Cal was in the shower. Jasper was not. Something was entirely wrong with this scenario. Everything had been wrong with the scenario since Atlas. He just couldn't touch Cal with the scar. It made his stomach turn; all he could think of was Atlas and the basement and acid against Cal's skin and the thoughts made him ill. And he felt terrible about it, because Cal was, quite understandably, miserable. Bad enough he'd been mauled by Jasper's best friend, but now Jasper couldn't tolerate anything more than their hands touching. It was ridiculous.

He was unhappy as well because Atlas was gone. He'd caught a glimpse of him leaving SHOP at one in the morning the night before, when, unable to sleep because Cal was right there and totally untouchable, he'd gone downstairs to finish up some leftover transfiguration. Any other time he would have opened the door and beckoned Atlas in for a drink before he went out to dig through Artemis' trash. Instead he'd gone back upstairs, made himself a martini, and fallen asleep on the study sofa. Now he had a twinging muscle in his neck to go along with everything else.

Cal was going to back to the lab soon; it wasn't late in the day, but he didn't stay as long anymore. Jasper supposed he could understand why. He wished Cal would; he didn't feel like drifting around all evening after the shop closed, but restless as he was, he didn't want to go out. It had taken him a few days to realize that what he wanted was someone to talk to about this. That was a rarity for Jasper; he wasn't really one for emotional conversations. But he kept wanting to say things to Cal, mostly about how he missed Atlas, that he didn't think would go over terribly well.

He'd lain awake on the couch for a long time the night before, and finally realized the answer. Helena. She deserved to know anyway. Even after the breakup, as unpleasant as it had been, she cared about Atlas. She and Jasper saw each other on rare occasions, since she came to London occasionally for business (he carefully hid these encounters from Atlas), so he had her address in Greece. Once he and Cal had said an awkward goodbye, he sat down to send her an owl.

Helena-

Hope you're well. I apologize for being a terrible delinquent about getting in touch, and I wish I could do it under happier circumstances. Any chance you could make it to London soon? I need to talk to you about Atlas, and I think it would be best in person. Come to the shop anytime, I'll be here.

-Jas

He paused and added a postscript to make the thing less funerary. Didn't want her getting the wrong ideas.

If you've got any baklava lying about, I won't say no. You always say I'm too thin.

He folded the letter and tied it to his owl, opened the window, then went downstairs and waited.

Helena eyes crossed for the 4th time in the better part of the last half hour. Why did people think that in order for a chapter on survival magic to be at all useful it also had to be coma inducing. Plucking her quill out of its ink well she skimmed down the page and crossed out the better part of the third paragraph, writing ‘redundant’ in neat small print in the margin. She had sent this chapter back and forth to the writer 28 times and every time it seemed to get longer, counter to her instructions. Maybe there was a language gap that she just wasn’t filling. She wished that her editors would just let her write the chapter herself and be done with it, but this rambler was apparently the son of some one or other and had been given the assignment as some sort of token gesture.

There were politics everywhere, even in publishing; she crossed out another paragraph, especially in publishing. With her chin propped on her elbow she looked outside, there was a smattering of rain coming down in on again off again dribbles. Winter in Greece, at least it wasn’t cold. Sighing, she dropped the manuscript and hauled herself out of her chair, stretching before heading into the kitchen. Incompetence always made her thirsty. Opening the fridge she plucked up a bottle of sweet wine, considered using a glass and then, deciding it wasn’t worth the effort she uncorked the bottle and took a generous slug.

She was halfway through her second when something tapped on her window. She managed not to spit on herself but didn’t manage not to chock as she startled and some of the liquid went straight down the wrong tube. Hacking she set the bottle aside and unlatched the top half of the door. The owl lighted and then settled, preening at its feathers and it took her about 5 seconds to realize it was Jasper’s. The bird, like its owner was immaculate, sleek, and on the small side.

Smiling at it Helena unclipped the letter from its foot. She unfurled it with one hand, with the other she reached over the counter, breaking off a hunk of bread and offering it to creature. As she read the smile faltered, what could he have done this time? The last time she had spoken to Jasper had been months ago. She was in London for a publishers meeting and had some across him on the streets. They had gone for drinks, Jasper with his martini and her sipping demurely at a glass of fire whiskey. Nothing had been wrong then.

She glanced at the calendar, coincidently she was due in London the next day. For an 8 am meeting, thank God they had installed that port key a few years ago. It made traveling easier but seeing Jasper? Well, that was like going for a personal review. She’d have to rethink her attire for this meeting. She hurried back to the study and jotted a quick reply note,

Meeting at publishers at 8, I’ll pop round sometime around one.

Helena


It was the Christmas season there was a distinct chance the Jasper would be busy, but awake. One might be around lunch hour. She clipped the note to the owl and sent it off then went back into her room and began digging around for her more respectable articles of clothing.

The meeting went fast then she had hoped, only dragging on for 5 hours instead of the predicted 7, she needed to stop doing this. Maybe she could take the journalism to full time. Speaking off, she halted as she passed a newsstand, reading the dismal head lines blazing across the front page. More disappearances, she dropped a sickle into the boys hands, placed the paper in the crock of her arm and headed toward Jasper’s. She took the long way down the alley, round about it order to avoid passing SHOP, she glanced up with her hand on Jasper’s shop door long enough to see a brunette girl come bobbing out, a skeleton in her wake. She ignored the pang it caused and walked in.

The shop was crowded, people bustling, looking at the case, and there was Jasper. Looking resplendent if a little tired. He was chatting up a young couple, Helena smiled, probably taking them for all they were worth. It was a quality she could admire.

Helena's owl was a slight disappointment. Jasper was glad she was coming, but, as always, he wanted things right away. Tomorrow was close, but not close enough. He'd worked late, automatically transfiguring emeralds until he realized he'd made four times as many as he actually needed, then he'd gone upstairs and wandered around the rooms of his house for a good half hour until he found a poptart stuffed behind some cologne bottles in the bathroom and retreated to the study in disgust. Cal didn't come back at all and he found the empty side of his bed too direct a reminder, so he'd slept on the couch again. At least he'd remembered a pillow this time, so his neck wasn't tilted at a strange angle as he opened the shop the next morning and put on a proper face, a Galliano suit, and a poinsettia for his customers.

Business was incredibly brisk, at any rate. That pleased Jasper, and he forgot about things for a while as customer after customer left the shop with a perfectly wrapped package. He'd skipped lunch and was chatting with a young couple. Their first Christmas married, she was picking out her gift. They could barely stop holding hands long enough for her to try rings on. She was admiring a ruby one when the bell above the door chimed and Jasper looked up to see Helena, smiling at him.

"Excuse me, sorry." He ducked out from behind the counter quickly and cut through the crowded shop. Then, surprising himself, he hugged her. He had to stoop slightly to do it, even in heeled boots she was a good six inches shorter, but he found it oddly consoling. Jasper wasn't really one for physical contact, ever, with friends, but he wasn't sure how else to tell her how glad he was that she'd come.

"I'm so happy to see you." He hurriedly turned the sign to CLOSED to preclude any more customers, then led her toward the stairs. "Sorry, let me get everyone going, it's so busy this time of year. Make yourself a drink and I'll come right up."

He watched her go then turned back to the young couple, then the next customer and the next until the shop had emptied. Then, despite how tired he was, he bounded up the stairs. Helena was in the study, holding a glass of wine, her dark hair a contrast to the lighter leather of the couch. Jasper always found it remarkable how little she'd changed since the night Atlas had first told her she had nice ears. How that had worked, he still didn't understand. He mixed a martini quickly and sat down beside her.

"Helena I--" There was absolutely no good way to start this. "I have some bad news about Atlas. You haven't spoken to him, have you?"

It didn't take long for Jasper to catch sight of her. He looked up from the young couple he was 'assisting' and she smiled as a greeting. He ducked back down and said something to them, flashing his smile and most of his front teeth before darting out from behind the desk and coming toward her, expertly dodging around shoppers as he went. He really was very graceful about it, she wasn't sure he had even touched anyone in his passing, natural grace had something to do with it but so did his rail thin frame.

She didn't know what she had expected exactly but it certainly wasn't what she got. Jasper's arms were around her and she very suddenly found herself pressed against him, arms at her side, twitching knowing they should be returning the gesture but failing in the uptake. Jasper was bent at the knees, shortened so that her chin could rest comfortably on his shoulder instead of being crushed against the flower in his lapel. From here she had a perfect view of some of the looks on the customers faces. She could imagine what this looked like....Jasper as a rule did not touch people. She had found the fact very odd at their first meeting, almost offensive. Atlas had joked that it had something to do with general English heritage.

The embrace more than the rather dower tone of his letter, caused concern. She hadn't really been worried at all before....I'm so happy to see you. , Well yes, obviously. She thought as he pulled away. One hand stayed in a hovering position at the small of her back. He leaned toward the door and flipped the sign to closed. She frowned, almost protested, it was a busy time for him, he should stay, she could come back later, or stand and watch him work his magic, by the time any of this had been articulated she was being ushered to the staircase. Sorry, let me get everyone going, it's so busy this time of year. Make yourself a drink and I'll come up.

She caught the smile from one of the younger girls near a case of necklaces and Helena gave a bemused shake of her head. She closed the door and starred at the wood for a moment before climbing the stairs and entering the flat proper. She went to the kitchen first, taking the parcel of baklava from her pocket and using her wand to grow it back to a more respectable size. She made sure the box was straight on the counter, and walked back out, pausing when a small square looking pastry peaking out from under a cabinet caught her attention. She lifted it off the floor, studying it curiously before disposing of it. Wiping her hands together she strode into the study, proud at how well she was remembering the layout and hoping there wasn't a stray model lurking around somewhere. They were impossible to talk to, she had tried at least twice.

She pushed the door to the study, peaked around it. No models. Sighing in relief she entered the space, found the drink cart, always full stocked. She picked over it before settling on red wine, she swirled the liquid before taking a cautious sip. Never doubt Jasper and his wine selections, only the best. She sat cautiously on the couch, then settled a bit as she sank into it. Sipping at the drink she wondered what Atlas had done this time. Turning scenarios over in her head turned up nothing that would warrant hugs from Jasper....well maybe that one about Joan of Arc and the Bermuda Triangle being responsible for England's temperate climate....

She kept spinning scenarios, sometimes shifting in her seat to fiddle with the buttons of her jacket. She wasn't sure how much time had passed before she heard the sound of Jasper's boots on the stairs. He appeared in the door a moment later, he wasn't smiling anymore. The quip she had been working on about the rumors that would start to fly after his display downstairs was lost when he sat down, drink in hand.

Helena I... Jasper, with his jaw set and his lips down turned looked tired. Burnt out, something fluttered in her stomach. I have some bad news about Atlas. You haven't spoken to him, have you?

This was a joke, the tone and the expression they were both alien in their own ways. She shook her head in the negative. “No. Not recently. I tried to call once, just after that article...the one about those people who broke into the Ministry. I thought, 'who else would know how to do that?'. So I tried to call, just to....” She made a flippant hand gesture, took a sip of her drink. “Just to. He didn't answer and I didn't leave a message. He called, looking for a formula a few weeks ago. He sounded odd. Well, odd for him.” She stopped and watched Jasper feeling self-conscious suddenly. “Talking to one another isn’t something we make a habit of.”

“What’s he done this time?” She tried to smile, but Jasper stayed stony looking. “Did something happen? Is he in trouble?”

Helena shook her head, corners of her dark eyes crinkling as she frowned. Jasper could smell, just barely from the direction of the kitchen, the sticky honey sweetness of baklava. It reminded him terribly of visiting Greece, having dinner with her and Atlas on the terrace outside Helena's house. There was a picture of the three of them upstairs somewhere in a photo album; Cal had found it a few weeks ago during his constant (and unsuccessful) search for pictorial evidence that Jasper shouldn't transfigure his nose. It had been taken on the beach the summer after Thailand, Jasper and Atlas on either side of Helena, Jasper faintly tanned and Atlas with a pink strip of sunburn across his cheeks, Helena smiling through her hair, which was blown across her face by the wind off the Mediterranean. Ten minutes later, Helena and Jasper had formed an abortive plan to toss Atlas into the ocean, only to be foiled by the fact that neither of them could actually make him move.

“No. Not recently. I tried to call once, just after that article...the one about those people who broke into the Ministry. I thought, 'who else would know how to do that?'. So I tried to call, just to..Just to. He didn't answer and I didn't leave a message. He called, looking for a formula a few weeks ago. He sounded odd. Well, odd for him.”

She paused and looked at Jasper, faint embarrassment curving her lips down a bit. Jasper was surprised to hear Atlas had called her. The two of them hadn't in years, as far as he knew. The breakup had been anything but amicable, especially for Atlas. He'd almost hesitated to owl Helena even now, as though it was some sort of traitorous action, just as continuing their friendship felt sometimes. His mind flashed back to the young woman who had smiled slyly at Helena as he ushered her through the shop, and he hoped that people wouldn't think-- That rumor would destroy Atlas. Whatever was left of him.

“Talking to one another isn’t something we make a habit of.”

"I know, I'm sorry. I didn't want to bring this up with you, he's not your--responsibility anymore."

Had he been that? Jasper wasn't really sure. Sometimes he got the impression that Atlas had felt that way for her, near the end. When he'd finally given her a chance to explain her side of the story, which hadn't been right away, since he'd been the one who got to see the aftermath of it from Atlas' end. They'd reconciled only because Jasper had found he could understand the feeling. Atlas was someone that you felt a need to watch over. Especially now, Jasper felt he should have been watching more closely.

“What’s he done this time?” She started a smile but Jasper knew his expression quashed it. That was better. False hope wouldn't help anyone. “Did something happen? Is he in trouble?”

"No, not right now. Not unless someone tells, and no one knows but me and Cal. I won't tell, and I don't think he intends to, not to the police anyway, given--" He realized this wouldn't make any sense to her. The thing was such a bloody mess, he'd have to start much further back.

