Azkadellia's Okay! Part 4: Cain Doesn't Move; Children Scream.
AUTHORS: andrealyn and luchia13
TITLE: Azkadellia's Okay! (With Ambrose and the Cains' help), Part 4: Cain Doesn't Move; Children Scream.
RATING: PG-13.
EVENTUAL PAIRING: Ambrose/Cain (or Cain/Ambrose, whatever), VERY FUTURE Az/OC, Jeb/OC/OC
DESCRIPTION: When the Witch picks another target, everything changes. Including switching out the Roboparents for Ambrose and the only Tin Man who knows what's going on (and his kid).
This Part: Jeb also takes over his school, Azkadellia continues to try and 'fix' other people's lives, Cain throws water balloons at her, and Ambrose is a lying liar who lies.
Part 1: Things Explode; Iceland Blamed.
Part 2: Pink House Purchased; Introductions Ensue.
Part 3: Fight In Classroom; Landslide Victory.
Azkadellia's Okay!
(With Ambrose and the Cains' help)
Part 4: Cain Doesn't Move; Children Scream.
It was a well-known fact that Jeb Cain was the Prince of the First Grade.
At least, that was what all the other kids in the class knew. The teachers just observed that he was charismatic, smart, and just eccentric enough to make people pay attention to him. He wasn’t the smartest child in the class, but he wasn’t stupid by any means and usually spent too much of a lesson chattering away with someone in the back rows until he was scolded for it and then he paid perfect attention. Everyone knew the boy’s father, of course, as it was hard to miss the fact that he was the Sheriff of their small town, and that earned Jeb even more respect amongst the legions of children.
He was athletic, he was well-groomed, and he was outspoken about the things he felt were wrong (and sounded very mature on particular subjects that had to do with violence in the world and how he thought it should stop and how they could stop it).
There really was nothing else in the world, however, like watching Jeb at recess.
Teachers from the school had begun to assemble to either smoke or just watch while watching the way the children gravitated from the concrete to wherever Jeb was. These days, he had taken to playing soccer, but he didn’t exactly know the rules, so he had just grabbed four arbitrary students and pulled them over. While the teachers couldn’t hear much of what he was saying, enough drifted their way to get the basic idea that what they were doing was playing a game that hadn’t existed before Jeb had decided to invent it.
“God help us when he gets older,” Mrs. Smith remarked, the teacher for the fourth grade who would one day be teaching him. “Worse, when he starts to realize what charisma and the talent he has at getting people to follow him.”
“Natural born leader in the making,” Miss Grayson agreed (his current teacher who had sent home a progress report with nothing but gold stars, apple-stickers, and enthusiastic comments to Wyatt Cain about a job well done by Jeb).
“You five can be on that team with me and the others! The others can play against us,” Jeb announced and the teachers listened to an intricate set of rules handed down and ascribed, Long and Important Titles given to each player that seemed to infuse each five to six year old with great respect for their task.
They played like this for fifteen minutes until the bell rang and though the teachers couldn’t see any logic or rules, the children seemed to be having an easy time knowing that you had to use your head and call out ‘Central!’ when the ball was rolled into one of the goalposts and that for every offense against another player, someone got a time-out in the ‘Emerald Box’ or the ‘Ruby Box’. And the points were tallied in ‘Leagues’.
The teachers didn’t hear the end of this new game for an entire week and it amazed them to think that it could have come solely from the imagination of one young boy.
“He’s a leader,” Miss Grayson insisted. “But a good one. Fair. Have you noticed that he includes everyone? He doesn’t bully any of the children, even if they’re little. He just gives them a task to do and acts like he’s twice his age.”
“Just like his father,” one of the male teachers remarked.
They discussed the subject of what could be done about keeping him from abusing the power he had, but it never did become necessary.
During Art class, he would draw paintings with barely any effort and very little talent to match, but then he would make up a lavish story to go along with it about balloons in the sky and storms that took you to other places. Then he would hang it up and go chatting with other people, giving them ideas for their own work.
During English, he paid careful attention and never once interrupted the teacher while he practiced printing. One day, he’d asked very seriously about mapmaking and when they were going to start learning about it and Miss Grayson hadn’t known what to do except laugh at the unexpected question. But Jeb didn’t laugh, just stared at her worriedly. “Does that mean we’re not going to learn it?” “No. Not here, Jeb.”
Math had been a mild issue at the beginning when he couldn’t grasp the mechanics, but one day he was overheard muttering to himself ‘…so if seven zipperheads get found by Tin Men and they beat five of them, only two run free!’ and he hadn’t had any trouble with addition or subtraction after that.
His worst subject was science, but then he crowed proudly about receiving tutoring from ‘Ambrose’ (who the teachers assumed was Professor Brown) and his grades made a marked increase, even if occasionally his homework was littered with little sketches and measurements that made no sense (after all, Moratanium couldn’t possibly be anything real).
And when it came to gym, Jeb was a shining star.
Miss Grayson had already passed word to the middle school and the high school that they had a captain in the making.
Jeb didn’t seem to notice that he was excelling. He just did his work and paid attention. He made friends and he volunteered to help the teachers whenever he could (which led to an avalanche effect of others offering help as well). And when he was praised, he never once puffed up. He just gave a modest nod and smiled while he said ‘thank you’ and every teacher at Baker Elementary could swear there never was a child more honest about being grateful for something so simple as a little praise for a job well done.
It seemed that whatever Cain’s initial worries were, he didn’t have to spend any more time practicing with Jeb. They were both fitting in perfectly.
--
Azkadellia had been following around Wyatt Cain with a purpose for almost two whole weeks now. At least, that was how Cain had assessed the situation. She had a most definite stride in her walk and the look on her face was calculating and shrewd, so much so that more than once he’d asked if she had plans to topple Baker’s police structure because he’d have to do something about that, then.
-- not grounding her, though, because the last time he had tried to do that over a misbehavior, she had shouted at him, Ambrose had looked like he’d been slapped and Jeb started to shout too as if solidarity would help Azkadellia’s case.
So Cain knew better now than to ground Azkadellia (as she had made so abundantly clear, he was not her father) but he still was prone to questioning her and teasing her when it came to things. Lately, he’d been giving her and Jeb more attention, just so he didn’t have to pay mind to Ambrose’s little dalliance with Jane Walker. It wasn’t that he disliked the woman, it wasn’t that he thought it a bad idea. He just never was the sort of man who liked to have that thing shoved in his face.
That was why it irritated him so much. That and the sheer fact that Ambrose seemed to be winning when it came to the task of adjusting to the Otherside. Even though it had been more than enough time for him to move on from Adora (or at least, that was what every woman he knew told him), he hadn’t. He’d just stayed stagnant and lived his little life with Azkadellia and Ambrose, had raised Jeb to be the best young man he could be, and he worked hard.
Ambrose was dating and it looked to be successful. He could only imagine having to pull him aside if it got too serious to remind him of their task there and how fooling around with professors was going to lead to heartbreak.
That or they’d have an additional party going back to the O.Z. Cain really wished his stomach didn’t turn painfully at the thought of all their plans going awry because of a little romance and he wished more than that that he could blame all his distaste about the matter on that.
“Princess,” Cain snapped tersely at breakfast one morning as he served Jeb and Az bacon and eggs that he had cooked, wrapping up a plate for Ambrose to eat when he eventually woke up. “The humming’s a bit disconcerting and the staring’s worse. What’s going on?” The toast popped up cheerfully from the toaster and he buttered it up for the both of them, handing a plate to Jeb (who was sitting at the table and playing with a toy-horse as he swung his legs back and forth) and one to Az (who smiled sweetly at him and made him doubly suspicious).
She sat down and helped Jeb cut up his bacon while peering up at him, her nightshirt concealing much of the changes she’d been going through from girl to young woman. “I was just thinking,” she said, accepting the glasses of juice that Cain held out. She sipped at it precariously, licking a droplet of juice from her upper lip. “Now that Ambrose is dating, there’s no reason at all that you shouldn’t either.”
Cain held his tongue even if he was ready to insist there were plenty of reasons.
“And I really like Annie, you know. She’s very sweet and she seems to understand you.”
“She makes good pies,” Jeb added his vote of assessment. Usually, she dropped off a pie with the Cain family every Friday on her way home. Cain had insisted early in that she didn’t need to do that, but she’d just replied with something along the lines of ‘buttering up the Sheriff to keep my job’ in a teasing way. And then she just kept bringing the pies for Cain and the deputies, both. It didn’t matter how often he assured her that she’d keep her job, she kept doing it.
Cain just did his best to ignore both the children while turning to keep his attention out the window. He’d not prepared himself anything to eat because he’d eaten before his morning’s run through the streets, taking to this ‘jogging’ activity to keep in shape. Instead of reacting to Azkadellia’s obvious baiting of him, he managed to get the food on a plate for Ambrose and when it was cool enough, wrapped it tightly and put it atop a copy of the daily newspaper and a few of the latest economic and business magazines.
“I’m not asking Annie out, kid,” Cain said apologetically, giving Azkadellia as stern a look as they came. “Sorry to burst your bubble.”
“But!”
“No.”
“Mr. Cain,” Azkadellia sighed. “I don’t want to intrude, I just think you’d be so much happier if you had someone the way Ambrose does, now.” And she didn’t even sound like she was intruding. All she sounded like was a girl who was upset because Cain didn’t have himself a girlfriend.
There was one easy way to end this argument and Cain knew it was low, knew it was something very wrong to bring up, but he didn’t fancy having this discussion over every meal. And worse, he didn’t want to have this conversation when Ambrose was around to hear and, gods-forbid, contribute to it.
“Jeb, when you’re done your breakfast, why don’t you tell Azkadellia about your Mother some,” he said simply, eyes never once leaving Azkadellia. “I appreciate your concern, Princess, but when it comes time…if it ever comes time that I decide I want to date again, I’ll pick who I ask out on my own. I get that you won whatever little happiness you got from putting Ambrose together with Professor Walker, but it’s not always that simple.”
Especially in cases like this where Cain himself didn’t understand what in hell was going on with him.
“I’m sorry,” Azkadellia apologized, looking abashed and immediately ashamed of what she’d been doing and that just wracked the guilt right up with Cain so fast and hard that he regretted ever chewing her out to begin with (even if it had needed to be done). “I just thought it might make you happier.”
Cain sighed and sank down into the chair next to Azkadellia, running an affectionate hand over the wisps of her long hair while bringing her closer to press a paternal kiss to the top of her head. “Maybe one day,” he admitted, “I’ll decide I want to try dating Annie, but I don’t think she’s the one for me right now.”
“Will you tell us when there is a ‘one’?” Azkadellia asked simply, referring to her and Jeb because there was no other ‘us’ she could have meant.
“Soon as it gets serious, of course,” Cain agreed.
They ate the rest of their breakfast in peace and quiet and after getting changed for school, Cain walked them each to the front door of their respective schools (receiving a hug apiece for his trouble). He was into work by nine in the morning whereupon Annie smiled at him, noting that he looked a bit haggard.
“You look like you’ve already worked a day, Sheriff,” she observed as she handed him a cup of coffee.
“One kid was work,” Cain mumbled, blowing lightly on the liquid to cool it off. “Two’s starting to feel like constant overtime.” Never mind the fact that he loved it and would never give it up, but there were some days that he began to wonder just how many mornings like that he could take.
Maybe Ambrose had the right idea in dating. It got Azkadellia off his back about the subject and got himself out of the house.
Cain glanced Annie’s way while she shuffled through some of the paperwork and began distributing the day’s work, offering a very sweet smile in Cain’s way as she brushed back a strand of her dirty-blonde hair. However much Cain wanted the pressure off of his back, he couldn’t do something like that to Annie, not when his heart lay elsewhere.
--
The idea for the afternoon had come about when Cain realized that for a young girl, Azkadellia was too serious most of the time (which was a bit hypocritical coming from a man as serious as Wyatt Cain, ‘serious as a heart attack’ some of Baker said about him). Even if he only lightened up once or twice a week, he didn’t see any reason why Azkadellia should miss out on a good laugh or smile. That was why he’d instructed her to change into the simplest clothes she had, ones she wouldn’t mind getting dirty.
Cain had done the same and had dressed Jeb in a pair of ripped-denims and a ratty old t-shirt before heading to the backyard with a bucket of something very carefully planned for their spring afternoon.
