if something happened to the Queen.”
“It was a good party?” Cain asked with a wry smile.
“Fireworks, tons of food, performers, and I even got to dance with Azkadellia,” Jeb admitted proudly with his chin lifted high, the mark of a boy smug at his accomplishments. Cain could see it in his mind’s eye, his boy dancing with the Princess while courtiers and noble-boys looked on with jealousy at the former Tin Man’s son waltzing around the floor with the Princess. He chuckled warmly at the image and Jeb leaned in curiously. “What!”
“Just thinking about you on that dance floor, showing those city boys what a Cain’s made of,” he admitted, still laughing.
“Az says she’d rather dance with me than all those boring nobility boys anyway,” Jeb confided, that smug note still in his voice. “Gods, Father, have you heard them go on?” he complained. “As if I care about what honour has been bestowed on them. The real heroes are out there fighting for the O.Z., like you and Ambrose.”
Cain shifted under the heavy comforters at the mention of Ambrose, wondering if now was a good time to bring up things between him and Ambrose with Jeb. Even if his son was only ten annuals, he was still the one person in the world who understood him best outside of Ambrose himself. “About Ambrose, son…”
“Is he inventing something new?” Jeb interrupted eagerly, eyes bright. “We still have to show you the pictures we put together. It’s a whole story, like one of the old tales of the O.Z.,” he raved, eyes dancing with excitement.
Cain felt more uncomfortable in that moment than he did in that Tin Suit, all those years ago.
“Jeb,” Cain started, slow and serious. “Do you remember your mother?”
Jeb softened and sank back against the chair, sitting there and staring into space, as if trying to search down a memory and capture it, even though Jeb had been so young when it had all happened and sometimes, Cain wondered just how many memories Jeb had of his mother that weren’t shifted by his life spent within the palace’s walls.
“I think so…” he said quietly. “I remember she used to use herbs to make sauces. And you used to dance with her. And…I remember that she sang me to sleep every night and I refused to go to bed until I heard a lullaby,” he said, words quiet and sounding just as haunted as Cain’s own memories of their Adora.
Cain adjusted his grip on his shoulder, one broad hand above the bandaged wound as he watched Jeb carefully as the memories sank in and the love for his mother flickered across his face.
“She loved you with all her heart,” Cain agreed, knowing that he needed to tread lightly when it came to this topic. “She wanted you to be happy and I want the same thing for you, son.” How he was supposed to get from there to asking what Jeb thought of Ambrose was a difficult hop, but Cain had spent the last seven annuals of his life on worse journeys. “So what you think matters very much to me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father,” Jeb agreed dutifully.
“What do you think of life here? Of the people here?” He wanted to specifically ask about Ambrose, but his son was a smart boy and would probably understand too quickly that something was up and Cain wasn’t ready to completely acknowledge anything yet beyond the fact that Ambrose made him feel something that he hadn’t experienced in a very long time and that he was slowly coming around to the fact that he wanted those feelings back in his life.
But if Jeb didn’t approve, then it was all null and void. This was why he had to know whether there was any viability to what Cain wanted or whether it was useless to even pursue.
“Azkadellia and DG are my best friends,” Jeb announced with a boyish grin of innocence, all his worries washed away as he talked about them. “And I really like Az,” he admitted, attention turned to his fingers. “I mean, DG too, I do, because she finds the best places to go and the neatest things! But Az always makes sure I’m okay,” he added quietly. “She sits with me when I can’t sleep and we just talk about things and she reads me letters about you that tell me that you’re safe. She tells me about what she wants to do when she’s older. And she hugs well.” Jeb was speaking analytically, as if handing Cain a verbal report. “The Queen’s good to me. Really good and Ahamo takes me up sometimes in the balloon,” Jeb said, eyes wide at even the mention of the adventure.
“And Ambrose?” Cain asked.
There was hesitation, then.
“I don’t know, really,” Jeb admitted, his gaze meeting his father’s. “I mean, he’s an incredible inventor! The stuff he makes is really neat and the Queen talks a lot about him. Not as much as you do, but she does, and he sounds okay…”
“But?” Cain prodded, coaxing whatever was being held back.
“I don’t know him, Father,” Jeb admitted. “Maybe when I was little, he was around more, but he and you have been gone so much that I don’t know him so well at all.”
Cain mustered up a smile because there was no arguing with any of what Jeb had said. It was true that Ambrose had taken great pains to befriend Jeb when he was younger, but kids had malleable memories and things got lost as they got older and replaced them with fresher thoughts. All Jeb knew was that his father had been out there in the O.Z. with Ambrose for three annuals and not much past that.
“Help your Father up,” Cain encouraged with a groan as he sat up, pushing the heavy blankets off. “I need a walk before my muscles forget how to work.”
Jeb helped tug Cain to his feet and even let him lean on the younger boy as he hobbled to the doorway, managing to get his balance while he tested out his body. He felt stiff and a little ill, but it was a good day compared to all-too-many of the bad ones. Jeb was twitching by the time they got to the door and Cain couldn’t blame him; it wasn’t exactly exciting taking care of your old man.
“Go on,” Cain encouraged. “Say hi to the princesses for me.”
Jeb didn’t need anything more said before he was off through the halls, navigating them with the ease of someone who’d grown up within them. Cain wasn’t so sure of his bearings, but he was better than he was at the start. Slowly, Cain was making his way to the lab; his first instincts now weren’t to stand with Ahamo and be the outsiders looking in, but instead he wanted to go to the heart of the palace and watch the man who made things work.