"You know how Atlas gets things into his head and can't let them go. He's been, well, involved in things, at the Ministry, you've kept up on the news about it I'm sure. I won't go into detail, I don't think it's my place, they're his secrets. Suffice it to say that bad things happened, and Atlas focused his suspicions about their cause on one person."

He finished his drink and twirled the glass between his palms uncomfortably. "Calixtus Ferox. He's a researcher, potions, spells, theory. Squib. Atlas became obsessed with catching him out, just--absurd accusations. Impossible things. I tried to convince him to let it go, but he's been under a lot of stress and you know how he is anyway. It just escalated--"

This was where it got hard. Jasper put the glass down firmly and turned to look at her. "He kidnapped Cal last week. And--" He had to pause and swallow--"tortured him. A Squib, not especially strong, he he had no way to fight back against Atlas, so he confessed to involvement, but nothing that made what Atlas did justifiable. He Crucioed him, broke his ribs so badly that he punctured a lung, he could have died."

Jasper's mind dredged up pictures of that night, the spattered spray of red against the wall in the unhealthy light of the basement, and his head dropped into his hands, shoulders, hunching over. He felt sort of nauseous again. "He came to get me--there was blood everywhere, all over the basement. Atlas tried to convince me that it was the right thing to do, torturing someone for selling a few spells."

"I'm sorry to tell you all this, but I didn't know who else would understand. I can't talk to Cal about it, I can't even--" touch him. Look at him. "You knew Atlas the best of anyone, and I think he's--gone. Who we used to know. I don't know what to do."

There was tense, tight, silence. It was palpable. It made her skin itch and the tiny hairs at the back of her neck to stand up straight; she kept her eyes on Jasper. Still looking for the turn, the reveal, it wasn’t coming. She leaned forward enough to set her drink down on the coffee table and then folded her hands in her lap, intertwining her fingers. Jasper had called Atlas her responsibility; she gave a small, nearly imperceptible shake of her head. She had felt that way, sometimes, all the time near the end, but somethings were worth it. For a very long time Atlas had been worth it.

He had lectured her about things like fluoride (it didn't prevent tooth decay but it did render you visible by government spy satellites) and he fact that salads were strictly for murders (he did this as he ate a steak, informing her that just because a radish couldn't be heard screaming didn't mean that it hadn't). Then there were the other things, the concern that he had for gargoyle statues on muggle churches (he wondered if they got tired and suggested that they unionize) or the way he had dropped everything and immediately gone to Thailand saving Jasper from both dirt floors and unpurified water. Someone like that had been worth brushing your teeth with lemon and baking soda and clipping the ends off of your shoelaces. But now he had something horrible.

Helena readjusted her hands, her thumb and her index finger catching around the small silver band on her ring finger, twisting it around. She didn't like this, she hadn't prepared for this, for Jasper looking at her the way he was.

No, not right now. Not unless someone tells, and no one knows but me and Cal. Cal? She frowned at him, lips slightly parted, she didn't understand. I won't tell, and I don't think he intends to, not to the police anyway, given... It was at this point that Jasper faltered, remembering that she lived in Greece, that she didn't know a Cal, that he might as well have been speaking some secret language. Given what? Why would the police be involved? Not yet? The questions screamed in her head but she stayed quiet, Jasper would start again.

You know how Atlas gets things into this head and can't let them go. He's been, well, involved in things, at the Ministry, you've kept up on the news about it I'm sure. I won't go into detail, I don't think it's my place, they're his secrets. Suffice to say that bad things happened, and Atlas focused his suspicions about their cause on one person.

She knew yes, anyone who spent any length of time with him knew that, he worked until he was satisfied, he never stopped. Things...what did he mean things? She hated the unspecific nature of the English language. Things. She thought back to the article, that journalist, an unnamed group of people, Atlas among them and a man who ended up dead. Murdered. She couldn't imagine and now Jasper was telling her that whatever had occurred wasn't hers to know. She accepted it with the barest nod of her head.

Jasper raised his glass to his lips and she watched the last of the liquid flow out of it, she kept twisting the ring, her back rigid.

Calixtus Ferox. He's a researcher, potions, spells, theory. Squib. Well one question answered then, searching her mind for any possible mention of the name came up blank. Jasper popped the 'b' on squib as if to emphasize the condition. Jasper wasn't looking her in the eyes, and she bobbed her head to get back into his line of sight. She wanted to see his face. Atlas became obsessed with catching him out, just--absurd accusations. Impossible things. I tried to convince him to let it go, but he's been under a lot of stress and you know how he is anyway. It just escalated--.

“Escalated how....?” She was flushing, heat coming to the surface of the skin, her arms were at her side, rigid. She could feel the muscle in her upper arm twitching, tension collecting there. Jasper learned forward heavily, setting his glass down next to hers. From the side she could see his eyes darting back and forth, nervous. It felt like forever before he turned back to her. She squared her shoulders, drawing herself upright, swallowed and fought the urge to look anywhere but his face, she was sure that he felt the same way.

He kidnapped Cal last week. And-- The room and the world shrank, closing in, compressing. She sucked in a breath. Tortured him. A squib, not especially strong, Oh God...oh god. She flattened her hand against her diaphragm, the other curled into a fist. Liar A voice that sounded nothing like her own hissed. Liar. The hand pressed harder. He had no way to fight back against Atlas, so he confessed to involvement, but nothing that made what Atlas did justifiable. He crucioed him... The hand crushed back against her stomach, and her breathing skipped. She leaned back into the couch, concentrating on the way it gave into her weight. She didn't hear what Jasper said next, she didn't want to hear. Her hands might have covered her ears but they were busy, one hand squeezing the breath out of her, the other fisted in the fabric of her skirt. He could have died.

Brown eyes raised then, to look at Jasper but she couldn't see him. He was slumped forward hands fisted in his hair. Remembering to breath she scooted forward on the seat, inched closer to him. He came to get me--there was blood everywhere, all over the basement. Atlas tried to convince me that it was the right thing to do, torturing someone for selling a few spells. She shook her head, dislodging hair and sending it cascading over her face. Closed her eyes opened them when the first image she saw was one of Atlas... or an obscene parody of Atlas. Blood and dimly lit rooms.

I'm sorry to tell you all this, but I didn't know who else would understand. But she didn't, couldn't. and I think he's--gone. Who we used to know. I don't know what to do.. She stood, arms going around herself, but once she was up she didn't know where to go. She sucked in a breath, bit her thumb. Liar. But why would Jasper lie? She sat back down, violating Jasper's personal space she got a hand under his chin, applying the gentlest pressure, “Jasper I need to see your face.”

Then she did and it was awful and she wished she hadn't. “He wouldn't....” She shook her head. Looked at Jasper. “Twice, Jasper.” She ran her tongue over her lips, there was a funny taste in her mouth. “He used an unforgivable twice that I knew of. Self defense, both times, self defense. No alternative. He was sick over it, wouldn't look at his wand for a week.” She was trying to rationalize, but she already knew Jasper was speaking truth, the realization of that truth was dawning on her. She fought it.

“Torture....” It was getting stronger, she was losing. “How do you know? A crucio, how do you know? Whats this man to you?” She cupped her hands over her face, clasped over nose and mouth, breathed. “He was sad Jasper, when he called, sad. He wasn't violent.” Her tone was calm, belying the way she actually felt; as if her stomach had gone through the floor, as if she might throw up. “He's capable of hurting people, has before, we both know that. But that was years ago, he didn't like it, he stopped.”

She let her hands fall to rest atop her knees, she starred straight ahead, it was easier by far than looking at Jasper. She lost. “What happened to him, Jasper?” She wanted to yell at him,say that he should have been watching him, he should have known, but that wasn't fair. “Gone?” She asked, but of course she knew. “You didn't tell the police....I'm grateful. And this...Mr. Ferox, he won't be pressing any kind of charges?” She doubted that even Jasper's friend in law enforcement, something with a 'W' could have protected Atlas then. “Have you seen him?”

She looked over at Jasper and caught the ghost of a flinch, something you wouldn't notice unless you knew what to look for it. Jasper had built his persona like a shell, over years, she had met him when he still occasionally allowed actions like that. Before he had completely developed into the rather beautiful narcissist that was so close to Atlas, had been so close. Past tense, at least if Jasper was referring to him as 'gone'. Jasper had been speaking but she hadn't really thought how much this would hurt him. Couldn't say why. Jasper had known Atlas since childhood, it was him who had dragged Atlas to bars, taught him how to talk to women, helped him move into SHOP, risking life, limb, and the possibility of developing muscle tone. They had been school mates a bond almost as strong as the war budding bond.

“God how you must feel.” Maybe she had said the wrong thing, but it had seemed the only thing to say.

Jasper watched Helena's face escalate through emotions as he spoke, oddly unaware, for once, of what his own face looked like, aside from the fact that it would be twisted into the most unJasper-like expressions and lined from lack of sleep. Helena's hands were twisting her old ring around her finger rapidly, in the way they did when she was nervous or cheating at cards. Jasper wasn't really as good at cards as people thought; he had no sense for the numbers of games, but he could watch people. Atlas had been long mystified at his perfect record in poker against Helena. After a while he couldn't watch her react anymore, and didn't really want her to see his face, so he let his head drop into his hands and listened to her breathe. When he finished there was a pause, then Helena's fingers under his chin. The touch made him jump, starting back against the couch cushions.

“Jasper I need to see your face.”

She thought he was lying. Which made no sense, since he would never make up these things about Atlas, but he could understand. It was easier to believe that it was a lie. Jasper wished he had that option. The slackening sadness in Helena's expression confirmed that she no longer did, either, and her hand dropped back into her lap. Jasper swallowed. He felt like he should apologize.

“He wouldn't....” She shook her head[...]“Twice, Jasper. He used an unforgivable twice that I knew of. Self defense, both times, self defense. No alternative. He was sick over it, wouldn't look at his wand for a week.”

Jasper was shaking his head slowly. No, Helena. Justification was the obvious response, but it would be better to cut her off before she started to believe herself. It would be more painful if he had to convince her of the truth with more details. She shouldn't have to know about the shape of the burn on Cal's neck, or how there had been a delicate, unnoticed spray of blood across Atlas' shirt when he'd appeared in Jasper's study, or how Jasper still felt ill when he thought about putting his fingers around Atlas' burnt arm and twisting. Those, unfortunately, were Jasper's secrets to keep. Atlas' too, although Jasper wasn't sure he even found them repulsive anymore.

“Torture...How do you know? A crucio, how do you know? Whats this man to you?”

"I checked his wand. It was the last spell." The second question would be harder to answer, but he could at least explain something to her. "He admitted to the rest."

“He was sad Jasper, when he called, sad. He wasn't violent. He's capable of hurting people, has before, we both know that. But that was years ago, he didn't like it, he stopped.” Helena's voice was oddly flat, toneless, and she kept her eyes away from Jasper's. He stared into the fire with her, watching a log turn from brown to orange, veined with brighter lines of sparks. That was exactly how Jasper would have described Atlas when he'd seen him the night before, leaving SHOP, shoulders hunched over and hands bunched inside his jacket pockets. The sort of folding-in that he'd done after Helena had broken up with him, knees and arms drawn up against his chest in the corner of Jasper's couch. Helena had never quite known how badly Atlas had taken their breakup; he suspected he was perhaps the only one who did, and it would have been cruel to Atlas to tell her. Jasper could use your secrets against you, but he was adept at keeping them, too.

“What happened to him, Jasper? Gone? You didn't tell the police....I'm grateful. And this...Mr. Ferox, he won't be pressing any kind of charges? Have you seen him?”

She looked over suddenly, eyes so sharp and rawly miserable that Jasper flinched backward. There were too many questions to answer, and he didn't know where to start. Helena was pale under the tan left over from summer in Greece, and Jasper thought back again to summer there; they seemed impossibly young when he looked back at it. He remembered the day they'd taken the picture, laughing at Atlas' lobster-red nose, Helena advising some kind of aloe lotion and Jasper transfiguring a potted flower into an aloe plant. They'd been good at taking care of Atlas once, but now they'd let him down.

“God how you must feel.”

Her voice made Jasper slip back into his study, where he still owed her an explanation.

"There won't be any charges. I obviously won't tell, and Cal--can't. The explanation it would require would be too complicated, too incriminating. He's still at SHOP; I saw him going out the other night, but we didn't speak. I said horrible things to him." He had to stop and close his eyes. It's impossible to think that you were ever my friend. He could feel his fingers on Atlas' arm again. "I--hurt him. I've never done anything like that. But it wasn't Atlas anymore. He's just this obsession now, the things he's doing aren't Atlas."

"I feel like I should help him, but I can't think of anything to do. And Cal wouldn't understand, obviously, after what happened to him." He realized he still hadn't answered the most difficult question. "Cal is--I've been seeing him, you know? So I can't stop being mad at Atlas. But I miss him. It's very--complicated. I don't know what I expected you to do, but I couldn't stand thinking about it by myself anymore."

I checked his wand. It was the last spell. Anything left in her that had been doubtful of what Jasper said evaporated. He admitted to the rest. Guilt then, Atlas had felt remorse for what he had done. He had still been capable of that, or maybe he had just been worried, worried what Jasper would think, maybe he was worried he had killed the man, had come to Jasper to help him dispose of the....Her teeth clamped down on the insides of her cheeks, biting hard enough to stop the train of thought. She didn’t want to think about it. She spoke, trying to build some kind of defense but she had given up that responsibility and the look on Jasper’s face communicated how much good it would do either of them.

Atlas was capable of so much, so many marvelous things; she’d seen a lot of them, Jasper too. But then there was that occasional hint of something else, something darker. Atlas would go on for days about all the problems in the Ministry, all the corruption and the greed but at the end of the day Helena had always thought that other part of Atlas was what had kept him out. He was scared of what he could do. Sometimes she was too, and not it seemed that there had been reason for that.