Jeb had been running back and forth to get everything set up (or so he said), but Cain knew he was mostly scouting out all the best positions of attack. And he might have been doing so because Cain had encouraged him to do it.
Eventually, Azkadellia made her way outside in a pair of paint-splattered overalls and a black t-shirt beneath, her hair tied in a simple ponytail and for the first time since he’d met her, she resembled a normal-looking little girl.
Cain was in trouble - though he wasn’t about to realize it yet - because he was starting to feel affection for her on par with how most fathers felt for their daughters. She smoothed her hands awkwardly on the overalls and smiled warily. “Well, I’m here,” she announced, looking between Jeb and Cain. “What are we doing?”
Cain gave one glance up to the window that overlooked the backyard and caught Ambrose’s eye for a brief moment, just long enough to share a wink with the man. Part of him wanted him to join the fun, but Cain knew well enough that this was time for just him and the kids.
Cain crouched over into the box and pried out a water-filled colorful balloon with one hand, letting it roll back and forth in his hand and slowly, ever so slowly, a smug smile grew on his face that only turned into a laugh when Jeb let out a playful shout and began to run away and Azkadellia followed suit with a giddy shriek, avoiding the gentle lob of the balloon that Cain gave - not intending to actually hit either of them. It was just intended to get the spirit of the game going and he started to wander his way around the box.
“There are two more boxes like that in the yard,” he shouted out to them, but it looked like he didn’t even need to do that much because Azkadellia was pelting Jeb with a well-placed balloon. They were close in proximity and Jeb didn’t seem to have a problem pelting right back and that devolved into a one-on-one water balloon pelting contest for some time before they both realized they could turn on Cain.
Azkadellia’s face lit up with a sly grin. “Get him!” she announced with a giddy laugh and Jeb took it as a command, charging forward and jumping up at Cain, forcing his father to catch him in his arms with a surprised ‘whoa!’
And while he was busy making sure Jeb didn’t fall to the ground, he was smashing the water balloon atop Cain’s head while Azkadellia lobbed a wobbly balloon at his back, thoroughly soaking Cain from about head to waist (at least, after four rounds from Azkadellia).
And then through a sheer team-effort, they managed to pin Cain to the ground with a barrage of constant water balloons to the point that he was grinning and grasped one from the bucket of water-balloons that had spilled to the side.
He got ready. He aimed. And he fired. It splashed against Jeb’s shoulder and soaked Azkadellia’s left side from the tip of her hair to neck. She let out a happy shriek and on this went for nearly an hour until the sun began to dip in the sky and the temperature began to climb too low to still be playing outside. Jeb seemed to be the dirtiest of all, though neither of the other two had any idea how that might have happened seeing as Cain had been the one against the dusty ground while being pelted with water balloons.
Cain escorted them both inside, Azkadellia riding piggy-back and Jeb holding onto Cain’s hand as they made their way back into the house and took their dirty shoes and socks off so they wouldn’t track anything in.
“See, it was still dignified,” Cain insisted of the piggy-back, which had been long-protested by Azkadellia as ‘unfit for a young woman of her stature’. “Besides, what good am I if I can’t give you a lift now and then?”
Azkadellia’s hair was frizzy, out of the ponytail and her overalls were splattered in damp patches and dirt, but she was beaming away happily and she nearly launched herself at Cain to hug him tightly, whispering a ‘thank you’ to him that only they both could hear.
She eased back and tucked her wayward strands of hair behind her ears, spinning on her bare feet to go stomping through the house. “Ambrose!” she shouted, hurrying to find him while Cain turned to Jeb and gave him a onceover accompanied with a long sigh.
“What?” Jeb asked, enthusiastically.
“You’re a mess, kid,” Cain assessed, shaking his head. “All right, into the bath with you before dinner.”
“Will Duck-Duck come?”
Duck-Duck was a yellow-rubber-duck that Cain had given Jeb one day because they had gotten them from some distributor who was new in town and the toy had been cute enough to keep, or so Azkadellia had said. Jeb only seemed to enjoy it in the bath because of the adventures he could invent that had to do with the duck escaping mobats and rogue Papay. “Sure,” Cain agreed, lifting Jeb by the waist and hauling him up the stairs to draw a bath and dump him in. Maybe, just maybe, that layer of dirt on Jeb’s skin wouldn’t turn permanent.
With the door open in the bathroom, Cain could just faintly overhear Azkadellia’s excited retelling of their afternoon and that was all the reaction Cain needed to know he’d been successful in the day’s work.
“Can we do it again next week?” Jeb asked, suppressing a yawn as he splashed the increasing water-level in the tub.
“If you’re good,” Cain agreed.
It was more than just a game, not that the kids knew it yet. Cain suspected Ambrose would understand the true motivation to the game. Not only did it increase their aim, but it got each of them ready for the idea of having to fight for themselves when it came time to go back to the middle of a fray they were lucky enough to escape. Points of attack, evasion, and good physical shape were important and Cain wasn’t about to let Jeb or Azkadellia stumble back into the O.Z. without having those skills and a hell of a lot more.
Lucky for Cain, the carnival was coming back to town soon enough and he could easily slip Azkadellia away from Ambrose to get her to the shooting gallery and teach her how to wield a gun.
“Next week, then,” Jeb agreed.
And so, it became a weekly staple in the ‘Brown’-Cain household that on Saturday afternoons, the three of them stood in the backyard and pelted each other silly with water balloons until the sun went down.
--
The date had been going well. It had been honestly, truly going well. Excellent conversation, a good dinner, a good-looking woman who was intelligent, funny, already adored Azkadellia and the Cains, someone he could honestly probably sit around and chat with until the Eclipse showed up and he had to actually go do something other than...whatever you called this. He didn't even know what to call it. It had been what, four dates by now? All had gone great, all of them had been enjoyable, and he still kept pausing at even the goodnight kiss at her apartment's door.
All these intentions and goals he'd had when he came with Azkadellia to the Otherside had seemed to vanish, leaving him stuck with a job he loved, a house he lived in happily, a motley excuse for a family unit inside of it, and the reasonable, logical addition would be a someone. Azkadellia had suggested Jane. Jane was a good choice, good match, good woman and person in general. He'd honestly liked the idea, considering they'd been good friends.
But now Ambrose had just walked himself home all the way from the fourth cozy, 'mood'-perfect restaurant and was staring at the house, only to find his eyes drawn back to what was now considered Cain's Little Pink House. And for some indistinguishable reason, he was angry. Furious, even, and he found himself storming through the side-door, glaring at Cain, and pointing at him vindictively.
" “YOU! This...this is all your fault for some reason!” " he shouted, slamming the door behind him.
Cain had been in the middle of going through paperwork and he tiredly looked up from what he was doing, the exhaustion showing in bags under his eyes. He rose to his feet, pushing up the sleeves of his t-shirt as he studied Ambrose, shaking his head. "Weren't you just on a date?" he asked, the tone sounding a little bitter. "How is that possibly my fault," he went on, tone still acrid, "when you keep asking her out?"
It wasn't that Cain wanted to date (as he had already had this conversation with both Azkadellia and Jeb). No, the bitterness stemmed from elsewhere and it was a place that Cain was beginning to understand more about. Nonetheless, he went to the door and made sure it was locked so that the kids wouldn't come asking what was going on. But then, they had to be used to the shouting by now.
"I don't know how it's your fault, but I know it is! Somehow!" Ambrose shouted. He knew he sounded insane, but he just knew somehow, knew that there was some way that Cain had figured out some way to ruin what should be a great thing, a perfect match, all those things that were supposed to make a healthy, stable, happy relationship. All those things he'd had to keep telling the Queen she'd manage with Ahamo eventually when things got bad for them.
He glared even harder, almost wishing he could make Cain's head explode if he put enough effort into it. "And I'd still be on a date if it weren't for whatever you've managed to do to me! Az likes her, I like her, even you and Jeb like her, but I can't do any more than just kiss her on the lips!" Ambrose didn't realize it, being so caught up in his anger, but he was pointing again. "You and your...your Cain-ness and the fights and kids!"
Ambrose had absolutely no idea what he was saying. Sure, he'd had some wine, but not enough to be drunk or even kind of tipsy. But this much anger was about as good as four bottles of vodka apparently, because Ambrose literally stamped his foot on the floor, acting more immature than Jeb ever had (aside from the fact Ambrose still looked ready to break Cain's neck, which only an adult could ever really pull off). "It's your fault, Cain, and I want you to fix it!"
Cain was extremely close to putting Ambrose to bed and if it had to be the nearest possible one, it would be. Cain just rubbed his eyes as he shook his head, not even knowing where to begin and it took a great length of time for Cain to speak at all. It was mostly because Ambrose was coming off like an immature child and that left him unable to do anything but stare tiredly.
Because it was late and Cain had made dinner and helped with homework and had his own work to do and the last thing he needed was this. So, instead of saying anything at all, his fingers moved to his forehead and massaged the forming-wrinkles there a few times and he wandered his way back to the desk. "I'm not fighting anymore," he did say, picking up his pencil and making a point of remaining calm. "It's not a good environment for Jeb or Az, so I think you and I ought to make a concerted effort to get along for their sakes."
"I already was," Ambrose said dryly, almost growling. "And I'm not asking you for a fight! I want to just...I don't even know!" He ran a hand through his hair, pacing in a tiny circle (which was actually a seven-pointed star but he wasn't about to point that out to anyone, they already thought he was strange enough usually) and trying to push all the anger aside and think. He took a deep breath, looking straight at Cain and trying very hard to not glare. "Alright. No fighting. And if all else fails we can just go out in the backyard in the middle of the night and punch each other to death." The hand was back in his hair, pacing in his little star one more time. "But...I've been trying, Cain. I really have. Everyone else likes Jane! I like Jane! It makes no sense!"
It was good that Ambrose was pacing. It meant that he couldn't see the quiet relief on Cain's face that came from the admission that things weren't perfect. He set the papers aside with clips and made sure they were good and out of the way on his small desk with the little lamp in the corner, then he got up to cut off Ambrose's pacing path, angling him just slightly more towards the wall.
"I know you've been trying, it's clear as day," he agreed calmly, voice kept hushed to a softness that Ambrose had probably only ever heard before with the kids.
And then came the moment Cain knew he had to just do or otherwise regret forever. With Azkadellia older now, with Jeb becoming more independent, there was time for Ambrose to have these dates and for Cain to think about many a thing. And when he had spoken to Azkadellia about dating, he hadn't been lying when he said he didn't want to date Annie. He didn't. That didn't mean he wasn't pushing Ambrose against the wall with a graceful hand, cupping his cheek with the other hand and leaning in with hot and heavy lips pressed against the other man's, instantly demanding and brushing against Ambrose's (even if Cain's were chapped and dry from the lack of humidity). It felt good to pour out all that need for something into a kiss like that and it showed in Cain's enthusiasm.
Cain leaned back and immediately after, he did three things. He licked his lips, he made a quiet comment about the wine, and then he went right back to his paperwork.
Absolutely nothing made sense. Nothing. None of it made any damned sense, but it felt right at the moment.
Ambrose was honestly wondering if someone had managed to drug his meal. He was still up against the wall, eyes half closed, trying to figure out what the hell was going on when clearly that was impossible, because nothing made sense, and he was doing illogical syllogisms in his head when Cain had kissed him just about four seconds ago. And while Ambrose's mind was practically a ball of twine being batted around by the vicious kitten that was recent events, his mouth was actually talking about the nice merlot and how Jane had bought more and taken the bottle home it was so good.
Finally his mouth seemed to shut itself up, and Ambrose just stared at Cain, Cain and his paperwork and...Cain. Which brought up a very good question, or at least one that was good in Ambrose's brilliant mind. He frowned, looking at Cain, utterly confused. "Why do you always make me act like an idiot?"
Cain leaned back in his chair, rocking it back and forth and listening about the merlot, clearly not wanting to hear about the bottle taken home because it implied where things might have led to. "I wasn't aware it was an exclusive-to-me kind of thing," Cain said with the slightest of smiles. He checked his watch and rose to his feet again, nodding to the door. "Come on," he encouraged quietly. "They're going to worry if you're not back inside the house at appropriate curfew hour."
"Oh, it's definitely exclusive to you, Cain, and I have no idea why. I went through most of my life without losing my temper and you show up and I've got the shortest fuse I've ever heard of," Ambrose said distantly, already nodding.