Eventually, he got to Ambrose’s laboratory, feeling a lot worse than he did when he left his room. Ambrose, though, didn’t even look up at the heavy breathing or the sound of Cain taking a seat noisily inside. All his attention was fixated on a minute part, something that looked a little like clockwork, in fact. Finally, Cain coughed, trying to get Ambrose’s attention.
That didn’t work either.
Cain resolved to sitting back in his chair and seeing how long it would take Ambrose to even notice his presence. He even got comfortable, sitting there in a pair of pale blue pyjamas he’d brought from home with his arms crossed and his legs sprawled out in the room.
“Finally,” Ambrose sighed to himself, glancing up and jumping slightly when he saw Cain. “Cain! Don’t startle me!”
“I’ve been here a half hour,” he pointed out wryly, arching his scarred brow. “I’m starting to feel put out Ambrose,” he teased lightly. “I could understand if it was a shiny invention, but that looks pretty dull compared to me.”
He shouldn’t have been so satisfied at the colour that his comments drew out of Ambrose, but Cain was. It felt good, still, to be in a position to talk like this and feel like this without feeling guilty beyond the low-grade current of guilt that always ran through Cain that wondered at him, ‘why do you get to live on when Adora doesn’t?’, but that small voice was getting quieter as days went by and Cain did his best to honour Adora’s memory.
“What are you doing here?” Ambrose asked curiously. “I thought you and Ahamo had planned on a fishing trip out to the ponds.”
“Plans changed,” Cain offered. “Came to watch you work.” He settled in, leaning back in the chair and arranging himself like he owned the piece of furniture. He was sure a pair of cotton blue pyjamas and bare-feet didn’t strike the most commanding picture, but Cain still felt like he had enough control to be comfortable. “Don’t mind me.”
It went like that for weeks. The O.Z. seemed to be improving and Ambrose took to locking himself (and Cain) in his laboratory. While Cain usually spent most of the early annuals with Ahamo, he now elected to spend them with Ambrose to hear about the latest scientific discovery or to watch him work and sometimes, even to remind him of who he was.
The increased time that Ambrose and Cain spent together was just a prelude to an unexpected end, though neither of them really wanted it that way.
*
Over the annuals, Cain had kept his home in working condition, making sure to always keep the windows boarded up from storms and intruders, keeping the roof from caving in, and even going so far as to maintain the small aspects that made a house a home, because Cain knew that Adora would have wanted him to do it. Their decision to return to this home was mostly Cain’s, though Jeb had eventually given a weary nod of agreement. Now that Jeb was eleven and the O.Z. seemed to settling into normalcy, Cain wanted to go home and start his life again.
The palace was guarded by Ambrose’s shield, there were no reports about Zero, and towns all over had stopped seeing the Witch at roughly the same time as the landscape had stopped dying without explanation.
It seemed to be over.
In the end, Cain had to decide between Ambrose and the life he had once known -- the familiarity of a home and a job he could predict. In the end, Cain was still a simple Tin Man and he had made his apologies to the Queen and Ahamo, an even more difficult apology to the Princesses with a promise to visit, and a wordless shrug was given to Ambrose in the vain hopes that he’d understand.
“I have to,” Cain had said. “I’ve never felt like this was my home.”
He could tell that his words had stung Ambrose more than any weapon could and despite what had occurred on their last voyage, despite all the things they had each said, Cain still wanted to retreat to the world he knew. He wanted to raise Jeb in his own traditions and give his own lessons. He wanted to feel like he could go home. He’d bargained with Jeb to allow him visits on a weekly basis back to the palace so he could play with the only friends he’d known over the last eight annuals.
Gods, but Cain sometimes didn’t believe that all that time had passed. He couldn’t believe that it had taken eight annuals to find something resembling peace and he had the feeling that one day, there would a new offence, but he could rest easily now.
It took them weeks to set up the home again and the hard work wore on Jeb, who retreated to his bed early every night while Cain sat up to lose his mind in hours of work, refusing to think on things inside the thick palace walls.
It helped him to move on and ignore the plaguing questions of possibility. It helped him to go to bed so exhausted that all he could do was lie there and not wish for a second person to warm him, to keep him company.
It took three long weeks to get the house back in proper living condition.
Only Ahamo visited in all that time and he brought a heavy palace guard with him. “Precautions,” he offered apologetically before giving Jeb a care package from the girls full of letters, toys, and candies before sitting with Cain and discussing the Queen’s welfare and he even endured Cain’s laconic questions about Ambrose. Cain promised to visit, but then he’d gotten involved in repairing the roof and had missed the visit.
Slowly, they settled into the life they had before, not that Jeb remembered much of it at all. To Cain, it was a daily relief and a torture to be away from the palace.
Cain thought that this would be a constant in his life, that duality of senses.
Seven weeks after he and Jeb had returned to the little house on the borders of the forest, on a day where the sun reflected off the calm pond, there was a knock at the door, but no accompanying call to tell Cain who it was.
They had been eating a fine lunch, the likes of which Adora would have been proud of Cain for, and when Cain’s demand for who was there went unanswered, he gave Jeb a knife. “Stay here,” he instructed, crouching down in front of Jeb and resting his hands on the boy’s shoulders. Cain armed himself with his gun and rested his hand on the planks of wood that made up their door for a moment as he got his wits about him.
“Who’s there?” he tried one last time, but still no answer came.
Eventually, Cain acknowledged that the only way to find out was to open the door slowly, finding himself face to face with someone long from his past.
