Cal shuffled along the sidewalk with one hand under his coat, trying to undo the buttons of his suit-jacket. Jasper had dressed him up; now, on his way home at four o'clock in the morning, he was steadfast about dressing himself down as quickly as possible. The buttons were free; he tugged the knot on his tie down and fumbled with the first few shirt buttons. When he got home he could take off his belt and then forget about it all. Then there were a few potions he had to finish as quickly as possible--he'd put on the television--and--

--and then he had to speak to Shallah Kosa again. After everything that had happened. Well, she still made his skin twinge, had worked her way into the mulchy underside of his skin, and her eyes stared out at the obverse of his, and he could still feel the rake of her claws the way he could feel Jasper's lips, sometimes, lingering at odd moments long after the fact. With Jasper they were a source of continuous frustration, more than satiation; the aftereffects of Shallah Kosa were fear, and a likewise insatiable need for--what?--for another chance to prove himself.

Cal was walking quickly now, the insides of his toes dragging along the ground, toward the bus stop. Paying no attention at all to the physical world (it was cold and best to pretend he was still in Jasper's warm walnut study or, better, already home in his own foyer), he hardly noticed what was around him until a sudden flurry of movement sent him reeling backward, spilling the contents of his satchel. Moment of blank panic. He'd fallen, one hand scraped along the concrete, and shoved himself back up into an approximate fighting stance.

"What?" He focused; it was Atlas--Atlas? "F--k you. Honestly." He glared.

This had been an unprecidently good night. Ventures into the Muggle world tended to be a mixed bag at best. It was true that sometimes you could find something brilliant (that set of fused beads in the shape of Edgar Allen Poe) and something, well, slightly less than brilliant (that altercation involving moving in on a local miscreants territory). These experiences coupled with his difficulty handling disappointment had led Atlas to limit his excursions into Muggle London to once a month if that. Three large bins in though and he was having a delightful night. A few broken watches, a paper bag full of perfectly pressed crisps bags, a perfume bottle, still have full and reeking like a baby prostitute but usable. Atlas was just preparing to hoist himself out and move on to the Toy shop down the street when he registered the sound of footsteps on the pavement.

Adjusting his headlamp, elegantly affixed in the brim of his hat with some twine and a nerd rope, Atlas lifted his chin out of the bin and peered into the alley. Calixtus!. This night was getting better and better, maybe he should make his visits bi monthly. After testing the rim of the bin to make sure it wouldn’t buckle, Atlas bounded out into the alley way and right into Cal’s path. F--k you. Honestly..

Atlas beamed, rocking back on his heels as he surveyed the man. “Perfect greeting for,” He dug in his pocket until he had found his watch. “4:15 already? My the time does fly when your having fun.” Taking a moment he looked the man up and down, noting both the ‘ready for anything martial stance’ as well as the spilled contents of his satchel. Kneeling Atlas scooped up the nearest piece of paper. “Coming from Jasper’s? Decided not to stay the night? Maybe you had something better to do…” He whistled low as he finished reading, offering the scrap back to Cal. “Apothecary license forms? Oh don’t tell me your going legit.” As he shook his head the yo-yo attached to his coat’s collar un-rolled itself and fell to his lower back. “That, is just the kind of thing they want.”

Cal blinked through the darkness at Atlas. He was helmeted, with a spelunking light--what? Garbage. His fists tightened and unclenched.

“4:15 already? My the time does fly when your having fun.”

Hit him. Hit him. Smash his nose into his brain. He didn't usually think this way--he didn't. But something about Atlas--about his obtuse yet somehow completely scathing, penetrating, ripping-bare--because he was such an ingenue, after his own hideous fashion, he made simplicities sordid.

Having fun

having fun...

Show him fun--what.

Atlas had picked up a scrap of paper, and Cal jerked forward to seize it back.

“Coming from Jasper’s? Decided not to stay the night? Maybe you had something better to do…”

His teeth squeaked.

“Apothecary license forms? Oh don’t tell me your going legit. That, is just the kind of thing they want.”

He grabbed for the paper and crushed it in one fist. Never mind, never mind. He could deal with all of this later. He wouldn't stoop to pick things up with Atlas there. But Atlas seemed oddly immune to normal social restrictions. He'd grab for Cal's things himself, all with that oblivious moon of a face and--Cal bent over and shuffled his things together, cramming them back into his satchel.

"Glad you're taking an interest in my moral wellbeing, Caedmon," he said, tightly, not looking up. "What is it Voltaire recommended? 'Mind your own garden,' or was it garbage?" He curled his lip and stood up tensely, arms crossed in front of his chest. He rocked for a moment, off-balance, then settled. "Mind your own garbage, Caedmon, and leave me alone." He took a step forward, shoulder slamming against Atlas's, then turned around.

"Don't think I don't know what you--just because I've managed to get a little something real--"

He had, for the moment, no idea what he was talking about--Jasper, Shallah Kosa, his spellcrafting, his Apothecarist's license--no idea at all; except that it was true.

Atlas left his hand extended palm out as Cal snatched the paper away. Was he embarrassed? No, it was more likely the revulsion that was radiating from him manifesting in a physical gesture. At least he hadn’t tried to hit him. Atlas wasn’t really in the mood, it was such a pretty night after all. When the chemist bent down and began piling things back into his satchel Atlas went down on his haunches, flipping his head lamp on at the same time and attempted to get a glance at what hidden goodies he might be carrying.

Glad you’re taking an interest in my moral wellbeing, Caedmon,. Cal seemed to have perfected the fine art of uttering a name as if it were a curse. Had he had any magical ability to speak of he might have been able to make that word wound, as it was though the words merely bounced off the tight walls of the alley and faded away. What is it Voltaire recommended? ‘Mind your own garden,’. Or was it garbage?

Oh, now he was being cute. “Far to early in the morning for this kind of talk don’t you think?” Atlas stood back up, leaning over and cracking several vertebra before returning attention to Cal. “Voltaire….French Muggle yes? Wasn’t he the one with the book about the girls with no bottoms? Strange fellow…” He would have continued, maybe asked Cal the details of how one could travel around sans rear in ye olde muggle dom but before he would think of the proper way to phrase the question Cal brushed past him, hard.
Don’t think I don’t know what you—just because I’ve managed to get a little something real.. Atlas hand, occupied with brushing dust from his shoulder stopped and his eyes (which had been overseeing his hand’s task) traveled up to meet Cal’s. To top the whole thing off Atlas arched one eyebrow. There was the distinctive click of his headlamp being turned off and then, after his eyes had adjusted to the change in light he regarded the stick of nothing before him.

“What do you surmise to know about me Calixtus?” Atlas stood there, yoyo hanging from his color, kaleidoscope protruding from his breast pocket, and a rubber chicken strapped to the left side of his belt in a holster where a gun belonged. “As for something real I have no idea what you mean.” He was being obtuse of course, and Cal would see it for what it was, what the other man would do in response was really anyone’s guess.

Click.

Cal blinked against the sudden shift in the fabric of light and shadow. The last blue image of Atlas's lamp faded; the streetlights nudged their way back into overlapping pools. He looked up, as nerve-wracking as it was to drag his gaze away from Caedmon, and blinked; then looked back. The man's eyes were shadowed by the brim of his ridiculous helmet. He could make out the faint outline of the rest of his face. Around his mouth were soft, deep, shadow-drawn lines of forced confusion.

"I--surmise--" Cal's own mouth drew itself down in a sneer. His lower lip twitched.

Atlas sounded glib.

No wonder he was Jasper's friend. Jasper always seemed--for such an intelligent man--uniquely prone to believing the glib and the thespian.

"You know very well what I think of you, Caedmon, and you know what I know about you."

His fingers opened and shut, and he took a half-step backwards, hoping the moon would throw more illumination onto Atlas's face with more distance. And; and. He wanted distance. This was not an intimate examination.

"You make yourself ridiculous because you're afraid, and rightly so, that you would be ridiculous anyway."

His lips uncurled around his teeth in an animal extension of his sneer. His fingers opened. Closed, not quite in a fist, but in a nervous shape.

You know very well what I think of you, Caedmon, and you what I know about you.. There was a statement. This could turn out to be a promising conversation. “Cryptic and well delivered. I do love learning things about myself.” Atlas glanced up and down the alley, abandoned as it should be. He meandered carefully over to the wall and dusted off the flat lid of the one of the available bins before seating himself. His legs hung a good 4 inches from the ground allowing him to swing his legs back and forth like a school boy. Adjusting his position so that he was properly facing Cal his eyes were drawn to the movement of the other mans hands. They tended to get wiley when unwatched.

The headlamp suddenly felt like it was compressing the sides of his head, and his eyes were always drawn to where it hung into his periphery vision. Lifting a hand he removed it and then ran a hand through his hairs, eyes moving between Cal’s hands and face.

You make yourself ridiculous because you’re afraid, and rightly so, that you would be ridiculous anyway..

There were many ways he could have chosen to react to this particular moment. Multitudes, but rather than thinking about them he just looked at Cal and wondered what he felt. When had he figured it out? Admittedly Atlas had been less mindful around him, the squib hadn’t seemed all that important. An addict with a brilliant mind, but no status, who occasionally wandered in looking for drugs and a sounding board. Then there was the day after the Ministry, the memory was foggy but what Cal had seen of him had likely confirmed anything else he had thought.

“Would you like to be congratulated? Or would you take that as me patronizing you?” He gripped the side of the bin to keep him from doing anything nervous with his hands. He hated fidgeting. “Your perception is,” Atlas lifted his hand and extended his thumb upright. “Remarkable, I’ll give you that. Very few have ever seen it, fewer have had the gumption to actually bring it up in conversation. Your conclusions though,” He inverted the finger. “Could use a bit of tweaking. I am afraid Cal, but I surmise that it has little to do with what you think.” A broad smile returned to his face and he recommenced swinging his legs. “Self preservation. There are amazing advantages to what I do.”

Atlas resettled himself on a rubbish bin, and Cal's lips shut tightly. He was going into the same pose, it was all so terribly, terribly symbolic. King of garbage, of found objects and cobbled-together ostentation. Theatre of the grotesque and absurd, and he thought that made him better than the theatrical-religious or the theatrical-elegant or anything else.

“Would you like to be congratulated? Or would you take that as me patronizing you?”

Cal sneered.

It struck him that without his hat on, sitting like that, Atlas looked shorn and almost forlorn. Vanquished. He extended one hand: thumbs-up--then--no, not at all, he was playacting again. Cal had no time for it, no time. Atlas went into swinging his legs and gesticulating, all a further performance; none of it touched him. He had cultivated a willful contempt, something he hadn't quite yet achieved for Atlas. Atlas knew, really knew--nothing. What Cal was doing was far beyond him.

“Self preservation. There are amazing advantages to what I do.”

Smuggery.

