Fic: Boughs Too Slight 1/3 (Suits, NC-17)
Title: Boughs Too Slight
Author: arsenicjade
Fandom/Pairing: Suits, Mike/Harvey
Warnings: Violence, Crucifixion (I swear, I have never written that before this year, I don't know what happened.)
Summary: AU, wingfic. Harvey is his planet's lead diplomat, Mike is one of his planet's foremost spies and fighters. A tentative peace between their two planets requires that they find a way to get along.
AN: Thank you to forsweatervests for an extremely thorough beta, and for making this story something I could post, which it was NOT in its first draft. Thanks to egelantier for a final read-through. Being used for my "forced marriage" square on hc_bingo.
Jessica summoned Harvey formally, which was his first indication that something was wrong. Certainly, Harvey was her First, at her beck and call, but they’d known each other long before her Ascension, when she was a gangly teenager sporting unruly hair and a fire in her eyes that outburned the Central Flame. He’d been at her side as she scrabbled to her position, fierce and brave and somehow compassionate. Which was to say, when Jessica needed him, she sent a Whisper and he came; she didn’t draft a Call.
Only, this time, she had.
The Call was run from the Central Hall, upon the highest terrace, down to the midlands, where Harvey lived. He’d already left the Hall for the day, intent upon finishing up at home.
Harvey, in response, dressed himself in full court dress and made his way to her quickly, but not rushing. It was not far from his midland terrace home back up to the Hall, and there was more than one bridge connecting the two. Once he was in the Hall, noting the presence of others, he gave a half-bow and formally addressed Jessica. “You Called, my Liege.”
The Hall was still full of late-day light. At this point in the season, despite the planet’s distance from all three Light Bearers, the light would still last until well after the close of the working day. It was only slightly past that time. Chaisse was not a planet of darkness, not even in the darkest of cycles.
The Hall was circular, as were the terraces, and almost everything of import upon Chaisse. Jessica’s seated dome had pride of place in the middle. The smooth lines of the dome rippled blue-gray, serene and austere. She was wearing full regal apparel, which, unlike the natural, breezy lines of every-day wear, molded to her, falling to the floor rather than cutting off at the knee. She had ceremonial stones in her hair, polished but dull, woven in amongst a complicated up-do of carefully placed swirls.
Jessica stood from the dome and pressed her hands to her chest in formal recognition. “Your Response is noted and appreciated, First.”
“I extend my services,” Harvey intoned. Formalities bored him, but he’d be roasted alive over giving a hint of impropriety between them. Her skin tone marked her as not purely of Chaisse, a half-child of Ebran, three moons over. Because of this, despite her matrilineal line of right to rule, she had fought to maintain control more than once. While Harvey had no trouble allowing others to know he was a favorite if it suited him, he would do nothing to suggest she was not wise and fair, everything a leader in her role should be.
“I accept them,” she responded, and then waved her scepter. “Leave us.”
When her command had been obeyed, Harvey made his way to the Center Dias, where she still stood, one hand on the Seat of Rule, as though she held it up, or perhaps, now that they were in private, the other way around. “Jess?”
Her mouth twisted, not very Queen-like, but very Jessica-like. “The Rhodrinne have come to the table. You have succeeded.”
Harvey liked to preen and all, but Jessica did not generally feel the need to help him with that. There was something more happening. “Why are we here, then? Like this?”
“They added a provision.”
Harvey stilled. He’d been point on the peace talks since day one, so he knew what an addition meant. He’d known in his gut it would come down to this. The Rhodrinne were too traditional for anything else. “Contractual Binding.”
She pressed her lips together. “They’re insisting that it be you. I believe it is an issue of the known light-swallower,” she said, using an old Chaisse saying about trusting known quantities, even if they were not, at heart, very trustworthy. “They seem to believe you see them as equals, something they do not believe of all Chaissen.” They shared a look, because, in truth, the Rhodrinne could not be blamed. Chaissens held their prejudices dear in this instance. After a second she continued, pursing her lips, “I should order you to do so. I find myself unwilling, however, even for the sake of peace.”
Desperately needed peace; the knowledge settled unspoken between them. “Is she at least pretty?”
Jessica looked torn between amusement and annoyance. “She is a Valkyrn by the name of Mik’ael.”
“The Valkyrns are all-- Oh.” Harvey spent a couple of minutes reordering his thoughts. He knew Jessica would give him the time. Finally, when he could manage nonchalance, he shrugged. “Is he pretty?”
The Valkyrn-winged warriors-were the last of a dying breed that had protected the planet and the people of Rhodrinne since time immemorial. The belief was that they had originally been one of the Rhodrinneian tribes, and something-conditions, sorcery, nobody knew-had caused the wing mutation. In any case, they were the physically superior species, named by the Rhodrinne after they repelled the first threat, a long-dead empire with the intention of enslaving the Rhodrinne. The two species had grown less fond of each other at some point, perhaps during the long conflict with Chaisse, the Valkyrn predominantly warriors, and the Rhodrinne almost entirely trades and craft people, as well as educators and, occasionally, diplomats.
Then, recently, the women of the Valkyrn species had begun succumbing to a virus nobody had been able to stop, causing the wheels for peace between Harvey’s people, the Chaissen, and the Rhodrinne to start turning after well over a century of war. Nobody living could remember how the war had started; any presumed reason was little more than myth.
“I have not seen him,” Jessica admitted, her expression tight, drawn, almost. “We can arrange-“
“No,” Harvey immediately shook his head, keeping his focus on the details of the situation, of what needed to be done to garner the peace they’d both put everything into.. “They’ll take it as an insult.”
“I am not agreeing blindly.”
“Correct. You are not. I am.”
“Harvey-“
“It’s my choice, Jess. You said so.” Harvey took a deep breath. The loss of his family, his father when Harvey was just seven, his younger brother in the conflict three years earlier still filled him with purpose, the need to protect Jessica, and that which he considered to be his. “And I choose to accept.”
After a long moment, Jessica nodded. “I accept your service, My First.” And then, softer, friend- to-friend she whispered: “Thank you, my friend.”
*
Donna raised one eyebrow, silent, when Harvey stood from his favorite chair in his personal study, the room being one of the spots the villa had been built around. The chair was covered in an ever-regenerating rise of moss and earth which molded itself to Harvey’s position even as it strained up to the light coming through the glass-dome ceiling. He ignored her and headed toward the closet, intent on changing his outfit again. Harvey sat back down. He gathered his thoughts and told her, “It’s only polite to meet one’s intended wearing something that denotes effort and respect.”
Donna was undeterred in her opinion, clearly. “The outfit you’re wearing-the second you’ve put on today, incidentally-costs more than the average Chaissen makes in a quarter’s period. Presuming it doesn’t come off as grossly materialistic, I think it will suffice.”
After that, Harvey forced himself to sit still and concentrate on the marriage contract. It was forty-seven pages long with cramped, miniscule writing. He’d received it the day before but was still making his way through the second half, and getting that far had involved not sleeping most of the previous night. Granted, he doubted he would have anyway. He was too anxious to make sure this worked: for Jessica, yes, but for all of them.
Donna had lost an arm in the war, years earlier, and been sidelined in her career as fighter pilot while she learned to use the cybernetic replacement it had taken three surgeries to fully integrate into her nervous system. By the time she’d been ready to return to the front lines a new generation of jets had been introduced and the training necessary for her to re-up was enough that the military requested she take honorable discharge. Harvey well knew she enjoyed running his life easily as much as she had being a fighter pilot, but all he had to do to remind himself just how much was at stake was look at where the replacement joint met living flesh. Without even looking up from the scheduling task she’d been at for the last hour she said, “Stop making me into some kind of living monument. You’re good-looking and still have part of a soul; he’ll consider himself lucky.”
Harvey knew for a fact that Donna had no interest in the male half of their species, but she had a more-than-adequate sense of aesthetics and Harvey had enough experience to know she was right, in the sense that his intended probably wouldn’t have an issue with Harvey’s physical appearance. He reminded himself that he didn’t care whether this Mik’ael had any interest in him, nor if he had any interest in Mik’ael. It was simply that it would make everything easier. But then, Harvey had dealt with complicated on more than one occasion and come out victorious.
Donna stood straight and looked up a bit so that they were eye-to-eye. Softly, she said, “This will work.”
Harvey took a deep breath. “It has to.”
*
For all the times Harvey had sat at the table with Rhodrinnes, for all the people Harvey had lost to the war, for all of himself he had lost to it, he had never seen a Valkyrn up close before. Swooping down, raining terror, flying away, those motions he had glimpsed. But Harvey had been a foot soldier in his short career in the armed force of Chaisse, and the damage to his right shoulder had kept him from advancing far enough that he would have been a proper target for the elite Rhodrinne warriors.
Today, Harvey met his treaty-husband in one of the central Meeting Halls, rounded like all other rooms of significance on Chaisse. When Harvey entered, the one Valkyrn in the room was directly across from the entrance, a hand tracing along the organic surface of the room’s wall. Harvey’s first thought was that Mik’ael was a little small.
As soon as the Rhodrinne delegation realized Harvey was in the room, though, the wings that had been tucked tight to Mik’ael’s back rose up into what Harvey suspected was a formal stance. They were not spread, simply rising out from Mik’ael’s back, nearly half again his height and comprised of what must have been millions of feathers, all of them shades of burnished, coppery brown that complimented the sandy-blond of his hair nicely. Harvey wondered idly if all the Valkyrn’s had wings that matched their complexions.
It was hard to look away, or even to notice what Harvey normally would have-the toned quality of his upper body, displayed by the fitting top and empty weapons harness criss-crossing his chest. The emptiness of the harness was a sign that the delegation came to deal in peace. Mik’ael’s pants flowed, showing nothing of his legs, but Harvey had a feeling they were no less fit.
Harvey forced himself to concentrate. He gave a formal bow and intoned, “We welcome you with hands open and empty.”
It was an ancient greeting, back from when a hand with something in it usually meant someone was armed. The head Rhodrinne diplomat, Rach’el, met his gaze and responded, “We grasp your hands with ours.”
The fact that both cultures had similar greetings and it had taken very little time to fall into regular formalized greetings between them suggested to Harvey that whatever had happened between their peoples, it had probably come from being too similar, and having mutually exclusive desires, rather than serious differences in viewpoint. Harvey suspected, from all the history he had read, that one of the Clans had stumbled into some type of trading dispute with Chaissen merchants and things had devolved from there into a war that had become more about the fact that all people could remember was war, rather than any particular reason.
When the formalities had been squared away, Mik’ael stepped in closer and held out his hands. Harvey had told himself a million times over not to hesitate in this moment. All the same, he felt the slowness in his movements, even if nobody else in the room would see it. Jessica, had she been present for this first meeting, would have. But someone, perhaps Mik’ael himself, had insisted there be no leadership present, just those involved: the two diplomats, and Mik’ael.
At the touch of their hands, Harvey felt a jolt of something, maybe interest, or excitement, or perhaps just intense relief that this might work. Mik’ael was beautiful in his own right; even without the majesty of the wings there was the soft symmetry of his face, the sharp shine of his eyes. And Harvey liked beautiful, liked fierce. Harvey wasn’t worried about Mik’ael’s fierceness. It was starkly evident in the scar that cut through the left side of his jaw. There was further evidence of it in the slightly odd way Mik’ael closed his hand around Harvey’s, suggesting incomplete healing of a severe break.
Then Mik’ael grinned and said, “Well, at least you’re not old enough to have nested me.”
Harvey blinked. Then he noticed the relief hinted at in the tired lines pulling just a bit at Mik’ael’s eyes. Harvey knew the signs of diplomats willing to come to the table, and those who had no intention of dealing. Mik’ael wasn’t a diplomat, and warriors gave off different signals, but all the same, Harvey could see where Mik’ael was trying, the way he wanted this to work, same as Harvey. Harvey smiled slightly. “And you’re not young enough that I’ll be forced to sing you lullabies at night.”
