Chapter Text
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ N ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Are you sure you don't want me to come?"
Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, Ambrosius tries to keep the worried frown of his face while he watches Ballister get ready.
Ballister finishes tying up his boots and looks up. And maybe Ambrosius is not as good an actor as he wants to be, or perhaps the other just knows him to well. Whichever the case, Ballister immediately softens once their gazes meet and gets up crossing over to Ambrosius and directly into his personal space until they share breath, noses brushing. "It's fine, Ambrosius," Ballister assure with a warm chuckle in his voice. "I will be fine."
"Just saying," with the warmth of the other pressing against him from shoulder to toe, it is difficult to uphold the facade. Ambrosius finds himself gentling, defensive posture softening while he grasps for Ballister's hand blindly, squeezing it. "I can skip the meeting. They are fine one day without me. You don't have to go alone."
"As sweet as that is, I think I need to go alone. At least the first time.” Ballister’s smile dims somewhat when he frowns, eyes going distant.
With a pang, Ambrosius mutters a worried, soothing sound, and goes to lay a gentle hand against the others cheek. “Hey, Thinky-Face. No drawing back into that big brain of yours.”
The snort Ballister lets out at that is half-amused, half-dismissive, but he gratifyingly leans against Ambrosius’ palm and focuses back on him. “It’s just… It's been months now, and the place will be... really in need of a good cleaning."
He licks his lips, hesitating, before admitting quietly, "Nimona put so much work into making it cozy in there. I owe her to keep it all in good condition."
The quiet confession is no big surprise, but it still makes Ambrosius’ heart twist painfully in his chest. He hears what Ballister mean without the other really saying it – I feel guilty for putting this off. I don't know how I will react seeing it. Humming, Ambrosius raises an eyebrow. “I rather think you’re just trying to hide all the evidence of the place being an ‘evil lair’ before you invite me over.”
A blink, then a startled laugh bursts out of Ballister, chasing away the lingering sadness. “Okay, no, it – it is not an evil lair -…”
“Didn’t you say something about the weapons being sorted by deadliness?”
“That was not my idea! That-….” Ballister tries and fails to shoot the laughing Ambrosius a glare before he softens, smile turning gentle. “… That. Was a pretty good attempt at distracting me.”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” with an innocent glance, Ambrosius accepts the punch to the shoulder gracefully, before drawing Ballister back in to press a kiss to his temple. “Hey,” he murmurs against the warm skin there. “I mean it. Say the word, and I’m dropping everything to come with you, okay?”
Ballister leans into the touch with a hum bordering on a purr, eyes closing. “I know. And it’s nice to know that, but still," his voice is firm and his eyes gentle when he opens them once more, "I really need to do this alone.”
There is steel behind the words; the sort of courage one gains from facing his own fears. Pride wells up in Ambrosius' chest, clogging his throat, and he cannot help but draw Ballister in once more, kissing him for real this time, soft and slow, trying to pour all his emotions into the contact. He has spent most of the weekend making use of the new permission to kiss Ballister especially to practice showering him with all the love he feels, so he thinks he has pretty much gotten the hang of it again, now.
They spend a few blissful moments like that, happy to bask in each other. It is Ballister who draws back first, catching his breath with a giddy grin. Ambrosius is too slow to see the mischief gathering in dark eyes, and this is left blinking a little in surprise when Ballister's grin turns cheeky a second before the former knight teases, "And anyway; You're just trying to get out of council meetings for one day. I'm not going to be a convenient excuse."
Laughter gathers in his throat and Ambrosius has a hard time swallowing it back. Instead, he rolls his eyes with dramatic flair and lets his head fall back. "So cruel. Can't you support your boyfriend in this one little thing -..."
"Oh, haha," decidedly unimpressed, Ballister gives him a flat look before grinning, dropping a quick, cheeky kiss to Ambrosius' jaw. "And you're looking for opportunities to call yourself that."
Shrugging, Ambrosius grins back at him. "Can you blame me?"
"Nope. Boyfriend."
Despite the clear tease, there is also warmth in Ballister's voice; combined with the newly re-earned title, it manages to make Ambrosius heart miss a beat, unbridled affection coursing through him. Staying unmoved is impossible. He reaches out and draws Ballister closer by the waist once more, brushing their noses together. "Call me when you need anything, okay?" He says - pleads, really - fervently. "Council meeting or not. If you think it's too much, or you just want to talk-..."
“I will," Ballister assures immediately, hand stroking up and down the other's back. But then he makes to step away, which is unforgivable really, so he is immediately stopped by arms locking tight around his middle. "Wha-... Gods, Ambrosius, you’re never getting out of the door at this rate.”
“Who says I want to?”
"Alright, no, I'm putting my foot down on this." Wiggling, Ballister manages to duck out of the embrace-turned-grip and dances a step back to be out of reach. Pointing at the door decisively, he orders, "Off to the council with you. Someone has to bring some reason into that fiasco."
“Cruel,” Ambrosius reiterates with a grumble, but does not put up much of a fight when he is shepherded out the door. Ballister locks it behind them both before turning back around, casting an eyeroll in answer to the Golden Knight’s overly dramatic pout.
The facade cracks once their eyes meet and they smile at each other, hovering a moment longer than they really need to.
“Text me how it goes, alright?” Ambrosius enthuses one last time.
“Promise,” Ballister agrees easily. “Wipe the ground with the council.”
“Okay, no promises on that one.”
They chuckle and lean in for a slow, gentle goodbye kiss before finally parting ways; Ambrosius directs his steps towards the Institute, while Ballister’s goal lies outside the city
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ N ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The way Ambrosius enters the meeting room that morning couldn't not have been any more different from the way he had left on Friday evening. There is a spring to his step, the ballooning sensation in his chest making him feel as if he is floating, and he hums a jaunty tune under his breath while he sidesteps a staring aristocrat and snags a chair from himself.
"Well, you seem to be in a better mood today, lad."
Not even startling at the gruff drawl, Ambrosius turns his head to beam at the man in the armchair off to the side. "Good morning, Bartimaeus."
The old librarian is dignified to do something like snort, but the way his bushy eyebrow jumps and his silvery beard shifts makes it clear he is amused. "A very good morning for you, I take it?"
Only slightly bashful, Ambrosius grins and makes to answer, when he is interrupted by the door opening once more. There is shuffling, the sound of someone busily moving about, and when he turns to see what is going on, he is greeted with the sight of what seems to be a mountain of - cupcakes?
He blinks, stares, and then hastens to stand again and hurry over. There is really only one person he can think of who would bring such a decadent feast here, of all places, even if he cannot see her behind – all of this. "Martha?! What - wait, let me help with this -"
A hearty laugh answers from behind the pastry and the plate is swiftly maneuvered out of his reach, an elbow gently but firmly knocking his hands away. "Shoo, dear! You are very sweet to offer, but I have been handling much more work than this since before you were born."
