Wasn't Supposed to Be

After encountering Ethan on the streets, 30/4/920
Bock’s

Sav hustled stiffly through the streets, head down and hands in pockets against the idle flakes of snow drifting down, with no consciousness of where they were heading until they looked up and realized their feet had taken them to where they’d been heading originally—Bock’s. As good a place as any. She certainly wasn’t going to be heading back to the Cog and Sprocket, not and risk crossing paths with Ethan again.

Brushing past a flock of chattering, drunken students barreling out of the place, Sav took in the air of the bar—a lull hour, it seemed, with the usual array of semi-vagrants and workers dispersed around the room, but plenty of empty seats and elbow room, only Skinner behind the bar and Demira clattering between tables. She slid into the most isolated single-top possible and leaned back against the grubby wood-paneled wall, closing her eyes and blowing out a long, hissing sigh between gritted teeth.

“Hiya, hon, the usual?” Sav blinked their eyes open; Demira took one look at Sav’s expression and immediately asked, “Oh, honey, what happened?”

They blinked again, rapidly, the unexpected concern unraveling something knotted within. To their horror, they could feel their breath catching and hot tears springing up. “He—” Sav just managed to choke out before their throat closed up.

“Like that, huh?” Demira’s eyes softened. “Do you want a hug, to talk about it, a beer, or all three, maybe in that order?”

Sav dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, as though to forcibly press back the threatening tears, and nodded, then shook her head, and nodded again. Demira immediately suited action to words, enfolding her in a warm hug with arms thick from years of serving tables and eating the kind of food Bock’s served. Sav buried her face in the satyr’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of laundry soap, lager, fried things, tinges of the ever-present rust and oil of Endergaln, and a faintly musky goatlike air underneath it all. By dint of deep breaths and focusing on the various notes they could smell, untangling each one from the next, they managed to hold back the tears and gulp down the knot in their throat.

Demira held them, rubbing their back soothingly, until Sav started to pull away. She patted them on the shoulder and said, “I’ll be right back with that beer.” As promised, she was back in a trice, setting down an extra-large tankard of the dark house beer.

Sav smiled gratefully at her, and said, “Thank—thank you. For the hug. And the understandin. Both helped a lot, honest. I think—I just needtae think.”

If Demira noticed the wavering hold Sav had over the local accent, she made no sign and simply nodded. “Take your time, sweetie. If you change your mind, I’m all ears. Little enough to do now as it is.” She smiled and trotted away, leaving Sav to brood.

It had been such a simple moment. The air cold, the nearly-stolen meat skewer warm, if a little tough and gamey. Standing next to the friend who just always seemed to be there, doing what needed to be done. Focusing on the flavors of the snack, on the sensation of the warmth inside, on the comfort of standing next to this man who had never not done what he’d said he would, whose mind seemed to run in lockstep with theirs, on the unwonted tightness in their chest and fizzy flutter in their belly as their gaze rested on his face, carving out the shape of the profile, the vivid green of his eyes, the particular point of his nose and angles of the jaw, much more handsome now without the beard hiding it.

Such a stupid moment to have such a stupid realization. Such a stupid realization to shatter such a perfect, limpid moment.

But, as they were starting to realize, they didn’t seem to have the best track record on recognizing these things in a good time or place. At least this time the realization hadn’t burst literally after she had left, right in front of the man who also loved her, probably more than Sav could. Right?

Or did it make it worse that now they had to live with this knowledge, and act as though it weren’t a thing? Especially in front of him? Dissembling was not something they were any good at, and they knew it. And he saw everything. He knew people. Worse, he knew them. They’d probably already aroused suspicions walking away so strangel—well, no, they walked away abruptly without saying goodbye all the time, so maybe that part wasn’t so strange.