The Kids trumped just about everything in his head, so he ended up with his hand in his hair again as he nodded, and took a step towards the door. And then turned to look at Cain. And then he went back for the door, twisting the doorknob and frowning. He tried again, and it still didn't work. "...see, it's definitely just you because I can't even open the door right now."
Cain was smiling and it almost looked like he couldn't help it as he wandered closer and, still smiling openly, leaned around Ambrose and flipped the lock so it would open and shut easily. He even went so far as to give a demonstration with the door handle, jiggling it up and down.
He was inches away from Ambrose, but he had the self-control to not do anything stupid. So he just kept smiling at him and took a step back, resting his hands in the hem of his sweats. "It was locked, sweetheart," he pointed out wryly.
"...oh," Ambrose managed to get out, and shook his head. "Right. Okay. Goodnight, Cain, good luck with the paperwork, be sure to get some sleep though."
The kids would be watching for him, or at least Azkadellia would be, he was tired, he needed to sleep since he had classes and work and things to do tomorrow, so he nodded and walked out the door.
He made it about three steps before he froze and hissed out some good profanity when he realized Cain had called him sweetheart and he hadn't objected.
--
Ambrose knew she’d be waiting. When he’d opened the door to the house - the front door - he’d seen the light in her room flick off. This was the fourth time or so, and he already knew the routine. Ignoring…recent events, he locked the door behind him and headed upstairs and into bed, making sure he wore a shirt to bed. He’d forgotten that the first time and learned his lesson very well. Evening rituals over, he sighed and climbed into his bed, arms curling around the pillow.
Three minutes, and he was out, dreaming of Finaqua being right behind Sordonmill and his huge chalkboard as the man spat out equations that made absolutely no sense, finally dissolving into questions like “What would win - an immoveable object, or an unstoppable force?” while a seventeen-year-old him scribbled frantically away in a notebook that kept slipping to the side, making him write every word on top of every other in one spot on the paper, and he kept hearing the two little princesses laughing and playing behind the board, but Sordonmill had that pointer of his that was more like a whipping switch and kept smacking Ambrose in the arm when he tried to see past the false syllogisms and catch sight of the girls, except there was Jeb and Cain laughing back there too, and Sordonmill just kept going with his “Could an all-powerful god make a sandwich so big that even he couldn’t eat it?” questions, but he wanted out of the damn desk, wanted to get over to the laughter-
“So how did it go?”
Ambrose sighed into his pillow. Just like the other four times. He glanced up to see Azkadellia already up, doing her hair as efficiently and elegantly as ever, wearing her green dress today. He glanced at the clock. It was six AM on the dot. His alarm went off at six and five minutes, so he just shut the thing off and sat up in bed, rubbing a hand over his eyes.
“It was a very nice dinner, and Jane bought the merlot and took it back to her apartment, and since you’re thirteen that’s all the detail you get,” Ambrose said simply, rubbing at his arm. He hated dreams with that stupid professor in them, and he always ended up being horribly lenient to his own students as if it could compensate for the dream of last night.
“I’m at least old enough to know more than that she bought wine and you had dinner,” Azkadellia said idly, looking around his overly neat room. It was neat because he was only ever in here to sleep and change, and he didn’t like his things getting wrinkled. “Did you kiss her?”
“Yes.” He was used to this part by now, but that didn’t mean he had to act like an adult. He was tired and didn’t want to talk about it, so he sighed and fell to the side, head falling on top of the other pillow.
“And you’re going out again?”
“Yes. To some sort of fair.” Ambrose spoke into the pillow.
“Do you love her yet?”
“I enjoy her company, and love doesn’t work like that.”
“Well, the…kissing,” she said. “Did you really, really enjoy kissing her last night? At least one kiss?”
Ambrose knew he couldn’t suffocate himself with the pillowcase, because then she’d have nobody but the Cains to look after her. It was still tempting, though. “I…” He cleared his throat. “Yes, at least one kiss. Now I need to get dressed.”
Azkadellia knew he was trying to throw her out as politely as possible, and for once she simply nodded and left, closing the door behind her. Ambrose took the moment to scream into the pillow and then get up.
The rest of his room was tidy and clean, sure, but the bed was a rumpled, lumpy mess. He didn’t make the bed, didn’t even smooth down the lump, because that was how he liked it. At least one part of the bedroom looked like it was in actual use then. Ambrose took a shower, got dressed, and had some cereal for breakfast, looking at absolutely nobody who would remain nameless and feeling stupidly tired, but he walked Azkadellia to school, holding her hand.
“I really do like Jane, Ambrose,” she said, giving him that small, sweet kiss on the cheek before heading into the school, where people immediately both made room for her entrance and joined her, one step behind and to the right, only an anxious-looking girl walking at her actual side.
He smiled all the way until she was officially in the building, when he sighed and shook his head. “And that’s the problem, Az,” he grumbled, and started walking towards his own school.
--
Pow. Powpowpowpow. Pow.
With not a single exception, each shot had gone about three inches astray of all their targets. Cain stood slightly behind Azkadellia and he kept an eye on her stance with the gun, not saying a word while she took her shots, even if he wanted to step in and reposition her right hand, her stance, and give her a couple of tips about lining up the scope. She needed to learn slowly and there wasn’t a rush.
Well, besides getting away from the insanely irritating carnival music coming from the carousel beside them, that was.
Jeb was licking a stick of cotton candy while he tried to hold onto a stuffed-bear twice his size that he’d just won at the same game. Cain hadn’t given the game a try, thinking it wouldn’t be fair exactly, taking the prizes from other kids who wanted to earn them.
“I missed,” Azkadellia sighed, staring forward at the intact targets, a forlorn look on her face.
Cain didn’t make any comments since he doubted the Princess would appreciate it. He wasn’t about to be sympathetic so much as he was ready to just make an even remark about the fact that yes, she did in fact miss and required a lot more practice. Jeb was too occupied with the pink cotton candy to say the same thing. They had time, though, and lots of it.
Ambrose was somewhere at the carnival with Jane on what was their sixth date by now and the whole thing was still awkward, so Cain had made sure to get Az and Jeb and take responsibility for them.
They’d already spent many tickets on the Tilt-A-Whirl and Azkadellia had even persuaded Cain to join them after two rides on the thing. They had enjoyed caramel apples, corn dogs, slushy drinks, and cotton candy and had passed the small roller coaster as well as spent time in the haunted house - wherein Azkadellia clutched Cain’s coat tightly with her slender fingers and Jeb kept pretending to be the big strong protector of all of them. When Cain was sure Ambrose wasn’t about to just pop out of some corner, he’d sidled Azkadellia over to the shooting gallery, set her up with a ten-gauge and began to teach her. Unfortunately, just as she’d pointed out, she’d missed every single target.
If they were back in the O.Z., that wouldn’t be very good news in a fight.
“S’the scope,” Jeb contributed helpfully, taking an extremely long lick of the cotton candy and dyeing his tongue a deep color of pink, almost a rich raspberry red. “And the kickback is also what’s making you miss.” He sounded about ten annuals older than he was while relaying advice. Azkadellia kept fiddling with the gun so much that Cain started to worry that she was a step away from dismantling it with her magic. She even had herself a little bit of a light glowing from her palm, which kicked Cain into action. He leaned over to pry the gun from her hands, one palm going to the small of her back to gently guide her in between him and the booth to protect her.
“Do I have to?” she sighed, when Cain began reloading and checking the gun’s scope for accuracy as well as settling it in the right position in Azkadellia’s hands. “Mr. Cain, we could go have ice cream instead!”
“Jeb, would you rather see Az win a prize or have ice cream?” Cain asked patiently, still guiding Azkadellia’s hands to the right position, leaning behind her carefully before taking a step back and putting each of his hands on her shoulder to steady her for the kickback of the shot, so she would understand how much resistance she had to give after she fired.
“Prize!” Jeb easily announced. “Then ice cream to celebrate. Maybe we can find Ambrose and Miss Jane so they can have ice cream with us?”
“Maybe,” Cain grunted evenly at the suggestion. Truth was, he didn’t want to leave until Azkadellia could at least hit fifty percent of the targets, being that she looked deflated in terms of confidence and he didn’t want to take her home when she wasn’t feeling so good about either herself or her talents. Besides, he wasn’t in the mood to feel like a third wheel on Ambrose and Jane’s date, especially not when that third wheel had a habit of kissing Ambrose inappropriately.
Azkadellia glanced over her shoulder, eyes resting on Cain’s hands upon her and for a long moment, Cain expected to hear a comment about removing them or how it was improper for a Tin Man to be so close with a Princess, but instead of saying anything, Cain just felt the most gradual of shifts back into his arms and she closed her eyes tightly when the shot went off. Then another, and another, and she continued until she had used up all the prescribed rounds.
She’d hit about twenty-percent of the targets this time.
“I think it’s rigged,” she remarked thoughtfully, inspecting many aspects of the booth and the weapon, as if there was a secret method of using it lying behind the technical aspect of the machinery. “Will you show me, Mr. Cain? Maybe win me a prize? Just so I know that the game isn’t just uneven.”
Cain wanted to point out that Jeb had already aced the game, but there was more to the question than a simple request. Cain had noticed that in the last few minutes, a small crowd of townsfolk and Azkadellia’s friends had begun to amass and the all-too-clear message was that if she continued on, she might lose an ounce or two of respect from these people. He exchanged a long look with her and they might as well have been telepathic for how easy it was becoming to read each other’s proud and stoic expressions. Neither of them really thought it out of the ordinary that they could so easily pick up on what the other was thinking. After all, they had known each other for some time.
Please, Mr. Cain? I don’t want to fail, not in front of them.
You owe me one, kid. You know I hate getting this kind of attention.
I promise. Thank you. Thank you a thousand times.
There was also a look in her eyes that Cain couldn’t decipher, but reminded him of how Jeb sometimes looked at him when he was doing a favor, so he dismissed it for the moment and let himself focus on the moving targets dancing in front of him. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the energy of the crowd around him - some excitement, some nerves, some other things he couldn’t place - and he pretended that he was back in the O.Z. and he had to fire on a threat; maybe a wayward mobat from one of the caves in the South.
Ten targets in front of Wyatt Cain and not a single one escaped Cain’s aim.
He barely heard anything around him and it was almost as if he had tuned out, let himself fade and go somewhere else. It took Azkadellia’s hand on his arm and the kiss to his cheek as she remarked a proud ‘My Hero’ at him, while accepting the giant teddy bear. “Yeah, yeah,” Cain said, trying to pass it off like it was nothing he cared about, but that didn’t explain away the color in his cheeks that rose at Azkadellia’s joy.
She wrapped her arms firmly around the giant bear, hugging it fondly and her intricate hair atop the bear’s head made it a sight that Cain wished he could capture in time. In the distance, he could see Ambrose and Jane holding hands, speaking almost intimately about something or other and he turned his attention back to Azkadellia and kept an eye on the crowd around them.
“You’re not getting out of learning,” he warned, in a just-between-them tone of voice. “If we don’t learn here, we’ll go out back and pull plates.”
“Ambrose won’t be very happy,” Azkadellia murmured, but there was a mischievous smile on her face. “Can we bring out those terrible ones? The pink-bordered ones?” They often blinded their eyes at dinner and Jeb had a habit of moving his food to cover the border, just so he wouldn’t have to look at it.
“You got it, Princess,” he agreed.
Most people who ever overheard the name found it affectionate and very much endearing of the Sheriff, that he would care so much about a girl he was neither related to or responsible for - as far as they knew. But no one ever really looked at in the literal sense that it was meant in. Jeb handed his giant bear up to Cain for him to carry, wordlessly expecting as much and really, there was no doubt that Cain would oblige his son.
Arm in arm with Azkadellia and a giant teddy bear - Jeb leading the way before them - Cain began to head towards Ambrose’s direction, intending to drop off the kids while he checked with a couple of people from the department that he had last seen by the ticket booth. But when he caught sight of Ambrose giving Jane a kiss on the lips (chaste as it was), he froze and turned, glancing for something else to do so the two could have their privacy.
“Hey Jeb, bumper cars?” he suggested. The rousing agreement lifted Cain’s spirits and he slowly pried Azkadellia’s prize from her hands. “Go on,” he encouraged. “Figure you might as well start practicing driving, seeing as we’ll be getting a truck soon enough.”
“Really?” Azkadellia asked, more shocked than pleased. “Who’s planning on purchasing it? You?”