Under Ambrosius' stunned, amused gaze, Martha heaves the plate into the middle of the long table without a sign of strain, deftly catching the lone cupcake which makes to tumble off. With a beaming smile, Martha turns and holds the cake put for Ambrosius to take. Her riotous tumble of black curls frame the luminous smile she gives him, wrinkles in her round face deepening with warmth. "Here you go, sweetheart. If you want to help with something, help my worried old heart by eating something. You're nothing mor than skin and bones!"
Helpless against the charm of her, Ambrosius takes the cupcake with a thanks and obediently takes a bite. He nearly closes his eyes in rapture when the melty sweetness of chocolate and caramel hits his tongues. "Okay, this is the best food I've ever tried."
Marha laughs, a full-belly sound, and reaches out to pat his cheek. "You say that every time I bring you something to eat."
"It's true every time."
"My! You really are sweet." Hand still resting on his cheek, Martha sobers up and frowns at him, searching his feature for something. Finally, she brightens again, patting his cheek once more. "Oh! You look much better than last time we saw you! Awful meeting, that was."
"Yes, I feel much better, thank you."
"He was grinning like a Cheshire cat when he came in earlier," Bartimaeus throws in unbidden from his chair.
Nearly choking on his next bite of cupcake, Ambrosius whirls around, offended and flabbergasted at being outed like this. "Bartimaeus!"
His splutter sends crumbs flying, and Bartimaeus gives him a reprimanding look from under heavy brows. "Don't you go spitting food at me, lad."
"I wouldn't have to if you didn't-..."
"Was that supposed to be a secret...?"
"Oh!" Martha's delighted exclamation interrupted the men's squabble neatly; the elderly baker's lady claps her hands and beams at Ambrosius, nearly glowing with joy. "Did something good happen, dear? I'm so glad to hear it; after the awful day you had!"
Looking from Bartimaeus unimpressed and amused glance, over to Martha's open and warm smile, Ambrosius finds himself caving. How can he be offended, when both of them only want to be happy for him? With a sigh and a smile, he gives in, "Yes, well - something good did happen, yes."
If possible, Martha's smile grows even brighter, eyes softening. Then, in stark contrast, a hint of slyness curves her smile. "Does it have to do something with that young man of yours?"
"Martha..." Ambrosius frowns at her, drawing out the moment just a little bit.... before he smiles, feeling a blush dust his cheek. "Alright, yes, it does have something to do with him. We... talked. I think we're on a good way now."
Bartimaeus muttered talked gets lost in the happy laugh Martha lets out. With a surprising speed for a stout elderly lady, Martha reaches up and draws Ambrosius down to a height where she can drop a smacking kiss to his forehead. "Oh, sweetheart," she croons once she has released him again. "See, I told you, you two will be right as rain! There was no other way."
"... Thank you," Ambrosius says quietly, earnestly. He means it with all his heart; he had not talked about Ballister and himself a lot - had not meant to share with an outsider at all, to be honest - but Martha had an uncanny knack for detecting when someone was troubled in any way, and had gently but stubbornly made it very clear to him that she worried for him and was there for him when he needed someone to talk to. And finally, Ambrosius had confided in her; as much as he could without going into detail, at least. He had shared that he still felt like he could have done more, and wondered aloud how Ballister could so easily forgive him when he himself couldn't.
Two people in love can do the strangest things, sweetheart, Martha had replied sagely, before stroking over his hair (stunning him into utter silence). Then, gentler, You two are made for each other! You will be alright.
It seems as if the baker's lady had missed her calling as an oracle, Ambrosius thinks fondly. Overwhelmed with grateful relief, he leans over and drops a kiss to the back of her hand, repeating more firmly, "Thank you, Martha."
"Bah!" She giggles like a much younger woman, swatting at him with her free hand. "I didn't do anything, dear. That was all you two boys!"
Chuckling at the idea of them being called “boys” (although sometimes he feels like a lovesick teenager) Ambrosius shakes his head at her with a fond smile and pulls out the chair next to his own for her. Once they are both seated, he eyes the platter overspilling with sweets curiously. “And… this is?”
“A little pick me up for you.”
“I hope you don’t expect me to eat all of that!”
“Bah! You should!” Laughing heartily at the true horror on his face, Martha swats at him. “Silly. At least a few of them are for old man Bartimaeus over there-…”
“I am not eating more than one of those, my teeth will rot,” Bartimaeus grumbles, rolling the scroll he had been reading back up and picking the next one.
“… and the rest, well,” Martha keeps talking without batting an eyelash at the interruption. Her eyes sparkle mischievously. “The rest you could say is to soften those old sticks-in-the-mud up before we propose the next idea, yes?”
“Oh, bribery,” Ambrosius nods, fighting to keep the grin of his face. “You know I should put a stop to that, but since I have already been bribed, well. Helpless to do anything, really.”
“Perfect! It is working already!”
They share a laugh over it, and then settle in with sweets and coffee to chat while the last members of the council come spilling in. It is early still, so they got plenty of time to watch who lights up when they come in and catch sight of the surprising treat awaiting them, and who merely scoffs at the sight and breezes by it with a haughty air. With her characteristic persuasiveness, Martha even coaxes Bartimaeus away from his lecture and over to them, hefting two cupcakes onto him without taking too much note of his murmured protests.
They are almost complete for the council now and Ambrosius is gearing up to settle into the persona of Sir Goldenloin he usually takes for these meetings, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He hesitates briefly – this is a very official meeting after all – but goes to pull it out and check, anyway.
His firm posture immediately melts when he catches sight of the nickname, and he thumbs open the chat with a big grin, not even checking the beginning of the message his lock screen shows him.
He kind of wishes he did, because whatever Ballister has been trying to send him there is… not really decipherable, at first glance.
SH’ HERE.
No more than that.
Ambrosius frowns down at it, torn between exasperation and amusement. Now, see here - Ballister has never been the greatest texter, not as a teenager and not as he got older. He writes too little or too much into one message, and every letter is painstakingly typed out with one forefinger and a frown of deep concentration. It is an endearing quirk of his, in Ambrosius' opinion; something he has known old Ballister twice as often as he has teased him about the same thing. So this is not really surprising in itself. What is more surprising is that there is not immediately a second message following, apologizing profoundly for the earlier one and explaining the mess of letters.
A little perplexed, yes, even a little amused, Ambrosius checks when the message was sent – right now – and goes to type an answer. Hello to you too. What’s here?
The message sends, gets marked as read. He waits, shaking his head fondly at his boyfriend.
And waits.
And waits some more.
Frowning, he types again, Bal?
Hey, what did you mean?
Still nothing. Ambrosius checks Ballister’s status again, frown deepening when it is still online, messages still read, but no sign of an answer being typed.
The amusement makes way for a hesitant sort of worry. Shaking his head over his own overprotectiveness, Ambrosius mutters a curse and gives in, raising the phone to his ear while he hits the button for “Call”. It rings…. And rings…
It keeps ringing and does not even go to mailbox.
The worry firms, grows spikey and cold in his chest, and Ambrosius only briefly takes the phone off his ear to hit the call button once more. Same result. Since it is ringing, Ballister has obviously not turned the device off, but then why is he not picking up?
