#torstenglockner

Bo: The mage blinked once, twice, and shut his laptop after a few clicks. Monitoring his finances had been a passive activity waiting for this very moment, and this very moment was as unsettling as he felt.

"Hva i helvete? How? Why?"

Brett: All questions would be answered succinctly and in order. That much he had decided.

“Bronwyn MacAllister’s familiar Vincent teleported me there and back. She wanted to talk to me and wanted to do it face to face.”

Bo: A name, two names, which had Bo on his feet. Yes, those names had saved his life, but those names sent a chill down his spine.

"Why did -" He swallowed. "Why?"

Brett: “She’s pregnant. For the third time it seems. And she wanted to talk to me because she wants to talk to you.”

Bo: If the fact that this was her third had significance had gone over Bo's head. Far from his concern. Evident from the irritation in his eyes. His brilliant quartz greens shadowed by the dim light of the dining room.

"What does she want?"

Brett: Brett sighed again. He didn’t want to approach this with a defeatist attitude but he knew—and had warned Bronwyn—that they had to be realistic about their expectations.

“She wants to talk to you about the collar on Torsten’s neck. She asked me to see her so I could ask you if you would be willing to listen to what she has to say.”

Bo: Shoulders sharply raised, falling as his hands fanned out and slapped back to his thighs.

"And what does she have to say that's so important she had to steal you?"

Brett: “She didn’t steal me, baby. She asked and I agreed to go. As far as what she has to say?”

Brett shrugged. “I don’t know. She didn’t tell me.”

Bo: "How long did you know you were going to New Orleans?"

Brett: “Since I asked for permission to leave the city one hour after sunset.”

Bo: "How long have you kept this from me?"

Brett: “Since lunch today.”

Bo: "You didn't think to tell me? Text me?"

Brett: “I didn’t know what she wanted to discuss or if I’d even be able to see her so I didn’t tell you beforehand. I’m sorry if I made you worry.”

Bo: Bo's fingers softly twitched, before turning away towards the kitchen. Occupying his hands with a glass of whatever wine they had left from celebrating their new home.

His eyes found Brett again as he took a wincing gulp.

Brett: Brett knew murder in a man’s eyes when he saw it. Only question was whether it was directed at him, Vincent, Bronwyn, Torsten, or all of the above. Smart money said all of the above in some combination or another.

At least the wine glass hadn’t made contact with a solid surface. Yet.

“Hva tenker du på?” he asked in an even, calm voice.

Bo: "Det er bare dritt," Bo managed through his teeth.

"She should have come directly to me. Something could have happened to you and I wouldn't know because you didn't tell anyone."

As much as he wanted to scream, he didn't, but the empty glass in his hand did crack. Slammed onto the counter in his irritation. The damage he could fix, but the rage affected his husband no matter how he tempered it.

"Give me her number."

Brett: Aaaaaand there it was. Yep, definitely saw that one coming.

Brett could have said that Bronwyn hadn’t wanted to approach Bo directly because she was afraid he’d refuse to talk to her—she’d admitted as much—but that wouldn’t be productive. Bo was already upset and Brett had a feeling even the hint of a word in her defense would only add fuel to the fire.

Brett took out his phone and sent her information to Bo.

“Are you going to talk to her?”

Bo: Bo took the time while Brett fished for her number to lower himself to eye level of the glass. Despite gritted teeth, whispered an incantation under his breath, taking hold of the stemless cup only to slam it back on the counter once more, sealed to perfection. Not quite as neat and quiet without his wand.

"What do you think I'm going to do?"

Brett: That wine glass wasn’t long for this world. Brett would lay bets it would be broken a couple more times before the night was out.

“Honestly? I think you’re going to call her to yell at her and tell her you’re not interested in whatever she has to say.”

Bo: "Is that all I am? All I do? Just scream when I don't get my way?"

Brett: “No,” Brett said softly. “It isn’t. But I saw how you reacted to just her name. I know what she represents to you, as does she. I also know that despite whatever I say, there’s a not zero chance that it won’t matter and you won’t talk to her.”

Bo: Bo was reminded of the last time her name had been between them. The air had been acrid then. Tears and screaming that day. It had been long and exhausting and excruciating.

A slow breath was taken through his nose.

"Don't... go off like that again. Don't... scare me."

Brett: “I’m sorry. For going off and scaring you and not telling you what was going on. I’m really sorry, sweetheart.”

Bo: One hand remained clenched against his will. He was trying. That's all he could do.

"I know... you'll have to. Someday. Being... with him. I can't stop everything, but this is important."

Brett: Brett could see as much, and he was proud.

“You’re right. It is. And I should’ve told you what was going on after Vincent came to see me.” That he hadn’t could be chalked up to two things: curiosity and a fear similar to the one Bronwyn had shared with him.

Bo: He wanted nothing more than to be angry. To throw his cup across the room and perhaps the bottle along with it. Anger on par with an orgasm, burning his skin from the inside out. But he had magic now. Healthier outlets because he knew how much his anger could frighten the man across the room, and that look of fear he hadn't seen in so long had crept into Brett's eyes, however briefly, and he hated himself for it.

But no matter how he felt, his chest was still hot, and his skin tingled. Adrenaline he couldn't simply wish away.

"I'm going for a walk. Have... dinner delivered. Whatever you want."

Brett: After all these years, Brett no longer had to grapple with the urge to press his company on Bo when he had an outburst. He knew his husband needed to feel what he was feeling, to let it burn itself out. All Brett could do was give Bo the space for that to happen and offer his support afterward.

One thing that hadn’t changed, however, was the way his voice would naturally slip into that gentle, calm tone at the first sign of an outburst.

He nodded. “Okay. Take all the time you need. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

Bo: Bo didn't reach for keys or wallet, but his wand and his phone. Slipped into his jacket in the foyer as always, despite the weather, and shut the door behind himself.

Bronwyn's number was punched into his phone, stared at it for a time, standing motionless on the front porch and its newly painted pillars.

No. Not here. A block away would do, where Brett would be unable to hear. So he walked, and by the time he reached the stop sign his phone was to his ear.

Brett/Bronwyn: Brett watched his hand go, holding in his sigh until the door had shut behind him. That hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped, although it hadn't gone as badly as he'd anticipated. It was in moments like these that the progress Bo had made was most obvious. That was something to be proud of.

All of Bo's favorites would be ordered for dinner, but not before Brett gave the kitchen a little clean to occupy his hands.

Across the country, Bronwyn paused the TV and picked up her ringing phone, gasping softly when she saw the number on the display. She didn't recognize it but it had an Edenton area code.

Brett hadn't been home for very long. Could he already...?

Don't get your hopes up.

"Hello?"

Bo: There was so much Bo wanted to say. Scathing, terrible things so she might feel the same consternation he had felt in the silence and absence of his husband. The same rug swept from under him, feeling vulnerable and useless.

But her voice was familiar. Soft. Anticipating. The same woman that had saved his life was the same woman in love with his beast.

That's what this was about.

"The next time you feel the urge to speak with me, don't involve Brett Parker."

Bronwyn: It was him. Even so, she knew that the fact that Bo was calling was no guarantee of anything except maybe an impending argument.

“I was afraid you would refuse if I didn’t. Would you have agreed if I hadn’t asked him?”

Bo: "I should refuse anyway." But what he wanted wouldn't be achieved by salting this ground.

"Have your bird transport me now or you'll never hear from me again."

Bronwyn: “Oh.” She sounded surprised, like she hadn’t been expecting his answer. “You don’t want the plane ticket then?”

Bo: "What are you waiting for? More calculations?"

Bronwyn: “I thought—never mind.” Bronwyn shook her head. Gift horse, mouth. “I’ll send Vincent right over. Where should he collect you?”

Bo: "Where did he collect Brett?"

Bronwyn: “At the police station.”

Bo: "I'll be there in ten minutes."

Bronwyn: “All right. See you in ten minutes.”

Ten minutes. That was precious little time to prepare. She’d expected to have a week at the bare minimum but apparently she’d underestimated how Bo would react to her talking to Brett.

She set her phone aside and eased to her feet. “Vincent!”

Bo/Vincent: Not Bo returning to the house only to walk inside, grab the keys to his Beetle, and walk back out without an explanation. Perhaps later he would say they were even, but much like Brett, his focus was on the next step.

Vincent poked his head through the entryway not a moment after his name.

"Ma'am?"

Brett/Bronwyn: Brett had barely opened his mouth to speak before Bo disappeared as quickly as he'd appeared. So much for dinner.

"I deserved that," he said to himself, nodding in resignation. Since it seemed he'd have some time, might as well cook something instead of ordering, so Bo could have a hot meal when he returned.

Bronwyn went into her closet to select something to wear that wasn't the nightgown she currently had on.

"How's yer energy holdin' up? Do you think you can make a couple more roundtrips to Edenton?"

Vincent: Considering Vincent rarely flew far from the neat that was Bronwyn's home, not even to his own in Maine, there was plenty energy and to spare.

"Whom I getting now?"

Bronwyn: "Bo. He just called. In ten minutes can you pop over and get him?"

Vincent: The familiar blinked and straightened. Surprise surprise.

"Same place?"

Bronwyn: They were two of a kind on that score. Surprise after surprise after surprise.

She nodded. "Aye, he'll meet you at the station. Do you know if Torsten's doin' anythin' right now?"

Vincent: "He's building toys out back." By toys, he meant little wooden swords, sheaths and all.

Bronwyn: Hearing that made her entire chest clench in one breath and reminded her how important this all was in another. Whatever ended up happening this evening, and even if her efforts were already doomed, she had to at least try.

"Can you fetch him for me? I better call Lucien, too. We don't have a lot o' time."

Vincent: "Lucien?" But he was quick to turn around, conserving his energy and running downstairs to the backyard, rather than popping in and out.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn selected a dress from her closet and returned to her bed to straighten the covers. She didn’t want to appear quite as pitiful as she felt.

As she worked, she dialed her eldest son.

Torsten/Lucien: Vincent had given nothing, as usual, which had Torsten upstairs nearly as swiftly as his wolf form. Eyes like a forest stared at the druid expectantly.

Lucien picked up after three rings.

"Hey, Mama B. What's up?" asked her son, out of breath.

Bronwyn: Torsten would find her with her phone between her shoulder and her ear, trying to get her nightgown off.

“Hi, lovey. Are you busy? Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Torsten/Lucien: "Just workin' out. You okay?" His usual question since her pregnancy.

"What? What is it?" Torsten whispered.

Bronwyn: “I’m fine, I promise.” Meant for both Lucien and Torsten. “Do you think you can be done and over here in the next ten minutes?

Torsten/Lucien: "Like, no?" Call it his blond moment. "With Vincent, yeah. What's wrong?"

Torsten crossed his arms and waited for an explanation.

Bronwyn: “Wh—right, Baton Rouge.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. Maybe she wasn’t totally fine and was in fact more frazzled than she thought she was.

“Nothin’s wrong, I just have somethin’ to do and hopin’ you could keep Torsten company while I did it.”

She met her revenant’s eyes. “Someone’s comin’ to see me today.”

Torsten/Lucien: "Someone... So, I gotta distract him or let him play dad?"

The man of subject was rubbing his eyes with two fingers, taking a deep, slow breath.

Bronwyn: “The former. I’ll ask Vincent if he thinks he can go and grab you but if he can’t and you can’t it’s okay.”

Half-undressed, she held her hand out for Torsten’s.

Torsten: "You can hang up the phone on your son and tell me what's going on. I don't need distraction, I need answers."

Bronwyn: “I’ll text you in a bit, darlin’.”

Bronwyn hung up and took a deep breath, resting her hands on Torsten’s crossed arms.

“In ten minutes Bo is comin’ to see me. I want to talk to him in private.”

Torsten: The revenant took another slow breath. Reluctant arms wrapped carefully around her waist.

"He's in North Carolina. He can't do anything to me there, Thistle."

Bronwyn: “I know. But I need to talk to him, and by some miracle he’s agreed to talk to me. There are things I need to say to him, Torsten, things I can only say if we’re alone.”

Torsten: "Not alone." Knowing the man he had once been was not the same as knowing what he had become. That apprehension was as obvious as his irritation.

"Keep Vincent within earshot." Which, he realized, he couldn't be. "Vincent, or I'm not leaving."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. Vincent would have to be around anyway since he’d be taking Bo home after they spoke, but she’d only ask him to remain nearby and willfully deaf.

“All right. Vincent’s going to Edenton to get him and he’ll be the one to take him home so he’ll be here. Do you promise me that you’ll go to a bar or somethin’ and stay until Bo’s gone?”

Torsten: "You're asking about my collar. At some point you'll send for me or you won't."

Torsten stared at the floor between them. His eyes were small and thoughtful, searching for something profound to say.

"He tried to save my sister. For his own academic clout, but he tried. He listened to her stories. Told her about his mother. Let her into his life. Underneath all of that anger and hatred is a terrified child. Terrified things use their claws. Are you certain this is what you want?"

Bronwyn: She knew nothing of Bo’s life prior to meeting him years ago, but just from what little she’d seen since, he had all the reason in the world to be angry, hateful, and afraid. She didn’t hold it against him, how could she?

He was so painfully…painfully human.

“I’m certain that I have to try.” She whispered without meaning to. “Trying is all I can do.”

Torsten: "Put yourself first." His chest caved with a massive sigh. "Don't let him get into your head." By complying, he knew he gave himself away. He wanted the collar removed; this would be their only chance. Still, the concern in his eyes was evident. As were his lingering hands covering her hips.

"This should be me."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "It can't be you, love. It has to be me." It couldn't be a battle or an argument or a struggle for higher ground; it had to be a conversation, one that was entered into with sincerity but no expectations on either side. It would work or it wouldn't.

But she had to try.

"You better get goin'. I need to finish gettin' dressed."

Torsten: Torsten remained like a stone for a time. Her hands were small in his own, and he contemplated their life together, and what would change from this moment forward. Such small hands with such heavy intentions.

"Vincent," he emphasized, waiting patiently to lock eyes. "I'm trusting you to keep your word."

He would be the first to let go. To turn away in search of his boots and leave without another word. Before he could deny himself this window of freedom.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn sighed as she watched Torsten go. She could feel his concern even if he hadn’t voiced it, and she couldn’t deny that she felt some of her own.

But she had to take this risk. She had to try.

Once she finished putting on her dress, she combed her hair and tried to do a little something with her face. Just enough to look put together and not like a pitiful creature that couldn’t go outside.

She studied herself in the mirror. It would do.

Now to go downstairs and start some tea.

“Vincent, is there any o’ my grandmama’s shortbread left?”

Vincent: The familiar sat up from his hunched position over the breakfast nook. Eyes wide as though having been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but it was, in fact, several shortbreads stacked neatly in front of him.

"Ye....yes."

Bronwyn: The sight made her smile and it was a welcome relief. Leave it to Vincent to break any tension.

“Good. You can have two before you go get Bo. The rest are goin’ to be shared once he arrives, provided he doesn’t decide to throw them at me instead.”

Vincent: "He'll think they're poison," he shrugged. "I wander to wondering thoughts, if he was a bad man, before."

Bronwyn: “Judgin’ from what Torsten has told me, I don’t think so. Too ambitious for his own good maybe but no’ bad.”

Vincent: "Torsten said my name a lot. Want me on your shoulder?"

Bronwyn: “I really think I should talk to him alone but Torsten doesn’t want you far from me.”

Vincent: "I don't wanna be far from you."

Bronwyn: “You don’t have to be. Maybe just upstairs or in another room?”

Vincent: He considered for a moment. Realizing the innocuous perception she wished to display didn't sit well with him, but nodded just the same. She was his mistress.

"Another room."

Bronwyn: "Ye're worried about him too, aren't you? You think he might try to hurt me?"

Vincent: "He's just... unfriendly." A man he could marvel, perhaps admire, but from outside the searing area of effect. "He's got glass shards for body armor."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn sighed. “Do you think I’m bein’ naive?”

Vincent: "I'll be in the next room."

Bronwyn: “Would you feel better on my shoulder?”

Vincent: "Think he remembers me?"

Bronwyn: “I’d lay bets that he does, even if it’s only a little. Ye’re a hard one to forget, lovely.”

Vincent: The familiar nodded. "Next room, then."

Bronwyn: “Are you sure?”

Vincent: "Yes, ma'am. Are you not anymore?"

Bronwyn: “I don’t know. I wasn’t exactly confident about this whole thing but I can feel myself waverin’ and wobblin’ regardless.”

Vincent: "Is... Is that what happens to pregnant women?"

Bronwyn: She smiled. “Shaky confidence and emotional wobblin’? Can’t say whether it happens to others but it’s been happenin’ to me for months.”

Vincent: "I'll never let anything happen to you, mistress."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn took his face in her hands and stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, wondering if he knew just how much of a lifeline he’d been to her since the day he’d come into her life. Her sweet familiar.

She kissed his forehead. “I know, love. I know.”

Vincent: He had a notion, and not just because they sometimes shared minds, but because of her affection, such as this sweet moment before a storm.

"I'll go get him now?"

Bronwyn: "Aye, I think you'd better," she said with a nod. "Tread lightly, okay? He isn't likely to be as cooperative and polite as the sheriff." Plus, judging from their conversation a few minutes ago, he was already in a less-than-friendly mood.

Vincent/Bo: Not conspicuously hostile, but neither was he polite. Standing beside his car in a tucked away area of the police station parking lot. Bo waited with his eyes to the sky, and then towards the feeling of primal energy.

He said nothing when taking his place beside the familiar, hidden further by the weathered brick wall and out of sight of security cameras. No hellos or needless small talk. Only stiff arms and raised chin, refusing to look his porter in the eyes.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn left the tea to brew and took the seat Vincent had vacated in the breakfast nook to rest for a moment before Bo arrived. Between dressing and coming downstairs, she’d managed to wear herself out.

Such was her new normal.

But, as long as she had a bit, it couldn’t hurt to pray to who or whatever was listening for a little bit of help. Asking for her hopes to be realized was asking too much. Help was enough.

Vincent: Rather than appear in the house, Vincent returned them to the backyard, out of sight. An opportunity for his mistress to prepare herself with a knock on the back door.

Bronwyn: Even if she’d had an hour, Bronwyn doubted it would make a difference. Time wasn’t the deciding factor here. At least, not in the short term.

The woman who opened the door was more or less the woman Bo would remember. Her skin was paler, her face a bit thinner despite the curve of her growing belly, her eyes tired. But it was still Bronwyn MacAllister.

“Come in,” she said softly. “Can I offer you a cup of tea?”

Bo: Her greeting was as much expectation as the situation itself. This was a long time coming, but the bump in her middle had caught him off guard, and it was all he could stare at. Brett had said as much, but seeing her so far along...

The man in front of her was older, of course, but one could hardly tell if not for the updated wardrobe and stronger spine.

"Just... conversation."

Bronwyn: She nodded and gestured to the breakfast nook. "Please sit."

There were three teacups sitting on the table beside a pretty teapot, as well as a plate of shortbread and a sugar bowl. Bronwyn poured tea into two of the cups, leaving one at her seat and offering the other to Vincent along with two pieces of shortbread.

Only then did she take her seat, looking across at Bo with a gentle and inexplicably fond expression. "You look well. I'm glad."

Vincent/Bo: Vincent would keep to his word, taking his tea and shortbread and quietly disappearing into the neighboring room to eat in silence. An ear out, of course, and his mind open for private words.

There was a quiet, hidden part of Bo that was humored only two cups had been filled. She knew him well enough. What had it been, one encounter? No. His memory was hazy, but not that much. It had been days. Years ago, but she had left an impact, and a tingle in his spine.

He didn't know what to do with her compliments. Evident by his lack of eye contact, but he knew what he could do.

"You look sick."

Bronwyn: "Aye." She nodded as she stirred half a spoonful of sugar into her tea. "I'm sure I do. Pregnancies take a toll even in the best of circumstances. In mine, well...it goes without sayin'." But her babies seemed to be healthy, and they were alive. That's all that mattered.

Bo: "It's because of his species, isn't it? Half alive, half dead."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "It is, aye. They're only alive because there's magic keepin' them that way. Otherwise...they'd end up like the others."

Bo: "Clearly they can procreate, so what is the issue?"

Bronwyn: "My species," she said quietly. She'd told herself she would answer anything he asked her as honestly as she could, even if it hurt to do so. He deserved that much.

"If I was like him there wouldn't be an issue. But because I'm no', even though I can get pregnant, my body thinks the baby's already dead and rejects them."

Bo: Some of the venom in his expression seemed to dissolve. His gaze dropped to the table. In a gesture she might have been familiar with, Bo gently rubbed his hands together, only to slowly spread them apart.

"Leslie Issott's been here."

Bronwyn: It did seem familiar but Bronwyn couldn't place exactly why until Leslie's name was mentioned, then it hit her. She could swear she'd seen him do it before.

"Aye. He's the one who provided me the magic to keep my babies alive. Do you know him?"

Bo: There seemed to be conflict behind those lashes. Lips thinned and tight before deciding to breathe.

"He's... useful."

Bronwyn: "He's a good man. A verra good man. He deserves the world and I owe it to him."

Bo: "Not the world."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn sipped her tea again, falling silent for a moment as she looked at her reflection in the teacup.

"This is the third time he and I have been expectin' a child." His name wasn't said, but it didn't have to be. "Losin' the first one was a shock. Losin' the second was a nightmare. Both times, my babies didn't get the chance to be any bigger than the palm of my hand. This is the furthest I've ever been along.

"I can feel them. They have heartbeats. There was a time when I didn't think I'd ever get the chance to hear a heartbeat that wasn't my own comin' from inside me ever again. If I can this time, it's because of Leslie. He does deserve the world."

Bo: "That answers the question of which you'd choose, holding the hands of your child or Torsten, hanging over a cliff."

His empty teacup was pushed aside.

"So then why am I here?"

Bronwyn: She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she felt the gathering moisture in them. "Ye're here because...there's ev'ry chance that that question won't need to be answered.

"My babies are alive. For now. Leslie's magic was a blessin' but it was always meant as a temporary solution. Without his help, I wouldn't be pregnant and without help from someone else, I'll die long before I ever get to meet my babies. I do look sick, ye're right. My body wasn't built to be pregnant for the three years revenant pregnancies last. It's been put in no uncertain terms to me that if a solution isn't found to speed things along, childbirth will probably kill me."

Bo: Bo stared at her, wondering if this was even about the collar anymore. Seemed the conversation had been derailed by grief and unborn babies. Perhaps Brett had been mistaken, or she was very good at manipulating. She didn't seem the type, but he hardly knew her. It had all been a haze buried beneath his curse.

"Life is not my expertise. You didn't bring me here for this."

Bronwyn: It was about all of it. The collar, her grief, the children who had been lost and the children whose lives were hanging by a thread.

Bronwyn shook her head. Her battle was lost, and her tears fell. “No. And if I’m tellin’ you all this it isn’t because I want yer help. It’s because I want you and I need you to understand that I’m no’ askin’ what I’m about to ask lightly. I’m sure Sheriff Parker told you that I want to ask you if you could remove Torsten’s collar but I want you to understand why.”

Bronwyn wiped her face with her hands and found herself resisting the sudden urge to take Bo’s hands.

“It wasn’t just me that felt the pain of losin’ our children. They were his children, too. He wants to be a father so badly and he’s been given hope twice already and had it snatched away. There’s a chance it will be again and if I can’t give him a child, if what I am snatches his hope and his happiness again, then I at least want to try to do this for him. If all I can give him is the sight of the collar bein’ removed from his neck, then I want to try. I have to try. That’s why ye’re here, Bo.”

Bo: All it took was a single tear for him to avert his gaze. The nearest window would suffice. He would listen, but he appeared well determined not to look.

"Why do you talk like that? The self-pity. 'What I am snatches his hope. If I can't give him a child.' You speak like a problem. Did he do this to you? Made you feel this way?"

Bronwyn: He couldn’t even look at her and that spoke volumes. She already knew she was fighting a losing battle; that just sealed it.

Bronwyn took a napkin from the holder on the table and wiped her face, shaking her head.

“No. He’s never once made me feel like it’s my fault. He’s never reproached for me anythin’. He’s been lovin’ and supportive.”

Bo: "Then why do you speak that way?"

Bronwyn: “Wouldn’t you, if yer children kept dyin’ because yer body kept rejectin’ them and a hundred hoops needed to be jumped through for a chance that it wouldn’t happen again?”

Bo: "You're not the undead one."

Bronwyn: “But I’m the one who carried them. People can tell you somethin’ isn’t yer fault a hundred times but that doesn’t mean yer brain will believe them.”

Bo: Eyes closed a second longer than they should have. A bit of his bottom lip was pulled by his teeth.

"They'll hunger for... things. Liver and raw meat. They'll have tempers. Short fuses like their father. They won't age the same. Did he tell you that?"

Bronwyn: She nodded toward her refrigerator. “There’s been liver in this house since the day Torsten first stepped foot in it. I haven’t ever made him a steak that wasn’t rare enough to still be mooin’.”

As for the temper and the aging?

She took another sip of tea to calm herself down. “Ev’ry parent hopes their children will outlive them. If these babies live, they certainly will outlive me. Like their father. I’ve made peace with that. I’m just glad my soul found his again. Short fuse and all. A temper isn’t a reason no’ to love someone.”

Bo: Now Bo was looking at her. His brow slightly knitted. Just barely a wrinkle.

He wanted to be offended. Every petty bone in his body wanted to regenerate the venom he had lost, but there was too much to relate to.

"You think he's your soulmate?"

Bronwyn: “I do,” she said, suddenly aware of her engagement ring and comforted by its presence.

“Have you ever felt a pull toward someone that you couldn’t fight or explain?”

Bo: The window was much more interesting now.

"If you have something to say to me, you say it to me directly. Don't go behind my back like that again. Unless you swear to that, we're finished here."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. “I swear it. You have my word that I won’t go behind yer back ever again.”

Bo: He could look at her again, if only to judge her expression. His ear hadn't tingled once in her presence. Her bird, yes, but not her.

"Call him."

Bronwyn: She was tired and sad and perhaps even desperate, but Bronwyn’s eyes were sincere. She was laying her heart bare to Bo.

Her phone was taken out of her pocket, his number dialed, but still she didn’t dare hope.

“Torsten?”

Torsten/Bo: The phone was answered before a single completed ring. Bo returned to staring out the window, contemplating his life and choosing to ignore the voice on the other end.

"Are you alright?"

Bronwyn: “Yes, I’m all right,” she assured him, holding in a sniffle. If he thought she was crying she just knew he would assume the worst.

“Can you come home?”

Torsten: His question came in slow and deliberate. "Just tell me, you're safe?"

Bronwyn: “I am, I promise. Come back.”

Torsten: "Do you want me to stay on the line?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn shook her head. “No, you don’t have to. Just drive safely, okay? I’ll see you in a wee.”

Bo: "How long is a wee?" Bo asked once Torsten had hung up.

Bronwyn: She slipped her phone back into her pocket. “Probably just a few minutes.” She doubted Torsten would have gone too far, worried as he was about her seeing Bo.

Bo: Some sugar was slowly brushed off of the table with fingertips.

"Why him? Of all people, you chose a nearly feral half-vampire. Why?"

Bronwyn: “It goes back to what I mentioned earlier about soulmates.” She selected a shortbread from the plate and dunked it in her tea.

“Sometimes you feel a pull toward someone that you can’t fight or explain. I don’t think I consciously chose him but I was drawn to him.”

Bo: "He comes from Vikings. Real Vikings. Killers. Wolves." All from the pages of his journals, but he couldn't bring himself to elaborate. "You're a..." Fingernails tapped on the table. "...You're not like them. They're going to hurt you. When it happens, you shouldn't hesitate to destroy him."

Bronwyn: He’d said when, not if. In Bo’s eyes, her being hurt by Torsten or his family wasn’t merely a possibility, but a foregone conclusion. Was it fear or hatred or bitter experience that made him so certain?

“Nothin’ in this world is set in stone,” she said softly. “What we are doesn’t have to determine who we are and what we do. We make choices ev’ry day that matter more than what we happen to be.”

Bo: "A vampire cannot change their bane any more than they can change the stars in the sky. They're cursed. Do you understand?"

Bronwyn: Fear, hatred, and bitter experience; it wasn’t just one fueling this conversation, but all three.

Bronwyn nodded. She didn’t have a vast knowledge about vampires but curses? “I do, aye.”

Bo: "D'er lettast aa laera av annan manns skade."

No, he would not be translating. Only smoothing his clothes as he stood. Unable to sit still any longer, he pulled out his phone and pulled up Brett's last message to read. Something to do and consider.

Bronwyn/Brett: No translation meant Bronwyn would have to try to remember what he’d said and ask Torsten about it later. Her curiosity wouldn’t rest otherwise.

Brett’s last message wasn’t a message, but a photo of Olek in the kitchen that had been caught mid-yawn.

Torsten/Bo: {Text to Brett} I'll be home soon.

And Torsten had only allowed himself a five-minute distance via drive. Not a whisper nor a scream would be heard from the young mage. Bo had been a dangerous man, but never once to him. Not before. But the man he had known had died with a curse Was this collar that important, he asked himself, stepping into the threshold to find that very mage straightening with his presence, returning his phone to his pocket and raising his chin. There was a level of fear behind those eyes only he knew. That man he thought had been destroyed was in there, somewhere, behind those blond lashes. The tightening of his jaw, the deliberate blinks in twos.

Neither man would speak, as though caught in the gravity of each other's existence.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn felt a lump form in her throat the longer the two of them stared at each other. She couldn’t begin to imagine what either of them were thinking, if they were thinking anything at all.

How many years and how much pain had passed between them?

She got to her feet and moved to stand beside Bo, putting herself in Torsten’s line of sight.

“Would you like some tea?” she asked softly, unable to bear the silence.

Torsten/Bo: Both sets of green eyes found her. Neither said a word. Only the one she had regarded moved, nodding. Something had to be said, but words failed both men.

It took everything in Bo's power not to pull out his wand and materialize a crystal prison around the revenant. Maybe one just too long and sharp in his chest. Perhaps a curious case of bad luck. Perhaps send him back into the ocean again. His chest began to burn to the point of having to touch himself.

He turned away entirely.