And why, why did they always seem to bend toward the ones who were already in love—the true love, the forever kind of love—with someone else? Were they naught but a flower, turning their face and stretching toward the sun of others’ love? (Lenn, the more logical parts of their mind reminded them, but Lenn’s dead and moot now, and two out of three still ent a great track record, the emotive parts retorted.) And why did it have to be the one who’d loved and been loved by the last true aasimar in their world? How could Sav ever compare to her? How much longer were they, grubby human dirt-scratcher that they were, doomed to scrabble and pickpocket from the skyfolk? What even were they without the knowledge they’d stolen from that exalted civilization? And how fickle were they, to feel such things barely two years after losing Star (though they’d never had her, really), when right in front of them were examples of not one, but two men who had remained steadfast for their lost loves for well over a decade? (Did Ashen count? Surely not. That was religion, that was something else.)

When had it even started? When had they stopped being annoyed by his actions and instead comforted by them? Somewhere on the ship, perhaps. Or no, later—perhaps they had come to trust him during that journey (a feat in and of itself, considering what happened in Northgate), but surely not to be attracted to him then. Perhaps it had started at the mustering of the Briarbirds, on the dawn of the final attack, when Carter had simultaneously loudly appreciated his looks and clucked at his already being taken (both entirely new pieces of information to Sav). Of course, Carter had loudly appreciated everyone’s looks, but for the first time Sav had thought she had a point. But that had been quickly brushed aside in the face of an active revolt underway. And then after—well, Astarael had left, and that had occupied a good portion of Sav’s feelings, and then—

As they sorted through their tangled memories and emotions, they realized suddenly: what did it matter when it started, or why? It was here, and it was a problem.

With a groan, they let their head fall and hit the table. That felt right, so they thudded it down again a few more times. Squealing in annoyance, Aloysius tumbled out of his nest in their scarf, landing on his back with feet splayed. He huffed at Sav and torqued himself around to get back onto his paws, shaking himself out, then sat back on his haunches and essayed a demanding squeak at her.

“Ye don wantae know. ‘Tis jist pure foolishness,” Sav muttered under her breath, forehead still on table, discarding the hard-fought-for accent in this audience with just her familiar and the table top.

He squeaked, and her jaw dropped. “Wha—”

He squeaked again, smug, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “And ye said naught? Ye couldae tellt me before I made a pure fool of masel in frontae him?”

Dismissive squeak.

She sighed. “Aye, perhaps ye’re right.”

Offended squeak, and he turned his back and began to groom his whiskers.

Unaccountably cheered by the conversation, Sav lifted their head, which swam at the sudden movement. Oh. Without realizing it, they’d gone through three of the extra-large mugs Demira had brought. That might also explain the rise in their spirits—the agony of embarrassment, the mortification that had wrung their soul and made them squirm internally, now seemed blunted, faded perhaps by the hours in between, perhaps more by the beer.

So she’d fallen for Ethan Fairchild. It wasn’t the end of the world, given as that had already happened. So what if he was maybe the last person she should’ve fallen for (only Talith might have been worse, and that might was doing a lot of work). It wasn’t as though anything would ever come of it, and they’d gotten along fine before. If she could just keep that in mind and keep acting normally, it would be fine. Everything would be fine. After all, none of this should have happened in the first place, so what was one more thing? They’d figure out how to use the Shard and put it back together to drive out the illithid taint from the angels, reassemble Danica from however she’d scattered herself betwixt the motes of the universe and reunite her with Ethan, pull Esmund Clockwright and Sylas out from between the fabric of the realities and, respectively, reunite the first with Gwin and keep the second away from the Shepherd’s End folk, reweave said fabric to keep out the Paradox, and then everything would be as it was supposed to be. It would be fine.

She couldn’t help but laugh. Delusion was not a thing she could keep up for very long. But it wouldn’t be the first time she’d distracted herself from other matters by pouring herself into the issues at hand, and there were so very many issues at hand that there should be no problem finding distractions. What was one errant heart, in the midst of everything else going on?

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Wasn't Supposed to Be