“Dear?” Martha must have picked up on how restless he has become, since she looks worried when she lays a hand on his arm to draw his attention. “Is everything quite alright?”
“I don’t really know,” Ambrosius confesses, switching back to typing on his phone. Bal, hey, please call me back okay? “Ballister sent me a jumble of words and now I can’t reach him anymore.”
“Perhaps he mistyped? Oh, sweetheart, I’m sure he is fine!”
“I – yeah, I mean, I’m sure he is, I would just like to…” make sure, Ambrosius does not say, trailing off when he is too busy staring at the dead chat. Is he being worried over nothing? Ballister is quite capable of taking care of himself; always has been, and how he managed to get by after the knighting has only confirmed that again. But still-
“Go,” Bartimaeus suddenly says from right next to him. When Ambrosius swivels to stare at him, he merely raises an eyebrow at him and repeats, “Go. Check on him.”
Blinking rapidly, Ambrosius attempts to drag himself back into the present; checks around them and notes the few people who have already picked up on his distress, and are watching him curiously. “But – the meeting-…”
“Can you focus on it, like this?” Bartimaeus interrupts him. With a meaningful look, he makes a broad gesture at the whole of Ambrosius' tense form. “Is it really important to you right now?”
The question serves as a point of focus in his inner storm. All of Ambrosius' whirling thoughts grind to a sudden halt and he sees things with a startling clarity now. If he can focus on the council right now? Not at all. The meeting can go to hell, for all he cares right now. His entire mind is focused solely on Ballister.
I’m not going to leave him alone again.
Before he can make the conscious decision to, Ambrosius is pushing his chair back and is on his feet, phone gripped so tightly he might not only imagine the case cracking quietly. “I – I need to go,” he says, mechanically, and only to the two people next to him.
“Hurry up,” Bartimaeus urges, not unkindly.
“Take care of yourself and little Bal, dear!” Martha calls, in stark contrast openly worried.
Ambrosius manages a distracted smile, throwing it over his shoulder while he hurries towards the exit. He hears someone call after him, a stranger's voice demanding to know where he is going, but tunes it out entirely.
He really has more important things on his mind right now.
The most important thing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ N ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He tries to reach Ballister again several times on the way, barely letting up. The phone stays practically glued to his ear while he dashes out of the meeting room, stays even when he snatches a perplexed squire walking by and asks him to get him a hoverbike immediately.
The outcome does not change, and with every missed call Ambrosius’ anxiety rackets up another notch. He is fairly sure the only reason why is not openly panicking yet is because he is on a mission, can’t let himself go like that until he is sure Ballister is alright.
It is of little comfort that he knows where to look for his boyfriend; the tower is not far from the city, fair enough, but in this situation, it seems to be unreachable. The hoverbike won’t go any faster, no matter how Ambrosius pushes it to its limits, and he keeps cursing under his breath at the technology and its flaws. Perhaps flying was not the best idea in his state of mind – he nearly crashes twice before he manages to focus enough – but glo – Gods, he needs to be fast right now!
The main gates fly past him, shouts off “be careful!” or “hey!” trailing after him; he barely hears it, hurrying the bike further out into the field and then up the overgrown old forest path. The trees around him thicken, forcing him to slow down much to his chagrin. Just a bit, just a bit more…
The ascend up the hill slows him down further, turning his progress into a crawl, and his rabbiting heart seems to want to beat out of his chest and chase ahead in his stead. Before his mind’s eye, horror scenarios keep flashing by, too fast to really make sense of them; Ballister incapacitated, Ballister hurt, all alone…
Should he have paid more attention to the lingering few voices protesting that Ballister is a Queen Killer and traitor? Is Ballister in actual danger? Is he too late?
Finally, the slope of the hill softens and the bike manages the last burst to catapult him to the top, out into the clearing he is looking for. Pushing his mounting fear back, Ambrosius swings the bike half-around into a stop and jumps off the machine without bothering to turn it off.
The tower looks much friendlier than he remembers from their childhood; maybe because of warm glow of the sun and the first spring flowers surrounding it, rather than a rainy night back when they had tried to scare each other by coming here to look for “ghosts”. But appearances can be deceiving, Ambrosius knows that better now than ever, and his heart is in his throat while he calls out hoarsely, “Bal?! You here?!”
No answer, not even the chirping of birds. When exactly had that gentle background noise vanished? With mounting dread, Ambrosius lets his hand drop to his hip on old reflex – and curses when he remembers that he is not in the habit of wearing his sword anymore. Damn. He should have grabbed one on the way out! But he had been panicking; he can admit that much.
Years of teaching, of strategy, clamor for his attention in the back of his mind, demand that he fall back and come up with a plan or at least a stealthier route before marching into unknown territory with eyes wide open. But the worry and fear overrule it all, threatening to overbalance into fury while he stomps up the way towards the tower’s old wooden door. If anyone has dared to lay a single finger on Ballister, so Gloreth help them, he will not show mercy.
“Bal?! Are you in there?!” For one final time, Ambrosius decides to try his luck and knocks harshly against the door; does not even wait for an answer before reaching for the handle, “I’m coming in now!”
He pushes the door open with gusto; it creaks quietly, the sound barely lost in the steps of his boots on stone. The tower’s interior is dim, and after the bright sunlight outside, Ambrosius’ eyes need a beat to adjust to the new circumstances. He blinks, hard, trying to force the progress along -
And several things happen at once.
Ambrosius' eyes adjust enough that he thinks he sees a flash of glitter and pink but cannot be sure. What he is sure about is the familiar shape across the room, highlighted by the window in its back. The shape moves and says with a very familiar voice, “Ambro-…? No - Nimona!”
Part of Ambrosius, the one not yet too deeply buried in fear, picks up what Ballister is saying, catches onto the sharp call of a familiar name and thinks Wait, what?
But that little part gets snuffed out immediately when a flash of pink and gleaming white appears directly in front of Ambrosius face, solid and broad as if a wall has magically decided to appear right in his face; except a wall does not show a mess of flashing teeth and spreading claws and bristling pink fur, all accompanied with a loud “BOO!”
Reflex is a powerful thing indeed; rationally, Ambrosius has not even begun to understand what is happening, unable to take it in all at once, but his body reacts for him, anyway. With a shout, he jumps back, simultaneously ripping up his arm and hitting for the sudden appearance in front of him.
He misses by a mile, both because his hasty retreat has him stumbling and fall backwards, and because there is a flash and twinkles off pink and whatever beast has just been looming over him is gone
It is replaced with a startingly familiar teenage girl who is laughing at him with her head thrown back and too-sharp teeth glinting in the light of the morning sun. “You’re first instinct is always hitting, huh, Nemesis?”
Only further disoriented by his fall, Ambrosius blinks up at the ghost in front of him – because what else could it be, some part of his brain screams out hysterically. Nimona is standing right in front of him, safe and sound and laughing gleefully at his mistake, which absolutely cannot be right. She is gone, has been gone for months now -
Ballister had grieved her!