Bronwyn/Brett: Shaky hands got another teacup out of the cabinet and filled it. Even if Bo hadn’t wanted tea, it didn’t feel right to give the cup that had been meant for him to Torsten. Just looking at it sitting on the table was enough to threaten tears for reasons she didn’t understand, but that could possibly be attributed to the suffocating tension in the kitchen.

{Text from Brett} Okay, baby. Dinner will be waiting

{Text from Brett} I love you

Torsten/Bo: Bo took a breath and placed his hand over one of his pockets. They didn't need to see what was underneath.

"Jeg bryr meg ikke om hva vi en gang var. Når dette er over, vil jeg aldri høre navnet ditt igjen. Jeg vil aldri tenke på deg igjen."

His voice had remained strong until the last sentence. He managed to swallow and keep his composure. He could have asked for nothing else but the strength to hold his head high.

"Jeg skjønner," Torsten sighed.

Bronwyn: She didn’t understand a word that was being said but it wasn’t yelling and that was reason enough to keep hoping. Everything felt so fragile, including her.

Perhaps she should sit and try to drink more tea. Anything to calm down.

Torsten/Bo: Torsten took a step toward the kitchen and was stopped abruptly by a twitch in Bo's shoulder. A tick he'd seen before, at the mill. One would think the revenant a statue.

"I'm sorry what happened to us. To you."

"I've already agreed. Opening your mouth is not intelligent."

Bronwyn: And up she got once more to stand not between them, but near to Bo’s side.

“Would you rather we all sit?” she asked him. “Or are you more comfortable standin’?”

Torsten/Bo: It was seeing Vincent from the corner of his eye, standing in the entryway watching them both that stuck one of his many nerves. Knuckles cracked with a fist, scoffing.

"Come here."

As though he had never left. Torsten could do nothing but stand directly in front of his long-left master.

"Bend down." A command purely out of intent, for once, to observe the ivory and gold collar. He could feel quintessence like a current running through the antique. Old, old magic. As old as revenants themselves.

This time, Bo's swallow was visible. Hands gently shaking. This felt like forgiveness. Doing away with one more piece of his control.

His hands retreated.

"Say it again. What you promised." Bo looked to Bronwyn.

Bronwyn: The commands were what did it. Seeing Torsten compelled to obey them was what made the dam overflow and had tears streaming down her face again. It was just as painful now as it had been then, back when she realized just how much Torsten meant to her.

She wanted to close her eyes, but then she wouldn’t have been able to meet Bo’s. And she needed to.

“If I have somethin’ to say to you,” she began, turning to face him fully, “I promise I’ll say it to you directly. I will never go behind yer back again. I give you my word.”

Torsten/Bo: A mantra had begun in his head. The only reason he didn't have Torsten picking up a kitchen knife and using it on himself. If he were honest with himself, there were two reasons. This was for Brett. This was absolutely for Brett, but this was to give Bronwyn peace. To dry a mother's tears. He was almost certain she was a sirin.

In one swift movement, the golden circle center of the collar was pushed. With a loud clack, the two metal ends split apart.

The collar was held in a white knuckle grip. He couldn't look at the man that was once his. Refused to note the white tan line around his throat. Only gasped and recoiled when pulled into Torsten's arms. His entire body shook. Cheeks red and eyes moist.

"Jeg gjorde det ikke for deg!" I didn't do it for you!

"I know. Takk. Takk."

Bo managed to retreat, refusing to look at anyone but the familiar watching him in the other room. Straightening his clothes like a lifeline.

"Take me home."

Bronwyn: Words were impossible. All Bronwyn could do was nod and gesture for Vincent to come and take Bo back.

The tears wouldn’t dry for a while yet, but that there was peace, there was no doubt. Peace and a gratitude and relief so profound she could hardly stand. She wanted to say something to Bo but couldn’t begin to find the words to express what she felt. This didn’t feel real.

“One day,” she managed, “I’ll know how to thank you. Get home safely.”

Torsten/Bo: There was a piece of Torsten gone. A nakedness to his throat. He wouldn't dare touch where it had been. Not in Bo's presence. After unwanted affection, he didn't dare move until Vincent neared and disappeared with the mage. Only then did he walk the few steps to the weeping druid and lift her in his arms. Their burden had been lifted.

And Bo's mind felt as though it were unraveling. He didn't want to walk to his car, drive himself home, and face his husband. He didn't want to do anything but process what had happened. No sooner had Vincent disappeared did he bite down on the back of his hand, doubling over just managing to breathe.

Bronwyn/Peabody: If hearing the final commands Torsten would ever be given overflowed the dam, Torsten touching her broke it completely. The release of tension, the realization that this was the very first time she was seeing him without anything but the clothes on his back, it was all just too much.

The only thing she was capable of doing was clinging to the man she loved and sobbing into his shoulder.

Whatever respite the universe decided to grant Bo wouldn’t be nearly as long as he would perhaps desire.

Not long after he returned, a pair of headlights would cut through the darkness as a squad car pulled into the lot. Their light had spotted the mage.

The headlights cut out, the engine shut off, and Jeremy Peabody emerged from the open door.

“…Bo?” he called. “That you over there?”

Torsten/Bo: The blond figure straightened with a deep nostril inhale. The two pieces of the collar were tossed in the passenger seat of his car. He couldn't pretend Peabody didn't exist, but there was nothing he could say without harming one of them. His means of escape was language.

"Jeg har det ikke bra. Du aner ikke hvor mye jeg vil skrike. Jeg vil ikke hjem. Jeg vil bare drepe noe. Jeg ønsker deg..." The mage sniffed again.

I'm not alright. You have no idea how much I want to scream. I don't want to go home. I just want to kill something. I wish you...

I wish you weren't so kind.

In New Orleans, Bronwyn was being carried upstairs to their bedroom. No words spoken. Only to exist with their emotions and allow his beloved to touch the pale line servility had created.

Bronwyn/Peabody: Peabody had heard Bo speaking his native language before, but that wasn’t what gave him pause. It was his tone and the distraught look on his face.

When Bo didn’t feel like talking he had no problem telling him to fuck off; this wasn’t that. This was closer to what some would call a cry for help.

“Do you want me to call Brett?” His tone wasn’t soft and gentle like Bronwyn’s had been. His was calm and reassuring.

Bronwyn didn’t dare to do that yet. She didn’t think she’d be able to handle it.

Right now it felt like she was finally releasing not just the past few months’ worth of tension, but years of it. For so long she’d wanted to see Torsten free of that collar and now that he was, she was nearly hysterical with relief.

Torsten/Bo: Torsten didn't feel anything in regards to his collar. Not with Bronwyn in his arms. His only priority was her comfort and that of their children. If she needed to cry, so be it. If she needed to be held, or a bath, or kissed into her hair, so be it.

His concern was also on the man he would never lay eyes on again. Every conversation they had ever had. From Poland to Iceland. To the comfort of his sister's den, surrounded by dogs and birds and the sweet sound of Flora's voice, filling the room with history and wisdom. To the sound of Bo's quick scratch writing, hanging on her every word. To their first and last kiss in his old bedroom. Where Bo had simply said, "I just wanted to know," before meeting his fate in America. It was done. He was gone. That man, he told himself again and again, was reborn into someone else.

But that someone else was very much the same. Traumas he couldn't remember. Those he wished he could forget. Those he was reliving right before Peabody's eyes.

Bo sat sideways in the driver's seat, wiping his face with just a little too much aggression.

He could manage to say it, but the bite wasn't there.

"Fuck off." But he didn't mean it, and he hated that he didn't mean it.

Bronwyn/Peabody: These days it was hard to say she needed to cry. A more accurate statement was that she couldn’t seem to do anything but cry.

Eventually she would exhaust herself, however. The ragged sobs would quiet until they became sniffles, her shoulders would gradually stop shaking, and she’d become a rag doll in the revenant’s arms.

No, he didn’t mean it. A deaf man in Reno could tell that he didn’t mean it.

How to proceed? It was established that when Bo wanted something, he asked for it. That included Brett. If Brett wasn’t here it was because Bo didn’t want him here, which meant he also probably didn’t want Peabody to call him.

Well. Answer was clear enough.

“…Want a beer?”

Torsten/Bo: She would cry for both of them. With a little encouragement to drink a sip of water, nothing else was said by the revenant. She would remain in his arms, above the sheets, eyes closed, allowing both of their minds to rest, free of at least one more burden.

Bo was watching the grass by his feet. He couldn't bring himself to look at Peabody. He didn't want to make that connection. The deputy already gave him mixed feelings. The obvious response to such nonsense was anger. Anger was exhausting.

"Beer is disgusting."

Peabody: The deputy wasn’t dissuaded. He could spot a situation that needed alcohol a mile off.

“Want a glass of wine? My place is close, and empty.” Bridget was working the night shift all week which worked out great since Bo didn’t like her.

Bo: Bo nearly scoffed at the idea of Peabody with a bottle of one before remembering Bridget. Of course.

He didn't want to go home. He knew what would happen when he did. But, Brett was waiting for him. Perhaps months ago...

"I have to go home." He felt it necessary to add, "Don't tell Brett you saw me."

Peabody: Peabody nodded. “Hey, I just returned from patrol and went in to do my paperwork. Didn’t see anybody.”

Bo: Deep breath. Held. Exhaled. "Thank you."

Peabody: “Don’t mention it.” He gave Bo another nod and walked across the lot to the side entrance of the station.

Bo: He'd forgotten what he'd requested for dinner. Forgotten what shirt Brett had been wearing. Driving back to the house was a blur. He'd managed to stop when required, but he couldn't say which route he had taken.

Walking through the front door, all he had in his hands were the keys and the collar.

Brett: Since the choice had been left to Brett, he’d elected to cook something simple and comforting. He’d made pasta with grilled veggies and some garlic herb toast and had a bottle of wine breathing on the counter.

He was dressed in a comfortable T-shirt and sweatpants and his hair was still wet from his shower.

And when Bo walked in with the collar in his hands, any and all questions he might have had were immediately answered.

“Hungry?” he asked softly.

Bo: Eyes and cheeks were still red. The collar was still in his fist, white-knuckled when he raised both hands to his forehead. Shoulders heavy and shaking. This was exactly what he knew would happen. One look at Brett. Just the softness of his voice, and he was doomed. He had no intention to cry, but such gentleness tore at his walls so expertly.

Brett: “If you want to scream,” he began, “the walls are soundproof. If you want to talk, I’ll listen. If you want to eat in silence, we will. If you want to throw something, the table is set.”

Brett stepped closer. “If you want comfort, I’m right here.”

The choice was Bo’s to make and would be respected.

Bo: He wanted to hate this man. Wrath was an easy emotion. Cathartic. Rage was an old friend with a hand on his shoulder. Had been since childhood. But this was a man he actually cared about. A man worth the effort.

But by bedding his primary instinct, all that was left was raw and tender. Words he could not articulate.

The lights in the foyer flickered.

"I feel... it. On me. Him." Elaborating would hurt his husband. Hurt himself. Show more vulnerability. He began to pull at his hair.

Brett: Brett didn’t have to ask who ‘he’ was or question the why or the how of Bo being able to feel something on him. Not when Brett himself was so familiar with such a sensation.

The flickering lights didn’t startle him. Not anymore. “I’ll start the shower for you and wash your clothes so you can get clean.”

Bo: All he could manage was a single nod. The two pieces were placed on the foyer table. It took everything in his power not to throw the collar. The catharsis it would bring would pale in comparison to the memory he would harbor of Brett flinching.

Every movement was mindful, shaking just to sustain, not to scream or break.

His wand was placed on the bathroom sink. Arms aching and loose, making his clothes a struggle.

Brett: Brett turned on the shower and got Bo a fresh towel while the water warmed. A bath probably would have been more relaxing but he knew how much better it felt in circumstances like these to feel like you were actively getting clean. Besides, having water gently fall on you felt just as good as sitting in it.

He longed to help Bo, to reassure him in some way, but he wouldn’t. Not unless he was asked.

Bo: "I frighten you, don't I?"

Hands rested on the edge of the sink, staring down the drain so as not to look at his husband.

Brett: He shook his head. “No, baby. You don’t and you never have. I’ve been afraid of blood, my father, the vampires in this town, but never of you.”

Bo: "Not when I scream? Why? Why are you like this?"

Brett: “Screaming’s never been something I’m afraid of.” He’d have a rough time doing the job he did if that were the case.

“Why am I like what?”

Bo: "Why are you complicit with everything I do! You let me do anything! When I throw things! When I scream! I left the house and you let me! You're a doormat!"

You are the balm and the gauze and the cool running water and you save my life again and again and I don't deserve you. I'm not worthy of you, and I will push you away before you hurt me.

Brett: Brett was quiet for a moment. He let himself listen to the shower running, let the echo of Bo’s raised voice fade into it.

“I’d rather be a doormat than a jailer,” he said quietly. “You know what I spent a lot of time wanting when I was a kid? To be allowed to be upset. To be allowed to feel anything really. If something made me sad, I couldn’t show it. If my parents made me angry or hurt my feelings, I couldn’t say anything. I had to swallow it. I made myself learn how to be silent when I cried because if my dad heard me, he’d call me names and slap me. As I got older I told myself that when I became an adult, I was never going to be like him. I wasn’t going to get angry with someone for feeling something. I wouldn’t hurt someone when they were already hurting.

“So if you need to call me a doormat, that’s fine. Maybe I am. But I’m not going to get upset with you for being upset, and I’m not going to keep you chained so you can’t ever leave the house. You’re not a doll. You’re my husband.”

Bo: The more Brett spoke, the heavier his words became. Weighing on his shoulders to the point of bending over the sink, held up solely by his elbows. Hands rested the weight of his face by his forehead. He couldn't remember a single instance of his childhood, but he felt Brett's experiences as though his own. He had seen them upon the pages in ink. A tyrant Catholic and Ventrue dictator for father and uncle cut from the same cloth.

"I'm sorry," Bo sobbed. "Jeg mente det ikke. Jeg burde ikke ha gjort det."

Brett: “I know.” Brett’s voice was so, so soft. He hadn’t been given permission to touch his husband, and he didn’t, but he did step closer so Bo could feel that he wasn’t alone.

None of this was personal. He knew Bo wasn’t lashing out because of him or something he’d done. This was simply a rough situation, and Bo was simply a man with demons trying his absolute best to fight them and keep them from winning.

“I know you didn’t, baby. I know you didn’t mean it. I forgive you.”

Bo: He simply needed to exist. To breathe and allow the tension in his chest to subside. He waited, and it lingered. Only the sobs between broken breaths eased the clench.

Some minutes later, he managed, "Will you... shower with me?"

Brett: That was perfectly fine by him. Bo didn’t have to say or do anything. As long as he was breathing and trying for calm, that was already a victory.

Brett nodded. “Absolutely. Do you want help getting undressed?”

Bo: "No." He'd already dismantled enough of his pride for what remained of the year. The least he could do was remove his clothes.

Brett: “Okay.” In that case, Brett would go grab another towel and start removing his own clothes.

Conor: Conor's expression was one of bewilderment. 'Do you even own one?'

Parker: "No, but I can get one probably."

Conor: He dramatically rolled his eyes.

Parker: Brett laughed.

Conor: That made his partner smile. 'Why don't you dye your hair pink instead? I bet you'd look beautiful.'

Parker: "Can't dye my hair. Rules from my boss."

Conor: Interesting... Hands rose. Fingers moved through Brett's hair slowly, feeling the strands and imagining him with different hairstyles.

'I'd be more inclined to trust a policeman with pink hair.'

Parker: He smiled. "Maybe the next time I take time off I can use some temporary die."

Conor: Conor nodded and kissed his cheek. 'And Flower can dye his, too.'

Parker: "What color for him?"

Conor: Hmmm... 'A pastel blue?'

Parker: "Perfect. Pink for me, blue for him. What will your new color be?"

Conor: 'What do you want it to be?'

Parker: "I'm really biased toward gray. Lavender would look good too."

Conor: 'Half and half?' it wouldn't be the first time, 'or grey with lavendar tips.'

Parker: "I love it. It'll look amazing on you."

Conor: He chuckled silently and lifted to place himself in Brett's lap. It was, of course, incredibly comfortable and very much one of his favourite places to be.

Parker: Brett hummed contentedly, gathering Conor close and kissing his hair.

Conor: The hybrid smiled and wrapped arms around Brett's neck, kissing his temple idly.

Parker: If he smiled any wider his face would hurt. "Hi," he whispered, nuzzling that beautiful face.

Conor: He sighed against Brett's warm skin, offering kisses to his neck. Fingertips search over the ghoul's chest, feeling for his pulse behind ribs.

Parker: Another soft hum met the kisses. This man meant so much to him. It felt like a kind of miracle sometimes, going from being tense and stiff around each other to having Conor cuddled in his lap, where Brett firmly believed he belonged. Him and Botan both.

"Whatcha looking for?"

Conor: Tap, tap, to Brett's heart. 'That which is mine.'

Parker: And just like that, Brett melted. He would've swooned if he wasn't seated.

He pulled Conor into a kiss.

Bo: Bo glanced to his phone and back to the frosted window. He checked again just seconds later. Nothing. He sighed and shut his book. The library felt like a freezer today; he couldn't concentrate. He might as well go home.

{Text: Petal & Flame} I'm on my way home.

His phone chimed the soft beginnings of Ode to Joy; an unknown number.

"Hallo."

"Botan?"

The phone was lowered, the screen looked over once more. Torsten Glockner, but -

"What do you want?"

"Are you sitting down?"

His books were stacked neatly and gathered in his arms. "No. What do you want?"

"...I have a lot to explain to you..."

Conor: Perfect, that's exactly what he wanted. He allowed himself a few moments of enjoying the delicious bliss he always found on the other end of Brett's lips. When he slowly pulled away, it was to the sound of his phone. He pulled up the message and turned it to Brett.

Parker: Brett smiled against Conor's lips, chasing them until they were out of reach.

"That'll be Botan," he said when he heard both their phones go off in tandem, smiling again when the message confirmed it.

"Let's go meet him." One more kiss. "Peabody isn't here yet. I can carry you to the car if you want. No one will see."

Conor: ... Eh?! 'Carry me? Why would you carry me? Unless that's another extremely "unique" American colloquialism?'

Parker: Brett laughed softly. "Nope, not a colloquialism. As for why, I'm not ready to let you go yet." Have another kiss.

Conor: A silent laugh, so much affection! Conor shook his head. 'You are ridiculous. Just hold my hand!'

Parker: "I am and you love me," he said with a grin. "Done. I'm going to hold it the whole way home."

Conor: Hmf. Conor stood, getting his hand comfortable in Brett's. He gave him a thumbs up and a little bashful smile.

Parker: Brett smiled back. He gathered his things and led Conor out to the car. “You have a beautiful smile, did you know that?”

Conor: And just like that, the smile was gone! Swapped for a glare.

Parker: "Aww, don't give me the face. You do! I love your smile. And you. A lot."

Conor: He shakes his head.

Parker: "No to the beautiful smile? Should it be my secret?"

Conor: His free hand poked Brett's cheek. Shush, you.

Parker: A secret it would be. He turned to kiss Conor's hand.

Conor: And in return, he kissed Bett's palm.

Parker: Brett's smile returned tenfold. "Come on, let's go home to our Botan."

Conor: Yes! The hybrid nodded. He missed his Flower, so he couldn't get to him fast enough.

Parker: Conor's hand was only released briefly when getting into the car and sending a quick text to Bo.

{Text} We're on our way!

The drive back home was short and uneventful, filled with random affection given to Conor at every opportunity.

"Home sweet home," he said a few minutes later as he pulled into the driveway.

Bo: The house was both quiet and empty. Their human had left no sign of having been there.

Conor: The giddy happiness which had filled him during the journey quickly vanished as he looked around.

Soon he was pacing towards Brett, 'Has he responded to you?' Signed, before bringing out his phone.

Parker: Brett's brow furrowed as he looked around the living room and the kitchen. "He said he was coming home, right? We didn't imagine that." He pulled his phone out, checked for notifications.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "Weird. Should we call?"

Conor: Conor nodded. Eyes turn black as he stares at the ghoul.

'How long since we heard from him?'

Parker: Brett hit 'call' and put it on speaker. "The text he sent us just before we left the station. It said he was on his way home."

Bo: There would be no answer. He was not switched straight to voicemail, either. Bo had stared for some time, but couldn't muster the energy to do more than that.

He knew he needed to do something.

He forced himself to type.

{Text: Brett} I'll be home.

Conor: When there was no reply Conor was more than ready to find him, track him, teleport to him. He was ready to throw himself into whatever Bo had found himself in... when a text came. From Bo.

Exhaling, eyes return to normal.

Parker: Brett had been ready to panic when Bo didn't pick up, already feeling anxiety and stress start to well up and raise his body temperature, but the incoming text managed to hold it off.

He heaved a relieved sigh. "Thank god."

Conor: 'Should we start cooking something so that it's ready for his arrival?'

Parker: He nodded, managing a smile. "Yes, let's. What should we make?"

Conor: 'What do you think Flower wants to eat?'

Parker: "It's been really cold this week. How about some soup?"

Conor: 'What kind of soup?'

Parker: "I got some barley at the market yesterday. We could make vegetable and barley, throw some vegan chicken in."

Conor: 'Why does it need vegan chicken? Just leave it out. If you want to eat chicken so much just eat chicken.'

Parker: Brett chuckled softly. "Vegetable and barley it is. Vegan chicken is good. Especially in pasta." He opened the fridge. "Creamy broth or regular broth?"

Conor: 'Just eat chicken!' God, the modern generation is full of weird people. 'Creamy.'

Parker: "Creamy it is. Let's see....we have potatoes, carrots, mushrooms, onions, celery, corn, sweet potatoes, leeks, beets. What's going in the soup?"

Conor: He cringed, 'Not mushrooms, not sweet potatoes, not beets. We can do something nice a thick with potatoes, some boiled carrots and... do we have any spring onion? Leeks can go in, too.'

Parker: Brett couldn't help but laugh at the expression on Conor's face, or kissing it.

"We do have spring onion." He grabbed those, the leeks, potatoes, and carrots.

Conor: Ridiculous! He smiled. 'Are you going to be my sous-chef?'

Parker: "Yep. What would like me to do?"

Conor: He tapped his chin a few times in thought. 'Two more kisses please, sous-chef!'

Parker: Brett grinned. "Yes, chef." Two lingering kisses were given.

Conor: Hands place on his hips and bring him nearer. More?

Parker: Always. Conor could have all the kisses his heart desired.

Conor: Perfect! He pulls away once he can bring himself to and starts to prepare to cook.

Bo: It would be some thirty minutes into their cooking that the front door would gently open, quietly closed. Footsteps pattered towards the hallway and the converted guest bedroom.

Parker: The door opened so quietly that if Brett hadn't been listening for it like a hawk, he wouldn't have heard it. There was definitely no mistaking those footsteps, though. He would recognize them from miles away.

"Botan?" he called.

Conor: Conor looked up curiously, allowing Brett to call out to his Flower while he sets the table.

Bo: The bedroom door creaked open. Hesitation in the doorway.

I'm fine, he wanted to lie, but he couldn't muster the energy to speak.

Parker: Brett looked from Conor to the doorway of the kitchen. The silence was too long.

He went to find his boyfriend. "Botan?" he tried again, more gently.

Conor: A plate was released and he moved forward to stand beside Brett, taking his hand. Concern coated his face.

Bo: Look at them, he thought the moment they came into view. So beautiful.

His dark gaze dropped to the floor.

Parker: "Baby?" Brett squeezed Conor's hand and took them closer, reaching out for Bo's. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

Conor: He walked with the other, automatically searching Bo's body for any injuries. In case.

Bo: Bo turned his body towards them. He leaned his weight into the one place he could trust, just between them, resting his cheek on Brett Parker's shoulder, and a weak hand clinging to Conor's shirt.

Parker: He was immediately held with his free arm and nuzzled, his hair kissed. Whatever had happened, he was safe with him and Conor.

Conor: Oh. Oh no. Conor's free hand covered Bo's. He leaned over to kiss his temple. He didn't like seeing the human like this. He didn't want him to have to endure whatever was going on in his head. He would silently offer affection to show him that he's not alone.

Bo: The chant continued. Look at these patient men, these beautiful men, these reasons for striving...

How he could begin to explain his evening he just could not - but he had to.

He forced himself away, just enough to use his hands.

He slowly began to sign. 'I got a phone call...from T O R S T E N. He's in Iceland. He knows why everything happened to me.'

Parker: Brett would continue to hold Bo for as long as he needed, patiently letting the silence stretch. Bo would speak when he was ready.

Or sign as the case may be.

"Torsten? Oh. ......Oh. What did he say? How did he find out?"

Conor: Conor released both of their hands, watching Bo carefully with confusion clear on his face.

'I don't understand, who is T O R S T E N? What is 'everything'?"

Bo: 'You've seen glimpses in my dreams. I think. Why my tongue was ripped out. The man that-' He took a deep breath. His cheeks began to pink.

Parker: Brett took Bo's hand and squeezed. "He told you who did that to you? And why?"

Bo: His hands became furious. 'I don't know how to explain my life to you. My life. My life was so much of a threat so some -' "dust laden...shrew! My life - Again and again it's proven to me why I turned my back on my family. To think I was groomed to be one of those fucking-" Deep breath. Deep breath.

Parker: Yes, deep breath. Nice and slow and steady while Brett's blood roared in his ears.

"Your family was grooming you to be a vampire? Is that why?"

Conor: Conor was having a little trouble following, he was a little slow in reacting, he wasn't doing a good job of processing.

'Why did they do that?' hm. 'Was your uncle part of it?' the very uncle he had a bad feeling about.

Bo: "That doesn't matter. That's in my book. It's not -" His anger was too scattered.

His face was slowly rubbed.

"I don't know where to begin."

Parker: "Deep breath," said Brett, trying his best to make his voice sound calm and soothing. Anger from him would not help Botan.

"I'll put on the kettle and we can have some tea while we finish getting dinner ready."

Bo: Anger would only be replied to with anger. Brett knew, and he was aware of his gentleness. His blind, quiet rage wanted to crush him. His logic made a point to force it down.

"I'm...going to change clothes."

Parker: Brett nodded, taking a deep breath himself before smiling. "Okay, baby. We'll go put the kettle on and finish dinner. We made soup. Barley and vegetable. And we have bread and butter."

Conor: Conor nodded to Bo before returning to the kitchen to prepare food for him. Hopefully something warm will... somehow help.

Idly, he rubbed Brett's back while waiting for the kettle to boil. Don't worry too much, the touch said. It will be okay.

Bo: He just wanted to hide in his room. He wanted to sleep the rest of his life away. A bit dramatic, he frowned at himself in the mirror. It was pointless, but nevertheless...

He slipped into one of his white sweaters and smoothed his chest. He needed to explain himself. Otherwise, he would implode with pain. There was no simple way to explain, he feared. He would have to start at the beginning and work his way to thirty minutes ago.

Quietly, he headed into the kitchen.

Parker: He sighed, turning to press a kiss to Conor's temple. He couldn't help but worry. Nothing about Bo's family inspired calm or confidence, even before today and Bo's enraged revelation. But just let any of them try to harm a single hair on his head; they'd find hell raining down on them.

Bo's approaching footsteps had him looking over and smiling. "Hey, baby. What kind of tea would you like?"

Conor: A chair was pulled out for his beloved. 'Come sit down.'

Bo: '...Thank you.' The offered seat was taken, arms folded on the table.

Parker: Brett brought Bo's favorite mug along with the sugar. "Want some lemon?"

Bo: The sign for thank you followed his quiet nod. He offered his hand to Conor.

Parker: He filled Bo's mug and went to slice a lemon for him, placing it on a plate and bringing it to the table before getting plates for dinner. Keeping his hands occupied was helping settle his mind.

Conor: The hand would be taken without hesitation. Held, kissed, nuzzled. Bo could speak freely while Conor doted.

Bo: Bo was enjoying Conor's touch too much to bother with talk. Still so heavily drained. He would wait for Brett to sit, which he knew would take time.

Parker: Bo knew him well. Brett set the table and served dinner with almost painstaking care, making sure both he and Conor has absolutely everything they needed before he finally sat.

Conor: 'Thank you' was mouthed, as his free hand had also found its way to Bo's arm, to trace fingertips back and forth against him.

Bo: Slowly, his hands rose. Conor would be allowed to hold him all he wished, but still, he needed to speak.

'I don't think I'll have ever said as much as I'm about to...'

Parker: Brett pushed down the dread in his stomach and offered Bo a gentle, reassuring smile. “Take all the time you need, baby.”

Conor: Conor's hands fell into his lap. The hybrid would observe and wait patiently.

Bo: He would begin with clarification. He turned his full attention to Conor. ‘You know who Torsten is. The man that…raped me, and wears the collar enchanted by blood magic.’ It had been easier to sign certain words rather than utter them. Now that such a sordid recount was out of the way, he felt brave enough to speak.

“He and I were friends…of sorts before my curse. We met after I offered my family to the Arcanum as bargain for my sanctuary. When I was finally free. From what was explained to me months ago, I’d grown close to his family. His sisters, Flora and Fauna. I’d grown too close. His sister Flora, long in her years as a vampire, desperately wanted to be human again. I’d promised to help. Quietly, Fauna was furious with me. She secretly confessed my association to the chapter house I frequented. The rest…you know.”

He’d tried to explain everything as concisely as possible. It felt so empty. His eyes were too exhausted to rise further than the table.

Parker: Brett clenched his jaw hard enough to hurt his teeth, but that would be the only outward sign of his anger. He remained silent as Bo recounted what Torsten Glockner had done and explained his association with his family. How could that woman do that to him simply because he’d offered to help her sister out of the darkness? Or even for getting close to their family?

Conor would have to be the one to speak first. Brett didn’t trust himself to.

Conor: Conor paid attention, monitoring Bo's movements and tone. When the story came to an end, he was still and silent. Conor's immediate instinct was that... he wasn't really surprised. A human living closely with vampires, he isn't really sure what else Bo had been expecting. The assumption should always be something terrible. At least this human got away with his life.

Parker: The silence couldn't stretch forever; one of them had to say something.

"So..." Brett begged the heavens to let him tramp down his anger, if only until he could put it into good use, into something physical.  "It was her fault. This Fauna. She was responsible for everything that happened to you." So much effort was being put into keeping his voice calm and steady. "And all because you got close to her family and wanted to help her sister become human again?"

