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"They didn't- wait, please!" Mosco called after his uncles just as Ace laid his hand on the knob.
The half-orc grimaced, but, as a testament to the patience he had for his nephew, stopped and half-turned back towards him. Arrow just sighed and took to fixing his clothes in one of the room's full-length mirrors.
"Bes' have a fuckin' watertight argument, Sweets."
"They didn't know," he said, voice gentle now. "The last thing Carmey and Spades want is to upset you, or anyone."
Arrow scoffed at his reflection.
"Upset us?" He spun to face Mosco, but stayed behind Ace, expression firmly even. "Look, darling, love, I understand many Saltrocks are... affectionate, but your uncle and I have a century of hell we're trying to work through. If our choices are between offending your man's family by leaving or being groped and prodded until they trigger a trauma response, I'm sorry, but we'll choose the former every time."
"And that's completely understandable." Mosco said firmly. "If those were the only options, I'd never fault you for that decision, but they are not going to push you any further."
"Of course," the half-elf hissed through his teeth, "until they do. Sweets... people like this, royalty and nobility, they're very charming and lovely on the surface. I don't think any less of you for taking them at face value, but you need to understand that the way they present themselves is always a lie at its core. I've been doing the same thing my entire adult life, I can spot a pretty mask from a mile away."
Shaking his head once, Mosco spoke up before his uncle could continue. "They aren't like that. We're set to become part of their family. They want to get along, so they'll respect your boundaries as soon as they know about them. They want a good relationship with all three of us."
"Sorry, kid," Ace said, voice low and rough, "been shit on too much t'believe that. No damn royal I ever knew 'bout really cared. All they want's smooth sailin', an' they cut folks like us down t'get it."
"That's not-" Mosco started, but cut himself short when the half-orc lifted a hand.
"I get it, Sweets. I do." He laid his raised hand on the side of his nephew's neck. His touch was impossibly gentle for a man so rough. "Ain't gonna hold it over yer head. Lex's a decent guy, far as we can tell, even wit' a family like his, but..." he trailed off with a sigh, glancing to the side.
Mosco moved forward until he could rest his head on Ace's shoulder. "But...?"
"We don't belong here," Arrow continued for him. "We, including you, have no legal blood that would command the slightest respect. We're nothing more than commoners, and criminals at that. They don't like commoners who rock the boat. They've already done us a favour by allowing us to live here unmolested, they won't go as far as adjusting their behavior for people so far below them. Either we leave, we ruin the evening by insisting that our boundaries be respected, or we suffer their insensitivity until we reach a breaking point.
"We tried, love. We truly did, but we have to draw a line before we get hurt. I'm sorry it didn't work out. Ace and I are leaving. End of discussion. We can pick this up again tomorrow, when we aren't feeling so raw. Alright?"
Mosco lifted his gaze to look at each of his uncles. It seemed like it was taking every ounce of Ace's self control not to snap and Arrow's expression was tense, distressed. He'd only seen them worse off in complete privacy or dire emergencies; this was about as bad as they got in public. Which, in his experience, meant they really were at a breaking point and only still here to try to make him feel better.
He knew if he pleaded with Ace, his soft-hearted uncle would cave. He knew Arrow would follow suit to be moral support for his husband, and he knew they wouldn't be anything more than exasperated with him if he convinced them to stay. It was something he would've done in a heartbeat just a few short years ago. However, he was mature enough now to know it would take a serious toll on them and he didn't want to hurt his uncles any more than they wanted to hurt him.
He would push just a little. They wouldn't mind. But it could wait until morning.
Mosco wrapped his arms around Ace's torso and squeezed, earning a sigh and a hard kiss on the side of his head, where his hair was short. A hug was out of the question for Arrow at the moment, he knew from experience, but the half-elf bent to press his own chaste little peck to Mosco's opposite cheek.
He nuzzled against Ace's chest, settling just under his chin. "I love you. Both of you."