“Nimona,” Ballister’s voice is hoarse and raw, but even through that, the aggrieved exasperation is audible, “we talked about this.”
“What, boss?” Nimona’s laughter stops, but she is still smiling with too many teeth while she turns back to the tower’s interior. “I didn’t do anything but jump out at him, not even gnaw at him a little…”
“Don’t gnaw at – gods, sometimes I really hope you’re joking!” Ballister’s voice climbs up in startled offense; despite that, there is a smile on his face when he pushes past Nimona, gently, and offers out a hand. “Ambrosius, are you alright?”
“I’m… I’m fine,” Ambrosius says slowly, lets himself be helped back onto unsteady legs. Physically, he is, but mentally? He is not so sure. Glancing back and forth between the shapeshifter and his boyfriend, he blurts out, “I’m not dreaming this, right?”
Immediately, he feels stupid for it and runs a hand over his face with a groan. “Sorry, just – how?!”
Almost at the same time, Nimona offers with an innocent look on her face “I mean, the gnawing offer still stands if you want to make sure you’re awake-…”
“Don’t,” Ballister shoots her down without real heat in his voice, not even taking his eyes off Ambrosius.
“… pffff, you’re still a spoilsport.”
“No dreaming,” Ballister affirms. He looks entirely too put together about the whole thing, smiling from ear to ear while he pats his boyfriend down – at least. At least Ambrosius thinks he does, until he takes a closer look, and sees how puffy and red Ballister’s eyes are; tear tracks still drying on his cheeks. Oh.
That, more than anything, startles Ambrosius out of his stupor, and he reaches for Ballister before he can overthink it, cups his cheek carefully. Who cares if he is feeling like he is losing his mind and might be hallucinating – Ballister has clearly been crying. “Hey,” he prods gently, stops him with his other hand from fluttering about as if his dirty shirt is the important part right now.
A strange sound, half-hiccup, half-laugh, tumbles from Ballister’s lips before he catches himself and smiles, a little shakily. “I’m – sorry. I’m fine.”
“You sure?” His earlier worry returns, albeit weaker, now that pieces are slowly falling into place. “You nearly gave me a heart attack with that message and then not picking up your phone, you know.”
Immediately, he regrets his poor choice of words when Ballister’s smile falls and he looks fairly stricken. “Oh-…”
“No, Bal, wait, I didn’t-…”
“So what,” Nimona seems to frankly materialize right at Ballister’s side, jostling in between the two men with a grace and force which does not seem to fit her shape. She looks somehow much more intimidating than her current form has any right to be while she glowers at Ambrosius, teeth bared. “He was busy, okay. Don’t blame him, Goldenleggings”
“No, I-…” a little perplexed by the open hostility, Ambrosius pulls back from Ballister and raises both hands, careful to show that he means well, is not angry at all – and, maybe, that he carries no weapon. “I mean, I know, I see that, I just – I worry about him.”
That actually seems to give her pause, as if that is a surprise. Ambrosius tries to swallow around the pang of pain and offense he feels. Okay, he was not the best role model in the category “caring for Ballister” in the past when she had been around, but a little more credit, please.
Thankfully, Ballister recovers faster than the both of them combined. He puts a light hand on Nimona’s shoulder, exchanging a quick glance with her, before turning back to Ambrosius. “No, you’re right; I’m sorry for the scare, I was… a bit out of it, once I saw that Nimona was really back.”
A hesitant smile tugs at Ambrosius mouth and he reaches for his phone, unlocking it with a flick to show Ballister the jumbled-up message, then the list of unanswered calls. “I think you’re downplaying that a little.”
He says it gently, careful to keep his tone light, and laughs when Ballister immediately splutters and turns bright red.
Nimona leans in, casting a judgmental gaze at the screen and reading aloud “Sh’ here – okay, yeah, Boss? Hate to say it, but I see how that’s difficult to make sense off. Must be around the time you started blubbering over me-…”
“I did not-….”
“Blubbering,” Nimona cuts in, absolutely deadpan. “Absolutely blubbering at that point. Crying, shaking, full on turning into a fountain – oomph”
A hand lands in her face, palm spanning the entire plane of it, and she cackles, muffled, behind it. “Oh, shush, you. Gimme a break; I was very glad to see you, you can’t make fun of me for that,” Ballister speaks loudly over her continued mirth, dark complexion even darker because he is flushing with embarrassment and amusement. There is a bright sheen to his eyes when he looks back at Nimona, a softness in his features which is potentially lethal given the fact that even manages to shut up the ever-witty shapeshifter. Her fiendish glee melts off her, and she looks up at Ballister with huge eyes, a mixture of surprise bordering on awe in her gaze.
And, damn. How can Ambrosius uphold any lingering worry or offense when Ballister is so happy to have Nimona back? Obviosuly, he can’t. Sue him, but he’s in love with that man.
Deflating with a deep, relieved sigh, he runs a hand through his hair, probbaly messes it up even more, and smiles tiredly at the two goofs opposite of him. “Okay, okay, just - next time something happens, just call, okay?”
The grin Ballister gives him is crooked and sheepish, the chuckle clearly embarrassed. “Yeah. Uh, sorry about that.”
“Don’t be,” Ambrosius assures, and wholeheartedly means it. He directs his gaze towards Nimona, as well as his next words, “It is great to see eveythign turned out alright… and that you’re fine, Nimona.”
Nimona's eyebrows arch and she steaightens, ceossing her arms ober her chest and raising her chin. The way she looks down at him (somehow, despite their height difference) couldn't have made it any clearer that she does not believe a word of what he just said.
The pang of hurt is quickly followed by a sort of grudging acceptance. Of course this wouldn't be so easy; Ambrosius might have had months to get to know Nimona through Ballister's tales, gaining a new view and respect for her. In start contrast, Nimona had only gotten to know him at his most shameful, his, frankly - his worst.
The tension holds for a few beats while the two of them stare each other, careful and standoffish. It is broken, finally and relieving, by Ballister, who clears his throat gently and nudges Nimona with his elbow ever so slightly. In front of Ambrosius' surprised faze, his boyfriend and the shapeshifter exchange a long, meaningful glance, a weight to it as if they somehow manage to convey an entire conversation with only one look.
Ballister's eyebrow arches, and Nimona deflates with a long, spluttering sigh, all but slumping over with a groan and an eyeroll. "Alright, fine... yeah, boss told me already that you 'talked things out'" here she sketches air quotes with her fingers, "and that all is fine now, and I should give you a chance."
"That..." she does not sound very convinced of it, but the fact that she looks annoyed and grudging instead of flat-out hostile gives Ambrosius a vague hope. He directs a small smile at Ballister instead. "You had to tell her a lot in such a short time."
Ballister's grin is decidedly sheepish. "Why do you think I missed your calls?"
"I reserve judgement still," Nimona declares, causing Ballister's head to swivel around to her, smile faltering.
"Nimona-..."