“Zero,” Cain growled the name out, not even hesitating as he followed through with a swing, a right hook followed by a left one, purely to leave the mark of his wedding band on his cheek. The two swings were all he got before Zero took a step back and let two of his henchmen step forward and grab hold of Cain while a third went into the house and dragged Jeb out. “Zero, you bastard, don’t you dare,” Cain roared, struggling and managing to break free several times before one of the Longcoats kicked Cain right in the back, sending him to the ground with a cry of pain.
“Father!” Jeb called over, in alarm.
Cain twisted with the assault, stumbling back to his feet, though his body was screaming with pain and as he righted himself, the henchmen punched Jeb, sending him sprawling to the ground. It only infuriated Cain more and he broke free once more of the hold, swinging desperately with wild punches that only hit their mark half of the time and opened him up for a return attack the other half. His nose was bleeding and his jaw was bruised and Cain was coughing up blood, his body feeling raw, but there was still so much fight in him.
While there was breath in his body, there was fight left in him.
“Cain, really,” Zero said, smooth as ever as he lifted Cain’s dropped gun to the level of Cain’s chest. “You should have just stayed in the Iron Suit. It’d make all this a lot easier. She’s not very happy with you. I hear about it in my head a lot, about the Tin Man who’s causing all kinds of problems. I thought I’d just let you wither away in your little shack with your simple little life, but she wants something done,” he spoke casually, as if having a simple conversation about any old topic. “It’s you first and then Ambrose. You should feel proud that she finds you more of a threat that you need dealing with first.”
“Zero…”
“I think you should watch this, Jeb,” Zero said to Cain’s son, his tone dripping with condescension. “This is what happens to people who resist the Coming Change.”
Before Cain could protest or make a move, Zero pulled the trigger, shooting him right in the heart and sending him flat onto his back on the ground. The last sound that Cain heard before the darkness began to overwhelm him was a familiar voice informing Zero that he had just made the biggest mistake of his life. It couldn’t have been though, it was impossible.
He’d heard Ambrose say that.
“Jeb,” Cain got out, a croak of a sound. “Ambr…” he tried to speak, but the darkness was coming on fast and hard.
*
In the end, Ambrose’s obsessive tendency to protect the things he cared about served him well. He couldn’t just leave well enough alone and when Cain had chosen his old life over him, he had continued to visit Cain’s home and watch over him and Jeb, just in case. While the Cains might have thought that palace life had forgotten them, Ambrose was there.
He was there when Zero pulled the trigger and when the bullet pierced through Cain’s clothes and drove into his heart. He was there and he felt his heart freeze up like ice and he lost all reason as he couldn’t hesitate a second longer.
“That, Zero, was the biggest mistake you could have ever made,” he warned, low and cold. He was stalking forward and his momentum didn’t shift or hesitate as he made quick work of the two men guarding Jeb Cain. There was nothing more than a sweep of a kick, several punches, and a well-placed foot to render them unconscious and knock the gun from Zero’s hand to the ground between them.
“Ambrose?” Zero asked, laughing loudly and making Ambrose freeze up as that familiar hatred and loathing of Zero flooded him. He did not like to be laughed at.
“If you don’t leave this second,” Ambrose threatened, standing between Zero and Jeb (the boy was frozen in shock, staring at his unmoving father on the ground), “I am going to kill you. Slowly.” Ambrose hadn’t blinked once in the time it took to speak and there was nothing in his words but a steady iciness.
They were at a standoff because Zero was refusing to move and Ambrose was refusing to flinch and he had meant it. Whatever mercy he had felt for Zero’s life in the early annuals that he and Cain had worked together had now flitted out the window because his Cain was lying on the ground unmoving with a bullet put through his heart and Ambrose felt as if his own heart had gone weak.
“I dare you to challenge that,” Ambrose said lowly. “Leave right now.”
Ambrose had a hand out to keep Jeb from charging forward and attacking Zero, the sounds of birds chirping serving as sharp contrast to the quiet scene of desperation outside the Cain home. Zero took one step backwards, then another, and then he was storming away from the scene. Ambrose exhaled, knowing that he should have done what Cain wanted and killed him, but he couldn’t abandon his principles, not even when…
“Cain,” Ambrose exhaled, turning to sprint to Cain’s side, falling to his knees beside him and grasping his unmoving hand, grabbing it tightly and feeling for a pulse before his hands rapidly pushed at his chest, ripping open his vest and button-down to look for blood and stop the flow before they could get him to a surgeon. “Cain,” Ambrose said sharply.
“Father,” Jeb pleaded, kneeling on the other side of Cain’s body.
“Where,” Cain’s coughed word surprised both of them and actually made Ambrose jump, a hand going to his own heart, which beat in double-time, “is. Zero?”
Ambrose kept scrambling to pry open Cain’s vest and his fingers brushed the splintered remains of something as he stared down at the man he loved, whose chest was half on display for the whole O.Z. to see. He was staring down and Cain was staring back at him through half-opened eyes, the blue of them burning into Ambrose and making him wonder if he had ever loved any colour more. Ambrose closed his fist around cool splinters and eased back to his heels to study what was in his palm.
They were the shards of Ambrose’s gift to Cain, all those annuals ago. The one that Cain kept tucked in his breast pocket next to his heart.
Ambrose gave a weak and elated laugh as he leaned forward over Cain’s body and pressed his face to the man’s chest, not even caring that Jeb was looking on as shaky fingers sought to touch any part of Cain and keep him close, to let the warmth remind him that he was alive. His palm slowly moved up to rest flatly atop Cain’s heart and soak in the sensation of its steady beat. Eventually, he found the strength to lift his head and look Cain in the eye before he kissed him hard enough to make his heart find that double rhythm once more and he sought for a deeper kiss, for more, because Cain was kissing back.
