Chapter Text
She is watching him.
Not actually, of course, since she is dead, blown up in the heroic effort to protect a city full of people who used to fear her from a gone mad director who used to hate her. Or well former director, seeing as she is just as dead as Nimona and there have also been calls for the Institute’s dissolution.
Ambrosius has mixed feelings about all of that. Don’t get him wrong, between this and the director blowing up the city he knows what he’d have chosen, if it had been his choice, but the costs are higher than he would’ve likes. Both the general ones like the spreading loss of faith in the Institute or the destruction both Nimona and the hunt for her have wreaked on the city, as well as the far more severe personal ones. Ballister’s arm. Nimona’s death.
It has only been a couple days since the havoc. Since he opened his eyes and took an actual look at what he was doing and finally, finally made the right choice. He hasn’t found the words to apologize to Ballister yet, and he knows she’s judging him for it. He’s judging himself for it.
It has been a tumble of emotions either way, supporting an almost unresponsive Ballister through the streets to the rooms in the Institute he still occupies, his… friend’s head resting on the curve of Ambrosius neck in a way that he’d have liked to call trust but suspects to purely have been exhaustion. Or maybe habit, if he’s lucky.
Ballister hasn’t moved much in the last couple of days. Migrated from Ambrosius’ bed to the little dining area to stare forlornly out of the window or at the news coverage, while Ambrosius himself stands a couple feet away, just as forlornly staring at him, unsure what to do. Ballister is grieving, he knows, but that doesn’t actually tell him what he’s supposed to do.
Before, before the wreck he made of their relationship, before he chopped off Ballister’s arm of all things and then chased him all over town and tried to take away what little support Ballister had found by himself, before all that he might have gone up to his lover and offered a shoulder to lean on, if nothing else. Now he is too unsure of his welcome to try. The Nimona of his imagination is judging him for that, too. He thinks if she was here, she might be sitting over on the bench, feet on the table, chewing gum and glaring at him. He hadn’t actually spent enough time near her to imagine what she’d say, but he expects it to contain the term “nemesis” in some way. He stares at the empty bench for long minutes. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Ballister shiver slightly. “Do the right thing.” Nimona in his memory says and it’s enough of a push for him to finally move.
He grabs the blanket throw from his couch, takes a last fortifying breath and steps close enough to Ballister to drop it around his shoulders. “Here.” he says, and his voice his less hoarse than he feared.
Ballister startles out of his vigil over the window, head whipping around to stare up at Ambrosius with unmitigated hope for just a moment before it dims, like the last spark of a candle going out. He pulls the blanket closer anyway and mutters a quiet “thanks”.
Ambrosius helps him adjust the blanket and only just supresses his flinch when he feels the hard surface of the metal arm beneath. You don’t get to flinch, he scolds himself, you’re the one that did this, face it.
He slides onto the bench next to Ballister after another short moment of hesitation, and together they stare out of the window over the city roofs all the way to the break in the wall. They’re sitting right next to each other, but Ambrosius can’t help but feel that the distance between them might be larger even than the actual breach he can see in the distance.
-
Getting ready for bed is a chore these days. Ambrosius is horribly uncertain of himself the entire time, and it hasn’t gotten better the more time passes.
That first night they had collapsed into bed together. After Ambrosius freed a vaguely shell shocked Ballister from his armour the man had clung to him as if he would disappear without a physical anchor to the world. Both of them slept the sleep of the truly exhausted that night. They haven’t been that lucky since.
The second night Ballister made no motion to head to bed and instead fell asleep at the window sill, Ambrosius standing against the wall half a room away. He had tried moving Ballister to the bedroom, but the man had startled awake at the slightest touch and they had been caught, Ambrosius leaned halfway over Ballister, staring at each other. “You should go to bed, I’ll take the couch.” Ambrosius had finally declared, breaking the awkward stalemate and his heart had quietly sunk when Ballister didn’t offer alternative arrangements. So he had spent the night on the too short couch listening to Ballister toss and turn.
It had set the tone for the next couple nights. Ambrosius making sure to declare his intentions to go to bed before Ballister could actually fall asleep to avoid further awkward situations, and Ballister had taken the announcements as his signs to retreat into the bedroom.
Now Ambrosius is considering the clock and how tired Ballister looks and has just decided to make the call, when a movement from Ballister catches his eyes. The man is rubbing at his metal shoulder with his other hand, face pulled into a frown, even as his attentions is once more caught by the window.
His arm must be hurting him, Ambrosius realizes, and the Nimona of his imagination only rolls her eyes at him and says “duh”. She’s become a more consistent companion in recent days and has found a voice beyond the things he has actually heard her say. She doesn’t have a lot of good things to say about him. “Can’t believe you didn’t think of that before.” She scorns him now. “And you’re supposed to have been his boyfriend? What a let down.”