"He cut off your arm!" She throws her hands up, pointing at Ballister's prothesis first, then at Ambrosius. "Your. Arm! Please tell me you at least stabbed him a little in retaliation before you talked it out-..."
"Um...?"
"No"
"... okay then at least you slapped him, right? What? Is that grimace a No? Boss! Did I teach you nothing?!"
"I don't care about the arm; I told you already, didn't I?"
"How can you not care about a whole arm?!"
For the first time since the conversation had gone so off the rails, Ambrosius feels something like levity. He really can't help the chuckle bursting out of him - and them immediately grimaces when both Bsllister and Nimona stare at him. "Uh. Sorry. Just - that's what I said, too."
"See?!" Clapping her hands, Nimona whips back around. "Even your Nemesis says so!"
"Not my Nemesis," Ballister sounds longsuffering while he massages the bridge of his nose. "And anyway, it's my arm, so shouldn't it be my decision if losing it bothers me?"
Apparently stunned into silence, the shapeshifter gapes at him for a moment before grumbling, absolutely toneless, "Is he always like this?"
"Pretty much." Seeing as he is probably the one in the room best equipped to judge that, Ambrosius feels safe to answer.
"Wow. How do you deal like this, boss?"
"Hey," Ballister's hand drops, and he gestures back and forth between the two of them, looking squandalized. "The two of you don't get to gang up on me after knowing each other for five minutes. At least greet each other properly, first."
Perplexed, Ambrosius looks over at Nimona, and already finds her staring back at him. There is no open hostility in the way she assesses him, but certainly open doubt. A greeting is not going to cut this, but at least it's a start. Smiling as friendly as he can, he offers out a hand. "Well, alright. Let's start over?"
When he moves, Nimona tenses, lips drawin back. Once she realizes what he is doing, she looks at the proffered hand with a a healthy dose of distrust and aversion. Her next look goes to Ballister; from his vantage point, Ambrosius cannot see her entire expression, but he can guess that it goes along the lines of Do I really have to?
There is another of those quiet conversation taking place between Ballister and Nimona. Finally, Ballister hums. "Okay?"
The sound makes is one of bone-deep annoyance and utter defeat, and she rocks back on her heels, rolling her eyes heavenwards. "Oh, fine."
"Thank you."
"Eh," fully turning back towards Ambrosius, Nimona bares her teeth. "Think you can deal with me, Goldielocks?"
Her expression cannot, by all means, be called a smile. It is like a handful of beautiful white knives being held to his throat. The part of Ambrosius which was trained and formed into a soldier for almost his entire life, screams at himto back away, be careful, but he forces it to the furthest reaches of his mind and smiles, hoping the slight delay does not show in his posture. "I will learn, I'm sure."
Nimona snorts, but she reaches out to take his hand, and Ballister is smiling over her shoulder, eyes glowing with happibess. That's more than worth it, Ambrosius thinks, and goes to shake Nimona's hand finally.
One second before Nimona's hand meets his, there is a flash of pink, a sparkle and glow - and suddenly there is a bear stnading in her place, towering several inches over Ambrosius, claws only a hair's breadth away from his dingers.
No, not in her place, Ambrosius hurries to correct, even when he takes a startled breath and has to lock his muscles so he does not jump away again. That is Nimona; and if bear expressions are anything like human ones, then she is smirking at him. "Uh..."
"What?" Seeing an animal blink innocently is perplexing enough, but it is probably eben more confusing to hear a girl's voice coming out of a bear's snout.
Feeling entirely out of his depth, Ambrosius looks over at Ballister, searching for a hint on what he is supposed to do now.
His question must be clear as day, since Ballister's expression sodtens from where he has been rolling his eyes at the bear's back, and he smiles, shrugging. "Yeah, she does that."
The thing is? Nimona is not the only one to know Ballister quite well; Ambrosius has no magic of his own, but he has years of experience in reading this man. Even though Bal is careful to keep his voice light, there is a hint of warming in his words. You will need to get used to it.
But there is more there. Hope. A question. A quiet plea.
Nodding slightly in bis direction, Ambrosius offers him a smile. Alright, so maybe he is in over his head on this, and maybe he does not really know what is coming for him. But he is aware how much this means to Ballister, and that he is being handed a chance here. he will try his damnedst to be wirthy of this.
Forcing his hand still, Ambrosius hesitates only brefily, before wrapping his fingers around the proffered paw firmly, shaking it. "Nimona, it really is an honor meeting you properly this time around."
The snort Nimona gibes is much more pronounced this time, a gust which blows his hair back in a fishy smelling wave. "Sure, likewise, Nemesis."
It's not much, Ambrosius knows. But it is a start.
It is more than he deserves, probably.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ N ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ballister moves out of their shared apartment the very next day. It does not come as a surprise, to Ambrosius; if anything, he is more surprised by the fact that it has taken Ballister over twelve hours to blurt the announcement out.
What is a little confusing, though, is that Ballister seems to think he has to explain.
"It probably won't be for long," Ballister rambles while he gathers his few belongings in a suitcase. There is not much to pack, seeing as he still basically lives out of Ambrosius'closet, but somehow, he fumbles so much with it that it takes longer than it should. "I will help Nimona repair the tower some more, make sure she is settled in, and then. Wel. We will see how it goes from there."
"Sounds like a plan," Ambrosius agrees easily, handing over a folded sweater. It is one of his own, one of the few he managed to find which carries neither the colors of the institute nor his own likeness on it and thus his former favorite; but more than favorite clothes, but he likes the thought of Ballister in his clothes, being cradled by them in an embrace on the off-chance that Ambrosius is not there to do it himself. Seeing how things are going, it might be a while until he can next do it in person again.
Ballister is still talking, and does not even seem to register what he accepts and puts into the suitcase there; otherwise, he surely would at least have given his boyfriend an amused look. Instead, his mouth is running away from him, words tripping over each other by now. “I just – she just got back, and she, she vanished, Ambrosius; I mean, literally combusted, from what I understood, and I just. I don’t want her to be alone, right now. I can’t leave her alone. Who knows what that does to a shapeshifter, something like – that happening? If that has lingering effects? What if something happens and I’m not there? I couldn’t-…”
Oh dear. Realizing with a pang of fondness that the other is about to talk himself into a frenzy, Ambrosius puts down the first aid kit he was about to sneak in, and reaches for Ballister’s shoulder instead, firmly turning him around. "Hey, Bal. Bal. You here with me?”
“I… yea,” looking a little sheepish, but still stressed to boot, Ballister manages a wobbly smile. “Sorry.”
Ambrosius flicks the corner of that half-smile, huffing a chuckle at the yelp it garners him. “Don’t say sorry, you dork. I get that you’re worried about Nimona; who wouldn’t be, after what happened? But take a deep breath, sweetheart, and remember that she literally came back from the dead. I’m really starting to think that we have absolutely nothing to worry about when it comes to her, don’t you agree?”
Some of the tension Bsllister has been carrying around all morning, ever since dropping the news at the breakfast table (hands wringing together and head hanging and unable to hold eye contact, the silly man) finally drains out of him, and he smiles for real this time. It only lasts a second, however.
