Marked by the Demigod

by Alessa Winters

  The pause lasts long between them.

  "Though I'd totally tell Rocky so he'd have a conniption fit." An odd smile breaks over her face. "He'd be so pissed."

  The smile loosens something in Aimes's heart. "He saw us out at a restaurant."

  "That guy was him?" Trixie jerks her thumb at the door, where Katya still stands in full professional mode. "How'd he... I dunno, not take off Rocky's head, Darth Vader style?"

  "I think he was tired." And it's such a quick breath of normalcy, like they're talking about regular guys with nothing else. "And...about the wedding...I don't know what they told you but...I didn't know it was happening."

  She watches that cross Trixie's face, watches her transform from cautious optimism, to confusion, then to utter fury. "What."

  Katya's face is a stoic mask, and completely unhelpful.

  "It was a weird situation? It was a magical thing?" None of her answers are helpful. "I thought we were just...having sex?"

  Trixie narrows her eyes more. "Did he know what he was doing?"

  Aimes nods, and Trixie smoothly stands up, calm, her face utterly impassive and utterly terrifying. "One moment."

  And she calmly walks out, her steps even, politely opens the door, steps through and --

  The sound of a fist hitting face echoes with a smack, and both Katya and Aimes wince. A strangled "hey!" Comes from the other room, before Trixie strides back in, not a hair out of place.

  As if nothing happened, she sits next to Aimes on the cot and only then does she pause. "You couldn't feel that, could you?"

  "No," Aimes says, not quite sure if she's in shock or very amused. "Did you..."

  Trixie nods, as if that’s the most normal thing about her day.

  "Huh."

  When Trixie finally leaves for her own bed, it's more like it's the next morning and Aimes is wide the fuck awake.

  She breathes, hard, in the hospital room in the back of the office for too long, before Iakov appears next to her, quiet.

  She raises an eyebrow at him, and he still looks put out.

  "Your friend punched me," he says, as if that’s the grand tragedy of the day.

  "You put me in a hole in the ground with no contact." She challenges him back, sitting up past the ache in her chest.

  He scowls at her, but it lacks the heat that it usually does. "I had my internal organs removed."

  She reaches out and feels the bandage. It feels normal, his breathing fine, like nothing ever happened. "How is --"

  His scowl deepens. "They gave me stitches and I hate it." He complains, but it's a normal complaint. "I would've been fine."

  "You passed out on my lap."

  He waves her off. "It's not a big deal, I pass out all the time."

  "That's not helpful." But she can feel the edge of a smile on her lips, and she wants so hard to be so angry at him.

  His face clears , and he sighs, slumping against her cot, eyes still open, just...attempting to do something resembling rest.

  In the slow, quiet moment that follows, he breathes out, then reaches for her hand, and she has a brief inner war on whether or not to take it. "They know about me now," he says, and she no longer has to strain to understand his accent. "Your registration, the government shebang. They know about me."

  Her eyes drop to where she knows the bandage hides the stitches. "Sounds like you needed the backup."

  He sighs again, as if truly exhausted. "Let’s run away," he whispers in the small room. "Let’s run away, let’s get out of this country, find a faraway town and disappear."

  Her mind is immediately full of the lavender fields of France, and the smell of the espresso in the shop, and she shakes her head to clear the image. His face falls at her motions. "That's what you've been doing, though," she whispers back, the conversation feeling too important to be loud. "I don't want to do that for forever."

  He blinks at her, before slowly nodding.

  She's still wide awake, and itching to go home, but instead she just sits with him, both of them alert but not talking.

  "Doesn't it get tiring?" She asks, soft still.

  When he looks up at her, it's with something resembling surprise. "I guess."

  "You always seem so tired when I see you."

  He nods, quiet and face drawn, and their conversation lapses.

  There's the long moment of silence, and his hand moves idly in hers, at the same time perfect and very out of place. "Besides, my job moves me around a lot."

  His eyes snap up to hers, a smidgen unbelieving and a smidgen appraising. "You like the job," he says, and it's more of a tentative statement than a declaration.

  She nods.