Cal shrugged and tucked his case under his arm.

"It's no life I'd like to live, Caedmon. Some would argue it is no life at all." He stared down at his feet, a little abashed at the spectacle Atlas was making of himself, his forced, ironical cheer dissipating on contact with Cal like a stormfront.

Cal, morose on the very best of days was having none of this and really Atlas shouldn't have been at all surprised. Though the mans moods tended to fluctuated regularly lately they had settled into anger and spite. What, after all did he have to be so unhappy about? Cal scowled at him before giving his reply.

It's no life I'd like to live, Caedmon. Some would argue it is no life at all..

Fine then, Cal was in no mood for theatrics. After a night very likely spent dealing with Jasper Atlas couldn't very well blame him. He shuddered at the thought and pushed it back forcefully. Down down down where it wouldn't bubble back up later. He coughed discreetly into his sleeve. “A blessing then that you don't have to isn't it?” Hoping from the lid to the pavement Atlas took a few careful steps toward the other man, his eyes curiously set on the case nestled beneath Cal's arm. “Why does it matter to you what I do?” The question was delivered with a tone of genuine curiosity. “It can't be the dishonesty of it, you have little trouble lying to people. I harm no one and at the same time I am free to live as I choose.”

Eyes still on the box he lifted a hand and pointed. “Apothecaries licensing forms eh? Simple thing in and of itself, but rather difficult for a squib to obtain. Am I correct? It has been some time since I had time to read the laws for any length of time. New job? Something that would require you to be legal?”

“...It can't be the dishonesty of it, you have little trouble lying to people."

Cal flinched. Atlas shoved himself off the trash can and Cal stepped back; half-step, half-step, stop.

He wasn't looking at Cal, but rather down, at his bag. His face was that combination of blankness and intensity that was so Atlas and so terribly dishonest. What did he know? or what did he intuit--Cal was familiar with the strong intuitive intelligence of the avoidant, he understood well how the more one didn't think of things and didn't think of things and tried not to be oneself, the closer one would edge to--to the truth, or to the looming, terrible things one didn't want to look at. Invisible things were the largest. Atlas tried so determinedly to live in a fabricated world that he fetched up against the real one at every thrashing turn.

Cal understood that--too well.

"I harm no one and at the same time I am free to live as I choose.”

Harm no one; as if that were quantifiable. As if it were a worthy goal.


“Apothecaries licensing forms eh? [...] New job? Something that would require you to be legal?”

"No."

He declined to elaborate. The malicious use of the word Squib--well, he wasn't unused to it. Unuse. Impossible. "I don't like your fishing, Caedmon." Though he didn't want to--though he stuttered away instinctively--he forced himself to take a mincing step closer to Atlas and stared him down. Up. And down. "I'm only a Squib, after all, so just--lay off. I couldn't harm anyone if I tried. You manage it without trying--did you know that--"

Lying to people. Lying was such an oversimplification of the truth of untruth.

No. Cal was dancing around, shifting from foot to foot like a nervous rodent. Had Atlas given him so much reason to be afraid of him, as he recalled their last few altercations he was tempted to remind Cal that he had never thrown punch at the man yet. Really Atlas should be the one retreating back from Cal, at least it seemed that way to him. Of course pointing that out could very well result in loosing Cal's anger and the man was speaking again. I don't like your fishing, Caedmon. Then he stepped closer and Atlas didn't step back but he did lean back on his heels just slightly, a rocking motion.

I'm only a squib, after all, so just—lay off. I couldn't harm anyone if I tired. You manage it without trying—did you know that--. “Now Cal don't say that. No one likes a person who leans on their disability like a crutch. Your doing well enough for yourself. And I'm sorry I meant no insult, I was only curious.”

He chewed on the inside of his lip. “But I would have to argue about your capacity to do harm. I've been going over my records lately, your purchases over the last few months have been of particular interest to me. I didn't pay much attention during the actual transactions but looking back on them, some very interesting combinations could come out of those ingredients.” He watched Cal sidelong. “Some of those combinations could do a lot of harm to a lot of people depending on who you were selling your talents to.”

He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Without trying? Who have I hurt Cal? Accept your pride and very possibly your wrist.” What does he see in you? the little voice shouted. Atlas shook his head, causing the headlamp to lump down resting precariously above his right eye. “I don't understand you Calixtus and that bothers me.”A wry smile came over his face, “I suppose I should get to know you better, Apollo tells me I'm obligated to speak at your wedding.” The smile faltered at the word 'wedding' and all the connotations therein but Apollo had told the shop keeper that the word had made Cal exceedingly uncomfortable and maybe if he was uncomfortable whatever he was up to would find its way out of his mouth.

Atlas was provoking him, but of course, he deserved it. Cal stared at him, eyes wide under the strain of darkness.

"Now Cal don't say that. No one likes a person who leans on their disability like a crutch. Your doing well enough for yourself. And I'm sorry I meant no insult, I was only curious.”

He snorted, viciously, and felt his fingers twitch in and out of a loose, limp fist. Disability. He set it up and knocked it down again. Lean on it. Lent. It was a disability, he was merciless, it was merciless, and Atlas had to know what it did to Cal to hear it. He supposed everyone would know sooner or later. He had very few secrets left (only the important ones).

"You always mean to insult me." He would have spat, but had never learned how; trying always disgusted him.

He ignored the comments on his work. Atlas was suspicious. Atlas's suspicion was almost a safeguard, he'd always thought; he'd cried wolf too many times. Besides, if he knew anything he would say it, or tell Jasper, or tell Channing (shadowiest of Jasper's friends, since he'd run out).

"...Who have I hurt Cal? Accept your pride and very possibly your wrist.”

"Ha." Half exhalation and half forced, triumphal laugh. Cal shook out his wrist, which he'd have fixed at St. Mungo's once he remembered to take care of it; once pragmatism won out over his fear of hospitals.

“I don't understand you Calixtus and that bothers me.”

He was incredibly pleased to hear it--disproportionately so, boundlessly so, ridiculously so. He tried so hard to be inscrutable. He tried so hard to be enigmatic, unreadable and unreachable; he tried, in short, what Atlas kept as a false pose, which he'd pinpointed--but he'd never thought it would work. It surprised him to hear it; he had thought himself transparent, always had, but now--now--an empty victory. He could still see through himself.

“I suppose I should get to know you better, Apollo tells me I'm obligated to speak at your wedding.”

"Oh God." Cal turned away disgustedly, raking one hand through his hair and hating the way his stomach jumped jubilantly into his chest at the thought. Too many wedding jokes. Jasper kept calling him his fiancé. It was--he wasn't used to joking like this; he wasn't used to jokes. It wasn't fair. Atlas was twisting the knife. He was also... joking. Joking? Atlas? Maybe he wasn't. Twisting the knife. "Sinistra." He stared at Atlas belligerently, arms askance, legs planted, shoulders hunched. "So you're acknowledging sexual things now, are you, Caedmon? Your mum must be proud."

Juvenile, Ferox, very juvenile. But it was late and he--

"Oh, and I don't abuse Jasper. Stop telling people--Apollo--it isn't true. All right?"

You always mean to insult me.. Atlas simply shrugged in response. It was true but Cal just made it so sinfully easy. Normally Atlas felt no real temptation to cause people any trouble, that had been true with Cal at one time but the then the man had pressed his way into Atlas’s sphere of influence. At that point the scrawny drug addict with a penchant for strange purchases had gone from an object of passing interest to something that needed to be carefully scrutinized. Increasingly Atlas was coming to see him as a threat so what were one of a few dozen verbal jabs?

Cal flapped his wrist and then paused suddenly when Atlas admitted to not being entirely sure what to make of him. An expression that was on the line of being smug passed over Cal’s features, he looked as if someone had given him a golden star, Atlas blinked in confusions. He hadn’t meant to compliment him but it looked as if he might have. Or maybe Cal was high. He was about to lean forward and flip on his lamp to check when Cal moved suddenly intoning, Oh God. as if he had just received news that a close relative had died.

Sinistra. Oh, so he had spoken to Apollo recently. The male Sinistra had breezed into SHOP the other day humming something and looking as if he had murdered several disco balls for their pelts. Sitting on the desk he had regaled Atlas for the better part of an hour with his master plan for what he termed, ‘the wedding of the millennia’ and had only left after Atlas agreed to give the toast and buy the happy couple a toaster…. whatever in hell that was. It has been a toaster or bedding and Atlas just couldn’t will his mind to admit that place, occupied by two people, one of them Jasper and one of them Calixtus existed. Ever.

Cal choose that exact moment to bring up his repression. So you're acknowledging sexual things now, are you, Caedmon? Your mum must be proud.. Atlas baulked what did Cal know about his mother? Or maybe that was just a typical insult. He rubbed at the back of his neck in agitation several base insults sprung to mind all of them childish, most involving attempting to crush Cal’s already negligible self esteem. In the end he settled for brushing it off. “She isolates between starry eyed hope that I’ll find the ‘right girl’ and the stark realization that I should never reproduce.”

Oh and I don’t abuse Jasper. Stop telling people—Apollo—it isn’t true. All right? This was quickly getting into the kind of territory that made Atlas’s skin want to crawl away from his body and go do something less stressful, like play with the soul in a box while juggling flaming minks. “It’s a…..” He paused trying to recall the word, his brain wasn’t being very forth coming. “A kink.” His face screwed up at the word and meaning. “that’s what they call it yes?” He was quickly loosing the advantage to this conversation. “If I really thought you were hurting him do you think I wouldn’t try to do something about it?” He shifted his weight, coughed into his hand. “Not that my efforts would be well received, you know what Jasper is like.” Oh God, does he..

He broke eye contact with Cal, tried to look anywhere but the mans face and his eyes locked on something glossy in the streetlight. Darting forward Atlas reached a hand out and plucked the object from where it had been protruding from Cal’s pocket. Small-ish square, he had seen containers like these before in the trash but he didn’t actually know what they were for. He squinted, lifting the box closer to his eye level and frowned at it, “Wet Shorts Under the Big Top….”

He turned the case over, the moment the street light illuminated the pictures on the back his eyes crossed. Atlas had seen a great many horrors in his life, at this moment he forgot them all. Even the events in the Ministry seemed more subdued in his mind. He made a sound that began as a gurgle and mutated on its way out until it was a shriek, in the pitch and decibel level of a girl of around 9 years of age, likely a girl who had just seen a spider or some other horrible creature. “Oh sweet merlin!” His hand spasmed and he dropped what he now hypothesized was what people called a DVD. This actually made it worse as when the case hit the pavement it fell open, revealing even more photographs. Atlas realized there must be some God in the sky when he realized that the pictures were Muggle, thankfully they didn’t move. He coughed into his hand, gagging only once before looking up to see Cal’s reaction, there had to be something redeeming about this.