Bo: Bo could do nothing but shrug. "I threatened her precious little bubble. She was willing to torture her brother in spite of me "

Conor: 'Why is he only telling you now? Why is he bringing this up now? Why is he-' he exhaled.

Bo: "He only told me he discovered this when home."

Parker: “That’s fucking—!” Brett took a slow deep breath. It won’t help, it’s not productive. He doesn’t need your anger.

“Did he say anything else?” Brett asked after a few moments.

Conor: His gaze shifted from Bo to Brett. A hand reached out to stroke the ghoul's arm.

'Yes. Is there anything else we should know?'

Bo: Bo shook his head and watched Brett. The ghoul was his anchor, but his rage was a sight to behold.

Parker: Brett was grateful for the touch. It was helping to ground him and tamp down the shouting match that wanted to explode out.

“Okay, baby.” He reached for Bo’s hand.

Conor: What now? Where from here?

'So we kill Fauna?'

Bo: "I want to," whispered Bo.

Conor: Smiling, eyes turn black.

Parker: “No,” Brett said softly.

Bo: "Why not?"

Parker: “Because we’re not them.”

Conor: He pouted and returned his eyes to normal.

'Yes, because we would be justified.'

Bo: "Give me the opportunity to, and I will have Torsten do it himself."

Parker: Brett shook his head. “I don’t want that man or anyone in his family anywhere near you. They don’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

Conor: 'They don't deserve air at all.'

Bo: Bo took a deep breath and rubbed his face. "I want Paris. I never thought I'd say this, but I just want to forget until after we return."

Parker: No, they didn’t. Not a single one of them deserved to draw breath even if they could.

Brett nodded. The subject change was welcome. “Then let’s focus on Paris. We’re going to be together and we’re going to have a beautiful Christmas. Have you finished packing?”

Conor: Conor wanted to focus on creating a plan to kill Fauna, but okay.

He leaned over, placing his head on Bo's shoulder.

Bo: And Bo placed his head on Conor's. He would be fantasizing despite what he had said - what he had said for Brett's benefit if no one else.

"I have, yes. You?" A finger circled Conor's forearm.

Parker: Brett nodded, finally trusting himself to lean over and kiss them both. “I’m going to go through the list one last time after we eat. Peabody is taking care of Woodstock.”

Conor: 'You both are aware that we're going to Paris, right? A city? Not the middle of nowhere. Anything you don't bring I'm sure we can find out there, or some non-American equivalent. Don't worry too much.'

Bo: "We'll be fine. It's Brett I'm concerned with. We don't need him getting lost in Paris."

Parker: “Being a worrier is my lot in life.” This time the smile he gave them was more genuine. “I am not going to get lost in Paris. I have a great sense of direction.”

Conor: 'And a demon partner. I can find you both anywhere.'

Bo: "I don't want you straying too far. Vampires and whatever else. Unless you want to kill one."

Parker: “I’ll stick close to home unless we’re all together, promise.”

Conor: With a silent chuckle, he shook his head. 'That applies to you too, Flower.'

Bo: The human straightened. "Me?"

Conor: 'Yes. You aren't to stray too far from us.'

Bo: "I'm not a blushing young ghoul ripe for corruption."

Parker: “I don’t blush that often.”

Conor: 'Human dangers remain the same.'

Bo: He managed a smile. "Which of us do you worry for more?"

Conor: 'You are both a terrible burden.' ah, but he's smiling.

Parker: Brett was smiling now, too, and pulling them both into a kiss in turn. "Come on, let's eat. We leave bright and early tomorrow."

Bo: He would have to manage to cast aside thoughts of murder for at least a day. This was a trip longed for, for some time. He owed Brett at least a day.

The ghoul was given a kiss to his forehead for good measure, glancing into Conor's eyes and kissing his hand. Iceland, but where? He'd been careful in his descriptions in his book. No address, no pertinent details.

He didn't realize his mind was drifting deep. He picked at his food until realizing how far ahead they were.

Conor: Conor would have to be coerced into bed. It wouldn't take much effort, since he absolutely adored snuggling with his loves, but he hadn't been on a plane in so long he wanted to plan for practically every single outcome. He simply transported wherever he needed to be. The idea of being on a plane gave him jitters which made it difficult to sleep.

Still, morning would come soon enough and he'd be up preparing breakfast, early enough that they wouldn't have to worry about being late.

Parker: Brett could sense Conor’s nerves, and attempted to comfort as best he could before a light sleep took him. There would be no profound rest until they were sitting on the plane with nothing to do but wait until Paris came into view.

Bo: Bo had slept like the dead, with dreams he would not recall of his home in Oslo, of made-up (or true) accounts forgotten the moment he opened his eyes. Despite his heavy mind, the ritual of travel was not one of his burdens. He would enjoy his window seat, away from conversation and the potential touch of a flight attendant. Conor in the middle? Spoiled by his men. His hand would be held, a head on his shoulder for the majority of the flight; a mistake Bo's neck would pay as they waited at baggage claim.

Conor: The flight was... Well, without Brett and Bo it would have a disgusting experience. He did not miss public transport at all.

The moment they stepped off the plane the familiar smell of French air hit him and took him home.

'I told you to use the neck pillow.' Conor signed, smiling at the pain it seemed like Bo was in.

'How are you feeling, Petal? Do we need to stop by anywhere before continuing?'

Parker: Brett smiled as he rolled his shoulders. “Like we were squished into a tin can for hours on end. I’m fine to head home though. I’m exhausted.” They could shop for food later.

Bo: "You were more comfortable. I had no foresight." And just as he had in the plane, he leaned himself on Conor's shoulder for comfort.

Home. Already Brett labelled the demon's apartment as such. He had to smile. "Home, then."

Conor: Conor had to notice that too, the way they both called his small apartment home. He wondered if they would feel suffocated in the space built for one. He wondered if their opinion of him would change after gaining access to this personal place.

It was too late to change his mind, so with bags in hand he went to find a taxi.

Parker: “No foresight perhaps, but I don’t imagine you have any regrets.” Being snuggled together made the flight much more bearable.

Brett didn’t anticipate feeling suffocated in the least; his house was a glorified dollhouse after all.

He gathered the rest of their things, ready to load them into the car as soon as Conor managed to flag one down. Despite his tiredness, he would marvel at the city through the window, just as amazed here as he’d been in Oslo.

Bo: Bo asked for the address in order to tell the driver, if Conor was willing to his assistance. Bo also wanted a window seat in which to stare, though not nearly as eagerly as their ghoul.

He reached and felt for Conor's hand.

Conor: The hand would be offered without a single thought after the address was spelt out.

They'd drive through the streets of Paris, past the run-down areas nobody talks about filled with damaged swings in parks, mattresses abandoned on the side of the road, buildings that were old and worn out before getting to the beautiful scenery. Greenery, wide roads, cobble pavements, cafes, people were sat outside wearing fur to fight the wind.

The Eiffel tower could be seen from where the car came to a stop in front of the door to Conor's building. Money was passed to the driver with the appropriate tip.

Parker: It looked exactly like Brett always imagined Paris would look. It was like they were driving through a photography book, or maybe a painting. The fact that the Eiffel Tower was visible from Conor’s building was the icing on the cake.

He thanked the driver and began unloading their things. “Lead the way, sweetheart,” he said without thinking. Surely Conor could let it slide this time. Brett was delightedly taking in their surroundings still.

Bo: "I feel as though I've been here before." Something akin to muscle memory of the past. Something... de ja vu. He wanted to explore. His feet needed to keep moving, but his shoulders were killing him.

Conor: Conor's gaze shifted over Bo as he helped sort the bags. 'Is that why you wanted to come here? Do you have forgotten memories of Paris?'

Bo: "I want to see your flat. Everything else is coincidental. Warsaw is going to feel the same, and Berlin and probably a dozen other cities."

Parker: Brett wanted to see it too. He was practically itching to see it, itching to have and love yet another part of Conor.

He set down the bags he was holding long enough to take both their hands and kiss each in turn.

Conor: The kiss was returned gently. 'I've already warned you that it's small. Everyone is one room. If you feel uncomfortable there is a hotel nearby.' he wouldn't feel offended, and it was stated with his expression very matter-of-factly. It was normal and to be expected that three grown men in a small apartment would feel a tad claustrophobic.

With that signed, he started to bring the bags to the lift.

Bo: Bo briefly smiled, taking his own bag and following behind. He didn't think he would mind. The flat had been featured in shared dreams. Though he couldn't remember, surely Brett would have voice his opinion if he knew it would be too claustrophobic.

"I'm starving," he muttered.

Parker: Brett gave a quick kiss to Conor’s cheek. “Small is fine. More than used to small.” If anything, it meant there would hardly be a moment when he wasn’t close to the two of them, and that thought was very appealing indeed.

“What do you want to eat, baby? We could get some groceries or go out somewhere and worry about groceries later.”

Conor: 'There won't be anything in my fridge, I think for today it will be easier to go to the cafés and restaurants that are close by. Tomorrow we can think about shopping.' he signed at his door after putting his bags down.

After unlocking the door he glanced between the two of them... hesitating... before pushing it open. Welcome to home sweet home, an apartment fit for one very lonely person who never has any guests.

Bo: Bo waited at the door between the two men, wondering what Conor was thinking to look back at them with apprehension. The aforementioned size? As the door opened, he understood. He understood but scoffed, sitting aside his luggage to stretch his arms like tired wings. When neither wrist hit wall nor furniture, he smiled. See? You're fine, Flame.

"I like the view." He wasn't looking out the window. Rather, staring at his demon.

Parker: Brett didn’t blink at the size either. It was essentially the same size as the apartment he’d had back when he was attending the police academy. Just far nicer and full of people he loved.

Brett followed Bo’s gaze and smiled. “I like it too. I love it, actually.”

Conor: The statement confused him for exactly that reason. It hadn't even felt like enough time to process the view. And... Brett...

Hm.

Oh.

Torsten: "Yes. How do you feel about Iceland in Autumn?"

Bronwyn: "Verra favorable. Is it a thing that's goin' to happen?"

Torsten: "Yes. That's what's going to happen, Thistle."

Bronwyn: -surprise! you now have an armful of scot-

Torsten: "How are your boys?"

Bronwyn: "They're lovely. I still can't believe Lucien's married. He was seventeen five minutes ago."

Torsten: "Still a baby," he said.

Bronwyn: "No' that much of one. He's matured so much."

Torsten: "I'm five hundred years old, love."

Bronwyn: "Well from yer perspective, yes," she chuckled. "We're all babes in yer eyes. Even us nearly middle-aged folk."

Torsten: "Yes, but you're an old soul."

Bronwyn: "I definitely feel like one."

Torsten: "I would know." He wondered what her past incarnations must have been like. Goddesses of their time.

Bronwyn: "Ye would indeed." She smiled up at him. "So ye're takin' me to Iceland this fall?"

Torsten: "Yes. I'm going home for... some time. My sister is lonely. I'm thinking September. Will that be something you can do?"

Bronwyn: She nodded. "Aye, I can definitely do that. How long are ye goin' to stay?"

Torsten: "I don't know yet."

Bronwyn: "What's Flora's favorite color?"

Torsten: "It's not a color. Not really. Ice. Crystals. Diamonds. Clear and shimmering."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "I can definitely work with that."

Torsten: "What are you going to do?"

Bronwyn: "Science. Of the gift givin' variety."

Torsten: "Going to tell me?"

Bronwyn: "Eventually."

Torsten: "Fine. Be sisterly and secretive with Flora."

Bronwyn: "I need to figure out what I'm gettin' her before I let ye weigh in."

Torsten: "You haven't even seen her," he chuckled.

Bronwyn: "Which is why ye get to weigh in."

Bronwyn: "Speakin' of, what's her favorite flower?"

Torsten: "She's more interested in herbs, but... The flowers that come from fruit enchant her."

Bronwyn: "Herbs, ye say? Which ones? I've got all of them."

Torsten: "Something about dill calms her. Hmm. Rosemary, fennel...Warm...things."

Bronwyn: "I know what I'm givin' her."

Torsten: "If it's any help, she always makes her ghoul a rose cake."

Bronwyn: "It is indeed. I'm goin' to make her some bath products."

Torsten: "Bath products for a vampire. I love you dearly, Thistle."

Bronwyn: "Ev'ryone likes pretty soap. And I make the prettiest soap."

Torsten: Torsten was doing his best to bed his smile. "A rosemary and rose with a crystal inside?"

Bronwyn: "The crystals are goin' to be for somethin' else, but aye, there's goin' to be rosemary and rose."

Torsten: "Turn around. Let me tend to your hair."

Bronwyn: "As ye will then," she said, turning around.

Torsten: Torsten took his time parting the hair from her shoulders. There was no point in doing so yet he did it anyway. He went so far as to haphazardly braid her hair, something he'd done for his sisters over the centuries.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn tilted her head back, letting him do as he pleased. She loved when he played with her hair. It was...soothing. "How are my ends? Time for a trim?"

Torsten: "Have your hair as long as you like. I don't understand women with short hair. I don't see the appeal."

Bronwyn: "I haven't had short hair for years and the only reason I cut it then was a rather unexpected incident with my stove. My kitchen smelled like burnt hair for weeks."

Torsten: "I used to have long hair," he explained. "Down past my shoulders it was. Fauna insisted on letting it lock."

Bronwyn: She tilted her head back even further so she could study him. "Verra fittin' for a Vikin'. Can't imagine it though."

Torsten: "Don't attempt. It only lasted for fifty years before I shaved my head."

Bronwyn: "Now that I can imagine. I like yer hair. It's soft and it smells good."

Torsten: "You've smelled my hair?" he laughed.

Bronwyn: "Of course! I've smelled yer hair, yer skin, and I stare at yer ass and yer muscles when ye move. I'm a big fan o' the arms."

Torsten: "You sound like an enthusiastic fan. I've felt your hand on my ass in the shower. You're not as subtle as you think." With her braid finished, the comb was placed center, the crown of leaves following.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed. "I don't usually try to be. Sometimes in public I do but when we're alone, no' so much."

Bronwyn: "And it's such a lovely ass."

Torsten: "Well, you could end a war with your breasts. We're both quite shallow, aren't we?"

Bronwyn: "Now that is by far the best compliment anyone's ever given me."

She beamed. "We are. Delightful, isn't it?"

Torsten: "A breath of fresh air, it is." Gently, she was spun. "You're a princess now."

Bronwyn: The moment she was she made a beeline for the nearest mirror, smiling at her reflection. "Ye've done a lovely job. Thank ye for the gift."

Torsten: "Thank you for... " existing.

Bronwyn: She turned and wrapped him in a hug.

Torsten: By this point, Torsten had stopped asking for permission. She was lifted into his arms and cradled. "So, when can I meet your baby?"

Bronwyn: Permission was well established and permanent; Torsten could pick her up any time he wanted.

"As soon as ye like."

Torsten: "Whenever you're ready."

Bronwyn: "How quickly can ye pack?"

Torsten: "I live in a hotel. Give me thirty minutes."

Bronwyn: "Then step lively, love."

Torsten: "Going to help me? You got here by your bird, didn't you?"

Bronwyn: "I did indeed. But if ye need to mentally prepare I can book us a flight."

Torsten: "That won't be necessary, Thistle." Said Thistle was placed on the bed, stomach kissed. This was his stepping lively.

Bronwyn: "Then we shall be travelin' by the grace o' Vincent. He'll need a cupcake."

Bronwyn hummed at the kiss, petting Torsten's hair. "Careful no' to ruin yer handiwork."

Torsten: "I can just brush and braid your hair again," he said, kissing up her ribs to her breasts, kissing despite the irritating clothing.

Bronwyn: "Mmm, quite so," she said thoughtfully. Still, she carefully slipped the comb out of her hair before laying back. The braid should be redone, but the gift was special.

More hums followed in the wake of his lips, serene and quietly delighted. Even with the clothes in the way she knew the texture of his lips against her skin; she'd memorized it.

"Takin' a detour, Mr. Glockner?"

Torsten: The revenant smiled up at the druid. "I do prefer the scenic route. Are you going to be impatient with me?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled back. "Only if ye don't kiss me."

Torsten: Of course he wouldn't deny her. Crawling up her body, clothes were made loose, untucked and unbuttoned along his path to her lips.

Bronwyn: So efficient, she thought, wrapping around him the moment he was close enough. Her kiss was everything gentle and loving and soft, a reminder to both herself and him that they were here together despite everything they'd endured.

Torsten: "You should allot more time for us, Thistle." His kisses were becoming dangerously long. The more entwined they became the more lavishing and attentive the osculation escalated. He could feel her words in her passion.

Bronwyn: "Just wait until we get to New Orleans," she whispered in between kisses. Her breath was becoming labored, her hold tighter. Of all the days to wear jeans. "I'm goin' to spoil ye rotten in a thousand diff'rent ways."

Starting with kissing him senseless while trying to get that shirt off. It was in her way.

Torsten: Her lavishing kiss was broken in order to give her what she wanted, letting her do with his shirt what she pleased. Their minimal gap was closed with a nuzzle, a soft bite, and lips pressed with hunger. "Spoil me here."

Bronwyn: After slipping Torsten's shirt off, Bronwyn let her legs fall from his waist so she could gain the leverage to flip them over, a move she'd perfected over the course of their relationship.

"Oh I will," she murmured, leaving a trail of kisses that started at his lips and moved across his jaw, neck, and chest.

Torsten: Softly, the beastly revenant growled with need, body firm and wanting. This was their default state of being. It was a wonder they ever managed to escape a bedroom.

Bronwyn: A soft, lilting laugh spilled from her lips at the growl. She would never, ever tire of hearing it, just like she would never tire of Torsten's smile or the storm of emotion in his eyes when he looked at her.

"Who's the impatient one now?" she asked the air, kissing her way up and down both his arms.

Torsten: "I find your spoiling to be torturous. Spoil me with haste!" he laughed.

Bronwyn: That laugh made her heart grow three sizes. "Torturous for ye maybe, but positively delightful for me." From his arms back to his chest, across his collar bones, his abdomen, that wonderful little area just below his navel.

When her lips reached the waist of his jeans, she eased back to unfasten them and continue her exploration.

Torsten: His hands were not lazy enough to be wasted resting at his sides. He wanted to touch her, and so he did. Her braid was slowly coming undone with his greedy petting, pulling apart inch by inch until her hair was freed. Whatever plan she had formulated, his body was ready, flush and throbbing eagerly.

Bronwyn: "Lift yer hips for me." Once he had, his jeans and underwear would be taken off and tossed in the same general direction as his shirt. On any other occasion she would've taken her time undressing him but today it was just a necessary step in accessing all that lovely skin.

His lower half was lavished with the same loving attention she'd given his torso. Her hair trailed in the wake of her lips, teasing him while she focused everywhere but where he wanted her most.

Torsten: All of the build up was trying his patience. How had she grown so skillful in this aspect of their relationship? She was calculating and rude in the best possible way.

"Sit on my face." Almost a beg. "I need you."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled against Torsten's thigh. She hadn't nearly had her fill of slowly devouring him alive, but his other side could wait until they'd both gotten some relief. "I'm all yers, love."

She eased up again, doing away with her top and bra as she went. She undressed herself with a bit more ceremony than she had him, but it was strictly for his enjoyment.

One more kiss was stolen from his lips before she settled over him.

Torsten: It was a wonder they made it to the shower after such an ordeal. Here they were supposed to make ready for the next step in their relationship, and the current step seemed reluctant to release them. Their shower fared no better. The revenant was more inclined to clean her with his tongue rather than soap.

Bronwyn: "I'm goin' to have to wash that shoulder eventually ye know," Bronwyn said with a chuckle. She felt loose and happy and very, very satisfied.

"Keep that up and I'll cover that ass o' yers in love bites."

Torsten: "Count your blessings that I've made it away from your pussy," he smiled.

Bronwyn: She laughed. "I'll wager ye'll find yer way back there by the end o' the day. I've more devourin' to do and that's bound to get ye goin' again."

Torsten: "You know it will. You know my weakness began with your face and followed with your thighs."

Bronwyn: "Oh, I know, love. I know." She moved her hair so it was over her shoulder. "Get my back?"

Torsten:  Skál, he thought, kissing his way to the back of her neck. He supposed he might as well use the soap. They were running so far behind in their schedule, after all.

Bronwyn: "Imagine," she began, looking around the shower and the bathroom beyond. "Tomorrow mornin' we'll be doin' this in my shower."

Torsten: "Not for long, mind you, as your little babe will need much attention."

Bronwyn: "Aye." Her face softened. "I can't wait for ye to meet him."

Torsten: "How old is he now?"

Bronwyn: "He just turned two."

Torsten: "Such an age is almost unfathomable to me."

Bronwyn: "My granddaughter's even younger. She's with her parents today."

Torsten: With her back finished, Torsten continued down the back of her thighs, her ass, around her waist until he pulled her close. "How is that going?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn leaned against him. "All three o' them are verra lucky. Lucien and Salem each found someone that loved and supported them and they're raisin' that wee lassie with so much love. They're doin' just fine."

Torsten: "Military just isn't the same, but I'm sure he's doing as well as he can for the century."

Bronwyn: "He's puttin' his all into it. He's wanted it for a long time." She smiled. "It's funny. For Christmas one year I gave him a lighter I found in an antique store that belonged to a soldier that fought in Vietnam. The military found him a long time ago."

Torsten: Hmm. Her explanation spoke to him. "Is it adventure, an old soul, or something...perhaps darker?" A tender subject should it be the final.

Bronwyn: "He's got the aura of an old soul but...I think it's more than that. I think he wants to...be somethin' better. Do somethin' noble and honorable."

Torsten: "Hmm." His way of not continuing a conversation. "I see. Well... I can't wait to meet your little babe."

Bronwyn: She gave him a nuzzle. "Guess we better pack yer bags."

Torsten: "Are you clean? I'm not sure yet." Hands began a descent towards her thighs.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn chuckled and wiggled out of reach. "We already managed to distract ourselves once, we'll be here all evenin' if we don't get a move on!"

Torsten: "Ugh, of all the saints and sinners, how can you deny me so?" He was terrible with the American Southern accent.

Bronwyn: He was, which was both amusing and sweet. "Only with great power o' will, I assure ye. Ye're a hard man to resist, Torsten Glockner."

Torsten: "I've tried to be since night one."

Bronwyn: "Ye've succeeded. Otherwise we wouldn't be here right now."

Torsten: "Obviously." Torsten stepped out of the shower and into the bedroom. Time to dress and prepare.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled to herself. Maybe she'd just take a couple extra seconds to rinse off and enjoy the view.

She had a whole world of plans for that man.

Torsten: Underneath the bed was checked for wandering shoes and socks. He was unsurprised to find one of Bronwyn's high heels. Seemed to be a curse of hers. A curse or good fortune and excuse to return. One or the other.

"Where would be easier for your bird?" he asked, throwing one of his satchels over shoulder.

Bronwyn: Meanwhile, Bronwyn was both surprised /and/ delighted by the return of her beloved shoe. "I've been lookin' for this one for ages!" she exclaimed, hugging it to her chest like it was made of gold.

"Since he's already at Callum's, I say we depart from there. Plus we have to stop by the bakery for his cupcake. And a wee one for Aedan. And maybe one for us."

Torsten: The revenant arched a brow. "Cupcakes are his reward for a job well done?"

Bronwyn: "Aye, and a wee energy boost for the journey."

Torsten: "Powerful little thing he is, isn't he?"

Bronwyn: "Aye. I'm verra lucky to have him."

Torsten: "I'd say it's the other way around."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "Then we're a verra lucky pair. Will yer sister mind if he comes with us to Iceland?"

Torsten: "If she wants to see us without touching our money, she'll have to accept it."

Bronwyn: "All the more reason for me to get her a really lovely hostess gift."

She made quick work of getting dressed, looking around the room once she finished. "Have ev'rythin'?"

Torsten: His laptop placed in the last satchel, the room was given a final sweep. "It's time to check out."

Bronwyn: "Ye goin' to miss this place?" she asked, reaching for his hand.

Torsten: "No," he said, taking her hand. "It's just a room. I miss Iceland; I miss you. That's all this room offered was you."

Bronwyn: "Then it's definitely time for ye to come home with me, and for me to come home with ye."

Torsten: There was no need to second guess their plan. He would not ask if she was certain. The door was shut behind them, his key given to the front desk. It was time to move forward.

Bronwyn: It might've been just a room, but leaving it felt very much like the end of an era. In a few hours they would no longer be making hotel guests jealous with their antics or eating in the inn's dining room; they'd be home.

Once the key had been returned, Bronwyn drove them to the bakery for cupcakes and then toward Callum's house.

Torsten: "Is Callum home?" he asked as they pulled in.

Bronwyn: "He's at his shop right now and he's got a weddin' after."

Torsten: "Alright." No drama then. "Ready?"

Bronwyn: "Aye. Ye grab yer stuff, I'll grab Vincent."

Vincent: Vincent was perched on the kitchen counter, lining a set of twenty rocks he had collected over the past week. He smiled tiredly to his mistress upon seeing her. "Evening, ma'am."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn returned Vincent's smile as she approached to greet him. "Evenin', love. Organizin' yer treasures?"

Vincent: "I found blue ones," he explained. "They're ripe for eating."

Bronwyn: She chuckled softly. No matter what she did, she'd never been able to talk her familiar out of eating gem stones and other rocks. "Just make sure they're clean, okay? In the meantime..."

Bronwyn held up a baggie from Laura's bakery. "How does a cupcake and sleepin' in yer own bed sound?"

Vincent: "We're going home?" he perked. "What kinda cupcake? Does it have that pretty gel icing?"

Bronwyn: "We are indeed. And someone's comin' with us." She handed him the baggie. "It's chocolate with orange fillin' and yes it does."

Vincent: "Oh you know me so well!" he beamed. Anything that resembled a gem was a treasure. "The giant man's coming? Does Master Callum know?"

Bronwyn: It was impossible not to smile when he looked so utterly delighted.

"Aye," she said with a nod. "To both. I told Callum that Torsten and I were goin' to visit each other's homes but I didn't tell him when since I didn't know at the time. Grumblin' was surprisin'ly minimal."

Vincent: "I thought he'd threaten to kill him, seeing how he was that fight night. I guess that first night was intense for everyone though." This was all said, of course, with a mouthful of cupcake.

Bronwyn: "Apparently seein' me happy has mellowed him out. No' to mention the fact that Torsten always stops by his shop to buy me flowers."

Vincent: "I thought he didn't like him because he's a revenant."

Bronwyn: "Nope, it's pretty much because he knew Torsten liked me and then because I liked him back. Callum's verra protective."

Vincent: "Because you liked him back?"

Bronwyn: "Aye. He didn't approve of Torsten as a person and me likin' him didn't really help. But after several very long and loud conversations, he's startin' to come around."

Vincent: "Why haven't I got to watch these discussions? Arguments are the most interesting things you humanoids do."

Bronwyn: "We don't usually plan them," she chuckled. "They tend to erupt randomly. But if we ever do, I'll tell ye, promise."

Vincent: "Do they ever get physical?"

Bronwyn: "I poke him a lot. That's about as far as it goes."

Torsten/Vincent: He sighed. He knew why he wanted violence. "Where is he now?" The man in question was standing on the doorstep having a conversation with his sister.

Bronwyn: "Callum's at work, Torsten's waitin' outside." Bronwyn studied him for a moment. "Ever tasted star light?"

Vincent: "I can't say I have, ma'am."

Bronwyn: She smiled. "Fancy some spell work tonight, love?"

Vincent: "I'd love that."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn leaned over to kiss her familiar's cheek. "I'll teach ye how to make star candy."

Vincent: Her bird smiled and leaned into the kiss. "Are you ready for travel, miss?"

Bronwyn: "I just need to pop upstairs for my bag. What about ye? Need somethin' to put yer rocks in?"

Vincent: "Uhm..." He'd planned on eating them, but for now, he began to stuff them in his jeans. "I'm fine!"

Bronwyn: She chuckled again before kissing his cheek. "Go ahead and have yer snack. I'll be back in just a wee."

Torsten/Vincent: "Yes, ma'am."

Torsten eventually came inside, leaving his things on the porch. "Ready?" the question the men seemed to favor.

Bronwyn: It took a bit longer than a wee thanks to Prospero deciding to take a nap on her nightgown but soon enough Bronwyn was descending the staircase with bag in hand.

"Ready. Let's go home."

Torsten/Vincent: Vincent peeked from the kitchen, as though he'd never seen the two of them together in his life. His mistress was happy; that seemed to make everyone else happy.

"Ready?" he asked.

The revenant chuckled and shook his head. "I think it's been established, yes."

Bronwyn: "We're all set to go, darlin'."

Once out on the porch, Bronwyn made sure all belongings were secure before taking Torsten and Vincent's hands. Her familiar was given the go ahead to transport them.

Vincent: "Ever had motion sickness before?" Vincent asked, looking past Bronwyn's shoulders to her lover. the question was given without any consideration for the answer, for the next second they were across a thousand miles and onto another porch, wherein the familiar fell on his ass with a gasp.

Bronwyn: The feeling of being transported instantaneously through a vacuum was never pleasant but it sure beat having to fly.

"Easy, darlin'," Bronwyn said after taking a moment to catch her breath. crouching so she was eye-level with her familiar. "Ye okay?" She looked up at Torsten. "Are ye?"

Torsten/Vincent: Torsten was like a statue, intent on keeping his sickness to himself. Vincent smiled despite the sudden exhaustion.

"I'm fine, ma'am. You know me. I just need to rest. He's a handful!"

Bronwyn: She chuckled softly. "He is a Vikin'."

"Torsten? It's okay if ye throw up, we won't judge ye. Do ye need some candied ginger? Blink if ye do, movin' yer head will make the nausea worse."

Torsten: "I'm fine," he said, finally blinking. "I just needed a moment." That, and he'd swallowed down whatever was going to happen. He would be damned to ever show such weakness.

Bronwyn: She was going to take that blink as an invitation to reach into her purse for a piece of candied ginger and hold it up to his lips.

Bronwyn: "Humor me."

Torsten/Vincent: "I'll humor you," he said, taking it from her fingers to nibble. "I'm gonna go sleep in a tree," said Vincent, shrinking down to his smallest form.

Bronwyn: There we go, Bronwyn thought, smiling to herself.

She turned to Vincent. "All right, love. Avoid the one with the woodpecker nest, he's got a vendetta."