  The appraising look comes back. "I can ...take you to the conventions. And libraries." He offers. "No more plane flights?"

  She doesn't know if she should be flattered or not, cause it's not exactly like any of her previous boyfriends ever wanted her to actually do her job. Hell, Rocky wanted to leverage their previous relationship to get her to stop and...

  Under her gaze, he sort of slumps over, exhaustion lining his eyes, and they lapse into silence once more.

  19

  Aimes wakes up in her own bed, Iakov fast asleep, his face pressed hard into the crook of her shoulder. For a few seconds she stares up at the stucco pattern in her little apartment ceiling, before rolling over and grabbing at her phone.

  KATYA GOVERNMENT (6:02 AM): Did he take you home?

  TRIXIE (8:17 AM): Do you need a ride from Sherman Oaks?

  TRIXIE (8:45 AM): I swear to god if you don't reply I'm coming over.

  TRIXIE (8:51 AM): You're already home??????

  Aimes smiles, and Iakov snuffles sleepily into her shoulder.

  AIMES (8:59 AM): He took me home sometime last night. I think.

  She leans back on the bed, happy to see her ceiling again.

  Of course he had taken her, while asleep, back home. Without consulting her or Katya or anyone else, and the fission of anger spikes again, even as he lays there asleep. As if he thinks he can make all the decisions for her, despite any consequences.

  That needs to stop. Full on stop. He can't expect her to be okay with all the changes without doing anything himself.

  TRIXIE (9:01 AM) Are you okay? I officially demand breakfast.

  And that's fair, all things considering.

  TRIXIE (9:02 AM): Unless you're in danger? Is that a thing?

  AIMES (9:03 AM): Give me a bit, I need to shower.

  Disentangling herself from Iakov's sleep grip, she sits up, shedding the makeshift hospital gown and jumping in the shower, cause she is officially disgusting feeling.

  Not for the first time, she mulls over the entire likelihood that she's in way too much danger to do anything, but, without seeing an end in sight, the idea of hiding makes her skin crawl.

  There's an entire possibility that Iakov's doing the smartest thing, and her entire being rejects it. It's...it's not how she works. It's not how she thinks.

  And if Iakov had tried to kill his own brother, and failed, what the hell was she to do?

  Her eyes suddenly fill with the type of tears that are hopeless and annoying and full of snot. After a moment of staring at her shampoo bottle, she lets herself have the mini breakdown that's been pressing at her sinuses for too long.

  To Iakov, she is worth protecting and not worth the truth, or only glimpses of the truth. To him she is worth keeping safe, but not worth including. To be hidden away, like a precious belonging, but to not be by his side through all this.

  Of course, of course she knows that he says it's dangerous. Of course she knows that they could just kill her, and then him, and that'd be making it easy on them. He lives the sort of life where people take shots at him, make him want to disappear, and...and she doesn't.

  And on that thought, she scrubs away the last of the grime that settled on her from her days in the literal hole in the ground, and cranks the shower over with too much force that it makes the knot in her chest ach
e.

  Because of course she's still sore.

  Exiting the shower, she meets Iakov's eyes, and he sits up, only struggling a little. He doesn't speak as she dresses in something brunch appropriate.

  AIMES (9:22 AM): Where shall we meet?

  She can feel his eyes on her as she slips on her bra, the small intake of breath the only sign that he's there.

  "Where?" He rasps out. The bed creaks as he stands, and he rests a hand on her bare shoulder as she struggles to turn her shirt inside out.

  She risks a glance at his face, and there's two patches of red high on his cheekbones, a relief from the pallor of the last few days. "Breakfast, somewhere." She nods at her phone. "Trixie's turn to pick."

  The knob in his throat moves as he swallows, and she can see the desire and fear in his eyes. If he says she can't go she's gonna slap him. "The apartment might be watched." He says, quiet.

  "I figured," she says, shrugging off his hand and fitting the shirt on. "It's not like I can just...stay here forever."

  The look on his face disagrees, but that isn't going to stop her. "I'll take you?" He says, and it's so clearly a compromise in his mind that she's touched. Almost.

  Her phone beeps, and he nakedly scowls at it.