Cain gave a silent nod. “Can’t resist the Otherside ways forever,” he admitted and watched as Jeb and Azkadellia ran eagerly to join the line of children (and the occasional adult) waiting to play bumper cars. Standing there and flanked by two giant stuffed teddy bears, Cain must have been a sight.
What was also a sight was watching Jeb’s sheer determination to bump every single person and Azkadellia’s uncanny ability to evade with graceful driving.
And that was what Cain preferred to watch and not whatever Ambrose was doing with Jane Walker just over his shoulder.
--
The small car-hold that Cain had progressively made into a home over the last annual had seen many changes. Almost immediately, he’d slapped on a coat of grey-green paint on the walls to accompany the wide-spread purchase of the pine furniture, homemade in a nearby town and purchased at a flea market. He’d even gone so far as to sketch a couple of very crude drawings of home and the O.Z., more architectural than artistic.
Lately, there were clippings of newspapers strewn across the floor and taped to the walls, all of affordable housing for himself and Jeb. After nearly an annual, it was time to get a move on, as much as he hated to leave Azkadellia behind. She always, always pouted every time he brought up the inevitable. Nonetheless, he couldn't stay forever. Especially not with things getting as complicated as they were with the dating situation and with the way that Cain had done...possibly regrettable things.
It was at Azkadellia's well-argued concerns that Ambrose found himself knocking on the door to Cain's Little Pink House, already bracing himself for a fight. They'd been living up to their effort to not fight in front of the kids, but all that had happened was minimal conversation, occasional staring on Ambrose's part, and entirely to-the-point talks when they needed to say something.
As soon as the door opened, Ambrose began his practiced speech. He started it, got through "I understand and can empathize with why you want to leave" and then stopped. He cleared his throat. He looked at anything and everything but Cain, and sighed, closing his eyes. "We don't want you to leave, and if I have to I'll talk you into the floor about this."
He consoled himself with the thought that it was the most civil opening statement to a potentially explosive fight he'd ever heard. Besides, he'd hated the lack of...well, Cain. If they had to bicker and punch each other to talk, fine. He'd rather have that anyway, to be honest.
Cain had picked up a couple of papers on his way to open the door and the small effort had mostly cleared up a small little path. He had them in his hands when Ambrose began talking and set them aside -- a couple of townhomes, bungalows, and one little condo by the pictures -- before inviting Ambrose in with little more than a brief nod to the sitting area of a loveseat and chair.
"We always knew this was temporary," he reminded Ambrose. "Now, with things the way they are, I'm beginning to think maybe it's our presence here that's ruining some things," he said, very carefully, dancing around the subject of what happened with Jane without saying a single word about it.
With Ambrose's avoidance flung out the window, he ended up staring at the mess in the room. "Gods, you turned your determination into a tornado or something," he gaped, but sat on the loveseat with just as much grace and dignity as he always ended up using with the things he never really thought about. He frowned up at Cain. "Please tell me this only started today."
"Two days ago," Cain clarified, standing rather than sitting because he always felt more in control if he had the floor. And besides, he never could relax in a sit. He was perpetually on the edge of a seat, to the point that there were often comments about it.
Ambrose pulled one of the papers off and looking at the townhouse which, really, was pretty nice. Decently priced, a bit closer to Cain's work than the house...he immediately didn't like it. "It was temporary when Azkadellia didn't keep accidentally slipping up and calling Jeb her little brother." He paused. "And I doubt you moving would change any of those things." If Cain wanted to avoid saying 'you have the most obviously failing relationship ever seen with Jane and you both know it'? That was fine. They'd practically given up anyway; the dates were more friendly get-togethers by now, after all, not that he'd told anyone that. Especially Azkadellia.
"It's not running," Cain said calmly. "But I do think it needs consideration. I'd still be in town," he pointed out, listing off all the reasons he'd put together on that big list taped by the door. "And Baker's small enough to begin with, so it isn't like we wouldn't be near. Jeb can stay here after school until I pick him up anyhow. Ambrose, you 'doubt' that me moving out would change things. You don’t know," he said.
He sighed and kept going around the room to clean up the papers and stack them in categorized piles, trying to continue on patiently.
"I've got checks for you for the rent through the year, so it wouldn't be a financial bind for you."
"Your rent was ten dollars a month, and you already paid it by making dinner a few times," Ambrose said blandly. "Plus we should probably be paying you, considering it was the Queen who sent you here to watch our backs. I'd honestly be insulted if you tried to pay rent, so don't try." Plus Ambrose made about a third more money than Cain did, but that wasn't exactly a good thing to bring up.
"Yeah, well, you ought to let me pay more rent," he muttered under his breath. "Ambrose, it's not fair if we don't try. I've got myself a uh, a movie-date with Miss Miller, the young woman from the school, the teacher?" he reminded Ambrose and he damn well near looked hopeful.
He leaned a bit more into the loveseat, frowning. "I'm happy for you, but what are we 'trying' for exactly, Cain?" He glared. "I'll let Azkadellia actually tie you to a chair and team up with Jeb to guilt you into staying at this rate. Do you have a genuine excuse to yank your son away? Azkadellia adores you both, I care an awful lot about Jeb, and I'm...well." He grinned, holding back a snicker. "I like you enough to let you kiss me and not knock you unconscious, so that probably means I wouldn't mind you sticking around."
"And that last part is just why. We're not a family, Ambrose. We work together, I love her like a daughter, but we're not," he said. "And the clarity of that is something I could use. Especially now that Jeb's in such a malleable age."
"You love her like a daughter, but you're not family?" Ambrose gaped at him, and then glared, furious. "Cain, a family isn't just blood! You need clarity, well here it is! Azkadellia loves you, and Jeb, and those stupid water balloon fights, and the way you can make her a strong girl instead of a princess, since that seems all I can ever manage." He took a deep breath, hating what he was about to say. "...Cain, I need you two to stay. We need you to stay."
He could have replied with something and they both knew it, but Cain stopped for a long moment and just shook his head, wandering over to sit on the coffee table in front of Ambrose. He lowered his head to try and catch his attention, maybe even just a glimmer of eye contact. "She adores you with all her heart," he said, low and serious. "And you make her a hell of a lot more than a Princess. You help make her into the next great leader of the O.Z. and she's barely even a young woman, gods’ sake!" Cain paused, then looked Ambrose up and down slowly, needing to lighten the conversation and so he harkened back to what Ambrose had said before, about the kiss. "You knock everyone unconscious that kisses you, because I think I'm starting to see why you and Jane have issues."
Ambrose paused, and raised an eyebrow at Cain as he thought back to the days back at Court in the O.Z. The intrigue all ended up as kiss or kill at the finish, so he just shook his head and ignored the past, reminding himself this was the Otherside and the only politics he had to deal with were in his lecture hall. "Only when I know they're after something. I still have no idea why you did it, but I'm being nice and not asking, considering I doubt you want to have sex with me in hopes to get a word in with the Queen."
"I don't need to sleep with you to get a word in with the Queen, seeing as I'm doing a pretty damn good job on her personal errand," Cain said, a hand resting on top of the stack of newspaper ads and sales brochures he'd been amassing.
"It never worked anyway," Ambrose sighed, putting a hand over his eyes as he said it, the hand shifting to the side of his head. "Which is where the physical violence came in sometimes."
Cain got a touch of eye contact from the other man, but Ambrose looked more like he had the flu than anything else before Ambrose turned away.
"It's important that she grows up to be the next great leader, but she still needs to live, and I want her to enjoy that growing up part anyway." He laughed a bit bitterly. "You're the actual father here, Cain. She may love me, but she's the strong one between us." He sighed. "Just stay. You've got a place for yourself here. Hell, I'll even let you paint the damn car hold if you want."
Without giving any kind of warning, Cain leaned forward to test Ambrose's forehead with a broad palm, almost as if checking for a fever. "You look half-feverish and you're talking about needing and wanting me to stay," he pointed out. "A man might think you were ill." He did get up, however, digging out his checkbook and writing a large amount on the check which he pressed into Ambrose's hand. "Don't say a word. You want me to stay, fine. Use that to treat Azkadellia. She's had her eye on a white stallion down at the stables and that ought to cover boarding, vaccinations, and purchase."
"But...what?" Ambrose gaped at him, and stood up, watching Cain intently. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead it slid shut, his head tilting to the side. He looked down at the check, and back to Cain, still confused. "...I didn't know about the horse. Thanks." He smiled. "I'll tell her it's a Staying Here present."
"You can do that," Cain said, agreement coming with a single nod. Before there was any more speaking to be had, though, he was pushing in slowly and for a moment, it seemed he was just going to move Ambrose to the side and keep cleaning up. Instead of moving Ambrose anywhere with strong hands, he just leaned in and without warning, explanation, or anything of the like, he kissed him again.
This kiss was nothing like the last. There was nothing so desperate or rough about it, but it was kind and slow.
"You tell her she'll have to share with Jeb, though," he warned, because they'd never hear the end of it if they didn't like Jeb have a turn here and there.
"Well of course I'd have Jeb on the horse too," Ambrose frowned, completely ignoring the kiss for the time being and standing up. "Something that special isn't just for Azkadellia, you know. Plus they could probably both use lessons - we could probably both manage that."
Cain knew how to ride since he was nothing more than a boy of Azkadellia's age at his parents' insistence. After all, you couldn't get around the O.Z. when you lived out in the countryside without a horse, seeing as the cars could never make it when the roads got too wet. He knew Ambrose probably had the ability to ride, that most people in the O.Z. had that skill because sometimes, it was the only transportation method available.
After that, Ambrose stopped ignoring the kiss, and leaned down, looking him straight in the eye. "And Cain? You really, really need to start explaining this kissing tendency of yours." He hesitated for a moment, thinking about his options. Finally, he just shrugged and headed for the door. Another kiss would just complicate things, and punching Cain in the face (which was the most tempting option) would lead to questions from the kids.
Cain just watched Ambrose for a long moment while he made his way to the door. "Time was," he began quietly. "I met a lot of people, but only a few struck my fancy." The words were very calm and patient. "I never prided myself on dodging feelings or hiding away, so I preferred to just show my cards on the table. Punch a man if he's pissing me off. Ignore someone if they're sprouting a bunch of nothing. Kiss someone if I like them."
Ambrose leaned against the wall and faced Cain, sighing. "So you never punched a woman, then?" he asked, and he shut his eyes, hand raising up to catch in his hair, only for him to stop the movement. He knew it was a bad habit, knew it was one of his only obvious tells and the damage was done already, but he managed to shove his hands into his pockets, giving Cain a very, very steady look.
"Never hit a woman," he said simply, voice low. "Restrained a couple here and there when they pushed too hard, but never hit."
There were a lot of things he could have said. Most of them were very kindergarten-ish, others were more fit for a brothel or some back alley. "Cain, nobody 'strikes my fancy'."
He was lying. He was lying so completely that he almost felt bad about it, but Ambrose was a very, very good liar when it came to adults. He could never lie to children, but adults were easy. He felt guilty about this one, true, but it was for the best. Besides, Cain had a date anyway. Just like Ambrose did.
Cain studied him very carefully, eyes flickering over Ambrose as he twitched, and then came the words. "You're dating Jane Walker, Ambrose. I can't help but hope she strikes your fancy or what you're doing's a mite cruel to the woman."
"If she wants to date me, fine. If I strike someone else's fancy, fine. I try if I care about them. And who are you to lecture me on this, Cain? Go around kissing me and you've got a date with some woman..." Ambrose trailed off, sighing. "I don't remember her name."
Cain dumped a handful of the advertisements into the trash as Ambrose spoke, looking almost as if he'd already brushed off the words, as if he had closed up like a mask had been put on his face.
Ambrose didn't want to have this talk. He didn't even know how long he could keep that particular lie up anyway. The hand snapped into his hair, and he just glared. "You had the luxury of falling in love and getting married and having a son with someone, Cain. I never did and probably never will, so back off."
Cain just leveled a fairly intense look Ambrose's way at the last comment. Bringing Adora up was never something that Cain approved of and he made his way to the door, yanking it open. "Fine," he said simply. "You wanna be like this? Fine," he reiterated, as if no other words would come to mind. His grip on the door tightened and his knuckles went white from the pressure he had on the door.