*
They take a walk, leaving Rach’el in the sumptuously appointed meeting room to walk along the Painted Ridge, one of Harvey’s peoples' natural wonders. The terraced hills that hosted the palace showcased silt of hundreds of hues. When viewed from afar it was as if looking at the universe’s largest and most exquisite jewel.
Mik’ael, though, said, “All this space to fly and nobody to appreciate it.”
Harvey noticed how Mik'ael's wings seemed to almost ripple, as if in anticipation. He looked at the expanse of sky and wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to soar over these hills, see the picture not from afar, but from above. “Our mechanisms of flight aren’t quite so intuitive as yours.”
“Would you like to try it?” The question was pitched so casually, Harvey had to look over to see if he was seriously being offered a chance to fly. Mik’ael had his eyebrow cocked in gentle challenge, his wings somehow riled, the feathers at odd angles.
Harvey asked, “They support that much weight?”
It was then that Mik’ael snapped them open, away from his back and wide, as though to catch a draft. Harvey couldn’t help the look of awe that he knew he wore. The wings spanned almost double a man’s height in each direction from Mik’ael’s body. Underneath the gold-brown feathers that gave them their beauty, Harvey could see the tensile strength in the musculature, the ever-so-fine bones that gave them their shape.
Mik’ael did not repeat his offer, nor his challenge, just held out a hand. Harvey looked at the drop, even from where they were, to the valley. Then he looked back to Mik’ael and asked, “How will this work best for you?”
Mik’ael asked softly, “Are you willing to turn your back to me?”
It went against years of training. It went against the instincts of six-year-old Harvey, threatened, like every Chaissen child, by tales of Valkyrn monsters, made ever scarier to get him to behave. It went against everything his people believed. He turned his back.
Mik’ael’s breath was warm against the line of Harvey’s jaw, his arms incomprehensibly strong in their grip over Harvey’s chest. He said, “Fear takes the fun out of it.”
Harvey managed, “Easy for you to say.”
Mik’ael counted, “One, two, three,” and pushed both of them right off the edge of the terrace.
*
They fell first, fast and harsh against the air rising up to meet them, and Harvey, who had previously been telling himself not to be paranoid, allowed his panic over the thought that this had been a plot all along to swell up in the second before Mik’ael snapped his wings open and the current pulled them up, almost as quickly and sickeningly as they had plunged. It took a second, but they leveled out, the air cold, sharp and so, so loud in Harvey’s ear.
Mik’ael shouted, “Sorry. If I tell people, they aren’t willing to try.”
Harvey could see the logic in that, and now that his heart wasn’t about to spontaneously stop, he could appreciate Mik’ael skipping the details so he could be here, weaving above the palace, seeing things he’d seen his whole life in a way that made them look entirely different. Mik’ael’s arms were sturdy, holding Harvey perfectly in place, and Harvey realized then just how physically powerful Mik’ael must be, far stronger than his looks suggested.
Mik’ael canted downward, but Harvey felt the restraint with which he managed it. Harvey would have to thank him later. As it was, the rush of wind across his face was intense and Harvey closed his eyes against it, just feeling the movement. There was something pure in it, something he’d surely never associated with a people he’d been taught to think of as nothing more than “the enemy” since before he could remember.
Mik’ael took them higher, and Harvey began to feel the chill of their elevation. Mik’ael was warm at his back, everywhere he was holding Harvey. To his surprise, Harvey felt the stirrings of arousal. The last time he’d considered another man in that way Harvey had been little more than a child, and the man in question would be dead within a year, just another casualty in an endless string of them.
Harvey looked down at the castle, a feat of engineering and architecture, a jewel among his people’s accomplishments. It reminded him what he was doing here, that maybe it was not such a bad thing for him to feel something physical for this man. He doubted the two of them would ever find comfort in each other emotionally.
Mik’ael took the descent slowly, but even so, touching down was intense, the impact reverberating through Harvey’s body. Back on the ground, Mik’ael seemed to lose much of the confidence that Harvey had felt in him while they were flying. He ran a hand through his hair and tucked his wings against his back once more. “It’s, ah, it’s been a while, since I’ve taken anyone up. I forgot to mention that landing takes some getting used to.”
Harvey tilted his head, remembering they’d sent a warrior, not a diplomat. Harvey understood that in some ways, doing so was a display of strength. But warriors very rarely thought about what they said before they said it. Harvey went with his instincts and asked, “Why did you take me up?”
Mik’ael blinked at Harvey. “I wanted to see your home. It probably would have screwed up the negotiations to leave you on the ground.”
“You could have just asked permission,” Harvey said, testing.
“Because I’m sure that wouldn’t have made me seem like a spy, or anything.” Mik’ael paled, his wings coming around his body before he forced them back.
Harvey wondered what the kid thought they did to suspected spies. He asked, “Are you?”
Mik’ael’s expression burned through Harvey. “Nearly everyone I have ever loved has died on or over your soil. I’m tired of the war.”
Harvey made himself set aside Mik’ael’s words, his emotions and press, “So why did you take me up? The enemy. Why give me that?”
“To see if you’d trust me,” Mik’ael snapped, and then stiffened. After a second, he asked sullenly, “Why did you agree?”
Harvey smiled. “Because you offered.”
Mik'ael held out, his suspicion a living thing for a moment, then he nodded, sharp and decisive, and turned to walk back to the palace.
*
Harvey had always assumed that if he ever settled down, he would hire someone who handled joining ceremonies professionally and let that person take care of it. However, since he was both part of the wedding ceremony and an architect of the peace process it finalized, he ended up having to do things like make sure nobody ended up at a table wherein they were likely to begin a food fight.
The ceremony was to take place on neutral ground, the neighboring district of Durienne, which had managed to keep its peace with both the Chaissen and Rhodrinne throughout history. The spot was nothing more than an open plain, but between Harvey and Rach’el, it would be dressed appropriately for an event that was both celebratory and, at heart, a crucial step toward a finalized treaty. Harvey had the feeling that even the blades of grass would be adorned with ceremonial garb by the time the day of the wedding rolled around.
Jessica mostly reserved her last word privileges for things that truly mattered and stayed out of the planning as best possible. Harvey worked with her to make sure the security was airtight, since they both were aware of factions that opposed the marriage. Some were old-fashioned national purists, other war opportunists, but either way, they were not taking any chances.
The Rhodrinne leadership body-a ruling clan of sort-told Rach’el she had full leave to do as she saw fit. Rach’el confided one day, “This latest group, they are brilliantly practical, but they’re ocean-borns.” She’d hesitated. “Of all the clans, those that are ocean-born are the least comfortable with modern Rhodrinne customs. They are asking, as a conceit, that Mik'ael attend to the most long-lived of the Valkyrn joining customs.”
Ocean-born was a Rhodrinne term for the clans on the furthest edges of their territory, those edged with nothing but endless ocean. Ocean-borns were often incredible fighters, but very rarely fully integrated into centralized Rhodrinne society. The fact that one had been elevated to leadership status spoke to how very ready the Rhodrinne were for a change. In that, Harvey could hardly blame them. He asked, "Is there anything I should be prepared for? Words I need to know?"
Rach'el shook her head. "Mik'ael will know what to do. In that aspect, all you need is to show up."
Occasionally Mik’ael would accompany Rach’el and was asked to weigh in on certain decorative or functional concerns. By the fourth time, he pulled Harvey to the side and asked, “Do you really want this joining to work?”
Harvey couldn’t help the fury that rolled through him, but he had not been a diplomat nearly his entire adult life for nothing. He replied tersely, “You aren’t the only one who lost people.”
Mik’ael drew a deep breath, and it was only then that Harvey saw what he should have noticed right away, would have if he’d been paying proper attention: Mik’ael was shaking with pent-up tension, his wings folded back and still managing to quiver. Harvey frowned. Without being entirely sure it was proper-Valkyrn culture had just enough differences from lowland Rhodrinne to make things tricky-Harvey placed his hand lightly on Mik’s shoulder. “Have we made some sort of insult to your people?”
“I’m useless at this, Ambassador. You want someone to scout from three sky-lengths away? I’m your Valkyrn. Want someone to memorize and decode messages? Me again. Someone to be your weapon in the heat of battle? Yes. Plan a joining? I-“ Mik’ael’s words seem to visibly tangle, twist inside his chest, causing his breath to catch. Harvey noticed, however, that he did not pull away.
“All right,” Harvey said, and swallowed back the feeling of terror that came back to him occasionally, the echoes of the sounds, smells, sights and sensations of his last battle.
Mik’ael looked doubtful. “Really?”
“Can you be trusted to choose something appropriate to wear?”
Mik’ael smiled sharply, something Harvey couldn't understand hidden in the expression. “Not in the least, but our ambassador already assigned a team to me. They’re terrifying,” he confided.
“Be on time,” Harvey warned, letting whatever Mik'ael was hiding go. He was fairly certain the other man would tell him if it was something important. "And use your telwrap if you need to get hold of me before then."
“Thank you,” Mik’ael said, quiet and sincere, tapping his finger against the Chaissen communication device wound over his neck and under his jaw. Harvey felt a surge of empathy for the other man, younger than him, forced into proceedings he’d never been trained to handle, let alone play a significant role in.
Harvey said, “Go, spy on us from so high all I can see is the line of your wings.”
Mik’ael snapped his wings out. “Higher, if I have anything to say about it.”
*
Harvey was nothing if not thorough, so it shook him to his very core to realize upon meeting Mik’ael in the Joining Circle, that he’d never even thought to look into of what a traditional Valkryn joining outfit consisted. Mik’ael wore a loose pair of pants, tied at his waist. That was all.
His chest, arms and face were painted in multiple hues of gold and blue, clan-based patterns that Harvey recognized from his earlier anthropological studies, but he could not have said what they meant or to which clan they belonged. Adorned in them, though, his wings loose enough to fall over his shoulders, if not spread wide, Mik’ael looked like something out of the Great ‘Venture stories Jessica’s mother had always told Jessica and Harvey at bedtime.
Harvey swallowed and reminded himself where he was and what he was about to do. He held out his hand in ceremonial fashion. Mik’ael responded likewise, and the two met in the middle of the Circle. Harvey’s muscle memory took over at that point. He was glad he had trained himself in the Rites of Binding because they were complicated and it was easier to do if he could drown out the eerily silent gathering of long enemies surrounding them. He purposely buried his confusing response to the embodiment of that enemy in front of him, paying attention only to the choice he was making, following through on, in that moment.
Jessica and a member of the Rhodrinne’s ruling clan, chosen for this duty, approached and finished the Binding to cement the peace accords. Harvey met Mik’ael’s eyes for a moment, the two leaders circling them, and felt the insane urge to laugh. He saw an echoing sentiment in Mik’ael’s gaze. Bound against Mik’ael too close for breathing to come easily, Harvey caught his breath.
*
Mik’ael was either a cheap drunk or just not used to the kind of spirits being served, because it took less than an hour for him to turn to Harvey and inform him solemnly, “You should call me Myk. People who like me do. And we’re Joined.”
All the syllables were a little more drawn out than necessary, and Mik’ael-Myk?-was making a motion with his hands that was probably meant to intimate their new civil status, but Harvey could not imagine in what way. Rhodrinne separated their clan-origination from their personal identification by apostrophe. Myk would be personal, the ‘ael a marker of his clan affiliation. What Myk was offering was significant. Mollifyingly, Harvey said, “Myk, then.”
Myk blinked at him and told him earnestly, “Valkyrns don’t drink. Well, we-- We have our own drinks. And even then, we’re-- It’s rare.”
Harvey knew that there was a cultural preference among the warriors to keep their bodies free of what they saw as poisons, but he hadn’t realized it probably extended, at least a little, to alcohol. “Maybe you should slow down.”