"We love you too, darling," Arrow murmured. Ace just let out another, longer sigh in his hair, pulling him close for a moment.
Then they each gave him one last quick kiss and walked out the door.
Mosco fixed his already-fine posture and tidied his hair. Damage control, then. He could do that.
--
It was just before noon the next morning when Mosco reached their front step. He knew Arrow would still be in bed for a while longer, but Ace would be a good few hours into one text or another, having completely neglected to eat, and he wanted a little one-on-one quiet. He knit the security spells on their door neatly back together as he disrupted them to pass through, shaking his head with a fond smirk. His uncles took paranoia to another level; they knew they were safe here, but without their layers of redundancy, that just wasn't enough.
Honestly, he couldn't blame them. A single incidence of waking up to a stranger hovering over him was enough to terrify him for months and his uncles had both been through considerably worse than that. In his opinion, they had a pass to do whatever they wanted after the horrors they'd known.
When he finally stepped in, the apartment was warm, but not stifling. The last one to renew the temperature charm would've been Arrow, then, albeit with Ace's supervision, so the half-elf hadn't gone out again last night and he probably wouldn't have a hangover. Ace's bag was closed and tucked behind Arrow's, so he hadn't gone out this morning. He was very likely dehydrated and suffering nicotine withdrawal on top of being unfed. Mosco hurried to the den, pulling out the food he'd packed as he walked.
Words weren't necessary with Ace, not really, unless there was something of substance to discuss. Neither was eye contact. Social rules often didn't apply between the two of them; for as long as he could remember, they'd both been content to simply exist together. So, when Mosco strode into the den, set out a simple lunch of toasted cheese and tomato sandwiches with green tea on the coffee table in front of the loveseat, then curled up silently against his uncle's side to eat, it was routine, expected.
Ace read a few more lines and jotted something down on a slip of paper tucked between pages, already jam-packed with notes, before he so much as acknowledged his nephew's presence. When he did, it was with just a short hum and a little peck on the forehead. Then he shut his book, set it gently on the coffee table, and finally sat back again, thermal mug of tea in one hand and his nephew under the other arm.
Mosco let him ignore his need for actual food for a solid eight minutes before he pried the half-empty mug out of Ace's hand and replaced it with a sandwich, wrapped in paper to keep crumbs at bay. His uncle snorted and fake-smacked him upside the head, but ate the food, so Mosco considered it a victory.
It wasn't until they'd finished their meal and were each about halfway into their second cigarette, leaning back against the balcony railing, that he finally spoke.
"Lexing's brother and his wife want to apologize."
The sounds of the river docks rang from far below them, filling the quiet with distant yelling, clashing metal, and ship's bells. A faint breeze nudged their smoke away from the cliffside, barely a whisper. The sun was bright, but not oppressive. It warmed them without beading sweat on their skin like it would have back in the east. Their pupils had constricted to the barest slits, an intrinsic bid by eyes built for darkness to maintain some level of vision in daylight. Occasionally, the light was overcast by a fluffy little cloud that allowed the glow of the Child, hovering low on the southern horizon, to tint the world a soft cyan.
Ace silently, slowly finished his drag, then another three before he cleared his throat. "Ain't keen on makin' nice wit' folks who'd have my head, f'any other kid was my nephew."
It was quiet again until the younger man was nearly up to his filter. A tiny bird, nesting in a crack in the cliff face a few feet away, leapt from its home and dove toward the water without a sound.
"I learned this from you two, you know." Mosco tipped his head back to rest on his uncle's shoulder, exhaling a stream of smoke upward. It swirled in the air, shimmering with a fine, sparse scattering of mana from his lungs. "Well, mostly Arrow."
"Ah?"
He turned his face just enough to press half a kiss to his uncle's cheek. "Making connections to improve our standing. I adore my fiancé, but the fact he's the Saltrock king's adoptive son wasn't exactly a small factor in the choice to initiate our relationship. In any case, this family will be good to us."
