Fic: Four Stories about Jaeris the Gunslinger - Roscar, The Mayor and the Sheriff, A Violin, Hands i
Title: Roscar, The Mayor and the Sheriff, A Violin, Hands in my Hair
Rating: R for sexual content, some swearing
Word Count: 3,467
Pairings, Characters: Jaeris the Gunslinger/lots of different characters, Linkara, Jaeris’s wife, a few OCs
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Spoilers: For the latest At4W episodes.
Warnings: Angst, polyamory, death-threats, allusions to depression
Summary: Four short-ish fics exploring Jaeris’s character, his past, and his new relationship with Linkara and the household. Includes intimate hair braiding because DAYUM Jaeris has got some luscious locks.
A/N: I’m pretty sure I’m going to fail all of my classes because of the plotbunnies the storyline conclusion left me with. (D: Lewis why you no want me to graduate college?) Also, I’m not set on the idea of his wife’s name, I have a list I’m still working with, might change in the future. And I feel anxious about writing this considering the praise my last fic got.
Roscar
Most were easy to convince. Fellow heroes, eager to aid his suffering world, overthrow the tyrannical government.
Some … were not so eager.
“Why should I care?” asked Roscar, magic gun twirling between his fingers. “It’s worlds away from me and mine, pretty-boy, so why should I care?”
Jaeris tries to explain, to make Roscar empathize, understand. He begs and pleads. On the ship, Jaeris has five companions already. A team of six won’t be enough. Nine. Nine is a good number, lucky on his homeworld.
“Nothing you say is gonna convince me, pretty-boy,” Roscar says, and holds up a hand when Jaeris tries to interrupt him. “I’m not finished. Nothing you say is gonna convince me …” he lets his eyes wander up and down Jaeris’s body, licks his lips. “Now, anything you do … with a face like that, you could likely change a man’s mind.”
Jaeris reels, blindsided by this unexpected turn of events.
Roscar laughs, but he goes quiet when Jaeris asks to leave so he can call his wife, ask for her opinion on the matter.
“Do you need him?” Catelyn asks. Her voice is faint, the connection isn’t strong now; he has to practically press the gun’s handle to his ear. Looks downright ridiculous, he knows, but it’s the best they could do in such a short amount of time.
“Yes, Catelyn, we do. He’s got a magic gun. He’s a good fighter, strong, brave -”
“And he’s got good taste in men.” Catelyn laughs. “Do what you want, Jaeris, but if you need him, don’t think it’s a betrayal to me. You’re going to save our home, our friends and family. Anyone who’s willing to stand by your side during that is someone I’m willing to share my husband with.”
“I don’t deserve you,” Jaeris whispers, closing his eyes and picturing her back in their home, sitting at the table with a stack of cards, stacking them up and sorting them on-handed. “Goddess bless, but I don’t deserve you.”
“Don’t talk like that, Jaeris. Go give this Roscar your answer. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
She laughs, and Jaeris joins in, some of the stress of the past few weeks melting away. The severs the connection, and goes to find Roscar.
The Mayor and the Sheriff
The last two are a pair of women: lovers, partners in every sense of the word. They are Mayor and Sheriff in a city where lizardmen terrorize the citizens and gunfights are a daily occurrence. It takes a while for Jaeris to convince them to join the resistance force, and their final caveat surprises him, even after Roscar.
“But you … you’re married …” he gestures to the bracelets they wear, the symbols of matrimony in this city’s dominant culture group.
“As are you,” the Mayor smiles. “Roscar told us that you and your wife have an … arrangement?”
“We would like to be a part of that arrangement, if only briefly,” the Sheriff kicks off her boots, stretches. She’s strong, muscular arms and a scar running along her neck and underneath her shirt, towards her shoulder. Jaeris would be lying if he said he hadn’t snuck a few appreciative glances at her over the past few days, during his attempts at convincing them to join the team, reach Lucky Number Nine. There are traces of Catelyn in the Sheriff, the color of her hair, the curve of her eyes, her rich laugh that fills the room.
And the Mayor … well, she might not look it, but she can hold her own in a fight as much as the next person. She wears her blue hair tied up in the day, but she’s taking it down now, letting curls loose and free. Her smile is warm and inviting, promises pleasure if Jaeris is willing to work for it.
“You’ll join our team, then?” Jaeris says, even as they begin to tug at his shirt, his pants, thread their fingers through his hair.
They promise. Jaeris is pulled onto the bed by the Sheriff and drags the Mayor down with him.
A Violin
Linkara has invited him down for dinner.
Invited him. Down. For dinner.