Torsten/Vincent: "Yes, ma'am!" Off he fluttered away, leaving the two of them alone once more.

"How do you enjoy the flavor of this?" Torsten frowned.

Bronwyn: "It took some gettin' used to but when ye're nauseous ev'ry wakin' moment of ev'ry day for weeks on end ye'd be surprised what tastes ye acquire."

She spread her arms, indicating her porch, the front lawn, the trees, and all the flowers she'd planted in the front yard. "Welcome to my house."

Torsten: Torsten looked around, swallowing the piece of ginger whole. "I didn't take you for a woman of New Orleans, but what you've done very much suits you."

Bronwyn: She beamed with pride. "This place was nothin' but grass and patches of weeds when we bought it. I like to think I've done well with it."

She opened the door. "Come on."

Torsten: "Who has been watching over your baby? The biological father?" he asked, dropping his bags at the door.

Bronwyn: "Aye. I'm supposed to pick him up today. We trade off like that."

Torsten: "Are you comfortable with that arrangement?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled, nodded. "Over the moon, if ye can believe it. Gettin' to raise him alongside a friend I love verra much is one o' the great joys o' my life."

Torsten: "Is this what you imagined motherhood to be? Sharing your baby with someone you're not in love with?"

Bronwyn: "No' exactly, but then my first experience with motherhood was adoptin' a troubled teenage boy after I accidentally hit him with my car. Ye could say I've had...a wonderfully strange journey with it so far."

Torsten: Gently, he reached for her, pulled her closer. "Do you want more babies?"

Bronwyn: Her face went soft and wistful as she settled in Torsten's arms. She nodded.

Torsten: "Have I asked you this before?" His smile was as soft as her features.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn shook her head. "No, I don't think ye have."

Torsten: "How many babies do you want?"

Bronwyn: "As many as Fate sees fit to give me."

Torsten: "How about five?"

Bronwyn: She just smiled. "I always did like the number five."

Torsten: "What about eight babies? Ten babies?"

Bronwyn: "Ten's a nice round number, so's eight. And it's lucky in Chinese mythology."

Torsten: "You might be a druid, but can your body handle something like that?"

Bronwyn: "Aye," she said with a nod. "Our bodies heal completely. Even my doctor said she'd never guess I'd had a baby."

Torsten: "That would be a human doctor?"

Bronwyn: "Aye. She looked after me when I was pregnant with Aedan along with my friend Avalbane, who's also a Druid."

Torsten: "Why would you trust a human with your life like that?"

Bronwyn: "Because she has over twenty years' experience and excellent credentials and she has access to the tests and equipment that would ensure Aedan and I were healthy. She didn't deliver him though, Avalbane did that. She delivered me, too."

Torsten: Well, he didn't expect that much of an explanation. He'd counted on a simple yes.

"Would you want to use a human again?"

Bronwyn: "Aye, her specifically. She was verra good to me."

Torsten: They were planning a future together, weren't they? They were certainly planning something. There was no need to be coy. She had, after all, brought him here with the intent of meeting her son.

"Well, shall we go see to your Aedan now?"

Bronwyn: They were planning a future, and it made Bronwyn happier than she could ever express.

"Let's shall." She nodded toward the stairs. "Come on. We'll just go leave our things in my bedroom."

Torsten: "You're so patient," he said. He'd left his belongings by the door with the purpose of leaving immediately. He knew they were masters of stalling. Still, he followed behind, grabbing her the moment he'd made it into the bedroom.

Bronwyn: "Ye wouldn't say that if ye could feel the battalion o' butterflies in my stomach right now."

Her bedroom was a reflection of her in every way possible. Mauve walls, lots of flowers, antique furniture, lace curtains, pictures, the soft scent of her perfume permeating everything.

And given their penchant for getting distracted, it came as no surprise that Torsten would take her into his arms.

"No more goin' down detours," she said with a laugh. "We've got places to be."

Torsten: "I'm five hundred years old, my lady. I must live every moment as though it will be my last!"

Bronwyn: "Then come down here and give me a kiss! Ye're allowed five kisses and then we have to get goin'."

Torsten: "Five, but you haven't specified how long each will be." So, he pulled her closer, picked her up and sat on the edge of her bed. Their lips would linger together for as long as she allowed.

Bronwyn: "Ye let me worry about that," she chuckled, winding her arms around his neck.

Though there was something unbelievably satisfying about kissing Torsten here in her home surrounded by all her things with no one around to bother them, she managed to pull herself away after about five minutes. Any longer and they wouldn't make it out of the house.

She gave him one last peck. "And that's yer lot."

Torsten: Torsten sighed and held her fast. "That was two. I swear that was just two. You haven't given me five and that's what I demand."

Bronwyn: How could she refuse him? "Fit them all into the next five minutes," she murmured, running her hands through his hair. "I promise I won't be out o' yer arms for long."

Torsten: Another five minutes of bliss. Paradise had to be this. His after life would be war and a druid. Where was she in his life all these years? He tried to think while tasting and cupping and all at once felt too sloppy, so he forfeited to pull her on top, sprawling on her sheets.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn didn't miss a beat, keeping her lips fused to Torsten's as she propped herself on her elbow. It was a miracle to her how they ever managed to get out of bed when they could both happily remain joined together for an eternity in one form or another.

I love you so very much, she thought, caressing his cheek with her thumb.

Torsten: Torsten smiled as though he had heard her romantic declaration. "I think you gave me three kisses in there," he stated, nuzzling.

Bronwyn: "I did, didn't I?" She nuzzled him back, giving one more just because.

Torsten: "I suppose we should some day get out of bed." Someday.

Bronwyn: "Ye and I only take breaks from bed," she chuckled. "We never really leave it."

Torsten: "You only love me for my body."

Bronwyn: "Yer body is only one o' the things I love ye for."

Torsten: "You loved it first, though."

Bronwyn: "I did. Then, like a flower, my love blossomed."

Torsten: "Your love blossomed?" he grinned.

Bronwyn: "Into a big, lovely flower."

Torsten: "You're such a druid."

Bronwyn: "To the verra core, love." One last peck. "Come on. Ye have a little boy to meet."

Torsten: "I do," he sighed. Up he sat, holding her along the way. "Where are we going?"

Bronwyn: "Lirim's house. Are ye nervous?"

Torsten: "Only if your son is going to approve of me."

Bronwyn: "He's a happy, lovin' baby and ye make his mama happy. I'm confident he will."

Torsten: "He has werewolf in him. We'll have to wait and see."

Bronwyn: "I'm still confident." Bronwyn eased off his lap to grab her keys and purse, holding out a hand to lead him downstairs.

Torsten: Torsten took her hand and stood. "There were three of you, yes? The werewolf which contributed... You never speak of him."

Bronwyn: "Aye, there were," Bronwyn said softly. "It's....become habit no' to speak of him. I guess a part o' me is still angry with him."

Torsten: "You wouldn't just have any reason. Did he harm the child?"

Bronwyn: She shook her head. "No, nothin' like that. He um...he left. He got sick and...and he left."

Torsten: "Was he born a wolf?"

Bronwyn: "Turned, and verra much against his will."

Torsten: "His nature seems in tune with what he's become."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave Torsten a sad smile. "He was so excited to be a father. They both were. And now Aedan won't even remember what he looked like."

Torsten: "Do you have photographs?"

Bronwyn: "We do. After Lirim told me he was gone I gathered up all the ones I had around the house and put in a box in the closet."

Torsten: "It is a gift of modern man. How alike is he to the wolf? Your son, I mean."

Bronwyn: "He's a near perfect blend o' the three of us but he's startin' to get a little bit of a curl in his hair. Ailbe had curly hair."

Torsten: "Mm. And his wolf?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "The sweetest wee little ears ev'ry full moon and that's pretty much all."

Torsten: "Ears," he laughed warmly. "He'll be a pacifist wolf!"

Bronwyn: "And a snuggly one. He's snuggly all the time but especially durin' the full moon."

Torsten: Torsten stretched his arms once outside. "So, which way?"

Bronwyn: She gestured at the red Jeep parked under a tree. "That way, to my car. And then to Lirim's townhouse."

There was currently a stuffed rabbit occupying the passenger's seat, along with a blanket and a sippy cup. All were tossed into the back seat.

Torsten: "Your son’s?" he looked the Jeep over. "I smell another child. You didn't mention - a play date?"

Bronwyn: "Aye and aye. My granddaughter Leilani. When I have them both I take them out sometimes. The extra car seat's in the back, I only install it when they're both in the car."

Torsten: "A grandmother..." Oh, the child she adopted. Not her actual blood. He'd never met a grandmother so young. Well, not in the recent century. "The most beautiful," he concluded.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled at him over her shoulder. "Why thank ye, love. Although I rather think ye're a wee bit biased."

With the seats clear, she made her way around the car to get into the driver's side.

Torsten: "I am biased. Where's the lie?" As impressed as he was with modern transportation, he missed horses. He missed one particular horse, but that was so long ago he'd forgotten her name. Just the memory of a painted beauty with a braided mane.

Bronwyn: "Well, no' to sound arrogant but it is nice to know all the work I put into lookin' good pays off."

The car was switched on and they were on their way. "Do ye know how to drive?"

Torsten: "Not really a choice. I had to learn for my sisters though to admit, they have better advantage than me."

Bronwyn: "Why's that? Because they're smaller?"

Torsten: "Because they're vampires."

Bronwyn: "Vampires have an advantage in drivin'?" she asked, chuckling softly.

Torsten: "Ha, no. Neither approve. But they have advantage in that they can either possess or transform into whatever they require."

Bronwyn: "Now that's a hell of an advantage. One o' the things I hate most about this country is havin' to drive ev'rywhere. Back home in Scotland I'd walk or ride my horse."

Torsten: "Mm. I love horses. I miss the time in which it was the only option."

Bronwyn: "I've been thinkin' about buildin' a stable. I miss Dante."

Torsten: Given the subject, he didn't have to ask. "How long did you have him?"

Bronwyn: "I still do. I got him when I was 19."

Torsten: "How often do you see him?"

Bronwyn: "Once a year. I go to New York to shop and then to Scotland for a couple of weeks for my birthday."

Torsten: "You should utilize your bird more."

Bronwyn: "I've only had him for about a couple years, before that it was all plane and car rides for me."

Torsten: "Does he love you?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled and nodded. "Aye, and I love him. It's all platonic, of course."

Torsten: "You're certain of that?"

Bronwyn: She nodded again. "Completely sure. We've a verra special and often psychic bond because of him bein' my familiar but there's nothin' romantic to it."

Torsten: "I've never met a familiar that can feel romantically."

Bronwyn: "Vincent is...unique. I'd wager there's no other familiar like him in this world."

Torsten: "You're very confident in him."

Bronwyn: "We've been together through some rough times."

Torsten: "Stories to tell me while we lie naked in bed on a warm night?"

Bronwyn: "If ye're a fan o' horror stories then aye."

Torsten: "I don't mind them one bit."

Bronwyn: "Then I'll definitely have to tell ye one o' these days."

Torsten: Torsten made his way around to the driver's side door once Bronwyn had thrown the vehicle into park. "This neighborhood feels old," he said. "Something from Europe."

Bronwyn: "It does, doesn't it?" Bronwyn mused as she got out of the car, tugging him down for a cheek kiss of thanks. "I've loved this neighborhood since the first time I came here and I'd have bought a house here if there had been any for sale when I was lookin'. I like bein' near the woods though."

She locked the car. "Ready?"

Torsten: "Of course," he sighed. More than ready to move this along. He wasn't all that interested in meeting Aedan's biological father, however.

Bronwyn: She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "It'll be fine," she whispered, ringing the doorbell.

Torsten/Lirim: The man answering the door wasn't at all what Torsten had expected. Considering the woman he loved, he'd expected her taste in men not to stray. This man was soft in features, warm skin kissed by the sun, and that hair - well, it was the most familiar feature.

Lirim was staring as well, but his arms were full of the distraction both needed.

"I didn't think I'd be seein' ya this soon," Lirim said. Aedan was already making grabby hands for his mother.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn's expression lit with warmth and joy when Lirim and Aedan appeared in the doorway. "What can I say, I was eager to make introductions. Hello, my lovely!" Bronwyn took her baby boy, greeting him with a barrage of kisses before giving some to his daddy's cheek. "And hello to ye, my other lovely."

Once Aedan was settled on her hip, she took a deep breath. "Lirim, this is Torsten, the man I'm seeing. Torsten, this is Lirim, Aedan's da and my verra good friend. And this Aedan."

Torsten/Lirim: Torsten couldn't feel brush of Lirim's empathic magic over his psyche, not in the same manner in which he could telepathy. There was, however, a sense of stillness between them. Two men significant to Bronwyn in vastly different ways trying to understand one another without direct interrogation.

"Good t'put a face with a name." Lirim offered his hand, which Torsten took.

"I feel the same," he said.

Bronwyn: Okay, so far so good. Nothing other than the expected caution between two people meeting for the first time.

Bronwyn smiled at them, hoping to set them at ease. "Torsten's goin' to be stayin' with me for a wee. We're finally meetin' each other's families and seein' each other's homes."

Lirim: "Well, that's nice." He should probably invite them inside. Of course he would. If Bronwyn trusted him then why not? So far his aura had appeared amiable.

"Y'all like some tea? C'mon in!"

Bronwyn: "Ye know I never say no to tea." Torsten's hand was taken and squeezed again, both to comfort and reassure.

Torsten/Lirim: He took the squeeze for what it was and followed Bronwyn inside. His attention turned to the child in her arms, the one who'd been staring at him for some time now.

"Hello, little one."

There was just something about him, and Lirim knew what it was that was bothering their son. He had nephilim blood in him, after all. Druid as well. Things which recognized darkness and wasn't interested in having it near.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn noticed her son's unusual stillness, and it was partly because of it that she continued to hold Torsten's hand even after they sat down, letting Aedan see that Torsten was safe.

"This is Torsten, baby," she said gently, kissing her son's temple. "He's mama's boyfriend."

Lirim: Normally upon meeting strangers he was unsure of, Aedan hid his face in his mama or daddy's chest. Something like this the little hybrid would not hide from. He would face the strange thing head on.

"It'll take him a good minute, probably more," said Lirim.

Torsten: "It's fine. I expect as much."

Bronwyn: However long it took, she'd make sure there were plenty of bolstering kisses to go around, for both Aedan and Torsten. The fact that Aedan wasn't screaming or crying was taken as a very positive sign.

"So what have ye been up to today?" she asked Lirim. "Fun things?"

Lirim: "We've been runnin' errands today. Groceries, bills, goin' to the gallery, all that while he wants to walk everywhere. Needless to say, I didn't get as much done as I would have liked, but he's just about exhausted."

Bronwyn: "Now that sounds like a verra productive day." She nuzzled Aedan. "He's still at the age where walkin' is verra excitin'. Won't let me strap him in the shawl anymore."

Torsten/Lirim: "Wants to walk everywhere but doesn't want shoes."

Torsten smiled. "I remember that age, but pavement wasn't a hot commodity."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed. "I still don't want to wear shoes half the time. He might've gotten that from me."

Torsten/Lirim: "Might be the animal in him, too."

To that, Lirim stiffened. "Excuse me?"

Bronwyn: "The wolf," Bronwyn said evenly. "His wee baby wolf."

Torsten/Lirim: "I know what he's indicatin'."

"I meant nothing degrading."

Bronwyn: She nodded, confirming and attempting to reassure Lirim with only her smile and her eyes. "Aye, he didn't."

Lirim: Another moment to study the man by Bronwyn's side and he nodded, still incredulous but finding nothing in his empathetic waves to charge him.

"Maybe. Ailbe liked his boots, though."

Bronwyn: "That he did." Bronwyn nuzzled Aedan again. "Maybe once the novelty o' walkin' wears off, this wee one will too."

Torsten/Lirim: "Do you let him walk around barefoot?"

The question caught Lirim off guard. He felt a sense of defense because of it. "In the house, yeah."

Bronwyn: "And when he's gardenin' with me. Or rather playin' in the dirt."

Torsten/Lirim: "I don't really have a yard," Lirim said, as though explaining himself to Torsten.

"He'll have good strong feet, then," he smiled.

Bronwyn: The smile had Bronwyn relaxing by the slimmest margin. "He will indeed. Won't ye, love?"

Aedan: "Big man go bye-bye?" Aedan asked.

Bronwyn: "No, love, Torsten's comin' home with us."

Lirim/Aedan: Hmm. He didn't seem to understand the sentence. Lirim looked Bronwyn in the eyes, not sure how to approach as well as he had with Seth.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn wasn't too sure how to do it either, but simple terms seemed like the right way to go.

"Torsten is mama's boyfriend, baby, just like Seth is daddy's boyfriend. Mama loves him so much that she wanted him to meet ye."

Aedan: Seth! He knew that word. "Papa?"

Bronwyn: She nodded. "That's right, baby. Daddy loves Papa and mama loves Torsten." To demonstrate, she gave Torsten a kiss.

Lirim: Love? Lirim could feel it, but he wasn't used to having to share. This must have been what separated families felt like. Aedan had to experience death and separation and renewal before true cognitive awareness.

"All the love for baby. Are you two staying for dinner?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn turned to Torsten. "What do ye say? Ye hungry?"

Torsten/Lirim: "What are you making?"

"I was thinking some kinda meat pie and potatoes. Caprese salad?"

"I'll help you."

Bronwyn: Was she grinning? She was definitely grinning. And making zero effort to hide it.

"Looks like we're stayin' for dinner."

Torsten/Lirim: Torsten stood, reminding Lirim of their height difference, and the gap between Aedan's mother and the beast of a man.

"Alright. Make yourself useful. Wash up. We'll be cooks while mama watches."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn arranged herself and Aedan in prime watching position. "I'll watch, ye provide commentary," she told him, kissing the top of his head. "What's Daddy doin'?"

Lirim/Aedan: "Cookie time?"

"Cook, baby. It's cook time!"

That's what he said! "Cookie!"

Fifty years of childhood living with villagers was plenty enough to relate to what Torsten was witnessing. He smiled pleasantly and set to work on building up the dough needed for the pastry.

Bronwyn: "We'll save the cookies for after dinner," Bronwyn said with a laugh. "Want some juice?"

Lirim/Aedan: "Cookie means both to him. He can't shake the difference."

Aedan heard another key word and pointed to the fridge. "Apple. Apple juice, Mama."

Bronwyn: "Apple? Okay." Aedan was settled on her hip again as she went to the fridge and poured the juice into the sippy cup of his choice and some tea into the mug of her choice.

Torsten: "May I have some of that tea?" Torsten asked.

Bronwyn: "Ye certainly may." She filled another mug and brought it over to Torsten. "Here ye go, love."

Torsten/Lirim: "You a sugar man?" Lirim asked.

Torsten smiled. "I prefer it naturally if I can help it."

Bronwyn: "Which makes us the perfect pair," Bronwyn said fondly.

Torsten: "I can't recall a time when you've used artificial sweeteners or refined sugar."

Bronwyn: "Sweeteners scare me. It's all brown sugar for me in all things."

Torsten: "More natural than that if I can help it," Torsten continued, shaping the pastry dough.

Bronwyn: "I had a great-aunt who used to sweeten ev'rythin' with flower nectar. Interestin'ly enough her Mark was a hummin' bird."

Torsten/Lirim: "Now that's beautiful," Lirim smiled. Torsten smiled as well, though said nothing.

Bronwyn: "She was. When I was little she taught me how to make flowers bloom out o' season. I'd done it accidentally but she taught me how to control it, which is how fields and fields o' heather ended up bloomin' one fateful January."

Torsten: "Does that damage their natural cycle?" the revenant asked.

Bronwyn: "Only if ye enchant them so the blooms never die. Otherwise they just last for a few days before the frost takes them again."

Torsten/Aedan: "Big man," chimed their little boy. His greeting was responded to, Torsten turning and wiping his hands to inquire.

"Big man, up?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn's face lit with hope as she held Aedan closer to Torsten. "He wants ye to take him."

Torsten/Lirim/Aedan: Lirim watched carefully as Torsten lifted his son in his arms and rested him near his chest. He trusted a man like Stan Norman, yet this made him nervous.

"Hello, Aedan."

The toddler set to work on sculpting the revenant's face with tiny curious hands.

Bronwyn: Without even realizing it Bronwyn was reaching for Lirim's hand, squeezing it. This might have seemed like an ordinary moment for some, but for her it was tremendous.

The man she loved was meeting her baby, and the quiet joy of it was enough to make her teary.

Torsten/Lirim: Lirim wanted to offer his affection much as he would in their secluded days and nights without Seth. Their moments were platonically intimate and innocent for a couple sharing custody. His arm would have been around her waist, but instead he squeezed her hand, allowed her tears to fall should they grow too heavy.

"Seems we're off to a good start."

Torsten nodded in agreement. "Though trust is still to be gained." From both man and child.

Bronwyn: They very nearly did, but Lirim's presence and comfort helped keep them at bay. She did sniffle a few times though.

She gave her men a shaky smile. "A verra good start. Trust will come with time, as with most things."

Torsten/Lirim: "If it never develops I don't blame him," said Torsten.

"Why is that?" Lirim asked.

"I have a very old scent."

Bronwyn: "So does Vincent. He's gotten used to him. I daresay he even likes him." Aedan's cheek was kissed. "Do ye like my birdy, love?"

Torsten/Lirim: "Nevermore!" A word Vincent had taught him weeks ago. The parroting made both men laugh.

Bronwyn: "I'll take that as a yes," Bronwyn chuckled. "Vincent would be proud."

Torsten/Lirim: "Where is he, anyway? Guessin' that's how ya got here."

"He flew away," Torsten answered.

Bronwyn: "Aye. He brought us and now he's nappin' in a tree in our yard."

Torsten/Lirim: "An eagle is gonna come and ruin his afternoon."

Bronwyn: "A woodpecker used to live in a tree near my herb bed. I suggested Vincent use its nest a while back but I don't know if he ever did."

Torsten/Lirim: "He's sleeping undisturbed."

"How d'ya know?"

Aedan was adjusted in Torsten's arms. "I can hear his breathing."

Bronwyn: "That's no' an exaggeration either. He really can actually hear him."

Torsten/Lirim: "Sweet Jesus. Don't ya get headaches?"

"Constantly." The baby was offered back to his mother.

Bronwyn: "Which reminds me," Bronwyn said as she took Aedan, "I have five tonics for ye to try."

Torsten/Lirim: "You and Flora both," he shook his head.

Bronwyn: "I'm a healer, I can't help it. Ye should see me when Lirim has a cold."

Torsten/Lirim: "She's what we call a mother duck."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "It runs in my family."

Torsten/Lirim: Torsten smiled. "Aedan will be a protective wolf. I see it now."

Again, Lirim wasn't sure how to feel.

Bronwyn: She turned to Lirim. "He's got plenty o' role models to draw from."

Torsten/Lirim: "Mm. He'll be just like his mother."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed softly. "And here I was about to say he'll be just like his da."

Bronwyn: "One thing's for sure though. He'll definitely have the fussin' gene."

Torsten/Lirim: "And I wonder who he got that from," he smirked.

Bronwyn: "Ye have it too!"

Torsten/Lirim: "Fuss being motherly or fuss being...?"

"I'm a right drama queen," Lirim grinned.

Bronwyn: "That's what makes it so fun to do things with ye." Bronwyn smiled at him. "Never a dull moment, especially with this wee one around."

Torsten/Lirim: "You're a beautiful family." Words said straight to Bronwyn. "On another note, the pastry is finished. Shall we pre-bake?"

"Oh! Right. Yeah. Let's do that."

Bronwyn: When Bronwyn turned her smile on Torsten, it was nothing but love and warmth and hopeful joy. 'I love you,' she mouthed to him. If the gods smiled on them, they'd make that family grow.

"What's the fillin' goin' to be?" she asked Lirim.

Torsten/Lirim: While Torsten mouthed back, Lirim continued on with the conversation. "I think maybe beef and lamb with potato, maybe? I don't have anything real fancy like hare. Lamb is as fancy as we get in this house. Duck, too."

Torsten smiled, to what was not obvious. "Turtle is delicious."

"Oh my gawd, no."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn hummed. It'd been ages since she had a good meat pie. "That sounds so good. Forget hare, lamb is all the fancy we need."

She laughed. "I haven't had turtle soup since I was a wee lassie."

Torsten/Lirim: Lirim gasped! "Blasphemy!"

Bronwyn: "My grandda likes it!"

Torsten/Lirim: "It's a poor defenseless turtle!"

"And the lamb isn't?"

"That's different."

Bronwyn: "Those turtles were definitely no' defenseless." She slipped off one of her heels and pointed at her third toe. "See that wee scar? Turtle."

Torsten/Lirim: "Well, ya were tryin' t'kill it," Lirim grinned.

Bronwyn: "I was tryin' to pet a duck, thank ye verra much."

Torsten/Lirim: "Not eat it for soup?"

Bronwyn: "Nope. I walked into the pond because a really cute duck was swimmin' in it and I was ambushed."

Torsten/Lirim: Both men laughed this time, and Aedan followed as it seemed contagious.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn squinted at them. "Aye, laugh it up. Ye don't know pain until a mean turtle bites yer toe. But I still managed to heroically pet that duck and pick it up and bring it home."

Torsten/Lirim: "To eat?" Torsten was now grinning as well. The entire story was just so very Bronwyn.

Bronwyn: "To keep! I named him Billy and fed him raisins and he lived in my room for nearly two weeks until my da heard him quackin'."

Torsten/Lirim: "I've been meanin' t'ask. How is it you're not a vegan, what with bein' a druid and lovin' all animals?"

Bronwyn: "Well, I come from ranchers on one side and hunters on the other and all o' them are haggis-lovin' Scots."

Torsten/Lirim: "It surprises me as well," said Torsten. "Druids I knew in Iceland only ate fish and vegetation. No land animals or the sky."

Of course, his father had a few things to say about that, but that was neither here nor there.

Bronwyn: "Plenty still do. I've always thought that part of it was family tradition and culture. My grandda would be heartbroken if any of us hunted an animal and let any part of it go to waste and my Aunt Maeve would be equally heartbroken if we weren't nice to our chickens."

Torsten/Lirim: "A man in our village skinned animals and left the carcass to rot. Long ago when it truly was criminal. People's lives depended on every inch, every ounce. The amount of meat he took was only for himself. You'd think he would have sold everything, traded. His punishment was...severe."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn shook her head. "That's just wasteful, and disrespectful to the animal hunted. Our council's punishment for the same is still severe."

Torsten/Lirim: "Yet we're eating lamb," Lirim mused. "We condemn one thing but not the other. Still, I love me a mid-rare ribeye."

Bronwyn: "Speakin' of ribeye, did ye see that new steakhouse that just opened?"

Torsten/Lirim: "They have the best honey butter!" A sentence which made Torsten smile again. Something about Lirim's femininity made it so.

Bronwyn: "We should take Torsten." She smiled at her beautiful Viking. "Ye'd love it."

Torsten/Lirim: "A rare steak with good bread cannot be denied," he smiled again, something mellowed and thoughtful. His memories were there to remind him of his best meals, always hand-in-hand with celebration. He missed home. He missed his family.

Lirim wanted to make excuses to leave them alone, yet in the same instant wanted no reason for Torsten to be out of his sight. So, he occupied his time by making a new batch of sweet tea for the fridge.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn took his hand and squeezed it. He had that same look in his eyes her grandda Liam got when he was remembering something.

"Especially if the steak and the bread are covered in butter. We're definitely goin' to go. We're also goin' to go get beignets."

Torsten/Lirim: "This area is famous for chicory coffee, yes?"

Lirim's eyes lit up. "Yes! It's the best!"

"I can't recall ever having it."

"And how old are you?!"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed. "That needs to be remedied immediately, it's so good. Ye can't no' have it. And paired with beignets? Hail Mary Full o' Grace."

Torsten/Lirim: "Perhaps after meat pies we could go. If it's within walking distance for you?" He could walk for miles, a hundred if he had to. He doubted the same for them.

Bronwyn: "It's no' too far away," she said, turning to Lirim. "What do ye think? We could take Aedan in his stroller."

Torsten/Lirim: "He's very anti-stroller lately. He wants to be on his two feet, but then he can't even make it from the living room to the kitchen without demanding to be picked up."

"The spoiled age has arrived, hmm?"

Bronwyn: "He knows he can get away with it. He loves to be held and we love holdin' him." Aedan was given a squeeze and a kiss. "We'll take the stroller just in case."

Torsten/Lirim: Torsten wanted to question discipline, but kept his curiosity to himself. Lirim was already on edge with his presence, and he felt no desire to worsen it.

"Alright, we need to pop this in the oven. What d'ya wanna do until it's done?"

Bronwyn: "Help ye clean up since ye're bein' so lovely and makin' dinner for us all."

Torsten/Lirim: "That ain't a problem." Not when sullied dishes began to rise and float their way to the sink.

"My sister would love you."

Bronwyn: "I love him for that, too, among other things. At least let me pick up ev'rythin' else."

Torsten/Lirim: "You're not here to clean, honey. Let's let Aedan stretch his legs in the living room."

Bronwyn: "All right, if ye're sure. Come on, lovely boy," she added to Aedan, getting to her feet. "Let's practice walkin'."

She held a hand out to Torsten.

Torsten/Lirim: Lirim watched as Torsten took her hand and followed behind. He turned back to the kitchen as more items began to tidy themselves. He couldn't keep a constant eye on her, no matter how much he worried. There had been men before Torsten, and perhaps there might be after. All he could do was threaten those he felt were suspicious.

"He's two, yes? His walking strong?" Torsten asked.

Bronwyn: "His will is strong but those little legs tend to get tired sooner than he'd like." Bronwyn put Aedan down beside the couch, placing him in close proximity to something to grab onto should he start to wobble.

"When he was first startin' to walk he'd ease himself along the cabinets in the kitchen while I cooked."

Torsten/Lirim: "Sounds familiar. Holding while standing, standing independently, walking with handicaps, and short bursts. I remember-"

"You remember?"

"Well, my species, I suppose. You don't recall your birth?"

Bronwyn: "The only birth I recall is his," said Bronwyn, nodding to Aedan. "I think my earliest memory is from age....four? Maybe three. Can ye really remember yer own birth?"