"Nice to have you back, Cain," Ambrose muttered, and was more than happy to walk out the door, into the house, and straight for his lab, slamming the door behind him. He never even looked back.
tbc
---
...we're kind of mean, huh. *ponders this*
TITLE: Azkadellia's Okay! (With Ambrose and the Cains' help), Part 4: Cain Doesn't Move; Children Scream.
RATING: PG-13.
EVENTUAL PAIRING: Ambrose/Cain (or Cain/Ambrose, whatever), VERY FUTURE Az/OC, Jeb/OC/OC
DESCRIPTION: When the Witch picks another target, everything changes. Including switching out the Roboparents for Ambrose and the only Tin Man who knows what's going on (and his kid).
This Part: Jeb also takes over his school, Azkadellia continues to try and 'fix' other people's lives, Cain throws water balloons at her, and Ambrose is a lying liar who lies.
Part 1: Things Explode; Iceland Blamed.
Part 2: Pink House Purchased; Introductions Ensue.
Part 3: Fight In Classroom; Landslide Victory.
Azkadellia's Okay!
(With Ambrose and the Cains' help)
Part 4: Cain Doesn't Move; Children Scream.
It was a well-known fact that Jeb Cain was the Prince of the First Grade.
At least, that was what all the other kids in the class knew. The teachers just observed that he was charismatic, smart, and just eccentric enough to make people pay attention to him. He wasn’t the smartest child in the class, but he wasn’t stupid by any means and usually spent too much of a lesson chattering away with someone in the back rows until he was scolded for it and then he paid perfect attention. Everyone knew the boy’s father, of course, as it was hard to miss the fact that he was the Sheriff of their small town, and that earned Jeb even more respect amongst the legions of children.
He was athletic, he was well-groomed, and he was outspoken about the things he felt were wrong (and sounded very mature on particular subjects that had to do with violence in the world and how he thought it should stop and how they could stop it).
There really was nothing else in the world, however, like watching Jeb at recess.
Teachers from the school had begun to assemble to either smoke or just watch while watching the way the children gravitated from the concrete to wherever Jeb was. These days, he had taken to playing soccer, but he didn’t exactly know the rules, so he had just grabbed four arbitrary students and pulled them over. While the teachers couldn’t hear much of what he was saying, enough drifted their way to get the basic idea that what they were doing was playing a game that hadn’t existed before Jeb had decided to invent it.
“God help us when he gets older,” Mrs. Smith remarked, the teacher for the fourth grade who would one day be teaching him. “Worse, when he starts to realize what charisma and the talent he has at getting people to follow him.”
“Natural born leader in the making,” Miss Grayson agreed (his current teacher who had sent home a progress report with nothing but gold stars, apple-stickers, and enthusiastic comments to Wyatt Cain about a job well done by Jeb).
“You five can be on that team with me and the others! The others can play against us,” Jeb announced and the teachers listened to an intricate set of rules handed down and ascribed, Long and Important Titles given to each player that seemed to infuse each five to six year old with great respect for their task.
They played like this for fifteen minutes until the bell rang and though the teachers couldn’t see any logic or rules, the children seemed to be having an easy time knowing that you had to use your head and call out ‘Central!’ when the ball was rolled into one of the goalposts and that for every offense against another player, someone got a time-out in the ‘Emerald Box’ or the ‘Ruby Box’. And the points were tallied in ‘Leagues’.
The teachers didn’t hear the end of this new game for an entire week and it amazed them to think that it could have come solely from the imagination of one young boy.
“He’s a leader,” Miss Grayson insisted. “But a good one. Fair. Have you noticed that he includes everyone? He doesn’t bully any of the children, even if they’re little. He just gives them a task to do and acts like he’s twice his age.”
“Just like his father,” one of the male teachers remarked.
They discussed the subject of what could be done about keeping him from abusing the power he had, but it never did become necessary.
During Art class, he would draw paintings with barely any effort and very little talent to match, but then he would make up a lavish story to go along with it about balloons in the sky and storms that took you to other places. Then he would hang it up and go chatting with other people, giving them ideas for their own work.
During English, he paid careful attention and never once interrupted the teacher while he practiced printing. One day, he’d asked very seriously about mapmaking and when they were going to start learning about it and Miss Grayson hadn’t known what to do except laugh at the unexpected question. But Jeb didn’t laugh, just stared at her worriedly. “Does that mean we’re not going to learn it?” “No. Not here, Jeb.”
Math had been a mild issue at the beginning when he couldn’t grasp the mechanics, but one day he was overheard muttering to himself ‘…so if seven zipperheads get found by Tin Men and they beat five of them, only two run free!’ and he hadn’t had any trouble with addition or subtraction after that.
His worst subject was science, but then he crowed proudly about receiving tutoring from ‘Ambrose’ (who the teachers assumed was Professor Brown) and his grades made a marked increase, even if occasionally his homework was littered with little sketches and measurements that made no sense (after all, Moratanium couldn’t possibly be anything real).
And when it came to gym, Jeb was a shining star.
Miss Grayson had already passed word to the middle school and the high school that they had a captain in the making.
Jeb didn’t seem to notice that he was excelling. He just did his work and paid attention. He made friends and he volunteered to help the teachers whenever he could (which led to an avalanche effect of others offering help as well). And when he was praised, he never once puffed up. He just gave a modest nod and smiled while he said ‘thank you’ and every teacher at Baker Elementary could swear there never was a child more honest about being grateful for something so simple as a little praise for a job well done.
It seemed that whatever Cain’s initial worries were, he didn’t have to spend any more time practicing with Jeb. They were both fitting in perfectly.
--
Azkadellia had been following around Wyatt Cain with a purpose for almost two whole weeks now. At least, that was how Cain had assessed the situation. She had a most definite stride in her walk and the look on her face was calculating and shrewd, so much so that more than once he’d asked if she had plans to topple Baker’s police structure because he’d have to do something about that, then.
-- not grounding her, though, because the last time he had tried to do that over a misbehavior, she had shouted at him, Ambrose had looked like he’d been slapped and Jeb started to shout too as if solidarity would help Azkadellia’s case.
So Cain knew better now than to ground Azkadellia (as she had made so abundantly clear, he was not her father) but he still was prone to questioning her and teasing her when it came to things. Lately, he’d been giving her and Jeb more attention, just so he didn’t have to pay mind to Ambrose’s little dalliance with Jane Walker. It wasn’t that he disliked the woman, it wasn’t that he thought it a bad idea. He just never was the sort of man who liked to have that thing shoved in his face.
That was why it irritated him so much. That and the sheer fact that Ambrose seemed to be winning when it came to the task of adjusting to the Otherside. Even though it had been more than enough time for him to move on from Adora (or at least, that was what every woman he knew told him), he hadn’t. He’d just stayed stagnant and lived his little life with Azkadellia and Ambrose, had raised Jeb to be the best young man he could be, and he worked hard.
Ambrose was dating and it looked to be successful. He could only imagine having to pull him aside if it got too serious to remind him of their task there and how fooling around with professors was going to lead to heartbreak.
That or they’d have an additional party going back to the O.Z. Cain really wished his stomach didn’t turn painfully at the thought of all their plans going awry because of a little romance and he wished more than that that he could blame all his distaste about the matter on that.
“Princess,” Cain snapped tersely at breakfast one morning as he served Jeb and Az bacon and eggs that he had cooked, wrapping up a plate for Ambrose to eat when he eventually woke up. “The humming’s a bit disconcerting and the staring’s worse. What’s going on?” The toast popped up cheerfully from the toaster and he buttered it up for the both of them, handing a plate to Jeb (who was sitting at the table and playing with a toy-horse as he swung his legs back and forth) and one to Az (who smiled sweetly at him and made him doubly suspicious).
She sat down and helped Jeb cut up his bacon while peering up at him, her nightshirt concealing much of the changes she’d been going through from girl to young woman. “I was just thinking,” she said, accepting the glasses of juice that Cain held out. She sipped at it precariously, licking a droplet of juice from her upper lip. “Now that Ambrose is dating, there’s no reason at all that you shouldn’t either.”
Cain held his tongue even if he was ready to insist there were plenty of reasons.
“And I really like Annie, you know. She’s very sweet and she seems to understand you.”
“She makes good pies,” Jeb added his vote of assessment. Usually, she dropped off a pie with the Cain family every Friday on her way home. Cain had insisted early in that she didn’t need to do that, but she’d just replied with something along the lines of ‘buttering up the Sheriff to keep my job’ in a teasing way. And then she just kept bringing the pies for Cain and the deputies, both. It didn’t matter how often he assured her that she’d keep her job, she kept doing it.
Cain just did his best to ignore both the children while turning to keep his attention out the window. He’d not prepared himself anything to eat because he’d eaten before his morning’s run through the streets, taking to this ‘jogging’ activity to keep in shape. Instead of reacting to Azkadellia’s obvious baiting of him, he managed to get the food on a plate for Ambrose and when it was cool enough, wrapped it tightly and put it atop a copy of the daily newspaper and a few of the latest economic and business magazines.
“I’m not asking Annie out, kid,” Cain said apologetically, giving Azkadellia as stern a look as they came. “Sorry to burst your bubble.”
“But!”
“No.”
“Mr. Cain,” Azkadellia sighed. “I don’t want to intrude, I just think you’d be so much happier if you had someone the way Ambrose does, now.” And she didn’t even sound like she was intruding. All she sounded like was a girl who was upset because Cain didn’t have himself a girlfriend.
There was one easy way to end this argument and Cain knew it was low, knew it was something very wrong to bring up, but he didn’t fancy having this discussion over every meal. And worse, he didn’t want to have this conversation when Ambrose was around to hear and, gods-forbid, contribute to it.
“Jeb, when you’re done your breakfast, why don’t you tell Azkadellia about your Mother some,” he said simply, eyes never once leaving Azkadellia. “I appreciate your concern, Princess, but when it comes time…if it ever comes time that I decide I want to date again, I’ll pick who I ask out on my own. I get that you won whatever little happiness you got from putting Ambrose together with Professor Walker, but it’s not always that simple.”
Especially in cases like this where Cain himself didn’t understand what in hell was going on with him.
“I’m sorry,” Azkadellia apologized, looking abashed and immediately ashamed of what she’d been doing and that just wracked the guilt right up with Cain so fast and hard that he regretted ever chewing her out to begin with (even if it had needed to be done). “I just thought it might make you happier.”
Cain sighed and sank down into the chair next to Azkadellia, running an affectionate hand over the wisps of her long hair while bringing her closer to press a paternal kiss to the top of her head. “Maybe one day,” he admitted, “I’ll decide I want to try dating Annie, but I don’t think she’s the one for me right now.”
“Will you tell us when there is a ‘one’?” Azkadellia asked simply, referring to her and Jeb because there was no other ‘us’ she could have meant.
“Soon as it gets serious, of course,” Cain agreed.
They ate the rest of their breakfast in peace and quiet and after getting changed for school, Cain walked them each to the front door of their respective schools (receiving a hug apiece for his trouble). He was into work by nine in the morning whereupon Annie smiled at him, noting that he looked a bit haggard.
“You look like you’ve already worked a day, Sheriff,” she observed as she handed him a cup of coffee.
“One kid was work,” Cain mumbled, blowing lightly on the liquid to cool it off. “Two’s starting to feel like constant overtime.” Never mind the fact that he loved it and would never give it up, but there were some days that he began to wonder just how many mornings like that he could take.
Maybe Ambrose had the right idea in dating. It got Azkadellia off his back about the subject and got himself out of the house.
Cain glanced Annie’s way while she shuffled through some of the paperwork and began distributing the day’s work, offering a very sweet smile in Cain’s way as she brushed back a strand of her dirty-blonde hair. However much Cain wanted the pressure off of his back, he couldn’t do something like that to Annie, not when his heart lay elsewhere.
--
The idea for the afternoon had come about when Cain realized that for a young girl, Azkadellia was too serious most of the time (which was a bit hypocritical coming from a man as serious as Wyatt Cain, ‘serious as a heart attack’ some of Baker said about him). Even if he only lightened up once or twice a week, he didn’t see any reason why Azkadellia should miss out on a good laugh or smile. That was why he’d instructed her to change into the simplest clothes she had, ones she wouldn’t mind getting dirty.
Cain had done the same and had dressed Jeb in a pair of ripped-denims and a ratty old t-shirt before heading to the backyard with a bucket of something very carefully planned for their spring afternoon.
Jeb had been running back and forth to get everything set up (or so he said), but Cain knew he was mostly scouting out all the best positions of attack. And he might have been doing so because Cain had encouraged him to do it.