Something had broken. That was what this conversation came to, something had broken and swallowed him and Jasper had watched. But what about Atlas? There would have been warning signs, Jasper had watched it escalate, he said so himself, and what had he done. Helena wanted to hurt him, slap him, yell but it wasn’t any good it wasn’t Jasper’s fault. Wasn’t anyone's fault really, except for Atlas and that brain of his that just wouldn’t quit. They weren’t Atlas’s sitters but they loved him, her still and Jasper in his own sort of very Jasper way. Her shoulders had sunk, they felt heavy.

He's still at SHOP; I saw him going out the other night, but we didn't speak. I said horrible things to him.. Jasper would be skilled at that. It was his greatest weapon, words, and not ones that could shoot fire or freeze the blood in your veins, just simple ones. Something about your appearance, or a part of yourself you didn’t like to admit was there and he could make you crumble. And he knew Atlas; he knew every grubby little memory, cruel. What Atlas had done was...very literally unforgivable but Jasper was cruel.

Jasper’s fingers twitched, curled and uncurled, he took a shaky breath. I--hurt him. I've never done anything like that. . Her mouth feel open at the admission, she rubbed at her upper arm with the knuckles of her left hand. She had never seen Jasper so much as trip someone; his body didn’t lend itself to altercations of the physical, his temperament even less so. If they had gotten into some kind of physical altercation with one another…Atlas could have wiped the floor with Jasper, twice, the second time looking for any bones he hadn’t broken the first go round.

But it wasn't Atlas anymore. He's just this obsession now; the things he's doing aren't Atlas.. Jasper kept driving the point home, stressing it as if he needed to tell himself as much as he needed to tell her. He’s gone, the words told her. Mourning…that’s what this was, Jasper was in mourning. She wanted to touch him, just lay hand on his arm but she didn’t dare. She wasn’t sure what the boundaries where right now.

I feel like I should help him, but I can't think of anything to do. And Cal wouldn't understand, obviously, after what happened to him. She rolled her eyes and rubbed at a spot directly under her left eye, careful not to smudge any of the makeup there. Cal is… She heard his voice stutter and looked back over, hand still at the level of her eye. I've been seeing him, you know? So I can't stop being mad at Atlas. But I miss him. It's very--complicated. I don't know what I expected you to do, but I couldn't stand thinking about it by myself anymore. . Her hand went from eye to lips as they formed a little ‘o’ pursing. That made this entirely more personal. Almost unfathomably so because she had never known Jasper to keep anyway about for more than a day…more than a few hours. Cal, a man, in spite of everything she smiled at Jasper. “Atlas must have….” She stopped, clamped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. She opened them and took a hasty sip of her drink. “That’s very…grown up of you Jasper.”

She fidgeted, hand going into her hair and running through the tresses. “He must have hated him….how unpleasant for you, for both of you.” She wasn’t responsible but she felt it, felt like a failure. “I am sorry for him Jasper…I.” Stop, not her place, he didn’t want to hear that. “Did he show any remorse? Any sign? He’s sick Jasper,” She rubbed at her forehead. “That f--king place just makes him sick and he’s alone all the time and…I’m sorry. You didn’t call me here so that I could do…whatever I’m doing. Dwelling. What do you need me to do?” She shrugged her shoulders, lifted them and let them fall. “Is your…friend alright? Do you think he’s dangerous to someone else?”

Helena's face morphed slightly from sadness into surprise when he admitted what Cal was to him. Jasper supposed that was entirely understandable. She knew him well as the Jasper everyone knew; womanizing, blithely unattached, the most ineligible bachelor in London. It would have been a surprise for him to admit he was dating anyone, and he knew that it being a man made it that much more. He wasn't sure how much Helena knew about his preferences. Beyond what Atlas would have told her, and he suspected that wasn't one of their frequent topics of conversation.

In spite of the situation, she smiled at him. “That’s very…grown up of you Jasper.”

Jasper smiled back, briefly. Such an odd comment to make. Motherly, in a way. Helena had always been a bit like that though, baking for them and reminding Atlas of the odd little daily things in life. Get a haircut. Wear shoelaces. Maybe it was why she'd gone after Atlas; he needed a figure like that. He'd needed it too much for her, in the end. At least she had been kind about it, no jokes like the boy's club (or Wendell continuously). This wasn't exactly a situation with the tone for jokes, though.

“He must have hated him….how unpleasant for you, for both of you.” She played with a strand of her dark hair, trying to distract herself from looking at Jasper. “I am sorry for him Jasper…I.”

She stopped, edited herself and rethought. Jasper had been thinking the same thing. No matter how angry he was at Atlas, he also pitied him. Jasper couldn't imagine what it had been like in Atlas' head leading up to what he'd done. It couldn't have been an easy decision. And now he was so utterly alone. Jasper understood that more than he would have before.

“Did he show any remorse? Any sign? He’s sick Jasper. “That f--king place just makes him sick and he’s alone all the time and…I’m sorry. That had surprised him. Helena, unlike Jasper, rarely said anything more obscene than 'damn.' Jasper's mother would say she had been raised properly. "You didn’t call me here so that I could do…whatever I’m doing. Dwelling. What do you need me to do? Is your…friend alright? Do you think he’s dangerous to someone else?”

"He did hate him, he was obsessed with hating him. Even before this, he said things to Cal just to wind him up, about me and us, ridiculously personal things. It was so unlike him." He paused, thinking about the sickening angle of Cal's wrist, dragging Atlas from under his workbench, the scarf up around the tender skin of his neck. "I'm sorry for him too; he was my best friend, seeing him like this is unbearable. I should have done more, he lived next door, but I thought 'Atlas is an adult.' I thought he'd learned, the last time, and Cal had left him alone. He didn't want--Atlas went to his house and grabbed him. He was just in the lab. He's okay, luckily he could call someone and they got him to a healer."

Helena was still listening, eyes wide. Jasper found that he had started talking and didn't want to stop. He needed to tell someone these things; it was too much to wander around the house with Cal there like a ghost.

"Atlas scarred him--Cal had acid from the lab and he tried to use it to get Atlas away, but Atlas held it against his neck. I can't even look at him now, isn't that horrible?" He laughed, ghoulishly, breathlessly, at the absurdity of it then felt it choke off in his throat. "He's the one I should have sympathy for and I can't even touch him."

"I'm sorry, Helena. I don't know why I asked you here to tell you all this, there's nothing you can do. I don't know what he's doing now, or if he's dangerous. I watch SHOP sometimes, but he doesn't really go out much. I'm not asking you to go see him or anything, unless you want to. I just wanted to know what someone else thought. I wanted someone else to know."

The barest hint of a smile swept over Jasper's face and was gone. A slight hint of surprise accompanying it. Her response hadn't been proper, she could have done better, mustered a congratulations or chided him but she didn't have it in her and it just wasn't appropriate. It was funny what happened in relationships, you stopped thinking of yourself so much as a separate and more of a unit, what the one did you did too. They weren't a couple, hadn't been for some years now but she still felt it. Atlas had kidnapped this man, had tortured him, but he wasn't here. She was and she felt a representative to the act, she didn't have a right to ask about Mr. Ferox, joke with Jasper, demand photos, she was too close to what had almost killed him.

Jasper's brows raised and his eyes widened when the explicative left her mouth and the pressed her lips together, turned her head to the side for a moment. The out burst was embarrassing. Jasper peppered his speech with words like that constantly, it was just a part of his cadence, Helena had never really understood the use of a swear for anything but what it was. A word meant to portray displeasure or contempt. She looked back, continued on as if she hadn't said anything.

Jasper was quiet for a moment, but he was clearly thinking. The small muscles along his forearms flexed, just visible past the cuff of his sleeve. This was strange ground for both of them and there were bound to be some uncomfortable pauses. Moments where neither knew what to say to one another and so said nothing, she didn't want to have one of those stuttered responses where both began to talk at once and then settled into mutal embarrased silence. She stayed quiet, she didn't know what she would say to Jasper anyway. What could she say, if she turned her head now...if she looked up and to the left she'd have a view of the side of Atlas's home, the circular window at the end of the hallway was at the same level as the windows in Jasper's study. As a joke she had once rigged a distress lamp, the sort used in lighthouses against the window, signaling an SOS to Jasper. She wondered if it was still there.

It was Jasper who finally broke the silence, pressing ahead. He started quiet, but gradually the volume increased, just enough that she didn't have to lean so close to be able to catch everything that he said. ...about me and us, ridiculously personal things. It was so unlike him. Understatement. Atlas was, surprisingly deeply private about a great many things and by and large wanted no knowledge of anything anyone else did when in private. Someone likes to takes baths with their cat, grand. Or happens to enjoy an evening filled with 1920s silent film era pornography, wonderful, fine, but he didn't want to know just as he didn't want anyone to know what he did. What would he have said? She took advantage of Jasper's pause to consider it. And Atlas hating someone...the thought was problematic. He ignored a great many people, avoided others,and held a generally low level of contempt for nearly everyone he met, held them to impossible, imractical and unpredictable standards but hatred? That was an emotion reserved for Shirley and no one else. This Ferox must be something. .

He was my best friend. And again the past tense. I should have done more. Jasper was conceited yes, selfish but it was clear that he felt awful, that this was something that he continually turned over in his head. The events on replay...wait...the first time? “First time? He was violent toward him before this?”
Jasper recounted what had happened, elaborating on his statement of kidnapping. Snatching someone from their own home...she had been robbed. Two years ago, nothing of particularly great value had gone missing but the idea that someone had been able to get into her home, the place where one foolishly felt safest...she was forming a clear mental image of the events. Skewed yes, some of the faces were blank and the dimensions of the house were all wrong but she could imagine. They had been muggles, with no intent to harm her and she hadn't felt safe again for months, Ferox on the other hand.

Atlas scarred him-- Jasper skittered over the words, looking sick and uncomfortable, the corner of his mouth kept twitching upwards. I can't even look at him now, isn't that horrible? Jasper laughed tonelessly, Helena grimaced and wished he would stop. Atlas had told her about Jasper's aversion to scarring, she had fallen, gouged her leg on a rock. As he treated it, carefully applying potions and salves and then bandages he had told her how uncomfortable such things made Jasper, at the time he had told the story so that she could add 'scars' to the reasons she shouldn't run away to London to live the high life with Jasper. Also on the list was her affinity for going barefoot in the summer, and her ability to form coherent and complex sentences.

He's the one I should have sympathy for and I can't even touch him. This time she couldn't help it, slowly and hesitantly she laid her hand between Jasper's shoulder blades, pressed her palm against his back. Fine mess Atlas had created. Jasper had completely cut contact for this person and maybe that was enough for them....maybe but she doubted it.

I'm sorry, Helena. I don't know why I asked you here to tell you all this, there's nothing you can do. I don't know what he's doing now, or if he's dangerous. I watch SHOP sometimes, but he doesn't really go out much. I'm not asking you to go see him or anything, unless you want to. I just wanted to know what someone else thought. I wanted someone else to know.

“You just apologized to me you know. What will people say.” She removed her hand, tossed her hair back, and leaned back into the sofa. Sighing she blew a loose strand of hair out of her face. “And its not necessary. You needed someone to listen to you, I think, someone who wouldn't judge you, would just take it for what it was. Leaving me as your best option.” With her left hand, she traced lines along the material of the sofa.

“What more could you have done Jasper? I didn't stay, God I didn't even check in. To hate someone that much, he must have had a reason. Claimed to have had a reason,” She amended. Jasper had talked about accusations on Atlas's part, she hazarded to guess they didn't run in the usual line. “Fabricated some reason, thats the thing though. He doesn't think hes wrong, when he gets an idea like that, it just doesn't occur to him that he might be, but something always sets him off.”

She propped her elbow on the arm of the sofa, and rested her head against her hand. “I don't know what to think Jasper.... I for you to have severed ties. You didn't want to tell me what happened with the Ministry, fine, I forfeited my right to have dealings in Atlas's secrets but, there has to be a reason for him to have done this. Horrific as it is. He must have suffered a shock. And your not a horrible person...have you tried talking to Mr. Ferox about it. Explaining. Or is that not an option for the two of you?” She ran her tongue along the front of her teeth. “I'm sorry I'm just having a bit of trouble processing. How are you, Jasper?”

Helena was touching him. Just lightly, through the soft, taut fabric of his jacket. He could feel the tips of her fingers twitch nervously and wondered how he must look, to lead to this. Jasper and his friends had never been ones to touch. He couldn't remember if he and Helena ever had, genuinely, beyond joking around on the beach and the ridiculous flirtations that they'd wound Atlas up with so effectively. He didn't think so. It was a surprising comfort. Jasper didn't realize that he'd wanted someone close to him until it happened, and then he felt uncomfortable and weak needing that. It was a relief when she shifted away again to speak.

“You just apologized to me you know. What will people say.”

Jasper mustered up a smile at the cynicism in her voice. "That you've finally run away to England with me, after all these years."

“What more could you have done Jasper? I didn't stay, God I didn't even check in. To hate someone that much, he must have had a reason. Claimed to have had a reason[...]Fabricated some reason, thats the thing though...

The way she changed the words reminded Jasper of how he'd had to think about it. How he'd had to figure out what had gone through Atlas' mind. That was why he'd owled Helena, out of all his friends. She was the only other one who would understand the sort of escalation that Atlas could go through. When they'd met, Jasper had been jealous of how obviously brilliant Atlas was. It had taken him a few years to realize that it was a burden as much as a privilege; Atlas had never learned to control all that intelligence.

“I don't know what to think Jasper.... I for you to have severed ties." Jasper hadn't said it to himself that way, yet. He thought of Atlas as--well, dead, rather than disowned. That was better in a way. He could preserve the memory of what their friendship had been; what had happened in the basement didn't taint who Atlas used to be.

