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“Did you hear the way the banker was speaking to you?”
“Mm.”
“I think you’ve managed to elicit a bit of his jealousy. He’s had his eyes on Natlan for some time now. If he weren’t so busy with he and the Rooster’s project, I’m certain he’d have tried harder to stake a claim for the gnosis.”
“You think so?”
“I’m certain of it. I know what he’s like when he’s jealous.”
“Hm.”
…
“Lay back. You’re warm.”
Thrain didn’t view things as a competition — he never had. He knew he was strong. He didn’t have to prove that to the world.
If only Zandik had the introspection to wonder why he felt differently — but he might not have liked the answer.
The Doctor knew his lover was far less bitter than he was, but it never stopped his gossip.
It never stopped Thrain from listening, either, only interjecting when the other was being too unfair.
Zandik wasn’t being unfair tonight. He could recognize envy towards his lover because it was a feeling he understood, perhaps more than anyone.
Still, that jealousy was easier to accept now that they were stretched out together naked in the same bed.
The Doctor had grown to admire those strengths he once loathed. It was rarer for envy to tug in his chest when his lover elicited praise, worship, and obedience simply by virtue of being himself.
When they sat across the table during Harbinger meetings, their gazes mingling beneath their masks, the Doctor felt pride swell in his chest.
His co-workers were blind to the fact that the ever-righteous Captain they admired and adored belonged to him.
He had the wool over their eyes even now. It was ironic, really.
One of them was a monster in appearance, and the other in soul.
Between the two of them, there might even have been a person.
And it wasn't Zandik.
The heretic closed his eyes, feeling Thrain’s hand thread through his hair. The other’s thumb rubbed gently behind his ear, eliciting a sigh.
In response, Zandik’s lips worshipped the curve of Thrain’s collarbone. It wasn’t uncommon behavior during a lapse in their conversation — for as many words as the Doctor had, he had twice as many needs.
They were both lonely men.
It was a combination of honor and isolation that had drawn them together.
The Doctor was not a man who felt much to begin with, much less for another person. He hadn’t thought he was capable of love. Sometimes, he still wasn’t certain.
Yet, if there was one thing Thrain had always been, it was predictable.
Zandik knew himself: he was abominable. He had grown more comfortable with repulsion than acceptance. He was perfectly contented to be loathed by the world.
Yet, it did mean that the only man in the world the Doctor could depend on to value his life was himself.
…
Himself, and the Captain.
Thrain had been a sword and a shield for nearly his entire existence. A leader, a soldier, a savior.
Zandik had never intended to count upon anyone, much less the man he despised for his perfection.
Yet, he knew that despite everything, he fell under the Captain’s code of honor.
The Captain could not help himself. He had always been too selfless to stand by when someone was helpless.
Even a monster.
Zandik did not want help from anyone. He did not want to be seen and recognized beyond the carefully-curated image he presented to the world. Yet, life had quite the way of disrupting his plans.
A way that, time and time again, Zandik fought against.
Yet, there were only so many encounters with gentle humanity a creature could handle before starting to weaken to the idea of companionship.
Now here they were — and not a soul knew about their bond outside of them.
Them, and the countless forgotten men screaming in his lover’s chest.
Zandik could hear them now as he pressed his nose to the withered skin of his partner’s neck. Idly, he rubbed a thumb over the Thrain’s heart — to soothe them, for no other purpose than to soothe Thrain. Gently, Zandik frowned. “They’re quite vocal tonight,” he murmured, his eyes flicking up to his lover’s face.
Perhaps Thrain’s face was handsome once, but it had been ravaged by time and decay.
For every thing Thrain had to be proud of, Zandik could always feel the way shame shackled his body, dragging behind him like great, silver chains.
There was a reason the Captain wore a mask. In his own way, he felt undesirable.
How frivolous it was, Zandik thought. How frivolous that a man of such majesty should be held back by something of so little meaning. Zandik prided himself on finding allure in the decay, worshipping the skin that the lesser world, so lost in its standards and cowardice, would never see the beauty in.