Eventually, Azkadellia made her way outside in a pair of paint-splattered overalls and a black t-shirt beneath, her hair tied in a simple ponytail and for the first time since he’d met her, she resembled a normal-looking little girl.
Cain was in trouble - though he wasn’t about to realize it yet - because he was starting to feel affection for her on par with how most fathers felt for their daughters. She smoothed her hands awkwardly on the overalls and smiled warily. “Well, I’m here,” she announced, looking between Jeb and Cain. “What are we doing?”
Cain gave one glance up to the window that overlooked the backyard and caught Ambrose’s eye for a brief moment, just long enough to share a wink with the man. Part of him wanted him to join the fun, but Cain knew well enough that this was time for just him and the kids.
Cain crouched over into the box and pried out a water-filled colorful balloon with one hand, letting it roll back and forth in his hand and slowly, ever so slowly, a smug smile grew on his face that only turned into a laugh when Jeb let out a playful shout and began to run away and Azkadellia followed suit with a giddy shriek, avoiding the gentle lob of the balloon that Cain gave - not intending to actually hit either of them. It was just intended to get the spirit of the game going and he started to wander his way around the box.
“There are two more boxes like that in the yard,” he shouted out to them, but it looked like he didn’t even need to do that much because Azkadellia was pelting Jeb with a well-placed balloon. They were close in proximity and Jeb didn’t seem to have a problem pelting right back and that devolved into a one-on-one water balloon pelting contest for some time before they both realized they could turn on Cain.
Azkadellia’s face lit up with a sly grin. “Get him!” she announced with a giddy laugh and Jeb took it as a command, charging forward and jumping up at Cain, forcing his father to catch him in his arms with a surprised ‘whoa!’
And while he was busy making sure Jeb didn’t fall to the ground, he was smashing the water balloon atop Cain’s head while Azkadellia lobbed a wobbly balloon at his back, thoroughly soaking Cain from about head to waist (at least, after four rounds from Azkadellia).
And then through a sheer team-effort, they managed to pin Cain to the ground with a barrage of constant water balloons to the point that he was grinning and grasped one from the bucket of water-balloons that had spilled to the side.
He got ready. He aimed. And he fired. It splashed against Jeb’s shoulder and soaked Azkadellia’s left side from the tip of her hair to neck. She let out a happy shriek and on this went for nearly an hour until the sun began to dip in the sky and the temperature began to climb too low to still be playing outside. Jeb seemed to be the dirtiest of all, though neither of the other two had any idea how that might have happened seeing as Cain had been the one against the dusty ground while being pelted with water balloons.
Cain escorted them both inside, Azkadellia riding piggy-back and Jeb holding onto Cain’s hand as they made their way back into the house and took their dirty shoes and socks off so they wouldn’t track anything in.
“See, it was still dignified,” Cain insisted of the piggy-back, which had been long-protested by Azkadellia as ‘unfit for a young woman of her stature’. “Besides, what good am I if I can’t give you a lift now and then?”
Azkadellia’s hair was frizzy, out of the ponytail and her overalls were splattered in damp patches and dirt, but she was beaming away happily and she nearly launched herself at Cain to hug him tightly, whispering a ‘thank you’ to him that only they both could hear.
She eased back and tucked her wayward strands of hair behind her ears, spinning on her bare feet to go stomping through the house. “Ambrose!” she shouted, hurrying to find him while Cain turned to Jeb and gave him a onceover accompanied with a long sigh.
“What?” Jeb asked, enthusiastically.
“You’re a mess, kid,” Cain assessed, shaking his head. “All right, into the bath with you before dinner.”
“Will Duck-Duck come?”
Duck-Duck was a yellow-rubber-duck that Cain had given Jeb one day because they had gotten them from some distributor who was new in town and the toy had been cute enough to keep, or so Azkadellia had said. Jeb only seemed to enjoy it in the bath because of the adventures he could invent that had to do with the duck escaping mobats and rogue Papay. “Sure,” Cain agreed, lifting Jeb by the waist and hauling him up the stairs to draw a bath and dump him in. Maybe, just maybe, that layer of dirt on Jeb’s skin wouldn’t turn permanent.
With the door open in the bathroom, Cain could just faintly overhear Azkadellia’s excited retelling of their afternoon and that was all the reaction Cain needed to know he’d been successful in the day’s work.
“Can we do it again next week?” Jeb asked, suppressing a yawn as he splashed the increasing water-level in the tub.
“If you’re good,” Cain agreed.
It was more than just a game, not that the kids knew it yet. Cain suspected Ambrose would understand the true motivation to the game. Not only did it increase their aim, but it got each of them ready for the idea of having to fight for themselves when it came time to go back to the middle of a fray they were lucky enough to escape. Points of attack, evasion, and good physical shape were important and Cain wasn’t about to let Jeb or Azkadellia stumble back into the O.Z. without having those skills and a hell of a lot more.
Lucky for Cain, the carnival was coming back to town soon enough and he could easily slip Azkadellia away from Ambrose to get her to the shooting gallery and teach her how to wield a gun.
“Next week, then,” Jeb agreed.
And so, it became a weekly staple in the ‘Brown’-Cain household that on Saturday afternoons, the three of them stood in the backyard and pelted each other silly with water balloons until the sun went down.
--
The date had been going well. It had been honestly, truly going well. Excellent conversation, a good dinner, a good-looking woman who was intelligent, funny, already adored Azkadellia and the Cains, someone he could honestly probably sit around and chat with until the Eclipse showed up and he had to actually go do something other than...whatever you called this. He didn't even know what to call it. It had been what, four dates by now? All had gone great, all of them had been enjoyable, and he still kept pausing at even the goodnight kiss at her apartment's door.
All these intentions and goals he'd had when he came with Azkadellia to the Otherside had seemed to vanish, leaving him stuck with a job he loved, a house he lived in happily, a motley excuse for a family unit inside of it, and the reasonable, logical addition would be a someone. Azkadellia had suggested Jane. Jane was a good choice, good match, good woman and person in general. He'd honestly liked the idea, considering they'd been good friends.
But now Ambrose had just walked himself home all the way from the fourth cozy, 'mood'-perfect restaurant and was staring at the house, only to find his eyes drawn back to what was now considered Cain's Little Pink House. And for some indistinguishable reason, he was angry. Furious, even, and he found himself storming through the side-door, glaring at Cain, and pointing at him vindictively.
" “YOU! This...this is all your fault for some reason!” " he shouted, slamming the door behind him.
Cain had been in the middle of going through paperwork and he tiredly looked up from what he was doing, the exhaustion showing in bags under his eyes. He rose to his feet, pushing up the sleeves of his t-shirt as he studied Ambrose, shaking his head. "Weren't you just on a date?" he asked, the tone sounding a little bitter. "How is that possibly my fault," he went on, tone still acrid, "when you keep asking her out?"
It wasn't that Cain wanted to date (as he had already had this conversation with both Azkadellia and Jeb). No, the bitterness stemmed from elsewhere and it was a place that Cain was beginning to understand more about. Nonetheless, he went to the door and made sure it was locked so that the kids wouldn't come asking what was going on. But then, they had to be used to the shouting by now.
"I don't know how it's your fault, but I know it is! Somehow!" Ambrose shouted. He knew he sounded insane, but he just knew somehow, knew that there was some way that Cain had figured out some way to ruin what should be a great thing, a perfect match, all those things that were supposed to make a healthy, stable, happy relationship. All those things he'd had to keep telling the Queen she'd manage with Ahamo eventually when things got bad for them.
He glared even harder, almost wishing he could make Cain's head explode if he put enough effort into it. "And I'd still be on a date if it weren't for whatever you've managed to do to me! Az likes her, I like her, even you and Jeb like her, but I can't do any more than just kiss her on the lips!" Ambrose didn't realize it, being so caught up in his anger, but he was pointing again. "You and your...your Cain-ness and the fights and kids!"
Ambrose had absolutely no idea what he was saying. Sure, he'd had some wine, but not enough to be drunk or even kind of tipsy. But this much anger was about as good as four bottles of vodka apparently, because Ambrose literally stamped his foot on the floor, acting more immature than Jeb ever had (aside from the fact Ambrose still looked ready to break Cain's neck, which only an adult could ever really pull off). "It's your fault, Cain, and I want you to fix it!"
Cain was extremely close to putting Ambrose to bed and if it had to be the nearest possible one, it would be. Cain just rubbed his eyes as he shook his head, not even knowing where to begin and it took a great length of time for Cain to speak at all. It was mostly because Ambrose was coming off like an immature child and that left him unable to do anything but stare tiredly.
Because it was late and Cain had made dinner and helped with homework and had his own work to do and the last thing he needed was this. So, instead of saying anything at all, his fingers moved to his forehead and massaged the forming-wrinkles there a few times and he wandered his way back to the desk. "I'm not fighting anymore," he did say, picking up his pencil and making a point of remaining calm. "It's not a good environment for Jeb or Az, so I think you and I ought to make a concerted effort to get along for their sakes."
"I already was," Ambrose said dryly, almost growling. "And I'm not asking you for a fight! I want to just...I don't even know!" He ran a hand through his hair, pacing in a tiny circle (which was actually a seven-pointed star but he wasn't about to point that out to anyone, they already thought he was strange enough usually) and trying to push all the anger aside and think. He took a deep breath, looking straight at Cain and trying very hard to not glare. "Alright. No fighting. And if all else fails we can just go out in the backyard in the middle of the night and punch each other to death." The hand was back in his hair, pacing in his little star one more time. "But...I've been trying, Cain. I really have. Everyone else likes Jane! I like Jane! It makes no sense!"
It was good that Ambrose was pacing. It meant that he couldn't see the quiet relief on Cain's face that came from the admission that things weren't perfect. He set the papers aside with clips and made sure they were good and out of the way on his small desk with the little lamp in the corner, then he got up to cut off Ambrose's pacing path, angling him just slightly more towards the wall.
"I know you've been trying, it's clear as day," he agreed calmly, voice kept hushed to a softness that Ambrose had probably only ever heard before with the kids.
And then came the moment Cain knew he had to just do or otherwise regret forever. With Azkadellia older now, with Jeb becoming more independent, there was time for Ambrose to have these dates and for Cain to think about many a thing. And when he had spoken to Azkadellia about dating, he hadn't been lying when he said he didn't want to date Annie. He didn't. That didn't mean he wasn't pushing Ambrose against the wall with a graceful hand, cupping his cheek with the other hand and leaning in with hot and heavy lips pressed against the other man's, instantly demanding and brushing against Ambrose's (even if Cain's were chapped and dry from the lack of humidity). It felt good to pour out all that need for something into a kiss like that and it showed in Cain's enthusiasm.
Cain leaned back and immediately after, he did three things. He licked his lips, he made a quiet comment about the wine, and then he went right back to his paperwork.
Absolutely nothing made sense. Nothing. None of it made any damned sense, but it felt right at the moment.
Ambrose was honestly wondering if someone had managed to drug his meal. He was still up against the wall, eyes half closed, trying to figure out what the hell was going on when clearly that was impossible, because nothing made sense, and he was doing illogical syllogisms in his head when Cain had kissed him just about four seconds ago. And while Ambrose's mind was practically a ball of twine being batted around by the vicious kitten that was recent events, his mouth was actually talking about the nice merlot and how Jane had bought more and taken the bottle home it was so good.
Finally his mouth seemed to shut itself up, and Ambrose just stared at Cain, Cain and his paperwork and...Cain. Which brought up a very good question, or at least one that was good in Ambrose's brilliant mind. He frowned, looking at Cain, utterly confused. "Why do you always make me act like an idiot?"
Cain leaned back in his chair, rocking it back and forth and listening about the merlot, clearly not wanting to hear about the bottle taken home because it implied where things might have led to. "I wasn't aware it was an exclusive-to-me kind of thing," Cain said with the slightest of smiles. He checked his watch and rose to his feet again, nodding to the door. "Come on," he encouraged quietly. "They're going to worry if you're not back inside the house at appropriate curfew hour."
"Oh, it's definitely exclusive to you, Cain, and I have no idea why. I went through most of my life without losing my temper and you show up and I've got the shortest fuse I've ever heard of," Ambrose said distantly, already nodding.