"You didn't want to tell me what happened with the Ministry, fine, I forfeited my right to have dealings in Atlas's secrets but, there has to be a reason for him to have done this. Horrific as it is. He must have suffered a shock. And your not a horrible person...have you tried talking to Mr. Ferox about it. Explaining. Or is that not an option for the two of you? I'm sorry I'm just having a bit of trouble processing. How are you, Jasper?”

How are you? Jasper had barely asked himself that. Between the Christmas rush in the shop and the awkward mixture of avoiding Cal while trying to make sure he wasn't suffocating from any residual fluid in his lungs and his practically complete inability to sleep lately, Jasper hadn't been feeling especially introspective. He shrugged.

"Been better, yeah?" This didn't need to turn into a complete pity party. That wasn't why he'd asked her to come. "I've talked to Cal but, you know, the explanation doesn't exactly make it better. He can't do anything about it and I don't know what to do about myself."

Get over it, is what he should have done. But he just couldn't. It was too present in his mind. He could see that Helena didn't understand; no matter what she said, she had to think he was an idiot. Jasper thought himself one too, but he couldn't overcome the physical revulsion. How weak.

"Cal wasn't a completely innocent victim. Atlas had been investigating him--I can't tell you the details, it would be wrong of me. The things he did weren't right but they don't make what Atlas did justifiable. Atlas thought things that weren't true. He took a few pieces of evidence and turned them into something disproportionate. Even for Atlas."

"I should have done something else--after the Ministry, he was having problems with his magic. We went to Scotland to try and work on it, but I couldn't do anything, and I should have done more. He needed me to do something else, he was under so much stress from all this and I didn't see it. I'm worried about him now, but I don't think I can see him, it would be like seeing a ghost. But he doesn't have anyone else--a bloody apocalyptic skeleton."

"So, I guess we're not so good, actually."

Been better, yeah? That sounded very much like Jasper and she took what little comfort she could get out of that. The slump of his shoulder and his willingness…well express purpose in bringing her here to talk about his feelings, she was worried. It didn’t look as if Atlas had retaliated against Jasper as he had Calixtus. He had still recognized Jasper as a friend…or just hadn’t had anything left in him to fight back with. Jasper was clearly upset but she never would have known to look at him, at least when she arrived. Not an hour ago he had been all flashing teeth and eyes, strutting about as if he hadn’t lost a friend and as if it wasn’t eating at him.

We’re British. Atlas would have said, We carry on. And that was what Jasper had done, carried on. But what did that say? He wasn’t suggesting ways to help, he had just wiped his hands of it and now he sat there, miserably. I've talked to Cal but, you know, the explanation doesn't exactly make it better. He can't do anything about it and I don't know what to do about myself.. She nodded, mentally conjuring how such a conversation might have gone. Explanation: My apopophenic, completely off his head best friend gets these ideas sometimes and you were the unfortunate victim of his obsession. Cuddle?

What do to about himself? Helena looked at Jasper, chin down and eyes slightly narrowed, trying to figure out what he meant by that exactly. The scar? A light clicked on somewhere in the back of her brain. She had wrongly assumed that Jasper found physical contact with Cal undesirable because he felt fault, guilt for the actions that had led to Cal being injured, being permanently marked. That wasn’t it at all, it was the scar itself. Her lips went together and she leaned her head more heavily against her hand. Whatever Jasper had to say next had better be marvelous.

Cal wasn't a completely innocent victim. Atlas had been investigating him--I can't tell you the details, it would be wrong of me. The things he did weren't right but they don't make what Atlas did justifiable. Atlas thought things that weren't true. He took a few pieces of evidence and turned them into something disproportionate. Even for Atlas.

So many secrets, Jasper just had so many. He was like dragon, hoarding and collecting them from everyone for years and years, sitting atop them, organizing them, and sometimes he would release one for you. Or take one from you so you didn’t have to be the only one who knew. There had been a time when he might have told her, when she would have had the right to know, gone now though. He was protecting Cal now and she didn’t have any claim against him doing so.

She tried to picture the man who Jasper would be able to keep around for more than just the traditional one nightstand, past a few drinks. Someone intelligent, charismatic, a prankster like himself, symmetrical. Jasper was the only person who would ever be able to make himself happy and so that was what she imagined. A second Jasper, a doppelganger, but too soon her mind went to blood and basements.

Jasper went on, blaming himself, giving hints and whiffs of what might have finally made Atlas crack. The ministry, a loss of magic, Jasper shouldn’t have had to deal with this alone. He needed me to do something else, he was under so much stress from all this and I didn't see it. I'm worried about him now, but I don't think I can see him, it would be like seeing a ghost. But he doesn't have anyone else--a bloody apocalyptic skeleton!.

A ghost. A shiver ran through her, Helena rubbed at her arms, burrowing back into the couch. Turned it over in her head. Jasper thought he was gone…but he hadn’t spoken to him since that night. A crime of passion…but what passion? No, had to stop this now. She didn’t want to rationalize for Atlas, to play on his team and try to beat back Jasper’s accusations, she wasn’t here for that, but at the same time they couldn’t do nothing. This couldn’t stand. She didn’t have enough information and Jasper wasn’t going to give it to her. Atlas was more his now than hers, she had lost her bargaining chips and she had no intentions of begging.

So, I guess we’re not so good, actually. Blanket statement, but completely accurate. It showed on Jasper’s face and in his posture, now it was going to do the same to her. At least until some sort of solution was worked out. There was a proper way to do everything, there was a proper way to mourn a friend and a lover and while exchanging stories of the past might have been too raw a thing to do there was another ritual that was completely acceptable.

"A skeleton?"

She stood from the couch, undid the creases in her skirt and walked to the drink cart, after plucking up both their glasses. She finished the wine, made another martini…thought and then made one for herself. Returning to the sofa, she sat heavily, offered Jasper his drink.

“Firstly, what you did for Atlas, its not easy being his friend. He knows that, he wouldn’t resent you. God Jasper he’d forgive you anything. Feeling guilty about what you could have done accomplishes nothing and you never could have predicted this outcome. Secondly,” She took a sip of her drink, popping the olive into her mouth and chewing before setting the glass on the table top and leaning forward, a almost uneasy 6 inches away. “You’re a pratt. Complete and utter dunce.” Had to be careful here, the last thing she wanted to do was offend Jasper, or hurt him but something’s needed saying. “Mr. Ferox was attacked and permanently injured through no justifiable fault of his own and your reaction is revulsion? What happened was offensive enough that you’re telling me Atlas might as well be dead, that speaks volumes to your feelings…Alien as it is to talk about your feelings.” She looked away, down, continued. “Sometimes things aren’t about how you feel, they’re about the other person. You know that what your doing is hurtful, but if you want whatever it is your doing to continue shape up.” She poped the ‘p’ hard. “Before he gains some self respect and leaves you. Torture is a hard enough hurtle to get over. If it repulses you, think about something else, look somewhere else, if you have to gag, excuse yourself, do it elsewhere. Adjust, for Merlins sake.”

“Third.” This was hard, it took a few swallows before she would get it out. “We need to think of what to do about Atlas. You said you didn’t think he was violent but you don’t know that, and he won’t….” There were so many parts of this conversation that she had never envisioned herself saying. “…do well in prison…” It was such a cliché, her tongue resisted saying it. “I think we should consider an institution…” It felt like a betrayal and tasted like blasphemy, she couldn’t look Jasper in the eye.

"A skeleton?"

Helena didn't wait for his explanation, instead leaving the couch to mix them drinks. Jasper thought he would have at least stayed for a few seconds, she had to be at least a bit curious. Concerned. Something. It occurred to Jasper that it was largely impossible to anticipate reactions in situations like this one. No one would act like themselves, because they didn't have a default to respond with. Even he'd been acting like anything but himself. He watched her make two martinis and accepted one gratefully when she returned. She was obviously trying to keep her face calm, but Jasper could sense the hints of a frown underneath.

“Firstly, what you did for Atlas, its not easy being his friend[...] Feeling guilty about what you could have done accomplishes nothing and you never could have predicted this outcome. Secondly--”

Here her tone changed. She paused to eat the olive from her drink, and the frown slipped out from under the glaze of neutrality.

“You’re a pratt. Complete and utter dunce. Mr. Ferox was attacked and permanently injured through no justifiable fault of his own and your reaction is revulsion? [...]You know that what your doing is hurtful, but if you want whatever it is your doing to continue shape up. Before he gains some self respect and leaves you[...] If it repulses you, think about something else, look somewhere else, if you have to gag, excuse yourself, do it elsewhere. Adjust, for Merlins sake.”

Jasper blinked, anger and protest rising up to meet the sadness that had been his general emotion for the past few days. He wanted to tell her that of course he knew what he was doing to Cal was unfair and hurtful. Of course he wanted to "shape up," as she so delicately put it. He also wanted to point out that her advice wasn't exactly the most useful in the world. Cal would notice if he had to pause and quietly gag in the corner every time they touched. And obviously he'd considered that Cal would leave; he'd thought about it frequently as Cal spent more and more time in his lab, clearly retreating from the awkward atmosphere in the house. But he didn't know how to adjust. He had a thousand protestations ready, but Helena had already bowled over him in the conversation, apparently satisfied that she'd told him all his failings. They were failings, after all. If, after all this time and everything that had happened, Helena could still care about Atlas as much as she obviously did, Jasper should be able to get over a scar.

“We need to think of what to do about Atlas. You said you didn’t think he was violent but you don’t know that, and he won’t... She paused uncomfortably, looking fixedly at the floor …do well in prison…I think we should consider an institution…”

...Or maybe she didn't care that much. Jasper was appalled. An institution? The word made his entire body cold. He'd had to walk through the psych wing in St. Mungo's once, on his way to take a few things to Apollo somewhere else in the building after a rather tragic pom-pom related accident, and the place had made his skin crawl. All white and sterile and filled with unnatural echoes. The thought of Atlas there, out of his crowded, homey shop, seemed so utterly wrong. Couldn't Helena see that? It would never help him.

"Helena, no." The 'no' came out more sharply than he'd intended. He stood, pacing until he stopped involuntarily at the window facing SHOP, fingers resting unconsciously on the sill. "We can't to that to him. What would we do? Go visit and take him the latest issue of Crop Circles Monthly? Maybe you can do that, I can't. I don't know what else we're going to do, but we owe him more than that. We can't--tuck him away somewhere and act like it didn't happen. I've tried. I don't want to disown him, it was just easier for me to act like he'd died, but you can't pretend like that forever. That's what putting him in an institution would do, tuck him away until we forgot about him."

"If you have any more ideas I'll listen, of course, but I can't say yes to that. So far he's been keeping to SHOP, as far as I can tell. And Rudolph--the skeleton, he talks, sort of, and moves, it's really weird, I don't know--I think he can cook a little bit. He can stay there until we think of something better."

It struck him that perhaps Helena hadn't been being cruel about Atlas. How hard it must have been for her to suggest what she had. Because she so obviously did care, even after all this. She was right about Cal, then. If you cared, you had to make yourself do what you didn't think you could.

"And you're right--I've been a prat. I'll try, with Cal. Thanks for that."

S—t. She watched the anger cloy over Jasper’s face. She hadn’t thought he would be so insensitive on purpose…well that wasn’t exactly right. Jasper was always Jasper. But she had thought that maybe, in the stress of everything else that maybe Jasper had overlooked his behavior, forgotten. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine that Jasper might have been thinking more about himself than the other person. He did it all the time. He seemed to have a certain quota for human affection and sympathy towards others around him and considering what had happened with Atlas she supposed that he might have been running to low to notice anything else.

She prepared for some sort of confrontation but it didn’t come, the anger was sent back wherever Jasper kept it, stored up for use at some other more important time, or channeled into something else. Schmoozing ability maybe, something useful. The anger that Jasper had stopped at her butting into his affairs came out sharp and clear as soon as she had made her other suggestion. Helena, no.. She had never really heard that tone from Jasper. All the tension that had been slowly leaching out of Jasper and into the air of the study came back. He stood up suddenly, squaring his shoulders and she still couldn’t look at him. She watched his shoes instead she he tracked a jerky path over to the window.

He pulled the curtain back, revealing the exterior of SHOP, with his back turned it was easier to look at him. We can't do that to him. and even as he said it she knew that it was true. That he was right; Atlas wouldn’t survive somewhere like that. He’d either escape or die in the attempt. She heard the resentment in Jasper’s voice, the offense. Despite everything, despite witnessing Atlas’s apparent madness in person Jasper had never even considered the possibility, which she had just proposed. Maybe you can do that, I can't. I don't know what else we're going to do, but we owe him more than that. We can't--tuck him away somewhere and act like it didn't happen. I've tried. I don't want to disown him, it was just easier for me to act like he'd died, but you can't pretend like that forever. That's what putting him in an institution would do; tuck him away until we forgot about him.

He said institution has if she had suggested Azkaban or electroshock therapy. She didn’t know what else to do though…she wondered if Jasper had told his mother. She wouldn’t Mrs. Caedmon was rather…intimidating. She didn’t wait to tuck him away, but at the same time he couldn’t be allowed to continue as he was. She opened her mouth to protest, to tell Jasper to come up with something better, something practical. She blinked rapidly, and rubbed at her eye, when she looked back down at her hand there was a smudge of black…liquidly black. Oh God, how shaming..

If you have any more ideas I'll listen, of course, but I can't say yes to that. She didn’t answer, had no intention of saying anything until she had this stupid reaction under control. Another thing she and Jasper had in common, she couldn’t abide crying. Then Jasper described the skeleton and she found her voice.

“He’s living with a skeleton that ‘sort of’ talks? How would it cook…it doesn’t have…well tendons, or skin. Forgive me if I don’t think having the undead as a housekeeper very reassuring for Atlas’s mental state. He’s grown a bit though, he was always so prejudiced against the undead.”

And you're right--I've been a prat. I'll try, with Cal. Thanks for that..

She got up from the couch and came over the window, edging in next to Jasper and peaking out into the street, sweeping the alley for any signs of movement. Nothing. “Yea…you know never miss an opportunity to take you down a peg. Someone has to do it. They say that the human ego reached its peak in 499 BC…I think scholars would have to amend it if they met you.”

