Beyond fate, there is choice
by Ainzfern
19
"Well," Chey smiled with satisfaction as he approached the table at the Eos hospice café where Tahna Lam sat in splendid solitude, "it looks like Katze is going to be fine. He's fairly bruised and quite exhausted..."
"Oh, my heart bleeds," Tahna muttered flatly before taking a sip from his coffee and immediately grimacing at the taste.
"...but otherwise he's all right," Chey continued unperturbed as if Tahna hadn't spoken at all.
The Blondie shot him a distinctly disgusted look from under his lowered lashes.
Snorting with amusement, Chey sat down uninvited and regarded the Elite with a slight smile. Even as he had entered the café, he had noted that Tahna was apparently carrying a resentful chip the size of Eos Tower upon his rather elegant shoulder. "Do tell me, Tahna," he said amiably, "considering that we've rescued the innocent, saved the day, and exonerated Iason's policies... what, exactly, seems to be jammed sideways up your rather perfect nose, this time?"
Tahna straightened abruptly, turning to face Chey full on, his eyes flashing. "I don't recall, Neeson," he spat waspishly, "actually volunteering, at any point this evening, to be dragged along on this little good-will jaunt... and I greatly resent the fact that I have now been left sitting here for this long drinking swill out of highly suspect cups and amusing myself only by counting the number of fashion crimes that have been perpetrated by the unwashed public that seem to be infesting this building."
"Oh, poor little old you," Chey murmured offhandedly as he glanced at his watch. "Was no one paying you any attention, then?"
Tahna's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Well, everything seems to be settled here," Chey went on calmly. "Why don't I call my driver and take you out for a late supper?"
Huffing a derisive little laugh, Tahna lifted his chin haughtily. "Don't hurt yourself attempting to be charming, Mr. Neeson."
"I'm only charming when the company deserves it, Tahna."
The Elite smiled blandly at him and pushed his half empty cup to one side.
"Still... It's interesting that you did wait," Chey mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully as he peered sideways at the disgruntled Blondie.
Tahna sighed. "Your point?" he said with heavily laden disdain.
"Well, you could have called your own driver at any time, you know." Chey grinned. "So why didn't you?"
"Quite frankly, I wanted to see the whole thing play out," Tahna shot back at him. "I had this morbid little bet with myself to see if my worthy colleagues and their little mongrel mates could actually get cloying enough to make me vomit."
Chey chuckled, shrugging lightly. "Have it your way, then. I won't push the issue." He sighed softly, sobering a little. "Your fortuitous intervention really had a great deal to do with tonight's happy outcome, you know. Without your information, things could have gone very differently indeed."
Tahna lifted one shoulder, artfully unconcerned, idly tapping his long fingers on the table top.
"I know that Iason is very grateful to you."
The Blondie snorted gracelessly. "Well, don't count on us becoming bosom companions any time soon. I don't think I could tolerate insinuating myself into Mink's social circle." He wrinkled his perfect nose slightly. "There's just something about a Blondie who's so insufferably happy in his personal life that leaves a rather rancid taste in my mouth."
Chey's delighted laughter filled the café for a moment. "You've got an elegant turn of phrase, Tahna, I'll give you that." He shifted in his seat a little, reaching into his shirt pocket and fumbling for a moment.
Noting the movement, Tahna leaned towards him, his voice lowering to a deadly hiss. "If you dare to bring out that damned notepad, Neeson," he snarled, "I swear... I will slap you across this room."
Lifting an eyebrow at him Chey tilted his head. "Actually," he extracted a small object from his pocket and held it out to the Elite. "I was just going to show you this."
Frowning, Tahna took it from Chey and looked closely at it. It was a rather artfully rendered representation of a butterfly, glinting softly in the bright lights of the café. He ran his long fingers over it for a moment, all insults forgotten.
"This is no cheap little trinket you have here," he remarked at length, tilting the object to better see the marked of handcrafted artisan-work on the sculpted metal. "The marks of antiquity are all over this."
"I know." Chey leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Copper is my guess,"
"Yes," Tahna nodded absently, turning the butterfly over in his hands.
"...And the precious stone?" Chey asked. "I'm assuming it is a precious stone?"
"Turquoise," Tahna muttered. "Look..." he held the object up in front of Chey's face, "you can see the indentations from where the artisan has used some manner of miniature awl or punch to shape the metal." He looked up, meeting Chey's eyes with a steady and serious stare, not a single trace of his former petulant manner visible. "This is a fine example of highly advanced but pre-mechanized jewel-smithing, Chey. I mean, do you realize how old this must be?"
Chey smiled, noting the use of his first name. "I'm starting to," he murmured, undeniably pleased beyond measure.