Atlas looked, if possible, even more uncomfortable than Cal had felt about all this a few months ago. Or a few weeks ago, when he'd done his zoom-lens-on-reality turn and reflected what he and Jasper looked like back at himself...

“It’s a…..” Atlas paused, then said something Cal had never thought the Shop owner would bring himself to squeeze out. "A kink.” It wasn't, actually; Cal was just a bit bitey... were ties a fetish? He supposed so. Note: when you want to make Atlas really uncomfortable, keep bringing up sex. It was easy. Cal only had to think of what made him uncomfortable. The problem, of course, came in when he reached the point of diminishing returns on the sliding scale of his embarrassment versus Caedmon's.

“that’s what they call it yes?”

"Yes, Caedmon," Cal said, drily, à la James Bond. If he'd had inappropriate-to-the-hour sunglasses on, he would have done a Condescending Shades Slide, but as it was, he just raised one eyebrow. The other followed. He'd get the hang of it someday.

“If I really thought you were hurting him do you think I wouldn’t try to do something about it?” Atlas looked... incredibly uncomfortable. “Not that my efforts would be well received, you know what Jasper is like.”

"I do." He blinked. That was rather more pointed than Caedmon usually got--of course he usually wasn't squirming like a weevil in salt. Cal found he had gotten rather smug about the whole thing. Rather--

Suddenly, jerkily, Atlas darted a hand forward and seized on the DVD Cal had been keeping in his pocket.

Time flipped, skipped, and stopped. The bottom fell out from under things. Oh, no.

Cal had stopped by his dealer's video shop on the way home. He'd been curious recently, and lonely in an indefinable way; not lonely for particular company or even sex, just lonely in a broader, 'am I normal' sort of way, 'what do other people do' sort of way. So he'd let the man burden him with a recommended disc, for (generally speaking) study. He'd put it in his pocket so he wouldn't find himself paranoid it would fall out of his bag, or catch the light when he rummaged for bus fare.

In retrospect, a bad, bad, bad idea.

Oh, no, oh God.

There was a moment of absolutely hideous, sick, suspended silence. Atlas stared at the DVD cover, and Cal, watching vicariously, blanched. It seemed to take him just a second--just a beat--to catch on, and then he shrieked, Caedmon-teakettle-style. It would have been funny if Cal hadn't felt on the edge of fainting from horrified embarrassment, embarrassment well beyond anything he'd ever felt. He could feel his face cycle through red-hot and back to clammy cold, and thought he really might melt into a superconductive puddle. The DVD case fell to the pavement, as if in slow motion. Bounced. Doom. Doom. Opened, scattering horrifying pictures. Doom. It was horrible. It was the worst feeling, as though his head had been opened up and--it was--

After a moment of total, numb stasis, Cal dropped to his feet and scrambled for the spilled bits of DVD and paper, grabbed it all, bundled, and--he was breathing hard, he felt sick--shoved it in the side compartment of his bag. When he got home he'd burn it. He would not put it in the trash.

"Oh God." Somehow he was still on his knees, hands over his face. Zoom out: wide-angle lens, pan across: small, insignificant specimen of perversion, judgmental monolith. Atlas made a gagging sound. "Oh... God."

There was noise…somewhere but Atlas was having trouble determining its location or its reason for being above the sound of his wretching. It had been a considerable amount of time since he had last vomited and he was desperate to keep it that way. When was he ever going to learn that things in Cal’s pockets were nothing he wanted anything to do with? There were experiences in Atlas’s life that he had no great desire to repeat; His first kiss, splinching, seeing Joseph and the Technicolor Dream Coat, anything involving periwinkle…but this had just over taken the top slot. Easily blowing past its prime competitor, that time Atlas had drunkenly urinated on a snowman all the while chanting, ‘I am the destroyer, I destroy things!’ in broken Hittite.

When his eyes rolled back down the pavement Cal was kneeling there, scraping up bits of the…his brain ground to an abrupt and definite halt. There was a tremble in Calixtus’s shoulders, all the bravado and fight that had been in him a moment ago replaced with a shuddering puddle of a creature. The change would have been fascinating to observe, had Atlas not been occupied with piecing his brain back together he might have taken the time to study it. Atlas pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, hoping to see welcoming unassuming black spots and was instead greeted with the leering images from the volumes insides, he opened his eyes again and blinked until the pictures went away.

Now that the low pitched buzzing in his head had subsided Atlas realized the sound he had been hearing was Cal, kneeing something that with a great stretch of the imagination might be construed as the words, ‘Oh God.’ Repeated over and over in sequence, a mantra, Atlas wondered if that was helping.


His gagging was now replaced with discreet and contained coughs, which increased in number and force whenever he blinked and the clowns wearing far too little fabric made a graphic reappearance behind his lids. Should he say something? What was the social decorum when one revealed another’s gay porn stash? These are the things he should ask Will about at boys club meetings instead of prattling on all day about the latest Ministry injustice.

He supposed his intention had been to apologize, but three tries later and all he could get out into the air was a breathy and strained, “I need alcohol.” He glanced at Cal, still kneeling miserably and scratched at the back of his head. Jasper wanted them to be friends? Wanted him to make an effort, fine. “You should come….” He pointed at the tip of the cover still visible over the flap of the bag, “That should not….” Drawing his wand from his pocket before remembering his current disability Atlas stuffed it back in his pocket and then produced a lighter. Staying a far away as possible he offered it to Calixtus.

"What?" Cal stared; the word came out a hiss, through teeth that tasted foul. Atlas was looking down at him in a way he'd never seen before--it was almost friendly. It almost reminded him of himself. At his most pathetic. When he tried to be kind to people he detested. It was horrible. It was horrible and maybe it was sincere.

"A drink?" He stood up uncertainly, the wind gone from his sails--what little he'd had. He was thinking in horrible sexual metaphors. He couldn't shut it off. One more look at Atlas's fixed gaze and white face and he was quite sure the shop owner felt the same. God. They were. "Look, I didn't pick that stuff, all right?" He snatched the lighter and, resolving to think more on Atlas's reluctance at magic (think a great deal more), picked out the ravaged bits of DVD case, tossed them in a trash bin, and set a few screwed-up rolls of old newspaper alight on top of them. The cheery, acrid smell of melting plastic suggested condoms. Cal was disturbed.

"God, God." It was a singularly ineffectual plea and that was likely why he made it.

"Listen. Caedmon." He was standing at angles inside the lines of his own body, fidgeting with the lighter. He held it so tightly his thumb was going numb. "If you tell Jasper about this I swear to f--king--I'll kill you." He'd made death threats at Atlas too often (every business interaction) for them to smack of anything, but he was also too dazed to offer more.

Cal cursed again and dragged a toe across pavement, wincing; it'd reminded him he had a body and worse, a mind. Better to just... stand still. A pulse throbbed in his thumb and he quickly handed the lighter back to Atlas, wiping his hand on his pants, again, again, again. Out, damned spot.

"F... fine." He shook his head rapidly. "Fine, Caedmon, let's get a drink." He took a few swinging steps backward, still in defensive stance, and followed a good length away from his dubious companion. He had to make certain, at the least, that he wouldn't tell Jasper. And he had to... to figure out Atlas's magic problem. Right. That was it.

A niggling voice in the back of his mind told him he only wanted the immediate reassurance of whoever was around so he wouldn't feel even more disgusting, but he told it to go away.

What? Atlas registered the question and hoped that it had been a 'what' meant to fill the empty air rather than Cal not hearing him. He didn't know if he would be able to choke the invitation out again. The look on the other man's face was a questioning one, but it looked more shocked than confused. A drink. The shop owner let out a breath he hadn't been entirely aware he was holding as Calixtus worked his way back up to his feet. Atlas shuffled back a half step further, giving him some room in case Cal's stomach was as unsettled as his own. They exchanged tight uncomfortable looks and Atlas silently commended himself on not apparating away in a panic. It was a useful application of the skill but in his current state, emotional and otherwise he would have ended up splinching himself horrifically, that much he was certain of.

Look, I didn't pick that stuff, all right? The statement was punctuated by Cal's hand shooting out and snatching the lighter from Atlas's still outstretched hand. There was some brief flinching movements and Atlas looked away discreetly as the accursed object made a brief re-appearance. He only looked back after he could feel the heat from the fire against his face. Some of the tension from his shoulders eased and he cleared his voice before finally saying, “No....of course not.” His voice was up about one actave from usual and he cleared his throat, feeling a vague and blessed feeling of ease returning as the contents of the barrel continued to burn merrily.

God, God.. My sentiments exactly..

Listen. Caedmon. Atlas wide eyes followed the sound of Cal's voice, glancing at him edgewise while his head and body stayed facing the bin. Blue eyes flicked to the lighter as Cal clutched it and he wondered how much pressure the muggle made item might be able to take. If you tell Jasper about this I swear to f—king. Cal took the briefest moment to finish his threat. I'll kill you.. These sorts of promises were becoming as natural to a discourse with Cal saying hello and goodbye to his mother on the phone. In this case though he gave a nod which he hoped showed due reverence toward the warning. Tell Jasper, the very thought...the ghost of the thought. He stopped thinking about it.

Atlas jumped when Cal threw the lighter back in his direction and though it was awkward he did manage to catch it with his left hand before it met its end along with the DVD. He pocketed it while Cal scrubbed his hand against his pant leg, he looked as if he was trying to disengage himself from his first several layers of skin.

F...fine.. The lighter was halfway back to its home in his pocket but when the word turned out to be fuh, as in 'fine' as in 'yes' and not fuh, as in the customary 'f—k you.' Atlas slipped and dropped it to the ground. He watched it with detached interest for a moment before kneeling and firmly shoving the item into his jacket. Fine, Caedmon, let's get a drink..

Look of discomfort and mild confusion on his face Atlas nodded and the turned on one heel and began to head down the alley in the opposite direction Cal had come from. He kept the pace brisk but nothing that would cause Cal to loose him, even if the other man did insist on following him three paces behind. He stopped in front of a rather unassuming hole in the wall, there were other bars, better ones, but this was situation which required expedient resolution.

He wretched the door knob and stepped into the smoky air of the bar, greeted a moment later by the large barmen whos facial hair had always delighted the shop keeper, “Lo Atlas.” The man looked just like Erol Flin...if Erol Flin had owned a bar, and aged 40 years, it was close though. He smiled in return to the greeting, reaching up and detaching the headlamp, pulling it down until it rested comfortable around his neck. Atlas didn't cease moving until he was comfortably seated at the table in the far right corner of the bar, it had the best view of the whole establishment.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted in the direction of the bar. “Ollie! Fire whiskey and some of that Greek stuff, and the little peanuts if you have them.” He lowered his hands only to bring them up a moment later and added. “And the normal ones, not the dancing ones!”