He takes the hits and knows she’s right. What he doesn’t know is what to do about it. For all that he let himself be supported that first day Ballister hasn’t exactly been looking for touch. And although Ambrosius knows Ballister has always been a little reserved on that front he also knows that pushing those boundaries is not his place anymore. And that is not even considering the fact that he can barely stand to look at Ballister’s arm, let alone imagine touching it. What if he were to cause even more damage in an attempt to help? No, he’s done enough.
But Ballister is obviously hurting and he can’t leave him like that. So instead he gets up and goes to the bathroom cabinet that holds the medicine he owns. He picks out pain killers and salve he has for bruising and another he has for aching muscles and the cream for skin that could probably also help with scaring. God, he doesn’t even know what Ballister’s arm looks like under the clothing and the metal.
He takes all the medications and then he finds himself stuck once more: give them to Ballister directly or leave them for him on the bed? It would be better to offer them to him directly, but what if Ballister understands it as an attempt to force these things on him, as an invasion of his space and privacy? What if he feels like he needs to accept Ambrosius’ help? No, better to leave them on the bed for him so Ballister can decide if he wants the help or not.
“Coward.” His imaginary companion taunts and Ambrosius doesn’t deny it.
He tells himself he should’ve expected it, when Ballister doesn’t ask for help with his arm, and instead just closes the bedroom door, but it still hurts.
-
Ballister starts going out the next day.
Ambrosius has mixed feelings about it. On one hand he is glad that Ballister is moving again, seems to be getting out of his depressive slump. On the other his mood seems worse every time he returns and he doesn’t tell Ambrosius where he goes.
Ambrosius tries asking, even after Ballister has snapped at him to mind his own business twice, but doesn’t get an answer except for stony silence and scornful looks after the initial outbursts.
Nimona grins at him with too sharp teeth out of the corner of his eye. Some days she goes with Ballister, some days she stays behind with Ambrosius and taunts him, promising that this will be the time where Ballister stays away for good.
He comes back every time and Ambrosius breathes a sigh of relief.
Ambrosius himself uses the opportunity to work. He throws himself into helping with the fallout like a man drowning and these days he feels like he is. Drowning in the quiet and the guilt and the distance. The chance of making things better for anyone else seems more and more like all he has and so he works.
One of his firsts acts is making sure the wanted posters are taken down.
The people still look to him, although he catches plenty also looking at the empty spot at his side. People wonder where Ballister is. About half of those he interacts with are bold enough to ask.
“He’s still healing.” Ambrosius explains. “He got hit pretty hard in the fray.” His own wounds from the directors attacks and his proximity to the explosion burn where they are hidden under his clothes. They are healing well and probably won't even leave a scar and that has never felt more unfair.
“He’s grieving.” He tells others - especially those who have taken to wearing a stripe of pink fabric around their arm - as the actual story spreads more and more, puzzled together from witness accounts and slowly turning more and more outlandish. He is forced to make a statement two days after he returns to work.
“Nimona saved the city, sacrificing herself.” He says. “She and Ballister were right about the director, they are heroes.” The Nimona only he can see scoffs at how easily his words are taken for truth, while no one listened to her and Ballister. He agrees and feels quietly disgusted. Whether with himself or the general populace he couldn't say.
Ballister snaps at him that night. “Don’t talk about her as if you knew her!” He demands.
Ambrosius shoots back before he can stop himself. “Then talk about her yourself! The people have questions and you’re not there to answer them!” It’s a sharp accusation and he feels immediately sick with guilt.
“She doesn’t owe them anything more. I don’t owe them anything more!” Ballister yells back and Ambrosius folds.
“Of course not, I’m sorry.” He feels horribly tired all of a sudden and sits down on the corner of the couch.
Ballister glowers at him. “Stop that.” He hisses.
“Stop what?” Ambrosius asks, confused.
“Stop cowering! Stop walking on eggshells and saying stuff just because you think that’s what I want to hear!”
“I’m not!” Ambrosius can feel his own temper flaring again as he rises and takes a step closer to Ballister. “Bal, believe me, I am sorry.”
“Sure.” Ballister scoffs. “You’ve been avoiding me for days. You won’t even look at me.”
Ambrosius can’t believe what he’s hearing. All he’s been doing is look at Ballister. Some probably would’ve called it creepy how much he's been staring. And of course he means his apology. “Bal-“
“Don’t call me that. We’re done, remember?” Ballister snarls. He has colour high on his cheeks as he paces across the room and all of a sudden it occurs to Ambrosius that he hasn’t seen him this alive in days. The rebuff hurts, of course it does, but there is a part of Ambrosius that is burning with relief. At least Ballister is talking to him. At least he doesn’t walk around like it was him, who died.