Harvey and Myk looked at each other. Myk lifted an eyebrow, the other eyebrow following it up in his somewhat sodden state. Harvey said, “I’ll go get the next round.”
When he returned, having taken his time, stopped to attend to diplomatic formalities with more than a few of the Rhodrinne Counsel, Myk was speaking to someone, another Valkyrn, broader and darker than he was. Harvey handed Myk the full glass when he was close enough and Myk said, “Harvey, my oldest friend T’mas. He hates you and all you stand for and highly suspects I will have to kill you to keep from being violated by you.”
“Pleasure,” Harvey told him.
T’mas’s smile was all teeth. “Same.”
Harvey wandered off and gave them some space, returning when T’mas had left. Myk’s expression was unapologetic. “His childhood sweetheart and mom died in the plague. His dad died fighting.”
“We didn’t cause the plague,” Harvey said. It was a weak defense, but true.
“No,” was all Myk said, seeming infinitely exhausted by the simple admission.
“Fair’s fair, come meet my closest friends.”
“I only got one,” Myk pointed out.
“You can have more later,” Harvey reassured him. Myk must have accepted that, since he followed Harvey over to where Donna and Jessica were conversing.
Harvey showed formal obeisance to Jessica, murmuring, “My Liege.”
She smiled indulgently. “The ceremony was well done, First.”
“I’d like you to meet the newest member of your Advisory.” That had been part of the Treaty, that Harvey’s partner be allowed a say in Chaissen policy. Of course, Harvey gained a reciprocal right.
“We met briefly,” Jessica said, but extended both her hands in traditional Chaissen fashion. Myk looked unsure of what to do, so Harvey lightly guided his hands to their proper spot. Jessica said, “Welcome, Myk’ael.”
When Jessica disengaged, Donna held out her hand, the biotech one, and gave Myk a once over. Despite the chill in her glance, Myk seemed more at home with her greeting. Harvey understood. He said, “Donna, Myk, Myk, Donna.”
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, when Harvey was about to start up the small talk that was a life skill in diplomacy, Donna said, “I could use another drink.”
Myk laughed, a burst of surprised mirth, but then real laughter underneath, even if it was strained. Before he knew it, Harvey found himself laughing as well, meeting Donna’s eyes as she bit back her own laughter. Jessica didn’t bother. Harvey could practically hear her saying, my royal fucking prerogative.
*
Because the Rhodrinne delegation had insisted on the Joining, Jessica had made it clear Harvey and Myk would be spending their first seven cycles-one half a turning-on Chaisse. She had granted a new property to Harvey as an official Joint residence, and it was there that he and Myk went when the celebration wound down enough for them to slip out.
It was not particularly cold on Chaisse, not yet, but Rhodrin boasted a much more mild climate, and Harvey could see Myk was more than a little chilled. Harvey lit a fire and asked, “You pack any shirts?”
Myk’s belongings, or at least those he wanted with him on Chaisse, had been delivered to the residence earlier, but Harvey had left it all sealed in its containers. Myk scanned the writing on each chest and opened the correct one to pull out a shirt. Harvey brushed off his tinge of disappointment with annoyance. “I could make some molu.”
Myk looked confused. It occurred to Harvey that while Rach’el generally asked for some, he wasn’t certain it was all that common on Rhodrin. “Heated drink. It’s somewhat bitter, somewhat spiced.”
Myk shrugged. “Worth a try.”
Harvey took comfort in the motions of making the drink, something he did nearly every morning, and most evenings. He poured it equally into two mugs and brought one to Myk, who was sitting in the chair nearest to the fire. Myk murmured, “Thanks.”
Harvey sat in the chair across from Myk and took a sip. After a moment, Myk said, “This is good. Can you teach me to make it?”
“It’s not hard,” Harvey said, by way of agreement.
There was a silence that was neither comfortable nor awkward, just a state of being. Then Myk asked, “You fought, right?”
Harvey’s shoulder twinged and he nodded, looking at Myk. Myk continued at the affirmation: “You know how, before a battle, sometimes even for days, the anticipation of the unknown can put you on edge, make you want to run even though you know you need to conserve energy?”
“Yes,” Harvey said simply. It was weird to think just how universal that experience might be.
“I haven’t slept for days,” Myk told him.
Harvey considered the analogy. Then he admitted, “I haven’t been my most restful.”
“After the battle, you always want to lie down, right there on the field or the hill or whatever and just sleep until you wake up, like maybe things will be different, then.”
Harvey looked at the fire. Finally he said, “Things are different.”
“I’m tired,” was all Myk said in response. Harvey couldn’t blame him; he was too.
*
Before they separated to change out of their ceremonial garb into something more sleep-appropriate, Myk got a strangely sheepish look on his face. Harvey arched an eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”
“Can you put on that weirdly blank look you get when you’re negotiating terms?”
“I prefer to think of that look as mild and non-judgmental,” Harvey told him, but did as requested.
“I know this isn’t a real Joining, at least not in the sense of either of us having chosen each other.”
Harvey caught the hesitation at the end of the sentence. “But?”
“It’s…” Myk looked away for a second and then forced his gaze back. “Valkyrns have a tradition of their new mate washing them free of the Joining Design.”
Harvey looked at the swirls and patterns spread broadly over Myk’s chest, back, bridging his shoulders and down his arms, gracing his face. “Oh.”
Myk's wings were folded as tightly as they could be against his back, almost as though he was trying to draw them into himself. “You don’t have-“
“I’d be honored,” Harvey interrupted.
Myk didn’t relax at the acceptance. After a second he said, “There’s not much left of us. Soon there probably won’t be anything.”
Even having knowing Valkyrn traditions were at best nearly impossible to discover, Harvey wished he’d tried a little harder. He’d mostly been worrying about mainstream Rhodrinne culture, not really understanding the type of lateral position the Valkyrn shared with the ruling clan. The little things mattered to Myk, though, that was certain, and for all the complicated feelings being in the same room with Myk stirred in Harvey, he was well aware they were in this together. It would make things immeasurably easier if they could respect each other, if nothing else.
Harvey asked, “How much do you know about the Accord?”
Myk blinked. “The one we just sealed with a kiss?”
Harvey quirked a smile. “The very one.”
Then Myk shrugged and, for the next few minutes, spewed forth a word-for-word rendition of the first draft of the Accord. When Myk had reached, “…parties shall see appendices for precise units of trade in agricultural and mechanical goods,” Harvey managed to recover from what could only be called shock and say, “That was the first draft.”
“Huh?” Myk asked.
“What you’re reciting, it was the first draft.” Then, “How many times did you read that drivel?”
“Once,” Myk said, waving a hand, like seventy-three sheaf Accords were the kind of thing everyone memorized on sight. “What were the changes?”
“Perfect recall,” Harvey said.
“Audial and visual,” Myk confirmed. “The changes?”
“Our scientists. They’re more advanced in biotech. We’re looking for a solution to the plague and the Valkyrn reproductivity issue.”
“Who-“ Myk stopped. “You made that change.”
“Rach’el was the one who gave me the idea, of sorts. She had a friend-“
“T’resa.” Myk’s eyes were dark, shielded, his wings having come up high, well over his shoulders. “She was one of the last. We all thought, maybe, but.” He swallowed.
“I can’t promise we’ll find the answer,” Harvey said softly. “But I can introduce you to our lead scientist on the project. She’ll probably want to talk to you anyway.”
Myk nodded tightly, his lips pressed together so hard they practically disappeared. Harvey said softly, “C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
*
Harvey had never been one to hesitate with a partner. There had been a short period of time, while he was recovering from the worst of his war wounds, when he’d been wary of baring himself to others, but never when he was uncertain of his touch, of what he could do with his hands. Now, at the most inconvenient of times, with his War Joint standing in front of him, all muscle and color, Harvey felt the stirrings of concern that he might do this wrong.
Myk said, “We don’t have-“
Harvey pulled the water spring and directed it through the heater, so that warm water spilled onto the hand towel he’d picked up. He turned to Myk. “If I do something wrong, you have to tell me.”
Harvey was glad for the separation the towel provided, however scant, as he made circles with it over the mass of Myk’s shoulder. Myk was too close as it was, tempting in a way that should have been normal for two person who had just Joined, tempting in a way that confused Harvey, even frightened him to some extent. Myk was still Rhodrinne, still Valkyrn.
But Myk was also flesh and blood, just like any Chaissen, and the scars that Harvey found as he carefully, fastidiously wiped away at the paint, did not detract from that. Rather, they seemed part of Myk, something of his personality, something that made the otherwise unblemished spaces more interesting.
Myk said, “You-- You don’t have to be so gentle.” He was breathing heavily, leaning back against the looking glass.
“No,” Harvey said, not entirely sure if he was agreeing or disagreeing, only sure that he would keep on just as he had. “No,” he said again, and re-wet the towel.
*
Lola scowled when Harvey walked into her lab, Myk at his side. She said, “I’m busy.”
“Nice to see you, too,” Harvey said mildly, and came near enough to kiss her cheek.
She wiped it right off, then turned to Myk, who was already watching her warily, but all she said was, “You’re Myk’ael.”
“You’re Dr. Jensen,” he told her.
She waved her hand broadly. “Lola. Unlike Harvey, I’m not stuck on titles.”
Myk blinked over at Harvey, who rolled his eyes. “The good doctor met me when I was much younger.”
“Ah,” Myk said, seemingly understanding. Then he turned back to Lola. “Can you do it? Can you fix the problem?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes dark with sympathy. Her voice, though, was even when she answered, “I don’t know. Your basic biology is not all that similar to either of the species I generally work on. I’ve been studying it for three years - since the talks began and I could get my hands on any information at all. The closest I’ve gotten to specimens that have physiology even close to you are the Treade. Their muscle mass and build is a good approximation for your race, but their metabolic rate is entirely different, and they simply don’t have the wings. I worked with a few Siszalians, because they do have the wings, but their build is completely different.” Lola’s breath of frustration blew the hair off her forehead. “But if it were simple someone would have already done it. And in this field of research, I’ve just gotten my feet wet.”
Myk nodded slowly. “Could I help?”
Lola considered the offer. “Yes. But it won’t be fun.”
“That’ll be a change from watching half my race die,” Myk said, somehow managing a trace of earnestness weaved into the rich irony of the response. Harvey felt the words like a surprise punch, his body not even tensed to protect itself.
Lola blinked, then. “You have a point.”
Myk just waited. After a second, Lola said, “Well. Okay. Mind if we get started?”
Myk looked at Harvey. “Did you need me?”
There were some final documents that needed witnessing, nothing that couldn’t wait. He would need to assign greater security and surveillance to the lab if Myk was going to be spending serious time there, but he could bring up those forms and handle them from the lab. “Would you prefer I stayed? Or got out of here?”
Myk seemed uncertain. Harvey couldn’t read what was underneath the lack of surety, but he was pretty sure that if he was new to a place that had been enemy territory his whole life, he’d want the one thing that was familiar to him around, even if it was a less-than-optimal thing. Harvey touched a finger to Myk’s wrist and gestured toward an alcove off the main lab. He said, “I’m just going to work over there, in those chairs.”
Myk smiled, quick but genuine. “Sounds good.”
*
Harvey knew he was used to taking care of himself and only himself in the larger scheme of things, but he actually thought he’d been doing somewhat all right at recognizing Myk’s presence and needs when Donna took Harvey aside after an unduly long conference with a trading nation and said, “This treaty you worked so hard for isn’t going to be worth the paper it is recorded on if your Joint wastes away.”
Harvey blinked, thinking of all the time he’d invested into making sure Myk was physically safe from any of the groups that had lodged formal complaints again the treaty, or those who had painted less formal ones on the palace gates. Obviously, she wasn’t talking about that, so he switched gears. “We had dinner-“ he calculated, “two nights ago. He was fine.”
