The Anchor's Chain, chap 7
Merry-Go-Round
Series: The Anchor's Chain
Summary: The action happens! Explanations and more information, a lot of truth comes out, and more names get dropped. I know I was supposed to layer in something here about Nicholas’ hockey games but in the end, it just didn’t fit so I edited it out. Thanks to _profiterole_ for the beta-reading, as always. This is her baby and she has demanded drabbles so if you like this story from the Anomaly arc, there is more coming. Shorter, but more.
Warnings: Drama and kisses. Try not to squee too loudly, you might disturb your neighbours.
--
“Blue eyes!” Anelle gasped, bursting into renewed sobs, tears streaming afresh. She leaned into her husband who could only helplessly rub at her shoulders and give Nicholas a strained looked.
“Mom,” Nicholas moaned, upset and nervous. He couldn’t help but glance quickly for help at his cousins and Elliot standing off to one side, but they all wore identical looks of alarm on their faces. Desperate and trying very hard to conceal it, “Mom, I’m fine. The colour’s started to fade, it’s just a fluke or something. The vision wasn’t even longer than normal, it was shorter! Mom!”
“We could contact the Council about this,” Arthur rather nervously suggested to the general table, holding his wife close.
“And have them redouble their efforts to take Nicholas away?” Beth cut in with a snort, “Not a chance. But I will mention this to Nix. Maybe she can find something out.”
Michael spoke up, “I think it’s time we contact Sir Starr; he did mention to bring it to his attention if anything happened. You remember, he’s been running that book shop of his for years over his researching into the Ancient Arts. His grandson in particular has recognised skill in spell circles and the more ancient arcane forms. Couldn’t hurt to talk to them.”
“I agree,” Beth moved toward him and laid a hand on his arm, “The grandson is particularly more knowledgeable in the Ancient Arts than Sir Starr, if that old goat is to be believed.” She used the name with fondness. She gave Anelle an encouraging look, “We’ve been speaking gently to a lot of people in the past year. This might be the time to rally the contacts and see what we can find out.”
Nicholas swallowed his frustration at the way they’d talked around him and instead returned the nods they gave him. He watched his aunts walk off, loath to be left alone with his parents.
“Stay here, please, Nicky,” Anelle begged with wet, beseeching eyes.
“Mom, no,” he groaned, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and tugging with sheer frustration. “I don’t want to stay here, it’ll drive me insane. Guys,” he turned pleadingly to his cousins, “Come on.”
“His eyes have gone gray again,” Elliot gamely tried, stepping forward but looking no less apprehensive than earlier. “We can keep watch and if anything happens, we’ll personally drag him back.”
“Please,” Anelle moaned, still in tears and Nicholas could feel his heart aching at how much this hurt her. “Please stay.”
“Mom, don’t make me,” he begged, aggravated and annoyed. “Don’t make me.” And when no one else spoke up, Nicholas made a sound part disgust and part fear before turning away, ignoring everyone and purposefully made for his room.
The slam of the door echoed distantly in his head as he threw himself onto his bed, eyes stinging as he choked back tears over how his life might be wrenched out of his control again.
--
“I’m sorry, Auntie B,” Nicholas murmured, watching her cast the spell.
“Just remember your promise,” she reiterated firmly, lifting her hand from the glowing mirror. “You’ll come right back if anything changes.”
“I swear I will,” he repeated, meaning it, looking into her eyes. He turned to Vane, quiet and contemplative just behind him, “You ready?” At Vane’s nod, he threw one last half-smile at his aunt and stepped through the shimmering glass into Vane’s room at their dormitory. The moment the glass returned to its standard state, he snarled at no one in particular, “Bloody fucking hell.”
Vane said nothing when he stomped his way out of the room and dashed for his own, weaving past people in the hall without stopping, ignoring those he bumped into and-
“Shit!” he snapped as he crashed to the floor. He scrambled up to keep going but the echoes of distant voices, the thickness in his chest, disoriented him and kept him in place, eyes shutting tight, and he suddenly knew who it was he’d run into. Again. “Stephen.”
“Hey,” came the quiet greeting from somewhere above him. “Looks like you’re just destined to keep running into… Uh. Nicholas, you okay?”
Nicholas looked up, blinking when he spotted the bag Stephen himself carried, “What are you doing here, I thought you went home?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” Looking worried, he asked again, “You okay?”
“No,” Nicholas muttered, jumping up to his feet and glowering distantly. “I’m not. I just… I need to lie down.” He tried to move past.
“Are you still ill?” Stephen had grasped his elbow to keep him from running off. “You look pale. Maybe you should have stayed home.”
