#off-camera

Oh thank fuck.

Marvin quickly entered with a, “Hey, no problem at all.” He did his best to make it look like he wasn’t putting nearly his whole weight on his crutches and gave Caleb a polite smile. “Long time no see!” The ‘You look like shit’ that nearly followed remained unsaid.

It was returned with a tip of their head, and an attempt at a smile. “It it’s definitely been a a while.”

It was unlikely to be the most convincing, but they still tried. Their mind was too heavy to properly follow manners, There was too much to say.

Instead, they just led the way into the house, pulling out two of the chairs of the dining table, gesturing for him to sit down.

The offer was taken with haste. Marvin couldn’t help but sigh in relief, which he was quickly embarrassed by.

“Ah, sorry, I, uh, spent- I was in Sinnoh, right? You knew that. Spent a lot of it hiking a mountain with my roommate, Dylan. We got back a little over a week ago and I’m still sore as shit.”

Caleb scooted their own chair closer to the table, resting their elbows on the wood in attempt to stop the shaking in their hands from being too noticeable. Though, his words made them stall.

“I I knew that, I have no no idea why, but it’s not my b-business. I get it, though, I I understand.” They wringed their hands together, unsure of what to do with them.

Marvin shook his head, “It’s a long story. Let’s just say it was the world’s shittiest vacation and leave it at that.” Which was the understatement of the fucking century, but who gave a shit. Certainly not Marvin. Maybe.

That was definitely familiar. They nodded, with a bit of an uneasy laugh, “I know th-that feeling.”

He certainly looked the part, with how clearly exhausted he was, though they weren’t much better. It would be believable to say they had aged several years over the past few months, and from the glimpses in the mirror of the dark circles under their eyes, it was obvious.

At least it was under control now. Though, now they had to give an explanation.

A second passed before Marvin set his hands down on his thighs, “Alright, well, I guess this is the part where you tell me what you’ve all been up to?”

He looked at Caleb expectantly, an eyebrow raised. He’d been itching for someone to tell him what the hell had been going on, and with the bare minimum of small talk out of the way, he’d really like to get a move on.

They stalled, and looked away. With a nervous laugh, they rubbed the back of their neck. “I I guess so.”

With a deep breath, they took a moment, getting the timeline straight in their head. “It’s a a bit of a long story.”

For the first time, they fully laid it out.

From Sasha’s random lead in November, tracking down suspects and putting a name to the crime in December, to all the breaking and entering, the meeting with Grimshaw, everything.

Their voice shook when they got to Driftveil, and leaving their daughter out of it, when Cory had somehow tracked them down, and Sasha’s spiral. They almost didn’t want to speak about the notebook and the letter, the conspiracy, but regardless, it was included.

Though, they left out the details about the personal connection. That was not their place to speak.

And then how it ended.

By the end of the story, Marvin had leaned as far back in his chair as he could go.

Marvin was staggered, astonished, dismayed, baffled, stupefied, disturbed and quite frankly flabbergasted at what he’d been told. He smeared a hand across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose before pushing down and off his cheekbones. His expression was that of a man grappling with whether or not he spent the past few months, and if he might possibly the next few minutes, being a massive fucking hypocrite.

As self centered as it was, he kept thinking to himself, ‘Would I have done the same?’

Gone on this wild goose chase, this tirade through Unova. This quest for revenge, for… Something. Huh. Caleb didn’t really specify what, aside from the fact the dead man was a murderer.

Something in him told him to press Caleb, that there was something they weren’t telling him. That there was something that didn’t quite add up, that a piece of the puzzle was missing.

He told that part of him to shut up. Frankly, he’d heard enough. He was tired. Not just from bodily weariness, but from the buzz of anxiety surrounding these people that had been persistent for the past few months.

Maybe this wasn’t over, that there was more to this.

But maybe his part in this as the skeptic, the critic, the angry little bastard in the corner was through.

Marvin let out a long sigh, “Well…. Shit.”

Tangling a hand in their hand, Caleb gave a tired expression, with some attempt at a smile. “L-like I said, long long story.”

It had certainly been a chaotic few months. Though, even that would be putting it lightly, compared to the emotional turmoil that they had been through.

“No shit,” Marvin scootched himself back up in his chair, “So… What now?”

If only they knew the answer to that. Instead, they shrugged. “Mostly, I’ve be-been busy trying to k-keep her alive, so.. I, I don’t know. Not not yet, anyway.”

They smiled, but it held mostly unease and a bit of bitterness.

Out of all of them, she had handled it the worst. Of course she had, with how much their cousin had invested into this. It still made them shudder, remembering when they had found her outside, barely conscious. She needed to take better care of herself, but that was an old tune she hadn’t listened to in many years.

“… That bad, huh?” He pretended to not notice how none of this added up.

Briefly, they fumbled. They shouldn’t have mentioned that.

They shook their hands in front of them, “Er- well, n-not like like that, but, she’s- reckless. And it- it hit her.. Hard. I-I think you know Sash isn’t the the most- responsible, so, that’s been m-my job.”

Nervousness buzzed under their skin, and attempted to cover for what they had said. She wasn’t suicidal, that was the one thing she wasn’t. It wasn’t much better, but it would be wrong to give that impression.

Marvin considered what they said, weighed it in his mind, and came to the conclusion that shit was kind of fucked in the Ellis household.

He nodded sympathetically.

“Right, right, no, I.. get that. Just- Watch out for yourself too and all that. Don’t-” He shook his head, “Take time for yourself is what I’m trying to say. Taking care of her is kind of you, but who's taking care of you?”

For a second, they couldn’t think of words to respond. In the end, it landed on waving it off. “I- I’m alright, I kn know how to to take care of of myself. I promise. It’s- it’s just what I I do, to be there f-for Sash, and take care of of Mincy. I’m okay.”

Marvin knew instinctively that they were not ok.

He also knew that this was not the time nor the place to even begin to unpack all of that.

“If you say so.” Marvin shrugged.

Caleb put on a smile, folding their hands under their arms to stop them shaking. They were very grateful he had dropped it. Because, in full honesty, they didn’t know.

For a beat, it was silent, before, across the room, a door opened from the hallway.

Cory shouldn’t have been listening, they knew that, but- it was Marvin and Cal was saying stuff even they hadn’t heard yet, but- it looked like they were done now?

It wasn’t clear.

They poked their head out of the door, and looked at the two at the table.

As if by some miracle, they managed to catch Marvin’s eyes. He immediately broke out into a grin. “Cory!!” Marvin attempted to stand on reflex, but he caught himself and sat back down before he accidentally got up close and personal with the floor.

They jumped when he nearly fell, almost shouting, eyes going wide. “Marvin! Are- are you okay? Uh- nevermind, hi!”

Tentatively, they stepped out of their room, and over to the dining table, fidgeting with their hands. “Hi.”

“Hey, how’s it going? It’s great to see you face to face again! It’s been a while!”