“Mm. So that’s why Lola tells me he’s lost seven pounds in three weeks, she’s starting to fear taking blood samples or having him run stress tests, and as far as she can tell, he doesn’t know anyone other than you and her?”
Harvey thought back to the dinner a couple of nights previous. Myk had made it. It hadn’t been familiar to Harvey, but it had been good. They’d decided early on that they would trade off when either of them was cooking, introduce each other to their favorites, and order in the rest of the time, or go out, if time allowed. Harvey had been busy, time hadn’t been all that plentiful, so they had mostly stayed in, when Harvey managed to make it home at all.
Myk had seemed a little quiet, but Harvey had just assumed that working on trying to save his race day in and day out was taking a toll. Harvey had been reading the reports, kept on the common server for those with confidential knowledge of the Accords. He knew Myk had subjected himself to uncomfortable physical tests and regularly having to relive his grief. He hadn’t been quite sure of how to bring the topic up without making it worse, though, so he’d instead kept the conversation light, relatively impersonal.
Harvey rubbed the back of his neck. “Seven pounds?”
“Lola can be a bit of an academic renegade, but she’s not careless.”
Lola had been on the team of scientists who had replaced Donna’s arm. That was before she had gained her own lab, and been allowed her own field of study. The two had remained friendly ever since. Harvey nodded. “Any chance there’s someone who could cover the wrap-up paperwork for me?”
“I convinced Jessica to hire you a team.”
“You what?” Harvey tried not to let Donna get the best of him, he really did, but there were moments when she blindsided him, all the same.
“We’re both overworked. It was that, or I was quitting.”
Harvey made sure none of the panic he felt showed on his face. “Just who is on this team?”
Donna smiled sharply, “I ‘promoted’ one of Louis’ trainees.”
“Stole, you mean?” But Harvey couldn’t help smiling. He knew Donna was talking about the veteran, Brighton, who’d changed to diplomacy after losing his sight in the war. He’d seen Brighton in action, and the man was brilliant, too good to be playing lackey to Louis.
Donna’s look told him to shut up and sit still or she’d find people he’d hate to work with. “And I wooed Laurien from Jessica’s service.”
“Oh good, because Jessica’s not going to have our ass over that at all.”
Donna rolled her eyes and said in a tone that heavily suggested she'd get much more done if he would disappear altogether, “I asked permission. Women speak to each other. Kind of like what you get paid to do? But with less financial incentive and more common sense involved.”
“When are they starting?”
“Tomorrow. Be here early so we can figure out a plan of action. For now, though, go home and feed up that little kid you took home a while ago.”
“He’s neither little nor a kid.”
“Clearly, you haven’t noticed a thing this past week,” Donna said, and walked off. Harvey bit off any response he could make. She would have the last word whether he willed it or not.
*
Harvey came in the door and followed the, “Hello,” that emanated from the kitchen to find Myk. He was sitting on the kitchen table, wings spread, looking out the window. When Harvey came around to Myk’s side, he saw the cup of molu Myk was cradling with both hands. He looked exhausted, even his wings sagging to some extent.
Harvey said, “Can I take you out to dinner?”
Myk blinked and looked over at him. “I-- Maybe a raincheck?”
“For tomorrow night?” Harvey pressed. Myk was tired and worn down and Harvey knew his talents didn’t always make him nice, but they did get him what he needed most of the time, and right now, Harvey needed to know what was going on with Myk.
Myk hedged again, his wings curling around his body. “Maybe.”
“Lola treating you badly?”
“What? No. No, she’s quirky. I like her." His wings folded back, but Harvey could tell it was a struggle.
“That why you never go anywhere but here and the labs?”
Myk sighed and turned back to the window. “Maybe I just don’t want to.”
Harvey took a seat on the table next to him. “Maybe. Maybe Chaisse isn’t that welcoming.”
“Did you know,” Myk said conversationally, “that Valkyrns star in many tales Chaissen parents tell to scare their children into behaving?”
“I was told a few in my time,” Harvey said softly. He scooted slightly forward so that their knees were touching.
Myk stayed where he was, with the touch. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll spoon-feed myself your innards? Abscond with and ravish the nearest Chaissen child?”
Harvey was silent, thinking of how to respond. “I cannot make my people forget years of war, of terror and loss. Nor will you be able to make yours. But that night, when we Joined, and I washed you, I felt like we were agreeing that we would do our best to be better than that with each other, do our best to find a way to make things better for each other.”
Myk shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Harvey asked, “What do you want, Myk? Big or little, what do you want right now?”
Myk took a sip. “To be home. To be flying. To walk into a shop and not see fear and hatred in everyone’s eyes. My family to still be alive. To feel connected to something.”
Harvey nodded. “Come on.”
“Harvey-“
“Trust me. You don’t have to love me or want me or even like me for this Joining to work, although the last would be of use. But you do have to trust me.”
Myk still hesitated for a second, his expression unreadable. Then he set the cup down and hopped off the table. Harvey gave Myk his most sincere smile and started down toward his Skips bay.
*
Skipstones were small transports, made for flying a few hundred miles or so at need. Shaped like a disk, they held three people at most, but only needed one for the controls. Chaisse wasn’t very large, so a Skips was the most transport a person needed unless he wanted to get off-world. For daily transport there were the 'bridges and 'ways, but those were internal to cities.
Skips were small enough that it was impossible for the two of them not to brush up against each other, particularly with Myk’s wings. Harvey worked not to enjoy it too much. At some point, maybe, the two of them would feel comfortable with a marriage in deed as well as in name, but Harvey was well aware they were on his turf, and he wasn’t going to make advances he was not sure Myk would know he could rebuff.
Harvey took them out to the far side of Chaisse, which was relatively unpopulated due to storms that happened when the cold months transitioned into warmth, making it uninhabitable. The long stretches of land that slipped into vast bodies of water were generally quiet around this time, since the storms were just abating and the water hadn’t yet warmed to an entirely mild temperature.
It was Harvey’s favorite time to come. He landed the Skips far enough out for them to have a bit of a walk to the water. On their way, Myk said, “I can’t swim.”
“Wouldn’t have thought so,” Harvey told him. “But I’m pretty sure we can get you to float.”
It took a couple tries, Myk’s wings catching the waves wrong, or him being unable to trust the water, but when he managed, he lay there, looking up at nothing but sky and said, “Thank you.”
Harvey said, “I’ll be back,” and swam out as far as he could take himself, maybe further than he should have. The effort made his shoulder burn dangerously, but the cold of the water was somehow just right, and he felt like he could actually think for the first time in a long time.
When he made it back, Myk was on land, fanned out on his back, still, drying. Harvey followed suit, closing his eyes to say. “You wanna fly back? I don’t know how far you’re good for, but I can slow the Skips and you can tail.”
“I can probably make it.”
Harvey was surprised that he could hear the smile in Myk’s tone. He hadn’t thought he knew those sorts of things just yet. It made him feel a little better about the situation that he did. “Probably?”
Myk looked sideways at Harvey, then back at the waves. “I’ve been flying a little, at night, to help keep my mind clear. There’ve been some-- I don’t think it’s safe, in the city, during the day-“
“People have threatened you?” Harvey interrupted. “Chaissen Supremacists? Veterans?”
“Not in so many words.” Myk just shook his head, not really answering. “I’m smarter than I look.”
“Myk-“
“It’s nothing. At least, nothing you won’t experience on Rhodrinne, I’m sure. Our people have been at war. I’m not the most welcome presence, I get it. Flying at night doesn’t bother me. I don’t have the range I would have on Rhodrinne, but it keeps my muscle mass from deteriorating. Still, it’s been awhile since I’ve flown the distance we’re talking about, so I’ll just have to be careful. If I’m having a problem, I’ll latch on to the Skips’ tail.”
Harvey filed the conversation in the back of his mind to bring up later with Jessica, and possibly Donna. He needed someone to bounce ideas off of, and Myk, understandably, didn’t seem to want to think about it. In any case, it had been a good evening, and Harvey would feel like a jerk taking that away from Myk, when he so clearly needed it.
“Or you could give use your telwrap, and just let me know when you need inside.”
“Or that,” Myk agreed easily.
Harvey said, “Let me take you to dinner.”
Myk laughed. “I’ll have you know, I’m not usually this easy.”
Harvey grinned. “I suppose that remains to be seen.”
*
Harvey organized a dinner party as quickly as he could put a list of appropriate guests together. Well, Harvey invited people, Donna found a chef and a serving company and decided on décor. But Harvey came up with the idea.
Brighton, Laurien, Jessica, Donna and Lola were the obvious choices. Myk already knew most of them, though, and it wasn’t getting him out of the house, so Harvey called upon one of the men who’d served under him, Elan, one of his colleagues in the Diplomacy Corps, Dana, as well as her spouse, and a scholar from the main higher institute of learning on Chaisse who specialized in the cultural factors leading to the war and had long advocated for its cessation. Harvey had only met the man, Bennett Plack, once, but his impression had been positive and the man struck him as someone who might be a good ally for Myk.
He chose to bring it up over breakfast, asking Myk, “Mind if we have a little get together?”
Myk said, “Depends. Do I have to dress up?”
“Only if you want my attention focused on you all night,” Harvey quipped, and left it at that, heading off to work. He’d felt Myk’s stare but ignored it. They were Joined, and Myk was gorgeous; Harvey was damn well allowed to flirt.
Harvey wasn’t entirely sure how to take it when Myk made an effort for the event, emerging from their sleeping cove in what Harvey had since learned was customary Valkyrn dress-ware. It was simple, the shirt sleeveless and fitted to the torso, the arms left to be covered lightly in bronze-gold swirls, a few of which also curled around Myk’s eyes. The pants were much like Myke’s wedding pants in shape, but darker, a brown so deep it almost fell into being black.
Harvey missed a beat, but then made himself recover, ask, “Is it traditional for me to wipe those markings off as well?”
Harvey’s heart beat a little faster than he preferred remembering the feel of Myk’s skin beneath his hands, the smooth planes of chest interrupted by scars left, marks of Myk’s role in the conflict. Myk had shied away a bit at first, but when Harvey hadn’t pushed, he’d come back. Harvey had his own scars. He knew how he’d feel if someone were to take advantage.
“Depends on what you mean by tradition,” Myk said guilelessly, and then somehow turned the conversation to proper Chaissen dinner etiquette. Harvey felt played by Myk’s coyness in a way he hadn’t in a long time. He couldn’t tell if he perversely enjoyed it, or not.
As Harvey had expected, Lola and Myk ended up engaging Bennett for most of the night. Harvey noticed, at points, that Myk would brush casually past him so that they came into contact, soft, quick touches that seemed to ground him in some way. Harvey pretended like they weren’t electric for him, anything but grounding.
Elan flirted with Laurien, and the two made easy conversation with Myk at one point or another. Donna cornered him later in the evening, but Myk seemed to be holding his own, so Harvey left well enough alone.
Lola did take Harvey aside at one point to say, “I think you should reinforce your security measures.”
Harvey considered her tone and her stance. “What’s going on?”
“Not sure, but-- His patterns of coming into the lab and leaving it have been strange. He goes different ways, at different times, watches for certain things before going out. I think he’s been threatened in some way or another.”
Harvey thought back to his conversation with Myk near the water, when Myk had told him pretty much the same thing. Not in so many words, Myk had said. Harvey nodded. “I’ll see to it.”
Brighton asked Harvey, with a refreshing lack of deference and surprising amount of forthrightness, “Is it hard, coming home to the enemy every evening?”
Harvey thought about the question and told Brighton, “What’s becoming hard is remembering that he was supposed to be the enemy.”
Brighton smiled a bit. “I suppose there’s hope, then.”
Harvey took a breath. “So we’re meant to believe.”