"Where did this come from?" Tahna asked then, his violet eyes sparkling with intense interest. "Is this a sample from that dig you were telling me about? The one you want me to consult to?"
"Yes. It arrived a couple of days ago. I've been carrying the thing around since then, but I kept forgetting about it in all the commotion. It was unearthed at a construction site on New-Vincentia." He held up one hand as Tahna's beautiful eyes widened in sudden dismayed alarm. "It's all right... representatives from the natural resources and the history departments on New-Vincentia have already cordoned off the site."
"Well, thank goodness for small mercies." Tahna stroked the back of the tiny sculpture again, almost lovingly. "So... I'm assuming that New-Vincentia was a colonized planet?"
"For just over four hundred years, yes."
"And there was no indigenous population already in residence upon original colonization?"
Chey shook his head. "Records indicate not."
"Amazing," Tahna's expression was strangely hungry. "Evidence of a pre-existing civilization that may have lived and died out on that planet millennia ago."
"It's an exciting find from an anthropological point of view, that's for certain."
Tahna almost reluctantly handed the butterfly back to Chey. "So..." he asked with artful casualness, "who's heading the dig?"
Chey carefully smothered his grin as he slipped the butterfly back into his pocket. "Well at this point it's not actually decided. But... I thought, considering your evident skills when it comes to antiquities, you might rethink your position on the post of on-site consultant?"
"Oh, did you?" Tahna sat back, smirking at him. "So you thought you would just flash your shiny little jewel there at me and I'd agree to jaunt off to some filthy little federation backwater at a moment's notice?"
Unable to help it, Chey began to chuckle. "So I should make arrangements for two travelers on my transport out, then?"
Tahna stared at him for a moment, his mouth hanging open.
"Of course," Chey continued smoothly, "I know you'll be hosting the Ephedrian gala at the museum tomorrow night—"
Tahna appeared to recover himself. "To which you are still not invited..."
"Oh, wouldn't dream of asking again," Chey eyes twinkled wickedly. "However, I'm assuming the day after tomorrow will be all right with you?"
Tahna's eyes narrowed into glittering slits.
Chey smiled benevolently. "Just say yes, Tahna. You know that you want to."
Tahna huffed a disgusted little sigh at him. "Yes," he snapped flatly.
"You're sure? You won't need an extra day to pack all your hair-care products?"
"Don't push it, Chey," Tahna planted both hands on the table and rose to his feet, glaring snootily down at the handsome federation statesman. "Call your blasted driver and take me to supper."
Also rising to his feet, Chey met Tahna's eyes and winked; his amusement and oddly, his fondness, almost boundless. "As you wish, Tahna Lam," he replied mildly, reaching into his pocket for his phone. "As you wish."
Lying, naked and sweat drenched under Iason's warm strong body, Riki panted deeply, catching his breath as the last sweet shimmers of a truly monumental orgasm softly faded from his flesh. Covering him from hip to shoulder with warm damp skin and solid muscle, his long legs still cradled between Riki's thighs, Iason pressed a lingering kiss to the hollow at the base of Riki's throat, humming softly with deep contentment as he too drifted down from his climax.
Stroking his fingers down Iason's smooth back, Riki chuckled gently, pressing his lips to Iason's brow.
Propping himself up on both elbows, Iason looked down at him through the dim light from the bedside lamp, a quizzical little look on his perfect face. "Something amusing?"
"No," Riki lifted his head and kissed Iason's mouth gently. "I'm just happy."
Iason touched his face softly. "This pleases me." He lifted his weight from Riki, withdrawing carefully and rolling to one side, pulling Riki over and into his arms.
Settling down to rest, Riki heaved a quiet sigh. "God, I'm so glad Katze is okay."
"As am I," Iason stroked Riki's arm, back and forth, the contact seeming to comfort him. "For Raoul's sake, particularly."
"Hmm," smothering a weary yawn, Riki slid his arm across Iason chest. "It's weird though... even though I hate what Blaine did, after hearing what you told me about him. Ah man," he sighed sadly, "I feel sorry for him."
He felt Iason's arms tighten about him for a moment before the Elite rolled to face him, looking directly into his face with beautiful troubled eyes.
Riki frowned, concern rising in him. "What? What it is?"
"I would never have made the choice Blaine did, Riki," Iason replied, his voice low and tight. "Never."
"I know that." Stroking his flawless face, Riki nodded calmly at him, his heart aching with complex feelings of affection and sorrow. "Iason... you were willing to die for me."
"As were you, in return," Iason said gravely.
"Listen," Riki smiled. "It's the 'now' that matters, right? Blaine fucked up. Sad but true. You didn't."