Ambrose’s intentions for the man would certainly be clear to his son, now.
When he eased away, his mouth was dry and his palms were sweaty, but Cain was alive and all right and so was Jeb and Ambrose could breathe easier. “You’re moving into the palace,” he said, firmly, in the same tone of voice that he had used on Zero, one that left no room for backtalk. “You are moving in somewhere safe,” he insisted. “You are both coming home.”
When put like that, it was difficult to argue.
Jeb’s agreement came easily and swiftly, though he looked chastened when Ambrose looked at him and his cheeks were pink. The impact of Ambrose’s kiss came hurtling to strike Ambrose right in the stomach to make him realize just what he had done and how much that changed things. Ambrose turned to look at Cain, who had yet to get up from the ground and whose lips were pink from the assault of a kiss that Ambrose had given to him. Staring at Cain’s lips wasn’t very helpful as it made Ambrose want to kiss him again and again and again, now that they had stopped putting silly obstacles in the way.
“Well? What do you say, Tin Man?” Ambrose asked, heart on his sleeve.
There was a pained exhalation from Cain as he cupped Ambrose’s cheek and used the Advisor’s arm for leverage to pull himself up into a sitting position, wherein he brought Jeb into a tight embrace with one arm, the other clasping onto Ambrose for strength.
“You got a deal, sweetheart,” Cain agreed, keeping Jeb close all the while. “We’ll come home.”
tbc
Pairing: Ambrose/Cain, Queen/Ahamo
Disclaimer: I do not own them at all.
Summary: The Witch won't rest until she has the O.Z. in darkness, no matter how she must do it, no matter how long it takes.
Rating: PG-13 to R.
Notes: This acts as an AU to the entire Tin Man series and hinges on just one question: "What if DG hadn't let go?" Fifteen annuals pass and while some things may remain the same, many is different. EXTREME thanks to
blackletter for being a wonderful & efficient beta. CHAPTER ONE: In which DG holds on, Zero takes matters into his own hands, Adora Cain is a casualty, Ambrose is given a lifetime of glitches, and Jeb Cain gets into Ambrose's bed before his father does.
CHAPTER TWO: In which the search for the Mystic Man begins, Cain makes failed attempts at bonding, Jeb hides well, and a tentative agreement is made between Ambrose and Cain.
CHAPTER THREE: In which Ambrose reveals why he hates Zero so much, it's Jeb's and then Wyatt's birthday, and Cain finds out that you can never have too much heart.
CHAPTER FOUR: In which Cain and Ambrose are exiled, they meet a Viewer named Raw who can feel the O.Z., Ambrose has to face the facts, and mobats have a nasty bite.
Ambrose nearly tore his hair out in the time it took Raw to find his way back to them. Cain had been near-delirious and was rambling on and on about Adora and Jeb and Ambrose, and ‘protect Jeb’ and continuous words about the Iron Suit, which made Ambrose’s heart freeze up. Cain was still sweating and his already-pale skin was looking whiter with every hour. Ambrose refused to let Cain out of his lap and he refused to let go of the words that Cain had spoken, that glimmer of hope in a tunnel of darkness. “Cain,” Ambrose tiredly pleaded, at least once an hour. “Don’t fade. Have faith, Cain, have strength.”
“You said…have heart,” Cain gasped out the words.
“Don’t talk, you stubborn idiot, you need your rest,” Ambrose lashed, but even his anger was weary. He wanted to make sure that Cain would make it to when Raw returned. The bleeding had all but stopped, but Ambrose had no way of knowing how much poison had gotten into his system between Raw leaving and that present moment.
As much as he appreciated Cain’s physical attributes, none of them mattered anymore. Ambrose wasn’t so shallow that he could have settled on a pretty face and let that be it. He needed something beyond the surface and he saw everything that he wanted in Cain.
And Cain saw something in Ambrose in return.
He was still processing that part of it and wondering if he should just chalk that up to temporary madness, but he didn’t want to. He selfishly wanted to accept the words as having been true and well-meant and when this was all through, they could go back to the palace and the Queen would rescind her exile and they could properly talk.
He rocked Cain back and forth in his arms slightly to keep him from slipping unconscious and to reassure himself that he wasn’t about to go anywhere.
In order for them to go back to the palace and be able to talk freely about the matter while scientists put the machine to work, in order for that to happen, he needed Cain to stay alive and with him. He needed Cain to survive and it was more than the fact that he was his best friend and his protection on the road, but because Ambrose had never felt this way about anyone in the past. He had never made time before, but he would push aside every last second right now if it meant saving Cain’s life.
Finally, after twenty-one hours, Raw found his way back to them with herbs stuffed into every part of his clothing and Ambrose could finally breathe.
“What took you so long?” Ambrose demanded, refusing to let Cain out of his grasp, arms still wrapped around him and a hand pressing to the wound with desperation. He was nearly moved to ire but for a stray thought that Cain wouldn’t want him to be so angry with Raw over something that he couldn’t control. He sighed and gestured into the distance. “Never mind, just help him, would you?”
Ambrose had been pushed aside while Raw did his work and all he could do was watch on as a half-conscious Cain met Ambrose’s gaze and smiled peacefully.
“Make it through, Cain,” Ambrose muttered, biting at his thumb anxiously. “Have confidence, please,” he pleaded, pacing back and forth when his feet refused to stay in the same place.