Part Two
Part Three
Author: arsenicjade
Fandom/Pairing: Suits, Mike/Harvey
Warnings: Violence, Crucifixion (I swear, I have never written that before this year, I don't know what happened.)
Summary: AU, wingfic. Harvey is his planet's lead diplomat, Mike is one of his planet's foremost spies and fighters. A tentative peace between their two planets requires that they find a way to get along.
AN: Thank you to forsweatervests for an extremely thorough beta, and for making this story something I could post, which it was NOT in its first draft. Thanks to egelantier for a final read-through. Being used for my "forced marriage" square on hc_bingo.
Jessica summoned Harvey formally, which was his first indication that something was wrong. Certainly, Harvey was her First, at her beck and call, but they’d known each other long before her Ascension, when she was a gangly teenager sporting unruly hair and a fire in her eyes that outburned the Central Flame. He’d been at her side as she scrabbled to her position, fierce and brave and somehow compassionate. Which was to say, when Jessica needed him, she sent a Whisper and he came; she didn’t draft a Call.
Only, this time, she had.
The Call was run from the Central Hall, upon the highest terrace, down to the midlands, where Harvey lived. He’d already left the Hall for the day, intent upon finishing up at home.
Harvey, in response, dressed himself in full court dress and made his way to her quickly, but not rushing. It was not far from his midland terrace home back up to the Hall, and there was more than one bridge connecting the two. Once he was in the Hall, noting the presence of others, he gave a half-bow and formally addressed Jessica. “You Called, my Liege.”
The Hall was still full of late-day light. At this point in the season, despite the planet’s distance from all three Light Bearers, the light would still last until well after the close of the working day. It was only slightly past that time. Chaisse was not a planet of darkness, not even in the darkest of cycles.
The Hall was circular, as were the terraces, and almost everything of import upon Chaisse. Jessica’s seated dome had pride of place in the middle. The smooth lines of the dome rippled blue-gray, serene and austere. She was wearing full regal apparel, which, unlike the natural, breezy lines of every-day wear, molded to her, falling to the floor rather than cutting off at the knee. She had ceremonial stones in her hair, polished but dull, woven in amongst a complicated up-do of carefully placed swirls.
Jessica stood from the dome and pressed her hands to her chest in formal recognition. “Your Response is noted and appreciated, First.”
“I extend my services,” Harvey intoned. Formalities bored him, but he’d be roasted alive over giving a hint of impropriety between them. Her skin tone marked her as not purely of Chaisse, a half-child of Ebran, three moons over. Because of this, despite her matrilineal line of right to rule, she had fought to maintain control more than once. While Harvey had no trouble allowing others to know he was a favorite if it suited him, he would do nothing to suggest she was not wise and fair, everything a leader in her role should be.
“I accept them,” she responded, and then waved her scepter. “Leave us.”
When her command had been obeyed, Harvey made his way to the Center Dias, where she still stood, one hand on the Seat of Rule, as though she held it up, or perhaps, now that they were in private, the other way around. “Jess?”
Her mouth twisted, not very Queen-like, but very Jessica-like. “The Rhodrinne have come to the table. You have succeeded.”
Harvey liked to preen and all, but Jessica did not generally feel the need to help him with that. There was something more happening. “Why are we here, then? Like this?”
“They added a provision.”
Harvey stilled. He’d been point on the peace talks since day one, so he knew what an addition meant. He’d known in his gut it would come down to this. The Rhodrinne were too traditional for anything else. “Contractual Binding.”
She pressed her lips together. “They’re insisting that it be you. I believe it is an issue of the known light-swallower,” she said, using an old Chaisse saying about trusting known quantities, even if they were not, at heart, very trustworthy. “They seem to believe you see them as equals, something they do not believe of all Chaissen.” They shared a look, because, in truth, the Rhodrinne could not be blamed. Chaissens held their prejudices dear in this instance. After a second she continued, pursing her lips, “I should order you to do so. I find myself unwilling, however, even for the sake of peace.”
Desperately needed peace; the knowledge settled unspoken between them. “Is she at least pretty?”
Jessica looked torn between amusement and annoyance. “She is a Valkyrn by the name of Mik’ael.”
“The Valkyrns are all-- Oh.” Harvey spent a couple of minutes reordering his thoughts. He knew Jessica would give him the time. Finally, when he could manage nonchalance, he shrugged. “Is he pretty?”
The Valkyrn-winged warriors-were the last of a dying breed that had protected the planet and the people of Rhodrinne since time immemorial. The belief was that they had originally been one of the Rhodrinneian tribes, and something-conditions, sorcery, nobody knew-had caused the wing mutation. In any case, they were the physically superior species, named by the Rhodrinne after they repelled the first threat, a long-dead empire with the intention of enslaving the Rhodrinne. The two species had grown less fond of each other at some point, perhaps during the long conflict with Chaisse, the Valkyrn predominantly warriors, and the Rhodrinne almost entirely trades and craft people, as well as educators and, occasionally, diplomats.
Then, recently, the women of the Valkyrn species had begun succumbing to a virus nobody had been able to stop, causing the wheels for peace between Harvey’s people, the Chaissen, and the Rhodrinne to start turning after well over a century of war. Nobody living could remember how the war had started; any presumed reason was little more than myth.
“I have not seen him,” Jessica admitted, her expression tight, drawn, almost. “We can arrange-“
“No,” Harvey immediately shook his head, keeping his focus on the details of the situation, of what needed to be done to garner the peace they’d both put everything into.. “They’ll take it as an insult.”
“I am not agreeing blindly.”
“Correct. You are not. I am.”
“Harvey-“
“It’s my choice, Jess. You said so.” Harvey took a deep breath. The loss of his family, his father when Harvey was just seven, his younger brother in the conflict three years earlier still filled him with purpose, the need to protect Jessica, and that which he considered to be his. “And I choose to accept.”
After a long moment, Jessica nodded. “I accept your service, My First.” And then, softer, friend- to-friend she whispered: “Thank you, my friend.”
*
Donna raised one eyebrow, silent, when Harvey stood from his favorite chair in his personal study, the room being one of the spots the villa had been built around. The chair was covered in an ever-regenerating rise of moss and earth which molded itself to Harvey’s position even as it strained up to the light coming through the glass-dome ceiling. He ignored her and headed toward the closet, intent on changing his outfit again. Harvey sat back down. He gathered his thoughts and told her, “It’s only polite to meet one’s intended wearing something that denotes effort and respect.”
Donna was undeterred in her opinion, clearly. “The outfit you’re wearing-the second you’ve put on today, incidentally-costs more than the average Chaissen makes in a quarter’s period. Presuming it doesn’t come off as grossly materialistic, I think it will suffice.”
After that, Harvey forced himself to sit still and concentrate on the marriage contract. It was forty-seven pages long with cramped, miniscule writing. He’d received it the day before but was still making his way through the second half, and getting that far had involved not sleeping most of the previous night. Granted, he doubted he would have anyway. He was too anxious to make sure this worked: for Jessica, yes, but for all of them.
Donna had lost an arm in the war, years earlier, and been sidelined in her career as fighter pilot while she learned to use the cybernetic replacement it had taken three surgeries to fully integrate into her nervous system. By the time she’d been ready to return to the front lines a new generation of jets had been introduced and the training necessary for her to re-up was enough that the military requested she take honorable discharge. Harvey well knew she enjoyed running his life easily as much as she had being a fighter pilot, but all he had to do to remind himself just how much was at stake was look at where the replacement joint met living flesh. Without even looking up from the scheduling task she’d been at for the last hour she said, “Stop making me into some kind of living monument. You’re good-looking and still have part of a soul; he’ll consider himself lucky.”
Harvey knew for a fact that Donna had no interest in the male half of their species, but she had a more-than-adequate sense of aesthetics and Harvey had enough experience to know she was right, in the sense that his intended probably wouldn’t have an issue with Harvey’s physical appearance. He reminded himself that he didn’t care whether this Mik’ael had any interest in him, nor if he had any interest in Mik’ael. It was simply that it would make everything easier. But then, Harvey had dealt with complicated on more than one occasion and come out victorious.
Donna stood straight and looked up a bit so that they were eye-to-eye. Softly, she said, “This will work.”
Harvey took a deep breath. “It has to.”
*
For all the times Harvey had sat at the table with Rhodrinnes, for all the people Harvey had lost to the war, for all of himself he had lost to it, he had never seen a Valkyrn up close before. Swooping down, raining terror, flying away, those motions he had glimpsed. But Harvey had been a foot soldier in his short career in the armed force of Chaisse, and the damage to his right shoulder had kept him from advancing far enough that he would have been a proper target for the elite Rhodrinne warriors.
Today, Harvey met his treaty-husband in one of the central Meeting Halls, rounded like all other rooms of significance on Chaisse. When Harvey entered, the one Valkyrn in the room was directly across from the entrance, a hand tracing along the organic surface of the room’s wall. Harvey’s first thought was that Mik’ael was a little small.
As soon as the Rhodrinne delegation realized Harvey was in the room, though, the wings that had been tucked tight to Mik’ael’s back rose up into what Harvey suspected was a formal stance. They were not spread, simply rising out from Mik’ael’s back, nearly half again his height and comprised of what must have been millions of feathers, all of them shades of burnished, coppery brown that complimented the sandy-blond of his hair nicely. Harvey wondered idly if all the Valkyrn’s had wings that matched their complexions.
It was hard to look away, or even to notice what Harvey normally would have-the toned quality of his upper body, displayed by the fitting top and empty weapons harness criss-crossing his chest. The emptiness of the harness was a sign that the delegation came to deal in peace. Mik’ael’s pants flowed, showing nothing of his legs, but Harvey had a feeling they were no less fit.
Harvey forced himself to concentrate. He gave a formal bow and intoned, “We welcome you with hands open and empty.”
It was an ancient greeting, back from when a hand with something in it usually meant someone was armed. The head Rhodrinne diplomat, Rach’el, met his gaze and responded, “We grasp your hands with ours.”
The fact that both cultures had similar greetings and it had taken very little time to fall into regular formalized greetings between them suggested to Harvey that whatever had happened between their peoples, it had probably come from being too similar, and having mutually exclusive desires, rather than serious differences in viewpoint. Harvey suspected, from all the history he had read, that one of the Clans had stumbled into some type of trading dispute with Chaissen merchants and things had devolved from there into a war that had become more about the fact that all people could remember was war, rather than any particular reason.
When the formalities had been squared away, Mik’ael stepped in closer and held out his hands. Harvey had told himself a million times over not to hesitate in this moment. All the same, he felt the slowness in his movements, even if nobody else in the room would see it. Jessica, had she been present for this first meeting, would have. But someone, perhaps Mik’ael himself, had insisted there be no leadership present, just those involved: the two diplomats, and Mik’ael.
At the touch of their hands, Harvey felt a jolt of something, maybe interest, or excitement, or perhaps just intense relief that this might work. Mik’ael was beautiful in his own right; even without the majesty of the wings there was the soft symmetry of his face, the sharp shine of his eyes. And Harvey liked beautiful, liked fierce. Harvey wasn’t worried about Mik’ael’s fierceness. It was starkly evident in the scar that cut through the left side of his jaw. There was further evidence of it in the slightly odd way Mik’ael closed his hand around Harvey’s, suggesting incomplete healing of a severe break.
Then Mik’ael grinned and said, “Well, at least you’re not old enough to have nested me.”
Harvey blinked. Then he noticed the relief hinted at in the tired lines pulling just a bit at Mik’ael’s eyes. Harvey knew the signs of diplomats willing to come to the table, and those who had no intention of dealing. Mik’ael wasn’t a diplomat, and warriors gave off different signals, but all the same, Harvey could see where Mik’ael was trying, the way he wanted this to work, same as Harvey. Harvey smiled slightly. “And you’re not young enough that I’ll be forced to sing you lullabies at night.”