Torsten/Lirim: "I remember being removed from a safe, warm place. I remember my first steps and how they frustrated me. If you recall my telling you, I age very differently."

Bronwyn: "Aye, I remember," said Bronwyn, trying to imagine what it would be like having those kinds of memories. She could barely remember half her childhood.

"What was yer first word?"

Torsten/Lirim: "My primary caretaker asked if I wanted milk. I told her yes. My first word was an affirmation."

Bronwyn: She smiled. That was very sweet in a very unexpected way. His first word had been him making a decision.

"I bet ye gave her a surprise. What was yers, Lirim?"

Torsten/Lirim: "I think I'm old fashioned. I think my first word was Mama. My dad liked to say it was the other way around, and it was Dada. They couldn't ever agree."

Bronwyn: "Aww," she chuckled. "Mine was either 'Da' or 'daisy'. I'm told I said them both on the same day and no one could agree on which came first."

Torsten/Lirim: Aedan walked himself between his mother and Torsten, holding to the couch for dear life. He still wasn't a hundred percent on this new creature in his home, but so far he was gentle. Gentle was taken for its worth.

Lirim wanted to hear about Iceland, having never been. He sat in the adjacent chair and listened to stories of lone mountains and barren winters with complete fascination.

Bronwyn: At some point during Torsten's storytelling, Bronwyn abandoned the couch and sat cross-legged on the rug, arms out and ready to catch Aedan in case he stumbled and beaming at him all the while. There was something so fun about watching your child just...be and grow and learn.

And getting to do what while the man you loved spun beautiful stories about his homeland? Amazing.

"Ye've the voice of a bard," she told him between stories. "It just carries ye away."

Torsten/Lirim: The sudden statement made both men blink. "I wasn't aware," he said. "In my many years, I have to say that's a first."

Bronwyn: "Really? Anyone who's ever heard one o' yer stories has done ye a great disservice by no' tellin' ye how good ye are at tellin' them."

Torsten/Lirim: "I think you're biased."

Lirim had to agree. He turned his attention back to their baby.

"C'mere, angel baby. You can do it!"

Aedan turned from his mother to his daddy and beamed. Nope. Daddy would have to chase. All three feet away from the couch before he collapsed in defeat.

Bronwyn: "Me? Biased?" She waved a hand. "Impossible. I'm the queen of unbiased opinions."

Bronwyn watched Aedan with all the pride of a parent watching their child graduate from high school, smiling softly when he stumbled.

"Aw, love," she said, physically fighting the urge to pick him up. "That's okay. Come on, get up and go to daddy, baby. Ye can do it."

Torsten/Lirim: But he didn't want to go to daddy. He wanted to be chased!

"What was his first word?" Torsten asked.

Bronwyn: A giant smile plastered itself on her face. "Birdy. We were on a walk and he spotted a black bird that looked a lot like Vincent and he was very confused when it didn't talk to him so he just called out to it."

Torsten/Lirim: "Recognition for a family member." Family servant, he corrected mentally. "Interesting."

Bronwyn: "And verra fittin' as we're all about family, extended and traditional."

Torsten/Lirim: Lirim noticed Torsten's staring. When their eyes locked, the revenant smiled.

"How does he consider your... companion? Good favor?"

"Um... He calls him Papa."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn cast a brief glance at Torsten, wanting to gauge his reaction. This was such a unique, precarious situation they were all in; she didn't want any of it to go wrong. But if it did, she was more than prepared to comfort and reassure where necessary.

Torsten/Lirim: "Forgive me. I'm only curious," said Torsten. "But how many fathers does Aedan have?"

Lirim frowned. "Well, ya know the sayin'. 'It takes a village to raise a child.'"

"Oh, yes I do. I'm quite familiar with it. An entire village did raise me."

Bronwyn: "He has more parents than he probably knows what to do with," Bronwyn said lightly, stretching out her arms to Aedan and giving him an encouraging smile. Though she was trying to radiate positive energy, a part of her wished she had telekinetic bonds with Torsten and Lirim so she could ascertain what kind of headspace they were in.

Torsten/Lirim: At the moment, Lirim was feeling his parenting skills were being threatened. He wasn't used to sharing Bronwyn with someone so intimidating. The man radiated masculinity. Previous gentlemen callers had felt distant. They had felt equal or below his radar, save for a certain unmentionable demon. This was different. This was a man in his house holding his favorite druid and asserting his judgements.

Torsten, on the other hand, had little thought of the gently offended nephilim. His regard was for Bronwyn and for Bronwyn's son, nothing else.

Aedan waddled to his mother and made himself comfortable in her lap. Nothing mattered except for her warmth and comfort.

Bronwyn: Aedan was immediately gathered close and cradled in loving arms, face covered with kisses. "There's my beautiful boy," Bronwyn chuckled. "Ye're really gettin' yer sea legs, aren't ye? Goin' to be runnin' circles around us before long."

She smiled at Torsten and Lirim. Everything's going to be okay, her eyes said, to both of them.

Torsten/Lirim: "He's going to have quite a unique accent soon enough. Catch everyone's attention."

Bronwyn: She laughed. "Aye, that he is. I swear I've heard him say 'wee' once or twice. He's goin' to have a unique accent and the vocabulary to match."

Torsten/Lirim: "Going to start him early on Garlic?"

Bronwyn: "I'd like to. Scottish and Irish Gaelic so he has all sides o' his heritage. I've taught Lirim a few words and phrases here and there."

Torsten/Lirim: There was something in his emotions that was itching Lirim's neck.

"You're Irish, aren't you? Don't you know your own language?"

"Excuse me?"

Bronwyn: "Lirim was born state-side," Bronwyn told Torsten. "Here in Louisiana. It's hard to learn a language without wide exposure to it and there aren't many here who speak it."

Torsten/Lirim: "I've heard interesting stories of the language when I was young. I can't say much, given my own. They are both an arduous mouthful."

Lirim huffed and flipped through his phone.

Bronwyn: "I'll grant ye that it is hard to learn if ye didn't grow up speakin' it and even in Scotland and Ireland there aren't many that do. I only speak the various dialects because I'm a Druid. My da only knew how to swear in Gaelic before he met my mama."

Bronwyn mentally promised herself to set up a date to smooth Lirim's feathers and touch base with him. She knew Torsten wasn't setting out to offend him, but he didn't know that. This was all a big change.

Torsten/Lirim: May Lirim never meet Botan, he thought. Or Botan see Bronwyn ever again.

"My parents spoke fluently. Half my life my Mema only spoke Irish around me, tryin' t'immerse me. Parents didn't."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave Lirim's leg a squeeze. Not for the Gaelic, but for his parents.

"Speakin' o' yer Mema, do ye think she'd be willin' to test some things for me?"

Torsten/Lirim: Her hand was taken in his. "Test what, exactly?"

Bronwyn: His hand was squeezed as well. "Well, I've a confession to make. I've been holdin' out on ye. On ye, too, Torsten. And even ye, love," she added to Aedan.

Torsten/Lirim: "Are ya on the run from the law because of your illegal clinic for hunters?" Like Ailbe.

Bronwyn: "I'm no' cool enough to be on the run from the law."

Bronwyn: "I may have bought a thing."

Torsten/Lirim: "Are you being vague on purpose?" asked Torsten.

Bronwyn: "Yes. It's a big thing, ye see." She took a deep breath. "I bought a buildin'."

Torsten/Lirim: "Oh, you're uh, you're finally goin' through with that? Been a while. Figured ya were just stickin' to the ranch and what have ya."

Bronwyn: "I wasn't plannin' to but I noticed it was for sale and it spoke to me. Deirdre's doin' a wonderful job with the ranch and I'm verra comfortable bein' a mostly silent partner. Plus it'd give me somethin' to occupy my time. I'm also talkin' to a contractor about buildin' me a stable."

Torsten/Lirim: "At your house? In your backyard?"

Torsten perked at the idea.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Aye, I miss my horse. I know it's no' exactly an estate but it's a decent bit o' land. The woods add even more space."

Bronwyn: "And it's somethin' else to do."

Torsten/Lirim: "Think they'll say yes? I could ask Alice. She might know the law, the land requirement."

Bronwyn: "I hope so. Lydia suggested I bribe them." Now it was Bronwyn who perked. "Could ye? I'd be grateful. I don't want to get my hopes up too high in case it can't be done but I really really miss Dante."

Torsten/Lirim: "If not here, perhaps he could call Iceland home."

Bronwyn: Her face softened. "As long as he has fields and hills to run in he's happy."

Torsten/Lirim: "I'm sure with your familiar, bringing him to Iceland secretly should be of little consequence."

Bronwyn: "He does make travel much easier. I've been workin' on a tonic for him so crossin' long distances doesn't take so much of a toll on him."

Torsten/Lirim: Lirim felt himself fading from the conversation. He didn't mean to, but he felt a need to distance himself from the person beside the mother of his child.

Out came the phone again.

"What are you making the tonic from?" asked Torsten.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave Lirim's leg another squeeze.

"Well, he has a great fondness for eatin' crystals and stones so I've been experimentin' with stones with restorative properties and teas made from restorative plants."

Torsten/Lirim: "He keeps that up we'll have a shortage of beautiful jewels," said Lirim.

"I have to agree. Does it actually benefit him?"

Bronwyn: "A few of the ones with pronounced properties do seem to have an affect. Mostly the ones that bring peace or sleep or somethin' similar. Most he just eats them because they're pretty," she added with a chuckle. "Like watermelon tourmaline."

Torsten/Lirim: "Are ya serious?" he laughed. "And does he think rose quartz tastes like actual rose?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn grinned, sending Vincent fond thoughts. "Curiosity will always prompt him to find out."

Torsten/Lirim: Vincent returned warmth to his mistress' skin in response to her affection.

"So, what d'ya wanna do until diner is done?" asked Lirim.

Bronwyn: "The two o' ye could give me store ideas. Or design ideas. What color scheme says 'hi, I sell soap and also charms'?"

Torsten/Lirim: Lirim considered. "Mauve," was his answer. "Mauve and wood. Maybe a hint of green? Nothing too rustic or ya might look gimmicky, but too clean would also look like ya belong to a corporation."

"You would need a balance," Torsten agreed.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn considered. "I like mauve. My favorite roses are the mauve ones. I like balance too. It's a verra Druid thing. And it would be nice to set myself apart from all the hoodoo and voodoo shops around here."

Torsten/Lirim: "Best way to do that is white."

Lirim arched a brow at Torsten.

"It's clean," the revenant continued. "Keep the colors and wood to a minimalist standard and let the products speak for themselves."

Bronwyn: "Maybe I could section off the magic stuff from the soap and bath stuff somehow and paint the areas diff'rent colors. Mauve for the magic and white for the soap? Or a warmer shade o' white."

Torsten/Lirim: "Are ya gonna curtain off the magic stuff for those ya approve of?"

Bronwyn: "No' exactly. The place used to be a dress shop so there's a decent space in the back where the dressin' rooms are that I want to turn into the main bath product area and I want to see if I can close it off a wee and have a big beautiful arch separatin' it from the other part o' the store."

Bronwyn: "It's definitely goin' to cater to both openly though."

Torsten/Lirim: "So, you're going to have the magic up front and the soap products at the back of the store?"

Bronwyn: "That's the current vision. It's open to change."

Torsten/Lirim: "It's very bold." The men seemed to be taking turns speaking. "I mean, you're puttin' the magic first n'the soaps second. The first impression is gonna be magic shop. I dunno how that might register, as a tourist attraction or to get the locals n'the serious Wiccans?"

Bronwyn: "Do ye think I should mix them a wee more? Or have certain areas designated to things that sort o' relate?"

Torsten/Lirim: "I like the idea of relationship - relation. Pardon." His English was getting muddled, distracted by Lirim's on again off again staring.

Bronwyn: "It's all right, love." She mulled that over for a minute. "I can see that workin'. Like puttin' bubble bath and bath salts near essential oils and candles."

Torsten/Lirim: "And if the salts go along with the spells, well, it's all mixed together because it's all natural, yeah?"

Bronwyn: "Och, aye. Ye'd be surprised how many spells use soap. And bath salts."

Torsten/Lirim: "So perhaps it's categorized by genre, use, rather than actual product? Or would you rather all soap in one area, and so forth?"

Bronwyn: "Maybe I could do both. Spread the bath stuff around the store to entice people into a larger area?"

Torsten/Lirim: "Oh!" Lirim's eyes brightened. "Cards! Ya could put all soap on a shelf, salts and bath bombs n'all, but each are labeled or got cards that say what goes best with em, like... "These salts are for aches and pains. Try these candles with this book, these oils" n'so on."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn's face brightened as well. "I could sell people more things! And they would actually be useful because that's my thought process when I make them!"

Torsten/Lirim: "And still your shop could be color coded with that in mind," chimed Torsten.

Bronwyn: "It could indeed. Just imagine some really lovely floatin' shelves in maybe a honey-toned wood. That would look good against white and mauve."

Torsten/Lirim: "It would," he continued. "Say you have salts that pair with four other products. Those products could all have the same blue labels on their bottles. You have your colors standing out against the white without clashing with the walls. The products themselves are the theme. Your shop logo also on the label."

Torsten/Lirim: "That bein' said, are ya gonna make everything? I mean, are ya about to be your own company, the shop only your items?"

Bronwyn: She nodded. "I like that idea. Makes the process simpler if ye already know what ye want and what ye're lookin' for. Maybe I could design some pamphlets, too. People always want to know more about what they're buyin'."

Another nod. "Mostly ev'rythin', aye. I've been makin' and sellin' the bath products since I lived in Montana, I just never had my own space. The only thing I might get from an outside vendor are the oils and some o' the candles."

Torsten/Lirim: "Candles are quite easy to make, and so many spells and be added to them. You have Vincent to help. Oils, perhaps. Spell books as well. How many are you going to hire on to help? Witches and druids only? Those capable, knowledgeable hands?"

Bronwyn: "Aye, and I have made them before. I think I'm goin' to make that kind and order the non-magical candles. The books too. As for employees, I think I just need one and they just need to be decent and open-minded. I can teach them what they need to know."

Torsten/Lirim: Torsten didn't want to disagree on a mere kine as an employee, and Vincent seemed to be of a like-mind, a chirp in her thoughts.

"I'll be your employee, ma'am."

Bronwyn: 'I appreciate that, love,' she thought back to her familiar. To Torsten and Lirim she said, "They wouldn't really be helpin' me do magic. They'd mostly mind the shop when I'm no' there, clean and organize, and help me make my products. Don't need to know magic to make soap."

Torsten/Lirim: "If you're certain. I can have someone from my old village here next month if you'd prefer." Torsten was perfectly serious.

Bronwyn: The fact that he was touched Bronwyn's heart. This man. "That's a verra kind offer and if I can't find anyone who seriously wants to work for me I might take ye up on it."

Torsten/Lirim: "One day our son is gonna be your employee. M'already predictin' this. Gonna be his summer job, then his part-time while goin' t'school. Gonna learn where his magic comes from."

Magic! A word Aedan knew. He looked to his mother.

Bronwyn: Imagining their baby boy being old enough to work made Bronwyn cuddle him close. She wasn't ready for him to grow up. She wanted him to stay this big forever. "I hope that day takes a verra, verra long time to come, but aye, yer prediction will come to pass."

She smiled at Aedan. Time to borrow some light from a lamp and make him a ball.

Torsten/Lirim: Yes! He loved when his mother played tricks on the house. That's what they were, in his toddler opinion.

Torsten considered her words. Should she age similarly to him, their child would take 50 years to reach a teenage equivalent. Would that please her?

"Being a druid... I wonder..." If you're going to be gifted with immortality...

Bronwyn: Bronwyn basked in her son's delight for a few moments before looking up at Torsten, her smile rivaling the light ball for brightness. "What's that, love?"

Torsten/Lirim: "What is your stance on immortality?"

Bronwyn: "Some o' my favorite people are immortal. Never really thought about it, though. It's a rare thing for a Druid to be offered immortality."

Torsten/Lirim: "If you could, would you?"

Lirim sat up, looked to the mother of his child.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn watched Aedan play with the light for a moment, considering. Then, "Before I became a mother I would've said no. There was a time when the thought o' dyin' someday was comfortin' and I...tried to make the day come sooner. But when I became a mother, when I adopted Lucien and had Aedan the thought o' no' bein' there to watch them grow up and be part o' their lives as they got older broke my heart. So if a Fae were to offer me immortality now, offer me the chance to stay with my family always, I think I'd accept."

Torsten/Lirim: Torsten nodded, seemingly satisfied by her answer. Then he would have to help her with her dream.

"Seth is tryin' t'help me with my hope," Lirim said quietly. "Thinkin' along the same lines." Except that I don't want to die. I never have. "I dunno how long I have, but... The only option I've found so far is vampirism and I don't want that."

"Rightly so," said Torsten. "I don't think you'd be able to handle it."

Bronwyn: She smiled over at Lirim, squeezing his leg again. It was very fitting that they'd both want to stick around for the beautiful baby they'd made.

"I don't think anyone can," she said to Torsten. "No' really. They survive for a time because their strength or their will holds out but eventually...they lose themselves and become somethin' entirely diff'rent."

Torsten/Lirim: "It's an evolutionary process. Like a child to adulthood, to age and then to die. They grow, mature, ripen...and then..." Torsten cleared his throat. "I understand why any, aside from demons and select witches, would be offended by it."

Bronwyn: "Perhaps that's why the Fae offer it to so few and so rarely. There's a legend among our kind that there exists a man who is over two-thousand years old, and that he's the only one o' his tribe to ever be offered the gift."

Torsten/Lirim: "That's an impressive age. How did he manage to keep his sanity, I wonder. Lost humanity is for a reason, after all. It is a way to maintain sanity and not destroy the world."

Bronwyn: "I'm no' even sure if it's true, but if it is then I'd wager he's the strongest person to ever live."

Torsten/Lirim: "Wouldn't low humanity make ya destroy the world?"

"Makes you care less about everyone but yourself and your own personal gains. It's more complicated than that, of course, and there are those that twist the cogs in the world's machinery. However, I can't recall a single vampire I've met that wants to watch it burn."

Bronwyn: "All those I've met who wanted that were human. Except for poor Kieran Lamont." The Druid who'd made a deal with a demon and then been slaughtered by the same.

Torsten/Lirim: "There are a few way in which you can both achieve this, for you, Bronwyn, should you never be asked what you seek."

"You'd help me?"

"Yes. I'd help you."

Bronwyn: Perhaps it was because she'd never really looked into it, but Bronwyn was surprised to hear there were multiple ways to achieve immortality.

"What sorts o' ways?" she asked.

Torsten/Lirim: "Spells, of course. Plenty of spells from multiple sources. If anything, you could prolong your life with vampiric blood."

Bronwyn: "As a ghoul or--no, it doesn't matter. That's no' an option I'd ever consider."

Torsten/Lirim: "Because you'd have to rely on others?"

Bronwyn: "That and it doesn't sit right with me. Takin' blood to survive is one thing, takin' it to prolong yer life goes against what and who I am."

Torsten/Lirim: "So, what I am upsets you?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn shook her head. "No, it doesn't. There's a diff'rence between bein' born with a need for it--between it bein' an integral part o' yer composition--and usin' blood to stay young or for some form of immortality."

Torsten/Lirim: "If I were to cease in my use of it, I would not look like this, Bronwyn. In truth, I look as a man would in his fifties. Some two hundred years ago I began to pamper myself for vanity's sake. I'm not immortal without it."

Bronwyn: "Then it's a need." Because you need to live, and I need you.

Torsten/Lirim: "Tellin' us ya wouldn't wanna date a fifty year-old?" Lirim smirked.

Bronwyn: She smiled. "I have. And I am, in a manner o' speakin'."

Torsten/Lirim: "And you're alright with that?" asked Torsten.

Bronwyn: "Yes." Short, sweet, and perfect truth.

Torsten/Lirim: "I'm gonna check on dinner," Lirim said, standing and heading back to the kitchen.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "All right, darlin'."

Torsten/Lirim: "Alone at last," Torsten whispered.

Bronwyn: "Just us, Aedan, and a light ball," she whispered back, holding out a hand so he could join her on the floor.

Torsten/Lirim: "Must I?" he smiled.

Bronwyn: "Aye. Ye're too far away and I have to kiss ye."

Torsten/Lirim: "What did I do to deserve such love?"

Bronwyn: "Ye've had it for quite a while. This is just a wee reminder."

Torsten/Lirim: "Mm, well," he took a seat on the floor beside her, pulled her closer. "How many kisses?"

Bronwyn: She snuggled into him, made sure they weren't squishing the baby. "All o' them."

Torsten/Lirim: "Take as many as you like." Here, he would start with one on her lips, nuzzling into her hair afterwards.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn planned to do just that. She kissed Torsten's lips, his chin, his cheeks. Everywhere that could be reached was given loving attention.

"I do love ye, ye know," she said softly, nuzzling him back. "I don't care if ye're five hundred or five thousand. I love ye."

Torsten/Lirim: "I assure you, you would not want to be with a five thousand year-old anything, love. At any rate, there's a reason I mention your mortality before. I think...we should discuss it later, though."

Bronwyn: "I'd like to think we'd make it work. But I'd much rather think about the here and now." She gave Torsten another kiss and resumed her nuzzling.

Bronwyn nodded, taking 'later' to mean 'when we're really alone'. "Then it shall be so."

Torsten/Lirim: "Excellent." Yet another blissful kiss. "How are we doing, your men?"

Bronwyn: She smiled. "Considerin' neither o' ye are used to sharin' me and ye're no' used to each other yet, pretty well."

Torsten/Lirim: "He seems easily offended."

Bronwyn: "He's no' used to seein' me with giant handsome Vikin' men."

Torsten/Lirim: "So, not that we don't see eye-to-eye?"

Bronwyn: "That might be part of it but I don't think it's all of it. We're in a pretty unique situation. Some tension is to be expected."

Torsten/Lirim: "Should I speak with him alone?"

Bronwyn: "I think it might be good for both o' ye if did. Doesn't have to be tonight, though. We've got nothin' but time."

Torsten/Lirim: "The next time, then." He kissed her hand, turned his attention back to Aedan. "Hello, little man."

Bronwyn: She kissed his cheek in return before kissing the top of Aedan's head. "Want to show Torsten yer light ball, lovely?" she asked him.

Torsten/Lirim: He did, but he didn't want anyone else to touch it. His reluctance made the revenant smile. "He'll be a charming man."

Bronwyn: "He certainly will," Bronwyn chuckled, borrowing light from another lamp to make a ball for Torsten.

"My sister and Callum and I used to play football with these when we were kids."

Torsten/Lirim: "They're that tangible?" He tested in inquiry for himself.

Bronwyn: "Aye. They can feel like anythin' from marshmallows to those wee moss balls from Japan."

Torsten/Lirim: "Had he been caught in public using his magic?"

Bronwyn: "Callum or Lirim?"

Torsten/Lirim: "Aedan, I mean."

Bronwyn: "A few people have noticed things float but they usually write it off. Ye can almost see them convince themselves it was nothin'."

Torsten/Lirim: "That's the power of real magic. Humans are cursed to disbelieve."

Bronwyn: "Och, aye. I saw a lot o' that when I lived in Montana. They will do ev'rythin' possible to maintain their version o' reality. I spent about a week makin' this woman's yard grow waist-high weeds and ev'ry day she'd cut them down and nearly give herself an aneurysm with how hard she tried to find a rational explanation for it."

Torsten/Lirim: His eyes filled with humor. "What was her crime for waist high weeds?"

Bronwyn: "I was datin' her son and he sold me a plot o' land she apparently didn't want sold. After he got the money, he left me and she started spreadin' rumors and gossip about me while makin' me out to be the town harlot."

Torsten/Lirim: "Then she was most deserving. Is that why you no longer live in Montana?"

Bronwyn: "Oh no, that awful old hag wasn't enough to drive me away. I came down here when I was pregnant with Aedan and just never left."

Torsten/Lirim: "And the land you purchased?"

Bronwyn: "My sister's lookin' over it now, like my house and my ranch."

Bronwyn: "I planted as many trees as I possibly could on it."

Torsten/Lirim: "Should have planted the most obnoxious species around her house."

Bronwyn: "I thought about it but her neighbors were really nice and I didn't want them gettin' sap on their cars. And makin' what will one day be a small forest that will outlive her? Verra satisfyin'."

Torsten/Lirim: "I'd like to see this home, if it is still technically yours. You haven't passed it on to your sister?"

Bronwyn: "Legally it's both of ours but she still considers it mine. I'd love to show it to ye someday. I turned the garden into an absolute Eden."

Torsten/Lirim: "Let's hope she maintains what you've put such work into. It sounds like you're very proud."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn chuckled. "She always claimed no' to be the gardener type but bein' a Druid, she's grown to love it over the years."

Torsten/Lirim: "Your kind seem to only have two speeds. Healing and botany."

Bronwyn: "Well, there's no' much call for warriors these days, or seers."

Torsten/Lirim: "Seers, now that I doubt. Like death and taxes, as humans say, it is a need that will always be."

Bronwyn: "Perhaps," said Bronwyn, nodding. "But no' in the same sense. 'Seers' these days tend to just be ordinary people tellin' other people what they want to hear for money."

Torsten/Lirim: "Are you going to do that in your shop?"

Bronwyn: "Oh no, I've absolutely no gift for it."

Torsten/Lirim: "What about your bird?"

Bronwyn: "I'm no' sure if he does but even if he did, I don't know if I'd feel comfortable havin' people come into the shop for that. They want their future and predictions o' blessin' and doom, the French Quarter's crawlin' with hoodoo priests."

Torsten/Lirim: "You're protective of him."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Of course. He's my familiar."

Torsten/Lirim: "Sometimes it feels...ambiguous. Something deeper but...it's complicated to put into words. I can only imagine what it feels for you."

He looked to her hands. "You feel it too, yes?"

Bronwyn: She smiled, nodded again. "Aye. It's like...two parts o' the same spirit residin' in two bodies. We're connected. It's platonic, familial almost and sometimes it feels like it's far beyond that but it never approaches anythin' romantic. One day I'll find the right word to describe it."

Torsten/Lirim: "Sometimes I wonder if I should feel jealousy, but you're in my bed, not his. Though, I believe if you asked it of him, he would. I think he loves you that much."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn leaned over and kissed Torsten's cheek. "I am indeed. And though I love Vincent verra much, I don't think o' him that way." She kissed him again. "Only you."

Torsten/Lirim: "Not at all?" he smiled, placed his hand to her stomach, lower, below her navel. A child...someday. Perhaps not, but he would continue with his prediction.

"Almost done!" Lirim called from the kitchen.

Bronwyn: "No' at all," she repeated, smiling softly as she felt his hand on her abdomen. Gods willing, a part of both of them would grow in there someday.

Bronwyn inhaled, hummed at the aroma. "It smells amazin'!" she called back. "Does it look amazin'?"

Torsten/Lirim: "It'll be done soon!" Lirim called. "I don't think the center's done."

Torsten glanced to the kitchen and back to the druid. "Want to let Aedan stretch his legs outside before dinner?"

Bronwyn: "Okay! Tell me if ye need any help!"

She smiled and nodded as she turned back to Torsten. "That sounds like a lovely idea. What do ye say, love? Want to go out in the garden?"

Torsten/Lirim: Torsten got to his feet, reminding the little one of his great height. Aedan tilted back in an attempt to admire from head to toe. The result being the toddler flopping back on the rug.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed softly, helping Aedan to his feet before following suit. "Easy there, laddie. Let's take yer ball outside."

Torsten/Lirim: Lirim listened quietly from the kitchen. There was something ominous about Bronwyn's lover's aura that rubbed him the wrong way. It was most likely his distaste for the vampiric species as a whole. He knew his weaknesses and swore he'd keep his sinister desires to himself. This man wooing his family reminded him of his past, and of the demon he hadn't seen in so long. None of which was appreciated.

As soon as they were outside, Aedan was lifted and gently tossed in the air. The little boy squealed with surprise.

Bronwyn: Had Bronwyn known the lay of Lirim's thoughts she would've said something to reassure him, but even if she had, there was only so much she could do. He and Torsten needed to form their own opinions of each other, find their own common ground.

They were going to be a part of each other's lives, after all.

Aedan's delight had a matching smile spreading across Bronwyn's face as she reached for her phone. She needed to record this.

Torsten/Lirim: Torsten growled at her son with every catch, a noise which escaped the depths of his chest like thunder from caliginous clouds. The sound should have frightened, but instead delighted the boy, fingers sitting between teeth and gums as he giggled loudly.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn made sure to capture every single moment of their interaction, sending videos and pictures to her mother, her sister, Lucien, Lydia, Marie. Everyone had to see the preciousness that was Torsten playing with Aedan.

Including her, which is why after the pictures were sent out, she put her phone away and just enjoyed the moment.

Torsten/Lirim: "What was that?" he asked, holding Aedan to his chest. The toddler tucked his knees up, sitting comfortably against him.

Bronwyn: It was impossible not to smile. If they kept this up much longer her face was going to be sore. "Hm? What was what?"

Torsten/Lirim: "Your mobile. Were you taking a picture?"

Bronwyn: "Oh! Aye, I was. And some videos."

Torsten/Lirim: "Video? Will you send it to me?"

Bronwyn: "Of course. Want the pictures as well? I took quite a few."

Torsten/Lirim: "That's fine. It will be for Flora, if that's alright."

Bronwyn: "That's perfectly fine," she said, melting a little inside.

Torsten/Lirim: "You have that look in your eyes again."

Bronwyn: "What look?"

Torsten/Lirim: "That look as though you're going to weep of happiness."

Bronwyn: "I am happy. No' weepy though."

Torsten/Lirim: "Do you want him back?" He offered the giggling boy at arm's length.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn kissed Aedan's face and blew a raspberry on his tummy. "Ye two keep playin'." And bonding.

Torsten/Lirim: "What games does he like so far?"

Bronwyn: "He's a big fan of anythin' involvin' light, makin' a mess, and the airplane game."

Torsten/Lirim: "Ah. So you do like to be up high." Up into the air he went again! His squeal was all but a scream with delight.

Bronwyn: Laughing, Bronwyn went to the back door and poked her head in.

"Lirim, come look!"

Torsten/Lirim: Wiping his hands, Lirim stared out the window and frowned. "He ain't gonna drop our baby, is he?"