They smiled, giving a small wave to him and Caleb. “It- it’s fine! Been uh, okay, ish. It’s nice to see you too!”

Leaning against the back of the couch, they tried to atleast posture straight, so they looked a bit better than they felt.

Marvin quickly realized that it was up to him to continue the conversation. Fuck.

In a matter of milliseconds he began and finished panicking, rejected about fifty different possible topics, and settled on one that had the least likelihood of backfiring.

“So, not to cut to the chase or anything, but…” Marvin leaned forward, “I heard you made a friend recently?”

Cory’s face lit up immediately, and they saw Cal smile. “Oh- yeah!! It’s uh-”

In whatever weird position was necessary, they reached back into their sweater hood and pulled out the one-eyed sewaddle who’d been curled up in there, presenting it forward like a trophy. (It was tired, sorry little guy, it would be fine.)

“This! Is Thimble! I uh- I’ve had it for a few months now!” The grin on their face was enthusiastic, and was actually genuine.

Thimble looked around, and squeaked.

And for a single moment, everything was completely right in the world.

The noise Marvin made was not human in the slightest, but he was too distracted by Thimble to give even the most remote of shits.

“Oh my god I love it,” Marvin squealed, immediately flapping his hands as his joy could not be contained.

“Thimble.. THIMBLE!!” He slapped a hand over his chest, “Oh, my heart, what a wonderful little bug! I’m so happy for you two!”

Cory giggled, pulling their arms in to cradle Thimble like a baby. They bounced on their feet, way too happy.

“Thanks!! It’s uh, been a learning curve, uh, taking care of a pokemon, but,” they looked down at the sewaddle’s cute little face, “I uh, I think we’ve been doing okay!”

It nuzzled its face against their shirt (which was the cutest thing in the world, objectively), and they were giggling all over again.

Oh now wasn’t that just the sweetest thing. It was so nice to see Cory with a genuine smile on their face. They deserved all of that joy and so much more.

“Well, considering the fact that it looks both happy and healthy, I think you are doing a wonderful job!”

They were basically beaming, (smiling like a dorky idiot, but who cares), “I’ve- I’ve been trying my best! I don’t think it’s, maybe as easy as, like, a lillipup or something, for a starter, but I wouldn’t change it!”

With a chirp, Thimble turned around in their hands to look at Marvin, tipping its little head and wiggling its little feelers. (Which was always super cute.) (It still looked banged up, with the missing eye and the scratches, but all the bandages had come off awhile ago- finally.)

“I think Thimble agrees!” Marvin laughed.

They giggled, “Uh, I guess so!”

After a moment, they paused. “Uhm- Sorry for uh- .. not uh, keeping in touch, for awhile.” Don’t sound so nervous. “I- It wasn’t really, my choice, but I tried!”

Marvin waves his hand in a calming gesture, “Hey, I get it. I’m just glad you’re alright, y’know?”

Nodding, they gave a nervous smile. “Yeah, yeah, uh- it’s- it was all fixed, so, y’know, just..” their voice got quieter as they mumbled, “y’know, when- Sasha broke my phone, but whatever.”

Keep the bitterness out of your voice. He’ll know. Cory dropped their eyes to the floor, holding Thimble closer. (Were they alright? Well, no, but, atleast it was better than it had been.)

(They saw Caleb avert their eyes, because yeah. They’d been there too.)

Marvin paused. His left eye twitched. “Right,” Cool your jets, man, “Right, that did happen. Right. Well, at least it's fixed now!”

Caleb spoke up, gesturing nervously, “Yes, uh, it- took a while, but-but it was taken care of.” And their voice dropped too, “She- Sash h-hadn’t meant to, mostly, it wasn’t.. It it just happened.”

(Cory was absolutely certain that was a lie, but duh Cal would be biased, they were related.)

Marvin nodded slowly. He tried his best to convey in the subtlest way possible that he held the opinion that she totally did it on purpose and that was complete horseshit. Rapidashshit? Ponytashit. Mudsdaleshit. Whatever.

“It just happened,” He repeated, “I guess it did. Happen.”

Marvin quickly glanced at Cal from the corner of his eyes. They didn’t suspect a thing.

It was kinda obvious they saw his glance and looked away, whatever emotion it was Cory couldn’t tell. (Maybe a part of Cal knew, but they’d seen how they talked to Sasha, they could never see her that way.)

You should say something.

“She- uh, she knocked it out of my hands and uh, it- got stepped on when she ran away.” Cory looked between the two of them. “Uh- the uh- screen got completely shattered, which was uh, kinda hard to get replaced.”

Marvin winced, “Shit. Yeah, you can’t type on something like that. Great way to get a really shitty kind of splinter.”

They nodded. “Yep, so uh- yeah, that’s, that’s why I kinda disappeared off the radar. I uh, have nothing else besides my phone, so.” Cory shrugged.

Everyone had been too busy, and it had taken ages. Caleb was watching Sasha so she didn’t drink herself to death, Ayzee and Jacob had to run the shop alone, Clara was in Nimbasa, cuz there was. No other option. Apparently.

(All because Sasha screamed at them in an alley and broke the only thing they had to communicate.)

A beat of silence passed. Marvin squirmed in his seat. Wow. He’d seen the video, sure, but hearing Cory actually talk about it… Damn.

Something clawed at the inside of his ribcage. Some emotion he couldn’t place. He sighed, hoping it would alleviate some of the discomfort. It did not.

“Well…” Marvin started, “I… Should probably get out of y’alls hair.”

With crutches this time, Marvin stood. Ow. Fuck. Ow again.

Well, time to pretend like he didn’t feel pain.

He turned to Cal and smiled at them, “Thanks for sitting down for a chat. I appreciate it, really.”

He paused for a moment before he added, “I hope y’all feel better soon. Remember to take care of yourself, yeah?”

They glanced him up and down, and nodded, wringing their hands together again, as they always did. “It was.. It it felt needed. I, I hope you have good- good things, Marvin.”

“Right back at ‘cha.”

Marvin turned to Cory, “Sorry to split so soon, but my legs are killing me and I’d rather not end up on the carpet.”

His expression softened, “It was good to see you, Cory. Thank you for introducing me to Thimble! It was an absolute honor.”

There was not a hint of irony in his voice.

Yikes. Yeah, they nodded, “I- Yeah uh, I get it, no, don’t- don’t worry.” They laughed a bit, “Truth holds I’ve been there before, uh- thanks! It was. Yeah it was good to see you, I think Thimble likes you.”

Cory gave a soft smile, though of course their expression was kinda pinched from the rest of Everything.

Marvin let out an almost theatrical sigh and wiped his hand across his forehead, “Thank god. I’d be crushed otherwise. I think I’d have to go into hiding.”

Okay that made them giggle.

After a moment, kinda awkwardly, they held out an arm and hugged him with the one that wasn’t holding Thimble.

Dontcrydontcrydontcrydontcrydontcrydontcrydontcry.