*
They take a walk, leaving Rach’el in the sumptuously appointed meeting room to walk along the Painted Ridge, one of Harvey’s peoples' natural wonders. The terraced hills that hosted the palace showcased silt of hundreds of hues. When viewed from afar it was as if looking at the universe’s largest and most exquisite jewel.
Mik’ael, though, said, “All this space to fly and nobody to appreciate it.”
Harvey noticed how Mik'ael's wings seemed to almost ripple, as if in anticipation. He looked at the expanse of sky and wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to soar over these hills, see the picture not from afar, but from above. “Our mechanisms of flight aren’t quite so intuitive as yours.”
“Would you like to try it?” The question was pitched so casually, Harvey had to look over to see if he was seriously being offered a chance to fly. Mik’ael had his eyebrow cocked in gentle challenge, his wings somehow riled, the feathers at odd angles.
Harvey asked, “They support that much weight?”
It was then that Mik’ael snapped them open, away from his back and wide, as though to catch a draft. Harvey couldn’t help the look of awe that he knew he wore. The wings spanned almost double a man’s height in each direction from Mik’ael’s body. Underneath the gold-brown feathers that gave them their beauty, Harvey could see the tensile strength in the musculature, the ever-so-fine bones that gave them their shape.
Mik’ael did not repeat his offer, nor his challenge, just held out a hand. Harvey looked at the drop, even from where they were, to the valley. Then he looked back to Mik’ael and asked, “How will this work best for you?”
Mik’ael asked softly, “Are you willing to turn your back to me?”
It went against years of training. It went against the instincts of six-year-old Harvey, threatened, like every Chaissen child, by tales of Valkyrn monsters, made ever scarier to get him to behave. It went against everything his people believed. He turned his back.
Mik’ael’s breath was warm against the line of Harvey’s jaw, his arms incomprehensibly strong in their grip over Harvey’s chest. He said, “Fear takes the fun out of it.”
Harvey managed, “Easy for you to say.”
Mik’ael counted, “One, two, three,” and pushed both of them right off the edge of the terrace.
*
They fell first, fast and harsh against the air rising up to meet them, and Harvey, who had previously been telling himself not to be paranoid, allowed his panic over the thought that this had been a plot all along to swell up in the second before Mik’ael snapped his wings open and the current pulled them up, almost as quickly and sickeningly as they had plunged. It took a second, but they leveled out, the air cold, sharp and so, so loud in Harvey’s ear.
Mik’ael shouted, “Sorry. If I tell people, they aren’t willing to try.”
Harvey could see the logic in that, and now that his heart wasn’t about to spontaneously stop, he could appreciate Mik’ael skipping the details so he could be here, weaving above the palace, seeing things he’d seen his whole life in a way that made them look entirely different. Mik’ael’s arms were sturdy, holding Harvey perfectly in place, and Harvey realized then just how physically powerful Mik’ael must be, far stronger than his looks suggested.
Mik’ael canted downward, but Harvey felt the restraint with which he managed it. Harvey would have to thank him later. As it was, the rush of wind across his face was intense and Harvey closed his eyes against it, just feeling the movement. There was something pure in it, something he’d surely never associated with a people he’d been taught to think of as nothing more than “the enemy” since before he could remember.
Mik’ael took them higher, and Harvey began to feel the chill of their elevation. Mik’ael was warm at his back, everywhere he was holding Harvey. To his surprise, Harvey felt the stirrings of arousal. The last time he’d considered another man in that way Harvey had been little more than a child, and the man in question would be dead within a year, just another casualty in an endless string of them.
Harvey looked down at the castle, a feat of engineering and architecture, a jewel among his people’s accomplishments. It reminded him what he was doing here, that maybe it was not such a bad thing for him to feel something physical for this man. He doubted the two of them would ever find comfort in each other emotionally.
Mik’ael took the descent slowly, but even so, touching down was intense, the impact reverberating through Harvey’s body. Back on the ground, Mik’ael seemed to lose much of the confidence that Harvey had felt in him while they were flying. He ran a hand through his hair and tucked his wings against his back once more. “It’s, ah, it’s been a while, since I’ve taken anyone up. I forgot to mention that landing takes some getting used to.”
Harvey tilted his head, remembering they’d sent a warrior, not a diplomat. Harvey understood that in some ways, doing so was a display of strength. But warriors very rarely thought about what they said before they said it. Harvey went with his instincts and asked, “Why did you take me up?”
Mik’ael blinked at Harvey. “I wanted to see your home. It probably would have screwed up the negotiations to leave you on the ground.”
“You could have just asked permission,” Harvey said, testing.
“Because I’m sure that wouldn’t have made me seem like a spy, or anything.” Mik’ael paled, his wings coming around his body before he forced them back.
Harvey wondered what the kid thought they did to suspected spies. He asked, “Are you?”
Mik’ael’s expression burned through Harvey. “Nearly everyone I have ever loved has died on or over your soil. I’m tired of the war.”
Harvey made himself set aside Mik’ael’s words, his emotions and press, “So why did you take me up? The enemy. Why give me that?”
“To see if you’d trust me,” Mik’ael snapped, and then stiffened. After a second, he asked sullenly, “Why did you agree?”
Harvey smiled. “Because you offered.”
Mik'ael held out, his suspicion a living thing for a moment, then he nodded, sharp and decisive, and turned to walk back to the palace.
*
Harvey had always assumed that if he ever settled down, he would hire someone who handled joining ceremonies professionally and let that person take care of it. However, since he was both part of the wedding ceremony and an architect of the peace process it finalized, he ended up having to do things like make sure nobody ended up at a table wherein they were likely to begin a food fight.
The ceremony was to take place on neutral ground, the neighboring district of Durienne, which had managed to keep its peace with both the Chaissen and Rhodrinne throughout history. The spot was nothing more than an open plain, but between Harvey and Rach’el, it would be dressed appropriately for an event that was both celebratory and, at heart, a crucial step toward a finalized treaty. Harvey had the feeling that even the blades of grass would be adorned with ceremonial garb by the time the day of the wedding rolled around.
Jessica mostly reserved her last word privileges for things that truly mattered and stayed out of the planning as best possible. Harvey worked with her to make sure the security was airtight, since they both were aware of factions that opposed the marriage. Some were old-fashioned national purists, other war opportunists, but either way, they were not taking any chances.
The Rhodrinne leadership body-a ruling clan of sort-told Rach’el she had full leave to do as she saw fit. Rach’el confided one day, “This latest group, they are brilliantly practical, but they’re ocean-borns.” She’d hesitated. “Of all the clans, those that are ocean-born are the least comfortable with modern Rhodrinne customs. They are asking, as a conceit, that Mik'ael attend to the most long-lived of the Valkyrn joining customs.”
Ocean-born was a Rhodrinne term for the clans on the furthest edges of their territory, those edged with nothing but endless ocean. Ocean-borns were often incredible fighters, but very rarely fully integrated into centralized Rhodrinne society. The fact that one had been elevated to leadership status spoke to how very ready the Rhodrinne were for a change. In that, Harvey could hardly blame them. He asked, "Is there anything I should be prepared for? Words I need to know?"
Rach'el shook her head. "Mik'ael will know what to do. In that aspect, all you need is to show up."
Occasionally Mik’ael would accompany Rach’el and was asked to weigh in on certain decorative or functional concerns. By the fourth time, he pulled Harvey to the side and asked, “Do you really want this joining to work?”
Harvey couldn’t help the fury that rolled through him, but he had not been a diplomat nearly his entire adult life for nothing. He replied tersely, “You aren’t the only one who lost people.”
Mik’ael drew a deep breath, and it was only then that Harvey saw what he should have noticed right away, would have if he’d been paying proper attention: Mik’ael was shaking with pent-up tension, his wings folded back and still managing to quiver. Harvey frowned. Without being entirely sure it was proper-Valkyrn culture had just enough differences from lowland Rhodrinne to make things tricky-Harvey placed his hand lightly on Mik’s shoulder. “Have we made some sort of insult to your people?”
“I’m useless at this, Ambassador. You want someone to scout from three sky-lengths away? I’m your Valkyrn. Want someone to memorize and decode messages? Me again. Someone to be your weapon in the heat of battle? Yes. Plan a joining? I-“ Mik’ael’s words seem to visibly tangle, twist inside his chest, causing his breath to catch. Harvey noticed, however, that he did not pull away.
“All right,” Harvey said, and swallowed back the feeling of terror that came back to him occasionally, the echoes of the sounds, smells, sights and sensations of his last battle.
Mik’ael looked doubtful. “Really?”
“Can you be trusted to choose something appropriate to wear?”
Mik’ael smiled sharply, something Harvey couldn't understand hidden in the expression. “Not in the least, but our ambassador already assigned a team to me. They’re terrifying,” he confided.
“Be on time,” Harvey warned, letting whatever Mik'ael was hiding go. He was fairly certain the other man would tell him if it was something important. "And use your telwrap if you need to get hold of me before then."
“Thank you,” Mik’ael said, quiet and sincere, tapping his finger against the Chaissen communication device wound over his neck and under his jaw. Harvey felt a surge of empathy for the other man, younger than him, forced into proceedings he’d never been trained to handle, let alone play a significant role in.
Harvey said, “Go, spy on us from so high all I can see is the line of your wings.”
Mik’ael snapped his wings out. “Higher, if I have anything to say about it.”
*
Harvey was nothing if not thorough, so it shook him to his very core to realize upon meeting Mik’ael in the Joining Circle, that he’d never even thought to look into of what a traditional Valkryn joining outfit consisted. Mik’ael wore a loose pair of pants, tied at his waist. That was all.
His chest, arms and face were painted in multiple hues of gold and blue, clan-based patterns that Harvey recognized from his earlier anthropological studies, but he could not have said what they meant or to which clan they belonged. Adorned in them, though, his wings loose enough to fall over his shoulders, if not spread wide, Mik’ael looked like something out of the Great ‘Venture stories Jessica’s mother had always told Jessica and Harvey at bedtime.
Harvey swallowed and reminded himself where he was and what he was about to do. He held out his hand in ceremonial fashion. Mik’ael responded likewise, and the two met in the middle of the Circle. Harvey’s muscle memory took over at that point. He was glad he had trained himself in the Rites of Binding because they were complicated and it was easier to do if he could drown out the eerily silent gathering of long enemies surrounding them. He purposely buried his confusing response to the embodiment of that enemy in front of him, paying attention only to the choice he was making, following through on, in that moment.
Jessica and a member of the Rhodrinne’s ruling clan, chosen for this duty, approached and finished the Binding to cement the peace accords. Harvey met Mik’ael’s eyes for a moment, the two leaders circling them, and felt the insane urge to laugh. He saw an echoing sentiment in Mik’ael’s gaze. Bound against Mik’ael too close for breathing to come easily, Harvey caught his breath.
*
Mik’ael was either a cheap drunk or just not used to the kind of spirits being served, because it took less than an hour for him to turn to Harvey and inform him solemnly, “You should call me Myk. People who like me do. And we’re Joined.”
All the syllables were a little more drawn out than necessary, and Mik’ael-Myk?-was making a motion with his hands that was probably meant to intimate their new civil status, but Harvey could not imagine in what way. Rhodrinne separated their clan-origination from their personal identification by apostrophe. Myk would be personal, the ‘ael a marker of his clan affiliation. What Myk was offering was significant. Mollifyingly, Harvey said, “Myk, then.”
Myk blinked at him and told him earnestly, “Valkyrns don’t drink. Well, we-- We have our own drinks. And even then, we’re-- It’s rare.”
Harvey knew that there was a cultural preference among the warriors to keep their bodies free of what they saw as poisons, but he hadn’t realized it probably extended, at least a little, to alcohol. “Maybe you should slow down.”