“I can’t fucking stay home,” he snapped, glaring and startling his teammate. “I can’t bloody stand another moment there with the way my parents-” his voice cut out suddenly, only just then remembering he should be keeping certain truths to himself and why the hell did he have to keep them so close to his heart when he needed so badly to be understood?
“Nicky,” Vane said softly, laying a hand on his arm from behind, “Hey, take it easy.”
“Shut up!” Nicholas snapped, eyes prickling and sight blurring. Eyes wet, he hissed, “Shit.” Shooting Stephen a look before ducking his head to hide it, he pulled at his arm and insisted, “Let me go.”
Stephen didn’t move.
“Let. Me. Go.”
“No.”
Nicholas had only a moment to register being pulled along before he found himself following, too surprised to fight back. But then he kept his head down to hide his face from whoever might look his way, deciding that so long as they were going somewhere else, it didn’t matter where. He just didn’t want anyone to see his tears.
He recognised where they were headed without looking up, knew that Stephen occupied the room at the end of the hall, one floor down. Obediently he tripped along, tears full in his eyes but no more coming at least. He blinked as they took the steps, letting the meagre droplets fall to the floor as they turned, thinking of Stephen’s grip on his arm-
And blinked again.
His headache had eased. The usual dull echo of pain had dissipated even if those quiet mutterings in the distance still persisted from Stephen’s touch. Well, he thought, at least there was some reprieve.
“You’re staying here,” Stephen said decisively as he pulled Nicholas in behind him into the room. He shut and locked the door, and Nicholas wondered where Vane had gotten to. “You look like shit and so did Vane. What the hell happened to you?”
“Life fucking happened,” he grumbled, standing stiffly in the middle of the room, breathing in the scent he’d long ago recognised from the guy he’d admired and crushed on all damn year. “What the hell else?”
“Never heard you swear so much before.” Pause, “Care to elaborate?”
“Not really.” Nicholas fiddled with his bag strap still over his shoulder staring determinedly at his shoes. He really was swearing a lot.
“You’re staying here,” Stephen repeated.
Half-heartedly, “I have a room one floor up. I don’t need to crowd your space.”
There came a rough snort and then, “You don’t need to be alone.”
“My family won’t leave me alone,” Nicholas grumbled. “I came back to have some space.”
“Space for what?” Stephen challenged, “To distance yourself?” Nicholas just glared. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. You’re always alone, always separate even when you’re playing with the team or amidst your friends.” He made a frustrated sound, “You’re so damn hard to get to know and you keep blocking people who try when you’re supposed to…”
Nicholas shifted, awareness turning awkward now that he didn’t have a headache to piss him off. Stephen only stared at him so he prodded, “Supposed to?”
“Supposed to be maybe a bit more friendly. I think you’re too reticent,” came the irritated reply. “And quiet. Basically not at all forthcoming with personal information.”
“Anything else?” Nicholas breathed, a little amused but that didn’t make any sense because Stephen obviously looked rattled. Or maybe it was because he could actually see the guy without that damn calm mask in place.
“You find this amusing?” Nicholas tried to wipe the humour from his face. “Yeah, you fool,” Stephen sighed, “You really do.” He rubbed at his own hair then gestured to his couch, “Sit. Talk.”
Nicholas sat and fidgeted, “I can’t really talk about it. It’s a very… private affair. And very complicated; difficult to make people understand.”
“Vane seems to understand,” Stephen observed, brows furrowing. “And you admitted you haven’t known him all that long.”
“Well, that’s different,” Nicholas hedged, “He’s family, we’re cousins.” His eyes instantly widened at the admission, darting up to catch one of Stephen’s eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Uhhh…”
He guessed, “You weren’t supposed to say that?”
“Uh, yeah.” Nicholas sheepishly rubbed at his own hair, frustrated and disoriented. “We’re not related by blood; he’s adopted and… well… it’s complicated.” He smacked his own forehead before he knew what he was doing, annoyed with his own big mouth.
“Don’t do that.”
“I should just shut up,” Nicholas muttered wearily.
“You should just stop running,” came the quiet suggestion. “Whatever it is, you could face it head on.”
“I feel a lot more comfortable going with the ‘flee’ response than the ‘fight’ if you don’t mind.” Nicholas sat back in the seat and leaned his head back to stare up at the ceiling, feeling suddenly tired. Shouldn’t be surprising given how late it had gotten. “I should head to bed,” he murmured but didn’t move.
“Stay here,” Stephen softly coaxed, coming into line of sight with a large blanket in his hands. “Just kick off your shoes and lie down.”