The Kids trumped just about everything in his head, so he ended up with his hand in his hair again as he nodded, and took a step towards the door. And then turned to look at Cain. And then he went back for the door, twisting the doorknob and frowning. He tried again, and it still didn't work. "...see, it's definitely just you because I can't even open the door right now."
Cain was smiling and it almost looked like he couldn't help it as he wandered closer and, still smiling openly, leaned around Ambrose and flipped the lock so it would open and shut easily. He even went so far as to give a demonstration with the door handle, jiggling it up and down.
He was inches away from Ambrose, but he had the self-control to not do anything stupid. So he just kept smiling at him and took a step back, resting his hands in the hem of his sweats. "It was locked, sweetheart," he pointed out wryly.
"...oh," Ambrose managed to get out, and shook his head. "Right. Okay. Goodnight, Cain, good luck with the paperwork, be sure to get some sleep though."
The kids would be watching for him, or at least Azkadellia would be, he was tired, he needed to sleep since he had classes and work and things to do tomorrow, so he nodded and walked out the door.
He made it about three steps before he froze and hissed out some good profanity when he realized Cain had called him sweetheart and he hadn't objected.
--
Ambrose knew she’d be waiting. When he’d opened the door to the house - the front door - he’d seen the light in her room flick off. This was the fourth time or so, and he already knew the routine. Ignoring…recent events, he locked the door behind him and headed upstairs and into bed, making sure he wore a shirt to bed. He’d forgotten that the first time and learned his lesson very well. Evening rituals over, he sighed and climbed into his bed, arms curling around the pillow.
Three minutes, and he was out, dreaming of Finaqua being right behind Sordonmill and his huge chalkboard as the man spat out equations that made absolutely no sense, finally dissolving into questions like “What would win - an immoveable object, or an unstoppable force?” while a seventeen-year-old him scribbled frantically away in a notebook that kept slipping to the side, making him write every word on top of every other in one spot on the paper, and he kept hearing the two little princesses laughing and playing behind the board, but Sordonmill had that pointer of his that was more like a whipping switch and kept smacking Ambrose in the arm when he tried to see past the false syllogisms and catch sight of the girls, except there was Jeb and Cain laughing back there too, and Sordonmill just kept going with his “Could an all-powerful god make a sandwich so big that even he couldn’t eat it?” questions, but he wanted out of the damn desk, wanted to get over to the laughter-
“So how did it go?”
Ambrose sighed into his pillow. Just like the other four times. He glanced up to see Azkadellia already up, doing her hair as efficiently and elegantly as ever, wearing her green dress today. He glanced at the clock. It was six AM on the dot. His alarm went off at six and five minutes, so he just shut the thing off and sat up in bed, rubbing a hand over his eyes.
“It was a very nice dinner, and Jane bought the merlot and took it back to her apartment, and since you’re thirteen that’s all the detail you get,” Ambrose said simply, rubbing at his arm. He hated dreams with that stupid professor in them, and he always ended up being horribly lenient to his own students as if it could compensate for the dream of last night.
“I’m at least old enough to know more than that she bought wine and you had dinner,” Azkadellia said idly, looking around his overly neat room. It was neat because he was only ever in here to sleep and change, and he didn’t like his things getting wrinkled. “Did you kiss her?”
“Yes.” He was used to this part by now, but that didn’t mean he had to act like an adult. He was tired and didn’t want to talk about it, so he sighed and fell to the side, head falling on top of the other pillow.
“And you’re going out again?”
“Yes. To some sort of fair.” Ambrose spoke into the pillow.
“Do you love her yet?”
“I enjoy her company, and love doesn’t work like that.”
“Well, the…kissing,” she said. “Did you really, really enjoy kissing her last night? At least one kiss?”
Ambrose knew he couldn’t suffocate himself with the pillowcase, because then she’d have nobody but the Cains to look after her. It was still tempting, though. “I…” He cleared his throat. “Yes, at least one kiss. Now I need to get dressed.”
Azkadellia knew he was trying to throw her out as politely as possible, and for once she simply nodded and left, closing the door behind her. Ambrose took the moment to scream into the pillow and then get up.
The rest of his room was tidy and clean, sure, but the bed was a rumpled, lumpy mess. He didn’t make the bed, didn’t even smooth down the lump, because that was how he liked it. At least one part of the bedroom looked like it was in actual use then. Ambrose took a shower, got dressed, and had some cereal for breakfast, looking at absolutely nobody who would remain nameless and feeling stupidly tired, but he walked Azkadellia to school, holding her hand.
“I really do like Jane, Ambrose,” she said, giving him that small, sweet kiss on the cheek before heading into the school, where people immediately both made room for her entrance and joined her, one step behind and to the right, only an anxious-looking girl walking at her actual side.
He smiled all the way until she was officially in the building, when he sighed and shook his head. “And that’s the problem, Az,” he grumbled, and started walking towards his own school.
--
Pow. Powpowpowpow. Pow.
With not a single exception, each shot had gone about three inches astray of all their targets. Cain stood slightly behind Azkadellia and he kept an eye on her stance with the gun, not saying a word while she took her shots, even if he wanted to step in and reposition her right hand, her stance, and give her a couple of tips about lining up the scope. She needed to learn slowly and there wasn’t a rush.
Well, besides getting away from the insanely irritating carnival music coming from the carousel beside them, that was.
Jeb was licking a stick of cotton candy while he tried to hold onto a stuffed-bear twice his size that he’d just won at the same game. Cain hadn’t given the game a try, thinking it wouldn’t be fair exactly, taking the prizes from other kids who wanted to earn them.
“I missed,” Azkadellia sighed, staring forward at the intact targets, a forlorn look on her face.
Cain didn’t make any comments since he doubted the Princess would appreciate it. He wasn’t about to be sympathetic so much as he was ready to just make an even remark about the fact that yes, she did in fact miss and required a lot more practice. Jeb was too occupied with the pink cotton candy to say the same thing. They had time, though, and lots of it.
Ambrose was somewhere at the carnival with Jane on what was their sixth date by now and the whole thing was still awkward, so Cain had made sure to get Az and Jeb and take responsibility for them.
They’d already spent many tickets on the Tilt-A-Whirl and Azkadellia had even persuaded Cain to join them after two rides on the thing. They had enjoyed caramel apples, corn dogs, slushy drinks, and cotton candy and had passed the small roller coaster as well as spent time in the haunted house - wherein Azkadellia clutched Cain’s coat tightly with her slender fingers and Jeb kept pretending to be the big strong protector of all of them. When Cain was sure Ambrose wasn’t about to just pop out of some corner, he’d sidled Azkadellia over to the shooting gallery, set her up with a ten-gauge and began to teach her. Unfortunately, just as she’d pointed out, she’d missed every single target.
If they were back in the O.Z., that wouldn’t be very good news in a fight.
“S’the scope,” Jeb contributed helpfully, taking an extremely long lick of the cotton candy and dyeing his tongue a deep color of pink, almost a rich raspberry red. “And the kickback is also what’s making you miss.” He sounded about ten annuals older than he was while relaying advice. Azkadellia kept fiddling with the gun so much that Cain started to worry that she was a step away from dismantling it with her magic. She even had herself a little bit of a light glowing from her palm, which kicked Cain into action. He leaned over to pry the gun from her hands, one palm going to the small of her back to gently guide her in between him and the booth to protect her.
“Do I have to?” she sighed, when Cain began reloading and checking the gun’s scope for accuracy as well as settling it in the right position in Azkadellia’s hands. “Mr. Cain, we could go have ice cream instead!”
“Jeb, would you rather see Az win a prize or have ice cream?” Cain asked patiently, still guiding Azkadellia’s hands to the right position, leaning behind her carefully before taking a step back and putting each of his hands on her shoulder to steady her for the kickback of the shot, so she would understand how much resistance she had to give after she fired.
“Prize!” Jeb easily announced. “Then ice cream to celebrate. Maybe we can find Ambrose and Miss Jane so they can have ice cream with us?”
“Maybe,” Cain grunted evenly at the suggestion. Truth was, he didn’t want to leave until Azkadellia could at least hit fifty percent of the targets, being that she looked deflated in terms of confidence and he didn’t want to take her home when she wasn’t feeling so good about either herself or her talents. Besides, he wasn’t in the mood to feel like a third wheel on Ambrose and Jane’s date, especially not when that third wheel had a habit of kissing Ambrose inappropriately.
Azkadellia glanced over her shoulder, eyes resting on Cain’s hands upon her and for a long moment, Cain expected to hear a comment about removing them or how it was improper for a Tin Man to be so close with a Princess, but instead of saying anything, Cain just felt the most gradual of shifts back into his arms and she closed her eyes tightly when the shot went off. Then another, and another, and she continued until she had used up all the prescribed rounds.
She’d hit about twenty-percent of the targets this time.
“I think it’s rigged,” she remarked thoughtfully, inspecting many aspects of the booth and the weapon, as if there was a secret method of using it lying behind the technical aspect of the machinery. “Will you show me, Mr. Cain? Maybe win me a prize? Just so I know that the game isn’t just uneven.”
Cain wanted to point out that Jeb had already aced the game, but there was more to the question than a simple request. Cain had noticed that in the last few minutes, a small crowd of townsfolk and Azkadellia’s friends had begun to amass and the all-too-clear message was that if she continued on, she might lose an ounce or two of respect from these people. He exchanged a long look with her and they might as well have been telepathic for how easy it was becoming to read each other’s proud and stoic expressions. Neither of them really thought it out of the ordinary that they could so easily pick up on what the other was thinking. After all, they had known each other for some time.
Please, Mr. Cain? I don’t want to fail, not in front of them.
You owe me one, kid. You know I hate getting this kind of attention.
I promise. Thank you. Thank you a thousand times.
There was also a look in her eyes that Cain couldn’t decipher, but reminded him of how Jeb sometimes looked at him when he was doing a favor, so he dismissed it for the moment and let himself focus on the moving targets dancing in front of him. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the energy of the crowd around him - some excitement, some nerves, some other things he couldn’t place - and he pretended that he was back in the O.Z. and he had to fire on a threat; maybe a wayward mobat from one of the caves in the South.
Ten targets in front of Wyatt Cain and not a single one escaped Cain’s aim.
He barely heard anything around him and it was almost as if he had tuned out, let himself fade and go somewhere else. It took Azkadellia’s hand on his arm and the kiss to his cheek as she remarked a proud ‘My Hero’ at him, while accepting the giant teddy bear. “Yeah, yeah,” Cain said, trying to pass it off like it was nothing he cared about, but that didn’t explain away the color in his cheeks that rose at Azkadellia’s joy.
She wrapped her arms firmly around the giant bear, hugging it fondly and her intricate hair atop the bear’s head made it a sight that Cain wished he could capture in time. In the distance, he could see Ambrose and Jane holding hands, speaking almost intimately about something or other and he turned his attention back to Azkadellia and kept an eye on the crowd around them.
“You’re not getting out of learning,” he warned, in a just-between-them tone of voice. “If we don’t learn here, we’ll go out back and pull plates.”
“Ambrose won’t be very happy,” Azkadellia murmured, but there was a mischievous smile on her face. “Can we bring out those terrible ones? The pink-bordered ones?” They often blinded their eyes at dinner and Jeb had a habit of moving his food to cover the border, just so he wouldn’t have to look at it.
“You got it, Princess,” he agreed.
Most people who ever overheard the name found it affectionate and very much endearing of the Sheriff, that he would care so much about a girl he was neither related to or responsible for - as far as they knew. But no one ever really looked at in the literal sense that it was meant in. Jeb handed his giant bear up to Cain for him to carry, wordlessly expecting as much and really, there was no doubt that Cain would oblige his son.
Arm in arm with Azkadellia and a giant teddy bear - Jeb leading the way before them - Cain began to head towards Ambrose’s direction, intending to drop off the kids while he checked with a couple of people from the department that he had last seen by the ticket booth. But when he caught sight of Ambrose giving Jane a kiss on the lips (chaste as it was), he froze and turned, glancing for something else to do so the two could have their privacy.
“Hey Jeb, bumper cars?” he suggested. The rousing agreement lifted Cain’s spirits and he slowly pried Azkadellia’s prize from her hands. “Go on,” he encouraged. “Figure you might as well start practicing driving, seeing as we’ll be getting a truck soon enough.”
“Really?” Azkadellia asked, more shocked than pleased. “Who’s planning on purchasing it? You?”