  TRIXIE (9:29 AM): Dupars.

  AIMES (9:29 AM): Meet you there in 15.

  "I could take you both to France," Iakov says, sudden. She gets the distinct feeling that he is somehow trying to make up for the last few days, but how he always does, by flattering her and taking her somewhere. "Would she like France?"

  Aimes struggles into a pair of jeans, the knot in her chest almost overwhelming, and Iakov winces at her motions. "Shouldn't you, I dunno, rest more? Before doing intercontinental travel?" Beyond her control, she turns to him and unbuttons his shirt, her fingers shaking.

  His eyebrows fly up, in clear confusion. "What are you..."

  The wave of irritation flares. "I'm checking the bandages. Obviously," she says to his chest, too annoyed to look at his face.

  The bandage is clean, dry, and perfect looking, and when she tentatively presses her hand into it she only feels a vague echo of pain. "You're going to keep this clean?" She asks, her voice sounding much dimmer than she wants it to.

  He grasps her hand, presses it harder into the wound, and she still only feels the small bit of pain. "It's already past that stage," his voice sounds strange, a thread of hope in it. "It'll...it'll be fine in a few days." He pauses, as if deliberating. "Those fucking stitches will leave scars."

  She turns away from him, and it hurts just as much as the press against the wound. "I'm still...upset. At you."

  She can feel him nod behind her. "I still don't want you to drive there." He moves to her dresser, picks up the necklace he gave her, handing it loosely in his fists. "Bulletproof."

  It's so surreal, the feeling that she should be much more emotional than she actually is, but she clasps the necklace on without any fanfare. "Last time, this was how they found me." She challenges, itching under her skin to get a rise.

  Instead he just looks sad. "Yeah." He holds out his hand in a clear offering, and she takes it, and opens her eyes again in the awkward bathroom at Crave Cafe, the restaurant literally next door from Dupars.

  After her prerequisite stumble and finding her bearings, he lays both hands on her shoulders, and kisses her.

  As far as kisses go, it's far from their most passionate, and she jerks back, leaving a rough taste in her mouth. At his wounded look, she points to the mediocre toilet and broken sink. "We're in a bathroom."

  It's a weak excuse, and they both know it. "Right."

  Holding her purse like a shield, she strides out, her skin prickling at the mess of feelings he's exuding.

  She has rarely been as grateful for Trixie as she is at the moment she strides into Dupars, where Trixie stands up at the booth and gives her the biggest hug ever, squeezing tight and leaning into her with her entire body.

  Aimes goes a bit limp into the hug, and Trixie just squeezes tighter. "Oh my god, Aimes," she whispers, pulling away and all but guiding Aimes to sit down. "I didn't think you were coming."

  A menu is shoved in front of her, but she feels like she can barely register any of the words. "Jake brought me," she says, as blasé and as matter of fact as she can make it. "He has that..." She tries to mime a teleport thing with her hand, and looks very stupid from it.

  Thankfully, Trixie nods. "That's fucking weird," she says, as she looks through the menu herself.

  To an outsider they look incredibly, heartrendingly normal, two girls going to brunch together at an old style restaurant. Aimes wishes she could lose herself in that moment, despite the giant ravine of awkwardness looming in the distance.

  "How's Kristopher?" She asks, with what is probably forced casualness.

  Trixie raises an eyebrow at the menu. "He's in New York for like, two weeks. That case went utterly sideways and even more...legal things with it came up."

  "Legal things?"

  Trixie shrugs. "He explained it to me, and I still didn't get it." She risks a glance up to Aimes. "He's the smarter one."

  And Trixie stares, stone faced, at Aimes, and Aimes, desperately not wanting to do anything resembling giving in, stares back.

  The waiter approaches the table, then immediately backs off.

  Aimes breaks the eye contact to wave him over, and he walks back, holding his order pad like a shield. "I'd like some coffee and the Cali omelet, please?" She smiles a bit too widely.

  The waiter seems to be taken aback by her too much smile, and Trixie coughs a laugh. "And I'll get the French toast."