Bronwyn: "No, he's no' goin' to drop him." She stepped in further and gave him a very noisy, enthusiastic kiss on the cheek.

Torsten/Lirim: "Oh gawd, my face is under attack!" A kiss was given to her as well. "So, you gonna marry this man?"

Bronwyn: She leaned her head against his shoulder, watching the man she loved play with her baby.

"Aye," she said softly. "I think I am."

Torsten/Lirim: His own rested against her as well. "That's really gonna be a thing. Elaborate for me. He's a vampire?"

Bronwyn: "No' exactly. He's a revenant, which from what I've read is sort o' the halfway point between human and vampire. We're alike in that way, now that I think about it. I'm halfway between human and Fae."

Torsten/Lirim: "So, he needs blood to survive? He can die but he'll live forever?" How safe was this man around his son and the mother of his child? It hadn't occurred to him that Bronwyn had equal share for concern when it first came to Seth Jenkins. Often Lirim regarded him without recognition of his species.

Bronwyn: "Revenants are born with the ability to produce it, so they don't have to get it from someone else. As for livin' forever, no' really. He'll just live a verra long time. He's as mortal as I am, just with a longer lifespan."

Torsten/Lirim: "He said something about fifty?"

Bronwyn: "Aye. Without the measures he's taken to keep himself lookin' young, he'd look like he was in his fifties."

Torsten/Lirim: "So...right now he is...mortal but Dorian Gray?"

Bronwyn: "Minus the creepy paintin'."

Torsten/Lirim: "You're sure this is what you want? This... His lifestyle might be dangerous." The "might be" had been added for her benefit. He was almost certain of it.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "I'm sure. I haven't exactly been lucky in this particular department. Ye've seen some o' the men I've dated." None of them had exactly been high points for her.

"I know ye're worried, and ye've ev'ry right to be. But he's a good man, Lirim. Hard as that might be to believe, he's a good man. He loves me and I love him. All I ask is that ye give him a chance."

Torsten/Lirim: Bronwyn was clearly smitten by him. He needed a little more convincing.

"So he and his vampire clan won't try to sacrifice our son on the equinox or somethin', right? I'm - We're good on that front? You're sure? M'not afraid of vampires like I used to be. Haven't been for years."

Bronwyn: "There is no clan," she chuckled. "It's just him and his sister, who apparently loves flowers and all things light and soft. No sacrifices or anythin' of the sort. They're antique dealers."

Torsten/Lirim: "She still has to drink blood. Vampire, right? Where does she get it from? Has he ever killed anyone? How much d'ya know 'bout em, sweetie?"

Bronwyn: "Aye, she is and I imagine she either gets her sustenance from animal blood or a blood bank but I don't know the particulars. Has he killed anyone, probably so since he is a warrior in his own right. So has my sister."

Bronwyn kissed his cheek again. "He won't hurt me, Lirim. And he won't hurt Aedan. Please trust me."

Torsten/Lirim: "Someone," something, "that up there in age has t'have different views on parentin' than us. Seth's never struck our baby n'he's a reaper. What's he gonna do? Have ya talked about that?"

Bronwyn: "I'm sure he does and we have talked about his childhood before and how diff'rent it was to mine but he's no' goin' to just try to override the decisions we've made with Aedan and will make in the future. He's certainly no' goin' to hit him, ye know I won't let that happen."

Torsten/Lirim: Lirim didn't bother to hide his incredulousness, but he remained quiet on his skepticism. Nodding was probably the best answer he could give.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn's face fell. She'd known that it wasn't going to be smooth sailing right out the gate for them, but there was always that hope.

"Ye really don't like him, do ye?" she asked softly, unable to keep the hurt from her voice.

Torsten/Lirim: "M'just...apprehensive?" He stood with his back to their guest so as to keep his lips from being read, though the revenant wasn't paying them any mind. "His age, his species. It's a lot t'take in."

Bronwyn: "Aye, I know. Even with ev'rythin' we've seen and all the things that have happened I know it's a lot. I just...I want ye to like him. I want him to like ye. I want us all to be one big happy family and I know it'll take time and it might no' match the vision in my head, but..."

Torsten/Lirim: "N'I want ya t'be happy, sweetie. I really do. I just don't want there t'be unhappy surprises down the road for ya. I can't stop the world from hurtin' ya, but I'll kick its ass."

Bronwyn: She smiled. "I know. And I don't want there to be those kinds o' things either. That's why we're meetin' each other's families and talkin' through things. I want to marry him someday but he hasn't asked. We're still figurin' things out and learnin' about each other."

Torsten/Lirim: "If he uh...never asks, are ya still gonna be with him, just...let that slide?"

Bronwyn: "Well, at the risk of jumpin' the gun, from some of our conversations I think things are headin' that way. But when and if the time comes when I'm ready to be married and he hasn't proposed, or even the other way around, then he and I will have to have a conversation about it."

Bronwyn: "We're startin' to head into more serious waters. We're still gettin' our sea legs."

Torsten/Lirim: Lirim still wasn't entirely convinced, all save the fact that Bronwyn believed what she was saying. She loved the man in the backyard playing with their son, getting their little boy to chase him in tight circles widening out. Eventually, quite unceremoniously, Aedan fell on his rump and decided it was time for a nap.

Bronwyn: Another kiss was given to Lirim's cheek. She could tell he wasn't sold, but she didn't hold that against him. He and Torsten had only just met; they were still getting their sea legs with each other too.

She popped outside, smiling at the sight that greeted her. "He tucker himself out?"

Torsten/Lirim: "Chasing me to no avail tuckered him out, yes." The toddler was lifted and held with one arm, making his way back to the porch.

Bronwyn: "Those wee legs are goin' to be stronger before he knows it." Bronwyn held the door open, smiling at Torsten with that so-happy-she-could-cry look.

"We can set him down in his room."

Torsten/Lirim: "How often does he nap? You schedule it?" This might one day be his own. Information was wise to accumulate. Not that it would win him points with Lirim, but the nephilim was the last on his mind.

Bronwyn: "Usually only once a day, in the afternoon. If he's really tired or gets tuckered out like now, he'll take another in the evenin'. Ever since he was born we've been able to set a clock by his sleepin' habits."

Torsten/Lirim: "I can't recall the beginning of my childhood in great detail, but...I had nearly fifty years of it."

Bronwyn: "Fifty years....." A lifetime in and of itself. "I hope despite ev'rythin' there were many happy moments."

Torsten/Lirim: "We can talk about that later, that number." Because it was the elephant in the room.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded as she opened the door to Aedan's room. "Aye. We'll talk later." Once her baby was safely in his bed, his forehead was kissed and the nearest stuffed animal tucked in close to him.

Torsten/Lirim: A quick moment had to be taken to wrap his arms around her waist, sway with her, kiss her, live in the moment for a breath or ten.

Bronwyn: "Oh!" Bronwyn chuckled softly, surprised by the sudden affection and returning it twofold.

"Hello to ye, too," she whispered, nuzzling against him and squeezing him tight.

Torsten/Lirim: "Suppose we must go socialize again. A little friendly chat over game pie and scrutiny."

Bronwyn: "Aye." She tugged him down so she could kiss his cheek. "I promise he's just lookin' out for me."

Torsten/Lirim: "I know he is. I would be equally critical for Flora's sake."

Bronwyn: She kissed him again, just because. "Ye're a good man, Torsten Glockner."

Torsten/Lirim: "Lying is a sin, Ms. Bronwyn," he smiled.

Bronwyn: "Is it?" she asked, smiling back. "I'll have to keep that in mind should I find myself with the desire to lie." She took his hand and led him back to the kitchen.

Torsten/Lirim: "You harbor such desires? Who have you become? You're not my little thistle." She could still lead him any which way and he would follow along.

Lirim had set the table for three. Seeing them emerge from upstairs, Aedan's little plastic plate was put away.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed. "I don't, and yer verra wise words will surely deter me from it.

Lirim was greeted with a smile. "Baby boy's out like a light. Verra big day on the walkin' front."

Torsten/Lirim: "So I saw. Big days mean fussy baths on par with Leilani's tantrums."

"You have another child?"

"Oh, no. God, no. No that's...uh..."

Bronwyn: "My granddaughter. My son Lucien's daughter."

Torsten/Lirim: "The married one. Where is she now?"

Bronwyn: "She's with her new da."

Torsten/Lirim: "Oh, the marriage. Is that nearby? Another visit today?"

Is that all I am, a visit? Lirim sighed, taking a seat keeping quiet.

Bronwyn: "No' in the immediate area but fairly close. We can go see them tomorrow or later this week."

Bronwyn situated herself between Torsten and Lirim, squeezing both their hands.

Torsten/Lirim: Torsten took his seat and smiled. Something smug was in the air around him and Lirim wasn't sure why until he opened his mouth and asked, "Do you want us to say grace? Being...what you are."

"Nope. I'm good."

Bronwyn: Another squeeze was given to both their hands.

"Well, I was right. This looks ev'ry bit as good as it smells."

Torsten/Lirim: The silence continued as Lirim sliced into the pastry, filling their plates with a sudden aversion for conversation.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn got his attention with yet another squeeze to his hand, silently asking if he was okay while also not drawing attention to it and saying, "Thanks for dinner, darlin'."

She took a bite and beamed at him. "Perfect."

Torsten/Lirim: His answer was a subtle nod and a sigh. Torsten didn't mind the silence. After centuries of living, silence wasn't a luxury to question. Still, he gave his thanks.

"Okay, so," Lirim took a breath, "how did the two or ya meet? Ain't really heard the full story."

Bronwyn: How to put that mess at the mill in truthful turns that also didn't send Lirim into a protective rage?

"Vincent brought him to me and Callum," she said. "He and a friend o' his had been injured by some awful people who have since been dealt with. We healed them."

Torsten/Lirim: "Awful people? What did they want?"

Torsten looked to Bronwyn, gauging how she wanted to continue this.

Bronwyn: "It was a gang that rolled through the town. It's full o' tourists most o' the year, I guess that makes for a lot o' people to rob. They even trashed the mill."

Torsten/Lirim: "The mill?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Aye. There's an old mill on the edge o' town, hasn't been functional for a while."

Torsten/Lirim: "What we're they that they could take someone like you down?"

Torsten took a bite and swallowed. "Vampires."

Bronwyn: "Dead ones, thanks to the local hunters."

Torsten/Lirim: But not the very old thing next to you.

"Hmm. Well, how's Callum?" Subject change for the better.

Bronwyn: "He's doin' good! More relaxed now that he has extra, extra help in his shop."

Torsten/Lirim: "He's gettin' too big for him t'handle," he chuckled. "A florist shop, of all things."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "He is. Once people get a taste o' what a Druid can do with flowers--even if they don't know it's a Druid--they can never be satisfied with anythin' else."

Torsten/Lirim: "I haven't seen him in some time. How is he?" asked Torsten.

Bronwyn: "Happy and in love," she said fondly. "And apparently thinkin' about buildin' himself a new garden shed."

Torsten/Lirim: "Would he be offended by assistance?"

Bronwyn: "Ye know, I think he'd welcome it."

Torsten/Lirim: "Would the vampire be offended?"

Bronwyn: "That I don't know. I don't see why he should be though. It's no' as though ye have designs on Callum."

Torsten/Lirim: "You've never flirted with Callum, have ya?"

"No. In fact, he threatened my well-being on more than one occasion."

Lirim blinked.

Bronwyn: "Callum hasn't exactly been thrilled that we're datin'. He's startin' to come around though. Slowly, but he is."

Torsten/Lirim: "What was his issue?"

Bronwyn: "That I'm his cousin and Torsten's a boy I like."

Torsten/Lirim: "So he's hated all of them?"

Bronwyn: "I wouldn't say he's hated them--although he did hate a couple. Mostly he squints and broods and reminds them he knows ev'ry poison known to man and grows most of them."

Torsten/Lirim: Lirim leaned in, interested. "Who was the most loathed?"

"I don't want to take away from the experiences of others, but having a vampire at his side, I want to say it's me. Curses are not something to take lightly."

Bronwyn: "Actually, love, ye're no'. Compared to how he felt about Travis Reynolds he positively adores ye. Had he the power and the means at the time I sincerely believe he would've had him drawn and quartered then put back together and done it again."

Torsten/Lirim: "What did he do t'ya?"

Torsten frowned. The nephilim seemed excited. "Watched as the vampire cursed me to scrub my skin off with my finger nails."

The gleam in his eyes faded as he looked to Bronwyn. "Callum is no joke."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded, confirming Torsten's words. "No he is no', and his protectiveness knows no bounds. Needless to say, he and I had words after that nasty little incident."

Torsten/Lirim: "N'he's got nothin' t'say 'bout me bein' the father of Aedan?"

Bronwyn: "He was curious about it but since ye are I weren't datin' he was able to digest it more easily. We still haven't told him about my mama and the butcher."

Torsten/Lirim: "He's always been like this? Really? Just... almost feels antiquated."

"To an extent," said Torsten. "Though I've had my moments."

Bronwyn: "It started when his mama died. After that if my mama or grandmama or one of our aunts ever took a nap he'd sneak into wherever they were sleepin' just to make sure they were breathin'. If they left, he'd hover near the window until they returned."

Torsten/Lirim: "Well, when ya put it like that, it's..."

"pitiable," Torsten finished.

Bronwyn: "No one was surprised. His mama left one day and never came back. Made sense that people leavin' would scare him. He got better as time wore on but he was never the same."

Torsten/Lirim: "I still feel justified in laying a hand on him, but really I don't want the headache of a confrontation with my blood bag."

Bronwyn: "I don't want that confrontation either. I want ev'rythin' to be peaceful on that front, even if I have to stand on a chair to yell at ye giants."

Torsten/Lirim: "Of course you'll get what you want," Torsten smirked. "You have a knack for yelling."

Bronwyn: "I'm Scottish. It's what we do."

Torsten/Lirim: "By that logic I should be louder than you."

Bronwyn: "Ye might verra well be," she chuckled. "We'll have to check one day."

Torsten/Lirim: "Fights between the two or ya are gonna be epic," Lirim smirked.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "They certainly will be. Verra loud and verra epic." Hell, they'd already had their share of intense moments.

Torsten/Lirim: "Just don't pick fights with vampires and whatever else, please."

"I highly doubt Flora would have any interest in an argument. Unless a Glockner is endangered, she's quite passive."

Bronwyn: "I promise," she told Lirim. She wouldn't pick any fights but she would definitely finish a couple if they reached her family.

"Do the two o' ye ever fight?"

Torsten/Lirim: Both men looked up. "My sister? I don't know if you would call them fights. That's not something you do with the eldest of a...tribe."

Bronwyn: "Well no, no' proper fights. Just siblin' things like throwin' each other's boots in a lake."

Torsten/Lirim: "That's more of a sisterly disagreement. Fauna would do something like that."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled to herself. "My teenage self and Fauna would've gotten along verra well."

Torsten/Lirim: "Or complete opposite. I'm almost certain," he smiled.

Bronwyn: She chuckled softly. "Well, then we either would've thrown each other's boots in the lake or I'd fuss over her. Lirim can tell ye how good I am at that."

Torsten/Lirim: "Properly carry a sword, then it would have been more than thrown boots." He missed his sister. Lirim could feel it palpably.

"So, y'all stayin' the night?" For once attempting to be a positive distraction.

Bronwyn: "It got close a few times but our Da made us keep all our weapons peace-tied. Didn't apply to our bows, though, or stop Deirdre from usin' the hay to make a strawman for target practice."

Bronwyn looked between the two men for a moment. "We wouldn't want to put you out if ye have somethin' planned for this evenin'."

Torsten/Lirim: "No. Got nothin' planned except t'take Aedan on a walk to the park and back. Ya know, exercise and a little socializin' 'fore bed." He too looked between them. "Maybe y'all can do it...?"

Bronwyn: "What do ye think?" she asked, turning to Torsten and squeezing his hand under the table. "Want to spend the night?"

Torsten/Lirim: "If you're comfortable with that...?"

Lirim nodded. More time to learn about this man, he supposed.

"...Then alright."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "All right then. Looks like we're stayin'. My nightgown still in the guest room? I swear I have clothes spread out over several houses."

Torsten/Lirim: "That doesn't surprise me," Torsten smiled. The way she constantly left clothes behind in his hotel room, the dots were connectable.

Bronwyn: "It's the side o' teleportation no one warns ye about," she laughed. "With travel bein' so easy half yer things end up bein' in other places."

Torsten/Lirim: "And your bird never complains?"

Bronwyn: "Never, bless him, and I know it takes its toll. I try to do whatever I can to help him recover after ev'ry trip, especially the longer ones."

Torsten/Lirim: "He's saved us literally thousands of dollars," Lirim chuckled.

"He will be quite useful for our trip to Iceland."

Bronwyn: "He really has. I should make him a cake to thank him." A cake decorated with pretty stones and fruit.

She smiled and nodded. "He really will. Just goin' to have to make sure he's fortified first. And well fed."

Torsten/Lirim: Lirim continued to eat as Bronwyn gushed. Torsten mused over the familiar and the price he would fetch on the market. Not that he would, of course, but it was knowledge to have.

"It'll be soon, hopefully." A throwaway word he didn't care for, but used anyway.

Bronwyn: "We can plan it out sometime this week if ye want. Never hurts to be prepared ahead of time." And it would also give her a chance to pick his brain about things his sister might like, along with an idea of what to expect when they got there.

Torsten/Lirim: "Wait, how soon are y'all goin'?"

Bronwyn: "We agreed on sometime durin' the autumn. So a little while yet."

Torsten/Lirim: "Oh. Makin' it sound like y'all are leavin' t'morrow."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn shook her head. "Oh no, we still have a ways to go before we leave. I have to show him New Orleans first."

Torsten/Lirim: "What about Montana?"

Bronwyn: "Would ye want to see my old home?" she asked Torsten.

Torsten/Lirim: "Of course I would. Isn't that where your horse is?"

Bronwyn: "No, he's in Scotland with my mama. My chickens are there though. Along with my old house and my ranch."

Torsten/Lirim: "I've been mistaken. Why did I think there were horses in Montana?"

Bronwyn: "There are horses at the ranch. I breed them."

Torsten/Lirim: "Not /the/ horse," Lirim chuckled, "but a horse."

Bronwyn: "Yes indeed. Interestin'ly named horses I might add. One o' my foremen let his pre-teen girl name the newest batch o' foals."

Torsten/Lirim: "Be grateful it's not Icelandic," Torsten smiled.

Bronwyn: "I'd much rather it be Icelandic than have horses named 'Oceansong' and 'Spice'."

Torsten/Lirim: Lirim's brow wrinkled. "I thought horses had them weird sentence for names?"

Bronwyn: "Racin' horses usually do. I wonder how that started."

Torsten/Lirim: "It's insulting to the animal," said Torsten.

Bronwyn: "Insultin', pretentious, and verra annoyin'. But then racin' horses are used more for boostin' their owner's ego than anythin' else."

Torsten/Lirim: So, I shouldn't ask whether or not you've ever eaten one, he thought.

"Do you have any equestrian skill?" eyes on Lirim.

"My grandmother, my parents, they used to teach children how t'ride."

Bronwyn: "I should buy ye a horse for Christmas," Bronwyn mused, smiling at Lirim. "It can live in my stable. And I'll get ye a billowy shirt for when ye go ridin' with me."

Torsten/Lirim: "Oh I don't ride." All he could think about was the last day he'd seen Rory alive. "They've always looked like mythical monsters t'me."

Bronwyn: "Can't blame ye for that. Havin' seen their teeth I can say with certainty that they do look like mythical beasts."

Torsten/Lirim: "Yeah, imagine through the eyes of a child. Maybe ya can. Maybe ya both can," he scoffed, shook his head at the terrible memory of looking up at what he'd believed was a demonic animal the size of their house. He had been three years old at the time.

"My grandmother did have ponies, too. Those weren't so bad."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded and said, "I can. I was afraid o' the cows until I was about ten." And she had a memory very similar to Lirim's that had sprung that fear.

"Oh, I've always loved ponies. We should get one for Aedan."

Torsten/Lirim: So nonchalant in their discussion, in giving the child such a considerable responsibility. Not that Torsten was offended by their parenting. No, it was similar to his own upbringing. He had a horse of his own, and he had to take care of it or else it would die.

They probably hadn't that level of demand to their child.

So, he wouldn't say anything. He would finish his meal quietly as Lirim continued on about letting Aedan name it, letting it live in Montana where it could be safely taken care of.

Bronwyn: "It would have plenty o' company," said Bronwyn regarding letting the pony live in Montana. "I have a lot o' them on the ranch. The ranch hands' children help look after them in exchange for the privilege to ride. And the bunnies."

Torsten/Lirim: "Oh my gawd, that's a perfect exchange. I'm excited for his first day of chores. Is that weird?"

"No," said Torsten. "Children need to see responsibility and consequences."

Bronwyn: "It's a verra good system. Ev'ryone wins, includin' the ponies. I've never seen cleaner stalls anywhere."

Bronwyn shook her head. "No' at all," she agreed. "I feel like he's goin' to be the type that really enjoys chores. He loves the wee little broom we got him."

Torsten: Torsten smiled. "He has a wee broom? Really?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded with a grin. "Really really. He likes to help sweep, which is more like him beatin' the floor with his broom while we sweep."

Torsten: "That's...very sweet. It's also very smart. Learn from mimicry."

Bronwyn: "That's pretty much how I learned how to cook. By watchin' my mama."

Torsten: "The majority of how I learned hand-to-hand combat."

Bronwyn: "It's a good way to learn." Bronwyn smiled at Lirim. "Maybe Aedan will learn how to paint that way."

Lirim: "Only time will tell." Lirim smiled politely and took his plate to the sink.

Bronwyn: "Hands off those dishes. He who cooks does no' clean up."

Lirim: "I - It's my house!" he laughed.

Bronwyn: "Rules are rules," Bronwyn told him, nodding sagely. "Sit now. I'll do the dishes."

Torsten/Lirim: "Fine, but I'm puttin' the rest away for leftovers."

Torsten excused himself upstairs to check on the baby, having heard the uneven breaths of a wakeful child attempting to climb out of bed.

Lirim watched and turned to Aedan's mother, confusion obvious.

Bronwyn: "I suppose we can allow that. Just don't work too hard."

She smiled and squeezed Lirim's arm. "Probably heard Aedan stir. He's got superhuman hearin'."

Lirim: "That's...that's okay with you?"

Bronwyn: "It led to a couple of embarrassin' moments when we first met but I've gotten used to it."

Lirim: "Embarrassin' moments?" He was staring at the path Torsten had taken with a frown.

Bronwyn: "He heard me and Vincent talkin' about how attractive he is."

Lirim: "He really just went up there without permission." One track mind.

Bronwyn: "He's just checkin' on the baby, Lirim," Bronwyn said gently.

Lirim: "Yeah but guests usually ask."

Bronwyn: She squeezed his arm again, unable to help feeling a little defeated. "I'll make sure he does from here on out."

Lirim: "Is Aedan gonna -" No, he couldn't be that selfish. After all, Seth had taken over the title of papa, which had belonged to another.

Bronwyn: "Is he goin' to what, darlin'?"

Lirim: "Be called...papa or daddy or some Icelandic version of it or..."

Bronwyn: "Oh...well...he wouldn't force Aedan to call him anythin'."

Torsten/Lirim: As Torsten returned, their baby in arms, Lirim looked away and began to busy himself.

"I apologize," said the revenant. "I'm accustomed to the village-to-raise method.

Lirim swallowed. There was that hearing he'd been warned of.

Bronwyn: Hoping to lighten the mood, Bronwyn smiled and went to Aedan.

"There he is! Did ye have a good sleep, love? We all sure missed ye a lot. Didn't we, Lirim?"

Torsten/Lirim: With a blink and a swallow, Aedan's father nodded.

"Hey, little man."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nuzzled Aedan and kissed all over his face. "Are ye hungry, love? Do ye want food?"

Lirim: "Grapes," their son muttered in his mother's arms.

Bronwyn: "I'll get ye some grapes, baby." She kissed his cheek. "Want some juice?"

Lirim: "Grape milk."

Lirim chuckled. "Grape juice, baby boy."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "Grape juice it is. And some o' the lovely pie that Daddy made, with lots o' crust."

Torsten/Lirim: "So many grapes," their son continued on. It must have been that commercial he liked. See, this was why Lirim forbade television. It was cute, but already he'd had a nightmare over a movie trailer.

Torsten leaned some of his weight against the druid and smiled at the child.

"Hello again, little man."

Bronwyn: "Aye, love, so many." Even more kisses, followed by a chuckle. "It's a good job that commercial doesn't have a jingle. I'd hate for that to be the first thing ye learn to sing along to. And we're still aimin' for The Beatles, aren't we?"

Bronwyn leaned against Torsten and smiled at all her lovely men. She loved them all so much.

Torsten/Lirim: They looked... wholesome together, but still, that was his son. He had to wonder if Bronwyn felt the same sense of protectiveness when Seth first joined their family. Surely something. This felt like torture and he begged his mind to stop.

"You'll be teaching him Gaelic too, yes?" Torsten asked.

Bronwyn: She had, and not just over Aedan. Over Lirim as well. They were her family; anyone new that came near them was fair game for suspicion until she got to know them and trusted they weren't a threat.

But even though she understood Lirim's reservations, she still wished there was something she could do or say to reassure him that Torsten wouldn't hurt her or their child.

"I sure will," she said, kissing Aedan's cheek. "I know some Latin, too. The more languages the merrier."

Torsten/Lirim: "Will you be teaching him Irish?"

Lirim blinked.

"Your accent," the revenant continued, "it's slight."

"I-I'm not fluent. My parents... It was my father's first language. I...should probably brush up on it."

Bronwyn: "We could brush up together," Bronwyn offered, smiling hopefully at Lirim. "I'm rusty on non-ancient Irish."

Lirim: "I thought you only spoke the uh, Scottish Gaelic."

Bronwyn: "I learned ev'ry variation of Gaelic there is. Ancient and modern, Irish and Scottish. Part of learnin' magic."

Torsten: "Some spells can only be achieved in the language they originated in."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Aye. I think I knew Middle English at one point for that exact reason."

Torsten/Lirim: "Those are very old spells," Torsten nodded.

"Guess I should learn more," said Lirim.

Bronwyn: "Maybe Avalbane could teach us. She's been wantin' to practice teleportin'."

Torsten: "Hopefully it's a light magic spell," said Torsten.

Bronwyn: "Apparently she took a whole ritual and condensed it into a fairly simple spell. She's verra bored, no one in town is currently pregnant."

Torsten/Lirim: Torsten only smiled and kept his thoughts to himself. That look in his eyes, though, was anything but innocent. Lirim didn't like the emotions he was obtaining. He had to look away and force the subject away.

"Anyway, baby boy wants his grapes."

"Graaaapes!" Let the fussing begin.

Bronwyn: "Yes, grapes!" In an effort to bypass the fussing before it got too bad, Bronwyn made quick work of getting Aedan his grapes and juice and a toddler-sized slice of pie with extra crust.

"Now, what do we say, love?" she asked Aedan as she sat him at the table.

Lirim: "Go rai - tapadh leat."

Lirim rubbed his face. "We're teaching him too many at once," he laughed.

Bronwyn: "Juuuust a wee," Bronwyn chuckled, kissing the top of Aedan's head. "And he's such a clever laddie for rememberin' them all. Mostly."

Torsten/Lirim: "Who he got it from is a mystery," said Torsten.

"One of the other ones. My memory is shit."

Bronwyn: She smiled and shook her head. "He might even have picked up a wee bit o' French. He's goin' to be multi-lingual before we even know what hit us."

Torsten/Lirim: "You have someone? A Seth?"

"...Yes."

"How many languages does he speak?"

"I don't know... He might have spoken something about Aedan."

Bronwyn: "I could swear he told me once but I can't remember. I do, however, distinctly remember teachin' him ancient Gaelic curse words."

Lirim: "You taught my boyfriend curse words?"

Bronwyn: "I might have. There might also have been whiskey behind that decision."

Lirim: "What the hell! I haven't heard any of this!"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed. "Ye were paintin'!"

Lirim: "I was home?!"

Bronwyn: She laughed again, nodding. "Ye were right in the middle of a restoration and in the cone of concentration."

Lirim: "Well now I have a conversation piece for Seth."

"Graaaapes!"

Bronwyn: "Yes, love, grapes! Ask him if he remembers any of them," she added, placing another little cluster of grapes on Aedan's plate.

Torsten: Torsten offered one of the grapes to the little boy. It was easy to slip back into a cultural norm he was used to.

"Can you say, 'Góðan daginn'? It means 'Good day'."

"Goo-an!"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn beamed at the pair of them. "He really does have a good ear for languages." She was suddenly having visions of Aedan growing up to be a linguist or a professor.

Torsten: "I met a man once, Spanish-Japanese, young, early twenties kind of young. Fluent in four languages, but his issue was consistency. In mid-sentence he would switch to Spanish, to a Japanese word, back to English."

Bronwyn: "I used to do that a lot when I was learnin' English and my brain forgot to switch gears. What was the fourth language?"

Torsten: Torsten shrugged. "I want to say French."

Bronwyn: "Verra impressive. He could travel practically ev'rywhere and never need a translator."

Lirim: "He would need t'add Portuguese and Chinese to that list, I think," said Lirim, idly wiping at the kitchen counter.

Bronwyn: "Oh aye, good call. Maybe Hindi, too, since India and China have the biggest populations."

Torsten/Lirim: "So, um...stayin', right?" Just needed that confirmation. "Like...in town, I mean."

Torsten nodded. "For as long as Bronwyn wants."

Bronwyn: "Bronwyn wants ye to stay for a long, long time. Or until we go to Iceland."

Torsten: "Which will be soon, I hope. I haven't been gone from Iceland in so long in many a year."

Bronwyn: "Verra soon. I'm excited to see yer home and meet yer sister."

Lirim: "So, takin' our little man on a walk?" He didn't want to hear about her leaving.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Aye, I think we are. It'll give him a chance to stretch his legs and give Torsten a chance to see the neighborhood."

Lirim: Lirim leaned in when a moment of privacy was spared. Softly, he asked, "Are we all goin', or d'ya want some time alone?"

Bronwyn: "I'd love that, but it's up to ye," she said just as softly.

Lirim: "I uh...I get a lot of time to myself with Seth and Aedan. I still don't - but you're his mama. Y'all... go ahead."