Nicholas couldn’t find any fight or flee in himself and just did as told, a pillow sliding under his head as he let it down, a blanket draping over him, gentle hands tucking it about his shoulders and under his feet. Long fingers ruffled his hair and drifted lightly over his temple making his eyes automatically close.
The touch felt calming and he simply drifted off.
--
“I swear to God,” Nicholas murmured wearily only a moment after waking up and realising where he was, “I have no idea what I’m doing anymore.”
“That doesn’t sound too positive,” came a voice from the other side of the room.
Nicholas just sighed, shutting his eyes. “Happy Birthday to me,” he whispered.
“Happy Birthday,” echoed Stephen, noticeably more upbeat voice coming from above, closer now. Pause. “We should go out. Celebrate.”
“I’m not in the mood.” Nicholas rolled over and buried his face into a cushion.
“And you’d rather what? Sulk and mope all day? Bullshit.” A broad hand wrapped around Nicholas’ upper arm and quite literally dragged him off the couch.
Nicholas scowled, blinking up at Stephen’s easy smile. He didn’t have a hope of fighting that grip and they both knew it. “You’re awfully pesky first thing in the bloody morning.”
“No use arguing with me,” came the suspiciously cheerful reply. “You’re coming with me.”
If very inappropriate thoughts flashed through Nicholas’ head at those words and made him feel a little guilty therefore providing a large reason to just silently obey, well, Stephen didn’t have to know.
Dragged grumbling and stumbling from Stephen’s room and to his own to fetch some clothes, he tried to ignore the comfortable drape of Stephen’s arm over his shoulders, the easy way they walked together despite the height difference. It felt all too easy to get used to this close proximity despite the quiet background noise in his head.
The usually constant headache had eased even further by this point, not at all painful though there still remained those distant murmuring voices. Nicholas decided he’d marvel at it later when he had some space to do some serious self-pity wallowing.
He maintained his belligerent silence as he followed Stephen to the ice rink arena and there wanted to ask how they would get in but snapped his mouth shut when the team captain produced a key. Scowling, he followed in and changed into his cotton tracksuit set, taking just his gloves and hockey stick sans the usual pads and gear, as Stephen did.
“Tell me this was a bad idea, if you can,” Stephen challenged once they got on the ice, skating through the mist that’d accumulated through the night, the bleachers barely visible.
“Okay, so it’s a damn good one,” Nicholas conceded, zipping his tracksuit jacket up a little higher as he glided easily over the ice, voice echoing through the empty arena, following Stephen into a left hand crossover circuit as they picked up speed. “Must be some perk to have keys to this place.” His brows furrowed, “Is that why you have such tight pivots? I swear, for such a big guy, I’m amazed you can turn as fast as you do.” Stephen raised an innocent brow at him and he scowled. “No wonder.”
“Come practice with me, then.” Stephen jutted his chin out to the right and led a quick turn in that direction.
Nicholas swiftly followed, swinging his arms and hockey stick to keep balance. He chased Stephen through imaginary obstacles, following both Stephen’s movements and the cuts left behind on the ice; duck, pivot, hop, chase, catch, shoot and spin. Pacing his breathing, he found his balance, using the stick and his weight the whole way, pushing just hard enough to keep up. He laughed with delight as he followed Stephen off the ice, panting already, checking the clock to see they’d burned a little over half an hour at the activity.
“That felt good,” he said, trying to catch his breath, throwing himself down on the bench beside his friend.
“You kept up well,” Stephen commented, smiling. “You have good balance with the stick but you don’t rely on it. No wonder Marty prefers to tag with you, you’re quick with that thing.”
Nicholas tapped the stick on the rubber-covered ground, grinning, “I do love this game.” He tilted his head back onto the bench and closed his eyes, just relishing the vague burn of a good workout, “I really wish we had more practice days. Instead of practicing just the days we’re all available, we could double them up and people just have to attend a set minimum.”
“And some of those who want to work harder have an opportunity to,” Stephen agreed from his left. “I mentioned that to Pierson; he thinks we should vote on it or something. But we never did bring it up again.”
“I’ll vote,” Nicholas offered then repeated, “That felt good.” Silence from Stephen made him blink his eyes open, “You oka--?” voice cutting out from under him because he saw Stephen had moved closer while he’d had his eyes shut, bending over him a little.
“There’s this one other thing I think will feel good, too,” Stephen whispered, breath fanning over Nicholas’ cheek and making him shiver, making his throat suddenly dry. Stephen’s eyes had darkened to a deep ocean blue, pupils so dilated Nicholas could see his own reflection clearly in them.
“Yeah?” he murmured, a tone of challenge to it, heart triple-beating in his chest despite only just calming down.
“Yeah.” And with that, Stephen bent his head.
( next)