  Without even saying a word, the waiter nods, and escapes, as if the table is way too tense for his shift.

  Aimes and Trixie share a brief smile at his terror, then Trixie coughs again. "Aimes..." She starts, and for a moment Aimes thinks that she's going to chicken out of the conversation, but she squares her shoulders and soldiers on. "I feel like the last few days have been a trick."

  Out of a lack of anything else to do, Aimes fiddles with the too fancy sugar packets. "Welcome to my life." She mumbles. "It's been like that since it started."

  Trixie quirks an eyebrow. "What, with the whole heart thing? And hospital room in Sherman Oaks?"

  "Not that bad, no." She reassures. "Just...the people tricking me thing."

  There's a lull in the conversation.

  "Trixie, he can teleport." Aimes blurts out. "He can teleport and the fucking hole in his chest is almost gone now." She sits back, as if the words took off a weight. "Trixie, he took me to Poland. He's taken me to France. For food."

  "Can he take you to outer space?" She breathes, leaning forward.

  Aimes blinks, because the answer is probably, but she doesn't know any of the specifics and that terrifies her. "I don't know, and I really don't want to ask!" She says, leaning forward as well. "When I met his brothers, they melted my shoes to the ground. I have no fucking clue what they can do."

  "This is like...out of a bad Harry Potter fanfic." Trixie says, her eyes lighting up. "Think of all the stuff you can get away with no consequences."

  "Trixie, no." Aimes says, a strange relief filling her. "I'm...I'm pretty sure that's unethical."

  Trixie shrugs, and the waiter brings them their food. "And Rocky saw you together?" Her voice is tinged with a barely covered glee.

  "Saw us, almost didn't notice us, and then...Jake... tried to out smarm him. Rocky looked like he was gonna shit himself."

  "Good." Trixie declares. "You call him Jake?"

  "Out in public. His name is weird, it's...safer." Her heart much lighter than it has been in a while, Aimes eats her breakfast.

  After a moment, Trixie looks back up. "So how do you divorce him?" She asks, her face completely casual.

  Aimes can just feel her throat closing up around her omelet, so she coughs, taking the moment to calm her suddenly shaking hands. "Um," she says, eloquent.

  "I mean, you didn't ask for i
t, he almost got you killed, and he's some sort of all powerful mythical creature," Trixie says, pushing her food around. "This isn't exactly good for you."

  Her heart pounding, Aimes puts her fork down. "It's not possible," she says, strangely relieved she has that answer. "It's some sort of Harry Potter magical thing."

  "So we file a restraining order. Kristopher can help with that, he does those all day." Her voice is impassive. "I'm not sure how it can be enforced, with the whole..." she mimes the teleportation. "But I'm sure we can make it work."

  Aimes blinks furiously at her, which Trixie just bears without any change in expression. "That's not..."

  "That's not what?" Trixie says, quick. "You can't mean to keep things how they are?"

  Aimes forces herself to swallow again, and her friend doesn't let up on her staring.

  Cause while she doesn't want things how they are, of course not, it's miserable most of the time, deep down it's like...it's like him being gone more would just be worse.

  But he had put her in a hole in the ground, had kept her away from all this, and tried to keep her in the dark. He hadn't even wanted to ever contact her, have her never know who he was.

  Shivering, she hugs herself. He had even not wanted her to have his phone number, or know when she would see him again.

  Trixie clears her throat, and Aimes snaps her glance up to her.

  "I didn't see you come out of one bad relationship only to fall all the way into a worse." Trixie scowls, as if for punctuation.

  "It's not worse," Aimes protests, though it sounds weak to her. Hollow. "I mean, he doesn't cheat."

  "That you know." Trixie shoots back.

  "I'd know," Aimes says, quick. "It's part of the...magic thing."

  Trixie blinks, slow. "So you can't ever sleep with someone without him knowing?"

  And when you put it like that, with the context that Trixie knows, it does sound awful. "He can't either."

  "For the rest of your life."

  "Yeah."

  Trixie pokes at her breakfast again, a thread of worry crossing the impassive expression. "Aimes, this is insane." She breathes. "You can't expect me to sit by with this."