#fancy boots

When he went into the bathroom, a pile of Damien’s clothes lay ready for him. That was probably necessary, and since everything he hadn’t been wearing had been on its way to the citadel’s laundry room, he hadn’t thought to bring any spare clothes with him.

He picked up the shirt, finding that it couldn’t be Damien’s after all. It had two sleeves, which meant that they must have gotten it for him specifically. Riordan pushed the emotions that threatened to choke him aside and set out to refresh himself and change into the clean clothes. 

The door to Merridy’s room was closed, but the one to Damien’s room stood half open, displaying the abandoned bed. He found Damien in the kitchen, on his knees and rummaging around in the depths of a low cupboard. Afraid he might startle him, Riordan waited until his friend had pulled his head out of the cupboard before he cleared his throat.

“Hey.” Damien raised his head, and a smile spread on his face. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Good. Thanks.” 

His decision to take it slow for another day had little to do with his physical condition. He just needed a moment to relax before he threw himself into the bustling activity of mission preparations.

“Is Merry still asleep?”

“What? No.” Damien straightened up and set the container down on the counter. “She’s at work.”

Riordan’s eyebrows lifted. She must have been awake for a while before he had found her, and for however long they had sat together. That didn’t leave much sleep she could have gotten. Damien didn’t seem to know about it, or he would have been much more concerned, so Riordan forced his eyebrows down and a blank expression onto his face.

“Why?” Damien asked.

Well, damn; his expression probably wasn’t as blank as he had hoped. He didn’t want to lie to his friend, so he shrugged, trying to keep his tone light.

“I came down last night to grab something to eat and found her awake. Just thought she can’t have gotten much sleep, that’s all.”

Damien sighed, the hurt and worry on his face a clear indication that she hadn’t said a word to him. Riordan dreaded the inevitable question, not wanting to be caught in the middle between Damien worrying about Merridy, and Merridy not wanting to bother him. The question Damien finally decided to ask was a much easier one to handle, though.

“Would you help me peel the potatoes?”

Riordan plopped down on the bench. “Bring it on.”

Damien brought him two stacked bowls, one one of them empty, the other filled with potatoes, and Riordan began to peel them. As he did so, he eyed the mushrooms Damien was slicing. The potatoes in front of him were a ploy to keep him from stealing anything that could be eaten raw, he was sure of it. By the time he was done with them, all the other ingredients were already chopped and filled into the casserole dish, covered with a lid and out of his reach. 

He brought the peeled potatoes over to the counter, finding a single pristine mushroom waiting for him. With a grin, he snatched it and popped it into his mouth. Next to where the mushroom had been lay a small glass vial. When he picked it up, he recognized the name written on the label. It was one of many the healers had tried against his recurring headaches.

“Strong stuff,” he remarked. Whoops. He should swallow first, then talk. While he chewed the mushroom, he watched Damien, who never bothered to summon the illusion in place of his right arm at home. “Is it that bad?” he asked, properly with his mouth empty. His mom would be proud of him.

Damien looked from him to the vial in his hand. “They’re not mine,” he said.

“What?” The realization, and the memory of Merridy, small and sad and tired, sent a sharp pang of pain through his chest. “Why? Is she hurt?” 

“No, it’s for…” Damien looked up, clearly torn. “I’m not sure she’d want me to—” Perhaps it was the worry on Riordan’s face that made him give in, offering an explanation that relieved and upset Riordan at the same time. “It’s a recurring—uhm, monthly recurring issue, that’s all. Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Like fuck it is. There’s three women at home, and none of them need this.” Riordan resisted the urge to gesture with the vial, knowing very well that it wasn’t only strong, but also expensive. Instead, he put it down carefully and safely away from the edge of the counter. “Well, four, I guess, but only three who— you know what, never mind, what I’m saying is that this is not normal.”

His mom had no parts that could bleed, while his little baby sister was probably old enough by now, and gods, he did not want to think about any of that. 

“Perhaps not.” Damien was busy with quartering the potatoes and didn’t look at him. “But unfortunately, it’s normal for her. Might be why she was up last night.”