Either Linkara is far less intelligent than Jaeris had originally thought, or Linkara is grossly optimistic about what the future holds for him and Jaeris. He destroyed the watch while Jaeris begged him not to. He trapped Jaeris in this dimension, possibly forever, and severed his connection with his wife and family and friends.
“Dinner” isn’t going to change any of that, or soften the blow.
Jaeris won’t kill Linkara, but that’s as much as he’s been willing to promise the man. Sometimes he flies into rages on his ship, wants to find Linkara and beat him within an inch of his life. What reigns him in, besides the idea of his Catelyn’s disapproving eyes, is the fact that he knows Linkara would let him.
Jaeris beams down to Linkara’s house, just inside the front hall. He expects to be caught in a force-field or hear alarms from the house’s security system warning of “an intruder,” but then realizes that Linkara must have adjusted the settings to allow him access to the house.
Linkara is not only willing to invite the man who shot him in the back to dinner, he’s programmed his security systems to allow said man access to his house.
The thought is sobering.
Jaeris pauses, looks around, feels a stab of guilt at this intrusion, and for all his previous intrusions into this place: Linkara has, essentially, rolled over and bared his throat to Jaeris.
And a few weeks ago, Jaeris would have gladly sunk his teeth in.
Shaking his head, Jaeris begins to wander the house, looking for the dining room or the kitchen.
Then he hears something. A soft sound that becomes louder the deeper he ventures into the house. It’s sweet and melodic, a pattern that repeats, rising and falling.
Music.
He finds Linkara in the living room, standing by the window, eyes closed in concentration. There’s a … thing in his hands, tucked under his chin and clutched in one hand. With the other hand, he’s dragging a thin stick across the … instrument. It must be some kind of musical instrument. It looks vaguely familiar, strings, an oblong body, a bow, basic concepts he’s seen in various cultures on his travels, and on his homeworld.
The sounds are strange, higher pitched than he’s used to, but … it’s not unpleasant. In fact, Jaeris finds himself enjoying it, as he begins to follow the melody, right hand circling in the air as it always does when he listens to something without words. It’s almost mournful, but in a beautiful way, like the sort of song he listened to back home when he wanted to indulge in some sadness.
He has no cause to indulge in sadness anymore, it plagues him without the aid of music
Linkara is not perfect, from his fingerwork and hesitations, stops and starts, it’s obvious that he doesn’t do this regularly. Is it his reviews that keep him from this, his fights with interdimensional beings?
The bow squeaks and Linkara hisses, scowling - a mistake, then. Jaeris couldn’t be sure, some music purposely seeks to assault the ears with painful sounds.
After some time, Linkara finally sighs and sets the instrument down, puts it away in a case. He turns and jumps back in surprise, seeing Jaeris at last.
“Funk and Wagnell!” he gasps, staggering slightly. “You … uh … I didn’t … hear you.”
“I heard you,” Jaeris leans against the wall, tilting his head. “What is it?”
“Bach.”
“Funny name for an instrument.”
“What? Oh, no, that’s the composer. The instrument is called a violin.”
Jaeris repeats it to make sure he heard it right. “Violin … I like it. Never heard one before.”
“Never?” Linkara raises his eyebrows.
“Well, similar things, sure, closest would be this twelve-stringed thing in Octozone Alpha, made of purple wood, played only by the blind. Sounded a bit like that, just … deeper.”
“It’s part of a family of instruments.” Linkara says, picking up the case and setting it on a shelf. “There’s the violin, the viola, the cello, and the double bass. They all look pretty similar, they’re just different sizes. They go lower, the bigger they become.”
Jaeris nods. “Music is the same throughout the universes, when you get right down to it.”
Linkara shifts from foot to foot. “You were a … music reviewer, right?”
Jaeris looks up sharply. “You saw that video?”
“I saw all of them. I’m sorry, I … I had to understand …”
Jaeris scowls, but says nothing. Of course Linkara had to watch them, had to see the truth, after thinking Jaeris was his enemy for all those months. Still, the thought of Linkara seeing him at his lowest points makes him feel exposed, violated even.
“I’m sorry, I -”
“Yeah, I was a music reviewer,” Jaeris sighs, stretching. “All kinds of music. But I gave too much attention to the independent artists, was too critical of the corporate-sponsored hacks. They’d do these things to their voices, with computers, to even them out, made ’em sound too perfect. It was vile.”
Linkara wrinkles his nose. “We have that here. It’s called ‘autotuning.’ Nobody really likes it, they only use it to sound creepy, or for funny videos. Corporations try and sell artists on just that, but it never lasts long.”
Jaeris smiles thinly. “Lucky you.”