Time seemed to slip by with alarming speed and Ambrose thought that he must have suffered an episode in the duration, that somehow, he must have simply lost his mind to let so much time out of his grasp. Eventually, Raw was able to heal not only the bleed of the bite, but get most of the poison out of it and Cain spoke his first coherent words in a long time.
“You’re looking pale there, sweetheart,” he croaked out in Ambrose’s direction. “A man might think you were worrying over me.”
“Oh, screw you, Tin Man,” Ambrose muttered, without any genuine malice to the words at all. Cain knew what he really meant anyhow.
*
Cain was feeling better, but not perfect. Travelling still felt like a burden and he couldn’t go as fast as he’d like. It took them longer than it should have to find the remaining parts for the machine, given that some days Cain couldn’t even get up for the pain in his system from lingering traces of poison that Raw couldn’t do anything about, despite his best efforts. Some days, he would only be able to make a half day’s journey or his temper would get so short that he was useless around anyone but Ambrose and Raw. Some days, he was fine, but predicting those was like predicting a twister.
They just couldn’t do it with any continuous success.
Eventually, the three and a half annuals of exile lapsed and Ambrose had in his possession a bag’s worth of small mechanical parts and large ones both, little projects made by geniuses in barns and fortresses with specialties more advanced than Cain could even name. It meant that they could finally go home.
Neither Cain nor Ambrose had said much to one another after the mobat attack, much to Raw’s displeasure. The Viewer made continuous hints and comments when they broke out arguing over something small and stupid like the temperature of dinner or Ambrose’s state of dress. “Stop fighting,” Raw snapped at them one night, cracking a twig in half. “Not what either of you want to do.”
But Cain was a stubborn man and Ambrose seemed inured to defeat, refusing to give in.
Cain knew they should talk about it, given that they clearly both felt something. Ambrose probably didn’t feel exactly as Cain did, given that no two people were ever identical, but he clearly respected Cain and enjoyed his company and Cain was starting to get to the point where he couldn’t imagine a future that didn’t involve Ambrose, in some form. The fact that he’d started to have uncomfortably enjoyable thoughts about Ambrose’s physical features had been difficult at first for a man like Cain to admit to and he’d denied their existence for a long while. Eventually, it just seemed childish to pretend they weren’t happening and he admitted that the Advisor was a sight, not to mention intelligent, brave, a good fighter, and an even better conversationalist. Apparently, he was something of a dancer (so Ambrose said), but Cain hadn’t had the opportunity to see him in action yet.
Still, it was a leap to go from admitting all of that and accepting that Ambrose felt the same. There was a whole chasm from accepting that Ambrose felt for him and doing something about it.
So Cain chose to ignore it as best as he could, at least until he got back to the palace and got Jeb’s opinion on the matter and on Ambrose. He knew his son had a good eye for the world and if he was ready, if he was willing to give his blessing, then Cain might just have to start taking leaps.
“There it is,” Ambrose commented as the three of them stared at a structure they hadn’t seen in a very long time. “Home.”
For some people, Cain thought, but didn’t add. Why ruin the mood?
*
When they returned to the palace, things were strained between Cain and Ambrose, considering what had happened after the mobat bite. As much as Raw had healed the physical ache of the bite, the poison still sent uncomfortable pulses through Cain’s system now and again and he spent most of his time sleeping off the injury.
Jeb, now ten annuals old, was bright-eyed and curious about the O.Z. and spent all of his time in Cain’s room. He flipped over pages in his lesson-book and showed him sketches of little machines he and the Princesses had come up with and spoke about how he had convinced the Queen (with Ahamo’s help) to let Jeb learn how to fight because it would have been what Cain wanted.
“Az’s birthday was amazing, Father,” Jeb spoke one day as he settled into a cross-legged position in the chair beside the bed. “She’s eighteen annuals now and that means that she’s next in line to take over the whole kingdom if something happened to the Queen.”
“It was a good party?” Cain asked with a wry smile.
“Fireworks, tons of food, performers, and I even got to dance with Azkadellia,” Jeb admitted proudly with his chin lifted high, the mark of a boy smug at his accomplishments. Cain could see it in his mind’s eye, his boy dancing with the Princess while courtiers and noble-boys looked on with jealousy at the former Tin Man’s son waltzing around the floor with the Princess. He chuckled warmly at the image and Jeb leaned in curiously. “What!”
“Just thinking about you on that dance floor, showing those city boys what a Cain’s made of,” he admitted, still laughing.
“Az says she’d rather dance with me than all those boring nobility boys anyway,” Jeb confided, that smug note still in his voice. “Gods, Father, have you heard them go on?” he complained. “As if I care about what honour has been bestowed on them. The real heroes are out there fighting for the O.Z., like you and Ambrose.”
Cain shifted under the heavy comforters at the mention of Ambrose, wondering if now was a good time to bring up things between him and Ambrose with Jeb. Even if his son was only ten annuals, he was still the one person in the world who understood him best outside of Ambrose himself. “About Ambrose, son…”
“Is he inventing something new?” Jeb interrupted eagerly, eyes bright. “We still have to show you the pictures we put together. It’s a whole story, like one of the old tales of the O.Z.,” he raved, eyes dancing with excitement.
Cain felt more uncomfortable in that moment than he did in that Tin Suit, all those years ago.
“Jeb,” Cain started, slow and serious. “Do you remember your mother?”