Hands stuffed in his pockets, fingers still twitching, shoulders drawn up around his ears, Cal followed Atlas. He knew he still had his hunted expression on. He was trying very hard not to think of what had happened. He wanted Jasper very much. He wanted to be held and told everything was all right, if only it hadn't made him think of wet shorts. Everything made him think of wet shorts. He sat down at the table next to Atlas, stretching the definition of 'next to' as far as he was able; he was two seats over and jammed between the wall and the bar, in the second-farthest corner. One knee was shoved in against his chin and he couldn't stop his fingers grasping at invisible strings in the air. His mouth moved. He blinked. The bar was dark and obviously Magical, despite its location.

Atlas ordered. It took Cal some minutes, scanning the red-and-whiskey-brown interior of the darkness, lit by the cupolae of glowing glasses, to get up the voice to order.

"Two double gins." He sounded hoarse. He bent his head and shrank in on himself, shuffling in his pockets for the baggie of doxy powder and a straw he kept there, took out the cardboard insert from a poptarts box, and did a quick, neat line, trying not to catch Atlas's eye. Then he tipped his head back and blinked through spangled darkness.

"So," he said, and because he could think of nothing else (hitting Atlas again would be imprudent, at least until after a few gins), "come here often?"

His drinks arrived and he played a minute shell-game with them, trying to see which was fuller, before he slammed back both with a suddenness that left him gasping through paint-thinner fumes and feeling quite as though he had seared out his Adam's Apple. His throat moved without feeling. His nose ran. He coughed and glared through watering eyes.

Ollie came around the bar plunking down Atlas's order and sparring a glance over in Cal's direction. The chemist said nothing, didn't even really seem to acknowledge the man was there. In fact, the man was curled up and giving every appearance of being completely catatonic, Atlas could sympathize his brain hurt.Ollie had turned his attention back to Atlas and was looking at Atlas expectantly. He dug in his pocket, fished out a smattering of cash including a few galleons, 8000 yen and 4 pounds, and handed the lot to the bar man, who sighed but accepted the tender before hobbling back over to the bar.

The revulsion was still there but under it was a certain level of ever present curiosity. Later he would have to ask Will why wet shorts would be something at all practical to wear to the circus. Unless it had something to do with water tanks....his mind wandered a bit to far and he shook his head, grabbed the bottle of Greek Arisgoth, flipped off the cap with his thumb and downed half the bottle. It wasn't particularly strong, more sweet than anything but the taste at least have him something else to contemplate and concentrate on.

Sparing Cal another glance Atlas stretched a hand forward and poured himself a hefty glass of firewhiskey. Rather then drinking from it immediately he began to carefully add peanuts, inspecting each one before dropping it into the glass. Two double gins.. Atlas stopped halfway through shelling a peanut when Cal finally spoke up. As soon as the words left his mouth Cal rummaged in his coat producing a straw, a flat brightly colored paper board and doxy powder.Atlas added another peanut. So, Atlas froze, peanut between thumb and forefinger and turned his head to look at Cal. Come here often?

A muscle between his shoulder blades locked up, forcing him to sit up straight as he ran down the list of acceptable answers to that question. Had that been a come on? Certainly not...just to be sure though. “I hate the circus.” He blurted awkwardly as Cal downed both his shots in one go. Atlas grimaced and sipped at his firewhiskey, rolled one of the peanuts on his tongue before coming up with a more acceptable answer. “Yes actually. Ollie,” He indicated the barman with his chin. “Was a friend of my grandfathers. I know where he gets all his liquor, only bar in the city I'd trust. Excellent Harvey Wallbangers.”

“I hate the circus.”

Cal blinked, unable to follow the Caedmonian labyrinth, and shook his head. "So do I," he managed, staring down at the table. He wanted to upend Atlas's firewhiskey over his head. Only the peanuts stopped him. "Thanks for f-- for reminding me." Cursing at people was not the way to make them get on with you.

He glanced at the barman, who looked like a refugee from either a monster movie or an Old-Hollywood pirate film gone very wrong. Of course Atlas came here often. Had he taken that to mean.... what? He stared at Caedmon in puzzlement. No. He would not type Cal as some sort of--of--he skated on without thinking of it.

"Well," he said at last, motioning for a refill on one of the gins, which came expediently. The air had already blurred into ropy strings of streaked neon.

"My dealer gave it to me," he said, finally, in reluctant explanation. "He... I mean... you know how it is. I don't know anything about..." He stared at Atlas; skewered him on a stare. "I had never done anything before I met Jasper. I don't really want to know but I assume you don't know very much either. Well. I wanted to learn."

So do I. Thanks f-- for reminding me.. Atlas paused, bottle halfway to his mouth and glanced in Calixtus's direction. Apparently the circus wasn't some sort of depraved hangout or maybe it was a hangout but not depraved, thus Cal's dislike for it. Maybe he just found clown unsettling, who didn't find clowns unsettling? If both of them hated the circus what did that mean about Atlas? He downed the rest of the liquor, wiped a hand across his mouth and looked up to find Cal starring at him. Not in any sort of 'come hither way', more of that 'there is something deeply wrong with you' way.

Well..Cal raised his hand, ordering another round for himself while Atlas nursed his fire whiskey. My dealer gave it to me. Despite all the mental trauma the dvd had caused it took Atlas a moment t figure out that what Cal had said was a statement and not some sort of cryptic message. He...I mean...you know how it is.. The space between his shoulders had started to twinge again. He knew how what was? Drug dealers dosing out obscenely titled pornography was not an area that he had ever invested much time in really... was pornography a controlled substance? He made the mistake of making eye contact with the squib whose gaze was positively piercing. He popped a peanut into his mouth, at least if he had something to chew his teeth might stop grinding. I had never done anything before I met Jasper. He added a handful of peanuts, chewing as forcefully as possible. I don't really want to know but I assume you don't know very much either. Well. I wanted to learn..

There was the urge to vomit, but it passed quickly. Instead of focusing on the less savory uncomfortable bits of Calixtus's omission (anything and everything involving Jasper) Atlas choose to focus on the part that didn't make his brain burn. He quickly summoned an image of Calixtus perched like some great skinny vulture in front of a TV set, glasses askew, and a notebook in hand, furiously taking notes. He swallowed the remainder of the peanuts. “Did it occur to you to maybe ask another....” His tongue tied on the word. “You know, person.” Another hasty gulp, he ordered a second round for himself before continuing. “Someone who wasn't your dealer? I have to say Calixtus I might consider buying from someone else after this incident. Someone with that sort of...product readily available shouldn't be trusted with already hazardous substances your placing in your body. Was the man a clown?”

He realized as soon as the thought came to his head that he was going to be mortified as soon as he said it...but really the pain couldn't get worse, and it would slip out anyway once he had some more to drink so why not? “I often find in matters such as your describing that nothing can really compare to he actual experience. Maybe you just need to....dabble more?”

"Ask another person." Cal dosed his dry laugh with a tongueless sip of gin and tossed his head back, pinched his nose shut, closed his eyes, breathed, felt his eyes water, looked back at Atlas. "I..." Pause.

"I don't have any friends, Caedmon. I don't know anyone. I don't speak to anyone. Even if I did it's not--I would be embarrassed to ask and embarrassed to have to listen to someone's answer. No. I think not."

He turned his weakness and momentary, fragmentary self-hatred into hauteur, and finished his gin. When he was done he slammed down the empty glass with great emphasis. It toppled over. He had to dive to catch it and came up in a flurry of limbs.

"And he's not a clown." You idiot.

Then he--

“I often find in matters such as your describing that nothing can really compare to he actual experience. Maybe you just need to....dabble more?”

Cal nearly choked. He had never thought he would hear words even vaguely tangent to the theme coming out of Atlas Caedmon's mouth. He had far, far more readily come to expect some sort of embroidery upon the general tapestry of Bigfoot and Shirley and apocalyptic lemongrass that he had come to view as Atlas's genial, homely, mostly harmless world. He had not expected a lucid discussion of sexual experience.

Only one thing for it. He would raise the stakes by responding in kind. It seemed likely that Atlas's moment of sanity would collapse like a wet biscuit if pressed.

"Yes, well." He spun his empty glass. "The thing is, there are some things I don't want to just ask Jasper to do before I know how to do them properly, if you see what I--and I'm not about to go and, and do someone else, I'm not--I mean, it's complicated." Somewhere in between his desire to just get away and his desire to take the piss out of Atlas he had washed up on the shore of unfortunate honesty.

Ask another person. Atlas noted the expression and the venom with which it was delivered and steeled himself from the physical confrontation that this night was inevitably hurtling toward what he got instead was a startling moment of honesty from Cal’s corner of the table. I don’t have any friends, Caedmon. I don’t know anyone. I don’t speak to anyone. Even if I did it’s not— Atlas set his glass on the table top, shoving it lightly from one hand to other. I would be embarrassed to ask and embarrassed to have to listen to someone’s answer. No. I think not.

The outburst was punctuated by Cal throwing back the drink with a sort of uncoordinated flourish which nearly ended in both the glass and Cal colliding with the floor. A good thing the smaller man managed to avoid such an end, Atlas wasn’t sure when the floor had been cleaned last. The shirt Cal was wearing complimented his eyes and skin tone and screamed JASPER with every fiber of its expensive being, Atlas was sure the jewler would mourn its loss as one might a child. If he found out Atlas had a hand in the garments demise he might sic Apollo on him and Atlas just didn’t have the stamina for a lecture on quality product at the moment.

And he’s not a clown. This comment seemed to be an afterthought. Atlas gave some consideration to the slurred outburst, he hadn’t really ever had cause to consider Cal’s life outside of Jasper, to consider that Cal had a life outside of Jasper…He blinked as reason pressed its way past the nice cushion the alcohol was beginning to build around his brain. If Cal had nothing, but Cal had Jasper than that meant that Jasper was everything. It was no wonder Cal seemed so violent in defending himself, it was like he was drowning. Jasper had to know, but while Jasper loved being adored more than almost anything else (maybe more than the newest whatever worn on this body and newest whoever in his bed) this seemed like it would be a bit much for him.

Then Atlas had had to bring up sex again, press the point, offer advise. The noise Cal made was similar to that of the mating call of the Irish Selkie, which sounded like someone having the life wrung out of them. Then his expression melted into what Atlas would only describe as sly, and Atlas prepared for the worst.

The thing is, there are some things I don't want to just ask Jasper to do before I know how to do them properly, if you see what I--and I'm not about to go and, and do someone else, I'm not--I mean, it's complicated..