Bronwyn: "All right, darlin'." Bronwyn kissed his cheek. "Thanks for givin' him a chance."

Lirim: "Meh," he chuckled. "Still watchin' him like a hawk."

Bronwyn: She smiled. "I know ye are. I love ye, Lirim Vivaldi."

Torsten/Lirim: "Love ya too, Bronwyn." A quick kiss was given to her cheek, and he turned when he remembered Torsten's superior hearing.

You're for forever, aren't you? he thought.

The revenant simply smiled politely.

Yeah...that's a forever smile.

"They'll be back in one piece, I promise."

Brett/Judy: He walked deeper into the woods. The bird followed.

He walked until he reached the river bank. The bird followed.

He stripped down to his underwear, got into the river, and stayed under for as long as his lungs would allow.

The bird was perched on the rock he'd laid his clothes on, watching him.

Enough was enough. Time to tap into those vampiric powers. "Okay. You've been following me for over an hour. Why?"

Brett could've sworn the little hawk looked surprised that he was speaking to it, but that was nothing compared to his surprise when he recognized the voice that spoke back to him.

"You're sick!"

He blinked. "....Judy?"

"You're sick! I have to help you!"

Bo/Torsten: Bo stared off to nothing particular as he tried to understand what had happened. Why was he so volatile? Why was he so willing to scream?

With his weight against the nearest rail, he searched for the revenant. Torsten looked up to the stirring in his peripheral.

"What was I like before? You claim to have known me."

"I did."

"So what was I like?"

Perhaps he needed another cigarette. "About as demanding and bossy as you are now."

His brow wrinkled with aggravation. "That's not funny."

"It's not meant to be. It's true."

"Was I...angry?"

Torsten scratched at his chin, watched the water. "No. You were a genius, and with that came a sense of arrogance. I liked it. You're still you, you're just... under a different set of circumstances."

"Am I not as intelligent now?" asked Bo.

"You're lacking a lifetime of memory. You're still that man." He felt for his pack of cigarettes, held it and read the Surgeon General's warning. "I bet your head is full of languages. That was your strength."

Brett/Judy: Was it possible to cower in a river? Because Brett felt like that was exactly what he was doing.

"Judy, is that you? Are you Judy Gaia?"

The little hawk jumped up and down on her rock, wings spread in her alarm/excitement. "Yes, I'm Judy!"

"But how--"

"You're sick, Sheriff Brett! I have to make you better!"

What was happening? Why was little Judith Gaia a hawk? Why did she think he was sick? "Judy, sweetie, I'm not sick!"

"Yes you are I can smell it! It smells like rotten ice cream!"

"What smells like rotten ice cream?"

"Your clothes and your watch and your phone and your badge!"

Bo/Torsten: Bo didn't understand the magnitude of Torsten's statement until the revenant began to test him. He said hello in Icelandic, asked how his day was in Greenlandic, if he could understand in Danish. He explained that German was technically his second language in the language itself. He laughed and explained their first argument had been in Norwegian. The more he spoke, the more the human teared, chin quivered. All of the languages and he understood everything. It was overwhelming.

"You're in an English-speaking country and your first language is Norwegian. You were bound to know those. You had no reason to dig deeper."

Brett/Judy/Emmanuel: Brett was so hopelessly confused and Judy wasn't making anything clearer. She was simply too excited and wrapped up in what she was trying to convey, or maybe she was just too little.

"Judy, I need you to slow down and tell me what--"

"I need to get Daddy! Don't go away, Sheriff Brett! Stay there!" She was flying away before Brett could so much as blink.

"Judy! Ju--Jesus wept." Brett eased himself out of the river, searching the sky for any sign of her. "What is happening!" By the time he'd shaken off the excess water and gotten dressed again (his poor uniform was ruined), he'd almost convinced himself that he'd hallucinated the whole thing. This is what happened when you'd been through the emotional wringer since waking up; your mind gave up on you.

Unless it didn't and the bookstore owner's daughter really was a hawk, and she really was flying toward him with a much larger hawk in tow. Brett had a sneaking suspicion he knew who the larger hawk was.

"Good you stayed!" Judy cried as she perched on her rock again. "Daddy! Sheriff Brett is sick, we have to help him!"

The larger hawk settled beside Judy and gave him a measuring look. "Hey, Parker," said Emmanuel Gaia.

Brett yelped.

Bo/Torsten: "How many languages do I know?" he asked.

"I don't know. I asked once before and you just shook your head and laughed at me. I was insulted, as you might imagine, but...I'm not you. You were teaching me Danish before you left me."

"Were we...?"

It was time for the cigarette. The taste was mellow and satisfying. "You really remember nothing?" The look in Bo's eyes told him that was the wrong question. He shook his head and hand. "Alright, alright. Sorry. This is just..." Another drag. "You woke me with a kiss. You said you just wanted to know, and I wasn't to think anything of it. I promised you I wouldn't, and I haven't."

"You've hurt me."

"That wasn't me."

"It still happened!"

"Yes, Botan, it happened. You left and the next week my family was put in danger and that is on you! I am here because of you!"

"I don't remember!"

"That does not exonerate you of your crimes!"

Brett/Emmanuel: Maybe he'd been body-snatched during the night. Surely this stuttering mess of a man wasn't the real Brett Morgan Parker.

"Y-you're Emmanuel Gaia. You own the bookstore. You--you gave my boyfriend a book recommendation last week."

Emmanuel nodded. "Yes, Parker. That's me."

"But you're a hawk!"

"That's also true."

"Why are you a hawk!?"

"Because that's what I am. Well, technically I'm a Caladrius bird. I never thought I'd be telling you that but...."

"And--and Judy's a hawk!"

"She's my daughter, so she's like me."

"Why does she think I'm sick?!"

"Now that's a good question." Emmanuel breathed deeply, immediately picking up on the same scent Judy had. It smelled, as she'd put it, like spoiled ice cream; sickly sweet and very, very rancid. "She thinks you're sick because you smell of illness. Pretty severely, too."

Brett wasn't even going to ask how these two could smell something so pronounced when he smelled nothing but the river and the trees. "But I'm not sick! I'm fine!"

"Then you've been around someone who is."

"I think I would know if I'd been around someone who was so sick that--" He cut off mid-sentence as it dawned on him.

They weren't smelling his illness. They were smelling his boyfriend's. "....Botan...."

Bo/Torsten: A large herd of children passed between them, on a tour of the docks and the nearby cannery. The two men looked away, in any direction other than the class and their teacher and each other. They needed that moment of silence. As the clamor of elementary schoolers died down, so too did the vehement need for righteous indignation.

"I think it's time I call this an even score." He had to. Observing the way this one great scholar trembled was becoming too much to bear. "I'm sorry for what's happened. I'm sorry for the suffering you've been dealt by my hands, but... that's all I'm sorry for."

"You want me to die?"

"... I... don't know."

Brett/Emmanuel: If birds had brows, Emmanuel's would be furrowed. "Your boyfriend? He's the one who's sick?"

"Well, not sick in the traditional sense. He doesn't have a disease, he's under a curse."

"What kind of curse?"

"A memory curse that's eating away at his brain."

"How advanced is it?"

"It's on the verge of killing him. He'll say something and forget it a few seconds later. He files reports twice." Echoing what Botan had said earlier was making his eyes well with tears again. "He can't remember if he drank water this week, Emmanuel. He's forgotten his entire life before a few months ago and he's well on his way to forgetting everything because of this curse."

"Jesus Christ. He's had it for months?"

Brett nodded. "Yes. And we don't even know who originally cast it on him. All we know is that if it doesn't get removed by someone or something soon he's going to die. I'm going to lose him and he won't let me take him to the only people I know what might be able to help."

"....Will he let me do it?"

Bo/Torsten: Such a statement, despite the damage done by Torsten's hands and body, hurt beyond recognition. There was a desire to cry, to scream as he had in the sheriff's car. There was a desire for violence and bloodshed and so much more. He felt like a caged bird in the middle of a burning building.

"I want to go home."

"Oslo is a long way. If I remember correctly, your-"

"No, here. Brett's home. Take me there."

His pack of cigarettes was crushed in his fist and stuffed back in his jacket. So now he was back to being an escort.

Brett/Emmanuel: Brett was looking at him with so much hope that Emmanuel felt like Superman.

"Can you? Do you have enough power to get rid of his curse?" Brett suddenly remembered that he was talking to a bird. "What...are you exactly? You said you're a Cal...drus?"

"Caladrius, and yes. I have the power to cure any illness, supernatural and mortal."

"Even a curse?"

Emmanuel nodded. "I think so, yeah. He might need someone else to repair the damage the curse has done, but I should be able to remove it."

"Would a Druid be able to repair the damage?"

"Oh yeah, absolutely. All your boyfriend has to do is let me heal him."

Brett so very much wanted to weep with relief but he knew it was premature. Even if Emmanuel really could heal Botan, there was no telling if Botan would allow it.

What would...I mean, how exactly would you...go about it? What does healing look like?"

"I literally just have to look at him, preferably when the sun is at its highest point. Can't do it at night."

"You just need it to be day?"

"Pretty much. Hell, I could do it today if he wanted. Process is completely painless for him."

That surge of hope Emmanuel had implanted wanted to burst out of Brett's chest. He'd finally found their Hail Mary.

All he needed now was Botan.

Bo/Torsten: His Botan was taking the most direct route home. He wasn't going to go into work today. All he wanted was to be left alone. The will to do anything more than curl up in his bed had been extinguished. quietly, Torsten played his role to a T. Despite everything they had endured together, controlling the revenant as a puppet was one of the only things holding the former scholar together. He understood the power which he held, and he understood that it wasn't Torsten's fault for what he had done. That didn't mean he was going to forgive him.

Brett: After leaving Emmanuel and Judy on the rock with the promise to contact them later, Brett practically ran out of the woods and back to the station.

He had to talk to Botan. He had to tell him.

When he didn't see his boyfriend outside, he poked his head inside. "Is Botan here?!" he shouted to a very surprised Peabody.

"He's not there, boss. What the hell happened to you, why are you all wet?"

"Never mind that! We're taking a personal day, only call me if it's life and death!" With that, Brett ran out again.

If Botan wasn't at the station, maybe he'd gone back home. He didn't imagine his boyfriend would want to work after the morning they'd had.

"Pease be at home," he said to himself, getting into his car and speeding out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell.

Torsten: The house seemed in one piece, and for the most part it was. Nothing was obviously broken. Inside, Torsten stood at rest in front of Botan's bedroom door. The shower in the next room was running.

"He's stationed me here," said the revenant in greeting.

Brett: Later on Brett would probably be glad that Botan hadn't decided to take a sledgehammer to their home, but right now Brett didn't care about that. There were bigger and more life-impacting things on his mind.

Not even the sight of Torsten in his home could distract from that single-minded focus.

"I see that," he said absently, knocking on the bathroom door. He didn't mean to enter, just alert his boyfriend to his presence. "Botan?"

Bo/Torsten: The response on the other side was nothing more than feet adjusting in the bathtub.

"The fuck is wrong with you two today?"

Brett: The only explanation Brett gave was, "It's Thursday."

He rested his forehead against the door and took a deep breath. "Botan, I found a way. You could be free of that damn curse by nightfall."

Bo/Torsten: While Botan kept whatever curiosity to himself, Torsten did not. "How? What kind of spell did you find?" He paused and frowned. "Why are you wet?"

Brett: "It's not a spell and I jumped into the river to see if I was being stalked by a hawk."

Brett: "I was by the way."

Torsten: "I can see why you're a sheriff. Your descriptive skills frankly take my breath away."

Brett: "Can it, Glockner. I'm not here to paint you a dramatic picture of the past couple hours. I finally found a way to stop that fucking curse from eating Botan's brain."

Torsten: "Yes, and I'm asking you to explain it to me. I'm very fucking old and have a little more experience than a baby ghoul."

Brett: "Okay, wise one, do you know what a Caladrius bird is?"

Bo/Torsten: "Those that are still around are pets. Hasn't been one on sale in America in about a hundred years."

Brett: "Shows how much you know. There's a Caladrius in this town, and they're no one's goddamn pet."

Torsten: Says the fledgling ghoul to the five hundred year-old antiques dealer. Now that was some leverage to have. "Interesting."

Brett: "Not to you. You're not interacting with them in any way, shape, or form. They agreed to help Botan and only Botan."

Torsten: "You're making deals on his behalf?"

Brett: "I found a Hail Mary on his behalf, which is what I promised him I would do. And I intend to discuss this with him. In private."

Bo/Torsten: Torsten looked to the bathroom door. "'I can hear you,' he whispered."

Brett: Brett looked toward the door as well. This wasn't how he imagined telling Botan about his cure. For one, in his ideal scenario, Torten Glockner wasn't standing inside his house.

"Botan?"

Torsten: "I can't leave until he releases me," the revenant explained in his quietest indoor voice. "I'll help in any way I can. As it stands, I'm not so sure he cares anymore."

Brett: "I do." Brett closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the door again. "I know you want to give up," he said softly, just loud enough for Botan to be able to hear him. If Glockner had any decency, he'd cover his ears. "I know why you want to. You don't want to hide anymore. You want to have a life you remember, you want to have control of that life. You haven't until now and I know I bear some of the responsibility for that. A lot of the responsibility for that. I failed you, and I've kept failing you. But I made you a promise. I told you that I would find a way to get rid of the curse and I finally did. You told me you didn't want me to talk like I was talking to make it happen. I didn't. All I did was get into the river.

"And the bird I found, the Caladrius, could have the curse gone today if you give the go-ahead. The process is completely painless, they don't even have to touch you. And...if you want...I'll be right there with you. You won't have to do it alone." He took a deep breath. "Du har meg," he murmured in Norwegian.

Bo/Torsten: Torsten kept his eyes to the floor during the duration of the ghoul's speech. His thoughts wandered to Bronwyn and he missed her. Given the circumstances, the plead in Parker's tone, he couldn't see but one reason why Botan would reject it. Simply, Botan was suicidal. The human had always been a reckless spoiled prince. While normally such a rotten personality tasted sour on his tongue, Botan had the intelligence and wherewithal to back it up. Surely, this would not be the end of him.

The water was turned off, the door opened. There he was, naked as the day he was born. Obviously, he didn't see nor care about their guest. His arms, still wet, clung to the sheriff's neck.

Brett: Somewhere along the way, Brett had forgotten Torsten as well. Whatever personal victory was to be had in baring his soul in front of a perfect stranger wasn't even a blip on the radar. He was here for Botan, which was exactly what he should've been doing up until now.

So what if he was wet? So what if people judged and pointed out his behavior? So what if Torsten was listening?

Botan was what mattered.

He lifted his head when he heard the water go off, wondering if his boyfriend was going to come out. Then he did, and his beautiful Botan was back where he belonged.

Brett wrapped his arms around Bo's waist, cradling him and holding tight. He didn't care that Bo was wet; he was too. He didn't care about the nudity; Bo had seen him naked today too.

"Du har meg," he whispered. "For as long as you want me."

Bo: "Jeg elsker deg," Bo said into Brett's skin. He meant those words despite any grudge he might have been carrying. However, there was an addendum. "I don't want to remember my old life. If this curse gives that back to me... I will be unhappy. I don't want them. I don't know who that man is I once was."

Brett: Brett held Bo tighter, nestling his face into the crook of his boyfriend's neck. Things felt more right in this moment than they had in a long time. "I love you, too, sweetheart. I love you so much."

He kissed Botan's neck. "He won't restore your memories. He'll just take away the curse that's eating away at you."

Bo/Torsten: Torsten had to agree with Botan on this. He couldn't imagine the man he knew to favor a sheriff such as Parker; a ghoul no less. At least without his memory he would be useless to the Archanum and to any enemy with a mind to utilize his gift. The fact that he condoned this decision sickened him, but he was biased. The Botan he'd loved was a dangerous man.

"Why do you trust this bird?"

"Unless on a malignant agenda, such birds are generally honest creatures," said Torsten. "Take the deal."

Brett: "I've known this bird my whole life. I went to school with them, played with them. They're good, honest, hardworking people. Always willing to help or offer kind words." He pulled back enough to look at Botan. "If they say it can be done, it can be done."

Bo/Torsten: Bo had wondered for a sentence why it was Brett refused to give a name until he laid eyes on the revenant. "You're not going to touch the Caladrius bird under any circumstance."

"Your will be done," muttered his servant in Icelandic.

Brett: "Does that mean you want them to heal you?" Brett asked softly. Even with Botan's order, he wouldn't say Emmanuel's name until he was sure they were alone. There was a little girl's whole life to consider.

Bo: "You swear they don't have to touch me?"

Brett: "I swear."

Bo: "I don't want the druids involved. I don't want to be touched. I don't want to linger. I want to be left alone."

Brett: "The bird said that because you've been under the curse for so long, there could be residual damage from it that might have to be repaired for you to be completely healthy again. If there is, and if I can find a way for the Druids to heal it without having to touch you, would you consider it?"

Bo: The look in Botan's eyes, the plead in his expression, the way he clung tightly to his arms, all said no. Absolutely not. Waking up in Callum MacGillivray's home the way he had was traumatizing. He had drunk someone's blood, regrew a tongue. This might have been a godsend in the opinion of many, but to Botan, it was a nightmare he relived over and over.

"...No."

Brett: Brett nodded and cradled Botan to him again. "Okay," he whispered, kissing his boyfriend's temple. "Okay, baby. We'll leave them out of it. If needs must, we'll find another way." Another kiss. "No one will touch you."

Bo/Torsten: He allowed the kisses to comfort him, if only for the moment. "I need a towel," he whispered. His attention returned to the revenant. "Sit in the living room, Torsten." To which he did.

"Don't say their name." Not with Torsten so near.

Brett: "I won't." There was definitely something to be said for tiny houses and tiny bathrooms. All Brett had to do to get Botan a towel was reach around him and tug it off the rack on the wall. And since it was so giant, he could bundle his boyfriend in it.

Bo/Torsten: Torsten sighed from his designated area. Might as well do something productive. He considered, and pulled out his phone, opening his contacts to Bronwyn.

{Text} There is a cure for Botan in the making.

Botan all but buried himself in his towel, shivering.

Brett/Bronwyn: Brett wrapped his arms around Botan again, trying to warm him despite being wet himself. He couldn't bring himself to deprive them both of the contact, however. "Do you want to tuck up in bed? You've earned a nap."

 {Text} Cure? What sort of cure?

Bo/Torsten: "You should be at work. I don't trust Peabody not to hang on the phone all day with his nurse."

{Text} A Caladrius bird. Apparently there is one in town.

Brett: He chuckled softly. "Evangelina will keep him in line. And I asked him to call me immediately if he had need. Come on." He gave Botan a squeeze. "Let's get you under the covers."

Bronwyn: {Text} Caladrius birds are as rare as unicorns. How did one end up here?

Bo/Torsten: {Text} The sheriff is being mute on the names. Something that valuable, I doubt he knows what he's sitting on. Seems to know the bird personally.

With a nod, Bo crossed the hall to his bedroom, tugging Brett along by the hand. "I'm not going to get dressed," he said.

Brett/Bronwyn: {Text} If he's not giving names, he might have some idea. He's trying to protect whoever it is

{Text} Not surprising considering it's Edenton

 Brett followed without protest. "That's okay. We're at home. You don't have to get dressed if you don't want to."

Bo/Torsten: "It's not about home, it's about you," he explained.

{Text} Don't confuse sentimentality with physical value. I think he has. At any rate, this is going to be Botan's means of survival.

Brett/Bronwyn: "You've been naked for a few minutes now." He gave Botan a small smile. "I think I'm handling it pretty well." And indeed he was. His voice was even, his face was its normal color, he was looking at Botan and not the floor.

 {Text} Physical value isn't something all humans can see. If anything, he's drawing on experience

{Text} After what happened with Bo, he's going to tread with great paranoia

Bo/Torsten: "I think you are, too," he whispered.

{Text} He still refuses for you to help him pick up the pieces. With the curse gone, his mind is still fractured. {Text} More needs to be done.

Brett/Bronwyn: The smile got bigger.

Brett pulled back the covers on Bo's bed and gathered a small pile of pillows, all without letting go of his boyfriend's hand. "There you go, sweetheart."

 {Text} Mine isn't the only type of healing magic. Maybe I could do some research and find something he feels comfortable with

Bo/Torsten: "What are you going to do?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, allowing the towel to pool at his sides.

{Text} Something with a bit of subterfuge?

Brett/Bronwyn: "I'm going to shower and change. I smell like river."

 {Text} No subterfuge. Just research that I will present to the sheriff

Bo/Torsten: "I don't care that you smell like a river, Brett."

{Text} It'll have to be you. Right now I'm imprisoned in the living room and the sheriff does not approve of me. Naturally.

Brett/Bronwyn: Brett bent to kiss Botan's forehead. "Then I'll just change and dry off."

 {Text} He's a very quiet, private man. Are you being menacing?

Bo/Torsten: Bo smiled to the kiss, tired and hardly existent. He then burrowed under the covers, still without clothes.

{Text} Botan made me tell him what truly happened. You tell me how you'd feel.

Brett/Bronwyn: "I'll be right back." He ducked into his bedroom and shucked his wet clothes, exchanging them for dry ones.

It briefly occurred to him to check on Torsten, but he really didn't want to. The man made him uneasy. Besides, there was a TV in there. He'd be fine.

 Bronwyn sighed. This was exactly why she hadn't told the sheriff.

{Text} Christ

{Text} Why would he do that?

Torsten: {Text} I've known him for years. He was testing the ghoul. He called for me out of nowhere. {Text} His eyes were red. I assume an altercation.

Bronwyn: {Text} Has the altercation been resolved?

{Text} Why hasn't he dismissed you?

Bo: {Text} He's taking a nap, apparently. {Text} Seems resolved with his learning of the bird.

Bronwyn: {Text} And your altercation with him? Is that resolved as well?

Torsten: {Text} Is that what we're calling it?

Bronwyn: {Text} Well you are trapped in their living room while he naps

Torsten: {Text} Still here and the sheriff is letting it slide. {Text} Dare I ask for company? There is a television.

Bronwyn: {Text} It sounds like it's been an emotional day and everyone involved is spread pretty thin

{Text} Not saying it's all right, but maybe this is the best case scenario? They haven't hurt you, have they?

{Text} Call me and we'll watch TV together

Torsten: {Text} Just a phone call? :( {Text} No, Thistle, no one's hurt me. {Text} Do you think I would tell you if they did?

Bronwyn: {Text} I don't think my presence there would help the situation. Bo doesn't want anything to do with me, remember?

{Text} You better tell me if they do. How would I help otherwise?

Torsten: {Text} I'm a slave in a fledgling ghoul’s home and I can't even have my woman. What dreadful fate has befallen me?

Bronwyn: {Text} Would it be bad form to tell you I'm in the bathtub right now?

Torsten: {Text} Yes. {Text} Please send a photo.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled to herself, opening up the camera on her phone. A couple minutes later she was sending a picture complete with artfully placed bubbles and candles.

Torsten: "Mm, mm mm." Came from the living room. {Text} You're a vision. {Text} I'm afraid I cannot give you the same.

Brett/Bronwyn: Brett glanced toward the living room with a furrowed brow before shrugging to himself. He wasn't even going to ask.

He was just going to return to his boyfriend's room and snuggle in with him.

 {Text} My imagination will just have to sustain me until I see you again

{Text} You know you have the loveliest behind I've ever seen?

Bo/Torsten: {Text} When have you been looking?

"Do you want me to get dressed?" Bo asked, feeling for Brett's arms, pulling him closer despite the question. He wanted him as close as possible.

Brett/Bronwyn: {Text} I look all the time, lovely

{Text} Alllllllll the time

 "You're fine," Brett murmured, tucking Bo against him and cradling him against his chest. He kissed his shoulder. "You're just fine."

Bo/Torsten: {Text} Now I have something to stare at until he releases me.

"You... manage all of my... weak moments. How do you do it?"

Brett/Bronwyn: {Text} How lucky for you that I decided to take a bath today

She sent him another picture just because. This time the bubbles weren't so artfully arranged.

 "I've always been a patient person, even when I was little. It's my nature."

Bo/Torsten: {Text} I need one more without any bubbles whatsoever.

"I understand for your job, but I'm not... I'm not your job."

Brett/Bronwyn: {Text} I put quite a few of them in here, might take a while for them to disappear

{Text} I suppose I could get out of the tub and shower them off....

 "No, you're not my job." Brett kissed that shoulder again. "You're my love."

Bo/Torsten: {Text} You're torturing me on purpose.

"You sound so sure of that." He wasn't sure of much except for his fear these day. "I don't know if I can sleep."

Brett/Bronwyn: {Text} I might be

{Text} Actually, I have an excellent idea

 "I am." It was one of the only things he was sure of.

He pulled the covers closer around them, snuggled in even further. Being here with Botan like this was his happy place.

"It's okay if you can't. We can just lay here like this for a while."

Bo/Torsten: All he could do was nod, forcing his eyes closed in the attempt to mimic sleep. Losing the curse would be a godsend, but he was still apprehensive. This life had to be worth living.

"Alright," he whispered.

Torsten arched a brow at his phone, as though she could see him. {Text} One with you here in my arms?

Brett: "Just rest," he whispered back. Brett closed his eyes as well, breathing his Botan in and praying they could stay here for the rest of the day.

Bronwyn: {Text} Not quite

{Text} I'm going to call you, and I need you to mute the sound, okay?

Bo/Torsten: Bo could only handle having his back to Brett for so long before rolling over to face him. That perfect jawline, those sweet, soft and telling eyes.

"Do you want me? Thought about me when you cum?"

{Text} Call but mute?

Brett/Bronwyn: Brett's eyes answered Bo before his lips could. How could he be so in love with this man and not want him?

He nodded. "Yes. I have."

 {Text} Not a regular call

{Text} A video call

Bo/Torsten: This was an inappropriate time to demand this, but he was going to. It wasn't about the sex itself. There wasn't so much as a throb between his legs. "Tell me what you've thought about. I want to see it."

{Text} I accept your challenge.

Brett: "I..." He took a deep breath. "I can feel your touch even when we're not touching. I close my eyes and I can feel the warmth of your skin against mine."

Brett rubbed Bo's shoulder as he spoke, giving himself something to focus on. His eyes lifted to his boyfriend's. "You want to see...it....right now?"

Bo: While Brett Parker had been in the shower, he had been thinking about him, about his skin and his warmth. He was there, but not there. Shifting and fidgeting, he asked, "Is that... something you can do twice in one day?"

Brett/Bronwyn: "Ah, well. Yes. I've had plenty of time to recover so....it shouldn't be a problem." Whether or not he'd be able to relax enough to be able to was another story.

 {Text} Delighted to hear it

{Text} Remember to mute now

She put the call through, smiling once Torsten's face filled her phone screen.

As yet, she was still in the tub. But that was soon about to change.

Bo/Torsten: "Do you want to fuck me, Brett?" A question that he wanted to avoid contact with, but forced it anyway. He wanted to study his reaction. Blush? Stutter? Neither of which Torsten was doing. Torsten was relaxing, sitting back with his hand behind his head.

"Beautiful," he mouthed.

Brett/Bronwyn: There was definitely a blush, but this time there was no stutter. "I've thought about it before," he whispered, pulling the blankets even closer so they formed a cocoon around him and Bo. "I've wanted to share that with you. But if we ever do, it would only be because we both wanted it. I wouldn't force you into it or hold it over you. And if we never do that's okay."

 Bronwyn's smile got wider. "You, too," she mouthed back. She propped the phone against a window sill so it would capture the full view of her body as she eased herself out of the bath, covered in bubbles.

Next she propped on the counter so he could see as she stepped into the shower and rinsed all the bubbles away.

Bo/Torsten: Through the silence in the bedroom, Torsten shook his head and laughed without sound. The teasing meant he had to adjust his trousers. The quiet meant his hand lingered.

"You're mine," he whispered to his Thistle. He should have been enraged by being left alone in the living room, by the sheriff allowing this egregious overreach in sovereignty. It didn't matter. This wasn't going to be what tipped him over the edge. Five hundred years, despite his ready kindle, taught him to look the other way, if only for a moment.

"Why do you feel the need to say so much to me, to explain like that? Would you have before I told you the truth? Do you think I'm going to cower? I'm not afraid of your body or what you can do to me physically. I only have one fear with you, it's your other half, your non-human half."

Brett/Bronwyn: Brett nodded. "Yes, I would have. I'd feel the need no matter what, because I want you to feel comfortable." As he traced Botan's cheekbone with his fingers, it occurred to him that maybe he had that fear too. He never, ever wanted to hurt Bo again. He had to learn to be stronger.

"Do you want to know a secret?"

 Bronwyn gave Torsten a wicked grin over her shoulder. Since she was here, she might as well take a proper shower and give him a nice distraction.

Bo/Torsten: "Do I want to know a secret?" Bo looked from the hand to his eyes. "I want to know many things, so begin with what you want to tell me."

The druid's grin was enough to make the revenant growl, smirking to himself as he glanced to the hallway. Still nothing. He then stood, attempted for the door, but found his feet cemented halfway there. He made his way back with a sigh. He wanted her so much.

Brett/Bronwyn: "You know this morning when you asked me if I was talking to Miss Swiss? I was."

 She made sure to look back at Torsten as she cleansed herself, trying to keep him engaged so he wouldn't think too much about having to remain in the sheriff's living room. She didn't give it much longer. Brett Parker wouldn't allow Bo to keep him there all day.

Bo/Torsten: "Of course you were," he said, not understanding the context in which Brett meant. Of course he was talking to the rat. He just assumed it to be something he did to help him think. Idiosyncratic perhaps, but nothing alarming.

Her constant attention put Torsten back on the couch without so much as a grunt of complaint.

"You just wait until I get home, Little Thistle," he whispered to her.

Brett/Bronwyn: "Not just talking to her. Talking to her. As in we understand what the other is saying and have an actual conversation."

 That made Bronwyn smile even more. She had great plans for Torsten when he came to her. Very great plans.

In the meantime, she got out the shower and dried off, carrying him to her bedroom so he could watch her dress.

Bo/Torsten: It was then that he realized what exactly he had said. When I get home. What was home anymore? His family home in Iceland? The Wayside Inn in Edenton? Bronwyn? Not four walls she had purchased. She was his other home. It didn't matter where.

