CAGES OF GOLD

The bubbles grew in ferocity, as you spun the temperature dial down, reaching for the key ingredient which wasn’t where you remember leaving it. With a confused expression you suddenly spun around, thinking you had left it on the bar counter rather than next to the stove. While you were intending for a quick scan of the counter, two large eyes boring into you stopped you in your tracks. Upon the realisation that you were now facing him, Jax quickly flitted his eyes back down to his hand. A sheepish expression washing over the normal smug exterior.

A smile cracked at the corner of your lips.

“Having a little stare are we-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He cut you off, rotating his body away from you like a toddler having a sulk.

“Such a whiny baby.” You rolled your eyes, finding the lost lavender, tearing the bag with your teeth as you turned back to the hob. Taking a small spoon, you scooped a heaped mound of lilac buds, dropping them into the pot as they were engulfed with froth. A few pumps of vanilla, dusting with light cinnamon, you poured into two mugs. One purple, one pink. Taking care to not spill as spurts of milk drizzled haphazardly down the lip of the pot.

You hesitated staring down at the purple mug. Fully expecting him to lash out, throw it in your face. But who are you if not bold?

Taking a prepared breath, you hooked your fingers around the handle of the mug and placed it down in front of the big sulking bunny.

The sound of the mug making contact with marble was enough for his ears to prick up, turning slowly towards you.

“I said I didn’t want any, you deaf or something?” He scoffed, that smug smirk regaining its confidence.

You looked at him with a deadpan expression. Heaving a deep sigh.

“You’re having a shitty day. I’m not gonna push, not even gonna ask. But you’re not yourself.” You turned away, picking up your mug and smiling softly as the heat emanated through the porcelain.

“When i’m having a shitty day, this makes me feel better.” Shrugging, you took a sip. Flavours or childhood and the distant idea of home bursting through your senses.

Jax stared at the drink. It’s smell stirring something within him to at least try it.

You spied as he took a hesitant sip. Allowing the flavours to register before he made a decision of pouring it onto the floor with a grin, or drinking the lot. You were pleased to see him take a bigger gulp. Eyes downcast. Not even daring to look up at you.

You both finished the drink in silence. Him placing his mug down as you went over to collect it to put in the sink.

“Did you like it?” You asked quietly.

He yawned, “I mean, it was pretty shitty, but i guess it was okay.”

You rolled your eyes, a laugh escaping your lips.

“Well that’s all I can ask for.”

Jax stared at you as you fluttered around the kitchen. Putting ingredients away from where you and Pomni had organized them. Colour coded, with illustrated stickers by Gangle. You’d never seen cereal look so cheery.

At the realisation that his face was heating up, he suddenly rose from his seat. Clearing his throat awkwardly as you paused from dusting down the stove.

“Well, this was fun and all but i’m off to do something actually interesting. Later loser.” He mocked, turning to leave with every intention of locating Kinger and sending him on a wild goose chase for something that doesn’t exist.

“Bye, dickhead.” You laughed in a sing song voice, finally turning back to the task you started only a moment ago. Until you heard a mutter of words cut through the air behind you.

You cast a half glance over your shoulder, cocking a head towards the tall figure in front of you.

He looked down at his feet, pupils flicking up to yours for only a second.

“I said thanks.”

And with that he was gone. You could make out distant cackling and confusion from Kinger as you finished up in the cafe. Closing up until a few days later, where the floral of lavender and warmth of vanilla seeped through the circus in waves.

The milk frothed in the same way, and the feelings of distant memory returned all the same.