He didn’t want his lover any other way. He didn’t want someone ‘acceptable’ to the world that had shut him out. Yet, even then he knew his lover deserved someone better.
He could likely find one, too, if he’d wanted to.
But he hadn’t wanted to. Love had happened to them by accident. Neither one had been seeking a companion on their doomed voyage.
Still, in a world where the Captain had been seeking affection, Zandik was certain he would never have made the cut. He knew he didn’t deserve the affection he had sown. Even now, he wondered when his darkness would become too much for his lover to bear.
The Captain must have been lost in a trick of the light. Perhaps he saw a human in the Doctor, one that was in pain — one that could be saved. Perhaps he pitied that creature, who had just barely learned to strip itself of enough layers to be recognized.
Perhaps that was the Doctor’s gentle trap — the illusion of change. He had learned to compromise with Thrain. He had learned to make exceptions in his work to keep his partner pleased. Yet, he would never change.
He would never be human. He would never be ‘good.’
Yet, what was Thrain to do when he believed himself the only man in the world capable of nurturing that shell of a person? When he knew doing so might erase the pain of countless people, including the man he loved?
They were doomed from the beginning. Zandik knew it. He could feel it in his chest.
The heretic drew his lover nearer. Nearer.
Hold me again. His weakness.
The night was winding down.
Thrain draped an arm around Zandik’s middle, pressing a delicate kiss to the shell of his lover’s ear once the stray wisps of hair had been tucked away.
Zandik was still digesting that this night might be the last between them.
It wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed his mind. Thrain had always been on a quest to lay his men to rest. And, along with them, he himself.
Zandik had tried and failed to make any progress with Thrain’s mission himself. The heart was a delicate thing, and Thrain forbade any experiments on humans other than himself for this project. The Doctor would have to operate on him directly, and to accept any consequences of his failure.
In truth, the Doctor had found the restrictions to be a nuisance — but he supposed replicating a heart with Thrain’s capabilities would be quite the expenditure in the first place.
Now he wished he’d pulled apart every subject in his lab attempting to find the solution.
A heart could be extracted. It could be replaced.
The Doctor wished he’d torn it out.
In many of Thrain’s other attempts at freeing the souls, nothing had worked. He had come to Zandik with ideas that would bear no fruit, and would embark on a mission the Doctor was certain would fail.
Then, when his lover returned silent with exhaustion, Zandik held him in the safety of their private room, kissing away his regrets. Of course, Zandik loved selfishly. It was the only way he knew how. He loved Thrain and he wanted him to fail.
Perhaps a good lover would have been happy that Thrain had finally come to him with something promising. Perhaps a good lover would have the strength to be happy in his stead, that the Captain's suffering would come to an end.
But Zandik wasn’t happy.
He could feel Thrain’s heart beating against his back, but Zandik didn’t have the willpower to turn and look at him in the face. Instead, he shied back into his lover’s warmth, balling their bedsheets into his fist.
Zandik didn’t dare speak a word to dissuade him. They were both men who understood the consequences of their actions. Zandik respected him too much to try and change his mind.
So instead, the Doctor caught his breath and prayed for his lover’s humiliation. He prayed that he’d wander home again, aching at the fact his final, most promising ploy for freedom had failed.
Was this, too, an act of love?
Zandik was sure one day he’d go numb again in Thrain’s absence. It was what always happened.
Yet, he knew that keyhole in his heart that Thrain occupied would never stop aching. There would always be a piece of him missing.
Zandik hoped Thrain knew he wasn’t ashamed of him. He knew that if things had been the Captain’s way, their affair wouldn’t be secret.
Thrain was a proud man. He was not afraid to face the judgement of his choices.
Zandik could not even face the presence of his emotion. Thrain wasn't the one he was ashamed of.
He glanced back at last, wetting his lips to speak.
Don’t you know I’m proud of you?
…
But all Zandik did was nose into his lover’s silky black hair, pressing his delicate lips to a portion of exposed skin.