"Wait," he says slowly, frown depening. “Are you saying I shouldn’t move in with her because I'm overreacting or-...”
“Nah,” Ambrosius interrupts, not unkind, smiling when Ballister stares at him uncomprehendingly. He has already guessed that his thinker of a boyfriend would pick even that apart, and has his reassurance ready for it. “I’m saying you two becoming roommates is a great idea, but if you start mother-henning her because you’re so worried – well, I have the slight feeling she will not appreciate that.”
“… Oh, gods,” it does not even take a second before Ballister is laughing again, obviously startled into it by that mental image. “No, no she wouldn’t.”
“See? So dial it down a bit, and breathe, Bal.”
Closing his eyes, Ballister does just that; takes a deep, slow breath, holds it, and releases it in a long rush. When he opens his eyes again, they are clearer, calmer, and a smile tugs at his lips.
Intrigued by that look, Ambrosius raises his eyebrows. "What?"
“When did you become such a Nimona-expert?”
“Well, you see,"Ambrosius aims for a haughty air. "I have this boyfriend who adores Nimona, and on top of that, he is an incredibly attentive guy who notices things and then talks my ear off about them.”
“Well,” Ballister mimicks, smile turning sly. “That sounds nice and all, but I, myself, have this incredible boyfriend who actually listens when I ramble to him for hours. I think I got you beat there.”
“You most certainly got me jealous, that’s for sure.”
Ballister splutters out a snort and elbows him, and Ambrosius laughs loudly, wrestling him into a playful headlock to stop him from more retalation. They wrestle for a bit until Ambrosius has succesffuly tousled up Ballister's hair and gotten shoved off, and once they separate, they grin at esch other like young boys.
Still flushed and smiling, Ballister mutters something which sounds utterly fond under his breath and turns back to his suitcase, looking for all the world as if he is focusing intently on it. But even from behind him, Ambrosius can see the flush tinting the back of the other's neck and how his cheeks curve from the force of his smile, and he feels utterly charmed by it. Leaning over to plant a kiss to Ballister's neck, earning a hum, he steps back up to him and begins helping fold the remaining clothes.
For a few pleasant moments, they work in companionable silence. They are nearly done, Ambrosius handing over the ladt few items, when one thought makes him smile and speak up again. “Oh, by the way – once you settled in, you really need to give me a tour of the place. I need to see this evil lair of yours properly at some point. I didn't really get the chance to look around... yesterday...”
He trails off when he turns with a bundle of socks in his arms and finds that Ballister has gone entirely silent, pausing midmotion.
Instantly worried, Ambrosius drops his load and reaches for his boyfriend instead. “Bal?”
The slightest touch jars Ballister out of his stupor and he blinks, hard. “Ah. Sorry.”
“You know you don’t have to invite me, right?” Ambrosius offers, sensing that he might know what had thrown the other off. “If the tower is supposed to be a me-free zone, you just have to say the word.”
“No," Ballister protests immediately. He puts down what he was holding as well and turns, grasping for Ambrosius hand. "No, I want to invite you. It’s not that I don’t. It’s more about.... Nimona.”
Several possibilities flash instantly through Ambrosius mind - that Ballister wants to protect Nimona from him, that he wants to protect Ambrosius from her - but he instantly shuts them down with a slow, measured breath. He is not going to guess and assume; he has seen whst assumptions can do to people, and relationships. “I really hope you’re not worried that I might not like her,” he prods, as gentle as he possibly can. “Because after what you told me about her, there is no way I could not.”
"I know." Ballister's agreement is firm, no doubt in his festures. "I know, that's not it all, trust me."
"Then what...." Ambrosius begins, but then stops when something klicks in his mind. Oh. He has been going about this all wrong. "This is… about the other way around, isn’t it?”
He knows he has hit the nail on the head when Ballister's gaze skitters away from his, shoulders slumping. “She has… bad memories. A lot of bad memories, Ambrosius. I don’t think she likes people all that much.”
It is very careful, the way Ballister has worded it, but Ambrosius hears the words he does not say clear as day. They sink into his stomach heavy as ice blocks, leaving a numb feeling on the way down. Mechanically, Ambrosius lets got of the other man and steps back, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. “… And the fact that I hurt you is not going to help, for sure.”
Ballister tskes a breath, mouth ooening as if he wants to reassure, to deny - but then his faze meets Ambrosius', and he reconsiders. Instead, he sinks down onto his knees in front of the former captain, and takes his hands in his. “I explained it to her, Ambrosisu.” He squeeezes Ambrosiu' hands, waits until their eyes meet again before he continues. “I told her we talked it out, told her we’re okay now. I wouldn’t have texted you back there there if I had not made that clear to her yet.”
A tiny part of Ambrosius wants to raise its hackles at that; he does not miss the implication that Ballister would have kept him in the dark about Nimona’s return, if she had not agreed to inform him. But he quickly pushes it back down, smiles bravely through it. Because it makes sense, he tells himself sternly. He hasn’t exactly the best track record with the shapeshifter, has he now? A little wariness he has to grant her. A lot, actually.
Even though knowing this does not make this exactly easier. Nimona's I reserve judgement still rings in his ears. "She didn't immediately believe you, huh."
"Give her time, Ambrosius," there is a plea in Ballister's eyes, and the hand he reaches for Ambrosius cheek with is shaking slightly. "Please. I'm sure once she gets to know you better, she will see - see you the way I do. See that you're a good man, someone who can be trusted."
"But not right now."
Ambrosius does not really mean to say it, but he does, thanks to the persistent little voice at the back of his mind. He instantly regrets it when Ballister's expression grows pained and sad, those expressive dark eyes darkening. Stupid, stupid -
He grapsps for Ballister's hand on his cheek before the other can draw back, gentles his bitter tone. “Bal, listen. I'm an idiot, I shouldn't have said that I just - I love Nimona already, you know? Or maybe, the idea of her, or - at least, the Nimona you told me about. So yeah, maybe I'm a little disappointed that she doesn't like me back immediately but ... I get it. I can be patient, promise.”
During his ranting, Ballister had gone very still, and once Ambrosius finishes, he softens, pain melting off his features to be replaced with a hopeful smile. "You mean it?"
Ambrosius knows instinctively what he means, and nods firmly. "Of course I do. You love her, and she was there for you. That's two very good reasons to instantly adore her."
"... Am I that obvious?"
"A little bit," Ambrosius huffs a chuckle when Ballister frowns at that, and taps his forehead, drawing the lines there gently. "If one knows you well, at least."'
Ballister returns the laugh, and from there, it really is the easiest thing for Ambrosius to lean in and press a kiss to his boyfriend's smiling lips.
They separate only a little, still nose to nose, and smile at each other.
"I mean it," Ambrosius assures quietly, only meant for their ears. “I’m going to wait for as long as you want me to – as long as Nimona wants me to. And if you think it is fine, and we can try to meet each other? I will be happy, and come running. And if not – well, then no running from me. Okay?”