Linkara’s hurt expression would be funny if it weren’t so sincere. Jaeris feels a stab of guilt but pushes it away. He’s trapped here because of Linkara, he has a right to his anger, his bitterness, for now at least
“Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude, dinner’s ready!” calls a voice from the other room.
Jaeris and Linkara jump. Jaeris breaths a laugh, shakes himself.
“What’s for dinner?”
“Um … do you know what pasta is?”
“I’ll eat pretty much anything. I’m not picky. Couldn’t afford to be, out there.”
Linkara smiles, brow furrowed with worry. “Well, I hope you like it. There’s some other stuff to chose from to. Just let me know if you don’t like anything, I can look through the fridge and try and find something else.”
Spilling the “spaghetti” substance down his shirt goes a long way to breaking the ice at the tense dinner table, what with Harvey shooting Jaeris suspicious glares as if he’s daring him to shoot Linkara in the back again, and 90’s Kid blundering into awkward statements such as “Like, sorry you can’t go home again, dude. That is so un-radical.”
Jaeris would deny doing it on purpose, letting the pasta slip from his fork and slide all over his shirt in order to lighten the mood, make things more comfortable. He’d deny it, but it would be a lie.
For all his faults, for all the rage Jaeris has centered on the man in the past few weeks … Linkara has a beautiful smile.
Hands in My Hair
Linkara is staring at him.
“What?!” Jaeris snaps at last.
Linkara jumps. “Whoa, what?” he yelps.
“You been starin’ at me all night. You wanna duel me, let’s have ourselves a duel, but don’t keep sneakin’ looks at me like yer lookin’ for a weak spot. Hate ta break it to ya, but you already destroyed my weak spot.”
He’s not sure what he expects. Shame, perhaps, or anger, or the cool determination of someone setting out for a duel to the death … Jaeris certainly doesn’t expect blushing.
“Forget it, it’s … I’m sorry …”
Jaeris raises his eyebrows. “I ain’t gonna stand for secrets, Linkara. That was the deal, unless you want to go back to me shooting you down an’ screamin’ bloody murder.” He wouldn’t, but he’s not about to let Linkara know that quite yet. Jaeris’s rage has settled to a slow burn, and he knows from experience that soon it will vanish altogether, replaced with the dull ache of loss and regret, dragging him down into a deep sadness. He has to believe that he can go home someday. Living here, being one of Linkara’s friends, like a toy to be summoned when a threat emerges, is something he cannot face.
Linkara hangs his head. “I just … it’ll make you angrier at me. That’s why I don’t want to tell you. It’s nothing bad, at least, not on my world. I don’t know about yours.”
Jaeris sighs. “Just spit it out. I will try not to be too offended if you step on my culture’s toes.”
Linkara stares at his boots. “I … your hair, I … I want to …” he hunches his shoulders and whispers “… touch it.”
Jaeris’s eyes go wide. Well then. “This ain’t just a fascination with my mane, is it? This is somethin’ … more.”
Linkara nods, eyes still fixed on the ground. His face is very red now. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I just -”
Jaeris takes off his hat and sets it on the table. “Just the hair, and my scalp. Nothin’ besides that. And you gotta listen to a story.”
Linkara stares at him in shock.
“Well, git over here already!” Jaeris waves a hand to the empty space beside him on the couch. “Didn’t take you for a coward, Linkara.”
That seems to touch a nerve. Linkara sits down beside him, toys with the end of Jaeris’s braid.
“I wear it this long for a reason. It’s not the norm, where I’m from. Not a fashion statement.”
Jaeris nods at Linkara’s unspoken question, and Linkara begins to untie the braid, undo the plaits and finger-combs them together.
“I wore it a bit past my shoulders, when I was a just a reviewer. When my friends started vanishin’ and the government took me away … there wasn’t time to cut it. Then, after the Nine …” Jaeris closes his eyes, leans forward over the arm of the couch, feels Linkara shift to follow him, continuing to play with his hair. “It’s an old custom, to refuse to cut your hair out of mourning. I didn’t get to ask them what they did in their worlds when friends fell in battle, but I owed them something. So I haven’t cut my hair since then. And I won’t, until my home is freed.”
Linkara mumbles somewhere above him.
“What’s that?” Jaeris squirms slightly, getting his arms out from underneath him, sinking into the cushions.
“There’s a series of books, here. It’s a tv show now, too. There’s a tribe where the men wear their hair long, braided. If they’re defeated in battle they have to cut off their hair in shame. The longer the braid, the more formidable of a warrior they are. I thought … I thought it would be something like that.”
Jaeris shakes his head, twitches slightly in pain as this tugs some of his hair out of Linkara’s grasp. “Nah, it’s nothin’ like that. I’ve had my fair share of defeats. No call to take out a pair of scissors.”