She rubbed at her face one more time, turning her head away from the window then back. She caught her reflection and sighed, glanced up at Jasper. “I don’t know what to do for him Jasper….I never really did.” Maybe that was the key, admitting defeat…they could both have a good sulk over it. She had been called here to make Jasper feel..well maybe not better but more secure in what had happened. “Think I’ve just gone and failed you as well.”

“He’s living with a skeleton that ‘sort of’ talks? How would it cook…it doesn’t have…well tendons, or skin...

Helena's skepticism was understandable. Jasper himself had found Rudolph somewhat unsettling at their initial meeting, but the skeleton had grown on him over time. He really was excellent for winding up Artemis, and Pinkie Pie loved a rollicking game of "fetch the scapula" in the afternoon, to which Rudolph was very amenable since Jasper had promised him riding lessons as soon as he could figure out how to keep his hips attached when he sat.

He heard the shuffling sound of leather shifting, and Helena appeared beside him at the window. They looked down at SHOP together for a moment, waiting in vain for Atlas to appear even though both knew it wouldn't happen.

“Yea…you know never miss an opportunity to take you down a peg. Someone has to do it. They say that the human ego reached its peak in 499 BC…I think scholars would have to amend it if they met you.”

"You always did know how to flatter me."

Atlas had been the person to take him down a peg, both before Helena and after her. His capacity to annoy Jasper was, well, annoying, but sometimes in retrospect it was funny. Even he could laugh about Thai prison now. Wished he could have destroyed the photographic evidence, but laughed too. It hurt anew to think that there might not be any more of the good natured joking between him and Atlas. When he turned to look at Helena, emboldened into eye contact by her quip, he could tell she had been crying, her makeup smudged a little in the corners of her eyes. That proved how upset she was; Helena cried practically as little as Jasper. One summer, sailing, a line had failed on the boat and torn the rope through her hands, leaving them bleeding and raw for weeks in a way that made Jasper flinch to look, and she'd barely made a sound. Her voice sounded odd when she spoke again.

“I don’t know what to do for him Jasper….I never really did. Think I’ve just gone and failed you as well.”

"You did more for him than anyone, you were great for Atlas. And all I wanted was for you to come here and talk; I didn't expect you to know what to do. I mean, I guess one of us should tell Clymene, although I'm not especially looking forward to facing her-- she can at least make sure he's eating, and that he has someone to talk to. Rudoplh makes a mean quiche, but he's a terrible conversationalist."

Helena didn't look comforted, a muscle near her mouth twitching as though she was suppressing tears again. The prospect of gracing Mrs. Caedmon with this news did rather inspire sorrow. Jasper didn't know what else to say. This was the part usually where you patted someone on the shoulder consolingly or something. He supposed it couldn't hurt to practice; he'd have to try it on Cal later, maybe warm up with someone not disfigured first. Tentatively, he reached out and put a hand on Helena's shoulder, fingers pressing gently.

"We'll think of something, yeah? Don't--"

The sound of the landing door opening startled him, and he turned his head sharply.

"Jas? I thought you'd be in the--"

Cal was in the study doorway. There was a moment of universally surprised blinking, then silence.

Cal had spent the last few days wrapping himself in the thickening folds of his isolation. He was not unused to the feeling. In a way, within the gray gossamer lining, it felt like a kind of comfort or homecoming. Jasper could be so exhausting. Now the edges blurred. Lines ran together. His vision dripped gray murk and melancholy. He did a great deal of doxy powder, milder than cocaine but enough

and he had realized touch was a kind of drug, too. Without it he floated away entirely. He could spend twenty hours at a stretch in his lab, utterly cut off from anything around him, a white noise barrier, a sound barrier. If Jasper hadn't been always subdermally present it might have been only as painful as life had been in general in the Prejasperian Era, the Ice Age; but freezing everything again was more difficult and

anyway he had enough trouble sometimes, remember that his hands belonged to him. That the nibbled cuticle lying alongside one thumbnail was not Jasper's. That the delicate smells and movements of his body, which were utterly new, were some Self and not Jasper and it was all

He had to talk to him. Sort this out. Cal coughed into cupped palms, standing outside of Jasper's door. The cold shower he had taken had made his lungs ache again, but he had stopped coughing up blood days ago. While it had been there it had felt almost cathartic, picturesque, nineteenth century and tubercular. He had used a handkerchief for a day and then he'd realized Jasper never touched him and then he had gone home and used tissues. Today he'd carefully covered up the mark on his neck--gone from red to grayish-white and shiny, puckered on one side--and he couldn't look at it for long but he kept running a finger over it, unable to believe this of all the many reasons why Jasper ought to hate him, was the bottom line, or mark, or quoiquesoit.

But there was no room for anger nor negotiation and anyway it was just Jasper, wasn't it, and he was a hypocrite himself, and it was just Jasper, all of it.

He opened Jasper's back door in his habitual fashion, fiddling with the lock, and walked inside, hunching his shoulders against the cold; hung his coat in the little entryway and slouched upstairs, shoulders brushing the sides of the stairwell with a felty hiss and tingle. He reached the top and heard something in the study, turned

oh

"Sorry." He was too exhausted even to be angry. Jasper, attractive woman. Right. She didn't look like a model, but he wasn't one to talk. Right. The room wavered around the edges. His words were pointed and a little honest, but not actually angry; he hadn't been angry--not really--not let himself--it would make him think of it all. "Go ahead, f--k my boyfriend, I'll see you later, Jasper." He waved and turned himself carefully, one shoulder at a time.

She jumped when Jasper’s fingers closed around her shoulder and then looked down at them. He’d noticed then, lovely. She swiped at her face again, and Jasper’s fingers pressed slightly.

We'll think of something, yeah? Don't— She was saved from whatever false platitude Jasper had been preparing and from any further embarrassment that might have been coming when there was a sound from the door. Jasper’s hand went convulsively tight around her shoulder and she winced, ducking out of the grip and taking a moment to shoot him a look before turning her head to the door. There was a man standing there…well swaying there.

His eyes lighted on her and then up to Jasper but she couldn’t read his expression. She hazarded a look at Jasper, who was silent and….guilty looking? Eyes back on the door, why was he looking at her like that? Go ahead, f--k my boyfriend, I'll see you later, Jasper..

F—k Jasper…ew. Wait.

That was Calixtus Ferox? He looked…well rather like a raven that had mated with some sort of unfortunate humanoid. Hunched forward and over himself. The mans skin was hallowed and pale, if she had a torch she might have been able to see organs through the fabric, likes the bones in your hands. His hair was haphazard and all over his face, obscuring the look but she had an idea that it might be quite venomous. Suit was nice though, tie, in place, her eyes went to his throat, looking for evidence of what Atlas had done, she didn’t see anything. She didn’t get the chance because he was turning, sort of. It was a slow and unsteady motion, slow being the operative move. She looked up at Jasper again, who had still said nothing.

That was Cal and he thought….still looking at Jasper her stomach turned. She understood why some people might find him attractive she just wasn’t one of them, ever. She had hoped Jasper might say something, make some sort of introduction or at least go after the man but he wasn’t moving. Lord..

“Wait!” She broke away from Jasper and speedily made her way across the room, out into the hall, Ferox hadn’t gotten far. At his current speed (somewhere above a sloth but well below a spry 25 year old) he was easy to catch up to. Hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders slumped forward he was a bit intimidating and nothing like she had imagined. He was rather gothic actually not in the sense of fashion just, in a sense. He looked dower and resigned and when he looked down at her through his hair it was like he was looking at nothing.

“I’m not here to….” Her mouth twisted when she said it, “F—k your boyfriend Mr. Ferox. Ever.” She took a step back as he kept moving, held up her hands in a mimicry of a traffic officer. “You just saw the wrong second of a two second encounter.” She looked back toward the study Jasper had better get out here…

Cal's face fell slack in shock for a half-second, then hardened, scowling under his hair, which was messy and too long across his face. If Jasper hadn't been so utterly distracted by the scar he would have noticed that and cut it (surreptitiously, while Cal was asleep, but that required actually sleeping in the same place, didn't it?) Helena turned in surprise, her shoulder slipping out from under Jasper's fingers, and his hand stayed hovering in the air, forgotten.

Go ahead, f--k my boyfriend, I'll see you later, Jasper.

Oh, no. Of course it looked like that. This was what happened when you started touching people. Things got confusing and signals were mixed and no one was happy and you should have just preserved your own bloody personal space. Helena's flinching away had done nothing but make the scene look more guilty; where else would Cal's mind have gone anyway? Jasper didn't have many close female friends, and Cal certainly wouldn't notice that Helena suffered tragically from man hands, number 3 on the Christie list of reasons to reject otherwise attractive women.

Cal was turning away, shoulders drawing up and inward in the sleeves of his suit. He'd dressed up to come over. God. Jasper knew he was going, but he was so horrified that it had frozen him. He felt like he should just give up, let Cal go and not come back. After everything else he wouldn't listen to an explanation anyway, and Jasper didn't really deserve the courtesy from him.

Luckily, Helena was more levelheaded about the situation and took off after Cal as he ducked out of the study. Jasper wavered slightly, as though pushed by the wake of the motion, then realized he was still being a prat and followed. She had managed to arrest Cal, still glaring, on the landing when he arrived.

“I’m not here to…F—k your boyfriend Mr. Ferox. Ever.” Her mouth twisted up with the word. Twice in one day. Probably a record for Helena unless she was quoting a Tarantino movie. Cal took another step away skeptically. "You just saw the wrong second of a two second encounter.”

Cal's eyes flicked over to him as he arrived in the study doorway, and Jasper realized that he just looked, comfortingly, like Cal. More tired than usual, maybe, but with the familiar dubious expression he got on when Jasper told him he looked good in pegged jeans or fell asleep while he was reading about biochemistry. Helena was right, he could do this.

"Cal, I would never--I know what it looks like, but it's really not. This is Helena, she was Atlas' girlfriend, I would never--she thinks I look like a Ken doll." He glanced at Helena, hoping for confirmation. Cal stayed reluctantly back. Jasper felt like he needed to do something else, explanation would never be convincing. Beautiful woman + Jasper= absolutely sleeping together. Cal trusted the exactitude of equations.

"Hey." Jasper took a step toward him, made himself breathe in, closed his eyes and put his arms around Cal gently. And it was okay. Cal felt exactly like he remembered, all the sharp angles the same under the drape of the suit. Comme des Garçons wool, Jasper had picked it out, of course. He pulled back after a moment, aware of Helena's presence, but it was done. It was just Cal, with a scar, that he could see the faintest silvery gleam of between hair and collar. He could handle that. He wasn't sure about seeing the whole thing, about ever being able to let it touch him, but that was for later. It wasn't something he'd have to worry about if he couldn't get Cal to stay right now.

"I asked her to come to talk about Atlas. About what we should do, that's all. There's nothing else going on, I promise."

Cal's jealousy was not the sort of sharp stuff of generality. It was incidental; it was contingent. That Jasper was touching someone. When he wouldn't even look him in the eye. Cal knew it was not an accustomation for Jasper, touching people. He maintained, in many ways, the same absolute impermeability of all glossy simulacra, celebrities, and contemporary Gods.

But he had been touching this woman. Atlas's girlfriend? Cal let his throat work in and out and blinked.

He took a step away from her and stared her down from between hunched shoulders. The skin between his shoulders crept, horribly, for an instant, and he had a moment of pure Caedmon paranoia. Was she. Was Jasper. But--

A Ken doll? The mental image was so odd he let himself stare at Jasper for a fragment of the eternity he always needed when looking at him. He missed him. The urge blotted out lingering fear and guilt and even shame. That was the incredible thing about desires, their absolute power over compulsions that held within themselves a certain contemptuous reserve--contempt of themselves--of Self--

Jasper's voice was suddenly close to his ear. "Hey."

His arms closed around Cal's and Cal froze; breathed out, in. He kept his shoulders very tense, still looking from the visible edge of Jasper's jaw, half behind him, to the woman.

"I asked her to come to talk about Atlas. About what we should do, that's all. There's nothing else going on, I promise."

"I don't care." Cal felt his face sag into the shape of nothing but sick relief. He did care, of course, care, somewhere in distant parts of his brain and body--that it was about Atlas f--king Caedmon, that it was still about Atlas Caedmon. He shuffled back and put one arm around Jasper's waist anyway, simply because it was the most instinctive motion in the world, and leaned in against his shoulder, and shut his eyes.

He had no space to think of anything, anything, anything but compulsion. "As if I would--I don't care, Jasper."[/i] He opened his eyes suddenly and stared at the woman--he'd gotten the uneasy feeling he was being unfavorably watched. "What. Please don't--"

It was a standoff, Helena still with her hands out and Calixtus looking at her as if she wasn’t even really there. There were footsteps and then Jasper appeared, apparently her savior had deemed it time to come to her rescue. The look she shot him was cutting, communicating that he should be the one caught between this man and the staircase. Definitely not the other way around. Cal had heard him too and turned his head slightly to side to catch his eye and she saw it. Her hands dropped slowly and her head tilted on the stalk of her neck and she gaped. Realizing what she was doing a moment later she blinked hard and looked away, embarrassed, the situation was already awkward enough without the man feeling as if he was some sort of spectacle. That was it then, irrefutable evidence.

She felt a compulsive need to apologize, she had been damage control and Atlas’s ambassador to the wide nation of normalcy for years and it was always so easy to slip back into a role once you had mastered it. Cal, I would never--I know what it looks like, but it's really not. This is Helena, she was Atlas' girlfriend, I would never--she thinks I look like a Ken doll. Jasper’s met hers then and she knew this was her moment to chime in.