“Ballister.” He tries again. “I am sorry. For so much.” He forces himself not to flinch as he reaches out to stop Ballister’s pacing, catching him on the metal arm.
Ballister lets himself be stopped, eyeing Ambrosius with something between anger and distain, but then it fades to tiredness. His gaze drops to the fingers on his arm, pale on the dark metal. “I understand why you did it. You were disarming a weapon.”
“No.” Ambrosius is suddenly scared that this will be the end of the spark, that Ballister will make excuses for him that he doesn’t deserve and sink back into apathy. “Don’t.” His own voice has gone sharp once more. “I should’ve been better. We are people, not weapons and I know you. I should’ve found another way, any other way, no matter how we were trained.” Ballister looks ready to argue, but Ambrosius doesn’t give him the chance, barrelling on before he can think about it too much. “I love you and arm chopping is not a love language.”
The expression on Ballister’s face has shifted again, he looked poised to interrupt, but now he looks stunned for just a moment, huffs what almost sounds like an involuntary laugh before his eyes start to tear up.
Ambrosius moves on instinct, wrapping his arms around Ballister who burries his face in the crook of his neck and sobs. He isn’t quite sure what about what he said triggered this reaction, but he has never felt so grateful for getting the chance to hold Ballister. Maybe this is what they need.
“I miss her so much.” Ballister whispers between two heaving sobs and Ambrosius nods, clutching him tighter. Ballister is grabbing him back, clinging, metal fingers digging uncomfortably into his side, but Ambrosius has endured worse pain for far less cause.
“I know.” He whispers back.
“And I’m so mad at you.” Ballister continues.
“I know.” Ambrosius repeats.
They don’t let go.
-
Yelling at each other doesn’t magically fix them. Ambrosius still feels guilty and helpless and Ballister is still grieving and angry. But it does make it easier to start talking again.
When they head to bed that night, awkward with the emotional release and the things still unsaid Ambrosius manages to offer: “Do you- do you want some help with… the creams?” He finishes uncertainly.
Ballister takes pity, or maybe he too is tired enough of the distance between them to make it easy. “Yeah.”
Ambrosius follows him into the bedroom and then finds himself standing kind of awkwardly next to his own bed, as Ballister sits down on it and starts pulling off his shirt.
“I’ll go grab the stuff.” He offers and starts moving. When he’s grabbed everything Ballister has taken his shirt and shoes and arm off and his sitting on the bed, bare chested, and watching him. The arm is lying next to him, looking more like a broken thing than it ever could while Ballister is moving it animatedly. There is a spot next to him on the bed where he has pushed the covers aside and Ambrosius recognizes an invitation when he sees it, so he sits.
The metal pieces where the arm attaches are sunken into Ballister’s skin. They must be connected to the bone, but Ambrosius was never that good at medicine to know how that would work and there is sudden understanding settling once more like stones in his gut that Ballister, too, would have had to do some research on the topic. Alone, in a hiding place, one arm short and probably in horrible pain. He pushes the realization to the side with all his might and focuses on the now.
The pieces replace Ballister’s shoulder joint and serve as a receptacle for the round top piece of the arm. There is some scarring around the edges, so Ambrosius opens the salve for skin and warms a little on his fingers. “May I?” He asks.
Ballister nods, so he reaches out and starts carefully applying the salve.
“I’m really not mad at you about the arm.” Ballister offers into the quiet.
“It’s okay if you are.” Ambrosius disagrees. “You really should be.” He scrapes some more salve onto his fingers before admitting. “I’m mad at myself.”
There is a minute or two of silence, as he busies himself with his task, then Ballister asks tentatively: “Is that why you’ve been keeping your distance?”
Ambrosius sighs. “Look, Bal- Ballister. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I thought I was doing something with the institute and it turned me against you enough to injure you. But they were lying and by now I’m pretty sure that they were telling us lies about monsters all the while.” He runs a tired hand across his face and then frowns when it leaves some of the salve behind. “And if Nimona was actually what Gloreth considered a monster then she was wrong, too, and being he descendent is truly not something to be proud of.” He glares at his own hands. “So everything I’ve tried to do was wrong, and everything I’ve tried to be was not worth it.” He adds more quietly. “Especially since it has lost me you.”
“I’m not gone.” Ballister corrects him. “I’m mad, really mad, that you didn’t believe me when I begged you. That you could think I would ever harm you, that you chose to listen to the Director’s lies over trusting me.”
“And you get to be.” Ambrosius rushes to assure him.
“Don’t tell me what I get or don’t get to do.” Ballister admonishes him, but there is a trace of fondness mixed into the sharper tone. He sighs deeply. “Let’s get this over with and go to sleep. And then we’ll take this one day at a time.”
“Okay.” Ambrosius agrees. He picks up the muscle relaxant. “Do you want me to massage this into your shoulders a bit? It could help with the pain.”
