#kelliland

Lila’s no good at staying still.

It’s never been a problem. Still meant dead for most of her life, and by the time it didn’t - well. She didn’t feel like stopping, and Kell had been frozen in place for so long he’d nearly gone mad with it.

The two of them are meant for movement. They find their way along together, and it works well enough for Lila to not mind the fucking poetry of it all.

Holland…complicates things.

Holland would probably say that she does that well enough on her own, that he was perfectly content to watch White London’s rebirth in silence from the sidelines and never see either one of them again.

“I didn’t do it for you,” she’d say, and they’d both look at Kell then, who would either notice and blush, or be completely oblivious. Either way a wave of fondness that Lila still doesn’t entirely trust would sweep over her, and Holland…

Would stay.

It surprises her, sometimes. How comforting she finds that. Because Holland isn’t made for running these days, but he’s proving a surprisingly effective base to return to.

“Aren’t you darling,” she comments dryly, kicking the door shut behind her. Kell’s suite in the palace, too excessive for one person, makes a cosy fit for the two of them plus Holland.

Very cosy, judging by the scene before her. Holland flips a page in his book.

“Good evening, Delilah.”

Kell says nothing, because Kell is asleep. Not just asleep, but slumped sideways on the chaise and on Holland himself. She watches with something akin to delight as Holland’s other hand twitches, like he’s considering whether or not he can move it away from Kell’s head without her noticing.

“You know I hate that,” she says, except she doesn’t these days, not from him. There’s something about the way his mouth wraps around every syllable of her name that feels…personal. In a good way.

He murdered your friend, a dark voice whispers in the back of her skull. She takes her jacket off, drops it on the floor. Doesn’t miss the way Holland’s mismatched eyes follow its path.

Some things, she doesn’t try to reconcile these days.

“Liar,” is all he says, and she gives him a shark’s grin. He ducks his head, returning to his book, but not before she catches the ghost of his own smile.

Lila takes a moment to admire the tableau before her. Holland’s grown his hair out in recent months, pale strands spilling over one shoulder. His fingers are long, deceptively delicate; it takes him a moment of very steadily not looking at her before he allows his fingers to wind through the crimson shock of Kell’s hair. Kell, whose bones seem finally devoid of tension, his body molded to the cushions and Holland beneath him.

She gets the sense that this is Holland returning to a motion that had been mindless before she barged in through the door, and something in her chest aches pleasantly. It’s only exacerbated by the sight of Kell without that furrow between his brow, the soft rise and fall of his chest.

Absurd, that dark voice chuffs. Lila tugs at the laces of her boots.

“Are you going to keep staring?” Kell mumbles, not opening his eyes. “Or are you going to get over here and join us?”

“Do you want this boot in your face?” she shoots bake, but she’s already dropping it near her jacket, the other one as well, her body  moving through time and space towards them.

“So violent,” he teases, and then yelps as she dumps herself unceremoniously on top of him. Blue and black flashes at her accusatorily before she leans in and steals a kiss, and he closes his eyes again.

(She is a very good thief).

“Only when it suits me,” she murmurs against his mouth.

There’s a piece of Lila inside of him.

She looks for it every time her body squeezes inside out and deposits her in White London. Holland, disappointingly, is never surprised to see her; she wonders what it would take to get under his skin, and is vaguely disgusted at herself for it.

Whatever animosity lies between them these days, even Lila can admit he’s been pulled apart enough for one lifetime.

It doesn’t stop her gaze from scraping over him, the shock of white hair, the too-pale skin. His eye is black again, although she hasn’t forgotten that split second before Osaron had been sealed away, when they had both been that piercing, verdant green and empty.

(Her power had surged through the rings with Kell’s to fill the gap, and something had ricocheted back along the connection to settle in her chest. There’s a piece of Lila inside of him, and a piece of Kell, and sometimes she acknowledges that she’s not all herself these days either).

“Find what you were looking for?” he asks, glancing sidelong at her. His head doesn’t turn though, both of them facing the ruins of what had once been the White London palace.

No more kings the people of this world had decided, and the place had grown greener for it. Some nights Lila dreams of the river and imagines that something moves in it, under all that ice.

“If I told you what I really wanted to find, you wouldn’t be so pale,” she says idly, because Delilah Bard has never been to dive headfirst after the things that she wants, and because if it doesn’t go well she can always run away to a literal different world.

Holland coughs. Not loudly, barely enough to be noticeable, but after all of these years Lila knows him. She smirks, eyeing the faintest hint of a flush rising in his cheeks.

“Delilah.”

With Kell, she wouldn’t have hesitated to step into his space, to make more use of her body and his, but Holland requires a little more care. It’s delicate work, which is why she’s here instead of Kell.

“I told you so.”

“You don’t like me.”

“I’ve hated you,” she admits. It’s not a secret. “Some days I still think I could cheerfully drown you.”

He nods, colour fading. That makes sense to him; he’s back on solid ground. Lila steps quickly until she’s between him and the broken palace, arms crossed over her chest. His eyes skitter briefly over her face before dancing away. She catches the way he swallows, the bob of his Adam’s apple speaking of more careful restraint than anything he might say.

“Some days,” she says, and this is much harder but Lila doesn’t shy away from difficult things anymore, “I think you’re a better person than Kell and I put together.”

Holland flinches.

“Which isn’t saying much when it comes to me, but we can all agree that Kell’s too self-sacrificing for his own good.”

“And he knows you’re here, I suppose.” There’s a heavy dose of sarcasm to the words - and worse, self-loathing. He doesn’t think Kell knows. He hates himself, because he’s considering it anyway.

Lila rolls her good eye. “Don’t be an idiot. It was his idea that I come. He didn’t think you’d believe him.”

That’s when he looks at her. So often Holland is a blank mask, inviting people to read whatever they need to see into him. She can see the rawness in him now, a bleeding agony that she recognises from her life in Grey London, even if she hadn’t admitted it at the time.

“The two of you are happy,” he says. “There’s no room for me in the middle of that.”

“It’s not about being in the middle.” She wriggles her fingers at him. There’s a ring on one of them, partner to the one on his hand and on Kell’s. “It’s about being together. Look, I’m not going to push you. If you want to pretend that I didn’t just open this box, that’s up to you. But you know where to find us. Both of us.”

There’s a part of her that wants to reach out and touch him, comfort him, but he looks at her like he might shatter under her fingertips. So she smiles at him instead, although Lila’s smile has always been more of a shark’s grin, but that’s what he’s getting into if he decides to follow her.

As Travars takes her home. To Red London and to Kell and to the other missing piece of herself. He starts to his feet when she stumbles out of the alcove in their quarters, not bothering to look like he hadn’t been waiting for her.

“You’re alive,” he says dryly, reaching for her.

She folds herself into his arms, humming happily as his hands settle at her waist. His lips brush over her forehead, soft and sweet.

“You know it never pays to doubt me,” she says, tilting her head up to catch another kiss on the mouth. “It’s Holland. He needs time to work through his guilt complex first before he’ll let himself to anything that makes him remotely happy.”

A thunk sounds from the alcove behind them. Kell and Lila look at each other for half a second, Lila raising her eyebrows as if to say I told you so before they both turn to look at the door.

It swings open.

“You’re a menace, Delilah Bard,” Holland rasps.

“You have no idea,” Kell says, and he reaches past her to hold his hand out in invitation to the other man.