But what you weren’t expecting, was for the sound of a chair pulling out. A large slump onto a counter. And a pair of eager eyes awaiting the comfort of your brewery in a purple mug.

off work leon…who…in the absence of excursions through grimy laboratories and abandoned hotels, starts to pick up extremely unimportant jobs. That man can’t sit still for longer than three days. And despite leaving him on the couch, he’s scrubbing the skirting boards by the time you’ve returned. He’s fixed the crooked leg on the ironing board you’ve been meaning to replace - and guess what! - Your neighbour’s squeaky front door? That’s fixed too. Now how about cleaning the toaster?

off work leon…who by day four is conceding to the Gen X curse which is Homescapes, Candy crush, and wordle. You’re at the office and this mf is sending you smirk emojis boasting that he got the wordle of the day in two tries. Not to mention, his homescapes levels are surpassing even that of Sherry’s - given the fact that you have repeatedly had to endure lengthy conversations about it between the two of them…

off work leon…who is the test subject for your new recipes. Despite only eating for sustenance whilst on the road, Leon is quite the adventurous eater, and is always up for trying everything you make. He loves all of it. And even when he doesn’t he keeps a strong smile on his face. The man has fallen off more building’s than he can count and kept his dignity, he can most certainly keep a straight face through an accidentally too salty bolognese.

off work leon…who has you late for work on multiple occasions. Whether it’s sneaking into the shower after you, hiking his hands up the back of your skirt as you fix yourself a coffee, or not even letting you rise from bed. He’s so used to being without you that when he has you all to himself, he can’t regain self control. He’s thrusting you into the kitchen counter with the feverent lust of a man half his age. But don’t get it twisted. This man has serious work etiquette. And despite you being late to drive your car, he’s strapping a helmet onto your head and weaving you through traffic on his bike before you can protest.

off work leon…who knows he soon has to go back on the road. And so before he does, he makes sure to do everything in his power to make it shorter this time. To take you out on dates, to clean and cook and care for you. And when he presses a kiss to your forehead, a gloved thumb rubbing soothing circles into your jaw. You know he’ll come home to you despite the odds.

He has to. And he won’t let anything stand in his way.

He wasn’t entirely sure what part of bioterrorism prevention made you so happy getting up in the morning. And when you were brought to him for the first time, blazer buttoned to the top and ironed within an inch of its life, he couldn’t help but find the ordeal mildly amusing. You were gushing over the most mundane details of the office that his eyes had automatically scanned right over. Your own desk organisers! Branded mugs! A bowl of hard boiled sweets that had melted to the plastic! Your glee never hindered. When his boss flashes him a hasty smile that says a thousand words, retreating to leave the two of you to inspecting the surprisingly high tech vacuum cleaner, his mind seems to retrace every moment of his life that led him to this point. This unfortunate point.

Your rambling seems to stop for a moment, your head swivelling upwards and your eyes gazing up at him with a look which harboured more confidence than he expected,

“It’s a pleasure to be here, sir.”

Oh, jesus.

It wasn’t how he expected his year to go. But the DSO were bringing more people on, and who better to lead them down the straight and narrow?

The last thing for the man who struggled to look at his own reflection needed, was more responsibility on his shoulders, he couldn’t shake the feeling of seeing you as another hinderance. It wasn’t personal, in fact, in some other life where he hadn’t stared death in the face every week, he maybe would have enjoyed your company. But your three pumps of vanilla syrup in your coffee, and daily ritual of greeting - every. single .person - in the office, cemented his view that you weren’t prepared. Your eagerness brought him back to a place thirty years ago that he didn’t want to revisit. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t dismiss the views he was building. It was all too familiar.

Your eyes held that same softness he lost in the mirror all that time ago. And it made some part of him that he could no longer recognise, twist deep inside of him.

This was gonna be a long five months.

“…I said that seemed extremely pessimistic, sir.”

A deep sigh shook the older man’s shoulders as he weaved in and out of traffic. You were sitting in the passenger seat, nursing a coffee from a sparkly travel mug as you tapped your fingers against your combat cargos.

The conversation had grew arms and legs after the radio station mentioned a missing man. 42 years of age, father of three. Leon with a grumble, said the chances of finding him now were low. The report having been filed four days ago.

“It’s not pessimistic, it’s realism.” He shot you a look, “It comes with experience. If they’re not found in five days, they usually aren’t in a state you’d want to find them in anyway.”

“Usually.”

His eyebrows furrowed, grip on the wheel tightening.

“Yes, usually. Always.”

“No, not always. Usually, meaning there’s still a chance.” You pushed him.

He looked at you again. Except this time it wasn’t annoyance, but something you couldn’t exactly figure out, but you got the sense that some day you would.