A tension which had drawn Ballister's shoulders tight ever since this morning finally unravels, muscles loosening while he breathes out slow and deep. "Okay."
"Great." Drawing back to survey the two of them and their overall state, Ambrosius snorts, and gestures back and forth. "Hey - look at us, we even managed a deep talk about feelings without crying this time."
Ballister looks up and laughs, the sound clearly startled out of him at the dry reminder. "Mh, we're getting better at this. Basically fully functional adults now."
"And what were we before?" Ambrosius demands to know, laughing while he pushes at Ballister's shoulder.
"Half functional, obviously," Ballister grins, unrepetant and cheeky, and makes to stand, accepting the hand Ambrosius offers him with a murmured thanks.
They stand before the open suitcase in silence for a moment. There should be, Ambrosius thinks, a sense of relief, now that they have talked things out... there is, obviously, but. There is also the knowledge that this is only the start of everything; that there is a long, rocky road in front of them which they will need to walk together until everything is going to be alright between the two of them, and Nimona, as well.
Ambrosius can see the knowledge in Ballister, too, can read it in the detemined set of his jaw and the squaring of his shoukders. This must be more of a balance act for Bal than for him, playing the mediator between two people who had started out on the entirely wrong foot with each other.
Deciding to get out of the other's hair for a bit, Ambrosius snaps his fingers and proclaims rather abruptly, "I will get you a spare toothbrush. Be right back."
If Ballister is aware of the ploy to give him some privacy, he does not immediately comment on it. Ambrosius manages to reach the door when he is called bavk by a quiet, “Ambrosius?”
"Yes?" He turns immediately, ready to hurry back should his boyfriend need him to.
Ballister is holding the sweater Ambrosius thought he has managed to sneak past him, pressing it closer to his chest than probably necessary while he smiles softly at the former captain. "You know... I think once Nimona and you get to know each other, you two will get along swimmingly." With every word, Ballister seems to gain confidence and surity, until his voice is firm and without a shred of doubt when he finishes, “After all, you are the most imprant people in my life.”
A wave of feelings slams into Ambrosius, knocking the wind out of him entirely and with it, any hope of stringing a full sentence together. Of course he knows that Ballister loves him, but perhaps - yes, perhaps there had always been a tiny little bit of doubt about it, after everything that had happened. How can you love me still, after what I did? To hear it spoken aloud like this, so sweet yet firm is... he has no words for it. "Bal," he chokes out, the only word he has any hope of getting out right now.
Ballister smiles, gentle and soft. He has to know how much he has blindsided Ambrosius with this.
Then his smile turns crooked, cheeky, and he quips, “And you’re both pretty dramatic when you want to be, so you're absolutely going to get along-…”
A startled laugh bursts out of Ambrosius, dissolving a great deal of the knot of feeling which had been pressing down onto his cheat. “Hey!” In faked offense, he bends and takes the mearest item he can grab - a pair of rolled up socks - and lobs it at a laughing Ballister's head. “As if you’re not dramatic!”
"Me?! I'm the down to earth one in this relationship-..."
"You stole a car to get out of talking to me!"
"That's a totally rational reaction, anybody would do that to get out of uncomfortable-..."
Quite done with this (never; he loves every second of it) Ambrosius shakes his head, spluttering, and lunges for Ballister instead, tackling him with his arms around the other's waist. They go down in a flail of limbs and barks of laughter, landing on the bed behind them and instantly beginning to grapple for who is able to keep the other down and restrained. It is very reminiscent of their times as children or teenagers, Ambrosius thinks with a swell of fondness while attempting to grab Ballister's wrist, the way they had sparred and tousled and more often than not ended up sprawled out next to each other, talking about anything that came to mind. It had createsd this little pocket of time and space around them which only belonged to them, where nothing bad could come for them and no worries could penetrate.
This, now, is no different. While they roll around, giggling like boys, worries about the future and guilt and anything else, is shoved into the background.
For the moment is it just them, happy and carefree.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ N ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kicking the door closed behind himself, Ambrosius crosses deeper into the apartment and falls onto the couch with a deep groan. Finally home. Exhaustion is settling heavily into his limbs, drawing down his eyelids. It had been a long day. thr exploration of the lands beyond the wall had been on the plan, and this had, finally, been something Ambrosius had felt some confidence in talking about. Forming squads of former knights and volunteers who would lead the advance into unfamiliar territory, deciding on each members role based on their abilities and setting up a strategical sound map to decide where to send each squad... this was something he could do, something he had been trained to do. But it also meant that he had to give it his all now, that next steps depended on his decisions, and the pressure had mounted, and with it, the exhaustion.
He rubs his temples against the beginning headache there and sighs. He wants nothing more tham to curl up next to Ballister, order food for them both, and then spend the rest of the evening talking about everything and nothing until they both fall asleep curled together. That is out of the question, of course, Ambrosius muses, glancing around the dark apartment tiredly. In the course of the last few months, there would have been the smell of warm food waiting for him once he got home, or Ballister’s mutters when he talks of himself, or – just, the presence of a second person there.
Now, dark and still, Ambrosius can admit that even the small apartment feels too big and quiet, without Ballister there.
Empty, would, probably, be more fitting term.
Ambrosius tries to ignore it, pushing through the wave of nostalgia-loneliness that instantly wells up inside of him, scoffing at himself. He is being ridiculous – selfish, even. Ballister might be his boyfriend once more, but it isn’t like they have to be glued together by the hip. They both have their own lives still, and right now – right now, a huge part of Ballister’s life is dedicated to Nimona. And that is alright.
Fiercely pushing down any clamoring sadness, he digs out his phone and unlocks the chat with Ballister. It is a mess of short texts, videos and pictures now, all sent over the course of the day. Apparently, Ballister had decided to narrate his foray into interior design while he and Nimona worked on bringing the tower back up to shape.
Chuckling quietly to himself, Ambrosius opens a picture – a selfie, rare enough for Ballister - which his boyfriend had apparently shot over his own shoulder. Ballister’s longsuffering expression is blurry in the front of the picture, while the main focus lies on Nimona, in cat form, hanging onto the dusty red curtains which had been used to seal off the windows, tearing it down with her own weight. Ambrosius had sent back you seem to be having fun to which Ballister had replied with another picture of his face, flat, unimpressed and annoyed. It had been quite difficult then to not laugh aloud in the middle of the council meeting…
He is startled out of his reminiscing when the phone starts buzzing in his hand with an incoming video call. There is Ballister’s name displayed, immediately making Ambrosius’ heart pick up speed, but - a video call? Highly unusual for the other man. Torn between excitement and worry, Ambrosius hits the button to accept the call and does not even wait before the other’s face come into focus before blurting out, “Bal? You okay?”
“… What?” The video connects, showing Ballister’s perplexed expression. “Uh, hello? Yes, I’m okay?”