Marvin hugged them back, copying their one-armed method so he didn’t topple the three of them over.

Pain be damned, it was all worth it just for that.

After a second they pulled away, and gave him a small smile. “Uh- see you soon? Hopefully?”

“Absolutely! Give me a shout whenever you want to hang out. You know where to find me!” He literally stood in the same place every day he was in Pinwheel Forest. He was not a hard man to find.

Cory nodded, and let him go.

With one last wave, Marvin turned and headed to the front door. All things considered, that went pretty well. Better than expected, actually. He finally got context for the past few months AND he got to see a cute bug! Huge win.

It seemed that way, perhaps, until he got outside, and saw who was sitting on the front step.

There, back facing him, staring off into the woods around her home, was Sasha.

Fuck.

Of course this would happen. He’d had it too easy. Nothing could ever be easy. There was, like, a military-grade restriction against letting things be easy for him. Goddamnit. Well, there was only one way forward, and that was through.

Marvin shook his head, sighed, and promptly cleared his throat.

Quickly, she lifted her head, and glanced back at him. There had been a suspense in her mind, and it was finally broken.

After a moment, she spoke, voice more quiet and subdued than their last encounter. “Oh, there you are. Cal said they invited you over.”

“Yeah,” Marvin scuffed his shoe against the porch, “They were kind enough to catch me up to speed ‘n shit. I was about to head home.”

For a moment, she simply watched him, looking over his expression. It wasn’t off from what had been expected. “Right. Of course.”

Her hair was largely unkempt, though still up in the ponytail, eyes perhaps a bit duller than they were before, dark underneath in a way that never really left her these days. He looked worse for wear himself, but presumably not to quite the level she appeared.

“I take it me being here was a disappointment, at best. Though I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“I mean… I was about to go home..” He muttered, averting his eyes to the treeline. For a moment he wished for better health so he might make a break for the safety of Pinwheel Forest. Like some kind of graceful deer. Probably.

With a waving hand gesture, she dropped her head. “Well, we have a back door you’re more than aware of. If being in my presence is truly so terrible.”

Are you fucking serious? Marvin made no effort to hide his expression of disbelief.

“Or,” He said through gritted teeth, “You could move. Like. Two feet in either direction? For a singular minute?”

She glanced back at the treeline, “I’m aware that you hate me now. Don’t believe I’m not.”

Slack-jawed, Marvin could only stare at her. Before he could formulate a response that was only a little passive aggressive, the clawing-thing in his chest decided to worm its way through his jaws instead.

“Well, you really aren’t helping your case, are you now?” He spat.

She simply looked at him, her expression hadn’t particularly changed since this began. What reason would there be?

“There wouldn’t be much point to it. It’s a miracle Cory doesn’t hate me too, though I would understand them more.”

If his arms weren’t occupied, he would have facepalmed.

“There is a point. It’s called not digging your goddamn hole any deeper. Saving face. Whatever!” He huffed, “Like, ok, you’re in a bad spot, I get it. Honestly? It’s probably not the best time to have this talk! You look like shit! And frankly I think I can make a pretty safe assumption that you aren’t feeling much better!”

Somewhere, a creature was crying, off in the trees. It was almost clearer in her ears than his words. She didn’t look from his face.

“It’s not exactly a secret. And there wouldn’t be much to save, would there? Not now. I failed, what more is there to do?”

“Get back up???” He said, like it was the most obvious answer possible.

“You don’t seriously plan to spend the rest of your life moping over this, right? I mean, fuck, spend a month or two, that’s understandable! But holy fuck, Sasha, this isn’t the end of the world!” Ok, this was not as gentle or as kind as this should be. However, Marvin was tired, he was in pain, and all he wanted to do was lay down in his bed and pretend to be a decaying log for the next twenty-four hours.

“You failed! Everybody does! Congrats, you’re human! I can’t count on my hands and feet the number of times I have failed in spectacular and horrifying ways! It happens! To everyone!” His voice went a pitch higher than he’d like, so he took a moment to clear his throat, “Your failures don’t define you, what defines you is how you handle what comes after.”

It had nearly cost everything. Absolutely everything, that was her whole entire world. She was not about to lay down and die, but after everything they had gone through, it didn’t feel like she had anywhere to go from here.

It was nearly the end of the world. Perhaps not his, but hers.

Though, even now there wasn’t much to refute him. Instead, she said something else.

“You didn’t deny it.”

He rolled his eyes, “Ok, here, let me spell it out then.”

Marvin cleared his throat, this time in a very theatrical manner, and put it quite plainly, “I am, quite frankly, pissed as fuck. I don’t agree with your behavior, especially with how you treated Cory. Especially that.”

He took a deep breath, letting it out through his teeth, “But I, somehow, cannot find it within me to hate you, Sasha.”

Now that gave her pause. Her eyes widened slightly, and she simply stared at him, unsure what exactly to say.

“Okay.” Was all she managed.

Marvin sighed.

“Look. I get it. I’m sorry you didn’t get to punch that asshole in the face. But he died a total loser. No accolades, no benefits, nothing. No one will remember his name, no one will mourn him, and he will rot until nothing remains. I don’t know what he did to you, but he’s gone. And he won’t do it to anyone else.”

He let the words hang in the air for just a moment, “We should talk again. When you’re not, like, trying to lay out your neck for me to step on and shit. Metaphorically.”

For once, she was truly at a loss. After a moment, the only option that seemed to make sense was simply to nod, not sure how to read his actions. It did not make much sense. Regardless, here they were. “I.. suppose we should. At another time.”

“Yeah, definitely. I think if I don’t get home in the next hour I’ll be sleeping in a mud puddle. Again.” He said, like it was only a minor inconvenience.

Oh, right. Her senses weren’t so far gone she had failed to notice how worn out he looked, practically about to fall right where he stood. Quickly, she pushed to her feet and stepped up onto the porch out of the way, gesturing with an arm.

“I.. My apologies, Marvin, really, I shouldn’t have kept you.”

“Apology accepted,” He made his way past her, and turned to give her a small nod.

“I’ll see you soon. Have a good night, Sasha.”

She gave a nod in return. “You too, Marvin. Take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

Marvin turned away from her, finally heading off into the forest. It wasn’t the dramatic break away he initially hoped for, but it felt a lot better.

The Ghost was a hard man to pin down.

By his nature, he was a wanderlust. He moved where the money was; flitting between cities, countries, and continents, never content to stagnate. There were a few things he was guaranteed to materialize for, though: horse races, expensive antiques, and important news. He was a habitual horse better who had scarcely missed an important race in the continental United States, and had a mysterious fixer he’d mentioned once or twice by the name of Squire Shade. 

And, as it so happened… Just a few miles south of Gotham, on a bright and unusually warm February morning, a derby was taking place. It’d been greatly publicized the past few weeks, as it was an annual and highly contested event, and would make prime bait for anyone who happened to know Craddock’s gambling habits. 