Linkara laughs softly. After a few more minutes he begins to drag his fingers across Jaeris’s scalp.
Jaeris squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip. It’s not painful, but he hasn’t felt something this intimate for a very, very long time.
Something of his tension must show, because Linkara stops suddenly. “Do you want me to stop? Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“No,” it comes out stronger than Jaeris intended. “I … I just …”
I miss her. I miss her so much it aches, coming here is like reopening a wound, seeing that spot where you destroyed my watch … I might never see her again, might never speak to her again … Goddess blast it but I don’t want you to stop …
“Don’t stop … please.”
He can almost feel a change in the mood. Before this could have been passed off as something playful, a curiosity about his hair being sated. Now, things could change.
“Budge up,” Linkara says, scooting over on the couch and letting Jaeris lean down, over him, ultimately using his lap as a pillow. Jaeris’s back is to Linkara now, and he tenses when he realizes that, connects it to weeks ago, firing a shot into Linkara’s back and stealing his gun …
“Try and relax,” Linkara says, and his tone is soft and soothing and Jaeris hates him for it, wants Linkara to taunt him, scream at him, so they could be enemies. It’s easy to have an enemy. It’s difficult to have … whatever this is becoming, between them.
“I haven’t been able to relax in years.” Jaeris says, trying to release the tension in his spine, his arms, his legs. It’s difficult.
“I want to touch more of you. Not just your head and your hair.”
Jaeris sighs. “Do what you want.”
“I -”
“If I had a problem with it, I’d beam back to my place, or shoot you. So when I tell you to go right ahead, I mean it.”
Linkara hesitates, still. “You said you have a wife -”
Jaeris almost sits up in frustration. “There’s a longer story to that. Short one is that yes, I do, I love her dearly and miss he something fierce, like I’m missin’ a leg or an arm. We got different kinds of relationships where I’m from. We’re married, but we ain’t … closed-off. There a word for that here?” He’s gotten so sick of explaining this to people.
“… actually, yes.”
“Well then, that’s what we are. I’ll tell you to stop if I want you to stop.”
Linkara starts off slow, rubbing Jaeris’s shoulders and neck, kneading the knots from his muscles. He moves down Jaeris’s back, along his arms, and it feels so good, the gentle pressure of unfamiliar hands on his skin, pressing against the fabric of his shirt. A confused, greedy voice in his head wants Jaeris to beg for more, but he doesn’t, and Linkara doesn’t offer. Instead Linkara begins to braid Jaeris’s hair, not a single braid but several ones of varying sizes.
“I bet you played with dolls when you were a kid, huh?” Jaeris smiles.
“No comment,” Linkara says, tugging on Jaeris’s hair a bit more than necessary. “Not that it matters, of course. Toys shouldn’t be divided between girls and boys.”
“You want to braid little shinies into my hair right now, don’t you?” Jaeris cranes his neck to stare up at Linkara. “It’s killin’ you that you ain’t got none on hand.”
Linkara looks down, face deadly serious. “Yes, yes it is,” he says, tone slow and measured. “I want to weave shiny things into your hair, because it’s beautiful and you should be proud of it, especially if it’s your way of honoring your fallen comrades, and I’m a just a teesny bit jealous of how soft it is. Are you happy?” he ties off the last of the braids and folds his arms.
Jaeris sits up, shaking his head around. The soreness in his shoulders and his back has faded significantly, and his scalp is tingling in a pleasant sort of way.
“Closer to ‘happy’ than I’ve been in a good long time.”
And there’s that expression again, that guilt on Linkara’s face.
Jaeris sighs heavily. “Look, I’m not sayin’ I forgive you, because I don’t think I ever can, not for something that huge. But … you didn’t know. You were angry, you lashed out, though you were just destroying a teleporter or somethin’ like that. And you felt like shit when you found out the truth. You want to help me get back home. You want me to trust you. So … let’s ease up on each other. Stop feeling so Goddess-damned guilty about every word that comes outta my mouth. I’m already lettin’ go of my anger … most of it, anyway.”
Linkara relaxes slightly, smiles with relief. “I’m never going to stop apologizing.”
“I didn’t think so,” Jaeris toys with his new braids. “These are good. Get some shinies for next time.”
“Next time?” Linkara tries and fails to hide his excitement.
“Yeah, next time.”
Jaeris has no way of knowing that, months from now, this will become a kind of ritual with them. That eventually Margaret will join them every once in a while, curl up on the couch to watch movies, tell Jaeris she doesn’t mind if he wants to braid her hair because she knows why he stole her and understands, and that’s a night where Jaeris cries silently and they pretend not to notice.
The sadness won't last so long, because he won't be suffering through it alone