Atlas brain kicked into overdrive, imaging scenarios that Cal might possible maybe be describing. Rather thank thinking about Jasper he imagined two bean bag dolls, the dolls quickly went from doing wholesome activities like potions brewing and pie baking to knife throwing acts, while carnival music played in the background and a bear danced around the ring. He had to stop that, and why the hell had there been a dancing bear? He glanced over at Cal, could a bear be used safely in sexual acts? What about animal rights? “So,” His London accent thickened for a moment. He pressed his lips together and considered how to handle this. “What your saying is that you wanted to try…something…and you thought it would be on that.” Vague hand gesture. “Well, that, you know. So if you watched it you would know what you were doing so you could do it to Jasper?” The last part of the sentence caused his stomach to twist but he got it out. Both eyebrows knotted in concentration.

The silence dragged on while he finished off his glass of fire whiskey slowing. Added 7 peanuts to the glass, poured himself some more and drank that. With the back of his hand he edged he bottle further down the table, out of Cal’s grasp. “What exactly were you planning to do to Jasper?!” He asked, confusion and the smallest tinge of worry edging into his voice. “I mean he’s no blushing virgin, so whatever your planning as to be something.” He rubbed his hand on the tabletop before finally finishing with. “Maybe you could talk to Will. Not for practice but maybe general knowledge.” Had Will ever mentioned the circus?

Cal was quite surprised. He'd expected Atlas to melt into a wrinkled, sobbing puddle at the mere mention of 'sex' and 'Jasper'. Obviously things hadn't gone as planned. In fact Cal was a little concerned--he couldn't say much more without embarrassing himself more than he'd apparently embarrassed Atlas. He spared a moment, during which he imagined Atlas behaving like a normal human being, going out on dates, kissing someone--and felt himself turning green. He didn't want to know. It was Atlas Caedmon.

“What your saying is that you wanted to try…something…and you thought it would be on that.” He made a motion toward the thing they weren't talking about. “Well, that, you know. So if you watched it you would know what you were doing so you could do it to Jasper?” Atlas appeared to be trying very hard to get the words out; his brows were shoved together like collided caterpillars.

He added a few peanuts to his drink (Cal wondered why, and supposed he hadn't much room to comment; as Jasper liked to point out whenever he made some remark about a culinary or appetitive oddity, he drank mouthwash and ate poptarts). He seemed to notice Cal eyeing the drink, and shoved it away, as though he were about to attack it. Hardly. Cal felt insulted. He ordered another gin.

“What exactly were you planning to do to Jasper?!”

Cal choked, mid-sip, spraying the table with gin, and stifled a cough behind both horrified fists. He didn't really just ask that, he's been body-snatched, obviously...

“I mean he’s no blushing virgin,

OH GOD WHAT? Well, he wasn't a blushing virgin, but he was blushing, at least.

"--so whatever your planning as to be something. Maybe you could talk to Will. Not for practice but maybe general knowledge.”

Cal leaned back, face crimson or purple or similar, he was sure, and hid his face inside the collar of his shirt. "Absolutely. Not. That Channing fellow, he ran out of the room when...." He tapered off into faint oblivion and gnawed at the inside of his collar. "And it's not something perverted, all right, it's normal, we've just never... the other way... I mean..." Cal stood up very quickly and slammed one hand down on the counter. "That's it. I'm leaving. You're an evil person, Caedmon, and I don't like you."

Cal’s pallor and posture had both been deteriorating rapidly as Atlas spoke, the wizard briefly entertained the notion that Cal might have some sort of liquid bone structure which allowed him to curl up like that but didn’t have much time to ruminate on the matter. He had, he deiced as soon as the advice had cleared his lips that maybe it had been a mistake to mention Will.

Cal’s head jerked to the side as if he was turning away from something highly objectionable. Absolutely. Not. Had Cal been standing Atlas imagined he would have punctuated the statement by slamming his booted foot down on the floor or some other gesture, as it was Cal merely placed as much drunken venom on his inflection as possible. Which would have been a considerable amount had the ‘l’ in absolutely not been so slurred. That Channing fellow, Atlas raised a single eyebrow, what had Will done to Cal except look rather stricken and then flee. He ran out of the room when….

“When you were unveiled?” Atlas finished helpfully, half to Cal and half into his drink. If they had been smart they all would have fled. As soon as Cal descended those stairs in all of his wet, muskrat glory, Atlas should have for once taken a cue from the Auror and left. But the opportunity to mortify Cal and watch Jasper try to charm his way out of what the rest of the Boys Club had clearly seen had been enough to completely override Atlas’s minimal common sense.

Well, if Cal wasn’t interested in sexual advise from Will maybe he should watch that program with the Canadian Muggle women with the funny accent. Was she still alive? Musing on the question he continued to listen to Cal, whose speech was becoming more broken up as he progressed. This seemed to be the way with Cal, he began with a lot of fire and energy but then the words caught up, and they crammed into each other until the only way to get them out was in stunted little phrases. And it's not something perverted, all right, it's normal, we've just never... the other way... I mean.... Oh God. Something in Atlas’s head twisted painfully. He dropped the glass unceremoniously to the tabletop, propped his elbows on the tabletop and pressed at his temples, ignoring the class when it rolled into his right arm. The dynamics of the sort of thing shared between Cal and Jasper were largely a mystery but Atlas knew enough to piece together what Cal meant and the revelation hurt. Stung to be more accurate, like it was burning a little hole in the back of his brain.

Fast movement and a loud bang to his left caused Atlas to jump and flail at his side for his wand, as much good as it would have done him. He looked around for the cause of the noise and his eyes settled on Cal’s chest, then trudged up until Atlas met his eyes. Cal looked livid, Well we’re back on familiar ground then..

That's it. I'm leaving. You're an evil person, Caedmon, and I don't like you.. The first two fine, alright, but then third….His hand were still on his temples, massaging now rather than pressing, trying to work the pain from the back of his head to the front. Evil, what a word, Cal obviously had no idea and somewhere in the less rational alcohol fueled part of his mind Atlas found himself angry. It didn’t happen all that often, most of the time he was content to let people think, as they liked, it mattered little to him.

“Evil, what a word.” He took a number of measured breaths, keeping some distance between himself and the seething man. “I’m not your biggest fan either Calixtus, but the matter stands that you’ve entangled yourself in my existence, which means I have to acknowledge you. And while I haven’t exactly managed to decide what I think your doing when no ones watching, I intend to, and when I do Jasper is going to be the first person to know. Maybe I’m not ‘evil’ to you per say but inconvenient.”

He stopped rubbing his temples and gave a small bark of laughter, “And in terms of your research question. I’d say the answer lies in your name. Have you ever dissected it yourself? Calixtus Ferox, the fierce little pot.” He enunciated each word carefully for the other man. "Pots are typically receptacles.

Atlas looked angry. Cal had, perhaps, never seen the SHOP owner angry, unless he thought back to the first time they'd really gotten into a fight--some of the things he'd said--he had the same stubborn, dumb, falsely-mild look on his face--but cut with a mean crease just over his eyes--Cal's fingers curled in and out and in; he felt his fingernails cut into his palms.

“Evil, what a word.”

He hadn't meant 'evil'. He'd just been throwing insults about--he had a strange and unerring ability to see what would upset people, perhaps because he knew so well which particular words could cut him down to a blubbering child.

“I’m not your biggest fan either Calixtus, but the matter stands that you’ve entangled yourself in my existence, which means I have to acknowledge you. And while I haven’t exactly managed to decide what I think your doing when no ones watching,

Cal's heart skipped a beat. He stared at Atlas, hands now officially in fists, fists officially twitching, jaw out of line and grinding. When no one's watching. It played on all of his shames and fears and horrors and truths. He meant--he meant--Cal stood in front of the gaping tableau of some exterior moral reality, air whistling past. Something he didn't ever want to look at. It was there.

"--I intend to, and when I do Jasper is going to be the first person to know."

No. Jasper. Atlas wanted to--

"Maybe I’m not ‘evil’ to you per say but inconvenient.” Cal was no longer listening. Atlas laughed, drily, suddenly, cruelly. Cruelty on Atlas--whatever he'd said--was novel enough to be violently unsettling. He was obviously very drunk. Cal was obviously drunker. “And in terms of your research question. I’d say the answer lies in your name. Have you ever dissected it yourself? Calixtus Ferox, the fierce little pot.”

Cal stared, unsure as to whether Atlas was really going where it sounded like he was--

"Pots are typically receptacles."

That's it. Cal couldn't actually see. He punched Atlas as hard as he could, a cross, right across the face. He felt something pop in his shoulder, but he didn't stop, he kept swinging--unsure as to whether he'd actually managed to hit Atlas--there was a jumble of wood and spilled drink--the table seemed to have gone over--

And here we are again.. If he had been in a sober state Atlas liked to think that maybe he would have had the sense to get out of the way, or to try to catch Cal’s fist before it could connect with anything, but he wasn’t and so he did little more than stand there and wait for the clenched fist to make contact. Which it did, and hard. Always the face. He thought miserably as the skin tore against his teeth, and his jaw made a sound like a baby’s rattle. Jasper might be less inclined to assist him in fixing it this time. He heard Ollie shouting something to him from behind the bar, but the words, which his drunken mind was slow to process feel apart all together when Cal’s fist made contact a second time, slamming painfully against his collar bone.

This just wouldn’t do. The urge to strike back was high, fueled by alcohol and anger but Atlas knew that even drunk and tired he was more than a match for Cal and could injure the man quite thoroughly and readily. Which just didn’t seem fair, Cal’s left arm was into the fray now, a glancing blow off Atlas shoulder finally moved the man to action. When Cal’s fist came within range, Atlas caught it, changing his grip a moment later until his fingers were clenched like a vice around Cal’s wrist. He still hadn’t had the bone mended properly, and maybe the momentary jolt of pain would be enough to stop the other mans assault.

True to theory Cal let out a startled sound and stopped thrashing for a moment. Long enough for Atlas to step over one of the upturned chairs, twist Cal’s arm behind his back and shove him out of the back exit door, conveniently located directly to the left of the table (one never knew when a quick escape would be in order.

The back alley was empty save for a few stray cats that quickly evacuated the area. Cal was back to struggling, legs and his free arm spasming out at random, trying to connect with something. Atlas jerks his head back to avoid being head butted and then slammed Cal into the nearest wall, pressing his forearm to the back of the other man’s neck to hold him in place. “What did you do Cal?” He asked close to the other man’s ear.

Suddenly he was caught. Cal's blind anger wrenched itself around, torsion, confusion, and then more anger than ever. Atlas had him by the wrist. He felt his bones grating. He was furious. Atlas felt extremely solid, his arms unmoveable; Cal tried to get away but it created pain, which he hated, he felt his vision going fuzzy about the edges, the sudden cold was almost welcome--they were outside. Cal went back to flailing, whacking at whatever he could reach with his free hand, his feet coming up off the ground, but Atlas wouldn't. F--king. Move.