Jeb softened and sank back against the chair, sitting there and staring into space, as if trying to search down a memory and capture it, even though Jeb had been so young when it had all happened and sometimes, Cain wondered just how many memories Jeb had of his mother that weren’t shifted by his life spent within the palace’s walls.
“I think so…” he said quietly. “I remember she used to use herbs to make sauces. And you used to dance with her. And…I remember that she sang me to sleep every night and I refused to go to bed until I heard a lullaby,” he said, words quiet and sounding just as haunted as Cain’s own memories of their Adora.
Cain adjusted his grip on his shoulder, one broad hand above the bandaged wound as he watched Jeb carefully as the memories sank in and the love for his mother flickered across his face.
“She loved you with all her heart,” Cain agreed, knowing that he needed to tread lightly when it came to this topic. “She wanted you to be happy and I want the same thing for you, son.” How he was supposed to get from there to asking what Jeb thought of Ambrose was a difficult hop, but Cain had spent the last seven annuals of his life on worse journeys. “So what you think matters very much to me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father,” Jeb agreed dutifully.
“What do you think of life here? Of the people here?” He wanted to specifically ask about Ambrose, but his son was a smart boy and would probably understand too quickly that something was up and Cain wasn’t ready to completely acknowledge anything yet beyond the fact that Ambrose made him feel something that he hadn’t experienced in a very long time and that he was slowly coming around to the fact that he wanted those feelings back in his life.
But if Jeb didn’t approve, then it was all null and void. This was why he had to know whether there was any viability to what Cain wanted or whether it was useless to even pursue.
“Azkadellia and DG are my best friends,” Jeb announced with a boyish grin of innocence, all his worries washed away as he talked about them. “And I really like Az,” he admitted, attention turned to his fingers. “I mean, DG too, I do, because she finds the best places to go and the neatest things! But Az always makes sure I’m okay,” he added quietly. “She sits with me when I can’t sleep and we just talk about things and she reads me letters about you that tell me that you’re safe. She tells me about what she wants to do when she’s older. And she hugs well.” Jeb was speaking analytically, as if handing Cain a verbal report. “The Queen’s good to me. Really good and Ahamo takes me up sometimes in the balloon,” Jeb said, eyes wide at even the mention of the adventure.
“And Ambrose?” Cain asked.
There was hesitation, then.
“I don’t know, really,” Jeb admitted, his gaze meeting his father’s. “I mean, he’s an incredible inventor! The stuff he makes is really neat and the Queen talks a lot about him. Not as much as you do, but she does, and he sounds okay…”
“But?” Cain prodded, coaxing whatever was being held back.
“I don’t know him, Father,” Jeb admitted. “Maybe when I was little, he was around more, but he and you have been gone so much that I don’t know him so well at all.”
Cain mustered up a smile because there was no arguing with any of what Jeb had said. It was true that Ambrose had taken great pains to befriend Jeb when he was younger, but kids had malleable memories and things got lost as they got older and replaced them with fresher thoughts. All Jeb knew was that his father had been out there in the O.Z. with Ambrose for three annuals and not much past that.
“Help your Father up,” Cain encouraged with a groan as he sat up, pushing the heavy blankets off. “I need a walk before my muscles forget how to work.”
Jeb helped tug Cain to his feet and even let him lean on the younger boy as he hobbled to the doorway, managing to get his balance while he tested out his body. He felt stiff and a little ill, but it was a good day compared to all-too-many of the bad ones. Jeb was twitching by the time they got to the door and Cain couldn’t blame him; it wasn’t exactly exciting taking care of your old man.
“Go on,” Cain encouraged. “Say hi to the princesses for me.”
Jeb didn’t need anything more said before he was off through the halls, navigating them with the ease of someone who’d grown up within them. Cain wasn’t so sure of his bearings, but he was better than he was at the start. Slowly, Cain was making his way to the lab; his first instincts now weren’t to stand with Ahamo and be the outsiders looking in, but instead he wanted to go to the heart of the palace and watch the man who made things work.
Eventually, he got to Ambrose’s laboratory, feeling a lot worse than he did when he left his room. Ambrose, though, didn’t even look up at the heavy breathing or the sound of Cain taking a seat noisily inside. All his attention was fixated on a minute part, something that looked a little like clockwork, in fact. Finally, Cain coughed, trying to get Ambrose’s attention.
That didn’t work either.
Cain resolved to sitting back in his chair and seeing how long it would take Ambrose to even notice his presence. He even got comfortable, sitting there in a pair of pale blue pyjamas he’d brought from home with his arms crossed and his legs sprawled out in the room.
“Finally,” Ambrose sighed to himself, glancing up and jumping slightly when he saw Cain. “Cain! Don’t startle me!”
“I’ve been here a half hour,” he pointed out wryly, arching his scarred brow. “I’m starting to feel put out Ambrose,” he teased lightly. “I could understand if it was a shiny invention, but that looks pretty dull compared to me.”
He shouldn’t have been so satisfied at the colour that his comments drew out of Ambrose, but Cain was. It felt good, still, to be in a position to talk like this and feel like this without feeling guilty beyond the low-grade current of guilt that always ran through Cain that wondered at him, ‘why do you get to live on when Adora doesn’t?’, but that small voice was getting quieter as days went by and Cain did his best to honour Adora’s memory.
“What are you doing here?” Ambrose asked curiously. “I thought you and Ahamo had planned on a fishing trip out to the ponds.”
“Plans changed,” Cain offered. “Came to watch you work.” He settled in, leaning back in the chair and arranging himself like he owned the piece of furniture. He was sure a pair of cotton blue pyjamas and bare-feet didn’t strike the most commanding picture, but Cain still felt like he had enough control to be comfortable. “Don’t mind me.”