And there were some quite clever men out there who would hold an interest in that sort of thing… 

The air was clear, the wind was a little chilly this early in the morning, and the sun cheerfully shone, promising to warm up the stands; the crowd of a few thousand tramped through the dirt, milling around with one another whilst the racers readied themselves and the stands were slowly opened to spectators. It seemed almost like a festival; a little snapshot of a traditional spring carnival. Vendors sold merchandise, food, and drinks to patrons, and, of course, the stadium doled betting slips for the gambling patron. The air buzzed with electric interest; anticipation sparked off of everyone’s lips. 

No sign of the Gentleman Ghost for the moment… but that was the thing about ghosts, wasn’t it? They didn’t show themselves unless they wanted to. 

==

If you wait in the right place, they’ll come.

Edward eyed the odds sheets with a wry smile, nostalgic. How his father loved listening to him prattle as a child, looking over the betting forms and picking his dear Pop a winner just about every time. It was a fun experience for them both: a few hours together, a few thrown races to sweeten the pot, and then a jackpot here and there just to even things out...and a very fair cut for young Edward’s good work, as a simple sno-cone wouldn’t suffice.

Calmly, he glanced over his betting slips: broad coverage, but he’d put his money on a mid-range racer. Mint julep in hand, he meandered off to find a good seat with some elbow room.

==

The ambient anxiety of the crowd was only growing; people with prying eyes looking towards the starting gates, craning their necks to see even though there was nothing yet to even look at. 

The crowd was thick, but not so thick as to swallow up every seat. Edward had arrived early enough to get a spot that wasn’t too far, wasn’t too close, and where he wouldn’t be browbeaten by the sun that was steadily rising. 

About five minutes before the start of the race, there was just the smallest glimpse— something that could be ignored if a person wasn’t looking for it. A shimmer in the air, above the stands— that looked, for just a moment, like a billowing cloak, before winking out. 

He was here, it seemed, cutting it close… But didn’t see fit to grace the populace with his signature, ghostly physique. 

==

Ah. There he was: and who needed a seat when the air itself was at your command?

Edward watched him for a moment, sighing inwardly. Was it nice, he wondered, to fly? Was it relaxing, tiring, how did it feel to place your body in any relation with the world you wanted? Perhaps it was different when one was non-corporeal, but was it like zero-gravity? Something else, more elusive and yet even more wonderous?

Something as simple as existing in one’s own capacity was beautiful, really, when in the right eyes. It was something he might know someday, but for now, he could dream freely about how much magic there was yet to be found.

Smiling, he stuck his forefingers in his mouth and gave a whistle.

==

It drew looks from people who were close by, made curious by the sound, but they quickly disregarded it as the horses and jockeys began to get to their positions. 

He had gotten someone’s attention, though. A moment later, there was a soft voice in Edward’s right ear, disembodied but familiar; “Why, I didn’t know you liked the races, Mr. Nygma. Fancy seeing you here…” 

==

“Are you kidding?” he smiled. “My father and I had some of our best times at the races: I was his best bookie. Join me, James? There’s plenty of seats.”

==

“Is that right…?” 

Craddock seemed to consider the offer for a moment. Then, to Edward’s right, the empty seat became suddenly occupied with the familiar attire of the Gentleman Ghost. He fidgeted in his opacity, seeming a little uncertain whether he really wanted to be opaque, but settled. 

“You’ll excuse my rudeness in having been hidden,” Craddock murmured. “I get looks, you know. I’m a little overdressed in some areas, and underdressed in others.”

==

“That happens to me sometimes. When it does, I just ask why they decided not to look good today, and it usually gets them to back off.” he chuckled, fiddling with his cuffs. “It’s a mark of your caliber as a person, James: no need to hide your class.”

Underneath the thick veneer of charm, Edward fidgeted, excited. By all accounts, James had to be the secret admirer. He had to be. Was he? No doubt about it but maybe? Had to be, and how exciting: one ought to flirt a little and be sure.

With another sip of his julep, he gestured toward the starting gates. “Have you got a favourite? I’ve put the bulk of my faith in 1,000 Deaths.”

==

“I appreciate the words, but no matter how nice my garments or how upright I carry myself, the average mortal tends to be put off by…” he gestured vaguely to his face. “Ah, well.” 

He seemed to think for a minute, but it had always been hard to read James’s thoughts with no visible face. 

“Most of my stake is on Whetstone,” Craddock obliged. “Handsome thing. A very strong lineage, though quite young… not the favored to win, but still with a chance.” 

The announcer began speaking; the stadium chatter dampened, just for the moment. The tension was palpable, and James leaned forward, knee starting to bounce in impatience. 

==

“Whetstone, hm? I put a smaller bet on him, just to keep my options broad.”

I wonder if he’s watched the lineage line of all of these horses. He’s been around long enough, he could easily trace which racer’s from which stock. My word, he probably knows these horses’ family trees for winning pedigrees…

He settled back, brows raised as his mind bussed off merrily about horse family trees, but tuned back in at the opening trumpet. Setting aside his drink, Edward braced his elbows on his knees, rapt.

“Good luck.”

==

The race was exceptionally quick— as derbies are supposed to be. Craddock kept the bench beneath him in a death grip, and he leaned so far forward that he might’ve toppled over.

His form was jittering— the material of his clothes starting to turn sludgy as his concentration waned. Had Edward’s attention been turned off the race and to his companion, he would’ve seen the featureless head of the Ghost flicker in-and-out of transparency; not long enough or solid enough to catch a good glimpse, but enough to signal his mind was elsewhere.

“Damnation!” was the Ghost’s hailing cry when Whetstone finished third, behind 1,000 Deaths and a hereto unmentioned horse called Brushed Gold. 

==

Tsking, Edward rolled his eyes and frowned at his betting slips. “So much for that…”

Loathe as he was to admit it, it was something he rather liked about the derby: there was always a chance he could be wrong, and that kept life fresh.

“That wasn’t even one of my picks. Luck certainly isn’t on my side here, hm?”

He had not, in fact, noticed the loosened grip on James’ form, eyes trained on the horses. With a scowl, he sipped his julep. 

“...Sorry for third place, chum.”

==

James gave a short, agitated sigh. “Shade will have staked everything on Brushed Gold. Mark my words. That bastard—”

He stopped short, and tilted his head in interest. Intrigue in anything other than the horses and their riders was a rare thing for him on a racetrack, but the julep had caught his eye. He hadn’t taken much notice of the concessions at these sorts of things before, a little preoccupied by more pressing matters— like whether Squire Shade had fixed this race, too.

“... Oh, what do you have there?”

==

“Oh, this?” he asked, lifting up his drink. “Mint julep, a derby tradition in the south. Of course, it’s out of place during April in the north, but why not have fun with the occasion? If I’m going to lose, at least I can enjoy my drink.”

He grinned a bit. “Want a sip?”