He could tell he was making strangled squealing noises, high-pitched, painful, intensely frustrated. Later he would be embarrassed about that. At the moment he was only angry. He opened and shut his teeth but there was nothing to bite, and then he was slammed up against the wall. He felt the side of his face scrape brick; a sting sprang up across his cheek and nose, and he felt something warm dripping from his nose onto his lip.

“What did you do Cal?”

Something warm and heavy pressed against the back of his neck. Cal stopped, tensed the muscles of his back, and tried to kick free--his neck twinged hard, he saw spots, he tried to jerk his arm free, and something went

went

Crack.

He saw a great multitude of colorful lights swarming like bacteria across the insides of his eyelids and he groaned and started coughing; he thought he might throw up; briefly, everything went--not black, but a kind of creeping gray, he knew he was still standing up but he couldn't see, he was making whimpering, pleading noises, he was crying, he couldn't see. "Owww. Please let go, please ow." Then he couldn't hear himself anymore.

Cal wasn’t answering the question, he was just making small gasping noises. Atlas was preparing to pull back, give him a moment, then pin him back down and try again but then Cal tensed underneath his arm. Atlas could feel the muscle between his shoulder blades locking up and wondered for a moment what Cal might be planning to attempt. The answer came a moment later when the muscles uncoiled suddenly and Cal tried to throw his weight back. The move to gain leverage failed and with a frustrated sound Cal redoubled his efforts and jerked his arm, wrenching it in Atlas’s grasp.

Atlas felt the bone give way before he heard it, a startling cracking sound, like kindling going up in a fire. Stunned he held on, even as Cal sagged against the wall, he was making horrible noises. They were eerily similar to the way a rabbit sounded when it had been caught in a trap, a high-pitched kneeing noise. Cal’s body shuddered, his head was leaned forward and in between he was coughing. Atlas felt a flicker of pity and then looked down at his hand, clutching onto Cal’s rapidly swelling wrist, he blinked at his hand wondering how it had gotten there.
Owww. Please let go, please ow. There were more words, but they weren’t discernable, just consonants and syllables all jumbled together but the tone was clear, Cal was pleading with him. That should have brought satisfaction, should have but didn’t. Atlas let go of Cal, stepping back in the same moment. With nothing to hold him up gravity took its toll and Cal collapsed to ground. Atlas watched, detached, but the alcoholic haze was rapidly fading the full realization that he had just inadvertedly actually injured Cal was dawning rapidly.

Hoping that the man hadn’t managed to smack his head on the way down Atlas knelt on the pavement, grabbing Cal beneath the arm pits and turned him around so that his back was to the alley way. His face was a mess, blood, spittle, and tears all running in rivets. “Calixtus.” Atlas slapped him lightly; there was no response besides a gurgled whimper. Bollocks. Weighing his options Atlas eventually settled on the decision he thought best, though very inconvenient to him. He gripped Cal by the elbows and pulled, getting both of them upright and supporting Cal when the other man fell against him.

He looked up and down the alley, still clear, the walk was short, a few blocks at best. A glance at Cal confirmed that he wasn’t going to get anywhere under his own power, which left three options, carrying (which he supposed added further insult), dragging (adding further injury), or apparating, a skill which Atlas wasn’t sure he’d be able to summon up. Atlas snorted, straightened, readjusted his grip on Ferox, closed his eyes and….

The back alley faded away, replaced very quickly by more familiar territory. Atlas gagged as a wave of nausea came over him and looked down with some surprise to find that he had actually managed to hold onto Cal who was still looking completely dead to the world. Shoving down the stomach cramps Atlas hobbled to one of Jasper’s numerous back doors and gave it a series of sound twaps. A bit of juggling produced his pocket watch, 6:30 AM, Jasper should at least be home…He pounded again was this time rewarded with the sound of feet on the stairs and a moment later the door swung open to reveal Jasper. Who looked….cross. Atlas frowned but didn’t waist any time, with little care for the blood that would inevitably stain whatever it was Jasper was wearing he eased Cal over to the other man.

“Broke your toy. Explain later. Have to go.” He turned before Jasper could do anything more than gape and headed across the alley. A thought occurred and he called over his shoulder. “Fix that D-mn wrist properly this time.”

Slam slam. Rattle. Slam slam slam. Jasper turned over. Someone was knocking on the door that led to the back room of his shop. That left relatively few options. The Boy's Club were the most likely suspects. He fumbled for his watch on the bedside table. 6:31. That ruled out Apollo, who would doubtlessly just be getting home from Flirtini Friday at Barfly. Wendell...wasn't brain damaged and would be asleep at this time of day. Will would be on his way to work. Which left, of course, Atlas.

Normally he would have added Cal to the list, but he sincerely doubted it this morning. He'd gone home very late, not long after arriving at Jasper's. There had been an--unfortunate incident, he'd gotten embarrassed and Jasper had gotten angry when he wanted to leave. He hadn't had to, it hadn't been a big deal, but of course Cal--Anyway, he'd slept poorly, and there would be no one to do up his tie in the morning. He wasn't in the mood for whatever Atlas wanted. It was certain to be something strange. The door continued to rattle in its frame, announcing that Atlas wasn't giving up. Jasper resigned himself to going downstairs and stood, feeling around the end of the bed for his robe and shrugging it on as he padded down the cold, hard wood of the back steps and flung open the door.

"Wh--" He was about to snap something when he saw Cal. Bleeding. Draped over Atlas in a way that suggested unconsciousness. What the hell?

“Broke your toy. Explain later. Have to go.”

Atlas shoved Cal forward toward him, his face coming to rest wetly on Jasper's neck, warm and appallingly sticky. Alcohol fumes wafted off the pair of them like they'd been soaked in gin. Christ.

Jasper wanted to say something to the effect of "Stop bloody getting into fights with each other," but Atlas was already tacking a little unsteadily down the alley. “Fix that D-mn wrist properly this time.”

"Stop breaking it!" Jasper snapped back, then dragged Cal inside and slammed the door. Looked up at the steps then at Cal, who was wheezing against his neck. Jasper had the sinking feeling there was snot touching him. He Apparated them up the stairs, hoping Cal wouldn't choose that second to wake up and get Splinched.

Not, he decided when they were in the study and he had flung Cal down in one of the armchairs, that it would have made him much worse. Atlas had been right about the wrist; it was appallingly swollen already and parts were an unhealthy, bruised green. But it was lovely compared to his face, which was completely raw on one side, smeared over with blood and snot and tears, new blood pearling up from a criss cross of cuts across his nose and the angle of his cheek. Jasper sat on the edge of the coffee table and stared blankly for a moment, wiping the wetness off his neck with one sleeve.

Normally he would have just fixed Cal up, but he wasn't in the mood this morning. Not after last night, and this rude awakening, and again, honestly. He couldn't even imagine what they'd had a fight over this time. Probably the same old. "You're an evil mastermind." "You're insane." "So are you." It needed to stop; he couldn't be bothered being so bloody diplomatic all the time. Cal could bleed a little bit and learn a lesson. Atlas would be dealt with later.

"Cal." He shook Cal by the shoulder of his good arm, a little harder than necessary. Cal's eyelids fluttered and opened blearily. "Again?"

Cal made complex, colorful excuses to himself inside the echoing, painful cavern of his head. Things hurt. He bobbed in and out of consciousness, though in fact, when he thought about it, he could restrict the locus of actual pain to one place, his wrist, which wasn't supposed to do that oh God oh God he was hyperventilated and didn't want to think about it any longer, it was disgusting, the side of his face stung a little but not too badly and if he focused on that the horrible thing that was wrong with his wrist would go away. He had probably lost his hand. It was probably back in the alley. He was probably maimed. Dripping gouts of blood. His bone was probably sticking out of the skin.

Cal whimpered and, trying not to think about who was carrying him, fainted again.

He heard some blurry shouting. He felt sudden overwhelming Jasper-scented relief. He heard Atlas, somewhere, and then he felt a whir of nothing. Then, sniffling, he smelled and felt leather; the air around his face tasted like lemon and dust, just a little painful, he cradled his doubtless mutilated hand against his chest and muttered something that might've had 'Mummy' in it but he didn't care.

"Cal."

Someone was shaking him. Jasper would never be so cruel.

It was Jasper.

"OW HEY DON'T." Cal said this very loudly, with not a little petulance. "OW." Wasn't he supposed to be taking care of him? He was wounded. Something was terribly wrong with his wrist. He couldn't breathe, and snorted loudly, clearing his nose, and blinked; he'd been crying. "Ow."

"Again?"

Jasper had gone away. Cal looked for him.

"Jasper." Perhaps he was whining. Shouldn't whine. "He started it. God. I'm wounded."

"Jasper." God, the inflection. It grated across Jasper's tired brain. Cal was looking down at his wrist miserably, cradling it against the dirty, misbuttoned front of his shirt. He sniffled, and the movement of his face made a drop of blood land and slide slowly down his arm. Jasper was disgusted. There was still snot on his neck and he rubbed at it furiously with his sleeve. "He started it. God. I'm wounded."

"You're not bloody wounded. Calm down."

Jasper leaned his elbows on his thighs, hands cupping his chin, and looked at Cal firmly. Cal seemed to be wavering anything but firmly on the edge of consciousness, so Jasper felt for his wand and slipped it out of his pocket, tapping Cal on the temple. A little wake-up spell. He wanted to hear the story behind this one coherently.

Really, he couldn't believe it had happened again. He'd talked to both of them, and while it hadn't been good, it had at least been a bit civil. He'd even had extra words with Atlas about his obsessive delving into Cal's work. How had they even met tonight? Had Cal been so upset that he'd gone to SHOP and picked a fight with Atlas? That was just bizarre; Cal was more prone to just avoid Jasper's friends. Apollo, at least. He rubbed his eyes. Too early for this.

Cal was staring at him, one eye a little puffy, the bright blue of the iris standing out even more starkly against the red rim. Jasper hated to see him this way, but it was Cal's fault. And Atlas'. One of them, at least, should have had better sense.

It was a rare case, but for once Jasper actually wanted coffee. He Accioed some espresso from the kitchen, shoving a tiny, scalding cup into Cal's good hand.

"Here, you'll sober up a little bit if nothing else. Although it's probably good you're drunk, it'll hurt less that way." He took a burning sip of his own drink and leaned back slightly, voice clipped. "I'm not fixing it, so stop crying. What happened with you two tonight?"

Cal was shocked. Suddenly everyone hated him. He was aware somewhere--dimly--behind the swollen wall of his cheek and the ache radiating up his arm, which he didn't want to think about ugh it was broken the bone was at a funny angle the bone was broken ugh--that his behavior was a little childish. But he didn't care. He could hardly think in compound sentences, for God's sake. It wasn't fair. Suddenly he had no one. Jasper was being so cruel.

"I am wounded! Bloody wounded."

He stared at him, shocked, and realized that he'd come to expect Jasper to soften a little when he looked him in the eye. Not that he was going to bloody bad his eyelashes or something, but... he had the impulse... God.