A sigh jostled him, accompanied by a half-hearted grumble. "I dunno, Sweets...."
"I've known them for fifteen months, now."
Ace shifted and Mosco felt his gaze on him. "Huh."
"Truly." He raised his head to meet his uncle's eyes for the first time that morning. Razor-thin pupils drowned in a warm orange; the twin sunsets the man had been named for prior to taking up a pseudonym for the anonymity it provided. "Lexing was quite insistent on my meeting his loved ones, but I am much more cautious with who I bring into your lives. I've thoroughly learned my lesson regarding that."
He paused to extinguish his spent cigarette in the ashtray sitting on the windowsill across from them. Ace was patiently silent while his nephew tucked himself back under his arm.
"I've been prodding at them when I visited, every couple weeks or so. They genuinely seem like well-meaning people. Alas, despite what we like to claim," he sighed a tad more dramatically than necessary, prompting a snort from Ace, "I am... not perfect."
That earned a real bark of laughter, echoing faintly off the cliffs across the river. "Damn close, though."
"Debatable, but appreciated." Mosco paused again, smirking while Ace snickered. "I allowed myself to become too eager and neglected to mention your boundaries. I'll apologize for that properly when Arrow wakes and inevitably plucks this conversation from your head. Hopefully... the four of you can move past this, ah, rocky beginning."
It wasn't that he was avoiding his half-elf uncle, exactly. Only, the man lived permanently ensconced in so many layers of façade and suspicion that even when he let his walls down, it could be difficult to get a point across in a manner he'd actually give credence to. The contrast was stark. At the core of it, Ace was just more receptive, at least where his nephew was concerned. Plus, he was the only person on the Shield who could convice Arrow of anything with any degree of reliability.
The little bird returned triumphant, a fish half its size in its beak, and fluttered noisily back into its nest to a muffled chorus of chirping. His uncle hummed low, a rumbling sound that was more felt than heard, the meaning of which was clear to him; Ace was sufficiently persuaded.
"Yer a right pain in my ass, lil' Rhy-damned schemin' brat. S'pose yer gonna want me t'bring him 'round, ah?"
"Please. I know he doesn't mean to, but he talks me in circles when we really get into it. I've become accustomed to academic debate, keeping my mind open to change, letting the discussion flow naturally," Mosco shook his head and huffed. "Which isn't particularly useful when our stubborn old assassin is adamant that everything he believes is unerringly correct and true, and gets impossibly eloquent about it."
Ace let out a quiet chuckle. "Does the same t'me, kid. Weave's a big fuckin' help, y'know."
A weave, the mental connection his uncles shared, was a magic Arrow had brought with him from his birthplace in elfen territory. As the name suggested, it wove the minds of two or more individuals together, in a way, allowing free access to thoughts, feelings, and memories. It seemed to work marvelously for them, but the thought of another person in his own head - even his dear uncles or fiancé - was enough to prompt physical repulsion.
Mosco grimaced at the unpleasant feeling. "Thanks, but I prefer solitude within. No one else need be privy to my... mental eccentricities."
Another clipped laugh, significantly drier than the last. "Sure, sure. Ain't never gonna force it. But we gots more'n our share a' 'eccentricities', too, ya twit."
"As evidenced by your front entrance."
"This one is justified." Arrow's voice lilted from said entrance. The glow of mana in his eyes was muted by the noonday sun. "It's the interior doors that are, perhaps, a touch excessive. Good morning, darlings."
He was met with a grin from Mosco and a snort from Ace as he stepped out, toes tapping sharply on the metal flooring. When his nephew slipped away from Ace to wrap his arms around him, the hug was welcomed and Arrow planted a kiss on the top of his head.
"I'd like to apologize for the way I spoke to you last night, love," he muttered into blonde hair. "I wasn't in my right mind and fear I may have came off rather patronizing."
"You have nothing to apologize for," Mosco assured him with a squeeze. "I-"
"There," Ace cut in before he could finish and they both turned to him. "Fuck did I say, jackass? Ah?"