Ballister hesitates for a moment, but then nods.
Ambrosius hesitates, too, but decides that it isn’t his place to challenge Ballister’s decisions, so he gets up to make space. “You should lie down.”
It takes a bit of shuffling, but they get to a position where Ballister is on the stomach on his bed, blanket pulled up over his hip, with Ambrosius kneeling at about waste height next to him on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t allow himself to hesitate and just places his hands on Ballister and starts gently loosening up the muscles in his shoulders and back.
It feels very intimate, kneeling over Ballister in the darkened room, his hands on naked skin. They haven’t been quite this close since it all went down and it sparks a terrible longing in Ambrosius.
"In your dreams, nemesis." Nimona whispers from the darkness on the other side of the bed and it douses him like cold water.
-
In the morning Ballister doesn’t run off and instead opts to go with Ambrosius. He uses the opportunity to show off the progress he’s been trying to make.
With the Director dead martial law is over, so Queen Valerin’s council has taken over reign again until they figure out who’s actually next in line for the throne. Ambrosius has been highly sought after for his opinions, mainly because the general populace still loves and trusts him.
It also means that his thoughts in regard to what should be done about the hole in the wall have been listened to. There are construction crews currently stabilizing the breach, making sure none of the stones collapse onto people. They’re also clearing the rubble left over from the explosion. On the day the cranes - and more importantly the fencing to keep people out of an active construction zone that also happens to block the hole - went up Ambrosius got multiple angry complaints and one memorable death threat sent to his public account from angry people thinking they were rebuilding the wall, so the public opinion on the situation is pretty clear.
There has been discussion of sending out a scouting party or two to explore, but they are still in the "finding volunteers and putting together equipment" phase and are expected to leave at the end of the week, earliest.
Ambrosius bringing Ballister to the council meeting creates a bit of a stir, but in a far more positive manner than Ballister might have expected: the council members are delighted to see him.
“Ballister Boldheart!” The speaker, Katrina Welsh, calls with audible excitement. “The whole realm owes you a great debt and an equally big apology.” She comes over to shake Ballister’s hand.
“Truly! Now that you’re feeling better we can find a date for the appropriate ceremony!” Ferenko Dichus exclaims. “And to reinstate you as a hero of the realm, of course!”
“Of course.” Katrina agrees, but then tempers her exuberance with a face of genuine enough grief. “We also need to talk about a memorial for Nimona.” She only barely hesitates on the name. “And about your opinions in regards to the future of the Institute and the opening of the city. Best to have those talked about before the press catches you.” She says vaguely apologetically. “I know it’s a lot, but we live in busy times.”
Ballister looks completely overwhelmed, so Ambrosius makes motions to step in and deflect some of the attention, but Ballister catches his eye and a single shake of his head gives him pause.
“Councillors,” Ballister starts. “I appreciate the welcome, but that won’t be necessary. I do not intend to return as a knight of the realm.”
Ambrosius watches the faces of the councillors fall but realizes he himself isn’t actually surprised.
“I can share my opinions, of course, and if the press wants to hear them I can tell them, too, but I will not work for the Institute again.” His voice makes it clear how serious he is.
“Of course, of course!” Katrina rushes to assure him. “We had considered you and maybe Sir Goldenloin for the leading positions of the Institute, to oversee the changes it will have to go through.”
“No.” Ballister refuses. “The Institute needs to change, but I’m done with it. It doesn’t get more from me.”
Katrina glances over at Ambrosius. Her expression makes it clear that she expects him to handle Ballister and get him to see reason and it makes Ambrosius unreasonably mad. So instead he steps up, falling in at Ballister’s shoulder easy as breathing, like they did a hundred times before, a silent but clear show of support. Ballister doesn’t want him to fight his battles for him, that much is clear, but he’ll have his back this time. Like he should’ve had all along.
Imaginary Nimona, lounging on one of the councillors currently free chairs is watching him again. For the first time there is something almost like approval in her eyes.
Seeing that she’s not getting any support from him Katrina backs off, although Ambrosius is sure that the topic isn’t quite over yet.
“We’ll be glad to hear those opinions either way, of course.” She walks back to her seat, dispelling Nimona as she does, and gestures for Ballister to also sit down. “Starting with the memorial. We have a couple of suggestions.” A look from her sends Ferenko into action, who pulls up a couple of pictures of different locations in the city. They’re all very prominent places.
“We have tasked two architects with coming up with design suggestions.” A third councillor, Mirin Kestko, explains with pride. “They have come up with some fabulous ideas for statues, here, let me show you the pictures.”
Ambrosius watches them and feels like there is a glass wall between them, like they are specimen of fish he watches in a tank, utterly distant from reality. They have spent significant time and effort on this, he recognizes, time and effort utterly wasted if his gut feeling and the growing look on Ballister’s face are anything to go by. He pities them, he finds, and in doing so recognizes his own hypocrisy.