He was crying a little, helplessly; it stung going down the abraded side of his face. Atlas had chosen some rough brick, and he hadn't made it much better when he'd slid down. Jasper leaned back and got on his 'accio' face; Cal shut his eyes until something small and hot was shoved into his good hand. He took it unwillingly, swallowing tears.

"Here, you'll sober up a little bit if nothing else. Although it's probably good you're drunk, it'll hurt less that way."

Cal stared at him as he took a sip, to continue speaking in his death-camp-guard voice. Cal had never heard the voice before. This was a nightmare. Positively. He sipped at his own coffee, hand shaking, and spilled some down his shirt, where it burned; it also burnt his lips. He licked them slowly and set the cup aside, trying not to move too much, then curled up again. Maybe he should just call the hospital. They wouldn't be able to find Jasper's house. Damn you, Atlas. I want to go home. What had happened to Jasper? Obviously the thing with the... he hadn't thought it would mess everything up forever, obviously he was rubbish....

"I'm not fixing it, so stop crying.

Cal's jaw practically landed on the floor. Jasper seemed unperturbed.

What happened with you two tonight?"

"I--I--" Cal paused, weighing what he should and shouldn't tell Jasper, then found he was too close to vomitting to be choosy. "All right, so on the way home I stopped off at my dealer, then I ran into Atlas, OK, and he found--something I was carrying, it's not illegal, it's just embarrassing, and we had words, and... it was sexual, OK, I mean, he was talking about sex, and he said that just look at my name, I was the little pot, like a receptacle, and that--and he said he thought I was doing something awful with--you know, that I was up to something, and so I hit him, but obviously he started it, and we were a little drunk, and he puts peanuts in his firewhiskey, there's something wrong with him, and he shoved me up against a wall and broke my wrist, and it's not my fault and it really hurts and if you're going to be an arse about it I just want to go home because it hurts!"

His voice had gotten shriller and shriller, and he forced it down and sat back, hiccuping, breathing hard. "And I'm sorry I'm rubbish in bed because I'm trying to learn, but obviously you don't want me so just stop torturing me because it. Bloody. Hurts. Oh God. I'm going to faint again."

Cal was still crying. Apparently "stop crying" became unintelligible when you had a broken wrist. Jasper sighed and downed half his espresso, wincing over the bitter taste and the heat. The burns woke him up more than the coffee. Cal was attempting to drink his, but mostly dripping it all over his shirt. Jasper noted dully that it was actually one that he'd bought. Of course. He seemed a little shocked when Jasper didn't immediately fawn over his horrific wounds.

Now he'd added babbling to crying. It was only semi-intelligible. Something about Atlas and sex and peanuts that Jasper had to organize in his mind before it went someplace horrible that he really didn't need to go at--watch glance--6:42. God. Jasper managed to sort out that there had been an encounter, and some mysterious object had provoked Atlas to comment on rather shocking specifics of their sex life. The peanuts, thankfully, seemed to be a different matter entirely. He would sort that detail later.

"--there's something wrong with him, and he shoved me up against a wall and broke my wrist, and it's not my fault and it really hurts and if you're going to be an arse about it I just want to go home because it hurts!" culminated the story, screeching up over an octave in a truly horrible manner that actually made Jasper want to grab Cal by the swollen wrist and shake him just so it wouldn't keep happening.

"Stop it stop it, really. Stop." Jasper put a hand up and sucked down the last of his espresso viciously. This was why he didn't like children. All that hysterical babbling, it didn't do any good and was just incredibly annoying.

Cal had leaned back in the chair, breath coming in quiet hiccups. A slow, fat tear rolled down his damaged cheek. Jasper felt a bit bad for the first time. It did sound like Atlas had at least been partially responsible. Not that Cal was innocent, certainly, and it had been foolish of both of them to go out and get drunk together. But Atlas had had no business going there, and Jasper was really quite shocked he had. Normally if you said 'sex' around Atlas he physically recoiled. He must have known it would wind Cal up somehow. Maybe Cal had let it slip that they'd had a fight.

"And I'm sorry I'm rubbish in bed because I'm trying to learn, but obviously you don't want me so just stop torturing me because it. Bloody. Hurts. Oh God. I'm going to faint again."

Cal kept his word admirably, sliding off a bit in the side of his chair, eyes half closed. Oh, Cal. Jasper's anger faded a bit. This whole night had happened over something so stupid; he hadn't been angry, but Cal had gone out and had the bad luck to meet Atlas and now he thought Jasper was tormenting him with broken bones over sex? He'd thought he'd been nice about it, but apparently Cal hadn't felt the same way. He hadn't wanted him to go home then, and he didn't now. He was angry precisely because Cal had left before.

"Cal--" His tone changed and he leaned forward, casting the spell to wake Cal up again. "C'mere, c'mon."

He looped Cal's good arm around his shoulders and pulled him over to the couch, settling him against the corner and unbuttoning the damp, blood smattered shirt and pulling it carefully over his wrist. Despite his efforts to be gentle, Cal winced and paled again.

"Here, let me see it--" He turned Cal's face and dug up a healing spell somewhere from the back of his mind. The wrist was much harder; he'd broken two of the bones from what Jasper could tell by flexing it gently, Cal hiccuping again. It took him a few minutes of brow-furrowed concentration, but he managed to get it back in decent shape. If it didn't seem all right tomorrow he would ask Will for a better spell; as an Auror he'd had far more healer training than Jasper's shoddy experience.

"Come on, then." He pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and draped it around Cal's shoulders, pulling him in close and brushing a kiss over the newly smoothed skin. "Any better? I'll take you home if you'd rather be there. But will you tell me first--what did you have? Atlas fears sex more than Shirley, I can't picture him saying something so--why were you talking about it with him?"

Jasper thought that, at this moment, he defined the term "morbid curiosity."

Oh. All right then. Awareness flooded Cal's sinuses like a shot of mint and chlorine and he blinked awake. There was Jasper, looming, suddenly softer about the nose and mouth. He seemed almost caring. Cal almost said something snide about it and then stopped. He guided Cal over to the couch; Cal had to count to ten several times in his head so he didn't faint again. It was, he realized, incredibly unmanly of him. But it hurt. In Batman it was never an issue when he was all banged up, but Cal supposed it was actually really shockingly hard to remain Batman or James Bond when it bloody hurt a lot to be wounded. Jasper got his shirt off--

"Of course," he mumbled, gratified that he still seemed to want to, and "I'm sorry I ruined it," about the shirt and everything else.

And then his face no longer hurt. The skin went suddenly smooth and tight-drawn. Cal prodded it, cautiously, with his good hand, and tried (not particularly hard) not to whimper when Jasper fiddled with the bones in his other wrist. Damn you, Caedmon, die thirty painful deaths.

"Ouch. Ouch. Oh!"

It had stopped hurting. Cal rotated it slowly and nearly fainted again, just at the sight of his wrist moving; there was no pain, but he was very surprised. It hadn't fallen off. His hand was still there. It all felt a little green and surreal.

"Come on, then." Jasper put a blanket around his shoulders, and his arm, and kissed him. Cal felt suddenly ecstatic.

"Any better? I'll take you home if you'd rather be there."

He did not want to go home at all. He wanted to stay with Jasper forever.

"But will you tell me first--what did you have? Atlas fears sex more than Shirley, I can't picture him saying something so--why were you talking about it with him?"

"Maybe I should go home." Cal paused and put one arm around Jasper's waist, making sure he would stay, paused, looked at him, paused again. "All right. So. My dealer gave me a really disgusting pornographic film, which Atlas saw. That's what happened. We were both traumatized, I've destroyed it, I just wanted... anyway" he had turned red "anyway, he asked... I felt I had to explain to him why I had it, so I told him it was because I wanted to learn... something, I wasn't specific, but he kept pressing and, actually, giving advice, and being Atlas, and you know how I hate him, it was intolerable, and... this isn't how I wanted to bring this up so please don't make me go into specifics. I just wanted to learn a few things, does that suffice?"

He took a long breath and looked up at Jasper, whose breath smelled of coffee and whose eyes were bloodshot and beautiful and who had a hint, just a bit, of stubble along his jaw. Cal touched it. "I'm really sorry. But you know I don't know anything, really, and Caedmon is really intolerable. Did he--" He cast back for what he thought he'd heard. "Did he call me your toy?"

"Maybe I should go home."

Cal said it while cuddling closer, so Jasper doubted that he actually meant it. Good. He tightened his arm around Cal in turn, fingers brushing over the chilly skin of his shoulder. The floor was cold and his legs were bare, so he drew them up and folded them under the blanket, flicking his wand to light the fire.

"Stay as long as you want. You can do up my tie later and try out the wrist, yeah?"

"All right. So. My dealer gave me a really disgusting pornographic film, which Atlas saw. That's what happened. We were both traumatized, I've destroyed it, I just wanted[...] I felt I had to explain to him why I had it, so I told him it was because I wanted to learn... something, I wasn't specific, but he kept pressing and, actually, giving advice, and being Atlas, and you know how I hate him, it was intolerable, and... this isn't how I wanted to bring this up so please don't make me go into specifics. I just wanted to learn a few things, does that suffice?"

Cal's fingers brushed over his jaw lightly, and Jasper leaned down until their faces touched. He was laughing, a bit helplessly. That was the wrong thing to do now, entirely. Bad Jasper. Stop laughing when Cal brings up sex. Stop. But--crack dealer porn. He was off again. Stop. Stop. Breathe. He composed himself. What did Cal want to know? That he had to learn from crack dealer porn? Concern overrode humor as he thought of all sorts of horrible, deviant, probably not possible things that crack porn might contain. Cal's dealer lived in the back room of an abandoned Tesco. God knew what went on there. Shudder.

"I--you could have just asked, I don't mind. I would rather you brought it up with me than your dealer. Or Atlas, God. What was it? Sorry, just--he didn't have good advice, did he? Did you watch it? Please say no to all of those. I'm going to talk to Atlas tomorrow. Mostly about scraping your face off. He should know better, bloody giant."

Cal looked a bit miserable, blushing brilliantly. "I'm really sorry. But you know I don't know anything, really, and Caedmon is really intolerable. Did he--Did he call me your toy?"

Jasper sighed. "Yes. Please don't go fight him again, healing your wrist was tiring. You're not a toy." Except the dress up part. He shifted and put his arms fully around Cal, pulling his legs across his lap. He hoped Cal wasn't going to cry more. It would just make him angry again, and he really didn't want that. "You're not rubbish, okay? I didn't want you to go this morning, I wasn't mad. If there's something you want to--you can tell me, yeah?" His fingers brushed gently over the newly healed joint of Cal's wrist, up his arm to pull on his earlobe, and his lips followed. "Just tell me. Don't be so embarrassed."