It went like that for weeks. The O.Z. seemed to be improving and Ambrose took to locking himself (and Cain) in his laboratory. While Cain usually spent most of the early annuals with Ahamo, he now elected to spend them with Ambrose to hear about the latest scientific discovery or to watch him work and sometimes, even to remind him of who he was.
The increased time that Ambrose and Cain spent together was just a prelude to an unexpected end, though neither of them really wanted it that way.
*
Over the annuals, Cain had kept his home in working condition, making sure to always keep the windows boarded up from storms and intruders, keeping the roof from caving in, and even going so far as to maintain the small aspects that made a house a home, because Cain knew that Adora would have wanted him to do it. Their decision to return to this home was mostly Cain’s, though Jeb had eventually given a weary nod of agreement. Now that Jeb was eleven and the O.Z. seemed to settling into normalcy, Cain wanted to go home and start his life again.
The palace was guarded by Ambrose’s shield, there were no reports about Zero, and towns all over had stopped seeing the Witch at roughly the same time as the landscape had stopped dying without explanation.
It seemed to be over.
In the end, Cain had to decide between Ambrose and the life he had once known -- the familiarity of a home and a job he could predict. In the end, Cain was still a simple Tin Man and he had made his apologies to the Queen and Ahamo, an even more difficult apology to the Princesses with a promise to visit, and a wordless shrug was given to Ambrose in the vain hopes that he’d understand.
“I have to,” Cain had said. “I’ve never felt like this was my home.”
He could tell that his words had stung Ambrose more than any weapon could and despite what had occurred on their last voyage, despite all the things they had each said, Cain still wanted to retreat to the world he knew. He wanted to raise Jeb in his own traditions and give his own lessons. He wanted to feel like he could go home. He’d bargained with Jeb to allow him visits on a weekly basis back to the palace so he could play with the only friends he’d known over the last eight annuals.
Gods, but Cain sometimes didn’t believe that all that time had passed. He couldn’t believe that it had taken eight annuals to find something resembling peace and he had the feeling that one day, there would a new offence, but he could rest easily now.
It took them weeks to set up the home again and the hard work wore on Jeb, who retreated to his bed early every night while Cain sat up to lose his mind in hours of work, refusing to think on things inside the thick palace walls.
It helped him to move on and ignore the plaguing questions of possibility. It helped him to go to bed so exhausted that all he could do was lie there and not wish for a second person to warm him, to keep him company.
It took three long weeks to get the house back in proper living condition.
Only Ahamo visited in all that time and he brought a heavy palace guard with him. “Precautions,” he offered apologetically before giving Jeb a care package from the girls full of letters, toys, and candies before sitting with Cain and discussing the Queen’s welfare and he even endured Cain’s laconic questions about Ambrose. Cain promised to visit, but then he’d gotten involved in repairing the roof and had missed the visit.
Slowly, they settled into the life they had before, not that Jeb remembered much of it at all. To Cain, it was a daily relief and a torture to be away from the palace.
Cain thought that this would be a constant in his life, that duality of senses.
Seven weeks after he and Jeb had returned to the little house on the borders of the forest, on a day where the sun reflected off the calm pond, there was a knock at the door, but no accompanying call to tell Cain who it was.
They had been eating a fine lunch, the likes of which Adora would have been proud of Cain for, and when Cain’s demand for who was there went unanswered, he gave Jeb a knife. “Stay here,” he instructed, crouching down in front of Jeb and resting his hands on the boy’s shoulders. Cain armed himself with his gun and rested his hand on the planks of wood that made up their door for a moment as he got his wits about him.
“Who’s there?” he tried one last time, but still no answer came.
Eventually, Cain acknowledged that the only way to find out was to open the door slowly, finding himself face to face with someone long from his past.
“Zero,” Cain growled the name out, not even hesitating as he followed through with a swing, a right hook followed by a left one, purely to leave the mark of his wedding band on his cheek. The two swings were all he got before Zero took a step back and let two of his henchmen step forward and grab hold of Cain while a third went into the house and dragged Jeb out. “Zero, you bastard, don’t you dare,” Cain roared, struggling and managing to break free several times before one of the Longcoats kicked Cain right in the back, sending him to the ground with a cry of pain.
“Father!” Jeb called over, in alarm.
Cain twisted with the assault, stumbling back to his feet, though his body was screaming with pain and as he righted himself, the henchmen punched Jeb, sending him sprawling to the ground. It only infuriated Cain more and he broke free once more of the hold, swinging desperately with wild punches that only hit their mark half of the time and opened him up for a return attack the other half. His nose was bleeding and his jaw was bruised and Cain was coughing up blood, his body feeling raw, but there was still so much fight in him.
While there was breath in his body, there was fight left in him.
“Cain, really,” Zero said, smooth as ever as he lifted Cain’s dropped gun to the level of Cain’s chest. “You should have just stayed in the Iron Suit. It’d make all this a lot easier. She’s not very happy with you. I hear about it in my head a lot, about the Tin Man who’s causing all kinds of problems. I thought I’d just let you wither away in your little shack with your simple little life, but she wants something done,” he spoke casually, as if having a simple conversation about any old topic. “It’s you first and then Ambrose. You should feel proud that she finds you more of a threat that you need dealing with first.”
“Zero…”
“I think you should watch this, Jeb,” Zero said to Cain’s son, his tone dripping with condescension. “This is what happens to people who resist the Coming Change.”