There was an uncomfortable pause and she realized instead of saying anything she had been grimacing at the thought of what she was supposed to be denying. Her face was arranged sourly and a shiver ran through her before she looked Cal in the eyes, well looked him in the eyes as best she could what with the fringe she had to peer past and the deadened expression, it was a little on the difficult side. “Its true.” . His pitted eyes stayed on her and he seemed to draw back, go rigid and she felt terrible all over again, it was like he thought her to be contaminated. Don’t apologize, don’t you dare apologize..

Did Cal have some reason to think that Jasper and her would have been doing anything but talking? “He’s like plastic, shiny, anatomically bereft plastic. If he isn’t fully clothed he doesn’t exist to me.” That was enough, she could have expounded for the better part of an hour about all the ways that she found Jasper unattractive; his hair (problems with plastic again) the fact that he was a better dresser than her, the lists went on and on but they all came down to the fact that he was Jasper and therefore, just….ew.

Jasper gave her one of his ‘you done good kid’ looks and then took a cautious step toward Cal, Hey.. Then his arms went around him and Helena relaxed somewhat. Good on your Jasper. Then she dropped her eyes, she felt as if she was seeing something intensely private, as if she was a voyeur hiding in a cupboard somewhere.

I asked her to come to talk about Atlas. About what we should do, that's all. There's nothing else going on, I promise.

That seemed to be permission to look back up and Helena shrugged lamely when Calixtus’s eyes flickered back over her. I don’t care . Oh, but that was a lie, his face played irony to the words as the features melted into something more soft and pliable. She was trying to assess, figure out where the appeal was, the charm that she had thought would flow off the man was absent, as were the shining smiles and the playful banter. Maybe Jasper wasn’t so shallow after all. He seemed reassured somehow, and arm going around Jasper’s waist and it just looked natural, the way that there hips met just so. That voyeuristic feeling was back but this time she wasn’t looking away. It was like seeing some kind of exotic animal, a pair of them. But they were like the different sexes of birds, distinct aesthetic differences between them. It was a survival mechanism, but it hadn’t seemed to work in Cal’s favor.

This time Cal caught her looking. What. Please don't- She looked down at herself wondering what it was she had done. Well starring, yes but that certainly didn’t communicate the sort of urgency that Cal’s tone did. It was like skipping stones, as if he wasn’t completely aware of what he was saying when he was saying it or sure of the direction the words might go.

“Pardon?” She lifted her leg to take a step back and then stopped, silly. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to offend its just…” Her hand lifted from her side slightly, and she made a small sweeping motion toward them. “its different, to see. Jasper never…I should stop talking now. “ There was a strange pause, and she felt the air for the words crawling up her throat, could sense them traveling down from her brain. “I am so sorry.” Immediately her eyes drew together. “F—k!” Three times in one day, this was a record…She clamed her hand over her mouth and made sure she looked anywhere but at Cal.

"He’s like plastic, shiny, anatomically bereft plastic. If he isn’t fully clothed he doesn’t exist to me.”

Thanks. Thank you Helena. That's enough. Jasper appreciated her commitment to the cause, but she was just getting overzealous now. Cal was looking at her with a mix of curiosity and disgust. At least, unlike Atlas, he knew that Jasper wasn't missing any...pertinent body parts, and that his head didn't snap off if you turned it too far to one side. There was a pause as Cal stared at her, probably thinking, 'Of course she's mental, she dated Caedmon,' then Jasper felt an arm slip around his waist. Their hips bumped together, Cal's familiarly bony, and Jasper couldn't suppress the rather sappy thought that he had really missed this.

"As if I would--I don't care, Jasper."

Cal's head bobbed off of Jasper's shoulder. Of course he cared. Not as much as Helena seemed to think, given the rather appalled expression on her face when Cal had assumed the worst, but he did. The model from a few weeks before wouldn't have upset him if he didn't care at all, nor would he have made that snide comment. Go ahead-- The fact that he felt he possessed Jasper enough to offer permission showed that he cared. His eyes flicked to Helena, who had looked up at them, her face softening when she saw them closely side by side. "What. Please don't--"

“Pardon? I’m sorry I didn’t mean to offend its just…its different, to see. Jasper never…I should stop talking now. “

Yes, please God stop. Jasper knew Helena meant well, but the last thing Cal needed at the moment was an analysis of Jasper's relationship history (or lack thereof) from a third party. A third party who had once been close to Atlas no less. No wonder the scrutiny had upset him. Jasper knew that having Helena over belied more sympathy for Atlas than Cal would be comfortable with.

“I am so sorry.” A pause, and she looked panicked. “F—k!”

And pity, of course, to round out the trifecta of ways to make the situation more awkward. Jasper wasn't sure what to say. He put a reciprocal arm around Cal's waist slowly, fingers squeezing his side gently as a request not to say anything too horrible to her. She meant well, in the same sort of misguided way Nina had when she'd called them a "cute couple." Cal had handled that one so admirably...

"You don't have to--you've had a lot of shocking news for one day, it's okay. Although if you could not divulge any more details about why you find me repulsive, that would be lovely." He turned toward Cal, tightening his arm slightly and smiling, hoping Cal would take the joke and not think about Atlas too much. Jasper didn't want him to think his allegiances had shifted; Cal had seemed displeased enough as Jasper's anger had faded into sadness. Although that was, quite probably, heavily influenced by the fact that he'd refused to touch him. At least Cal had Helena to thank for solving that. "Forgive her, she's just floored that I've managed to meet someone in spite of being a deformed blob of plastic. God knows what you see in me, I can't even bend my elbows."

Cal ignored Jasper's attempts at warding off the woman's determined incursion. He shut his eyes again and blinked against anger, anger, anger. It was back. It beat against the black screen inside his head like a heart, with just as much urgency and vitality.

He knew pity and he knew who and what he didn't trust.

"Generally you apologize--after--" His voice broke breathily against Jasper's skin and he had to stop and just be. Weak. That was a weak, fundamentally erroneous--the point of who and what he was was not auxiliary. His identity was auxiliary but she had no reason to see that. Everything was auxiliary, or contingent, in any and every case. He tightened his warm around Jasper's waist and turned to glare at her. "--after you--lance some profanity. Or after you--Then again I am not sure of the protocol for apology after torture and kidnapping. Why are you here?"

He swallowed and buried his face in the warm place between Jasper's hair and the hollow of his shoulder, holding him tightly. Once again he was reminded of the delicate difference between having and holding, and that the more tightly he held, the more reckless he became.

"And no. Not just Jasper invited you no matter how mannerly I am sure he and you are. No. Why did you come and what." He was shaking faintly from the shoulders down, his head moving back and forth a little, like some broken stalk in some sort of... some breeze. "--what do you want, I just want--"

You don’t have to--- Her eyes went to Jasper but her hands stayed firmly over her mouth, just to assure that there wouldn’t be anymore outbursts. Jasper tried to clear the air in his usual fashion, a few well-placed comments and a flash of that smile. It was a stupid thing to say, she knew that. As far as first impressions went she had done better. First Cal had thought she was one of Jasper’s harlots, which she thought was rather jumping to conclusions, and now he was radiating dislike, practically for every pore of his body. There was only one opportunity for these kinds of encounters and the image you formed tended to stick but Helena had a suspicion that it hadn’t been the moment where Cal believed she and Jasper were about to do something far more intimate than hand holding that had caused a negative opinion of her.

No, it was when Jasper had provided that actual explanation of what she was, when he had defined her as the consort of the person that had caused Cal so much pain physical and otherwise. She had been identified with the enemy, in intimate terms and the use of the words ‘was’ and ‘ex’ weren’t enough to erase the name that had come in-between. It was a tad on the offensive side, she was her own person, independent, she shouldn’t be judged for the actions of someone she had spoken to for 10 minutes in the past three years.

Generally you apologize…after… He paused, it sounded as if he had run out of air, the words getting more breathy and incoherent as he went along. She finally looked back at him, noted the way he clung tighter to Jasper. He seemed elated by the contact, like someone drinking after getting out of the desert. There was a glare when she glanced up from his wandering hand. He had caught his breath, at least enough to continue on, --after you--lance some profanity. She smiled at that, it was a valid point delivered in a an informative tone, as if he was explaining the use of napkins to an adult. Or after you— Another shucked in breath, his whole chest heaved with the force of it, she supposed that magic couldn’t fix everything. Things could still take time. She crossed her arms across her narrow chest and waited for the big finish. It really took a lot of fire out the conversation when you had to pause in order to breath every few words.

Then again I am not sure of the protocol for apology after torture and kidnapping. Helena’s mouth hung open and she transferred her weight slightly, tipping one hip down and the other upwards. There weren’t protocols for those sorts of things, for many things outside of the daily occurrences in ones life. The language was just to limited to express any sort of proper sentiment. She shouldn’t have expressed any sentiment at all, should have shut up. Why are you here? Hadn’t Jasper just said? Was that explanation not acceptable?

From the space between Jasper’s neck and shoulder he continued, still taking those stunted little breaths that kept making her think about basements and caves, And no. Not just Jasper invited you no matter how mannerly I am sure he and you are. No. Why did you come and what. He was shaking now, either with excursion or anger. --what do you want—

It was a good question and she wasn’t going to answer until she had thought of a good explanation. She wanted to say it was because Jasper had asked, because he was a friend, and because she enjoyed their conversation, she didn’t want to say it was because he had wanted to talk to her about a man that she should have nothing to do with. That she would come running to see what the problem was, because that sounded terrible and this wasn’t about Atlas to Cal. This was very much about him, and his boyfriend and she could come up with no reason as to why this shouldn’t be the case.

She wanted to be angry, that was really her first instinct, but Jasper was a friend and sometimes, like she had told Jasper you had to do things that weren’t about you. “Jasper wanted to talk to someone. Someone who knows what he’s lost, because it is a loss and obviously it’s had some effects.” Her eyes strayed downwards slightly before she made eye contact again. “So this can start being about you, rather than about Atlas and his obvious insanity.” Now it was her turn to suck a breath in too fast, her eyes flickered to Jasper, “So we can decide what to do about him, so he can’t hurt someone else. He didn’t want to burden you with that, so he called me and I showed up. Because that’s what anyone does when Jasper calls them.”

“And I’ve done nothing to you, the third degree is completely unwarranted.”

The blunt softness of Cal's nose and the warmth of his breath against Jasper's neck were a sharp contrast to the venom he had for Helena. Jasper could see her over Cal's shoulder, face falling slowly then turning to affront as Cal spoke. Cal wasn't breathing properly; Jasper could feel him stop and gasp for air sometimes, lungs shuddering unevenly. Occasionally he woke up at night to the sound of an uncomfortable wheezing from somewhere under the pale skin of Cal's chest and couldn't fall asleep again to the uneven rhythm. He was furious at Cal for treating her this way, but the feeling was tainted with pleasure that they could be close again. He wanted to kiss him, desperately, but he felt that it would be wrong in front of Helena. To be so happy in the face of how upset she so clearly was. Trying to ignore the slow progress of Cal's hand across his back and the way he shuffled continuously closer, he gave Helena the chance to reply before he defended her; she wouldn't appreciate being overrun in the conversation.

“Jasper wanted to talk to someone. Someone who knows what he’s lost, because it is a loss and obviously it’s had some effects.” Her eyes glanced across them, at the way Cal had his face buried in the angle of Jasper's neck. “So this can start being about you, rather than about Atlas and his obvious insanity. So we can decide what to do about him, so he can’t hurt someone else. He didn’t want to burden you with that, so he called me and I showed up. Because that’s what anyone does when Jasper calls them.”

She paused, mouth set into a hard line. Jasper knew how difficult it must have been to admit again that Atlas had completely lost his mind. Really, she had come to terms with it quite quickly. Helena was, in many ways (besides the obviously physical ones such as the capacity to chop wood and sail a small vessel alone that Jasper found both admirable and alarming), stronger than Jasper. Her patience and perceptiveness had made her, probably, the only person who could have lived with Atlas for so long.

“And I’ve done nothing to you, the third degree is completely unwarranted.”

Good for you, Helena. Jasper felt Cal's mouth twist against his neck and picked up the conversation quickly before he could say something else cutting, his arm tensing around Cal's back, fingers tightening gently on the side blocked from Helena by their bodies. Please don't--

"I asked her to come because she's the only person who knew Atlas well enough to understand. I needed someone else who would because it's not safe for anyone for him to be left alone, and no one else knows what happened. So I had to be the one who decided, and I didn't know what to do. Why you're being this way is obvious, yeah? After what Atlas-- but she doesn't have anything to do with--what he is now. They haven't spoken in years."

"I thought I would feel better, and that you would to, if I did something about him. I can't stand that he's over there all the time doing God knows what, and I couldn't stand thinking about it alone anymore."

"You can't stand thinking about it alone."

Cal took a step back. It was physically painful to pull away from Jasper, his hand sliding over the fabric of his coat. But. It was impossible. There were some things--the layers of gauze unwrapped themselves. It was a Revealing Moment. He thought about simply not revealing anything but Cal had always been, he knew, driven by narrative necessity. It was simply requisite to life as a narrative. And life as necessity. And both were necessary to Cal's way of life.

Necessity, narrative, narrative necessity. It was what made Jasper so beautiful. Cal realized it suddenly, and then thought--well--what of it?

"You can't stand thinking about it alone?"

He stared at Jasper, leaving the woman aside for the moment. She didn't matter. His chest heaved. "For the last week, Jasper, I have been slowly piecing together the fragments of ipsicity, and you can't stand thinking about it--alone--you--you--" He took another breath and shut his eyes. When he opened them, everything looked a little blinding, lit by adrenaline. His palms felt sweaty. "You. At least. Had an alone to have. It's not--it's always about you and."

He shut his eyes again, and the color--and the adrenaline--receded in a wash.

"And I don't want that to be why I--you--I don't want that to be why you're Jasper any longer, please."

"You can't stand thinking about it alone."

Cal pulled away, quite suddenly. His hand lingered for a half second on Jasper's back, then the contact was broken entirely. The air felt cold in comparison, seeping in through the front of his jacket and under his shirt. Cal stared at him as his arms dropped, feeling almost detached from his body. He was aware, distantly, that Helena was still in the room, but the fact receded from importance.