Cain gave a silent nod. “Can’t resist the Otherside ways forever,” he admitted and watched as Jeb and Azkadellia ran eagerly to join the line of children (and the occasional adult) waiting to play bumper cars. Standing there and flanked by two giant stuffed teddy bears, Cain must have been a sight.
What was also a sight was watching Jeb’s sheer determination to bump every single person and Azkadellia’s uncanny ability to evade with graceful driving.
And that was what Cain preferred to watch and not whatever Ambrose was doing with Jane Walker just over his shoulder.
--
The small car-hold that Cain had progressively made into a home over the last annual had seen many changes. Almost immediately, he’d slapped on a coat of grey-green paint on the walls to accompany the wide-spread purchase of the pine furniture, homemade in a nearby town and purchased at a flea market. He’d even gone so far as to sketch a couple of very crude drawings of home and the O.Z., more architectural than artistic.
Lately, there were clippings of newspapers strewn across the floor and taped to the walls, all of affordable housing for himself and Jeb. After nearly an annual, it was time to get a move on, as much as he hated to leave Azkadellia behind. She always, always pouted every time he brought up the inevitable. Nonetheless, he couldn't stay forever. Especially not with things getting as complicated as they were with the dating situation and with the way that Cain had done...possibly regrettable things.
It was at Azkadellia's well-argued concerns that Ambrose found himself knocking on the door to Cain's Little Pink House, already bracing himself for a fight. They'd been living up to their effort to not fight in front of the kids, but all that had happened was minimal conversation, occasional staring on Ambrose's part, and entirely to-the-point talks when they needed to say something.
As soon as the door opened, Ambrose began his practiced speech. He started it, got through "I understand and can empathize with why you want to leave" and then stopped. He cleared his throat. He looked at anything and everything but Cain, and sighed, closing his eyes. "We don't want you to leave, and if I have to I'll talk you into the floor about this."
He consoled himself with the thought that it was the most civil opening statement to a potentially explosive fight he'd ever heard. Besides, he'd hated the lack of...well, Cain. If they had to bicker and punch each other to talk, fine. He'd rather have that anyway, to be honest.
Cain had picked up a couple of papers on his way to open the door and the small effort had mostly cleared up a small little path. He had them in his hands when Ambrose began talking and set them aside -- a couple of townhomes, bungalows, and one little condo by the pictures -- before inviting Ambrose in with little more than a brief nod to the sitting area of a loveseat and chair.
"We always knew this was temporary," he reminded Ambrose. "Now, with things the way they are, I'm beginning to think maybe it's our presence here that's ruining some things," he said, very carefully, dancing around the subject of what happened with Jane without saying a single word about it.
With Ambrose's avoidance flung out the window, he ended up staring at the mess in the room. "Gods, you turned your determination into a tornado or something," he gaped, but sat on the loveseat with just as much grace and dignity as he always ended up using with the things he never really thought about. He frowned up at Cain. "Please tell me this only started today."
"Two days ago," Cain clarified, standing rather than sitting because he always felt more in control if he had the floor. And besides, he never could relax in a sit. He was perpetually on the edge of a seat, to the point that there were often comments about it.
Ambrose pulled one of the papers off and looking at the townhouse which, really, was pretty nice. Decently priced, a bit closer to Cain's work than the house...he immediately didn't like it. "It was temporary when Azkadellia didn't keep accidentally slipping up and calling Jeb her little brother." He paused. "And I doubt you moving would change any of those things." If Cain wanted to avoid saying 'you have the most obviously failing relationship ever seen with Jane and you both know it'? That was fine. They'd practically given up anyway; the dates were more friendly get-togethers by now, after all, not that he'd told anyone that. Especially Azkadellia.
"It's not running," Cain said calmly. "But I do think it needs consideration. I'd still be in town," he pointed out, listing off all the reasons he'd put together on that big list taped by the door. "And Baker's small enough to begin with, so it isn't like we wouldn't be near. Jeb can stay here after school until I pick him up anyhow. Ambrose, you 'doubt' that me moving out would change things. You don’t know," he said.
He sighed and kept going around the room to clean up the papers and stack them in categorized piles, trying to continue on patiently.
"I've got checks for you for the rent through the year, so it wouldn't be a financial bind for you."
"Your rent was ten dollars a month, and you already paid it by making dinner a few times," Ambrose said blandly. "Plus we should probably be paying you, considering it was the Queen who sent you here to watch our backs. I'd honestly be insulted if you tried to pay rent, so don't try." Plus Ambrose made about a third more money than Cain did, but that wasn't exactly a good thing to bring up.
"Yeah, well, you ought to let me pay more rent," he muttered under his breath. "Ambrose, it's not fair if we don't try. I've got myself a uh, a movie-date with Miss Miller, the young woman from the school, the teacher?" he reminded Ambrose and he damn well near looked hopeful.
He leaned a bit more into the loveseat, frowning. "I'm happy for you, but what are we 'trying' for exactly, Cain?" He glared. "I'll let Azkadellia actually tie you to a chair and team up with Jeb to guilt you into staying at this rate. Do you have a genuine excuse to yank your son away? Azkadellia adores you both, I care an awful lot about Jeb, and I'm...well." He grinned, holding back a snicker. "I like you enough to let you kiss me and not knock you unconscious, so that probably means I wouldn't mind you sticking around."
"And that last part is just why. We're not a family, Ambrose. We work together, I love her like a daughter, but we're not," he said. "And the clarity of that is something I could use. Especially now that Jeb's in such a malleable age."
"You love her like a daughter, but you're not family?" Ambrose gaped at him, and then glared, furious. "Cain, a family isn't just blood! You need clarity, well here it is! Azkadellia loves you, and Jeb, and those stupid water balloon fights, and the way you can make her a strong girl instead of a princess, since that seems all I can ever manage." He took a deep breath, hating what he was about to say. "...Cain, I need you two to stay. We need you to stay."
He could have replied with something and they both knew it, but Cain stopped for a long moment and just shook his head, wandering over to sit on the coffee table in front of Ambrose. He lowered his head to try and catch his attention, maybe even just a glimmer of eye contact. "She adores you with all her heart," he said, low and serious. "And you make her a hell of a lot more than a Princess. You help make her into the next great leader of the O.Z. and she's barely even a young woman, gods’ sake!" Cain paused, then looked Ambrose up and down slowly, needing to lighten the conversation and so he harkened back to what Ambrose had said before, about the kiss. "You knock everyone unconscious that kisses you, because I think I'm starting to see why you and Jane have issues."
Ambrose paused, and raised an eyebrow at Cain as he thought back to the days back at Court in the O.Z. The intrigue all ended up as kiss or kill at the finish, so he just shook his head and ignored the past, reminding himself this was the Otherside and the only politics he had to deal with were in his lecture hall. "Only when I know they're after something. I still have no idea why you did it, but I'm being nice and not asking, considering I doubt you want to have sex with me in hopes to get a word in with the Queen."
"I don't need to sleep with you to get a word in with the Queen, seeing as I'm doing a pretty damn good job on her personal errand," Cain said, a hand resting on top of the stack of newspaper ads and sales brochures he'd been amassing.
"It never worked anyway," Ambrose sighed, putting a hand over his eyes as he said it, the hand shifting to the side of his head. "Which is where the physical violence came in sometimes."
Cain got a touch of eye contact from the other man, but Ambrose looked more like he had the flu than anything else before Ambrose turned away.
"It's important that she grows up to be the next great leader, but she still needs to live, and I want her to enjoy that growing up part anyway." He laughed a bit bitterly. "You're the actual father here, Cain. She may love me, but she's the strong one between us." He sighed. "Just stay. You've got a place for yourself here. Hell, I'll even let you paint the damn car hold if you want."
Without giving any kind of warning, Cain leaned forward to test Ambrose's forehead with a broad palm, almost as if checking for a fever. "You look half-feverish and you're talking about needing and wanting me to stay," he pointed out. "A man might think you were ill." He did get up, however, digging out his checkbook and writing a large amount on the check which he pressed into Ambrose's hand. "Don't say a word. You want me to stay, fine. Use that to treat Azkadellia. She's had her eye on a white stallion down at the stables and that ought to cover boarding, vaccinations, and purchase."
"But...what?" Ambrose gaped at him, and stood up, watching Cain intently. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead it slid shut, his head tilting to the side. He looked down at the check, and back to Cain, still confused. "...I didn't know about the horse. Thanks." He smiled. "I'll tell her it's a Staying Here present."
"You can do that," Cain said, agreement coming with a single nod. Before there was any more speaking to be had, though, he was pushing in slowly and for a moment, it seemed he was just going to move Ambrose to the side and keep cleaning up. Instead of moving Ambrose anywhere with strong hands, he just leaned in and without warning, explanation, or anything of the like, he kissed him again.
This kiss was nothing like the last. There was nothing so desperate or rough about it, but it was kind and slow.
"You tell her she'll have to share with Jeb, though," he warned, because they'd never hear the end of it if they didn't like Jeb have a turn here and there.
"Well of course I'd have Jeb on the horse too," Ambrose frowned, completely ignoring the kiss for the time being and standing up. "Something that special isn't just for Azkadellia, you know. Plus they could probably both use lessons - we could probably both manage that."
Cain knew how to ride since he was nothing more than a boy of Azkadellia's age at his parents' insistence. After all, you couldn't get around the O.Z. when you lived out in the countryside without a horse, seeing as the cars could never make it when the roads got too wet. He knew Ambrose probably had the ability to ride, that most people in the O.Z. had that skill because sometimes, it was the only transportation method available.
After that, Ambrose stopped ignoring the kiss, and leaned down, looking him straight in the eye. "And Cain? You really, really need to start explaining this kissing tendency of yours." He hesitated for a moment, thinking about his options. Finally, he just shrugged and headed for the door. Another kiss would just complicate things, and punching Cain in the face (which was the most tempting option) would lead to questions from the kids.
Cain just watched Ambrose for a long moment while he made his way to the door. "Time was," he began quietly. "I met a lot of people, but only a few struck my fancy." The words were very calm and patient. "I never prided myself on dodging feelings or hiding away, so I preferred to just show my cards on the table. Punch a man if he's pissing me off. Ignore someone if they're sprouting a bunch of nothing. Kiss someone if I like them."
Ambrose leaned against the wall and faced Cain, sighing. "So you never punched a woman, then?" he asked, and he shut his eyes, hand raising up to catch in his hair, only for him to stop the movement. He knew it was a bad habit, knew it was one of his only obvious tells and the damage was done already, but he managed to shove his hands into his pockets, giving Cain a very, very steady look.
"Never hit a woman," he said simply, voice low. "Restrained a couple here and there when they pushed too hard, but never hit."
There were a lot of things he could have said. Most of them were very kindergarten-ish, others were more fit for a brothel or some back alley. "Cain, nobody 'strikes my fancy'."
He was lying. He was lying so completely that he almost felt bad about it, but Ambrose was a very, very good liar when it came to adults. He could never lie to children, but adults were easy. He felt guilty about this one, true, but it was for the best. Besides, Cain had a date anyway. Just like Ambrose did.
Cain studied him very carefully, eyes flickering over Ambrose as he twitched, and then came the words. "You're dating Jane Walker, Ambrose. I can't help but hope she strikes your fancy or what you're doing's a mite cruel to the woman."
"If she wants to date me, fine. If I strike someone else's fancy, fine. I try if I care about them. And who are you to lecture me on this, Cain? Go around kissing me and you've got a date with some woman..." Ambrose trailed off, sighing. "I don't remember her name."
Cain dumped a handful of the advertisements into the trash as Ambrose spoke, looking almost as if he'd already brushed off the words, as if he had closed up like a mask had been put on his face.
Ambrose didn't want to have this talk. He didn't even know how long he could keep that particular lie up anyway. The hand snapped into his hair, and he just glared. "You had the luxury of falling in love and getting married and having a son with someone, Cain. I never did and probably never will, so back off."
Cain just leveled a fairly intense look Ambrose's way at the last comment. Bringing Adora up was never something that Cain approved of and he made his way to the door, yanking it open. "Fine," he said simply. "You wanna be like this? Fine," he reiterated, as if no other words would come to mind. His grip on the door tightened and his knuckles went white from the pressure he had on the door.
"Nice to have you back, Cain," Ambrose muttered, and was more than happy to walk out the door, into the house, and straight for his lab, slamming the door behind him. He never even looked back.
tbc
---
...we're kind of mean, huh. *ponders this*