“Mhm.” 

It might have played a role in it, Riordan guessed. The reason she had told him wasn’t his to share, so exhaled with a sigh and decided to drop the topic. He watched as Damien finished up with the potatoes and rinsed the knife and cutting board.

“How about we grab a snack and play a game or two until she comes back?” Damien asked as he dried his hand. “I wanted to get the food ready, but if she got that little sleep, she won’t have much of an appetite.” 

“I’ll never say no to a snack, you know that.”

The little snack turned out to be a generous slice of apple pie with apricot jelly, buried under a glob of buttery cream, and with a pitcher of mint tea on the side. Armed with plates and cups, they retreated to the carpet in front of the fireplace, the game of black and white marbles between them. A small fire offered cozy warmth while Damien wiped the floor with Riordan round after round.

“I’m home!” Merridy’s voice echoed through the house just as Riordan wondered if he had any chance left of winning their fourth game.

“We’re upstairs!” Damien called back.

She didn’t come upstairs instantly, a fact that distracted Damien enough to leave an opening Riordan could use to attack. He did so without the feeling of triumph that would otherwise have accompanied the moving of the marble. 

When Merridy finally climbed up the stairs and walked into the room, she looked tired, but the smile as she spotted Damien was as bright as ever. A smile that extended to Riordan as well and only faltered into furrowed brows when her gaze fell onto the game board.

“Are you hungry?” Damien asked.

“Not yet. I’d rather rest a bit first.” She walked around them to the other end of the rug and flopped down with a slam that made Riordan wince. Apparently unbothered, she rolled to her side and propped her head on her arm. “So, who’s winning?”

Damien tapped his finger on the edge of the wooden board, his expression clearly unhappy about Riordan’s last move. Riordan grinned. 

“We’ll see,” they said almost in unison.

While Damien tried to save his victory, Riordan reached behind himself and pulled a pillow off the sofa. He threw it at Merridy, who was too slow to grab it, catching it with her face instead.

“Mpf. Thanks.” 

She stuffed it under her head and stretched with a relieved sigh. Eyes half closed, she watched the game, though she couldn’t be able to see much of the board from her position.

“The one in the back left,” she mumbled. “His left.” 

“Huh?”

“Hey!”

Merridy grinned and closed her eyes, while Riordan directed his gaze towards the spot she had called out. A row of marbles was indeed unprotected. Well, if this worked, it wasn’t quite the honorable victory he had hoped for, but he’d take it. He moved one of his in for the attack.

It took a fifth round for Riordan to actually win. With a triumphant—and very, very quiet—ha!, he shoved Damien’s last marble off the board.

“Finally!” His signs were big and boisterous. “The unbeaten champion!”

Damien shook his head, an amused grin on his lips. He raised his hand as well. They were not signing out of fear that Riordan’s voice might set him off, but to not wake Merridy up. Curled up on her side and with one arm wrapped around the pillow, she had fallen asleep quickly.

“Unbeaten, huh? We see later. I cook before you swallow my balls.”

It wasn’t unlike his friend to use foul language, but his focused expression as he tried his best to form the unfamiliar signs of the crude saying made it hard for Riordan not to laugh out loud. 

“No balls when you have mushrooms,” he signed, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes from the effort it took him to stay quiet. “Do you need help?”

“Nah. Stay away. My.” He paused. “KI-T-C-H-E-N.”

It was clear that Damien wasn’t used to signing, but he was getting better at it—at least until he stumbled upon a word that generally required two hands. He never used the illusion of his right arm; it would probably add another layer of difficulty rather than be helpful.

Riordan showed him the one-handed variant before he signed, “Fine fine fine. I could do with a nap anyway. You might have to come up and wake us when you’re done.”

Damien nodded and got up, leaving the game on the floor, to be cleaned up later—or for revenge. There were many hours left in the day for the unbeaten champion to be beaten again. Riordan looked at Merridy, still soundly asleep, and stood up quietly to grab the blanket off the sofa and pull it over her before stretching out next to her.