Acknowledging you were wrong, so very wrong, is a difficult thing to do and it has left them all floundering. The councillors grandstanding gestures come way too late and for all that they aren’t to blame for the Director’s actions, their attempts can’t seem to Ballister as more than the empty try at ridding themselves of guilt.
Nimona is dead. She had been misjudged and mistreated and had still done the right thing and now she is gone. And for Ballister (and Ambrosius, if maybe only by extensions since he in truth barely knew her for all that he sees her influence on Ballister more and more) this is a great personal tragedy. But for at least part of the kingdom? It might be in truth guilty relief. They don’t actually have to deal with adjusting their beliefs and figuring out how to treat her differently - because she isn’t there. They can build their statues and do their mourning and call her a hero and then move on with their lives and forget her.
The sick, bitter feeling in his stomach is making it hard to breath. Is he any different, he wonders. If Nimona was here, would Ballister have leaned on him, have given him the opportunity to try and salvage what was and hopefully still is between them? He’d like to believe he would, wants desperately to believe, that he could make it work and find a place with the two of them in all the crazy, bold, confident glory he has seen them in on surveillance videos and during that one horrible fight. But he won’t have the chance to try and is familiar enough with guilt by now to recognize that the not knowing will stay with him for a long time.
Ballister, meanwhile, has started tearing down the suggestions. He is restrained about it, but there is barely suppressed fury as he refuses location after location and design after design the more and more desperate councillors suggest. “There will be no statue.” He says with finality, turning on the spot and marching out of the room.
The councillors share confused looks, muttering amongst themselves, some glancing at Ambrosius, but he doesn’t have time to soothe their ruffled feathers. “You heard him.” Is all he says before going after Ballister.
He finds him outside, softly knocking his head against a wall talking to himself. “Can you believe it?” Ambrosius catches and wonders if maybe he isn’t the only one whom Nimona follows around. And suddenly he remembers something else.
“Come.” He says and gently pulls at Ballister’s shoulder to get him moving.
The man doesn’t resist. “Where are we going?” He asks, voice resigned and tired.
“To the wall. I want to show you something.”
-
Ambrosius doesn’t think Ballister has been back here since the fight, not with how he stares at the construction and the glimpse of beyond the wall they can catch from the flying car they took. Ambrosius had considered taking the subway at first, but he doesn’t want to be stared at when people do recognize either of them, even out of armour.
Ballister has been quite for some of the ride, but as they approach the wall he finally speaks. “It feels like all they want is to built a statue so they can say ‘look, there she is, the hero’ and then walk past it and forget.”
Ambrosius is unsurprised that Ballister’s thoughts have taken the same turn his had. He rests a comforting hand on Ballister’s shoulder and is rewarded when the man leans into him.
“Is it too much to ask that people actually care?”
“No.” Ambrosius denies. He considers leaving it at that, but Ballister’s quiet despair is too much. “And I think they do.” He adds, just as the car comes to a stop. “Come, see for yourself.”
There is the construction fence around the breach, keeping people out, but it hopefully won’t be there much longer. Securing the wall has been top priority and worked on with all due speed; the prognosis is that they’ll be done by the end of the week. Soon people will get to walk to the edge themselves and the construction of roads won’t be slow to follow.
Even now there’s a small crowd gathered around the fence, staring at the outside. Ambrosius knows there are more people yet up on the wall, since the walkways have been opened to the public, but those who don’t fancy the climb, or the wait for the elevators not meant for this kind of traffic, the ones who just want to catch a glimps for a couple minutes before continuing about their day, those come to the fence.
It's not the only reason to choose this spot. The second reason are the gifts. They’re leaned against the fencing, placed carefully across the ground or even stuck to the fence itself. Endless rows of pink and red fabric stripes, some knotted, some made into bows, flowers and candles. There are pieces of paper, some letters, some drawings.
In a couple of days, when the fence will be taken down and the road opened, they’ll have to go, but for now they’re there.
Ambrosius is watching Ballister so he catches the moment when his eyes drop from the breach to the gifts and he takes them in. He goes still, eyes growing wider and wider as they skip over offering after offering. Then he starts looking at the people and just how many of them, too, have a small strip of pink fabric somewhere on their clothing or around their arm.
After giving him time to take it in, Ambrosius steps closer, quietly delighted when Ballister turns his back into him, turning an arm on the shoulder into an actual hug, even as his eyes stay firmly fixed on the crowd. “I don’t think she’ll be forgotten quite that easily.”
Ballister nods.
They stand there for what feels like an eternity, breathing together. Ballister is shaking, sometimes with just the hint of laughter, sometimes with a short hitch of not quiet tears, but he doesn’t share whatever memories of Nimona he must be remembering and Ambrosius doesn’t press him.