Before Cain could protest or make a move, Zero pulled the trigger, shooting him right in the heart and sending him flat onto his back on the ground. The last sound that Cain heard before the darkness began to overwhelm him was a familiar voice informing Zero that he had just made the biggest mistake of his life. It couldn’t have been though, it was impossible.
He’d heard Ambrose say that.
“Jeb,” Cain got out, a croak of a sound. “Ambr…” he tried to speak, but the darkness was coming on fast and hard.
*
In the end, Ambrose’s obsessive tendency to protect the things he cared about served him well. He couldn’t just leave well enough alone and when Cain had chosen his old life over him, he had continued to visit Cain’s home and watch over him and Jeb, just in case. While the Cains might have thought that palace life had forgotten them, Ambrose was there.
He was there when Zero pulled the trigger and when the bullet pierced through Cain’s clothes and drove into his heart. He was there and he felt his heart freeze up like ice and he lost all reason as he couldn’t hesitate a second longer.
“That, Zero, was the biggest mistake you could have ever made,” he warned, low and cold. He was stalking forward and his momentum didn’t shift or hesitate as he made quick work of the two men guarding Jeb Cain. There was nothing more than a sweep of a kick, several punches, and a well-placed foot to render them unconscious and knock the gun from Zero’s hand to the ground between them.
“Ambrose?” Zero asked, laughing loudly and making Ambrose freeze up as that familiar hatred and loathing of Zero flooded him. He did not like to be laughed at.
“If you don’t leave this second,” Ambrose threatened, standing between Zero and Jeb (the boy was frozen in shock, staring at his unmoving father on the ground), “I am going to kill you. Slowly.” Ambrose hadn’t blinked once in the time it took to speak and there was nothing in his words but a steady iciness.
They were at a standoff because Zero was refusing to move and Ambrose was refusing to flinch and he had meant it. Whatever mercy he had felt for Zero’s life in the early annuals that he and Cain had worked together had now flitted out the window because his Cain was lying on the ground unmoving with a bullet put through his heart and Ambrose felt as if his own heart had gone weak.
“I dare you to challenge that,” Ambrose said lowly. “Leave right now.”
Ambrose had a hand out to keep Jeb from charging forward and attacking Zero, the sounds of birds chirping serving as sharp contrast to the quiet scene of desperation outside the Cain home. Zero took one step backwards, then another, and then he was storming away from the scene. Ambrose exhaled, knowing that he should have done what Cain wanted and killed him, but he couldn’t abandon his principles, not even when…
“Cain,” Ambrose exhaled, turning to sprint to Cain’s side, falling to his knees beside him and grasping his unmoving hand, grabbing it tightly and feeling for a pulse before his hands rapidly pushed at his chest, ripping open his vest and button-down to look for blood and stop the flow before they could get him to a surgeon. “Cain,” Ambrose said sharply.
“Father,” Jeb pleaded, kneeling on the other side of Cain’s body.
“Where,” Cain’s coughed word surprised both of them and actually made Ambrose jump, a hand going to his own heart, which beat in double-time, “is. Zero?”
Ambrose kept scrambling to pry open Cain’s vest and his fingers brushed the splintered remains of something as he stared down at the man he loved, whose chest was half on display for the whole O.Z. to see. He was staring down and Cain was staring back at him through half-opened eyes, the blue of them burning into Ambrose and making him wonder if he had ever loved any colour more. Ambrose closed his fist around cool splinters and eased back to his heels to study what was in his palm.
They were the shards of Ambrose’s gift to Cain, all those annuals ago. The one that Cain kept tucked in his breast pocket next to his heart.
Ambrose gave a weak and elated laugh as he leaned forward over Cain’s body and pressed his face to the man’s chest, not even caring that Jeb was looking on as shaky fingers sought to touch any part of Cain and keep him close, to let the warmth remind him that he was alive. His palm slowly moved up to rest flatly atop Cain’s heart and soak in the sensation of its steady beat. Eventually, he found the strength to lift his head and look Cain in the eye before he kissed him hard enough to make his heart find that double rhythm once more and he sought for a deeper kiss, for more, because Cain was kissing back.
Ambrose’s intentions for the man would certainly be clear to his son, now.
When he eased away, his mouth was dry and his palms were sweaty, but Cain was alive and all right and so was Jeb and Ambrose could breathe easier. “You’re moving into the palace,” he said, firmly, in the same tone of voice that he had used on Zero, one that left no room for backtalk. “You are moving in somewhere safe,” he insisted. “You are both coming home.”
When put like that, it was difficult to argue.
Jeb’s agreement came easily and swiftly, though he looked chastened when Ambrose looked at him and his cheeks were pink. The impact of Ambrose’s kiss came hurtling to strike Ambrose right in the stomach to make him realize just what he had done and how much that changed things. Ambrose turned to look at Cain, who had yet to get up from the ground and whose lips were pink from the assault of a kiss that Ambrose had given to him. Staring at Cain’s lips wasn’t very helpful as it made Ambrose want to kiss him again and again and again, now that they had stopped putting silly obstacles in the way.
“Well? What do you say, Tin Man?” Ambrose asked, heart on his sleeve.
There was a pained exhalation from Cain as he cupped Ambrose’s cheek and used the Advisor’s arm for leverage to pull himself up into a sitting position, wherein he brought Jeb into a tight embrace with one arm, the other clasping onto Ambrose for strength.
“You got a deal, sweetheart,” Cain agreed, keeping Jeb close all the while. “We’ll come home.”
tbc
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