Harvey and Myk looked at each other. Myk lifted an eyebrow, the other eyebrow following it up in his somewhat sodden state. Harvey said, “I’ll go get the next round.”
When he returned, having taken his time, stopped to attend to diplomatic formalities with more than a few of the Rhodrinne Counsel, Myk was speaking to someone, another Valkyrn, broader and darker than he was. Harvey handed Myk the full glass when he was close enough and Myk said, “Harvey, my oldest friend T’mas. He hates you and all you stand for and highly suspects I will have to kill you to keep from being violated by you.”
“Pleasure,” Harvey told him.
T’mas’s smile was all teeth. “Same.”
Harvey wandered off and gave them some space, returning when T’mas had left. Myk’s expression was unapologetic. “His childhood sweetheart and mom died in the plague. His dad died fighting.”
“We didn’t cause the plague,” Harvey said. It was a weak defense, but true.
“No,” was all Myk said, seeming infinitely exhausted by the simple admission.
“Fair’s fair, come meet my closest friends.”
“I only got one,” Myk pointed out.
“You can have more later,” Harvey reassured him. Myk must have accepted that, since he followed Harvey over to where Donna and Jessica were conversing.
Harvey showed formal obeisance to Jessica, murmuring, “My Liege.”
She smiled indulgently. “The ceremony was well done, First.”
“I’d like you to meet the newest member of your Advisory.” That had been part of the Treaty, that Harvey’s partner be allowed a say in Chaissen policy. Of course, Harvey gained a reciprocal right.
“We met briefly,” Jessica said, but extended both her hands in traditional Chaissen fashion. Myk looked unsure of what to do, so Harvey lightly guided his hands to their proper spot. Jessica said, “Welcome, Myk’ael.”
When Jessica disengaged, Donna held out her hand, the biotech one, and gave Myk a once over. Despite the chill in her glance, Myk seemed more at home with her greeting. Harvey understood. He said, “Donna, Myk, Myk, Donna.”
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, when Harvey was about to start up the small talk that was a life skill in diplomacy, Donna said, “I could use another drink.”
Myk laughed, a burst of surprised mirth, but then real laughter underneath, even if it was strained. Before he knew it, Harvey found himself laughing as well, meeting Donna’s eyes as she bit back her own laughter. Jessica didn’t bother. Harvey could practically hear her saying, my royal fucking prerogative.
*
Because the Rhodrinne delegation had insisted on the Joining, Jessica had made it clear Harvey and Myk would be spending their first seven cycles-one half a turning-on Chaisse. She had granted a new property to Harvey as an official Joint residence, and it was there that he and Myk went when the celebration wound down enough for them to slip out.
It was not particularly cold on Chaisse, not yet, but Rhodrin boasted a much more mild climate, and Harvey could see Myk was more than a little chilled. Harvey lit a fire and asked, “You pack any shirts?”
Myk’s belongings, or at least those he wanted with him on Chaisse, had been delivered to the residence earlier, but Harvey had left it all sealed in its containers. Myk scanned the writing on each chest and opened the correct one to pull out a shirt. Harvey brushed off his tinge of disappointment with annoyance. “I could make some molu.”
Myk looked confused. It occurred to Harvey that while Rach’el generally asked for some, he wasn’t certain it was all that common on Rhodrin. “Heated drink. It’s somewhat bitter, somewhat spiced.”
Myk shrugged. “Worth a try.”
Harvey took comfort in the motions of making the drink, something he did nearly every morning, and most evenings. He poured it equally into two mugs and brought one to Myk, who was sitting in the chair nearest to the fire. Myk murmured, “Thanks.”
Harvey sat in the chair across from Myk and took a sip. After a moment, Myk said, “This is good. Can you teach me to make it?”
“It’s not hard,” Harvey said, by way of agreement.
There was a silence that was neither comfortable nor awkward, just a state of being. Then Myk asked, “You fought, right?”
Harvey’s shoulder twinged and he nodded, looking at Myk. Myk continued at the affirmation: “You know how, before a battle, sometimes even for days, the anticipation of the unknown can put you on edge, make you want to run even though you know you need to conserve energy?”
“Yes,” Harvey said simply. It was weird to think just how universal that experience might be.
“I haven’t slept for days,” Myk told him.
Harvey considered the analogy. Then he admitted, “I haven’t been my most restful.”
“After the battle, you always want to lie down, right there on the field or the hill or whatever and just sleep until you wake up, like maybe things will be different, then.”
Harvey looked at the fire. Finally he said, “Things are different.”
“I’m tired,” was all Myk said in response. Harvey couldn’t blame him; he was too.
*
Before they separated to change out of their ceremonial garb into something more sleep-appropriate, Myk got a strangely sheepish look on his face. Harvey arched an eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”
“Can you put on that weirdly blank look you get when you’re negotiating terms?”
“I prefer to think of that look as mild and non-judgmental,” Harvey told him, but did as requested.
“I know this isn’t a real Joining, at least not in the sense of either of us having chosen each other.”
Harvey caught the hesitation at the end of the sentence. “But?”
“It’s…” Myk looked away for a second and then forced his gaze back. “Valkyrns have a tradition of their new mate washing them free of the Joining Design.”
Harvey looked at the swirls and patterns spread broadly over Myk’s chest, back, bridging his shoulders and down his arms, gracing his face. “Oh.”
Myk's wings were folded as tightly as they could be against his back, almost as though he was trying to draw them into himself. “You don’t have-“
“I’d be honored,” Harvey interrupted.
Myk didn’t relax at the acceptance. After a second he said, “There’s not much left of us. Soon there probably won’t be anything.”
Even having knowing Valkyrn traditions were at best nearly impossible to discover, Harvey wished he’d tried a little harder. He’d mostly been worrying about mainstream Rhodrinne culture, not really understanding the type of lateral position the Valkyrn shared with the ruling clan. The little things mattered to Myk, though, that was certain, and for all the complicated feelings being in the same room with Myk stirred in Harvey, he was well aware they were in this together. It would make things immeasurably easier if they could respect each other, if nothing else.
Harvey asked, “How much do you know about the Accord?”
Myk blinked. “The one we just sealed with a kiss?”
Harvey quirked a smile. “The very one.”
Then Myk shrugged and, for the next few minutes, spewed forth a word-for-word rendition of the first draft of the Accord. When Myk had reached, “…parties shall see appendices for precise units of trade in agricultural and mechanical goods,” Harvey managed to recover from what could only be called shock and say, “That was the first draft.”
“Huh?” Myk asked.
“What you’re reciting, it was the first draft.” Then, “How many times did you read that drivel?”
“Once,” Myk said, waving a hand, like seventy-three sheaf Accords were the kind of thing everyone memorized on sight. “What were the changes?”
“Perfect recall,” Harvey said.
“Audial and visual,” Myk confirmed. “The changes?”
“Our scientists. They’re more advanced in biotech. We’re looking for a solution to the plague and the Valkyrn reproductivity issue.”
“Who-“ Myk stopped. “You made that change.”
“Rach’el was the one who gave me the idea, of sorts. She had a friend-“
“T’resa.” Myk’s eyes were dark, shielded, his wings having come up high, well over his shoulders. “She was one of the last. We all thought, maybe, but.” He swallowed.
“I can’t promise we’ll find the answer,” Harvey said softly. “But I can introduce you to our lead scientist on the project. She’ll probably want to talk to you anyway.”
Myk nodded tightly, his lips pressed together so hard they practically disappeared. Harvey said softly, “C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
*
Harvey had never been one to hesitate with a partner. There had been a short period of time, while he was recovering from the worst of his war wounds, when he’d been wary of baring himself to others, but never when he was uncertain of his touch, of what he could do with his hands. Now, at the most inconvenient of times, with his War Joint standing in front of him, all muscle and color, Harvey felt the stirrings of concern that he might do this wrong.
Myk said, “We don’t have-“
Harvey pulled the water spring and directed it through the heater, so that warm water spilled onto the hand towel he’d picked up. He turned to Myk. “If I do something wrong, you have to tell me.”
Harvey was glad for the separation the towel provided, however scant, as he made circles with it over the mass of Myk’s shoulder. Myk was too close as it was, tempting in a way that should have been normal for two person who had just Joined, tempting in a way that confused Harvey, even frightened him to some extent. Myk was still Rhodrinne, still Valkyrn.
But Myk was also flesh and blood, just like any Chaissen, and the scars that Harvey found as he carefully, fastidiously wiped away at the paint, did not detract from that. Rather, they seemed part of Myk, something of his personality, something that made the otherwise unblemished spaces more interesting.
Myk said, “You-- You don’t have to be so gentle.” He was breathing heavily, leaning back against the looking glass.
“No,” Harvey said, not entirely sure if he was agreeing or disagreeing, only sure that he would keep on just as he had. “No,” he said again, and re-wet the towel.
*
Lola scowled when Harvey walked into her lab, Myk at his side. She said, “I’m busy.”
“Nice to see you, too,” Harvey said mildly, and came near enough to kiss her cheek.
She wiped it right off, then turned to Myk, who was already watching her warily, but all she said was, “You’re Myk’ael.”
“You’re Dr. Jensen,” he told her.
She waved her hand broadly. “Lola. Unlike Harvey, I’m not stuck on titles.”
Myk blinked over at Harvey, who rolled his eyes. “The good doctor met me when I was much younger.”
“Ah,” Myk said, seemingly understanding. Then he turned back to Lola. “Can you do it? Can you fix the problem?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes dark with sympathy. Her voice, though, was even when she answered, “I don’t know. Your basic biology is not all that similar to either of the species I generally work on. I’ve been studying it for three years - since the talks began and I could get my hands on any information at all. The closest I’ve gotten to specimens that have physiology even close to you are the Treade. Their muscle mass and build is a good approximation for your race, but their metabolic rate is entirely different, and they simply don’t have the wings. I worked with a few Siszalians, because they do have the wings, but their build is completely different.” Lola’s breath of frustration blew the hair off her forehead. “But if it were simple someone would have already done it. And in this field of research, I’ve just gotten my feet wet.”
Myk nodded slowly. “Could I help?”
Lola considered the offer. “Yes. But it won’t be fun.”
“That’ll be a change from watching half my race die,” Myk said, somehow managing a trace of earnestness weaved into the rich irony of the response. Harvey felt the words like a surprise punch, his body not even tensed to protect itself.
Lola blinked, then. “You have a point.”
Myk just waited. After a second, Lola said, “Well. Okay. Mind if we get started?”
Myk looked at Harvey. “Did you need me?”
There were some final documents that needed witnessing, nothing that couldn’t wait. He would need to assign greater security and surveillance to the lab if Myk was going to be spending serious time there, but he could bring up those forms and handle them from the lab. “Would you prefer I stayed? Or got out of here?”
Myk seemed uncertain. Harvey couldn’t read what was underneath the lack of surety, but he was pretty sure that if he was new to a place that had been enemy territory his whole life, he’d want the one thing that was familiar to him around, even if it was a less-than-optimal thing. Harvey touched a finger to Myk’s wrist and gestured toward an alcove off the main lab. He said, “I’m just going to work over there, in those chairs.”
Myk smiled, quick but genuine. “Sounds good.”
*
Harvey knew he was used to taking care of himself and only himself in the larger scheme of things, but he actually thought he’d been doing somewhat all right at recognizing Myk’s presence and needs when Donna took Harvey aside after an unduly long conference with a trading nation and said, “This treaty you worked so hard for isn’t going to be worth the paper it is recorded on if your Joint wastes away.”
Harvey blinked, thinking of all the time he’d invested into making sure Myk was physically safe from any of the groups that had lodged formal complaints again the treaty, or those who had painted less formal ones on the palace gates. Obviously, she wasn’t talking about that, so he switched gears. “We had dinner-“ he calculated, “two nights ago. He was fine.”