Can I contract illnesses from ghosts? Time to find out.

==

“... A little,” Craddock confessed. Again, he knew the sweet siren song of food and drink, and that it would never taste nearly as good as some corner of his mind remembered— but there was no harm in it. “I, too, would wish to dull the sting of my loss…” 

He would be having words with Shade soon, hopefully sometime before the bastard pinched every penny from his pocketbook… 

“... if you don’t mind?” 

==

“It’d be odd to ask and then not offer. Here.” he said, holding the glass over, straw presented. Ghosts were fascinating, really. Where did the drink go? He knew he didn’t really taste it well, but if the spirit was willing enough, would it compensate for the missing flesh?

Was this what people considered an indirect kiss?

...Be quiet, brain, don’t get all excited over inconclusive information.

“Have all you like.”

==

With a grateful nod, Craddock takes the glass. He takes a modest sip, the liquid suspended humorously in the air for a moment before it travels down an invisible windpipe and out of sight. 

“Oh,” he says, and he sounds strangely delighted. “Oh, I actually…”

The taste was more striking than he had suspected (which was not saying much— a mouthful was still no better than what he suspected a droplet or two would be) and it proved an unexpected pleasure.

“So interesting, on the tongue…” 

==

“You like that? It’s a very summery drink, always drunk at the Kentucky Derby.”

But I’m sure you knew that much.

“...I’m sorry, I have to ask...have you been following Whetstone’s family line through the racehorse generations?” Always with the questions: he even annoyed himself, now, with how he blurted them out. “Or any or all of them?”

==

He brightened.

His hat, of its own accord, lifted itself off his head and placed itself in his lap; he removed, from within it, a bleached-white pen and a colorless scratchpad.

“As a matter of fact,” he said. “I have. I don’t have my completed ancestry chart in front of me, but I still remember…”

He began drawing little boxes and lines, filling in a dizzying amount of names. The family tree branched into a maniacal, tangled root system.

“As you can see, there’s a few important derby wins by his ancestry… The earliest I can recall is 1897…” he paused, and started highlighting names.

“It’s a hobby of mine, tracing these. I did try ever so hard to get my horse’s lineage, to see if he had any interesting ancestry, but that never truly went anywhere…” 

==

Edward perked up in turn, in twinned delight of being on the mark with his suspicion and well-received in his query. Watching James draw out a lineage chart from memory was dazzling: his heart did a little leap to see his penmanship. Every detail was as enchanting as another, and he remembered so much so well..!

“What’s your horse’s name?”

==

He paused. The pad and pen returned themselves to his hat, which he placed on his head. 

“When I first realized I had the beast,” he admitted, “I was not feeling particularly… creative. I referred to it as ‘the Horse’ for some time…” He gave a slight laugh. “After calling it all sorts of things. Damnable creature. Demon from hell. Wicked beast from the underworld. After a while, just ‘my Steed’, and that stayed. I suppose I should get around to a proper name some day.” 

==

“...That does beg the question: was it always a skeleton, or was it a living horse at some point?” Edward wondered aloud, muttering into his glass. “And if it was a living horse, what compelled it to become a ghost..?”

After a moment, he shuddered. “I’m going to assume it’s just a necromancer’s experiment.” Much kinder to the mind than the notion of a vengeful horse, knowing the nature of such beasts. “M-moreover, horses don’t need names, strictly speaking, so long as they know who you’re talking to.”

==

James had opened his mouth to correct— but stopped just short of it.

He knew very well where Steed had come from— well, that wasn’t strictly true, but he knew why the beast came forth at his beckoning. 

But he got the feeling this was one thing that Edward would be happier not knowing. James was loathe to ruin that handsome look of interest etched on his face with an honest answer. 

As he stared a moment at Mr. Nygma’s face, James realized there would be an expectation to respond, and he mentally backpedaled to where the conversation had been.

O, Lord, let me keep my wits for just a moment longer… Don’t stare at his beguiling smile, Craddock. 

“Ah, yes, that’s reasonable. I have no other beast of burden, so Steed won’t be puzzled by the name.”

==

“It’s very cool that you can summon a horse, mind you.” Edward grinned, glancing up to look James in the monocle. “You’re...hah, well.” 

He turned to his julep again, hiding his smile. “...quite the interesting character, James. I appreciate your patience with all of my questions.”

==

“Ah, I am happy to answer them.”

He had asked for payment for such queries before— but it seemed a little ungentlemanly to ask now. Besides… this rather public place was not the kind of area to indulge… in that sort of payment. 

Scandalous. Imagine if Shade were watching…

He had started tinging that strange, mother-of-pearl pink for a short time again, before settling back to his normal coloration. There was a slight, almost unconscious tug at his collar.

“You’re one of very few whom I would share secrets and knowledge of this kind with— I consider you a valued friend, Mr. Nygma.” 

==

As out of his depth in the realms of romance as Edward tended to be, even he could parse out a blush when he saw one.

He hummed, inspecting the ghost for a moment before his lips curled into a broad, knowing smile. Smug as anything, detestable, and easily recognized as a magnet for many a fist.

“Something on your mind~?”

==

Oh, he did not like that facial expression. It made him think Edward knew something horrible and secret that he didn’t— James instinctively brought his hand to his face on the off-chance that he’d let his countenance run around unchecked.

No, that wasn’t it…

“Ah, no, I… was just wondering when the next race would…” he petered out, very well knowing that this lie was not going to get better the longer it went.

“...”

==

“Ah, right. Time to go place some fresh bets, is it?” he asked, duly ‘distracted’ from his line of query. Let it simmer a bit, and it’ll all come to a head. 

“I’m going to try out a few I’ve never heard of...call it an inspiration, given the last race. If some nobody’s going to win a surefire race like that, then it’s time to start paying more attention to the nobodies.”

==

Craddock nodded.

“Mine have been placed well in advance,” he murmured. “I’ll keep your place safe for you… ah, and perhaps get something for you to eat…?”

He seemed a little more subdued than usual— warily waiting for the bar of the Riddler’s suspected trap to spring. There was some small amount of dogged wariness and suspicion that’s readable just from his posture, even if his face gives nothing away. 

== 

“You’re right, I should.” said Edward, rising and stretching with a quiet grunt in his nose, a few joints popping. “If you don’t mind keeping the seat?”

==

“Of course,” he had no earthly idea what compelled him to add, in this non-violent crowd on a lovely, non-violent day— “Return safely…” 

People had already mostly drained out of the stadium, moving for snacks, souvenirs, collections of winnings, talk amongst themselves, or a bathroom trip. 

What does he know that I don’t…? 

==

“With any luck.” 

Edward gave a little wave as he meandered off, pondering his next bets as he walked, as well as whatever nightmares the concession stand might offer that resembled sustenance. A hot dog? Technically food, good enough. Nachos?

You should ask him, honestly. But is this the place and time?