"That I'm pretty?" The half-elf grinned, no less teasing for his intimidating fangs. "Give me a smoke."
"Hah, yer pretty, alright." He said, sneering, but pulled out a cigarette and offered it up. "Pretty irritatin'."
"As I was saying," Mosco said firmly as Arrow moved around him and used his husband's embers to light up, "I'm the one who should be apologizing. Have you two, er, compared notes yet, so to speak?"
The smoke came out in puffs as his uncles both chuckled.
"I've been awake since you arrived."
"Lazin' in bed like some kinda boney fuckin' slug."
Arrow side eyed him. "You just said I'm pretty."
"What, slugs can't be pretty? Lookin' at one right now, an' he ain't half bad, fer a slug."
"For a slug?"
They continued to bicker, if it could be called bickering when they were beaming at each other. The ambient light shifted briefly to blue, then back to daylight again. All Mosco could do was shake his head and smile.
"In any case," he cut in once their exchange was more laughter than speech, "as I said earlier, I'd forgotten to inform my fiancé's family of your discomfort with certain touches and actions. I'm deeply sorry for it, and I've corrected the situation. Things will go more comfortably from here on."
"Wha'd'ya say?" Ace asked. "One more go, fer the kid?"
Their only response for a long minute was a curled lip and a sharp sigh. The half-orc glanced at the floor and clicked his tongue, then dropped his spent cigarette into his own shadow. A vague movement made the spot too dark to be natural in such bright light and the smoldering butt seemingly disappeared into the floor with a tiny puff of smoke.
"I hate when you use our nephew against me." Arrow muttered sharply.
Their eyes met again when Ace raised his head, unimpressed. His shadow returned to normal. "Why the fuck else're we gonna do it? D'ya like the apartment? Our asses would still be on the street without him. Get over it."
To his credit, he didn't flinch when his husband snarled in his face, though Mosco began to feel like he was intruding. "'Get over it'? Fuck off, like you didn't piece me back together with your own hands. Like it's nothing. You were there, you-"
"Think this shit's got me any happier?" Ace frowned up at the half-elf. "Said he fucked up. It happens. 'Nother try ain't gonna kill us."
When Arrow's only audible response was a scoff, the half-orc opened his mouth to continue, then cut himself off and fell silent.
Judging by their expressions and the occasional huff or grumble, the argument was still going strong, though they'd clearly withdrawn inward. Mosco shifted his weight to lean his elbow on the railing. With how frequently his uncles' conversations flipped from verbal to mental and back, he should be used to it by now, but it still unsettled him. He pulled out a third cigarette and lit it with a spark charm he could've cast in his sleep, then turned away to gaze at the river far below.
He could make out Lexing's ship, Wanderer, docked a couple dozen doors north of them, directly under the apartment they shared. The old Captain's name had slipped his mind again, but he and his daughter were mulling about near the helm. The woman was gesturing wildly, though she didn't look upset, just intensely engaged in whatever she was telling her father.
It would be nice to visit them again soon, Mosco thought idly.
A loud, frustrated grunt pulled him out of his head and he traced it back to Arrow. He looked furious; his fingers were clenched around a couple fistfuls of his husband's shirt and his glower could've had a Grand Master quaking in their boots. The only hint of emotion on Ace's face was a bare ghost of a frown and he held the half-elf's venomous gaze steadily.
Abruptly, the glare - and fists - dropped. Ace grinned ear-to-ear and Arrow rolled his eyes with a soft, breathy chuckle.
"You're not funny."
Ace snorted, but didn't speak aloud.
"Fine. Deal. Whatever you want. Pest." Arrow's tone was harsh, but he was visibly fighting a grin of his own.
When the half-elf spun to lean against the railing next to him, Ace turned and shot a wink at Mosco. He smiled back, letting a huff of air out through his nose. Whatever accord they'd come to was their business; he had a nice dinner to plan.