Mesmer the Magician

Sean understands. He does. It’s complicated, it’s overwhelming, and Nick isn’t sure what’s okay to say, what’s okay to do. When he should speak, even. But it’s becoming problematic; Nick sits too silent, doesn’t contribute to the conversations. They are supposed to look like equals, in this, and Nick is his Grimm, needs to make his voice heard. Needs to command respect through more than just his title, his supposed relationship– no, his bond, the mate bond – with Sean. He needs to command respect on his own terms.

He can do that. Nick commands respect, always does, and not through fear; even in Portland, the Wesen respect him. He has made a name for himself as a Grimm who is fair-minded.

So in the safe house, Sean sits him down. It’s difficult, it’s awkward. He explains that Nick needs to be a participant. Sitting on an ancient chair, with faded upholstery, leaning forward, elbows on his parted knees, hands clasped loosely.

He holds Nick’s eyes, and tries to make him understand. Promises he is protected, holds a position of privilege, has the right to be heard. That his opinions can be unpopular, and will be respected. And then he excuses himself to sit quietly in the corner on his laptop, pretending they have the space they need to give each other privacy.

He wishes things were different.

Things aren’t different.

He wishes they were better friends, instead of uneasy allies forced to trust each other.

Perhaps one day.

The next afternoon, sitting at the head of a table with some of the most important families, some of the most important members of the resistance (carefully hidden behind their official titles) and some of the worst of the Royals, Sean turned to Nick.

“What do you think?”

Nick’s hands were clasped together on the table and he seemed to tighten them, a moment. As if giving himself some strength. He let go, drumming his fingers a second, and then began to speak.

The substance didn’t matter. The quiet way he got it all across mattered. The way certain people looked pleased, some sat up straighter, the way others looked angry and resigned.

And then he fell silent, and clasped his hands again.

Sean felt himself smile. Reached hi own hand across, to settle on Nick’s; not unusual, for a mated pair, or a married couple, and no one would blink, and perhaps some who had whispered that they couldn’t sense a bond there at all might shut up. Nick looked up, a little bewildered, and Sean gave a squeeze, before pulling away again and looking up at the faces around the table.

“Okay so Beckendorf and I are going to blow up Grandpa’s ship. If we’re lucky, we’ll punch him in the face on the way.”

“Rachel just hit Grandpa in the face with a blue hairbrush.”

“Percy,” Chiron said cautiously, “You really should not underestimate Grandpa, he is the lord of time, you know.”

And the whole time Kronos is just. Furious because nobody is saying his name, and that’s making it a whole lot harder to know what’s actually going on among his enemies.

Shaggy: “Canary?”

Fred: We send you in first, and if you die, we know the room is dangerous.

For @coldflashweeks

Day three - Arranged marriage