For a long moment Iason simply looked at him, his pale eyes distant as he considered Riki's words. Then, easing his arms tightly around the mongrel's body, he smiled slowly. "I may have mentioned once or twice, Riki, my admiration of your concise turns of phrase?"
"Yeah?"
"What you just said now was a particularly fine example."
Laughing softly, Riki kissed him again.
In the softly lit main bedroom of his and Katze's Eos Tower apartment, Raoul Am sat with his back leaning firmly against the ornate bed head. Atop the bed, half across his lap and cradled against the Elite's broad chest, Katze lay only barely awake, nodding occasionally as Raoul held him close, one strong arm supporting the redhead's shoulders.
The ex-Furniture's wrenched shoulder was now firmly bandaged, his arm strapped across his chest to provide support to the injury. Similarly, his twisted knee was securely wrapped, and the pain from the strained ligaments and torn muscles had been pushed back by a combination of anti-inflammatories and analgesics, the drugs as much as any factor contributing to Katze's lethargic state. His bruised face still looked terribly painful to Raoul's eyes, but the swelling was subsiding again after being treated with soothing gel-packs at the hospice. Thankfully, there was no fracture to Katze's cheek bone, just deep bruising. He would be sore and tender for a while, but he would heal.
Raoul simply had no words, even privately to himself, to express how deeply thankful he was for that fact.
Raoul had brought Katze home from the hospice as soon as his most pressing injuries had been treated, insisting that he could deal quite well himself with the more minor ones. As Jupiter's foremost scientist and a medical professional of some note, not including the fact that he was the second in command of the Tanagura Syndicate, the staff at the hospice had enjoyed very little luck in persuading him to allow Katze to stay in overnight for observation.
Not acceptable, Raoul had told them firmly.
He would watch over Katze himself. In fact, right now, he was debating the relative merits of attempting to keep Katze somehow stapled to his side for the rest of his life. Of course, logically, Raoul knew that would not happen. Katze would heal, Raoul would recover from the almost unreasoning fear he still held of losing his Companion, and life would return to normal.
But right at this moment, all the Blondie wanted to do was hold him, as close as he could, feeling the weight of his body, the warmth of his flesh, safe and alive within the circle of his arms.
Every now and then, with tender gentle fingertips, he would touch the dozing mongrel, stroking his hair, the ridge of his nose, the soft smooth skin of his neck. He sighed softly, looking down at him, simply content to watch him as he slipped in and out of a light sleep. Occasionally Katze would start a little, his golden eyes opening, a slight frown on his brow. He would look up at Raoul for a moment, just verifying that he was there, before heaving a sigh and drifting back into his semi-slumbering state.
Upon arriving home, Raoul had waved off Mika's assistance, taking Katze directly to the main bathroom and carefully removing his torn and stained clothes. Seating him on the edge of the large bathtub, Raoul had drawn a bowl of warm water and, with a soft cloth and no hesitation whatsoever, had cleaned the sweat and dust from Katze's skin himself. He had somberly tended each of the bruises and abrasions on Katze pale skin with soothing ointments and sterile dressings, his formidable mind keeping a kind of sorrowful mental inventory of each one as he went. Then, dressing him in light soft sleepwear, he had brought him to the bed, settling in and drawing him near, getting him comfortable enough to rest easy.
He was still here, his mongrel warm and relaxed in his arms.
How different it could have been, Raoul thought suddenly, pain lancing through his chest.
"Stop that," Katze murmured, startling the Blondie slightly.
Raoul looked down into Katze's half-open eyes, one elegant brow lifting. "Hmm? Stop what?"
Katze smiled at him. "Looking at me like I died." He shifted a little, nestling in to Raoul's body a bit more. "I'm gonna be fine. I just look like crap."
Raoul snorted softly. "This is true."
Katze chuckled softly. "Nice." He vented a little mock sigh. "I have to tell you, your bedside manner could use a little work."
Lifting him gently, Raoul dipped his head and kissed Katze's lips, softly, lingeringly, before pulling back to smile at him, his deep green eyes filled with enduring affection. "You were saying?" he asked lightly.
"Oh nothing," Katze stifled a yawn. "My mistake."
"Sleep, Katze," Raoul urged him gently. He smoothed his fingers through Katze's hair, rubbing his scalp tenderly. "Sleep. I'll watch over you."
"I know you will," Katze yawned again and relaxed, his body once more growing heavy in Raoul's arms.
Leaning down again, Raoul pressed his lips to Katze's brow. "I love you," he whispered, meaning it with every fiber of his being.
No reply... his exhausted mongrel was out for the count.
Still smiling softly, Raoul rested his head back and closed his own eyes, content for the moment, everything right with his world.
Beyond fate... – chapter 18 << >> Beyond fate... – chapter 20