He seems genuinely confused, instead of deflecting, and the worry which has attempted to well up immediately goes up in smoke. Ambrosius sighs aloud and runs a hand over his face. “Oh – you usually don’t video call, so-…”
“… So you thought I got into trouble.” Confusion softens into amusement, and Ballister rolls his eyes with a chuckle. “You really have a high opinion of me, don’t you.”
The banter is soothing, a balm to his frazzled nerves, and Ambrosius sinks deeper into the couch with a grin, hefting the phone up higher to see better. “Only one of us had Wanted posters of his face printed, Bal.”
“Oh, for – that’s it, I’m out, good night.”
"No!" Ambrosius shouts, almost shooting upright when Ballister actually makes to end the call, although he is grinning. Joking or not, he is not going to risk that. "Don't you dare; you're the best thing that's happened to me all day."
"...Oh," Ballister's smile falls and he frowns in worry, leaning closer as if that will help him see his boyfriend better to check in on him. "That bad today?"
"No, you're always the best thing that happens to me." It is the truth, in a way, and it has the nice sideeffect of making Bsllister flush, even though his dark complexion hides most of it.
"Flatterer," the former knight grumbles halfheartedly, before a smile softens his embarrassed pout. “I missed you today, you know.”
The admission loosens something tight in Ambrosius' chest, and he fairly deflates with the sigh he lets out. “Oh, thank the gods.”
Ballister's eyebrows jumps up, offense and amusement warring on his face. “What kind of reaction is that?”
“Okay, that came out wrong, I – I meant I missed you, too.” Scratching the side of his head with a quiet laugh, Ambrosius jerks his chin towards the dark room around himself. "The apartment suddenly feels too big for one person alone.”
“I get it. We got two people over here, and the tower isn’t really all that big,” to demonstrate, Ballister turns the phone a bit, so that the room behind him is visible, with all the furniture and decorations, “-... but it still feels like someone is missing around here.”
"Looks like we got spoiled in the last few months."
"Pretty much."
Ballister's deep voice and warm chuckle seem to fill the room, chasing away the emtpiness which had been so all-encompassing moments before. Already soothed by that alone, Ambrosius lies down, shuffling to get more comfortsble while keeping the phone and the cam in a good position. Head cushioned by his free arm, he cocks his head in question. “How is the renovation going, anyway? Did any of the curtains survive?”
“Absolutely not." Very likely, Ballister is attempting to seem annoyed by that, but his badly hidden smile ruins the impression. “Though Nimona claimed one as a cat bed.”
Somehow not surprised, Ambrosius chcukles. “Well, let's stay positive. It could have been your cape, instead.”
Ballister's smile falls and he lifts one eyebrow. “That serves as a blanket right now.”
Stunned silence settles briefly between them before Ambrosius bursts out laughing, nearly dropping the phone in his mirth. He has to fumble blindly for it to save it, and even then, he does not manage a single word before he falls back into peals of laughter.
“I see you’re very sympathetic," Ballister remarks dryly when his boyfriend can’t seem to stop by himself. There is a smile tugging at his lips, softening the reprimand.
“I’m - buying you a new one. If, if you want." Still chuckling, Ambrosius rubs away the tears of laughter and sniffs, fighting to keep another bout in. "Then - Nimona is doing well then? Is she with you right now?”
The mention od the shapeshifter immediately makes Ballister smile and he glances over his shoulder as if he is going to see her right there; of course she isn't, Ambrosius is fairly sure she would have said something by now if she were, but the smile stays unchanged. “She’s out doing a few laps around the tower. Probably flying – she had her wings when she went out.”
Turning back, Ballister grows more serious, a hint of worry in the slant of his eyebrows and the thinness of his lips. “And – yeah. She is fine, I think? Seems fine, at least, she didn't - you know. Answer, when I asked her. But from what I see, apart from her being extrmely hungry, she seems fine, yeah.”
"Extremely hungry?" Ambrosius muses. "Maybe she needs some energy back, after everything."
"Probably. She is eating the food faster than I can order it right now."
"And knowing you, you would rather starve yourself than see Nimona go hungry." Judging by the way Ballister winces, Ambrosius knows he has hit the nail on the head, and he sighs a little. "Bal, you're impossible. Should I send an order of nachos your way?”
Ballister's expression goes soft and young with embarrassment while he chuckles and scratches his cheek. “Would you? I think I’ve overdrawn my credit card with all the pizzas I ordered to day...”
“Two extra big serving of nachos, coming right up.” Pushing himself up a little, Ambrosius throws one arm out and fumbles around until he finds his tablet buried under a couch pillow, and opens the menu of the Antlered Serpent.
"Thanks. You're the best."
The tablet nearly slips from suddenly numb fingers, but miraculously, Ambrosius manages to keep his expression relaxed, and his mouth closed. Don't say that. There is nothing but warmth and honesty in Ballister's tone, and Ambrosius knows he means what he says; Ballister never could lie, and is not one to use empty platitudes. But the word grate on Ambrosius' very skin, after everything; seem like an honor he does not yet deserve again.
With shaking fingers, Ambrosius finishes what he is doing, and announces, "Food is on it's way. Try to eat at least some of it, this time."
"Yessir," Ballister jokes, making sure his eyeroll and grin are still in frame as he does.
Ambrosius is too fond and tired to even muster a facsimile of rebuke, and instead snorts quietly. His eyes burn; the strain of staring at abright screen in a dark room, after a long, exhausting day, too much right now.
He must have blinked too hard, or maybe his red-rimmed eyes show even through the tiny screen. Whatever the case, Ballister squints at him, then softens. "Hey, should I leave you to it? You seem tired."
"No," the shock of it immediately makes him more awake and Ambrosius scrambles to sit more upright. "No, no, I'm fine. You could - tell me about your day?"
"Haven't I bombarded you enough with interior design for today?"
Would it be too much, Ambrosius wonders, to tell him that he does not care what they talk about, as long as he gets to hear Ballister talk? "Never. You know I love interiror design. All this... designing."
"Designing," Ballister's mouth ticks up, a mixture of amusement and disbelief. The phone wobbles while he looks over his shoulder, at the half-finished changes to the tower, the wood and stone and the general mess. "I don't think you can really call this designing. At this point, we're just patching things up. Making it cozy around here."
"Yeah, that. Tell me about that."
This time, Ballister must know for sure what he is really saying. He is basically begging him to stay just a little longer.
Ambrosius knows his boyfriend has caught on when Ballister's breath hitches the tiniest bit; a little sound of surprise, of understanding, held back at the last second. His expression softens, and he adjusts the phone, apprently settling down into a more comfortable position. "Alright, but if you fall asleep on me, I will end the call."
"Fair enough."
"So. Today we changed mostly the most glaring things. Fixing the broken window, reincforcing the drafty wall on the west side... cleaning is for tomorrow, I think most of that will be collecting all the cat hair Nimona has been shedding today-...."
Laughing quietly, Ambrosius lets Ballister voice wash over him, relaxing to the familiar tone of it. He will fall asleep to it sooner rather than later, he can tell. But he can really imagine worse things than being lulled into a dreamless sleep by the warm voice of the man he loves.