“Y/N, if you’re in this job you’re gonna need to lose that.”

“Lose what?”

“The hopefulness.” The car pulled to a stop. Yellow caution tape snapping the two of you out from your secluded conversation.

Outside two police officers began to approach the vehicle, gloved hands covering the firearm strapped to their waists. Leon winded his window down, swiftly picking up his badge from the centre console with nothing as much as a glance in your direction. You cast your attention to what resided outside the window. The caution tape was the final divider between a quiet street, and a decaying hotel. The plants which were unfortunate enough to end up on the border nearest it wilting, signs adorned in a thick layer of sludge and age. The walls contorting in on themselves, decades of architecture slinking away from something. Trying to hide.

Without a word to Leon, who was engaged in a conversation with the two officers, you hooked your fingers through the door handle and slipped out the vehicle. The cold air whipped past your face, a pungent smell swirling around your nostrils. One you hated. One you knew all too well. One that engulfed you in memories and that pulsing feeling in your throat.

Beyond the tape, a woman was sprawled out, veins a sharp black. Eyes a deep red. You knew it like the same virus pumped through your veins. Her face was crestfallen, features frozen in an expression of deep agony. A pool of crimson surrounding her scalp like some kind of fucked up halo. You could hardly remember a time when the world wasn't like this. And yet, your mugs still had sparkles on them, and you still looked for the sun.

“First time?”

You hadn’t noticed him even get out the car, too consumed in your thoughts. He asked you in a way that pissed you off. Faux kindest almost. You didn’t want it. You didn't need it. Not in the way he thought you did. Like a deer in headlights. Bambi, with his shaking legs. Wide set eyes. The same eyes that Leon was convinced were only full of innocence. Blissfully unaware that a much colder feeling choked behind that layer of innocence he took at face value.

“No.”

You ducked under the tape. Beginning your field notes. Every ounce of warmth that he thought made up your character, gone. Left behind the gaudy tape.

That was the first time Leon observed that change he grew to know so well. And when you returned to the DSO, finding you halfway through a sugared donut and laughing loudly had a wave of shock ride through his body. He just couldn’t figure you out. That friendliness became calculated. The warmth, cold. He just couldn’t understand it.

Maybe that's why he can't get you out of his mind.

"Your organisation is appalling, Leon."

He'd never gotten used to that in the four months you'd been under his mentorship. That day where the hesitant, 'Sir', became an entirely more confident bark of his name. And when you'd string it on to the end of a complaint, it irritated him how much it stirred something young inside of him.

"You're just hard to please." He retaliated, taking a sip out his mug as he was nose deep in a pile of paperwork. The back of his hand raising to shove his glasses a little further up his nose.

"Not to mention - these field notes are hardly detailed enough for what we attended." He gazed up at you for the first time in ten minutes, "You are trying to complete your training period, right?"

"Well," You hummed, stifling through more of his records that weren't coded in the slightest. "If I recall, that incident was one where you were in a pissy mood, and I was sent to sit in the car, while you finished up inside."

You turned to look at him, records in hand.

"I was certain you said you would complete the notes, sir."

God, what was wrong with him. Feeling like some lovestruck teenager.

He waved you off, gaze returning to the paperwork.

"Okay...dismissed."

"Can't I stay?" You quickly interjected.

That caught his attention.

He finally put his pen down, eyebrows furrowing.

"Stay? Why would you want to stay?" The man was truly perplexed. You always had him on his toes.

"Well, its interesting to be in your office finally after all this time. All these, well, records of stuff you've done."

"You sucking up to me, rook?" His head cocked to one side, eyes analysing you as if he was confused what it was you were trying to do.

"Not sucking up, just reinforcing the truth." You traced your finger across the DSO emblem on the book in your grasp. "I was really excited when I was assigned to you, you're the best of the best."

It washed over him like cold water, he didn't really know how to react. You standing there, pouring over his old missions, your hair done in that way he can never pull his eyes away from. Jesus. The way you sometimes talked like a robot. What was wrong with him?

He rose from behind his desk, picking his glasses up from his nose and placing them down atop the pile of paperwork he'd return to at some point.

"How about coffee instead?"