Softly, once she was settled, he whispered to her his epiphany.

Bo scoffed. "You're a Doctor Dolittle?" How to test this. Well... there was no way, as he didn't know where Miss Swiss was. He would have to take his word for it. "What else can you do?"

Brett/Bronwyn: If there was anything in this world that could melt Bronwyn MacAllister, it was the man she loved telling her that she was his home. And Christ, she wanted to tell him that but she didn't want to tell him over the phone, especially when they hadn't really touched on the subject of love.

"Ask the sheriff if you can leave. He'll convince Bo."

 Brett chuckled quietly. "I guess I am. I've talked to birds, too. And a dog once." He thought for a moment. That was really the most prominent thing. "When I go to arrest a drunk, they don't put up that much of a fight anymore. I don't know if that counts."

Bo/Torsten: "They've gone quiet," he whispered. "Either their asleep or... something else. I'm going to give this just a bit longer before I begin speaking loudly," he chuckled. "How's your baby? Good? How was the wedding?"

The next ability somehow felt familiar. A kind of presence, wasn't it? He had witnessed it somewhere. Perhaps it was Brett himself.

"What is it your vampire can do? They don't seem all... consistent."

Bronwyn: "Ye'd be able to hear somethin' if they were doin' that. They might just be talkin'." Another sure way to make Bronwyn melt was asking about her children. "He's lovely and the weddin' was lovely and Lucien and Salem were lovely. I cried. So much. I have a son-in-law now."

Brett: "I have no idea. Maybe he can quiet down drunks too."

Bo/Torsten: He didn't want to tell her that he could hear their discussion, and felt no need to intrude on it. He would wait until the conversation was over before reminding them of his existence. Had Brett made any indication of taking advantage of Botan's vulnerable state, he would have broken the wall in an attempt to get to his throat.

"I'm sorry I was unable to attend. It just didn't feel the proper scene for a first meeting."

"So you speak to animals and shush drunks," Bo mused. "The man... fed me his blood, and I regrew my tongue. I've seen him whisper to Torsten and force him into...acts worse than kissing Peter Graham." This was just Guildias. Perhaps Brett had the foresight not to mention the other domitor in his life.

Brett/Bronwyn: "I agree, and it's perfectly all right. There will be plenty of other opportunities for ye to meet my sons and granddaughter. And now my son-in-law." She was back to beaming, all but radiating motherly pride. "I have a son-in-law, Torsten. My laddie got married."

 Brett did indeed have the foresight not to mention MJ. The man had gone off to try to piece his life together; he was no longer Brett's domitor.

"Pretty much. Talking to animals isn't really beneficial at work, but it's nice to talk to Miss Swiss. She has a little old lady voice."

His brow furrowed. "I still don't understand how that's possible. I'm glad your body parts are where they're supposed to be but...this is strange and mysterious magic." The furrow deepened. "He commands Torsten as well?"

Speaking of... "Maybe you should let Torsten go home."

Bo/Torsten: "He owns you but doesn't explain it to you?" Torsten could hear the bitterness in Botan's voice from the living room. It was practically palpable. Something about the topic was upsetting him, and Torsten knew exactly what it was. Whether or not he should explain was an internal debate. Botan already knew the answers. His genius was evident in two areas of his life; one had been erased, the other half forgotten. He was a master of the Cainite lore. Of course he knew the ins and outs of Brett Parker's predicament. He had known. Part of what made him so arrogant in his other life had been stolen.

"Some magic unlike the collar," he confessed, breaking eye contact. "No. He's mine." Unapologetically avowal.

"It's beautiful to see you so happy, Thistle." The revenant sighed. "I might not be going anywhere. Perhaps I could trouble you to call the sheriff? I've been officially claimed as a pet."

Brett/Bronwyn: "He hasn't explained much beyond my usefulness being tied to the prince. I believe Pete Graham received far more instruction before he left."

Brett nodded and sighed. A lot of strange mysterious magic going around it seemed.

"The collar ensures that, yes. But isn't the collar enough? Why make him stay?"

 Bronwyn frowned. "Is Brett no' makin' any headway with him? I can't see him lettin' Bo just keep ye there."

Bo/Torsten: "So far, no. He's much too gentle. Everyone is with him, and I'm reaching the end of my wick."

Bo simply refused to answer. Eyes remained firm to the bedsheets, unable to explain his sense of security and control by possessing the man that had assaulted him. It didn't matter the circumstance. It didn't matter that Torsten was himself a victim. What mattered was himself.

Brett/Bronwyn: "Botan," Brett said softly, taking his boyfriend's hand but not squeezing it. "I know you want to punish him for what happened at the mill. I know you want to make him suffer for it. But he is already, just by having the collar around his neck. Being a puppet is far worse than being stuck in my living room."

The hand was lightly squeezed. "This is our home. Our sanctuary. I don't want it to be someone's prison cell."

 "There's a good chance gentleness will work. Tryin' to force that man is on par with a Herculean task."

Bo/Torsten: He was allowed to hold his hand up to a certain point, and that point was reached the moment their home, Brett's home, was used in negotiation. Prison cell? What did Brett know of a prison? A Catholic father? Was that on par with what he had to endure? Not at all.

Bo repossessed his hand and fumbled out of bed. The nearest pair of jeans were gathered and worn. The revenant straightened and lowered his phone, keeping his thumb hovered on the mute button. Whatever was about to happen, he didn't want Bronwyn involved.

"Get up and take your shoes off. They're mine now."

Hesitant, he placed his phone on the table and did as commanded. He had no choice.

"Now your socks. Fold them together and place them in your shoe."

He did.

"Where did we meet?"

Torsten licked his lips. "Warsaw. You and I were-"

"Walk there. Goodbye."

Brett: "Botan, wait! Botan!" Being already dressed saved him a step, but he still wasn't in time to stop his boyfriend from divesting Torsten of his shoes and demanding that he walk all the way to Poland.

"Botan, stop this." His voice was firmer, more like the sheriff that shouted down drunks and broke up fights, but he did not shout. Bo wasn't a drunk he was shoving in a cell.

"Enough. You can't make Torsten walk to Poland, especially because you're not asking him to walk to Poland. You're asking him to walk to death. You're angry, and you have every right to be. More than every right. But this isn't the way. If he's telling the truth, he was forced into what happened as much as you were and although I know you don't care about his pain, I care whether or not you do something on par with what those people in the mill did.

"Please release him, Botan."

Bo/Torsten: Torsten managed to reach his phone without issue, turning for his pilgrimage to death. This was going to be his end, it seemed, because Bo was giving the kind and gentle sheriff the silent treatment, facing him with cold eyes comfortable in their vengeance. As the call had remained unmuted, there was no need to explain this to Bronwyn.

"I have a journey ahead of me," he chuckled dryly.

Brett/Bronwyn: While Brett redoubled his efforts to reason with his boyfriend, Bronwyn was entering a full-blown panic. "Put me on speaker!"

"Botan Nowicki!" she shouted at her phone, hoping he could hear her. "I did no' bloody heal ye and pour my magic into ye so ye could bloody murder the man I love! Ye think ye're the only one who's ever felt pain? A desire for vengeance? Ye're no'! And throwin' a tantrum like a child and sendin' Torsten to his death is goin' to solve nothin'! The pain will still be there! And ye might be willin' to just lay down and die and watch the man ye love lose ye but I'm no'! Release him from that bloody order!"

Bo: Her voice was fading the further Torsten walked, and he felt her anger in his chest like a punch. Bo's nostrils flared and he looked to the side, away from Brett, away from the connection he was attempting to establish, as though Brett and Bronwyn were the same standing in front of him. If he just kept his ears closed he wouldn't have to regard it.

Torsten: "Treat him like the brat he is, sheriff! I've been saying this to everyone!" shouted the revenant.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn wasn't one to give up so easily. She was putting her shoes on as she shouted, determined to go after Torsten and save him if Bo didn't see reason.

Torsten was shouting, which meant he was getting farther away. Time for a new tactic. She got her emergency phone and dialed the sheriff's number, demanding that he put her on speaker the second he answered and juggling two phones as she ran out to her car.

"BOTAN! RELEASE HIM! Yer love isn't the only one that matters! Yer pain isn't the only one that matters! Find yer goddamn humanity! He's no' yers, he's mine! I love him and I fuckin' refuse to lose him! I'm no' goin' to do what ye've been doin' with Brett!"

Bo/Torsten: "Brett didn't force himself on you as you cried and begged and screamed for him to stop! You don't get to tell me what to do!" That certainly got his attention.

Torsten flicked through his phone, tapping on the icon of his sister, Flora. Bronwyn would begin to hear the phone ringing.

"Halló? Tori?"

"Halló, Flora," he sighed.

"Hvað segirðu gott?"

"I'm fine, I just wanted you to... I just wanted to hear your voice."

Bronwyn: "It wasn't his fuckin' choice! He was forced ev'ry bit as much as ye were! I know what it's fuckin' like to have someone out to rape and murder ye! Ye didn't have the protection I did and I'm sorry for that but that doesn't make what ye're doin' to him fuckin' okay!

What happened at the mill wasn't his choice! Hell, precious little has been his choice since that fuckin' collar was put on him! He's a goddamn fuckin' slave to someone who refuses to see any pain but his own! Doin' this to him changes NOTHIN' except the way Brett's goin' to look at ye if ye kill Torsten!"

Tears were streaming down her face as she drove, praying to reach Torsten before he reached the water line. She had to save him.

Bo/Torsten: The screaming in English had Flora switching the language gears. "Tori? What's going on?"

"Botan is trying to kill me."

"Again?"

The revenant laughed humorlessly. "Já. Again. Though this one I fear is legitimate."

"Why isn't he with the prince?"

"I cannot forgive you for that."

"I do not relish my action, but it had to be done. Look at the mess you are in, brother."

Bo looked away from the phone, away from Brett. His chest was on fire. "Brett..."

Brett: "Please, Botan," Brett said gently, his tone a cool, soothing match to the heat and anger in Bronwyn's.

"You said you didn't want to recover the memories of your old life because you didn't know who that man was. I don't know who he was, but I'm begging you, don't become him. Let him go. Let Torsten go.

"Come back to me, sweetheart. Please."

Bo/Torsten: Don't become him. Was this a taste of his past? Was this his true image? More important still, did he want to face that man in the mirror?

His quivering chin answered his internal questions of crisis.

"I can't help it," he sniffed. "I'm...sick. I'm sick." He didn't mean physically. His mind felt disgusting. "Torsten...stop."

The revenant took a breath as his feet came to a halt.

Brett: "Oh, baby." Brett wanted so much to hold him, to sag with relief, to thank God and all the saints. But he settled for getting back in Botan's line of sight and offering his arms in case they were wanted right now.

"Anger's a wound gone mad. And you have so many wounds."

Bo/Torsten: Torsten finally got around to introducing his sister to his thistle. He then named the road in which he stood. "I've been told to stop," he explained, "so I won't be going anywhere."

Bo looked to those arms and shook his head. He couldn't. He didn't deserve them. "I want it to end."

Brett/Bronwyn: "It will," Brett assured him. Even though he dropped his arms, he didn't move away. He wouldn't leave Botan.

"It starts with removing the curse. You won't get your old memories back, but maybe that's a good thing. You don't have to be slave to the past, you can forge ahead, try to be better. I'll try with you. We'll both be better, for ourselves, for each other.

"That man that used to be? He's gone. You're here now."

 This was not how she envisioned being introduced to Torsten's sister but she'd take it. Better a teary, slightly hysterical introduction than none at all.

She made the turn onto the street Torsten was on at dangerous speeds, slamming the brakes the moment she spotted him and flying from the car to wrap her arms around him.

Bo/Torsten: "You're a slave to the past. Why don't we erase everything that makes you who you are and see how you survive. You don't understand, Brett." The phone was snatched from his hand and turned off, tossed to the couch. "I want it to end. I want all of it to end. I don't want to get out of bed anymore. I don't want to stand. I don't want to breathe. I'm tired and I'm empty."

Torsten wrapped his arms around the druid and lifted her to her toes. "I'll call you back," he said to his sister, pocketing his phone. "I'll be fine. As I'm not walking into the ocean, I encourage you to go to the sheriff's and slap Botan until his face is raw."

Brett/Bronwyn: Bo couldn't have broken Brett's heart more effectively if he'd torn it out of his chest and crushed it in front of him.

"Maybe I am. Maybe I'm just starting to let go of all the ways they messed me up. But I'm doing it. Slowly but I'm doing it, and that's because I have you. You make me want to be better. You make me want to do better.

"I wish I could undo all the horrible things that have been done to you. I wish I could give you back your sense of self. I know how tired you are, I can see it. I feel like you're slipping away from me a little bit each day and I don't know how to stop it because I just don't have the power to undo all that horror.

"All I know how to do is love you and kiss you awake and take you to the bookstore and the library and make you vegan chicken just to see if I can bring back some of that light. I'll never stop trying to bring it back.

"I know you want to give up. I know it seems like your only option, the best option. But I'm not giving up on you. On us. I will never stop fighting to make you whole again."

 Fine? None of this was fine. She was one temper tantrum away from losing her love. That was as far away from fine as things could possibly be.

"I have words for him later," she sniffled, locking him in a vice-like embrace. She wasn't ready to let go yet.

Bo/Torsten: Bo wanted to deny him. He shook his head as though to shake those words from his ears. The more Brett spoke, the more weighed down he felt, falling limply onto the couch, elbows to his knees, head in hand. He listened though he didn't want to.

"No," he said in attempt to shut him out. It wasn't effective. Brett continued and the word was repeated. He could feel the hot tears spilling over. "No, don't. Don't," he cried. "Stop." But he didn't stop. The precipice was there and he couldn't tip over. As much as he wanted to, Bo couldn't bring himself to end his own life. He was waiting for the nature of the curse to finish him. Brett wouldn't allow it. Brett's heart was strong enough for the both of them. All he could do was sob.

"I'm fine, love. It's alright. Everything's alright," Torsten soothed. "I have such words for you when I'm free of this."

Brett/Bronwyn: Brett knelt in front of Bo, offering the comfort of his presence without touching him. Of all the things he trusted in his world, he trusted Bo to accept his touch when he was ready the most.

The moment he stopped trusting in that, all would be lost.

"I love you so much, Botan. I know I'm not the strongest man or the most powerful, but what strength I do have I'll use for both of us. I'll be your pillar. Just please don't give up, baby. Lean on me, but don't give up."

 "He almost killed ye." Bronwyn took a deep breath, gripping his shirt for dear life. "I'll get ye free. I swear to the gods I'll get you free."

Bo/Torsten: "It's not the first time, Bronwyn, and it's not going to be the last. He's human, but he's fire. One can't help but get burned by him. You can't blame a flame for being warm. It's the nature of its existence."

Slowly, Bo composed himself. It was just enough to breathe evenly, to hold his hands out as a silent plea for Brett to take him. Hold him, carry him, something. Do something, Brett, please. Anything, just touch me.

"I'm sorry."

Brett/Bronwyn: "Flames can do many things." She pulled back so she could wipe her eyes and look at him. "Ask any Druid. They can purify and sustain as easily as they can burn and destroy. The key lies in the choices that are made."

 No sooner had Bo held out his hands that Brett was gathering him into his arms, holding him and cradling to him and murmuring loving comforting nonsense.

"I forgive you." Brett kissed his temple. "Please let me forgive you."

Bo/Torsten: "That's very poetic, Bronwyn, but Botan is human. Don't expect so much from someone like him. He's always been a handful and I suspect he always will be. At least now, for the most part, he's out of my hands. Either you or the sheriff or combination saved my life."

Bo couldn't think of anything to say, nothing but more apologies for the pain and annoyance that was his existence. His apologies sounded pathetic and he knew it. This also wasn't the type of man he wanted to be.

Brett/Bronwyn: "I expect just as much from a human as I do from anyone else, especially one who knows about our world." Her grandfather often said that underestimating humans was a grave mistake, and he was right. One had only to look at what Botan had done today with the bit of power the collar had afforded him to know he wasn't someone to be taken lightly.

She returned her head to Torsten's shoulder. "I think the sheriff takes the credit."

 However many times Bo apologized, Brett would forgive him. This was the man he loved, and he was in pain. Who didn't do or say terrible things when they were in pain? It was a part of being human.

Brett eased himself up and onto the couch, pulling his boyfriend into his lap, giving him an endless stream of loving comfort. He wouldn't be denied a single kiss or gentle touch.

Bo/Torsten: For a moment, Bo resisted Brett's physical affection, turning his head away as he joined him on the couch, pushing at his chest as he was brought to his lap. It was a lie. He wanted it; he just didn't feel that he had earned it. Normally, that wouldn't have mattered. Normally, he would have taken with the entitlement of a spoiled prince. Today, the veil was stained and torn. There was nothing beautiful, save for the man cradling him.

"You said you loved me," uttered the revenant. "Not just once..." Surely, that had been her panic. They were still in the developmental stage, were they not? He had yet to meet her children. Still, he heard her as sure as she stood in front of him.

Brett/Bronwyn: Brett liked to think he knew Botan well enough by now to know when he didn't want affection and when he was pretending not to want it. If he thought even for a moment that his boyfriend didn't want to be held, he would've let him go.

But Botan needed this. They both did.

"Want to watch the jellyfish thing on Netflix?" he whispered into Botan's hair, nuzzling him softly.

 Bronwyn tensed. Through all her panic and anger and desperation, it hadn't occurred to her that when she'd told Bo that she loved Torsten, Torsten had heard her.

And that really wouldn't be an issue, except that Bronwyn hadn't intended for Torsten to know that.

She considered talking her way out of it and immediately rejected the idea. He deserved better than that.

"Aye." She took a deep breath. "That really wasn't how I imagined ye findin' out."

Bo/Torsten: "That's not how I found out," said Torsten. "I had an idea months before. I found out weeks before. I think we've known for a while. You don't just offer anyone a chance to meet your children, and not everyone is allowed opportunity to meet my sisters - sister. So... we're there."

Brett knew his companion almost like the back of his hand. Bo felt his eyes swelling with tears again, blinked them back. "Yes, please." It would calm him instantly, put him out of his misery with a nap.

Brett/Bronwyn: She nodded, considering. He did have a point. Maybe they hadn't actually said the words to each other yet, but it was in their actions, in what they did and didn't do.

"We're there." Bronwyn pulled back again, studying his face. "That's still no' how I wanted ye to hear it for the first time."

 Brett pressed a kiss to Bo's temple "You got it, sweetheart."

Luckily for them both, the remote was within easy reach so there was no need for them to separate while Brett pulled up the jellyfish.

Within moments, the living room was filled with soothing music to go with the pretty images on the TV.

Torsten: Torsten smiled softly. There was a collar around his throat, he was just a mile from his death, and the love of the century was in his arms. His life was an unorthodox balance. "I won't say it today. I'm going to wait for a day that won't be spoiled."

Bronwyn: "There's no rush." Bronwyn rested her forehead against his, sighing quietly. "It's been one hell of a day. Never could get the hang o' those goddamn Thursdays."

Torsten: "Now that I'm here, I have a task for you." With a sigh, Torsten tugged unwound himself from her arms and tugged at his collar. "He's told me to stop, thus I'm here. What can you do to break his command?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn touched a hand lightly to the collar, studying it. "Well, a command is, at its core, a compulsion to do somethin' and I've overcome a compulsion for ye before." She was sure they both had a vivid recollection of that day at the river.

"This should operate verra similarly. Come down here. I need to lay hands on yer head."

Torsten: Her command, while it didn't give him a forceful impulse, had him laughing as he slouched to accommodate her. There was the reason she was known as Little Thistle. "I much prefer your demands."

Bronwyn: She chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead as soon as he was within reach. "I like to think mine are far gentler more pleasant. Okay." She took a deep breath. "Here we go."

As soon as her magic started flowing within her, that familiar golden light was pouring out of her hands and into him, soothing and cleansing as it went.

Torsten: "Mhm," he hummed, holding her close by her waist. He almost didn't care the outcome of her spell so long as he could hold her close. Though, like before, her magic was a godsend. Holding her in his arms, his innate rage was all but diminished. "Fortunate it is that you happened to fall in love with me."

Bronwyn: "The battle was lost the moment ye smiled at me," Bronwyn whispered, kissing his forehead again.

Her magic continued to flow and pulse until Bo's command was completely gone, and once it faded, her arms moved to wrap around his neck again. She wouldn't stop needing to hold him for a while.

Torsten: "The morning with the music?" he asked, pulling her up simply by straightening, holding her then by her thighs.

Bronwyn: She nodded, wrapping her legs around his waist so she was completely wrapped around him.

"Aye. In retrospect, I probably should've put on a robe." She chuckled. "That nightgown's all but transparent."

Torsten: "I've believed this whole time that you did that on purpose, just to tempt me."

Bronwyn: "I didn't that time, but there miiiiight've been a couple others when I did."

Torsten: "Oh?" He began to walk in the direction of her car. "Tell me these moments."

Bronwyn: "Aye. Had to torment ye a wee, didn't I?"

Torsten: "So, you've wanted me since the night I showed up with Botan?"

Bronwyn: "I was too frazzled then, but when things settled down and I got a good look at ye...."

Torsten: "I knew that night. Callum knew that night."

Bronwyn: "Aye, he certainly did."

Torsten: "That doesn't upset you, Thistle?"

Bronwyn: "He and I have talked about it. He knows that it's my life and my choice, he's just a wee protective."

Torsten: "I mean that I've had my eyes set for you since night one."

Bronwyn: She smiled. "I know he did. Why do you think he was so protective?"

Torsten: "I was an unknown revenant in his home, explaining things about his lover he had no idea about. It goes with the territory."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded, giving him a nuzzle. "He might no' show it, but he's softened toward ye a bit. He sees how happy ye make me."

Torsten: "Has he realized yet that you're the person I've been buying flowers for?"

Bronwyn: "Aye," Bronwyn chuckled. "That's part o' the reason he's defrosted."

Torsten: "I should buy him flowers."

Bronwyn: "Ye should. Then ye should tell me how he reacts."

Torsten: "What does he prefer? I've heard the serpent call him Daisy?"

Bronwyn: "Aye, he does like Gerbera daisies. Also tulips, hyacinths, and irises."

Torsten: He would keep that in mind for an especially made bouquet. "Where are we going now?"

Bronwyn: "Wherever ye'd like to go."

Torsten: "You're not going to like it."

Bronwyn: "Why? Please don't say the sheriff's house."

Torsten: "... Brett Parker's house."

Bronwyn: "That way madness lies. There's been enough of that for today."

Torsten: "I'm going to check on him, Thistle."

Bronwyn: "Brett's with him. He'll make sure Bo's okay and calm."

Torsten: "Are you telling me no?"

Bronwyn: "I'm tryin' to talk ye out of it. Is it workin'?"

Torsten: "I don't blame him for his nature. If you want to slap him when we walk in, that's fine. I just need to see him."

Bronwyn: "I don't slap," she said, starting up the car. "I bloody punch."

Torsten: The revenant smiled. "So long as you make a proper fist."

Bronwyn: "I've been trained in several forms of combat. Of course I can make a proper fist."

Torsten: "That's my darling."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled, turning onto Brett Parker's street and pulling up in front of his house a few moments later.

"Place is still standin'."

Torsten: "One is probably hiding, or the sheriff used his romantic influence to sway him. I haven't a clue why Botan has gravitated to the ghoul. This would have been beneath him months ago."

Bronwyn: "Love is a force unto itself, and verra often blind. I imagine Parker's...sweetness was appealin' to him."

Torsten: "Ha. The Botan I knew made women cry for wasting his time. I love him, but this man..."

Bronwyn: "Isn't the Botan ye knew," she finished. "The old one's gone."

Torsten: "Don't say that."

Bronwyn: "I don't want to. But the chances of recoverin' his memories after all that's happened are verra slim, even without the damage to his brain from the spell."

Torsten: The glint of determination in his eyes was absolute. "I'll find a way."

Bronwyn: "I don't doubt it." Bronwyn reached over and squeezed Torsten's hand. "What happens if he doesn't want them?"

Torsten: "He already doesn't."

Bronwyn: She nodded. "Bloody damn marbles."

Torsten: "Marbles?"

Bronwyn: "His memories are in a marble, aye? I feel like I remember readin' that in yer sister's letter."

Torsten: "It's one of the oldest forms of magic that I'm aware of."

Bronwyn: "It needs to crawl into a hole and die."

Torsten: "More experiences with it?"

Bronwyn: "Aye. That bloody djinn kept Mason in one."

Torsten: "Of course, djinn." Torsten stared at the sheriff's front door. He was in heavy debate if he should bother.

Bronwyn: "Want me to go with ye?" she asked softly.

Torsten: "Losing sight of why I should try."

Bronwyn: "Because even after ev'rythin' that's happened and what he just tried to do, ye care."

Torsten: "Yes. That's my weakness."

Bronwyn: "Carin' doesn't know from strength or weakness. It only knows heart." She gave his hand another squeeze. "Come on, darlin'."

Torsten: "Of course a young and beautiful druid would say such a thing."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled, leaning over to kiss him. "It's the eternally optimistic nature-lover in us."

Torsten: The revenant leaned into the kiss and sighed. "I...think we should go while you still have a chance."

Bronwyn: "Are ye sure?"

Torsten: "No, Thistle."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn undid her seatbelt. "We'll just pop in for a wee. Then ye and I are goin' to go eat somewhere and then go celebrate the fact that ye're still alive and with me."

Torsten: "What does celebrating entail?" he asked, unbuckling his belt.

Bronwyn: "Whatever we want it to."

Torsten: "Let's get this over with, then." Considering what he'd just been though, he didn't bother knocking.

Brett: Brett was just starting to drift off when the door opened. The jellyfish were still floating dreamily on the TV screen, doing their best to lull him.

As soon as he saw Torsten, he gathered his sleeping boyfriend even closer than he already was and lifted a finger to his lips, asking for silence.

Torsten: While Parker gathered Botan, Torsten gathered his thoughts and bedded his ambiguous jealousy. "All is well in the Nowicki kingdom?"

Brett: He nodded, whispering, "It will be. Sorry about what happened."

Torsten: "Not like you can control him at all times." Though he did want to break his nose. The polite facade was for Bronwyn. With her in mind, he turned to her. "Anything you want to do for him?"

Brett/Bronwyn: Brett looked down at Botan, pressed his lips to his hair. "Control isn't the solution." His eyes found Torsten's collar. "It's the problem."

Meanwhile, Bronwyn shook her head and retook Torsten's hand. "There's nothin' I can do that won't wake him," she said, whispering as Brett did.

Torsten: His tone was as soft as his company's. "When he has it, he burns the world. When he doesn't, he wants...chaos to mimic his feelings. It will always be an issue for you, Parker. You're promising your heart to a volatile​ man."

Brett: "I can't speak for the man you knew. But the man I know, the man I love, doesn't want chaos. He doesn't want to watch the world burn. He's cursed and he's tired and he feels like he has no say in his own life.

"And I'm truly sorry that collar means you don't have it either."

Torsten: "It's the same soul. Consider my words, sheriff. When he feels at a loss, what does he do? When he's upset, whatever the reason, what does he do to soothe himself? It's a variation, but the same. Memories may change some things, but not a person at their core." The ivory of the collar was touched. "I'm old enough to handle it."

Brett: "And when the memories are gone and something's eating away at your brain? Nothing left but a blank slate."

Brett shrugged. "Maybe I'm wrong, I don't know. Maybe the need for chaos is still there. But even if it is, so what?" Another shrug. "I love him. When he's angry, when he's smiling, when he's crying, when I can get a laugh out of him. All of him. He's the storm, I'm the calm, and together there's balance."

Torsten: "Then he's your responsibility now. I have a greater purpose in my hand," literally, "and I will not have another tantrum jeopardize my life."

Brett: Brett gave a single nod. "I won't have it either."

Torsten: "Can you tell him no when you need to? Are you going to cure him?"

Brett: "I'm going to remove his curse. I'm going to find a way to repair the damage to his brain. And I'm going to do everything I can to help him not become the man he was before."

Bo/Torsten: Torsten gently brought his hands to Bronwyn's shoulders. "She can aid you in repair, but he will tell you no."

He would. In fact, he didn't want her there at all. The noise had stirred him enough to open his eyes.

Brett: "No offense to Miss MacAllister but if I can find a way to get rid of Botan's curse, I can find a way to repair the damage to his brain that doesn't involve Druid magic."

Bo: An exhausted voice chimes in. "Why is she here?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn's gave shifted to Bo. "Because Torsten wanted to check on ye."

And now that he had, it was time for them to go. She'd wager all four of them were too exhausted for another blow up. She gently tugged Torsten toward the door.

Bo/Torsten: "He's alive. You're alive. Goodbye." The revenant's eyes found the ghoul's, brow subtly arched in a conversation without words.

"Adjø, Botan."

Bronwyn: And he's going to stay that way, Bronwyn thought, squeezing Torsten's hand as he led him back to the car.

"Where do ye want to go eat?"

Torsten: There was a dullness to Torsten's eyes. He wished Botan had just remained asleep. "Cocky young ghoul, isn't he?"

Bronwyn: "He's a bleedin' heart tryin' to save the man he loves. I hope he does."

Torsten: "I thought you were going to punch the boy."

Bronwyn: "No' today."

Torsten: Finally, a smile. "Tomorrow?"

Bronwyn: "Only the gods know."

Torsten: "So vague. We'll see. Where do you want to eat?"

Bronwyn: And one from her. "I asked ye first. Ye're pickin'."

Torsten: "Why must I pick? You decide." Ah, the old indecisive argument so easy to get lost in.

Bronwyn: "Because we're celebratin' ye, and ev'ryone knows that the person gettin' celebrated gets to pick the restaurant."

Torsten: "There's no cause to celebrate, love. It's alright. Truly." He sighed. "Seafood. Something European."

Bronwyn: "Love is its own cause." She tugged him down for a kiss. "I know just the place. They also serve an excellent whiskey."

Torsten: One wouldn't think a five hundred year-old revenant would be so easy to manipulate, but her tug was like that to a ragdoll. The kiss was savored, taking back her lips as soon as she was finished speaking. "I wouldn't mind a strong ale."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn hummed against his lips, focusing solely on him and not other, unpleasant things. "They have plenty o' that as well. No' to mention a really lovely view."