“Mm. So that’s why Lola tells me he’s lost seven pounds in three weeks, she’s starting to fear taking blood samples or having him run stress tests, and as far as she can tell, he doesn’t know anyone other than you and her?”
Harvey thought back to the dinner a couple of nights previous. Myk had made it. It hadn’t been familiar to Harvey, but it had been good. They’d decided early on that they would trade off when either of them was cooking, introduce each other to their favorites, and order in the rest of the time, or go out, if time allowed. Harvey had been busy, time hadn’t been all that plentiful, so they had mostly stayed in, when Harvey managed to make it home at all.
Myk had seemed a little quiet, but Harvey had just assumed that working on trying to save his race day in and day out was taking a toll. Harvey had been reading the reports, kept on the common server for those with confidential knowledge of the Accords. He knew Myk had subjected himself to uncomfortable physical tests and regularly having to relive his grief. He hadn’t been quite sure of how to bring the topic up without making it worse, though, so he’d instead kept the conversation light, relatively impersonal.
Harvey rubbed the back of his neck. “Seven pounds?”
“Lola can be a bit of an academic renegade, but she’s not careless.”
Lola had been on the team of scientists who had replaced Donna’s arm. That was before she had gained her own lab, and been allowed her own field of study. The two had remained friendly ever since. Harvey nodded. “Any chance there’s someone who could cover the wrap-up paperwork for me?”
“I convinced Jessica to hire you a team.”
“You what?” Harvey tried not to let Donna get the best of him, he really did, but there were moments when she blindsided him, all the same.
“We’re both overworked. It was that, or I was quitting.”
Harvey made sure none of the panic he felt showed on his face. “Just who is on this team?”
Donna smiled sharply, “I ‘promoted’ one of Louis’ trainees.”
“Stole, you mean?” But Harvey couldn’t help smiling. He knew Donna was talking about the veteran, Brighton, who’d changed to diplomacy after losing his sight in the war. He’d seen Brighton in action, and the man was brilliant, too good to be playing lackey to Louis.
Donna’s look told him to shut up and sit still or she’d find people he’d hate to work with. “And I wooed Laurien from Jessica’s service.”
“Oh good, because Jessica’s not going to have our ass over that at all.”
Donna rolled her eyes and said in a tone that heavily suggested she'd get much more done if he would disappear altogether, “I asked permission. Women speak to each other. Kind of like what you get paid to do? But with less financial incentive and more common sense involved.”
“When are they starting?”
“Tomorrow. Be here early so we can figure out a plan of action. For now, though, go home and feed up that little kid you took home a while ago.”
“He’s neither little nor a kid.”
“Clearly, you haven’t noticed a thing this past week,” Donna said, and walked off. Harvey bit off any response he could make. She would have the last word whether he willed it or not.
*
Harvey came in the door and followed the, “Hello,” that emanated from the kitchen to find Myk. He was sitting on the kitchen table, wings spread, looking out the window. When Harvey came around to Myk’s side, he saw the cup of molu Myk was cradling with both hands. He looked exhausted, even his wings sagging to some extent.
Harvey said, “Can I take you out to dinner?”
Myk blinked and looked over at him. “I-- Maybe a raincheck?”
“For tomorrow night?” Harvey pressed. Myk was tired and worn down and Harvey knew his talents didn’t always make him nice, but they did get him what he needed most of the time, and right now, Harvey needed to know what was going on with Myk.
Myk hedged again, his wings curling around his body. “Maybe.”
“Lola treating you badly?”
“What? No. No, she’s quirky. I like her." His wings folded back, but Harvey could tell it was a struggle.
“That why you never go anywhere but here and the labs?”
Myk sighed and turned back to the window. “Maybe I just don’t want to.”
Harvey took a seat on the table next to him. “Maybe. Maybe Chaisse isn’t that welcoming.”
“Did you know,” Myk said conversationally, “that Valkyrns star in many tales Chaissen parents tell to scare their children into behaving?”
“I was told a few in my time,” Harvey said softly. He scooted slightly forward so that their knees were touching.
Myk stayed where he was, with the touch. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll spoon-feed myself your innards? Abscond with and ravish the nearest Chaissen child?”
Harvey was silent, thinking of how to respond. “I cannot make my people forget years of war, of terror and loss. Nor will you be able to make yours. But that night, when we Joined, and I washed you, I felt like we were agreeing that we would do our best to be better than that with each other, do our best to find a way to make things better for each other.”
Myk shrugged, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Harvey asked, “What do you want, Myk? Big or little, what do you want right now?”
Myk took a sip. “To be home. To be flying. To walk into a shop and not see fear and hatred in everyone’s eyes. My family to still be alive. To feel connected to something.”
Harvey nodded. “Come on.”
“Harvey-“
“Trust me. You don’t have to love me or want me or even like me for this Joining to work, although the last would be of use. But you do have to trust me.”
Myk still hesitated for a second, his expression unreadable. Then he set the cup down and hopped off the table. Harvey gave Myk his most sincere smile and started down toward his Skips bay.
*
Skipstones were small transports, made for flying a few hundred miles or so at need. Shaped like a disk, they held three people at most, but only needed one for the controls. Chaisse wasn’t very large, so a Skips was the most transport a person needed unless he wanted to get off-world. For daily transport there were the 'bridges and 'ways, but those were internal to cities.
Skips were small enough that it was impossible for the two of them not to brush up against each other, particularly with Myk’s wings. Harvey worked not to enjoy it too much. At some point, maybe, the two of them would feel comfortable with a marriage in deed as well as in name, but Harvey was well aware they were on his turf, and he wasn’t going to make advances he was not sure Myk would know he could rebuff.
Harvey took them out to the far side of Chaisse, which was relatively unpopulated due to storms that happened when the cold months transitioned into warmth, making it uninhabitable. The long stretches of land that slipped into vast bodies of water were generally quiet around this time, since the storms were just abating and the water hadn’t yet warmed to an entirely mild temperature.
It was Harvey’s favorite time to come. He landed the Skips far enough out for them to have a bit of a walk to the water. On their way, Myk said, “I can’t swim.”
“Wouldn’t have thought so,” Harvey told him. “But I’m pretty sure we can get you to float.”
It took a couple tries, Myk’s wings catching the waves wrong, or him being unable to trust the water, but when he managed, he lay there, looking up at nothing but sky and said, “Thank you.”
Harvey said, “I’ll be back,” and swam out as far as he could take himself, maybe further than he should have. The effort made his shoulder burn dangerously, but the cold of the water was somehow just right, and he felt like he could actually think for the first time in a long time.
When he made it back, Myk was on land, fanned out on his back, still, drying. Harvey followed suit, closing his eyes to say. “You wanna fly back? I don’t know how far you’re good for, but I can slow the Skips and you can tail.”
“I can probably make it.”
Harvey was surprised that he could hear the smile in Myk’s tone. He hadn’t thought he knew those sorts of things just yet. It made him feel a little better about the situation that he did. “Probably?”
Myk looked sideways at Harvey, then back at the waves. “I’ve been flying a little, at night, to help keep my mind clear. There’ve been some-- I don’t think it’s safe, in the city, during the day-“
“People have threatened you?” Harvey interrupted. “Chaissen Supremacists? Veterans?”
“Not in so many words.” Myk just shook his head, not really answering. “I’m smarter than I look.”
“Myk-“
“It’s nothing. At least, nothing you won’t experience on Rhodrinne, I’m sure. Our people have been at war. I’m not the most welcome presence, I get it. Flying at night doesn’t bother me. I don’t have the range I would have on Rhodrinne, but it keeps my muscle mass from deteriorating. Still, it’s been awhile since I’ve flown the distance we’re talking about, so I’ll just have to be careful. If I’m having a problem, I’ll latch on to the Skips’ tail.”
Harvey filed the conversation in the back of his mind to bring up later with Jessica, and possibly Donna. He needed someone to bounce ideas off of, and Myk, understandably, didn’t seem to want to think about it. In any case, it had been a good evening, and Harvey would feel like a jerk taking that away from Myk, when he so clearly needed it.
“Or you could give use your telwrap, and just let me know when you need inside.”
“Or that,” Myk agreed easily.
Harvey said, “Let me take you to dinner.”
Myk laughed. “I’ll have you know, I’m not usually this easy.”
Harvey grinned. “I suppose that remains to be seen.”
*
Harvey organized a dinner party as quickly as he could put a list of appropriate guests together. Well, Harvey invited people, Donna found a chef and a serving company and decided on décor. But Harvey came up with the idea.
Brighton, Laurien, Jessica, Donna and Lola were the obvious choices. Myk already knew most of them, though, and it wasn’t getting him out of the house, so Harvey called upon one of the men who’d served under him, Elan, one of his colleagues in the Diplomacy Corps, Dana, as well as her spouse, and a scholar from the main higher institute of learning on Chaisse who specialized in the cultural factors leading to the war and had long advocated for its cessation. Harvey had only met the man, Bennett Plack, once, but his impression had been positive and the man struck him as someone who might be a good ally for Myk.
He chose to bring it up over breakfast, asking Myk, “Mind if we have a little get together?”
Myk said, “Depends. Do I have to dress up?”
“Only if you want my attention focused on you all night,” Harvey quipped, and left it at that, heading off to work. He’d felt Myk’s stare but ignored it. They were Joined, and Myk was gorgeous; Harvey was damn well allowed to flirt.
Harvey wasn’t entirely sure how to take it when Myk made an effort for the event, emerging from their sleeping cove in what Harvey had since learned was customary Valkyrn dress-ware. It was simple, the shirt sleeveless and fitted to the torso, the arms left to be covered lightly in bronze-gold swirls, a few of which also curled around Myk’s eyes. The pants were much like Myke’s wedding pants in shape, but darker, a brown so deep it almost fell into being black.
Harvey missed a beat, but then made himself recover, ask, “Is it traditional for me to wipe those markings off as well?”
Harvey’s heart beat a little faster than he preferred remembering the feel of Myk’s skin beneath his hands, the smooth planes of chest interrupted by scars left, marks of Myk’s role in the conflict. Myk had shied away a bit at first, but when Harvey hadn’t pushed, he’d come back. Harvey had his own scars. He knew how he’d feel if someone were to take advantage.
“Depends on what you mean by tradition,” Myk said guilelessly, and then somehow turned the conversation to proper Chaissen dinner etiquette. Harvey felt played by Myk’s coyness in a way he hadn’t in a long time. He couldn’t tell if he perversely enjoyed it, or not.
As Harvey had expected, Lola and Myk ended up engaging Bennett for most of the night. Harvey noticed, at points, that Myk would brush casually past him so that they came into contact, soft, quick touches that seemed to ground him in some way. Harvey pretended like they weren’t electric for him, anything but grounding.
Elan flirted with Laurien, and the two made easy conversation with Myk at one point or another. Donna cornered him later in the evening, but Myk seemed to be holding his own, so Harvey left well enough alone.
Lola did take Harvey aside at one point to say, “I think you should reinforce your security measures.”
Harvey considered her tone and her stance. “What’s going on?”
“Not sure, but-- His patterns of coming into the lab and leaving it have been strange. He goes different ways, at different times, watches for certain things before going out. I think he’s been threatened in some way or another.”
Harvey thought back to his conversation with Myk near the water, when Myk had told him pretty much the same thing. Not in so many words, Myk had said. Harvey nodded. “I’ll see to it.”
Brighton asked Harvey, with a refreshing lack of deference and surprising amount of forthrightness, “Is it hard, coming home to the enemy every evening?”
Harvey thought about the question and told Brighton, “What’s becoming hard is remembering that he was supposed to be the enemy.”
Brighton smiled a bit. “I suppose there’s hope, then.”
Harvey took a breath. “So we’re meant to believe.”
Part Two
Part Three