When Ballister has been still for a while he restarts the conversation. “They’re planning to turn the top of the wall into a park. You know, take down the cannons, plant some trees, put up some food stands.”
“They’ll need bigger elevators.” Ballister remarks, ever the practical thinker.
“They will.” Ambrosius agrees.
-
Ambrosius brings the topic of the Institute up again that evening. He and Ballister have worked together to create dinner and it has been such a comfortable reminder of the past that he is loath to interrupt it, but they need to have that conversation.
“About the Institute-” He starts, and he probably could’ve found a better lead in, because Ballister is immediately defensive.
“I’m not going back.” He says, voice firm enough to press steel.
“Not if you don’t want to.” Ambrosius agrees. “But the councillors are right, something needs to change. Someone needs to change it.” He doesn’t know how to ask the question, but Ballister understands.
“And you want to do it.” His tone has gone flat and he pushes at his food with his fork, not looking at Ambrosius.
“Ballister.” Ambrosius waits until he looks up. “Not if it costs me this.” They sit in silence, watching each other. “But yes.” He finally concedes. “I think they need a reminder who they’re actually supposed to help and how to do it.”
Ballister is still watching him, standoffish at first before his face slowly softens. “You’ll do a good job.” He acknowledges and it feels like a benediction.
“What will you be doing?” Ambrosius asks as they do the dishes together, him washing and Ballister drying them off on account of not wanting to get his prothesis unnecessarily wet. It can take it, but it makes it harder to clean.
“I’m not sure.” Ballister admits. “This and that, I suppose. Some tinkering. Maybe I’ll check in with the reconstruction and that thing about the walls you mentioned.”
“Alright.” Ambrosius doesn’t push further. “Just let me know sometimes where you’re at.”
“Sure.” Ballister agrees. “And I’ll see you in the evenings anyway.” It is more assurance than Ambrosius had expected and he is utterly grateful. Instead of saying anything more he bumps their shoulders together and knows Ballister understands.
-
They keep busy over the next couple of weeks. Ambrosius reorganises the Institute, establishing new codes of conduct. He has the monster posters torn down and the monster alerts disabled. He trains with the knights until he’s reasonably sure they will follow him not just for his name, but because they trust again he knows what he’s doing.
When he’s not in the Institute he advises the council. They have not been permanently disabused of the notion to build Nimona a statue, but the idea has at least been shelved. They are plenty busy anyway. With the breach stabilized and the first scout reports coming in it has been decided to establish a camp down in the valley by the river, maybe an hour from town. It will probably turn into a proper settlement in time, but for now there is an irregular stream of air traffic leaving the city transporting building materials while the construction of roads has begun. The first section right at the breach is quickly finished, which allows people to leave the city on foot and the surrounding area that used to be kept clear to allow potential monster approaches to be spotted has been turned into a near constant picknick area whenever the weather allows it.
Ambrosius has been out with Ballister on one evening himself, but it was a short lived endeavour, since they got recognized and swarmed within fifteen minutes by people wanting to talk to Ballister. The man had looked overwhelmed enough that Ambrosius had to make excuses and stage a quick getaway, but after the initial shock he seemed rightfully pleased with how positive the reception was.
Ballister didn’t let his hands be idle either. As he suggested he has been active in some of the construction work on top of the wall. About a quarter of the cannons have been taken down and the parts closest to the breach have neat little areas with freshly planted trees and not yet fully rooted grass. In a week there will be an official opening ceremony. It was suggested that Ballister should hold a speech, but the glare he gave the council at the suggestion could’ve melted steel so it was quickly dropped. Instead there is a festival with live music and fireworks. Ambrosius drags Ballister out and they have a genuinely fun time.
They’ve been working on their relationship, too. Casual touches and a lot of talking. Ballister isn’t shouting anymore, but they still get heated sometimes. Ever so often Ambrosius wishes they could pick up actual swords to work off some of the tension, but until the sick feeling at the idea of swinging a sword at Ballister, even in practice, fades that will have to wait. He is also aware enough to recognize that it would be the easy way out.
Instead, they talk. And talk. And sit quietly next to each other. And talk some more. Every word slowly bridging the chasm until Ambrosius can walk up behind Ballister without the man having to supress a flinch, until he himself can brush up against the metal arm and not startle, until "Ballister" finally turns back into "Bal". They sleep together in his bed again, wake up curled into each other and Ballister smiles so sweetly half awake that Ambrosius’ heart seems to be beating at double speed constantly. It feels a little like those couple of weeks the first time around, when they had finally admitted feelings for each other and started dating: shy glances and private smiles. At the same time it is so much more.