...Truly, is there a better one? We’re face to face, so to speak, and it’s always better etiquette to ask in person rather than across the internet, especially with matters of the heart.

And he’s so...cute, really, when he’s flustered.

Just don’t scare him off by being a bastard, Edward, of all the things you could do…

He sighed, placing a few bets at random, as well as one on Whetstone, and then wandered back to his seat with his assortment of edibles.

==

Craddock was not alone on his arrival. As a matter of fact, it almost looked like seeing double.

Two men in mantled white coats and tall hats, sporting a signature eyepiece and no face… the differences were small, and only noticeable if searching.

The second wore a bow-tie instead of a cravat, wore glasses instead of a monocle, and was slightly bigger around the waistband than Craddock.

They seemed to be arguing. They had very similar voices and accents, too— though the double’s seems to be slightly richer, more aristocratic.

“I can’t give that to you,” Craddock was saying.

“You staked—”

“I know what I staked. Just take whatever you want from the mausoleum.” 

“But it’s a pain to go all the way out there…”

“A walk would do you some good, Shade—”

Shade, who had been occupying Edward’s seat, seemed to notice him coming.

“Later, then. Let’s hope Whetstone does better, mmm?” 

The second ghost took his leave, sinking back through the bleachers as if swallowed by quicksand.

Craddock turned, brightening noticeably on spotting Edward. “Mr. Nygma! You’ve returned— burdened with food.”

His voice implied a smile.

==

“If that’s what it can be considered.” he replied genially, inspecting his seat for ectoplasmic residue before taking his seat. “Associate of yours, James?”

Heaven forbid he call anyone a ‘friend’ offhandedly: that’d be presumptuous.

“Or just a copycat for fashion?”

==

James grimaced; not that Edward could tell.

“Associate is a good word for him… That was Squire Shade— I’m sure I’ve mentioned him before.”

He was concerned Shade’s presence might’ve bothered the mortal, and he carried on: “His was just a temporary darkening of my doorstep. He’ll collect his earnings and go back to Europe. It’s nothing to be concerned with…”

It occurs to him now to fish for whatever had Edward in such good spirits a moment ago. He’ll have to be subtle.

“... Especially not at the moment. Trustworthy company makes ugly company look all the worse, don’t you agree…?” 

==

“Nothing makes me appreciate a good cup of coffee like drinking a very bad one.” he agreed, settling back with his snacks. “Take what passes for my lunch today: eating this will make even the ordinary meal I’m having later taste even better than it already would.”

Truly, he didn’t mind Squire Shade as a concept, but there was something irksome about someone being in his seat, talking to his colleague (who sounded annoyed about it) that ruffled his feathers just a touch.

“Care for a nacho?”

==

“Oooh, yes. I’ve seen them before, but not tried one.” 

He took a chip, and in exchange returned the julep, which was looking a little less full than Edward remembered. 

“Oh, it crunches.” Ghost murmured, as if to himself. “Interesting…”

== 

Edward, noting the state of his julep, couldn't help but smile a bit as he nibbled his own chip. 

"You know, I could buy you a julep, if you would like one." Or does this one taste better because it's mine?

==

“I would,” he hazarded. “It’s rare I find something that I can taste and find worth tasting… I’d pay you for it, of course.” 

There was the loveliest little smile playing over Edward’s lips, and it made the Ghost’s stomach feel strangely warm. This was the kind of thing he would’ve taken a beau out for— a lovely warm spring day at the racetrack… James had courted many a lady in such a place, though never a gentleman overtly. 

Change subjects, James. 

“... I’ll confess I have not kept in touch as well as I should have,” the Ghost began. “How have things been in Gotham, lately?” 

== 

The proverbial trap twitched, as James asked just the right question. Edward's expression became downright sunny.

"It's been a very interesting few months, actually. I've been receiving these charming little notes from a secret admirer, and it's just been delightful for me. The mystery, the eloquence in wording, it's all been just so exciting! I've never had one before, have you?"

==

Oh no.

The Ghost could feel the bar of Edward’s trap moving to snap his neck, not unlike the noose that’d taken his life. His hands itched to touch his throat. 

“Oh, have you?” James mirrored the other man’s cheery disposition, seemingly unfazed. “That must be quite exciting. I do so love the intrigue, the romance of an unknown suitor— I received letters like that in my life, but not during my death.” 

==

"It's been absolutely compelling.” Edward agreed cheerily. “Of course, the one downside to the entire situation is not being able to know how to reciprocate, or whether I’d like to at all. It’s a good thing that this admirer’s classy, with a certain je ne sais quoi, otherwise I’d toss their work out along with all of the weird fan letters I used to get in Arkham.”

He sighed (if a pinch dramatically) and sipped his julep. “How can I ever respond to the anonymous? It’s like whistling into the wind.”

If you’re going to fess up, now’s your chance.

The wire creaked, threatening.

Confess.

==

Do ghosts sweat?

Well, they don’t, but Craddock definitely felt like he was. He knew he should say something— seize the opportunity now, while it was convenient… Edward had proved receptive, open—

But would it be the same if he knew it came from a ghastly spectre like myself?

“They haven’t left so much as a clue to their identity? How agonising…” 

Damnation, Craddock— the deeper you dig, the more difficult it will be to get out of…!

==

“They have. A few, actually.” he replied easily, listing on his fingers. “Familiar tone of address, so it’s someone I know. Recently discovered the anonymous feature, and their first instinct is to go send mischief to someone who’ll appreciate it. The real smoking gun, though, is the language choice. Antiquated, lyrical, boldly professing, dramatic...and not just anyone would lean on sending someone a flirty note a ‘ghastly’ action.”

Edward looked to James with a small yet infuriatingly knowing grin. “Sound familiar, James Craddock?”

==

Each word was like the footstep up to the noose, each one more damning than the last. James did start sweating about mid-way in, his form starting to wobble and bubble in a rather curious way. The unintentional salmon sheen his body took on only damned him more. 

“I,” he said, unintelligently. “I- It sounds… good sir… quite like you are… accusing me of… indecent behavior…”

It’s as flimsy an excuse as any that can be raised, but his instincts tell him to stall as long as possible.

The problem was he couldn’t just escape this as he might a persistent lawman… 

==

“An accusation would imply that it’s a bad thing.” said Edward, tone silky. “But, not to put too fine a point on things: if you have something to say, you’re allowed to say it to my face.”

==

The highwayman’s instinct was to escape and regroup when better prepared. Craddock’s not a coward, per se, but he knew how to preserve his own life— oh, hmm, poor metaphor, he supposed. He had self-respect enough to not partake in a losing battle.

But he knew that wouldn’t win him any favors. 

This was his stage— and he must perform.

“You are… interesting to me,” Craddock said, carefully. “In a way that few people were when I was alive… and even fewer now that I am deceased. Perhaps I might’ve… expressed unsolicited fondness— I have made mention before, mark you, that ghosts are prone to fits of melancholy… They swing to the other side of the pendulum, quite often, as well… and I was in a… joyous mood, a jocular type of…” 

He spared a fleeting wish that the next race would begin already. 