Kissing goodbye.
Zandik almost didn’t watch as his lover stowed away on the ship that would take him to Natlan.
During his lover's previous departures, the Doctor took the time to watch from the balcony, lifting a hand until he was certain Thrain saw him.
Or, when he felt bolder, he would meander down to the docks and watch from there, lifting his head to catch Thrain’s gaze before he stowed away below deck.
Today, Zandik didn’t think he had it in him to do much outside of squinting out the window.
Even from afar, he was certain he could tell which outline belonged to Thrain. He was always the tallest, his helmet shrouding his face and framed by thick, darkened fur.
Zandik sat up.
Yes — it was certainly him, because even from the docks, Zandik could see him turning his face to the balcony to see if he might find his lover there.
Zandik’s stomach turned.
He was a coward. He had always been too much of a coward to face himself — to face the weakness his heart held for another man.
He knew he could prove some terrible strength to himself if he remained in his seat and let his lover sail away to die. He could prove there wasn’t some part of him that had been transformed, some part of him that ached at the idea of being alone again.
The part that was afraid to lose. The part that yearned to continue their doomed waltz. The tiny, tiny fragment of him that yearned to be recognized and remembered with fondness. The part that ‘loved.’
Zandik stood from his desk abruptly, crossing his office and shoving himself through his door. His boots clipped down the hallway, causing the agents chatting nearby to fall into a frozen hush.
The moment Zandik was out of view, he took off in a dash, forcing himself down the hall and closing distance on the double doors that spat him out into the snow.
Grimacing, Zandik pulled his coat more tightly around his frame, dragging his feet through the frost-bitten landscape and trudging his way towards the docks.
The snow had stopped, but the air was still cold. It bit on the Doctor’s exposed lips as he drew closer and closer to the ship.
And, in turn, the silhouettes.
Zandik was close enough now to be able to see them boarding. He froze in place, blinking rapidly before lifting up a hand. “Captain!” He called.
The wind whistled through the trees, drowning out his farewell.
“Captain!” Zandik hurried, his outstretched hand still in the air.
When he saw the crown of that dark helmet reach the zenith of the plank, Zandik felt his heart clench with defeat in his chest. “Thrain!”
The figure stopped, turning towards him.
Even now, he was so impossibly high above him — so impossible to reach.
Yet, Zandik waded through the snow anyway, continuing to stretch out his arm as he finally reached the docks.
In response, Thrain lowered his head, stepping down from his pedestal and meeting Zandik at the base of the platform. “Yes? What is it?” He said, his voice soft with indulgence.
Zandik stopped, at last, to catch his breath. His throat twinged, raw. Even now, he couldn’t bring himself to search in the maw of the Captain’s mask for his eyes. Yet, he did step forward, letting his hands guide him as he folded them around Thrain’s frame, hugging the two of them together. He buried his face in the fur lining of the other’s hood, his eyes half-lidded and distant. Then they closed.
Zandik sighed softly when he felt Thrain’s silver talons, always so gentle, ghosting through his hair. In turn, he let his arms cage him. Zandik balled Thrain’s coat into his fists as he clung to the feeling of his weight in his arms.
Zandik didn’t care how many eyes were staring at them now. He didn’t care about the way the Captain’s soldiers gawked at his monstrous folly. He peeled himself back from Thrain’s shoulder, cupping his metal jaw with one hand as he slotted their frigid lips together.
It was cold.
Cold, but tender. Precious.
When Zandik finally broke the kiss, gazing through his mask into Thrain’s stormy eyes, his lover was the only man in the world that mattered.
The Doctor caught his breath. He didn’t have the words. He didn’t even know how to let go.
He didn’t say good luck.
He didn’t say I’ll miss you.
He didn’t say come home.
He didn’t say don’t leave me.
He didn’t say I need you.
He didn’t say I love you.
Zandik’s gaze softened, melancholy. He leaned in, pressing another gentle kiss to Thrain’s lips.
He said goodbye.