The first road outside the wall gets finished, and the outpost expands and over half the cannons are taken down when Ambrosius realizes that what he really wants to do is take Ballister on a date. So he asks Ballister to take the next day off and takes him up on the wall. It is sunny with a little wind and the grass is green and they buy food at a stall and eat it, watching the people walk by, enjoying themselves.
Ambrosius takes the trash to the bin and as he turns around he catches sight of Ballister, leaning on the balustrade, staring into the city. He is approaching as both their attentions are caught by a couple of kids playing with a ball and the look on Ballister’s face is sweet and wistful and Ambrosius suddenly wants nothing more than to hug him and kiss him, so he does. It feels just like coming home.
They take the long way down the stairs, hand in hand, until they reach the bottom. When the fencing was taken down the initial wave of gifts were taken away, but they were quickly replaced with more, and now they are still scattered along the walls, mainly focused on both sides of the breach. Ambrosius expectations had proved right, so far at least: people have not forgotten Nimona.
Ambrosius himself has been seeing her less and less and has taken it as a sign of things improving. He knows Ballister still talks to her sometimes, and he doesn’t begrudge him the comfort. Maybe at some point Ballister will start telling him more of her, but he is happy and they have time.
-
Two days later he finds he is abruptly out time, when Ballister doesn’t come home in the evening. Ambrosius waits for an hour, certain that he just got distracted. He has been meaning to clean up his old hideout for weeks and today at breakfast Ballister declared that today was the day. Ambrosius had offered to help, but had been gently refused.
He knows where the hideout is though, and if Ballister is still there then maybe what he needs is company and not to be left alone with ghosts, so Ambrosius makes a couple quick sandwiches and heads on over.
As he approaches the building he can see that Ballister is still here. The boards from the windows have been taken down, so he can see the colourful lights inside and hear faint cheerful music. Being here hasn’t gotten Ballister into too bad a mood then.
Ambrosius smiles and pushes the door open. “Ballister, I have brought-“ He starts, before his eyes catch on the room’s occupants. Ballister on the couch and in front of him what looks like a pink shark that turns back into Nimona just as he steps into the building. They are clearly caught in animated conversation, but they still, heads turn to stare at him and Ambrosius has seldomly felt this much like an intruder.
Nimona’s face shifts into a smile, all sharp shark teeth in a human face. “Nemesis!” She calls out with a mix of delight and menace. “Here to crash the party?”
It hits Ambrosius, then, that this is real, not imaginary, that she is actually alive. He looks to Ballister who has a look of apprehension on his face, watching the interaction with a guarded readiness, as if preparing to jump between them. Ambrosius has a moment to wonder who he plans to protect from whom, then he shakes the thought out of his head. He refuses to go down that road.
Nimona is still watching him, waiting for an answer. Her body language reads as relaxed at first glance, but Ambrosius can see her hands curl into fists. He forces himself to relax his shoulders, pushes the door shut behind himself with a foot and steps more firmly into the building, approaching the seating area.
“No.” He denies the accusation. “I brought sandwiches.”
He places the honest to god basket they had bought before the failed picknick attempt on the table and opens it up. “You got cups, right?” Pretend everything is just fine, he tells himself. Don’t freak out.
“We do.” Ballister confirms and looks at Nimona, who for all the world looks like any teenager asked to fulfil a chore, as she drops her arms with a scoff.
“Ugh, boss, fine.” She stomps off to get them cups.
Ambrosius looks after her for a second, then his eyes catch on Ballister, who is watching him back. His lover studies him for a long moment, but his frame is relaxing. They stare at each other until Nimona is suddenly between them, waving a hand in front of Ballister’s face.
“Huhu, earth to boss, here are your cups.” She tosses them at Ambrosius who fumbles to catch them while she drops onto the couch next to Ballister.
There is a bout of awkward silence while Ambrosius unpacks the sandwiches and the fuzzy drink he brought. He can feel Nimona staring at him.
“Sooo…” She finally starts and Ambrosius looks up. She’s watching him, but her next words make it pretty clear that she isn’t actually addressing him. “Your nemesis is just allowed in our evil lair now? That seems like a design flaw.”
Ballister sighs. “He is not my nemesis.”
Nimona turns to Ballister with an outraged expression. “Then what? He broke in? Just say the word boss and he’s gone.” She offers, slapping a fist into her palm and turning back to Ambrosius. Her eyes almost seem to flash pink and she still has shark teeth. “I’ll throw you of the roof and then we’ll see how well you fly.” She suggests.
Ambrosius isn’t quite sure how serious she is, but Ballister is already scolding. “Nimona! No! Noone flies anywhere.”
“But boss!” She protests as wings appear on her back out of nowhere and the next second she is zooming up to an exposed beam in the ceiling structure.
“No, Nimona.” Ballister says firmly, but with deep underlying fondness. “He’s my guest. We-“ He seems to consider his words. “We talked. We’re fine.”