“... I meant nothing untoward by it.”

==

“...That is, perhaps, the most roundabout ‘yes’ I’ve heard in some time.” Edward murmured fondly. “But, ah...here’s some reassurance, as the recipient.”

Gently, he took Jame’s hand into his own, and kissed the top of his knuckles. Just so, just lightly, just enough.

“I like it, and I’m glad I was right to suspect you.” he said, patting James’ hand genially. “Feel free to continue, it makes my heart go pitter-pat.”

==

The rush of affection James felt was absurd.

First, like a fist to the stomach— then cloying and heady, sticking in his lungs and his brain. He received it well… he’s open to it… he...

Suspicion was there, but as an afterthought to the hope fluttering in his breast.

It’d been a long time since he’d had something like this, and as much as he liked to deny it, now that he was no longer flesh, the spirit grew strong— and it hungered for contact with the living, with the desperate ache of a lover separated from their beau. 

Before Edward’s eyes, the ghost seemed to melt— metaphorically, yes, and literally, as his body forgot its shape and began to run like syrup.

Just as quick, the ghost’s ectoplasm churned and retook its shape.

“My apologies, my apologies, ahh— if I had, known the reception would be— I never would have— So childishly...” He shied his head to the side. “Give me a moment, to— collect myself…” 

==

“Take your time.” said Edward, preoccupying himself with his lunch, hand still atop Jame’s.

He’s worried about seeming childish when I’m the one who makes games and puzzles and toys...who has the right to be so adorable?

Moreover, he gelled, which was fascinating to ponder. Ghosts blush. Ghosts have physical reactions to being embarrassed: bodywide, presumably because all they had was a manifestation of themselves, rather than a body to pilot from the heart and soul.

No wonder he hid his face: it took away the unspoken expressions that his own form could betray under duress.

“I find it charming, personally.”

==.

“Falling apart at the seams is not charming,” James muttered, insistently. “This is unbecoming for one such as I.” 

After a moment, he straightened, smoothing away a glob of ectoplasm back into his shoulder. He regained his composure.

“... I’m… happy you like it,” James admitted. “I haven’t courted— in quite some time, and it was jesting, partially— I didn’t think you would take it seriously.” 

==

“Well~. Do you want to make it more serious, or shall we have flirting? I’m content either way.”

I’d rather be serious, but no pressure. He knew he’d already had James raked across the coals today, no need to be overly pushy now that it’s in the open.

“I confess, I do admire you quite a bit myself! I hadn’t said much on it because, well... I always got caught up in the excitement of knowing you at all.”

He fidgeted a bit at that, quieting down: all the smug bravado in the world can’t make up for a weak and ill-timed admission.

“...If, that helps to know, any.”

==

“Not to put you on the spot… but does your admiration fall with me, or the nature of my person?” James asked, gently. 

==

“...Hm.”

Edward sat back, sipping his julep as he gave this some thorough consideration.

There was, without a doubt, a large fascination at play with the supernatural. Pretending it wasn’t would just be insulting to both parties, so nevermind to that: it’s given. But what is there besides that, to their dynamic?

Edward considered, eyes shut, on feelings. This was very different than his arrangement with Bruce, for the simple fact that there was no sense of tension or panic. This wasn’t the horrific grips of a crush, literally crushing his mind, this was...light, airy, cheerful, exciting. All of the good things they talk about with these sorts of situations. James was nice. James was fun, sneaky, pesky, patient, kind without sacrificing the fact that he was a bastard. It was comforting, really, to spend time with someone who kept himself to a certain standard even as a crook. It was...warm.

“...both, but there’s...warmth, here. Not like when I’ve got a new subject to study, of a new game to try out, or a new language to learn. This is excitement, but it’s...comfortable, too, if that makes sense. You’re good to me, and I like being around you.” he said, after a long pause. Brows furrowed, he added: “I have to admit...I don’t have much experience in affairs of the heart, so I don’t know if I’m making sense...but there’s more there than just discovery, even if I can’t name it.”

==

The Ghost nodded, as if Edward had relayed a truth he was already well aware of. 

“Your candor is…. Relieving,” he sighed. “I was not sure if you could feel that way for a spirit— or, if you did, it was only because of that.” 

There was a small pause.

“In honesty, part of my attraction to you is how… alive you are.” 

==

“How alive I am?” he asked curiously, offering the remains of the julep. There’s enough to be worth taking. “Is that why you keep taking my pulse?”

==

 He drank. 

“You have no idea how absolutely beautiful it is to be alive,” Craddock said, dreamily. He seemed a little faraway. “The smallest breath to me is the most wondrous thing. Your pulse… so sweet, Edward. So lovely.” 

==

Edward watched him, gaze softening from bright curiousity to tender affection. No matter how a busy mind could scream and over-analyze, there was little anyone could do about the honesty in their face.

Ah. That was it, wasn’t it? There was something, right there, that he adored. So many people he knew treated life like a calloused and dull affair to be tolerated, but James, just like Edward...James cherished life, its splendors, its opportunities. There was so much to enjoy about existing...was that what kept him all along? A love for life so strong that death couldn’t claim his heart?

“Mhm~?”

==

He seemed to shake himself out of it.

“It’s… I’m uncertain if this peculiar love is a common condition among ghosts, or just I that feels it. But it is… strong, and oh-so thrilling…”

There was the slight, pearly blush again. “I am sorry if I concealed part of the truth from you when asking for the payment I did, those months ago. It was… a lapse in judgement. Selfishness.”

==

“It doesn’t matter if it’s common among ghosts: it’s something I really like about you.” said Edward fondly. 

...is the pulse thing sexual, though? No, don’t ask him that. There’s more important questions, and those can wait too.

“I don’t mind the delay: being selfish is fun sometimes, isn’t it? I like that you’re a scallywag, too.”

==

He laughed. 

“One of the finest. You’re lucky.” 

His pride seemed to have recovered, twice-over; puffing like a particularly cocky rooster, primping himself now that Edward’s affections had been secured. 

==

“I most certainly am~” he smiled, awfully proud himself. There was the small issue of his other boyfriend, but there’s surely time enough to negotiate that after the glow’s settled out a bit. Either it will be or it won’t, but hopefully, since Selina’s in the picture for Bruce, perhaps Edward can have his cake and eat it too, just as well.

Thoroughly pleased with himself, Edward rubbed a thumb over James’ knuckles. “...I really did like those notes, you know. Made me feel special.”

==

“Well, you are,” James murmured. He lifted Edward’s hand, and with a moment of hesitation, pressed a kiss to his knuckles. The contact of his lips was as cold as the grave— and leathery as an old boot. 

“I could keep sending them, if you like it.” 

== 

He shuddered, as he always did at contact, but chuckled as well. Ah! He has lips! They’re freezing and tough: this is filed away immediately in his mind among other tidbits of interest.