"You can't stand thinking about it alone?"

Of course. Of course it seemed selfish. Jasper had thought of that, and spent time feeling bad about it. But he'd had more on his mind than he knew what to do with, and he didn't think Cal understood at all. Not that he would have asked him for sympathy after what had happened (and how horribly Jasper had, quite admittedly, treated him), but Cal could at least have seen, the smallest glimpse even, of how upset Jasper was too. Cal was berating him now, Helena off to one side staring like she was watching a train wreck. He noticed that Cal's eyes had taken on a feverish brightness.

"For the last week, Jasper, I have been slowly piecing together the fragments of ipsicity, and you can't stand thinking about it--alone--you--you--you. At least. Had an alone to have. It's not--it's always about you and."

He blinked, mercifully, and Jasper could feel his heartbeat accelerating, his fingers bunching up against his palms.

"And I don't want that to be why I--you--I don't want that to be why you're Jasper any longer, please."

Jasper took a step back toward the study door, jaw clenched and shaking with rage.

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry this happened to you, and I'm sorry I was f--king rubbish at making you feel better, because I was, and I'm sorry I wanted to talk to someone else about it. But he was my best friend and you're my boyfriend and I can't bloody fix everything like this! I mean, Cal, d'you think this was my first choice plan for dealing with it? That I thought it would really go well? I didn't have a bloody plan, I have no idea what you do in this situation, so sorry that I had to look out for myself and didn't live up to whatever Jasper standards of fixing insurmountable problems that you set for me."

He looked between them, at Cal's stony expression and Helena, who was paling under her tan, and focused back on Cal.

"Just--get out. Goodbye Helena. Sorry."

He didn't think they would leave fast enough to suit him, so he turned back into the study, slamming the door behind.

Jasper had of course taken offense for her, which he then coupled with the offense that Cal seemed to have caused for himself and the two combined were apparently too much to bear. She watched his face close off as Cal stepped away from him, looking equally incensed. Happiness, and specifically happy scenes never lasted long. Usually she thought that was well and good, public displays of affection made her uncomfortable and people always took them to far. But here, for a moment Jasper had actually looked at ease and that at least had been nice. Now both of them were standing apart (though Cal looked slightly less than enthused about the broken contact) like some kind of invisible line had been drawn across the floor of the room.

And I don't want that to be why I--you--I don't want that to be why you're Jasper any longer, please..

For the first time of the day, really the first time in years, she found herself angry with Atlas. Mad because he had elicited this, she didn’t know Cal she couldn’t judge, but Jasper was visibly upset and it looked as if Cal was sharing the sentiment. Biting the inside of her cheek she looked down, searching the floor between the two of them for that line. Just as affection was meant to be private so too were fights. It wasn’t a spectacle and it wasn’t an amusement…and maybe what Calixtus was saying made sense. Not her place, never her place but she could still be angry. I’m sort of seeing him you know? but she hadn’t and she had never known Jasper to use those words and now it was coming apart. She knew the reason, intimately knew the reason and it just made her skin itch.

But he was my best friend and you're my boyfriend and I can't bloody fix everything like this! I mean, Cal, d'you think this was my first choice plan for dealing with it? That I thought it would really go well? I didn't have a bloody plan, I have no idea what you do in this situation, so sorry that I had to look out for myself and didn't live up to whatever Jasper standards of fixing insurmountable problems that you set for me.. Helena looked up at that, unable to keep her eyes down and afford these two the privacy that they deserved. She wondered what it might have cost for Jasper to be that honest, or if it would even matter.

Jasper made eye contact suddenly and she wanted to go back to looking at the floor, there was a nail in one of the boards that was jutting upwards slightly; it should be fixed. Instead she stayed looking at him for what felt like a stretch but was no doubt only a few seconds, then his eyes mercifully went to Cal.

Just--get out. Goodbye Helena. Sorry. Then he was gone, storming back into his ‘liar’ and slamming the door shut with force sufficient enough to make the wall fixtures rattle. Now silence. She hazarded a glance at the door then looked over and up at Cal, who seemed to be miming a goldfish, mouth opening and closing. Maybe he had planned out more of the argument and was now simply forming the words with his mouth. Clearing them out of the system.

“Go team.” She said to the quiet room, raising one finger and twirling it in the air.
She crossed her arms and gauged at the inside of her cheek with her tongue for a moment, wondering what exactly Calixtus was trying to do and in turn wondering what she should do. “Aren’t you going to go in there?” She crossed the few steps to the door and leaned against it, pressing her ear to the wood, her eyes glancing back to Cal before she stepped away, hands clasped behind her back. “Seems like it might be worth fighting for, and at least some of us would be getting some.” Unaware of how the admittedly lame attempt at humor had gone over Helena glanced away from Cal, pursing her lips. “Unless you wanted to come with me and get smashed, because that’s my plan.”

Get out. Get out? Cal stood stuck still, mouth gaping. Shutting. Air whistled through his lungs in an uneven pattern, gathering anger into a dusty, breathy spiral.

Jasper had told him to get out? He had apologized--to her?

Helena's comments, when they rebounded against the tin inside of his skull, struck him as idiotically nugatory and totally beside the point. He rounded on her, face twitching in horror and revulsion. Have a drink. Wasn't that exactly what Caedmon had said? When he looked at her he thought he could mark strange ways in which she had taken on Caedmon's imprint, certain obverse expressions, the way her mouth slid to one side a little.

"You know nothing about it--" But he was precisely afraid that she did. He turned away from her and wrenched open the door to Jasper's study, so hard that it rebounded against the wall, gouging a knob-shaped dent in the plaster. He kicked it for good measure. His breathing was unsteady again, wobbly, his throat opening and closing. He grappled for the door handle--half-turned in the doorway--and slammed it shut behind him, the force jittering him backward into the room.

"Jasper." He rounded on him, shoulders and chest heaving, hands flexing open and shut on nothing. If Jasper didn't prevent him he'd just take him by the shoulders and-- "You are--you have no idea. I know you're not perfect. I don't care. I don't--don't leave again, I can't--"

Calixtus rounded on her, Helena lowered her chin, tucking it in flat along her chest but she kept her eyes up. Again she had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that she was being dissected. Jasper had said that he was a scientist, she just wished she knew what he was looking for maybe she could have saved time and some creepiness by just telling him. The expression on his face was one of pure disgust, as if she had just suggested that they should go down to the docks, kill a homeless person and make a puppet out of the corpse. He leaned forward every so slightly and in spite of herself she felt her back curving away from him, Jasper’s boyfriend might have been a laugh under better circumstances but just at this moment he was giving her the utter and complete creeps.

You know nothing about it… He trailed off again, heaved a breath and then it was a tense two second stand still. Then she was looking at his back as he stalked toward the study, she caught the briefest glimpse of Jasper before Cal slammed the door shut again. This was an argument that she really did not wish to be present for, nor was it her place to be present for. She puffed out a breath she’d been holding since Ferox had loomed over her, the wind knocking a lock of hair forward and back like a pendulum.

“Great, right….well….” She glanced around the empty hallway with mild discomfort, then she moved into the kitchen. It took a few tense seconds of rummaging to come up with a scrap of paper. She already had a pen, pressing it lightly to the page and blocking out muffled raised voices. Finishing the note she tucked it along one of the folds of the baklava box, giving it a little pat before making her way to the staircase.

Sighing, she pushed the door open and gingerly made her way back to the alley where she stood for a good half hour before finally deciding what to do and going on her way.

Slamming doors were, possibly, the most satisfying object in the world. Jasper wasn't sure he'd ever gotten more pleasure from a Dior suit than he did from hearing the door rebound in its frame. One of the photos on the mantle slipped off the edge and he caught it with a well-placed Accio. Over the reverberation of the door and the rushing of blood in his ears he could hear Helena and Cal, but he wasn't listening to the words. He shoved the frame roughly back onto the mantle, trying very hard not to look at the picture, which was of the Boy's Club, then stood in front of the fire with his fingers clenched back against his palms, too angry to sit down.

Helena and Cal's voices faded, and the door slammed open again. He knew it was Cal; Helena wouldn't do that. He refused to look up, anger boiling up in his throat. There was another muffled thump of something hitting the wooden door, then a final slam. Jasper stared at the fire, trying to make himself breathe normally.

Jasper rarely yelled at people when he got angry. You just ended up making silly faces and saying incoherent things and it got across nothing about how you actually felt. He'd realized, at a young age, that he had a particular talent for the scathing remark, a gift for knowing exactly what would hurt the most. It was great when you were really angry, but it also meant that he often couldn't be angry at all, because what he would say exceeded the situation.

Right now, for example, he could have said:

You might as well go, because your delusions of my loving you will never come true, especially considering how you look now.

I'll always care about Atlas more than you.

I would have f--ked her, if you hadn't interrupted.

The scar is too disgusting, actually, I don't want you anymore. Don't you understand that I f--ked you because you were pretty? Pretty. Like a girl.

The problem with the things Jasper said, and they were often very carefully calculated lies, was that they were too cruel if you ever wanted to stop being angry. He knew that any one would send Cal out for good, and that wasn't what he wanted, regardless of how he felt at the moment. Cal was close to him, his breath audible still.

"Jasper." He appeared in the corner of Jasper's peripheral vision, then between him and the fire, but Jasper didn't look up at him. Distantly, he heard footsteps; Helena going downstairs. Good. He couldn't tell what face he was making. It was certainly something horrible, and he struggled for neutrality, which came more easily with the next words. "You are--you have no idea. I know you're not perfect. I don't care. I don't--don't leave again, I can't--"

Cal's hands came down tightly on his shoulders, pulling him forward, and Jasper almost let him. That would be easiest, wouldn't it? End all this like they always did. But he didn't think he could yet, not with the stiffness of anger twitching in his back. If he let Cal, he would end up pushing him back against the mantle, could imagine the hollow thud of his head on the wood. It would end; they would push away from the center of the room and onto the sofa somehow, he would get over the anger with that gesture and everything would go back to whatever stasis they could have, but that was what Cal wanted. Jasper felt too petty for that.

"I'm not leaving. I bloody live here, anyway." He could still hear the twang of tension in his voice and tried to force it down, shoving Cal's hands off his shoulders and taking a step back. The motion wrenched at him; he still wanted the contact in spite of everything. "You shouldn't have treated her that way. She's my friend, in spite of what she was to Atlas. This is hard for me too, in spite of how much harder it is for you. And I'm less used to that that you are."

He turned, paced the carpet, collapsed onto the sofa after all, but alone. That one moment of pushing Cal away had been enough, all he had needed. Cal would be the angry one now, though. His voice softened, tired. "But I won't leave. Please don't, either."

Cal caught the look on Jasper's face and almost flinched away, appalled. He didn't--he never saw Jasper like that. Angry. Tense. That was unusual. Of course, lately he'd been more and more distant, shutting off--the whole Atlas thing. Cal supposed it had calcified into anger the way his had. But it was still strange to see Jasper angry. He had a way of just completely shutting Cal out--shutting everything out. It scared him.

Jasper shoved his hands off. Cal stumbled and caught himself against the fireplace brick.

(Shallah's fireplace).

"You shouldn't have treated her that way. She's my friend, in spite of what she was to Atlas. This is hard for me too, in spite of how much harder it is for you. And I'm less used to that that you are."

Used to what? Losing friends? Cal never had any. Pain? Unhappiness. Sometimes it was shocking the things Jasper knew about him and still hadn't left him for. Utter misery, for example. He was actually quite correct. Cal was surprised he'd been paying such attention. In strict fact, Jasper had far less experience with misery than did Cal. That was all.

Jasper turned sharply, one neatly-cut heel digging into the carpet. Every movement was always, still, so precise. He flung himself onto the couch, and Cal knotted his hands together, hung back. There was a picture over the fireplace. Caedmon was in it. He looked away.

"But I won't leave. Please don't, either."

His shoulders slumped. That was probably as close to an apology as he'd ever get from Jasper Christie.

"I'm sorry, Jasper. I didn't mean it. I think she's gone, but if you would like, I can pursue and see if--" He spoke very softly, breathily, with delicate deliberation. The situation was fragile. All of the anger had seeped out of the room, and left him feeling pathetic and inconsequential. "--and apologize. Or whatever you like." His hands, laced together, trembled. He looked down.

Cal looked small, thinner even than normal, a bit ragged even in the suit. Jasper had failed to notice how run down he'd gotten in such a short time. He found, oddly, that he felt the same way toward Cal as he had once about Atlas. As though he had some responsibility to care for him, to pick up the little pieces that some fundamental lack made Cal drop. As with Atlas, it would be wrong to be angry at him. Reactionary, vindictive things would follow and escalate. Just like Atlas. If only the two of them had understood how similar they were, really.

"I'm sorry, Jasper. I didn't mean it. I think she's gone, but if you would like, I can pursue and see if--" A pause, filled with the quiet sound of his breath over the crackle of the fire. An incredibly fragile mix of sounds. "--and apologize. Or whatever you like."

The last thing Cal needed to do was go after Helena. Confrontation without violence hadn't really been working out for him. Plus Jasper didn't want him to leave again. Every time, lately, he'd had the odd sensation that Cal was closer and closer to not coming back. Understandable. He stood, unfolding himself slowly, and crossed the carpet, Cal like a statue. The scar was whitish in the orange light of the fire. He'd have to do this eventually.

"No, you don't have to, just stay." His hands came up and slipped the jacket off Cal's shoulders, fingers undoing his tie. The whole thing felt dreamlike, too slow, as though he was too aware of himself trying to control his breathing. It was important not to flinch. Just a scar. A few tiny inches of skin as a tradeoff for the whole of Cal. His fingers wavered uncertainly with the tie then dropped it, moving on to the top two buttons of his shirt, and the scar slipped into view. His stomach twisted and settled. Just a scar. Barely off from the color of Cal's skin now. He slipped one hand around Cal's neck, palm over the blip in the skin, and pulled him in slowly. "I've missed you, you know."