"I--you could have just asked, I don't mind."

Or so he said. In fact it was something of a delicate request. Cal never should have thought of it, in fact. It never should've crossed his mind. But it had; had become something of an obsession, and then last night had been so bad--he ought to take what he had and just focus on what he always did, his work, but...

"I would rather you brought it up with me than your dealer. Or Atlas, God."

Cal started to say something about how he hadn't actually gone to Atlas about it, but--

" What was it? Sorry, just--he didn't have good advice, did he? Did you watch it? Please say no to all of those. I'm going to talk to Atlas tomorrow. Mostly about scraping your face off. He should know better, bloody giant."

"Hey. Hey." He grabbed Jasper by the hand. "No. He didn't give good advice, he was just--taking the piss. I didn't watch it. He didn't scrape my face off" the hysteria of moments before forgotten, Cal found himself suffering a resurgence of masculine pride. "--I acquitted myself quite well, he just happened to get the--advantage, as it were." Fair enough, not quite true, but Cal would have been able to hurt him a little if he hadn't gotten him in a hold. Atlas wasn't that much bigger. All right, he was. He apologized and--and thought of the 'toy' thing.

"Yes. Please don't go fight him again, healing your wrist was tiring. You're not a toy."

He put his arm around Cal, who sighed and felt better and rested his head briefly on Jasper's shoulder. "I'm a bit of a toy. You should be a bit of a toy too, sometimes--I think--in the name of a parody of parity."

"You're not rubbish, okay? I didn't want you to go this morning, I wasn't mad. If there's something you want to--you can tell me, yeah?" Cal held his breath as Jasper ran a hand from his healed wrist, which shivered and contracted and thankfully didn't twinge, and up; he tugged at his earlobe and gave it a chilly kiss. "Just tell me. Don't be so embarrassed."

Cal chuckled emptily. "Asking me not to be embarrassed... you should know better. By now. I probably am rubbish. I thought you'd rather I left, that... and I... can't tell you." He knew he'd flushed red. "I didn't watch the stupid--the shi--I didn't watch it, all right? I don't know anything. It wasn't anything horrible. Just new. This isn't the time. This is a different, an entirely different--discussion." He kissed Jasper sideways, trying not to think of Caedmon or any of it, but Jasper remained tense, leaning forward. "--fine." He inclined his head and whispered in Jasper's ear, haltingly.

"I hope--I mean, I think it isn't a--power thing. But I... wanted to. So." He rotated his wrist, wincing.

Jasper was still for a moment. Perhaps for a moment too long. He'd suspected that this would come up eventually, but he wasn't sure that Cal would be able to actually say it for quite a while. In the mean time, he certainly wasn't going to be the one. Apparently Atlas had pushed Cal over the edge somehow. Well, a combination of Atlas, gin, and a potential concussion. Jasper really didn't want to know what they had discussed, but then he kind of did. Just in hopes that it wasn't as bad as he was imagining. Which it probably was. Receptacle. An impromptu lobotomy with his wand wasn't sounding too bad compared to imagining Atlas and Cal having that conversation.

It would be best to say something soon, before Cal took the silence as a flat refusal and left again. He'd be embarrassed, of course. For now, he was looking down at his wrist, pretending to be distracted by testing it out. Jasper wasn't sure how strong it actually was; he wasn't a great healer. Will usually took care of whatever mishaps befell members of the Boy's Club, so he hadn't paid terribly close attention to the lessons at Hogwarts. He slipped a hand around the mended bones, fingertips over Cal's pulse.

"Yeah--I mean, sure, okay." Jasper realized that the agreement made nerves twinge in his stomach. "That's--I thought it was going to be something weird, because you got it from your dealer."

He let himself laugh, trying to make himself sound more like Jasper. "When you're not drunk, yeah? When I'm awake."

He shifted them around to lie down, Cal facing him, and put an arm protectively around his back since he was near the edge of the cushion. Cal's face was very close, every eyelash distinct and impossibly long, perfect. There was a lingering scratch on the crest of his cheek and Jasper brushed a finger over it.

"Missed one, sorry. I'll get it later." He reached for Cal's wrist and held it up for examination. "Does it feel okay? Don't get into any more fights until someone does a better job, I'm not so good at healing spells. In fact--" he leaned across the minute gap between them for a kiss-- "don't get into any more fights with Atlas at all. I know he's not the easiest to get on with, sometimes you have to just humor him. Even if you know he's wrong, sometimes it's easier to just agree that Sporty Spice is a terrorist."

He sighed and tangled his legs with Cal's. "Couldn't you have just lied to him about the dvd? I really don't want to have that conversation with Atlas. And-- I'm sorry about earlier. This morning and just now. If I'd been nicer you wouldn't have been out buying porn off your dealer and getting smacked around by Caedmon."

Jasper looked disturbed. His mouth opened and shut, almost imperceptibly, and Cal swallowed, his throat gone dry. His sense of timing was atrocious. Cal winced. Oh God. More words to avoid.

"Yeah--I mean, sure, okay." There was something off, out of syncopation, in Jasper's breathing. Cal glanced sideways at him. "That's--I thought it was going to be something weird, because you got it from your dealer."

"Oh, God, well, that." If Atlas ever told Jasper what sort of porn he'd gotten Cal would go back and shoot him. Probably just in the kneecaps. Jasper could hardly blame him, a spell could fix that. Eventually.

Jasper laughed--it sounded dissonant and a little awkward. It had been an awkward day, obviously. Probably he didn't really want to do it. Probably he was just trying to make Cal feel better. He blinked. "When you're not drunk, yeah? When I'm awake."

"Oh--yeah, obviously." He trailed off, and Jasper did some maneuvering, pulled him down (Cal was careful of his wrist, which still felt half-numb, a little odd, he had probably pinched a nerve, he might never get feeling back in his hand, he felt momentarily nauseated and shut his eyes, and opened them again. Jasper was staring at him in a way he found surprising. He stopped breathing for a second.

Jasper took hold of his wrist. "Does it feel okay? Don't get into any more fights until someone does a better job, I'm not so good at healing spells. In fact--" He kissed him, and Cal shut his eyes again, feeling languid, and stopped listening.

"... fights with Atlas at all. I know he's not the easiest to get on... to just humor him... Sporty Spice is a terrorist." He felt a bit like he was going to fall off the couch. One of his knees was caught behind Jasper's. Nonetheless, he moved forward and tucked his chin into Jasper's shoulder.

"Atlas, can we not. I mean, he's your friend, but I knew him before I knew you, I think it's my business. What he thinks. It's complicated, all--" Cal bit his lip. He remained unsure, in fact, as to what Jasper would think, precisely, of... everything. They never discussed morality. He didn't want to, but. "--You know, actually, he's the one who--he told me to go and see you about Transfiguration. He's thrilled about that, I'm sure."

Jasper was having none of it. Cal, opening his eyes, thought he caught the diminishing pink of a blush on one cheek. Really? He'd never seen Jasper blush. "Couldn't you have just lied to him about the dvd? I really don't want to have that conversation with Atlas. And-- I'm sorry about earlier"

"Oh God no, that was me. I'm sorry. Can we just never talk about it again. Please. I was just thinking--I mean, I don't mean to make excuses but I was thinking about, you know, this whole... thing, and.... I was distracting... I'll never think again," Cal finished, gloomily.

"--This morning and just now. If I'd been nicer you wouldn't have been out buying porn off your dealer and getting smacked around by Caedmon."

"Smacked around." That sounded sort of all right. Sympathy card. "Well, I started the actual... I hit him first. I used to get into fights a--hey, are you blushing?" He put two fingers on Jasper's chin and turned his face, wonderingly. "Oh my God, you're blushing, Jasper, I don't think I've ever seen that before." Neat change of subject. Also, he hadn't.

Cal looked at him contemplatively. "Well, I started the actual... I hit him first. I used to get into fights a--hey, are you blushing?" He put two fingers on Jasper's chin and turned his face, wonderingly. "Oh my God, you're blushing, Jasper, I don't think I've ever seen that before."

Jasper smacked Cal's hand away gently and pulled back, touching his own face briefly. His cheeks were a bit warm. It had been so long since he'd last blushed that he'd actually forgotten what it felt like. Well, in fairness, this whole thing was a bit embarrassing. And he felt a little panicked about Cal's sudden assertiveness. But, he supposed, Cal wasn't his toy, regardless of what Atlas suggested in a drunken haze. He was allowed to want things.

"I am not. Although I suppose you'd be the expert. Come on, let's get off the couch before you fall off it and break something again." He struggled upright and led Cal up the stairs to bed. The shop would just have to open late; he wanted to sleep in.

He woke up to the sun pouring in through the curtains he had neglected to close the night before. He'd also neglected to Charm Cal still, so of course he was clinging all over him like an angular sloth (happily sans the lichen). Jasper momentarily considered his childhood dream of having a pet sloth, then shook Cal awake gently. He didn't really mind him being so close, but his leg was going to sleep from the knee down and Cal had pulled all the blankets off the bed.

"Hey--" Cal's eyes opened blearily, a little bloodshot, and Jasper pushed his hair out of his face. "How's the wrist?"

He shrugged Cal off gently, not letting him get far away, and rearranged the covers. Much better. Cal was looking at his wrist cautiously and Jasper peered over, squinting in the clear morning light "We should go to St. Mungos, I did a rubbish job. Or you could, you know, stop getting into bar fights with my mates. Either way you should sort it or we're going to have to retire the ties for a while."

"God forbid," Cal whispered, his voice catching and creaking on the phlegmy hinge at the back of his throat. He cleared it and grabbed for Jasper again, unwilling to let go, ignoring the bit of twinge he felt in scaphold and trapezium. His skin felt a little damp, his palms wet and soft as they only were after protracted contact with someone's skin. He hadn't felt that--perhaps ever, before Jasper. He clung again.

"I'll go to St. Mungo's when you're at work," he added, voice shedding its morning fur and coming back up to normal registers. He bent to inhale the flavor that sleep had accreted in the hollow of Jasper's neck. He smelled a little like barbeque meat--a detail he knew he would not share with Jas--a little like cologne, and a little like sweat, lime and blood. It was a very pleasant smell. Cal licked his skin and put his mouth on Jasper's neck, mumbling nothing in particular, just enjoying the warmth.

"And I'll stop starting bar fights with your mates. Don't suppose I could get you to stop shaving...?" OK, not the time for it. He leaned back a little and watched Jasper, letting the soft moths of their blinks syncopate themselves, blue-gray and absolute. "Right. Anyway, look, you know how I can be about--that stuff. He made me very uncomfortable. And you can forget what I--what I brought up last night. You don't--I mean, it's not important." Cal very carefully did not mention the other point of contention between himself and Atlas. He wasn't sure what Jasper would do if he mentioned some of his work, but--he thought--it was best not to speak or think of it.