“Ugh.” She sighs deeply and slips of the beam. “Fine.” As she hits the ground, she turns into a gorilla and points a finger at Ambrosius. “But I’m watching you, golden boy.”
Ambrosius raises his empty hands in surrender. “Fair enough.” She makes a face at him that makes it clear she doesn’t actually consider his opinion on the topic relevant. He picks up a sandwich and offers it to her. “Sandwich?”
Nimona grabs it out of his hand with a suspicious look and takes a big bite, while Ballister takes one of his own and Ambrosius gingerly sits down on the floor opposite the couch. He watches her chew and then as her eyes get bigger and she starts eating faster. Seems someone just realized how hungry they are. The grin that pulls at his mouth is hard to supress but he manages just in time before Nimona eyes him with suspicion.
They eat in relative silence until Ballister makes an only slightly forced sounding comment about sandwich topics which deteriorates into an argument about pizza topics.
“Pineapple does not belong on pizza!” Nimona argues heatedly, standing both feet on the couch over Ballister, who has lounged back onto it.
“Please, the sour flavour compliments the cheese.” He disagrees and Ambrosius knows that this is a genuine opinion of his, but he can also hear in his tone that he enjoys riling up Nimona.
“That is so wrong, boss. Bleh!” Nimona mimics throwing up over the couch, then her eye falls on Ambrosius who has been watching the successively more rowdy exchange with unbridled fascination. “Back me up here, golden boy.” She demands and they both look at him.
Ambrosius doesn’t particularly care either way. He wouldn’t order a pizza with pineapple on it for himself, but he isn’t picky enough not to eat it if it’s there. But Ballister looks far too smug, so he shakes his head. “I’m with her.” He declares. “Pineapple on pizza is gross.”
Ballister looks a little startled, then betrayed while Nimona whirls around with a “Ha!” and sticks out her tongue at Ballister. “He agrees with me! I’m right!” A second later it seems to hit her what she just said and she whips her head around to stare at Ambrosius.
They stare awkwardly for just a moment before Ballister cuts in. “Fine, I’m outnumbered by heathens, I get it.” And breaks the tension.
Later that night they have another moment of awkwardness when Ambrosius has packed up the leftovers and supplies. It is late and he is ready to go to bed. Ballister has caught his intention and starts sitting up, but Nimona is deep in some rather violent story she’s inventing about birds attacking a ship to save a whale. She comes to an abrupt stop and stares at them.
“You’re leaving.” She’s looking at Ambrosius.
“We’re leaving.” Ballister corrects and Ambrosius can see how it hits Nimona, that ‘we’. He wouldn’t know how to address it, but luckily Ballister has noticed it too and catches her eyes.
“There aren’t enough beds here, and if you’re gonna be sleeping on a couch might as well do it at home.”
“Your home.” Nimona accuses, tone going bitter. “With him.” She isn’t looking at Ambrosius, dropping down to sit on the couch.
“Our home.” Ballister corrects once more and reaches out to pull her in. “With you.”
Ambrosius feels like an intruder, spying on a private conversation. You’re a part of this now, he reminds himself. Behave like it. So he steps up. “The couch is pretty good.” He agrees. “And tomorrow we can see about getting some beds in here.”
Two pairs of eyes turn to him, one surprised, the other suspicious.
“Fine.” Nimona says and slips free from Ballisters hug to push to her feet. “I’m coming with you.” She stomps past Ambrosius out the door without a second look.
Ballister levers himself up off the couch while Ambrosius picks up the basket. “Do you mean that?” He asks.
“About the beds? Sure. The flat is not exactly big enough for two people, let alone three and I don’t think it being in the Institute building will endear it to her.” He eyes Ballister. “I was a little surprised you yourself were willing to live there for so long.”
Ballister shrugs. “Habit.” He explains. “And convenience, I guess.”
Ambrosius accepts that with a nod. “I’ve been thinking maybe we should move for a while now.” He admits and casts a look around the chaotic single room of the building. “I admit this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but if it makes you and her more comfortable…” He trails of.
“Maybe just as a temporary thing.” Ballister agrees and slips his arm around Ambrosius’ hip.
The arm around his shoulder is an automatic gesture for Ambrosius.
Ballister buries his face into his shoulder for a couple deep breaths. “Thank you for not freaking out.” He mumbles.
“Least I can do.” Ambrosius answers equally quietly. “Also no promises for tomorrow when this actually sets in.”
There’s a grin on Ballister’s face as he straightens and Ambrosius longs to kiss him. “Fair enough.” He says and pulls away. “Let’s not keep her waiting.”
Ambrosius follows him out of the building where Nimona seems to have been kicking a rock around the grass but straightens as they come out.
“Let’s go home.” Ballister says and pulls her in again. She goes willingly enough and Ambrosius smiles at their backs. They’ll be alright.