Their lips met, then slid apart as Jasper turned his face aside and ducked his head slightly. He had to do this, all or nothing. Cal would notice if he kept avoiding it. The path was habitual, along Cal's jaw, nose bumping into his ear, then lips dropping down across his neck. He breathed in too sharply when they met with the unfamiliar texture of the scar, but brushed over it, teeth meeting briefly with the smooth skin nearby before he pulled back to quirk an eyebrow at Cal, waiting for the familiar shiver.

"Everything still in working order?"

For a surreal second Cal thought that he'd forgotten how to kiss properly. Which was silly--he had done that before Jasper. But it was nerve-wrackingly new now, for whatever reason, as though he had just regrown all of his skin. And the scar.

Jasper put a hand over his neck. Cal tried to imagine what he felt, or why it bothered him so much. Some thing that wasn't exactly part of him, an imperfection. The lack of rigor he so carefully ironed out of equations. That made some sense. He shut his eyes and swallowed, and then Jasper's mouth was gone--what--

--then moved down onto his neck. Cal breathed out. His lungs crackled. His slid his fingers carefully over to the front of Jasper's jacket, fumbling with the buttons, and then just rested one hand against his chest. His fingers tightened when Jasper's teeth closed on his neck. That he would do that--

At the same time the little chiming reminder of Jasper's essential selfishness had--this time--failed to shut off.

But it and everything else went effectively silent when Jasper pulled back, one eyebrow up in that way, mocking, self-mocking simulacrum of the suave. At the same time there was a total lack of guile about the whole thing. His fingers shut and opened against Jasper's shirt.

"Everything still in working order?"

It took a moment for him to get his breath back. There seemed to be a problem with words and things. All of his words were too trite for whatever was--well, too trite or too embarrassingly straightforward. He touched the corner of Jasper's mouth and trailed his fingers up to the arch of his eyebrow.

His chest shook with held-in, incredulous laughter. He had missed this so much he'd stopped believing he could ever have it. He kissed Jasper again, slowly, undoing his shirt buttons. "Let's see."

It was so nice to see the couch being put to proper use again. Jasper shifted in an attempt to sidle in closer to Cal before he realized that the width of the couch had already forced them to be as close as was physically possible. He blinked, halfway to shutting his eyes and taking a much-needed nap, when he caught a glimpse of the clock on the mantle. Four thirty. He should really go downstairs and catch the rush of customers that flooded the shop after work near the holidays. Money was good. He liked money. But he also liked naps on the couch with Cal. Cal, however, would still be here later tonight. Office workers returning home would not.

"I should go downstairs for a while. Shop's mental this time of year. Don't go anywhere, yeah?"

Regretfully pressing a kiss against Cal's shoulder, he fought his way from under the blanket and collected his clothes. The left sock required an Accio, appearing rather unexpectedly from the bookshelf. Odd. He buttoned his shirt then leaned down, one knee on the couch next to Cal's disapproving form, and offered him his red tie.

"I'll close early." The perfect knot slipped up toward his throat. He didn't want to go, almost let his knee buckle so he would collapse on top of Cal again. But he did need to at least pretend that the shop was a legitimate business. And part of that was actually allowing customers inside from time to time. Plus he actually enjoyed his work, when it wasn't dragging him away from more enjoyable things, a category which Cal and the study sofa fit firmly into. He sighed and leaned back reluctantly, then smiled. Idea. Cal plus money. Minus couch, but you had to make sacrifices sometimes.

"Get dressed, why don't you come down with me?" He stood and tossed Cal his pants. "It'll be fun."

Cal was crushed into the back of the sofa, one foot dug in somewhere behind the cushions. It didn't particularly matter. He wrapped his arms more tightly around Jasper, who seemed quite willing to stay where he--

--no, no he wasn't. He shifted and pulled away and Cal propped himself up on one elbow, blinking through leftover amorous haze and a general soft stupor of satisfaction.

"I should go downstairs for a while. Shop's mental this time of year. Don't go anywhere, yeah?"

Cal collapsed with a groan, looking up at the erstwhile jeweler. Seriously, Jasper?--but he had--no, it wasn't the time to tease him about his single-minded selfishness. Again. No, the timing was a bit off. He settled for pouting, which normally would embarrass him but which was now underlined with a fresh, green kind of exuberance. Jasper bent to kiss his shoulder and Cal thought he had him for a second. But alas.

He balanced his elbow on the arm of the couch, wrapping the blanket up under his arms and rubbing idly at a bite mark on his shoulder, while he watched Jasper wrangle his clothing into submission and put it on again.

"I'll close early."

"Right." Cal leaned in close while he did up Jasper's tie, tugging just a little harder than he had to. Jasper seesawed back and forth, knee digging into the couch. Cal had learned enough manipulation to tell he wanted to stay. But then he shouldn't ask too much. Regretfully, he let go the tie and collapsed against the couch arm again, eyeing Jasper. He was so perfect, even when he wasn't.

His face brightened suddenly. "Get dressed, why don't you come down with me?" He stood and tossed Cal his pants. "It'll be fun."

Cal struggled upright to sitting and grabbed for the pants, then flicked free the blanket to put them on. "Really?" It said something, Jasper letting him-- "Thanks." He finished searching out shoes and socks and, while buttoning up his shirt, leaned in to kiss Jasper (a feat of coordination he would never have been able to accomplish a year ago). "I won't try to sell Pinkie this time, don't worry."

He followed Jasper downstairs.

Jasper knew he would be forgiven. Cal sat up, scrambling for clothes as Jasper rearranged his hair in the mirror over the mantle. When it had reached some semblance of normalcy he turned, straightened Cal's lapel and fixed him with a stern expression.

"No trying to loan her out or give her away either, yeah?"

He led the way down the stairs, since he always took them a perilous two at once on the way down. There just wasn't time in the day for descending normally. Deducted from time that could be spent making money or martinis. It was important to prioritize. At the bottom, he leaned against the door and waited for Cal to catch up, serious face back in place. It would be best to establish some rules. They weren't really a secret anymore, but he was the shop owner, after all. There were appearances to be upheld, which Jasper was always supremely conscious of.

"Now, none of this--" He pulled Cal in for a kiss-- "or this--" hands up under his jacket, pressing him forward-- "while I'm working. I have a very respectable reputation to keep up."

He turned as he opened the door and took the final step down. "And don't try to be clever about it, you can see through all the cases."

Cal closed the door behind them as Jasper crossed to unlock the entrance. There were a few people milling around outside, looking a bit disappointed at the CLOSED sign. Jasper smiled, in part because he was imagining what would happen if Cal disobeyed him, as he usually did, and pulled the door open.

"Happy Christmas everyone, sorry for the delay--unexpected visitors dropped in from out of the country, couldn't say no to lunch after they came all that way."

As always, a few quick smiles and everything was forgiven. At least this would be an entertaining afternoon. Not that Jasper didn't love his shop, but after a while it was a bit repetitive. What should I get her for-- Diamond earrings. I forgot her--Big diamond earrings. Repeat. Cal had positioned himself behind a shimmering case of platinum, probably because he'd been partially responsible for its creation, and Jasper smiled at him as he retreated behind the counter.

A well-dressed witch was first in line; she had the sharp, angular directness of someone born with money, but attractiveness hadn't come with it. She was looking down at a case of tourmaline. Obviously shopping for someone else, no one bought themselves jewelry this time of year, but Jasper could play naiveté easily. He glanced down into the case, then up at her, smiling. Just because she was shopping for someone else didn't mean she wouldn't end up with something for herself as well. That was the key to all jewelry in the end-- selling people a chunk of rock they didn't actually need.

"The rings are lovely, but I'd suggest emeralds for someone with eyes like yours. What an unusual green."

He glanced at Cal from the corner of his eye, hoping he wasn't trying to make some kind of two-for-one deal with Pinkie Pie and a set of cufflinks.

They reached the bottom of the stairwell and stopped. Cal nearly stumbled over the last step.

"Now, none of this--" He pulled Cal in for a kiss-- "or this--" hands up under his jacket, pressing him forward-- "while I'm working. I have a very respectable reputation to keep up."

Cal should have known it had been a bad idea. He leaned back, trying to smile, setting his hands on Jasper's belt, but he still wasn't sure of the protocols for something of this nature. Should he try to get around Jasper's restrictions? Was that what he intended? When had Cal lost the ability to read him?

He hadn't. Cal shook his head, blinked, and decided he didn't want to think about it any longer. "I'm sure you do." He feinted forward to kiss Jasper and then stepped back, ducking his head. "I'll try to behave." Jasper could interpret that as he would--ironic, literal, etc. He followed Jasper into the shop and lingered by the platinum jewelry case, trying to keep his fingers off the glass.

His jacket felt too large, uncomfortably warm. Cal hardly noticed cleanliness or how his clothing felt--except in the case of Jasper, sex, or the inevitable intersection of the two. He hunched his shoulders and stuck his hands in his pockets, watching Jasper turn on his public persona. It was very much like his private persona. Jasper had begun speaking to a glamorous sort of woman. Cal licked his lips, aware that his mouth tasted like Jasper for the first time in weeks. He felt faintly embarrassed.

"The rings are lovely, but I'd suggest emeralds for someone with eyes like yours. What an unusual green."

Oh, lovely. Ordinarily Cal wouldn't have cared, but just now, just because he was there. He sidled up next to Jasper.

"Yes, powdered, they may cure that very unusual inflammation."

She would be swayed easily. Jasper could read a customer like this one; she and her ilk were his main source of (legal) income. Married to someone rich but boring (and she was married; the ring on her finger looked like one he could have sold to her husband himself. That didn't matter. Part of the experience of coming to his shop was chatting with Jasper himself. It was why he dressed up and feigned a bit of innocent interest in anyone female. His attention was practically built into the price of the jewels.

He had slipped an emerald bracelet out of the case for her to examine, and as she bent over there was movement in his peripheral vision. Cal, of course, no one else would be on this side of the cases. He wasn't quite sure what Cal was going to get up to, now that he'd been invited into the shop. Left alone, as he had been with Mont, Cal would obviously have spent his time either ignoring or openly antagonizing the customers. With Jasper present-- actually, in complete honesty Jasper hoped that by telling Cal he was off limits, Cal would be compelled to defy him rather than say snide things to his customers.

"Yes, powdered, they may cure that very unusual inflammation."

There was a reason Jasper wasn't very interested in psychology.

He elbowed Cal in the side before the woman looked up. When she did it was with a shocked sort of scowl that Jasper actually found quite comical. Each of them blinked, once, then Jasper recovered.

"Cal knows from firsthand experience." He turned to Cal, smiling tightly. "Your nose did look so unfortunate last summer."

Back to the woman, who had exchanged her expression for one of uncertain humor.

"What he was trying to say is, these emeralds are grade one, flawless, the carat weight is 14 for the entire bracelet and it will look stunning at a New Year's party with a black dress."

She picked up the bracelet, draping it over her wrist and reaching awkwardly for the clasp.

"Here, let me--" Jasper steadied her hand with the tips of his fingers and did up the bracelet deftly, letting their hands touch for a second too long and smiling. When she bent her head to examine the jewels, he turned to Cal and dropped his voice.

"Thought you said you were going to behave."

Cal could feel his face turning red. But Jasper wasn't displeased, precisely. He was--what? He supposed it was... what Jasper did. Mislead. he was disappointed. Naturally. He shifted from foot to foot, tensely watching as Jasper flirted with the customer.

Ouch. Elbow to the ribs.

"Cal knows from firsthand experience." He turned to Cal, smiling tightly. "Your nose did look so unfortunate last summer."

Last summer? How, exactly, was Jasper representing their relationship? Interesting. He did not care, as it happened, did not, he was still faintly high from the earlier pleasure of reconciliation. It had the added fineness of unreality. It didn't seem real and was therefore more enjoyable in the way that dreams were enjoyable.

Flirt, flirt. Cal bit at his lip, hands shoved into his pockets, fingers twitching. He was jealous; jealous because he realized that these moments, that many things were not unusual to Jasper. Neither unusual nor in any way meaningful. Then again--

"Thought you said you were going to behave."

He leaned in quickly and kissed Jasper on the lips. The woman's head was still down.

"Clearly not. It's only a matter of different misbehavior."

She looked up. He stepped back quickly (not quite quickly enough), wiping his lips with the back of one hand.

Jasper was surprised by the kiss. Cal usually started more subtly when they were out somewhere together, hand twined with his, then against the small of his back, then slipping into his pocket as they inched inexorably closer together. It always ended the same way, of course, whether in the back of a club or waiting in line for waffles next to Tower Bridge. This time was simply a fast forward of the process, then an instant rewind. When the woman looked up they had both pulled back, standing too close, Jasper sure that he had the look on his face of a guilty child, Cal's hand near his lips. Jasper looked out over the shop; everyone seemed absorbed in whatever purchase they were considering. If the woman had noticed, her face didn't show it.

"Clearly not. It's only a matter of different misbehavior."

Jasper had nothing against misbehavior, under almost any circumstances. Even this one, today. A fling on the study couch followed by an afternoon tending the shop really wasn't a suitable reunion. He glanced around the shop again. Abominably busy, and he couldn't exactly usher them all out and tell them to come back tomorrow.

Jasper was torn between professionalism and, well, shoving Cal back against the cases in front of the twenty people looking at jewels. That was obviously an impractical solution. The woman with the bracelet had the smile on that meant she was going to buy something.

"Here, let me wrap that up for you. Now, you were looking for a gift as well?"

He bent behind the counter to find a suitable box, hand sliding up Cal's leg to the back of his knee where the base of the case hid it from view. In a few minutes the woman was on her way. He leaned in toward Cal before he moved on to the next customers, a teenage witch and her mother.

"It's always been my philosophy that if you're going to misbehave, you should really commit to misbehavior."