“You should, especially since I would have little recourse but to send a few back myself.” assured Edward. “As I said before, it’s hard to reciprocate without an address to send notes to...and I’ve had time aplenty to accrue my compliments.”

==

“Ah, yes,” Craddock murmured to himself. “I… I should make a permanent residence in Gotham, shouldn’t I? There will be more reasons to visit now... more reasons to stay.” He seemed to be convincing himself into it, and with a determined lift of his chin, declared: “I’ll… make an effort to get a haunt of my own. I’m sure Shade knows mortals who handle that kind of thing…” 

His purse is curling up and dying at the thought— but he’d had a few lifetimes to get enough money for a proper home in Gotham. 

==

“Only if you want it in writing...and even then I could send it to wherever you want it to be sent.” said Edward calmly. “After all, if you’re visiting Gotham, there’s no need to go through all of the trouble of getting a place when you could just...visit mine.”

Again, that foul, smug smile of his has crept deep into his cheeks.

==

That did not seem to have occurred to him, busy grandly dreaming of a Gatsby-esque existence of quiet solitude and pining. It takes him a moment to recover. 

“... you seem like you’re suggesting something rather… crude, Mr. Nygma…” the smile bled through his voice. 

==

“I’m simply pointing out that I have a spare bedroom that is no longer occupied by a massive computer array.” he said primly, eating a nacho before continuing. “And that it’s pragmatic to offer it as space, in the event that you’d rather not go through real estate paperwork.”

==

“Mmm, a massive computer array,” Craddock seemed quite merry. “So I’m not the first love you’ve invited there.”

He had a small mouthful of julep. He couldn’t tell if it actually made his hunger for taste any better or worse. He had another mouthful.

“The proposition is interesting, anyway. I’m sure the arrangement would be beneficial to both of us.”

He’s outright teasing now.

==

“Computers aren’t my first love, and that one, well...came with a rather long story attached, that’s for another time, where I’m less sober and more irate.”

It did, however, seem to be the time to mention…

“There might be a hiccup, mind you, in this cozy little affair here...you see, I was asked out by another suitor on Valentine’s day, days after you sent your first messages.” Edward admitted, if a bit grimly. “Mind you, he himself has another he sees, so naturally I’ll have to ask him if an arrangement between you and I would offend...I don’t see why he’d decline it, but it’s only respectful to ask first.”

He mulled over a nacho, frowning slightly. “And if he says no, I have a lot of thinking to do...and for once, I’d really rather not.”

==

Ah, was any giddy leap complete without a plummeting fall?

Was he disappointed? Yes.

Was he crushed? Not quite.

“Hnnm,” he said, the extent of his verbal acknowledgement. “Oh, look. The next race is about to start.” 

==

Ah. There it was, the rare and unmistakable sensation of guilt, settling thickly into the pit of his stomach.

“So it is. Have you got any new bets?”

At least that was a nice five minutes...and, as always, at least we have the now.

==

“I sunk a fairly consistent amount into Whetstone,” James’s fingers rolled an interesting tattoo across his knee. 

James wasn’t unfamiliar with the idea of polyamory. He knew the women he saw during his life had an endless string of boyfriends, and he was only one of the mob. He knew the men he’d courted, so carefully and privately, had their heart’s desire elsewhere. It was not new to him. 

But he had thought that maybe…

...

He didn’t feel much like watching the race anymore. Losing to Squire Shade would be grating, and Edward…

Stick it out, James. This is far from the worst outcome of today. 

==

“I gave him a fresh bet for this race, myself.”

Damn it. Damn it all to absolute Hell, in what world was it fair to spend 37 years in ambivalence only to come around and find any affections at last split between two? And now, lurching around in him, was the maelstrom of doubt and humiliation, the latter ten times worse than the former in any capacity. The silence was deafening, the mood wrecked: he’d ruined everything as usual by saying too much.

Let go of his hand and stop disappointing people, Edward.

==

Ghost, meanwhile, is silently rationalizing a mile a minute.

Who is this other? How do I compare? Is he Edward’s first choice?

Then, a small, unusual part of his psyche chimed in with his criminally underdeveloped sense of empathy:

Does choosing hurt him?

That was a disturbing thought. 

He ought to withdraw, kindly, as a gentleman. This other, whomever they might be, would be the ideal choice— mortals are better paired with mortals.

A thought occurred to him— solace, comforting as a frostbitten man seeking fire, or the heat-scorched for shade. James let out a small, kindly little laugh. It rings, clear and gleeful, like a bell.

==

The laugh snapped Edward out of his spiral of self-loathing, frown lifting from explicit discomfort to bemusement. 

“...um...yes?” he offered, curious. “What is it?”

==

“That doesn’t matter,” James said, swallowing the last of his laughter. “Oh, God, it doesn’t matter at all to me.”

He took Edward’s hands in his, stared at him directly— there was a flicker of something there for a fraction of a second, like a reflection in a mirror passing by. Dark, intent eyes, haunting for just a moment…

“You’re speaking to one of the most selfish, stingy men on the planet, Edward— did you think jealousy would seize me so hard that I’d be struck stupid? I’d be a fool to lose this—” he gestures between the two of them, “—over something so small. I don’t care who they are, I don’t care that you love them— it’s enough that you love me.” 

==

Edward’s eyes were open, jaw slacked and mouth agape in wonder of what he’d just been told, as the trumpets sounded to queue the racers to their starting gates. A flush crept easily across his nose and cheeks as he began to smile once more.

“Really?! You mean it?”

==

“Yes, really. Who would say something like that and then recant it?” Perhaps a bit harsh, but the Ghost was buzzing with nervous energy. “I’ll accept whatever you give me, Edward. It’s enough that it’s anything at all.”

==

“You’d be amazed by how many people tend to say things without thinking them through.” he breathed, cheeks pink and eyes bright in excitement. “I, I have to admit, I thought you were about to drop the whole thing then and there.”

==

I was, he almost said, but that would win him no favors. 

“I am cognizant of my faults,” Craddock said, instead. “I’m far, far too selfish for that.” 

==

“Aren’t I lucky, then, that you are.” he chuckled, utterly relieved. “And people talk like it’s a bad thing, to want and keep things.”

There is a sneaking feeling in the back of his mind that James is putting on a brave front, but then, so is Edward: there’s an open end that cannot be resolved immediately, therefore it’s best not picked at, so much as treated and patched until real answers can be gotten.

“I don’t think it’s a fault, when it’s honest.” BANG, and the horses are off.

Hiraeh: ...Shit.

Hiraeh: Hey Purrol, any chance you have one of those privacy screens or anything that I can borrow?

Purrol:Huh? Uh, yeah, sure... How did you know?

Hiraeh: Lucky guess tbh.

Purrol, thinking while waiting: ...Am I that predictable...?

Hiraeh: Thanks again for the help, Purrol!! Real quick, how does this look?